Distant Mountains, page 17
“I wish I didn’t look like a convict.” He watched her white fingers as she fumbled over her task.
“You’ll always look handsome to me, Remy, no matter what clothes you wear. Anyway, there’s one sure way to remedy that. Take off your clothes, and then you’ll be no worse than any other man and certainly better.”
Rem let a small smile turn up the corners of his mouth. “That’s my Sara. Always saying something to surprise me. You’re like no other woman I’ve known or ever will know.”
“What of the Chinese woman?” she asked softly as she drew his shirt over his shoulders and pulled it from the waistband of his trousers.
“Lulu was the kindest person I’ve ever known, Sara. But you should never be jealous of her; she couldn’t replace you in my heart. Lulu saved my life—if not for her I would have lain to rot in the mountains. Fate sent her to save me, and in a way I saved her. She knew a short space of happiness before she died. She was expecting her brute of a husband’s baby, and doubtless she would have died out there, for he wouldn’t have aided her. Now, let’s forget about her and your husband. Tonight there’s just you and me, love.”
“Yes,” she agreed as they both stood. They undressed, each showering the other with endless kisses until they were side by side on the bed, their eyes and hands adoring.
“I’ve never known desire like this,” Rem said on a groan as she took him in her fingers and brought him to the brink of ecstasy with her touch. “If you don’t stop that right now, this’ll be over too soon. I want this first time with you to be perfect. And it won’t be that while you continue to torment me with your touch.”
“Just having you here with me makes it perfect, Remy. I never dreamed this moment would ever come. I feared our paths would never cross again. If this is all we’re destined to have together, I’ll cherish these moments and keep them in my memories forever.”
Rem caressed her until she trembled in his arms. Every part of her was beautiful, from her straight neat toes to her hair that shone as black as midnight against the white pillow. Her pink-tipped breasts were perfect, fitting his palm as if designed specifically for them.
Rem kissed each rosy peak, and then she flinched as he ran his fingers down her sides. He drew back sharply and frowned. “What is it? Did I hurt you, love?”
“No, no, you could never hurt me, Remy. It’s…” She touched her side where he now noticed discoloration.
“God, it’s a bruise! Where did you get that?” Rem stared in horror, and after studying her for a moment, noticed she also had a bruise on her upper arm. “He did this to you, didn’t he?” he demanded, going back on his haunches to examine her more closely. “I’ll kill him for sure!”
“I fell, Remy,” she said softly, pulling him over her. “Please, I beg of you, don’t even think of attacking Clive. I tripped over a rug. One of the stupid maids left a corner turned and I caught my side and arm on a table as I went down.” She touched his face, her eyes filled with tenderness as she reached up to kiss him. “Let’s not waste time on that—we have so little time together. Please love me, now,” she begged.
How could he resist such a plea?
Her limbs were strong, the legs she wound around him as she drew him inside her, long and perfectly shaped. Together they flew to the brink of ecstasy, and Rem felt as if he’d scaled a mountain, reached another plane. Truly, she was his soul mate. He told her so as they lay sated, arms about each other, staring into each other’s eyes.
“You’re crying.” Rem stroked the teardrops off her cheeks with trembling fingers.
“Tears of happiness.” She sniffed and tried for a small smile, but it went awry as she ran a hand over his chest. Rem shuddered anew.
“That’s good. I hoped they weren’t tears of disappointment.”
“Never that.” She placed a kiss on his chin. “That was the most wonderful experience of my life.”
“Even better than it is with your husband?” Rem hated himself for having to ask.
The small deprecating sound she made confirmed his suspicion. Her husband never satisfied her.
“Clive has never treated me with tenderness. He showed no gentleness the first time, and soon grew tired of me.” She bit into her bottom lip with her small white teeth and then admitted, “The only reason he comes to my bed is because he seeks to have a son. That’s why he married me, I presume, because he decided I had the attributes he wished to pass on to his heir.”
Rem kissed her deeply. “You realize I could have given you a child tonight, don’t you, Sara.”
She laughed, and the sound lifted his spirits until they soared. “I hope you have. I want your baby, not his. The thought of carrying his child sickened me, but if I’ve conceived this night then the child will be loved and cherished.”
“Oh Sara, come here.” Rem pulled her close and covered her mouth with his again. Desire rose up, strong and potent. Would he ever get enough of her? He doubted it. “If I live to be a hundred you’ll always have this effect on me,” he said as he caressed her silken body. Rising up and over her, his weight on his elbows, Rem watched her eyes glaze with desire.
A mighty crash from the floor below startled them. “What the hell was that?” Rem cocked his head to listen.
“Mistress,” cried Maisie from the other side of the door. “He’s back.” She knocked a few times as the thump of footsteps on the stairs grew louder.
Rem groaned.
“No!” Sara pushed at his shoulders. “It’s Clive. Why did he decide to return early tonight of all nights? Don’t worry, he sounds drunk.” The foul language coming from the corridor outside her room proved he was far from sober. His shouted curses were slurred.
“Get out of the way, woman.” They heard Maisie cry out. Ravenbrook bellowed, “Open up, you whore!”
Sara cringed as he pounded on the door. Rem swore; he leapt from the bed and hastily began to dress. “Go away,” Sara shouted. She reached for a wrap and slipped into it, a finger to her lips as Rem pulled on his boots and buttoned his shirt.
“Not likely,” Ravenbrook hollered. “Open this door. I know you have the convict mongrel in there, so you might as well open this door now.” Rem thought the door would splinter at any moment as he continued with his thumping.
Sara gestured to the window. “You can climb down the tree outside,” she whispered. “Go now, Remy, please.”
“No. I won’t leave you to face him alone.” He grasped her hand, but she pushed him away and with frantic urgency turned him to face the window.
“I’m used to his threats. Please go now.” She hustled him across the carpet. “He has no proof you’re here. I’d say his housekeeper sent word that you were with me. Or his driver told him we spoke to each other earlier. They are all on his side, except Maisie. If you flee now he’ll simply rant and rave for a while until he passes out. Believe me, I know him.”
Undecided, Rem looked to the window, then back to the door. “I hate to leave you.”
“Please, it’s the only way,” she insisted, shoving him.
Rem pressed a kiss to her lips; then he turned. “I’ll try and get back, Sara.”
“It’s no use.” Her voice cracked with anguish. “Now he suspects you of being here he’ll make them watch me even closer. Look after yourself.” She clutched at his arm as tears ran down her lovely cheeks. “Thank you for this night. Whatever happens I want you to know it was beautiful and worth any pain that might follow.”
“I love you,” Rem kissed her and opened the window, putting his foot over the sill as Ravenbrook turned the key in the lock. The last thing he saw was Ravenbrook’s face, livid with anger, as Sara walked toward him, a placating hand held out. A man, obviously the butler who imparted the news of Rem’s visit, stood at his side, a sneer of satisfaction on his pasty face.
Rem reached across and swung himself easily into the wide-branched tree and then lowered himself to the garden, heedless of the scratch of bark on his arms. As his feet hit the earth two shapes loomed up before him, one brandishing a club. Rem barely had time to bring a hand up in defense before the weapon crashed over his head. Sara’s name burst from his lips as the ground came up to meet him.
Chapter Sixteen
June 1828
“Fetch the chamber pot, Maisie.” Sara rolled onto her stomach on her bed, a hand to her mouth.
“Oh, mistress, 'tis the third time this week you’ve been sick. Shall I tell that old crone who calls 'erself the housekeeper to let me fetch the doctor?” Maisie patted Sara’s back as Sara brought up the toast and tea swallowed only minutes before.
“No point, Maisie.” Sara groaned. “We both know the problem. No use trying to hide it from you. I’m pregnant, and that’s what the doctor will confirm.” When Maisie came back from putting the chamber pot by the door, she handed Sara a dampened cloth. “Don’t tell anyone downstairs, will you? I don’t want my husband to know about this.” Sara wiped her mouth on the cloth.
“Don’t want 'im to know, Ma’am?” Maisie frowned. “But ‘e’ll 'ave to know.” The poor girl’s fingers twisted in agitation.
“I’ll tell him in my own time.” Only when she was forced to. This was a secret she wanted to hug to her breast for as long as possible. “I’ll be going out as soon as I’ve bathed. I’ll wear my blue woolen dress. Tell Brace I’m going to Mrs. Howe’s.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Maisie fetched warm water. After Sara washed her hands, face and arms, Maisie helped her dress. By the time she was ready to go out she felt better, but still weak.
Not long later, she was let into Meg’s house. Her friend’s home had become her only refuge. If Clive could stop her coming here he would, but until now seemed to have decided no harm could be done by her visiting her only friend. Brace always brought her, and the driver could be relied on to report back to his master.
“I’m sorry, Meg,” Sara said as she entered the nursery. Meg sat playing with her babies on a rug laid out on the floor. “I’ll be wearing my welcome out soon if I keep coming to see you like this.”
Meg waved a hand. “Nonsense, come down here and join us. We love your company. Don’t we my pets?” She bent to plant wet loud kisses on her babies’ cheeks. “You can go and have a cup of tea,” she told her nursemaid.
Sara knelt on the floor beside Meg, and one of the babies put out a fist. She let her capture her finger, her heart filling with sudden joy. “I’m going to have a baby,” she blurted.
Meg’s face lit with surprise and gladness. “Oh, Sara, that’s absolutely splendid news. When do you think it will arrive? This is so good, just what you need to drag you out of the doldrums.”
“I can’t tell you how happy I am, Meg.” Happier than she had the right to be under the circumstances. Sara rubbed the belly of the baby gripping her finger. “It’s not Clive’s baby,” she divulged. And oh, how delighted she was it wasn’t her husband’s seed that produced this new life growing inside her.
“Not your husband’s!” Puzzlement and a certain shock shaded Meg’s tone as she stared at Sara.
“No.”
“But what will he do when he finds out?” Poor Meg looked so taken aback Sara almost laughed. But this was no laughing matter. “Do you think he’ll believe it to be his?”
“The answer to both those questions is I don’t know. I have no idea what he’ll think about it, or what he’s likely to do. He’s not stupid, just insensitive.” Sara settled her skirt about her legs and pulled the baby onto her lap. “Only my maid knows at the moment, and that’s how I would like to keep it.”
“That will be an impossibility, Sara, and you know it.”
Yes, she knew that. “He hasn’t touched me since the night Remy and I made love, and hadn’t been in my bed for a few weeks before that.” Sara shrugged. “I’m hoping he’ll think it born before its time. I will have to see his physician; I doubt he’ll let me pick one of my own.” Uncertainty clouded her mind.
The other infant made a face as if about to cry, and Meg picked her up. “I know what you can do.” Meg put a finger to her baby’s nose and tweaked it gently, encouraging a smile. “What say you go to see my doctor? Perhaps Clive will accept that. After all, he knows I have my twins, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not sure.” Clive paid no heed to Meg’s life. Once it was established that Sara visited a respectable married woman he lost interest in all else. “If I see your doctor there might be a chance Clive won’t find out when the baby was conceived. I don’t fear for myself, Meg, but I would fear for my child if Clive found out it was Rem’s.” She bounced the gurgling baby girl on her knee. “He managed to arrange Rem’s transfer to Moreton Bay and delights in telling me how dreadful the conditions are up there.”
Sara’s nights were filled with horrific nightmares since her husband brutally described what fate awaited Rem in the new settlement up north where men lived like rats in the heat and died of numerous tropical diseases. Her heart told her she would never see Rem again. Only the babe growing inside her gave her the strength to go on.
“Surely he isn’t such an ogre he would harm a baby.” Sara could see that Meg was shocked to her core.
“Clive’s capable of anything.” How could she explain the depths of her husband’s jealousy and hatred of Rem? “The man’s half insane.” This was not a figment of her imagination but the truth. He ordered his servants to watch over her as if she were a felon. Sara knew Brace and the housekeeper reported all her movements to their master. The two of them would do anything to keep their positions. They were too well off to consider the alternative; both stashed nest eggs by stealing from their master. And the awful truth was that Clive would rather believe them than his own wife, so she would gain nothing by exposing their tricks.
“I don’t know how I can keep a visit to your doctor secret.” Sara nibbled on her lower lip. “Brace will surely report back to him.”
“So let him.” Meg wrinkled her nose. “You make excuses. A woman carrying a baby is often accused of reckless and unusual behavior. Tell him you don’t desire his doctor treating you in such a personal way. I will arrange an appointment for you when I visit my doctor tomorrow.”
It was all so simple for Meg. Loved and cherished by her husband, she had no inkling of what it was like to be married to someone eaten up with jealousy, not because of his love for you, but merely because he considered you his possession.
Chapter Seventeen
September 1828
Death would be a blessing. In an effort to take his mind off the excruciating pain, Rem tried to focus on his memories of Sara, loving and sated in his arms, in the precious shared moments before Ravenbrook interrupted them. However, her face kept disappearing as the agony engulfed him. Lord knows what happened after the flogging but his back felt as if it was on fire. Perhaps he was in hell and his body was being engulfed in flames.
“Perhaps now you’ll keep yer 'ead out of trouble and mind yer Ps and Qs, O’Shea,” a gravelly voice said from his side.
Rem blinked, striving to open his eyes, which felt as if someone had thrown hot water into them. He lay on his stomach, his head turned to one side. The rough blanket that was his only bedding scratched at his cheek and chest. It stank of sweat and blood, and he tried not to inhale; tried not to bring up the bile hovering halfway up his throat. His mouth tasted like last week’s garbage rested in it.
“A man don’t need to do much up here to get hisself in strife,” he croaked from a throat that felt as if he’d swallowed a bucket of sand.
“That’s fact,” his mess-mate said. “You least of all of us.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Long enough. You was taken to the 'ospital, but they told me to bring you 'ere this morning.”
The hospital, if that’s what it could be termed, was not meant to accommodate convicts, more to see to the needs of the military. Convicts were considered scum: the horses were treated better up here where life was cheap.
“'Ere, take a drop of this.” Rem’s mate held a spoon to his lips and dripped some warm, vile tasting water on Rem’s lips.
Rem’s tongue came out to sup them up. The few drops made his stomach roil. “I’m gonna die,” he groaned.
“No you ain’t. Not yet awhile at any rate. If you was gonna die you’d 'a carked it afore they finished yer flogging.”
Regardless of what Salty said, Rem knew he was going to die. No man could feel this awful and live. Like hot knives, pain seared his back. Even a slight breeze brought him fresh agony.
After another few drops of water passed his lips, he turned his head to hang his face over the end of the pallet. The water was impure and vile.
“Did you boil that?” he demanded, retching from an empty stomach, which brought him more pain. Dysentery killed many men in the last few months. On the captain’s orders, a tank was erected in the brickfields and hand pumps and wooden pipes now distributed water, but it was still putrid.
“Huh!” Salty’s grunt told nothing. “Why the bloody 'ell didn’t yer keep yer ugly mug out of the sergeant’s way?” he grumbled. “If I told yer once I told yer a 'undred times, it don’t pay to get noticed up here.”
Rem mumbled a vile oath. The old man everyone called Salty had been among the first group of thirty convicts to arrive at Moreton Bay, in ‘24, with about twenty military under the command of Lieutenant Henry Miller. The old fellow hoped to win an early ticket of leave, but he’d been one of the first to try to escape, so his original sentence of seven years set down in London had grown to fourteen. Salty managed to get as far south as Port Macquarie before being captured and brought back, emaciated and sick. So far, no one had gotten further than that. Moreton Bay fulfilled all the Governor’s predictions of being an ideal prison, too isolated for successful escapes.
Two separate floggings convinced Salty it was safer to keep quiet and obey orders. The only ones who successfully escaped this hell so far were those who had blessedly died. And plenty had gone to meet their maker, if not from the effects of disease, but because of floggings by the present captain, known to all the cons as ‘The Ogre’.
