Ella Read online

  Rose frowned. “But when we marry we will split our inheritance, of course.” She began to take more food from the larder.

  “Of course,” Ella said, her cheeks stiff. She couldn’t insist on Rose aiding her sisters after marriage. If need be, Ella could support Vianna alone. For all she knew the skills of an educated lady would be in great demand in the city. Concentrating, she marked out the bone in the lamb leg. “We should be able to buy a house for less than two hundred pounds, which won’t set us back too much.”

  “After we’ve sold the fleeces.” Rose used an insistent voice.

  Ella nodded, although she wanted to say they could hardly do so before, given that the only money they had was set aside to pay the shearers.

  She had thought when Rose returned she would take over Papa’s affairs, but Rose had no goal other than to return to her former life. Ella would rather stay on the property but she saw no point when she had neither the skills nor the means to run the place.

  Dispirited, she did her best to slice the meat evenly, then she loaded the serves onto a big blue and white dish. During the past few months, she had been running on the spot. At least now she knew she only had to keep doing so for another three months. With unlimited supplies of meat, an orchard full of ripening fruit, and a vegetable garden that could be called adequate to their needs, she could manage.

  “Just pray we have no rain during the shearing and a dousing afterward.” The kitchen door had already closed behind Rose.

  * * * *

  After the midday meal, while the team relaxed with a cup of tea, Cal strolled over to the stable paddock with Girl to check that Alf’s Clydesdales had plenty of water. A single stock horse grazed in the area, as well. He grabbed the bucket from the pump and heard snorting and fidgeting inside the stables. Out of pure curiosity, he opened the main door.

  He breathed in the tang of horse and hay and leather. The cobbled floor had been neatly swept and a bale of clean straw lay in a corner. Shiny tack dangled from hooks and polished saddles sat across a wooden rail. In the first stall, he saw a neat little Welsh pony. In the adjacent stall stood a lanky, elegant mare with a chestnut coat, and in the next, another of the same. Money had been spent here once and a considerable amount, but now only a one-horse trap idled on the property. He saw no need for a carriage pair.

  He checked the animals’ water but each had been adequately supplied and each had a scattering of chaff in a bucket. The Aboriginal stockman took good care of the horses—astonishing, for the man had to see to the whole station alone. No wonder so much of the fence maintenance had been ignored.

  He strolled back to the woolshed, wondering why Miss Dorella hadn’t sold the chestnuts if she needed ready money. His financially canny mother, Irene, would pay upward of one hundred pounds for the pair.

  * * * *

  Ella lay on her belly under the shed raking the crutchings into a pile and praying not to be seen. A lady wouldn’t do this, and for good reason she didn’t want anyone to know that Papa had left his daughters in a fix. She threw the rake onto the wispy grass outside.

  “Missus?” She turned and saw the aboriginal stockman’s shiny black face peering at her under the slats.

  “Shh! If you want me, I’ll see you at the house,” she whispered to him.

  “Help Missus?”

  “Have you moved yesterday’s sheep back to the paddocks?” she murmured, crawling backward. She came to her feet outside the woolshed, gazing at Jed, who grinned good-naturedly at her.

  The stockman nodded. “Get more?”

  Pushing her hair out of her face she glanced at the sheep the shearers had finished and had no idea how to estimate if they needed more before tomorrow. “Bring them all in, Jed. Tomorrow. Not here. Elsewhere.” She gave an indiscriminate wave of her hand, hoping that because he did this job yearly he would simply continue as he had.

  He smiled, nodded, and reversed.

  She stared at the wool-matted sheep’s droppings by her foot. “But first get the barrow and take these droppings...”

  Cal sauntered out of the woolshed. His thick dark hair softened the outlines of his strong face. Her insides flipped but miraculously she kept breathing.

  “...as far away as you can.”

  Without a blush, Cal said, “Take the dags to the corner of that paddock.” He indicated the weed-filled area adjacent to the woolshed. “Spread them tomorrow with the droppings from the woolshed paddock.”

  Jed smiled, nodded, and disappeared.

  “Spread them?” Ella said, with a surreptitious brush of her skirts. “Let alone he’s my stockman, not yours.”

  “The droppings recondition the soil after overgrazing. Whatever comes from the land should be returned to the land.” He ignored the second part of her statement.

  “Whatever comes from the kitchen should return to the kitchen, and that’s me.”

  “Before you leave—perhaps you don’t know that the horses in the stables need to graze in the paddock during the day?”

  And perhaps she deserved being patronized because she didn’t know how to take care of her sheep. She widened her eyes. “Leave the poor dears to stand in the sun and ignore the fact that they might get dirty? Surely not.” She waited.

  “Doubtless, they have pretty blankets to wear that would stave off that possibility,” he said, his voice smooth. “Apologies if I stole your next line.”

  She laughed. The man was quick witted. The kitchen door squeaked. Vianna dashed outside and made a beeline for Girl, who sat by Cal’s booted foot, staring up at him as if the sun shone from his face.

  “Your dog is just too, too sweet.” Vi dropped to her knees and stroked Girl’s white ruff and in return had her face licked by the dog. “She was so good when she sat under your table last night.”

  “She what?” Ella asked, nudging her sister with her toe.

  “I took my roast mutton out to her after dinner,” Vianna said, her tone overly innocent. “It was too tough for me.”

  “You’re a fussy little miss.” Cal tapped his hand on the side of his leg and his dog stood.

  Vianna stared in amazement. “How did you make her do that?”

  “Border collies are easy to train. They’re highly intelligent.”

  “Ours certainly are. They know enough not to obey us.” Vi’s mouth tilted at the corners. “That’s why we keep them penned. They like to round up the hens and race down the road yapping at leaves.”

  “Your dogs are the same breed as Girl. They’re workers. When they’re not kept busy they’re bored. You need to give them a job.”

  Ella’s jaw loosened. He could explain to either of her sisters, but he could only throw orders at her. “They won’t obey us.”

  “Does your stockman work the dogs?”

  “They won’t obey him either.”

  “Why would you keep dogs that don’t earn their way?”

  “They used to work for Papa. I have a great plan, though. Before I plow the fields, I’ll retrain them.” She glanced at him.

  He pushed his hands into his pockets. “They won’t need retraining.”

  “That’s wonderful news, isn’t it, Ella?” Vianna wrapped her arms around Girl’s neck. “Why won’t they need retraining, Cal?”

  Moving only his eyes, he glanced from Vianna to Ella. “Dogs have fairly good memories.”

  “If you could tell Ella what they know, she would have them rounding up the sheep in a trice. You must excuse me now.” Vianna gave him a winning smile. “But I have to finish an arithmetic test. I just wanted to tell you how much I like your dog.” The kitchen door banged behind her.

  “You make a formidable team.” Cal’s lips relaxed. He had the sort of rugged face an artist might use to depict a leader of men, with his straight nose and his defined jawline. His thick eyelashes softened the effect slightly, but he would never be seen as anything other than good looking. “I’m guessing that if your older sister joined in,
you would have every man in a ten-mile radius fighting to do your bidding.”

  “No one asked for your help.” Ella reached behind her for the door handle, her heart doing a silly pitter-patter.

  He examined her expression for so long that her cheeks warmed. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll put your dogs through their paces.”

  “No.”

  “If you’re sure.” He inclined his head “But if you’re worried you might have to thank me, you can put your mind at ease. I like dogs.”

  “I’m not worried I might have to thank you.” She tried a tilt of her nose. “I’m worried I’ll have to pay you.”

  “That’s right. It was my duty to pull you out of the billabong after I had let you be shoved in.” His eyes focused on her lips and stayed. “You don’t have to pay me. Perhaps we could make this a favor for a favor.”

  For one particularly stupid moment, she thought he wanted a kiss. Her face re-warmed. She stood, holding her breath. As he opened his mouth to speak, the kitchen door swung open again. “Ella, dear. Could you help me move the flour bag?”

  She glanced at Rose blankly.

  Cal cleared his throat, compelling her to look at him. “My dog is used to uncooked bones,” he said, his tone bland. She thought he was the most unreadable male she had ever met—and easily the most compelling.

  With a helpless nod, she said, “I’ll find some for her—and she’ll find them in the dog’s yard.”

  His mouth relaxing, he headed toward the men’s quarters. His dog, naturally, followed.

  After staring for some seconds at his impressive back view, she entered the kitchen.

  “You’re letting that shearer distract you, Ella, dear. I hope you’re not distracting him, too,” Rose said, opening the larder door. “We want the wool shorn as quickly as possible.”

  Ella drew a deep breath but ended up not answering because she wished she could distract him.

  She’d never interested a man and likely wouldn’t ever have the opportunity.

  * * * *

  Edward Lynton stared at the leather traveling trunk ranged at the foot of his ornately carved tester bed. With a hollow laugh, he swung open the lid, tramped over to his tallboy, and dragged open the top drawer. “Sam!” He grabbed a handful of ironed shirts and threw them at the trunk, where they landed. The sleeves twined like arms on men during a night of raucous drinking. “Sam! Get in here right now!”

  “He’s coming,” called his housekeeper, Mrs. Collins.

  Edward piled clean nightshirts on his other linen. “And has decided to take his own good time,” he muttered. He straightened and scratched his head. “Cravats, cravats, how many will I need?”

  “A clean one for every day,” Sam, former stable master, former sheepherder, and erstwhile traveling companion, answered from where he stood in the open doorway. A short, stocky man, he had grizzled hair; a weathered face; and large red, sun-spotted hands. Pushing seventy, he was more or less the same age as Edward. “How long do you reckon on being away?”

  “As long as I want to,” Edward replied impatiently. “Get the carriage to the door. We’re leaving as soon as I have packed.”

  “Yes, m’lud,” Sam said, pulling at his forelock. “We won’t worry about food. You and me is camels. We can travel for days without nothing to eat nor drink.”

  Edward ignored the humbug. His older brother had been an earl in the Old Country, and Edward was a sixth son. He was, strictly speaking, an “Honorable.” He had no use for a written address in this damned heat-begotten, fly-ridden hellhole. Unlike his brothers and their sons and grandsons, who shivered in their draughty English manors scratching for their next penny, he had earned himself a fortune. In this colony, no man was richer. No man was more self-sufficient. “Tell that interfering woman to get a move on. She’s known for the past ten minutes I mean to go, and she should have packed plenty of food by now.”

  “Yes, y’grace.” Sam made a move to leave.

  “Shut this trunk and get it out to the coach.”

  “You might be wantin’ to pack a change of trousers and your shaving gear.”

  “Don’t tell me how to pack my trunk. If I wanted shaving gear, I would have put it in.” Edward used a dangerous tone.

  Sam moved over to the trunk and flipped the lid shut. “Enough room in there for a couple of changes of boots as well, I’d say.”

  Edward ground his teeth. “Get them from the lobby and wrap them in newspaper. Leave that, leave that,” he said, referring to the strap around the trunk. “I’ll want to put in my shaving gear, too.”

  “Mornings is better for traveling. Don’t know why we can’t leave tomorrow. Don’t know why you didn’t get Mrs. Collins to pack for you.” Sam reopened the lid.

  “If I want anything around here done properly, I have to do it myself. And we leave when I say we leave. Where has that blasted woman put my trousers?”

  Sam ambled into the dressing room and came out with an evening suit, two spare jackets, and a jumble of trousers. Only his stumpy legs could be seen under the load. “You’re acting like a dotard, no lie,” he said in a muffled voice. He dropped the clothes onto the bed. “We should have left a couple of months back, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  “More’s the pity. No man’s an island.”

  “I’m bored here, that’s all. Here, give me that.” Edward took a pair of folded trousers from Sam and dropped them into the trunk. “It’s bound to be quieter in Adelaide at this time of the year. Everyone will be in the hills or on the coast.”

  “Quieter? Nowhere could be quieter than here. You mean if you might be looking for someone, you might find him.”

  Edward heightened his chin. “Irene extended a very gracious invitation to stay with her, and I’ve decided to take it. I need a rest. I can’t spend my life watching each thing every person here does and fixing their mistakes.”

  “Ha!” Sam folded a tweed jacket. “Pity you didn’t think that way years back and p’rhaps he wouldn’t’ve gone.”

  Edward crossed his arms, frowning. “I won’t have his name mentioned.”

  “Whose?” Sam asked, a triumphant grin on his face.

  “Shouldn’t you be outside harnessing horses?”

  “I left the lad at it. Thought he might have the idea of it after ten years training,” Sam said in a sarcastic voice. “Times, I can leave him to scratch his own arse.”

  “Yours is not such a complicated job that youngsters can’t do it.” Edward clamped his lips. He wouldn’t be criticized by an employee, even though the former hostler had arrived on the same ship with him from England some thirty-one years ago and helped Edward and his sixteen-year-old son stock parcels of land. Back then, they hadn’t decided on sheep, but his son, Henry, had a good eye for business. He also had a good eye for women, hence Irene, Edward’s widowed daughter-in-law. She, of the sharp tongue and even sharper wit, lived in Edward’s town house.

  “You wasted a good man,” Sam said in an accusatory tone. “Not only did he learn to be the best shearer you would ever meet, he can manage the men better’n you ever did. And do the books, too. You deserve to stew in your own juice, and I don’t know why I’m helping you even now.”

  “Because you’re a nosey-parker. You don’t want to miss your chance of saying ‘told you so.’ You won’t be getting it, I can tell you. I was right not to extend him money, and I’m right to leave him to fall to his knees. And so you shall see. Within another month, he’ll be begging to return.”

  Sam shook his head, sadly. “You don’t know him. You never did.”

  Chapter 3

  That night, Ella dreamed of a bubbling, boiling cauldron. She dreamed of hauling herself out of deep pools of suds, surrounded by sheep droppings. She dreamed of sheep circling her and laughing...baaing...

  With a bump, she awoke. She sat up, noting the moonlight reflected on her silver hairbrush and the close bleating of a sheep...more th
an one, directly under her window. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she peered through the muslin and saw a few white, newly shorn wraiths wandering between the henhouse and the laundry. Somehow the creatures must have escaped from their enclosure behind the woolshed. She immediately slid out of bed and into her dress shoes and raced through the kitchen to the yard. The moon lit her way. Trees rustled urgently, and the wind whispered low.

  The track from the main road came straight between the orchard in front of the house and a wooded area, running parallel to the river and leading to the loading bay of the woolshed. Ella headed toward this track. “Shoo, shoo,” she said in a tight murmur to an old ewe she passed near the back corner of the house.

  She reached the track and peered toward the main road. Four sheep trotted through the trees in the orchard, glancing at their green haven. More sheep plodded through the wooded area, grazing at will. She turned around the front of the house, taking the long way to her vegetable garden and ending almost where she started, on the kitchen side of the house, hoping to find her vegetables as yet undisturbed.

  She groaned as she watched five sheep pick their way through her turnips and the last of her carrots, and she ran forward, freezing when she spotted Cal and his dog.

  He put up his hand in a gesture of recognition while his dog kept the sheep in a huddled group. “There may be more out on the road,” he said in a deep undertone, “but I’ll go after them later.” With effortless ease, he lifted the rear end of a sheep to set its course in the direction of the path between the rose garden and the front part of the veranda. “I think it’s more important to return this lot and secure the fence. You go back to bed. Girl and I can handle this.” He tucked his shirt into his trousers. Apparently, he’d left his bed in a hurry, too, but he hadn’t been as careless as she.

  Caught in her nightwear, she almost did as he asked but, however justly served by embarrassment, she couldn’t let a virtual stranger assume her responsibilities. Awkwardly clutching the embroidered linen to her neck, she said, “Thank you for your kind offer, but these are my sheep and my problem.” She spotted the herb garden. “Oh, no! They’ve munched their way through the last of the plantings.”