The Bushranger's Wife Read online

  The only change in the bushranger’s cheery disposition had been when her grandmother had torn her locket from her throat to hand to him. She lifted a hand to stroke the delicate skin that still burned. She had no doubt she would have a red mark, but it hurt more that Gran could so easily hand over her most precious keepsake.

  Jack the Devil’s eyes had hardened then, and she’d seen the first signs of a man to be reckoned with. He had not been pleased with the vicious way in which her grandmother had treated her, but he had taken the locket just the same, and that broke her heart.

  She cared nothing for the mother-of-pearl combs or her grandmother’s earrings he’d taken. They were all replaceable.

  Her locket was not.

  It had belonged to her mother.

  Gran had been all too happy to hand over the necklace. She had no sentimental connection to it, or to her only daughter. As far as she was concerned, Olivia Stanforth had never existed.

  When he had requested the locket, any fear she may have felt throughout the robbery was quickly replaced by her desperation to keep it. Her sudden argumentative nature had done nothing more than amuse him at first, but when he’d removed the comb from her hair, he had looked at her with the strangest expression. She’d held her breath as his hand swept lightly, gently through the hair that fell across her cheek. His eyes had darkened, closer to whiskey than honey, and the sparkle had turned to another type of mischief.

  Prudence may not have had a lot of experience with men, but she certainly knew how a man looked when he saw something he liked. He had said her virtue was safe with him, but when she saw the heat that flashed in his eyes as he stared at her, she had to wonder whether he was telling the truth.

  The clang and shudder of the carriage moving across a cattle grate snapped her out of her wayward thoughts. They had arrived at Carrington Estate.

  Poking her head out of the window, she was surprised to see bright green lawn lining the dirt drive. It was in stark contrast to the dry, brown countryside they had travelled through to get here. Everything she’d read about Australia spoke of the terrible drought gripping the colony, and she had certainly not expected to see such well-maintained gardens as those that greeted them. Clearly water was not a problem on Carrington Manor Estate.

  She leaned further out to get a better look at the homestead and gasped audibly. The house was enormous. Not even a house. It was a mansion. Carrington Manor stood three storeys tall with a wide frontage and no conjoined buildings—unless you counted the servants’ quarters, which skirted the side of the house. A wide veranda ran the length of the frontage and wrapped around the entire house.

  Their home in London had been one of the largest and finest estates in the city. When Grandad George died in 1847, her Uncle Charles inherited the title of Earl of Carrington. Prudence and her grandmother stayed on at Carrington Hall in London, but not happy about living in his brother’s shadow, Robert decided to take his young wife and start a new life in Australia.

  Shortly after Uncle Robert and Aunt Alicia emigrated to the new colony of Victoria, Prudence overheard a heated discussion between her gran and Uncle Charles. Apparently, Uncle Robert had settled in Ballarat, having been caught up in the gold rush of 1851. He’d sunk a mine in hopes of finding gold and had struck it rich.

  Prudence remembered being fascinated by the stories that had come out of the Victorian goldfields. Gold in abundance, a lawless land, bushrangers and the terrible and fatal incident at the Eureka Stockade all made exciting reading for a teenaged girl, stifled by heritage and breeding. She would squirrel away the newspapers so that she might read all the gory details without Gran finding out.

  The carriage came to a halt in front of the main entrance and a servant dressed in black trousers and a white jacket moved quickly to open the door. Deidre stepped out and Prudence followed, still staring with stunned admiration at the great house before her.

  Robert had already been well taken care of thanks to his inheritance on his father’s death. Striking gold added a new level of wealth, and he and Alicia had built Carrington Manor from the ground up. Over the last decade, Robert had created one of the most revered and prominent horse studs in the colony, raising horses for the prestigious Victorian racing circuit.

  ‘Welcome to Carrington Manor!’

  Prudence spun at the call to see Uncle Robert and Aunt Alicia sweep out of the double doors of the house and onto the veranda with great welcoming fanfare.

  ‘Mother,’ Robert said and moved to buss her cheek. ‘You’re looking well.’

  ‘Robert.’

  ‘Prudence,’ he said, examining her as though she might have stayed twelve years old forever. ‘Haven’t you grown into a beauty?’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Robert.’

  ‘You’ll have all the men in the district vying for your hand.’

  Pru blushed. Not from the compliment, but out of embarrassment. She hoped she’d have some time as a free woman to explore her new country, before she was sold off to the highest bidder as a wife and baby maker.

  Thankfully, Robert turned back to Deidre and the conversation moved on. ‘How was your journey?’

  ‘Dreadful,’ Deidre grumbled. ‘The seas were rough, the train was slow and just now we were robbed on the road from Geelong.’

  ‘Robbed?’ Alicia asked, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

  ‘Highwaymen,’ Prudence added.

  ‘Good gracious,’ Alicia said. Her aunt was a mousy little thing. Pretty in a plain sort of way, her skin was still pale and translucent, as though she never left the house to enjoy the warmth of the Australian sun. And when she hugged her with arms so thin, Prudence thought she might snap. ‘Did they hurt you?’

  ‘What did they take?’ Robert asked, talking over his wife.

  In contrast to Alicia, Robert was tall and broad, taking after Grandpa George. He was in excellent shape for a man heading into his fifties. His love of working with the horses in the outdoors no doubt a contributing factor. With thick dark hair that had only a touch of grey, and his skin showing a healthy-looking tan, the Australian lifestyle obviously agreed with him.

  ‘I’m not certain what they took,’ Deidre snapped. ‘I was too busy being held at gunpoint to ask.’

  ‘Well, please, come inside out of the heat,’ Alicia offered. ‘The servants will bring the luggage.’

  Prudence followed her family into the house and landed in a large foyer with parquet flooring that was polished to such a shine she had delicious visions of slipping off her shoes and sliding across it in her stocking feet.

  The trunks were unloaded and brought into the foyer where Robert and his men took stock of the belongings to gauge what had been taken.

  ‘The silver is missing,’ Deidre noted. ‘And my jewellery box.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Prudence agreed, digging through her own trunk. She didn’t particularly care about the baubles in her jewellery box, but the box itself had been an intricate wooden chest carved with African animals. Grandad had brought it back for her after one of his visits to the African colonies and she had adored it.

  ‘Wretched bushrangers,’ Robert said. ‘It’s no wonder they’ve started hanging the devils.’

  Prudence stared wide-eyed at Robert’s use of the word devil. Jack the Devil. Had he heard of him?

  Alicia gasped. Perhaps mistaking Prudence’s response as panic. ‘Robert, please.’

  ‘Apologies, Prudence, Mother.’

  ‘It’s quite alright, Robert,’ Deidre responded. ‘Hanging is too good for them. They should not be allowed to go on frightening and harassing good people.’

  ‘How perfectly terrifying for you,’ Alicia put in again. ‘And you, Prudence, were you frightened?’

  ‘A little,’ Prudence lied. ‘He took my locket.’

  ‘Oh forget about that paltry thing,’ Deidre chastised. ‘We’ve lost more important things. All of my pearls and gemstones, gifts from George from his many travels abroad. The silver was my mother’s.�
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  ‘Positively dreadful,’ Alicia agreed. ‘Cook has tea and scones in the drawing room. No one bakes like Camilla. She’s a marvel in the kitchen.’ Alicia directed them to a large drawing room. As they entered, Robert walked to a large writing desk in the corner.

  ‘I’ll inform the local constabulary,’ he said and sat down to write the letter.

  Alicia and Deidre sat on the sofas as a servant poured the tea. Prudence wandered the large space, stretching her legs after the long journey and trying to rein in her temper. She was irritable from the long trip but more annoyed at Gran’s dismissal once again at the loss of her locket. A few moments later Robert called to his butler.

  ‘Gerald,’ Robert said, handing the man the sealed note. ‘Have young Master Hugh ride out to the constabulary in Ballan with this note for the Sergeant. Then please ensure the luggage is delivered to Miss Prudence’s and Lady Carrington’s suites.’

  ‘At once, sir.’ Gerald took the note and disappeared from the room.

  ‘I have set aside the eastern wing suites on the first floor for you, Mother,’ Robert said, taking a seat beside his wife and lifting his teacup. ‘And Prudence you will have rooms in the western wing on the second level. I trust the stairs will not be an issue for you.’

  ‘Not at all, Uncle. Thank you,’ Prudence said with a smile. She was thrilled to have almost an entire floor to herself.

  ‘I see you took my advice and built this drawing room north facing,’ Deidre said.

  ‘Of course, Mother,’ Robert said. ‘It was good advice. The sun warms it nicely in winter.’

  ‘Saves on heating costs.’

  ‘It does indeed.’

  They shared tea and scones and once finished, Prudence figured there’d been enough time for the butler to unpack her things into her suite.

  ‘May I be excused?’ she asked standing. ‘I’m a little weary from the trip and could perhaps benefit from a lie-down before dinner.’

  Deidre waved her hand dismissively. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Get settled, niece,’ Robert said, standing to kiss her cheeks. ‘Dinner is at seven.’

  Prudence smiled politely and left the room. She wasn’t tired, just bored. She wanted to explore this giant mansion that was now to be her home.

  She took her time climbing the red-carpeted grand staircase that led from the foyer to the first level. The ceiling rose high above her, with its intricate stained glass domed window speckling sunshine down on her in a rainbow of light.

  Reaching the first floor landing, the long hallways had the same plush red carpet as the staircase, but with the Carrington coat of arms pride of place in the centre. To the east would be her grandmother’s rooms, to the west must be the family apartments. Looking out a nearby window, she gained her bearings and headed west, walking slowly along the hallway, their cream coloured walls dotted with art—family portraits showing years of Stanforth nobility. Turning a corner, she found a less grand staircase and headed up to the second level where she would find her rooms.

  She opened the first door she came to and found a comfortable sitting room. Peeking into the room and through another open door, she spotted her luggage. Walking slowly through the sitting room she gazed with an open mouth at the exquisite furnishings, before stepping into the bedroom where she saw her trunk sitting in the corner of the room.

  She stopped and stared, amazed at the luxurious suite. Her room in London had been elegant and comfortable. This was palatial in comparison. Much too large for one person.

  In the centre of the room against the far wall stood a large, four-poster double bed. She’d only ever had a single bed in London; she smiled, suddenly feeling very grown up. This was not a child’s room but that meant for a woman. The bright cherry wood gleamed on the bedposts that rose up to a canopy. Gauze netting was hooked around the sides, ready to be dropped at night to keep the bugs out. She had heard the size and volume of flies and mosquitos were unimaginable here in the colonies.

  Moving to the window, she gazed out over the gardens of the property. Exhaling a breath, the tension of the day left her body. Her rooms faced west and she was thrilled that she would be able to see the immense Australian sun as it lowered over the distant hills.

  Sailing from England, she had formed a habit of watching the sun set every night over foreign lands and wide expanses of ocean. As they had ventured further south, the sun seemed to grow larger and larger as they left the winter behind.

  To the right, she could also see the stables. Not your average wooden stables but an almost brand new, robust, stone building with an iron roof. It seemed Uncle Robert’s horses were as well housed as she would be.

  Relaxed and contented, she smiled and, by habit, reached a hand up to grasp her locket. Her smile faded. It was gone. Gone for good. The only real connection she’d had with the mother she had never known had been taken from her.

  She shook herself. It was just a thing. She needed to get past it and look forward.

  There’s no point to looking behind or you will miss what’s in front of you, she heard Grandad’s voice in her head. She’d loved him like a father. Because that’s what he’d been to her. The only father she’d ever known. He had doled out cuddles and presents without restraint and she’d missed him terribly since he’d died, only a few days before her tenth birthday. Her real father had never been mentioned. At least not to her. She assumed they didn’t discuss him or her mother because it was too painful for them to talk about. Only when she begged her gran to tell her how they died did she discover they’d been killed in a fire in Cornwall. And that was when she had come to live with them. On her sixteenth birthday, Grandmother had given her the locket and, while it was hard to mourn a woman she’d never met, she had cherished the link with her mother.

  And just as her grandmother had given it to her, she’d given it away to a bushranger without so much as a second thought.

  She loved her grandmother but the woman could be stifling sometimes. She didn’t have the same easy ability as her husband to show affection to those she loved. Prudence hadn’t wanted to be cooped up in drawing rooms playing piano, or painting. She longed for adventure. Adventure like she had read in her books. But she had been the dutiful granddaughter and taken her lessons with grace and poise.

  She had never been alone. Not truly alone in her entire life. In London, if she had tried to go anywhere without a chaperone, even for just a walk down the street, her grandmother would hear about it before she’d taken ten steps. Too many people knew the Stanforths and all wanted to stay on the good side of Lady Deidre.

  Ladies do not go out unaccompanied her grandmother would say.

  But here in this new land so far from town no one knew her, and she wanted some freedom to explore without her grandmother constantly breathing down her neck. And if she had that space maybe she would meet a man. A man suitable for her grandmother, of course. She had no delusions that she would be allowed to make that decision for herself. And she knew that making a good marriage had been her grandmother’s priority ever since Prudence had turned eighteen.

  Despite what she read in her novels, she wasn’t romantic enough to believe that people actually married for love. At least, women didn’t get that luxury. Should a man take a fancy to her—and be agreeable to her grandmother—he would make his case and she would have no say in the matter. It was something she had resigned herself to years ago. It wouldn’t hurt if he was a handsome fellow, but above all she hoped that he would not be a silly man. She hoped he would be a man who read, a man who enjoyed the works of Shakespeare and Keats. It would be even better if he liked that she read. For who wanted a silly wife after all? And her love for books was a huge part of who she was. A man who did not understand that would not understand her.

  Currently, the author she was obsessed with was Alexandre Dumas. Oh, how she loved The Three Musketeers. It was her favourite novel above all the others. She loved stories of adventure and travel, duels and swordfights, intrigue and betr
ayal.

  She sighed as she watched horses being led in and out of the stables for their evening exercise. She had only just begun a journey of her own. So why did she still feel bound and tied to the same lifestyle she had left behind in London?

  Determined to shake the melancholy that threatened to descend, she decided to go for a walk to stretch her legs. She went back downstairs and out the rear entrance of the house to the gardens. Three gardeners worked diligently, sculpting the hedges along the pathway. With three yardsmen, no wonder the grounds were so immaculate. Looking back at the house to ensure her grandmother couldn’t see her from the drawing room, she moved quickly towards the stables.

  Stablehands nodded and said a polite hello as she passed by them and entered the huge building. The familiar smells and coolness of the stables hit her at once. The soothing scent of horses and hay. Sidestepping a fresh deposit of manure, she walked slowly along the stalls, marvelling at the horses until she came to a pretty chestnut Arabian. The horse snorted and tossed its head over the gate, just begging for attention.

  ‘Well, hello to you too, beautiful,’ she said, leaning over to stroke the horse’s nose.

  ‘Hello yourself.’

  She jolted back at the voice.

  A man stood upright and grinned at her. He’d clearly been checking the horse’s feet and she hadn’t seen him.

  An older man, in his late thirties maybe, with jet black hair cut close to his head, he was unshaven, but not scruffy looking for it.

  She looked warily from man to horse.

  ‘She won’t bite,’ he said, a strong American drawl rolling through his words. ‘Neither will I.’

  Prudence chuckled and held out her hand to stroke the horse’s cheek again.