Her Rags-To-Riches Christmas

Without checking to see if she was following, he took the stairs two at a time, pausing only when he was outside the room Mrs Peterson had seen fit to give to Alice. It was a generously proportioned bedroom with a view over the farm and to Sydney in the distance. Furnished with a bed, wardrobe and writing table, it was homely and comfortable—no wonder Mrs Peterson took offence when Alice refused to settle herself in.

‘You’re right, there’s no lock,’ George said, ‘just as there isn’t a lock on my bedroom door, or any of the bedrooms. Not...’ he held up an admonishing hand ‘...that I’m inviting you to find out. I find a chair wedged under the handle like this...’ with a flourish he closed the door, took the back of the chair and propped it under the handle, demonstrating that the door could not be easily opened ‘...does the job.’

Alice was staring at him, blinking every few seconds as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

‘I understand you don’t trust me, Alice, and I don’t think anything I can say will reassure you that I didn’t bring you here for nefarious purposes, but my father always used to say that deeds spoke louder than words. Hopefully with time you will come to trust me.’ He paused, wondering exactly what had happened to the young woman in front of him to make her quite so distrustful. ‘Can I give you a word of advice, though? I wouldn’t say anything bad about me to Mrs Peterson. For some strange reason she thinks I’m more virtuous than all the saints combined. If you want to have a moan about me, find someone more neutral.’

He turned, resisting the urge to delve into Alice’s past. Perhaps one day she would want to tell him a little about what had brought her to this point in her life, or perhaps not.

‘Sorted?’ Crawford asked as George walked back into the room.

‘Who knows?’ George shrugged, wondering if Alice would be climbing out the window, risking being caught as a runaway just to avoid spending a night in his house.

‘Who is she?’ Robertson asked. ‘And what is she doing here?’

‘I ran into her when I got off the ship,’ George said, sitting back down with his friends. ‘One of the guards was whipping her, lashes that were far too brutal.’

Crawford grinned. ‘You saved her?’

George rubbed his jaw, remembering the punches he’d received when he’d refused to back down.

‘I politely asked them to desist with such a cruel and unnecessary punishment.’

‘How many were there?’

‘Five.’

Robertson studied his face carefully. ‘Looks like they got a couple of good punches in.’

‘I would have been tied to the post alongside Alice if Colonel Hardcastle hadn’t turned up.’

‘Our new Lieutenant Governor,’ Crawford murmured. George could hear the approval in his voice.

‘Hardcastle agreed to release Alice to me as a convict worker for the farm.’

George saw Robertson and Crawford exchanging looks and shook his head.

‘Just like one of your injured animals,’ Robertson said with a grin.

‘Neither of you would have left her there,’ George said with conviction. ‘Not to that brutality.’

‘It looks like you’re going to have your hands full,’ Crawford said.

He wasn’t wrong. George had imagined Alice slotting into the life on the farm, taking up her role as a housemaid, perhaps helping with the kitchen garden, but that seemed a long way off for now. He shrugged. If things didn’t work out, he could just send her to look after one of the properties he owned further afield. Whatever happened, he would be able to rest easy, knowing he hadn’t abandoned her in her hour of need.

Chapter Four

Alice padded down the stairs, her footfalls silent on the thick rug that covered the wooden steps. Down below her she could hear the voices of the three men, laughing and talking as they had been for the past two hours. She’d made her peace with Mrs Peterson, apologising for her outburst and promising to keep her opinions to herself from now on. The older woman had been mollified and a few minutes later had brought Alice a few dresses to try on, clothing that fitted her better than the huge sack she’d travelled from Sydney in.

Now that she wasn’t in fear of her dress falling down to her ankles with every step, she was feeling curious about her surroundings and had decided to explore a little. It wasn’t as though Mr Fitzgerald had instructed her to keep to her room and Mrs Peterson had told her to take a few days to get settled before she started on the work of a housemaid.

Quietly she made her way down the hall, feeling like a thief as she trailed her fingers over the polished furniture and the collection of ornaments that seemed out of place out here in the middle of the Australian countryside. They would look more at home in an English manor house.

The kitchen was at the end of the hallway, a large room that still managed to feel homely despite its size. At one end the door was open to the outside and Alice looked around guiltily before placing her foot over the threshold.

‘Don’t be a fool,’ she muttered to herself. ‘It’s not as though you’re running away.’

Running away would be the worst thing she could do. Although she felt uncomfortable with her new circumstances, she knew she would be so much worse off if she was branded a convict runaway. She’d never known another convict woman who had dared. The men who tried to gain their freedom by heading off into the wilds of the countryside were always caught and brought back, their punishments ranging from a hundred lashes to being shipped off to one of the other penal colonies in Australia. Somewhere disease-ridden and much less civilised than Sydney. She shuddered at the thought.

Outside the sun was so bright it made her blink rapidly as her eyes struggled to adjust and the heat was much more noticeable than in the cool of the house. Over to the left was a little kitchen garden, with a vegetable patch and plants climbing up stakes. She could see Mr Peterson’s bent form as he worked at picking whichever of the vegetables flourished in this climate.

To the right was a large enclosure with twenty or so cows huddled up one end and a little further away were horses grazing on the patchy grass behind a sturdy fence. With a hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, Alice stopped for a moment and properly appreciated the view. Nine months she’d been in Australia and all she’d seen up until now was Sydney. The ramshackle buildings, the dusty streets, the weary faces. Out here was different. Out here she could see why some people seemed to fall in love with this country.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ a low voice said beside her.

Slowly she turned, finding Mr Fitzgerald standing a fair distance from her.

She nodded, watching as he moved closer, wary of his proximity, but noting how he stopped an arm’s reach away. She couldn’t fault his behaviour. Yet. She’d known men who bided their time before.

‘I’ve stopped off in many countries on my way back to Australia,’ he said, looking out over the rolling hills in front of them, ‘and none of them is half as beautiful as here.’

It must be a wonderful thing to have a home you loved so much. Not since she’d left Yorkshire had Alice felt that way. The smog-filled streets of London weren’t exactly inspiring and she hadn’t seen anything but splashing waves and the rocking hull on the transport ship.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, Alice willing the man beside her to go away and leave her in peace, but he seemed happy just to stand there with her, looking out over the rolling fields.

‘Is this all your land?’ she asked eventually, motioning to the expanse in front of them.

‘As far as the eye can see. When my father first came out to settle here he bought a small farm and planted crops. He was purely an arable farmer for well over a decade. Then he began to anticipate the demands for more than just simple crops and branched out. Now the majority of the land I own is taken up with cattle, although we do still grow a selection of crops.’

‘And how about those?’ she asked, pointing in the direction of a small enclosure that housed a few kangaroos happily hopping around in the sun.

She watched as his face lit up with pure joy and wondered what sort of charmed life this man in front of her must have had to still be able to feel such a thing.

‘Come on, let me introduce you,’ he said, reaching out to grab her hand, but remembering her previous reactions to him just in time. Quickly he adjusted his behaviour and beckoned for her to follow him. He strode over to the fence and with a single movement vaulted over the wooden struts, turning back to assist her. Alice paused, eyeing the animals with uncertainty.

‘They’re one of the gentlest creatures I’ve ever met,’ he said, holding out his hand to help her over.

She hesitated for just a moment longer, then hitched up her skirts and climbed the fence, hopping down on the other side, resolutely refusing to take his hand even when she wobbled a little at the top. With amazement she watched as the biggest of the kangaroos hopped comically over to Mr Fitzgerald and began nuzzling him.

‘They’re your pets?’ she asked.

‘No, definitely not. They’re wild animals, but these three—’ he motioned to the three kangaroos now surrounding him ‘—I found injured in various ways over the years and brought back here to tend to their wounds. Once they’d recovered they didn’t seem to want to venture back into the wild, so they stay here.’

‘Like the little one you found this morning.’

‘Exactly. When he’s grown—if he survives, of course—I’ll try to release him, but who knows if he’ll go.’

She watched as he shrugged off his jacket in the heat before crouching down to get on the level of the kangaroos. Softly he stroked one after another, murmuring greetings and apologising for his long absence. The animals were larger than she’d imagined when she had first heard of the strange lolloping creatures that were native to Australia. The biggest of the three came up to her shoulder in height and had a rotund belly and large feet protruding out underneath it. They seemed friendly enough, but Alice hesitated in reaching out and stroking one—she’d never been very good with animals.

‘Try it,’ Mr Fitzgerald said, taking her hand gently and placing it on the kangaroos fur. ‘Hetty here is the gentlest creature in the world.’

‘Don’t,’ she hissed, pulling her hand out of his. He backed away slightly, but didn’t reprimand her or try to force the issue.

Alice felt as though her whole body was stiff and on edge, her instincts telling her to run, to get out of arm’s reach at the very least.

‘I think Hetty likes you,’ Mr Fitzgerald murmured.

Slowly Alice felt herself relax as the kangaroo cocked her head to one side and watched her out of big brown eyes. Tentatively she reached out a hand and placed it on the animal’s back. The fur was soft but short, more like a donkey or a horse to stroke than a dog, but as she stood there petting the animal Alice felt a peculiar peace come over her. A peace she hadn’t felt for a long time.

‘Shall we check on the little one we found earlier?’ Mr Fitzgerald asked as the kangaroos hopped off to find some shade.

It was a strange offer, but she was fast learning Mr Fitzgerald was a strange man. By rights they should be worlds apart, he a wealthy and respectable landowner and she a convict worker, but he spoke to her as though she was a house guest rather than a maid. She could understand it more if he’d come from the same beginnings, but unlike a lot of men who owned land in Australia Mr Fitzgerald wasn’t an ex-convict, he hadn’t ever lived the life she lived. It made his compassion even more perplexing.

Don’t be a fool, she told herself silently. It wasn’t compassion. It wasn’t anything more than trying to gain her trust.

She watched as he vaulted back over the fence, noticing not for the first time the strength in his arms and the chiselled contours of the muscles of his torso. Mr Fitzgerald was an attractive man, the sort of man she would have once lost her head over.

‘Come on,’ he said, looking back over his shoulder with a wide smile, the sun glinting off his bright blue eyes and making the neat-trimmed beard on his face appear golden.

This time he waited on the other side of the fence, standing back to allow her to climb over herself. Alice winced in pain as the skin on her back stretched and immediately he stepped forward, but one pointed glare was enough to stop him from touching her.

Leading the way back to the kitchen, he softened his steps as they crossed the threshold. Alice hadn’t noticed the small bundle in the corner on her way out, but now they crossed quietly over to it.

‘Looks peaceful, doesn’t he?’ Mr Fitzgerald said, crouching down and motioning for her to join him.

‘Will he live?’ Alice asked as she tentatively reached out a hand to stroke the soft brown fur.

‘I think so. He looks about five months old, so not so young he can’t survive without his mother. Hopefully with a little milk and a few days to adjust he’ll start to thrive soon.’

The little kangaroo looked up at her with blinking eyes and Alice felt a rush of affection for the animal. They’d both been saved this morning.

Carefully Mr Fitzgerald reached down and scooped the young joey into his arms and held him out for her to hold.

‘He won’t bite.’

Alice still hesitated.

‘He’s lost his mother. A little affection will go a long way.’

Placing the bundle in her arms, Mr Fitzgerald took a step back and Alice found herself wondering why this man in front of her didn’t have a wife and a brood of children. Looking down at the kangaroo in her arms, she felt a tug of regret at the loss of her own family. Not for Bill, the good-for-nothing scoundrel who had led her into trouble in London, but for her parents and her sisters. People who she would probably never see again.

‘Have the gentlemen, your friends, left?’ she asked, grasping for a subject of conversation to distract herself from her maudlin thoughts.

‘They have, although I’m sure I will see them again before the week is out.’

‘You seemed very close,’ she murmured, knowing she was being presumptuous, but Mr Fitzgerald’s easy manner was hard not to emulate.

‘They’re like the brothers I never had. Friendship is a wonderful thing...’ He paused, looking at her in that perceptive way of his. ‘I’m sure you’ve found that during your time in Australia.’

Alice looked away, blinking to try to disguise the tears in her eyes. There should have been comradeship between the female convicts, but it just wasn’t the case. Many of them had suffered atrociously on the transport ship and as soon as they’d arrived had set about looking for a man to protect them. Alice hadn’t wanted that and that had made her stand apart from the rest of the women.

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘It hasn’t been like that.’

He regarded her for a moment and not for the first time Alice felt as though he was seeing past the hard exterior she projected to the world. The thought made her uncomfortable.

‘I should go and see if Mrs Peterson needs any help,’ she said quickly, rising to her feet and placing the baby kangaroo back in Mr Fitzgerald’s arms.

Hurrying off, she chided herself for being a coward. It was herself she was running from, the strange urge she had to relax, to allow herself to let down her guard when she was with Mr Fitzgerald. She didn’t know if it was the cheerful smile, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes or the kindness he’d shown her, but something made her heart beat faster whenever he accidentally brushed against her, even though his interest was the last thing she wanted. Shaking her head, she tried to put him out of her mind. She would do better to remember the trouble men had brought her in the past and continue in her mistrust, even if Mr Fitzgerald was relentlessly kind.

Chapter Five

‘If you don’t hold your tongue, I will come over there and give you a thrashing, open wounds or no.’ Mrs Peterson’s irate voice rang through the house, causing George to pause and put down the papers he was reading. It had been almost a week since he’d returned home, a week since Alice had first stepped over the threshold into the farmhouse, and it had been far from the most peaceful week of his life.

He listened for Alice’s reply, hearing a low murmur, but not the words.

‘I’ve never heard such vile rudeness.’ Mrs Peterson’s voice rose again and with a groan George hauled himself to his feet. There was at least one altercation a day between Alice and his housekeeper. And even in between the sharp words there were long periods of sharp silence.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asked, striding into the kitchen.

‘She has got to go,’ Mrs Peterson said, crossing her arms in front of her chest and breathing heavily.

‘I’d be delighted to,’ Alice said, flashing a look that contained a challenge in his direction.

‘No one is going anywhere. Alice, join me in my study, please. Mrs Peterson...’ He looked at his fuming housekeeper and gave her his most winning smile. ‘Whatever you’ve got cooking smells delicious.’ It was the truth—wafts of spices and fruit, mixed with the unmistakable smell of gingerbread baking, took him back to the Christmases of his youth.

George turned, not waiting to see if Alice followed, and made his way back into his study, sitting down heavily in the comfortable leather-lined chair behind his desk.

‘Sit,’ he said, motioning to a chair facing him.

Alice sat, looking defiant.

‘I really don’t know how you do it,’ he said quietly. ‘Mrs Peterson can be a bit prickly, but I’ve never actually seen her angry before.’

Alice shrugged, a non-committal gesture that hid a world of pain.

‘I know what you’re doing.’

Her eyes darted up to meet his.

‘You think if you make a nuisance of yourself I’ll send you back to Sydney. The thing I can’t understand is why. It’s comfortable here, the work is easier than the laundry, you’re safe and you’re not under the direct scrutiny of the guards the whole time. Surely here is better than where you were?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Alice said, her voice emotionless.

‘Is there something you’re missing in Sydney? Or someone, perhaps?’

‘No.’ The denial was hard and fast and George was inclined to believe it.

‘I want you to be comfortable here, Alice.’

‘Why?’

‘Because everyone deserves a little humanity and I think you’ve experienced barely any at all these last couple of years.’

‘No one does something for nothing.’

He looked at her, feeling regret that such a young woman had been brought down to feel this way. Once Alice would have been trusting and content with the world—her attitude now was a testament to the suffering she had endured.

‘Let’s make an agreement,’ he said, waiting for her to look up to continue. ‘Give it one month. If you’re still not happy here in one month, then you can return to whatever post they will give you in Sydney. I’ll arrange it. I give you my word.’

She eyed him suspiciously.

‘The only thing I ask for is that you give life out here a chance. You look for the positives, stop riling Mrs Peterson and see if this is somewhere you would like to spend the last few years of your sentence.’

‘And if I decide not to stay, you’ll let me go?’ Alice asked.

‘On my honour.’

She sat thinking for a moment, then nodded. He even saw a hint of a smile under the prickly façade.

‘This is your home, at least for the next month, and if you decide you want to stay for a couple of years, I want you to be comfortable. And I want you to stop provoking Mrs Peterson. Can you do that?’

‘I can try.’

Pulling on the soft leather, George changed his boots for the pair he used when out riding the vast distances around his farms. It felt good to be home and he was eager to get out and continue reacquainting himself with the land he loved so much.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the swish of material as Alice padded silently around the house. He could tell she felt awkward, unsure of her position, but he hoped in a couple of days Mrs Peterson would have found her some work she could take charge of and make her own. There had been an uneasy truce between Alice and Mrs Peterson the last couple of days since he had taken Alice into his study and made the agreement that she would make an effort to see Mountain View Farm as her home for the month before they decided on the longer-term plan.

It felt strange to have another person in the house. For a long while before his trip to England it had been just him and the Petersons and it was odd to wake up and find someone else walking through the otherwise empty halls.

Throughout his childhood his parents had always had at least a few convict workers doing the manual work in the fields alongside the regular workers and the free-men they hired seasonally as the demands of the farm increased. Only once had they had a female convict worker. With a frown George put that memory from mind. He wasn’t his father, he wasn’t the same man and he didn’t have to make the same mistakes.

His parents had enjoyed living a life without too many servants, just a housekeeper and a cook and a maid, and he had happily survived with just the Petersons for the past eight years.

Still, Alice was here now and hopefully before long she would have slotted into life at Mountain View Farm.

As he stood up he saw Alice come walking out of his study with a book open and her eyes skimming over the words. For a second he felt his breath catch in his chest. Today for the first time she was dressed in a dress that more or less fit her. The light blue cotton clung to the curves of her chest and waist before skimming out over her hips into a full skirt. It accentuated her figure and George felt the first stirrings of desire. A very inappropriate desire.

His eyes travelled upwards to the neat curls of her hair. The past week her hair had remained the untamed frizz it had been whipped into after the bath in the tavern in Sydney, which had been followed by a long and dusty cart ride to the farm. She must have begged a bath from Mrs Peterson the night before and the results were astounding. Today her hair looked like spun gold with just a hint of red, smooth waves that fell way past her shoulders.

She looked up, surprise registering in her sparkling blue eyes, and then gave him a tentative smile.

George felt as though he’d been punched in the gut and struggled to make his voice sound normal as he greeted her.

‘Good morning, Alice,’ he said, wondering where the scruffy convict he’d rescued over a week ago had gone.

‘Good morning, Mr Fitzgerald,’ she said, hesitating a moment and then dipping into a little curtsy. Her manner was still often skittish and fearful, but over the past few days a lot of the anger she’d had when she had first arrived had ebbed away. ‘I hope you don’t mind, sir, but Mrs Peterson said I could borrow a book or two.’

‘Of course. No point the books gathering dust when someone wants to read them.’

He glanced at the cover of the book, expecting to see one of his mother’s awful adventure stories, but instead was surprised to find a book about botany in her hands. She was clasping it to her chest and unwittingly George’s eyes travelled from the rough leather of the book to the rather smoother skin that peeked out above the neckline of her dress.

Get a hold of yourself, he silently chastised himself. He was being exactly the lecherous sort of man Alice had been afraid of. Exactly the sort of man he had always vowed never to be.