A cold April sun streamed through the bedroom window. Belle idly rubbed her belly, once again big with child. Why did she have to be so damned fertile? Why couldn’t she be like Whisky? Six years of running with Eddie’s Arabian stallion and her palomino mare had only produced one foal. Belle wished she knew Whisky’s secret. After six years of marriage, she was soon to give birth to her third baby. She loved her children, of course she did, but Belle wanted more from life than being a mother.
Eddie was thrilled, of course. He saw six-year-old Robbie and three-year-old Clara as just the beginning of the big family he wanted so badly. Belle smiled when she thought of Clara. Such a bright little thing, and the apple of her grandparents’ eye. Daniel was always calling by to steal her and whisk her away to Binburra.
Eddie didn’t seem to mind. He knew Clara had a special relationship with her grandfather and loved their visits. It would be different, Belle knew, if Daniel had wanted to borrow Robbie. Eddie was completely devoted to that little boy and didn’t like sharing. Not even, it sometimes seemed, with his own wife.
Sarah finished filling the tub in the adjoining bathroom. Belle pulled off her lace nightgown, slipped in and closed her eyes. The scented water was deep enough to float a little. Deep enough to lift the weight from her weary bones. She almost felt like a girl again. Her mind floated too, drifting back. Back to a fern-fringed mountain pool, ringing with birdsong. To a shining waterfall, fresh with snowmelt. To Luke’s strong arms round her waist, as they made love in the shallows. To whispered words of love. Her body responded to the memory, as it always did.
Belle sat up with a guilty jolt. She was trying to make this marriage work, she really was, and she did love Eddie in a way. How he would hate to hear that qualification. Just as well he couldn’t read her mind.
Edward was a good man. He’d never once thrown the circumstances of their wedding in her face. He was caring and respectful. A wonderful father, accepting Luke’s child as his own in spite of everything.
Robbie was different from other boys his age. Belle hadn’t noticed at first, having no other children to compare him with. But since Clara, she knew. Robbie had been slow to walk and slow to talk, and he still wasn’t good at dressing himself. He tantrummed like a two-year-old. He spent endless hours marching battalions of toy soldiers and ships into war. He preferred playing alone, although sometimes Clara was allowed to join in, on his terms. He knew the rank of each little metal figure, the dates of each English battle, and could replicate those battle plans in elaborate detail. Yet when Belle brushed his hair or read him stories, he remained unengaged, in another world. It made him difficult to love.
After Belle’s second child, she’d tearfully spoken to her mother. ‘What’s wrong with me, Mama? Why don’t I love Robbie like I do Clara?’
Elizabeth soothed and reassured her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, darling, and it’s not a competition. I blame Edward. Snatching Robbie away to a wet nurse like that, preventing you from properly bonding with your baby. It was sad for you both. And that terrible birth, the cord around his neck . . . It affected Robbie, made life harder for him than for other children.’
‘If I were a proper mother, that would make me love him more.’
Elizabeth hugged her tight, like she had when Belle was little. ‘There’s no right or wrong way to love, Belle. Don’t be so hard on yourself. That little boy is very lucky to have you.’
Maybe. Luckier, perhaps, to have Edward. With him, there was no holding back. That man loved Robbie with every fibre of his heart, loved him with a fierceness that put Belle’s imperfect affection to shame. He spent every moment he could with the boy. Tolerating his tantrums. Teaching him how to ride a bicycle, make slingshots and play marbles. He took Robbie to the mine to see what gold-bearing ore looked like. He took him to the wool sales to see the difference between a Corriedale and a Merino fleece. He took him to the sawmill to see raw logs turned into timber. Robbie was his father’s shadow. Perhaps she should make a greater effort with her son before this new baby stole away her time.
Belle climbed from the tub with a soft sigh, and wrapped herself in a robe. The water was growing cold and there was an oily slick on its surface. She couldn’t relax anyway. Too much tangled thinking.
Sarah came in with Belle’s clothes, looking more worried than usual. ‘You’re out of your bath already, ma’am. Is there something wrong?’
‘Why do you always imagine there’s something wrong? It makes me cross.’
Sarah’s face crumpled, and she made a clumsy curtsey. ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am.’ She looked as if she were going to cry.
‘And stop apologising all the time.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am . . . Should I help you dress?’
‘For God’s sake, Sarah, I’m not helpless.’
Another curtsey. ‘No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.’ Sarah put the clothes down and fled the room.
Belle sat on the bed, feeling a little ashamed. Why had she spoken so harshly? The girl always seemed half-terrified of her as it was. Belle didn’t like the person she became around Sarah. The truth was that she blamed poor Sarah for not being Millie. She wanted to be called ‘Miss Belle’ again. She wanted to laugh and joke. She missed Millie’s smile, her funny comments, her cheeky disrespect. She missed Millie’s friendship.
Staff weren’t friends at Canterbury Downs. At Binburra, they’d been part of the family. Not here. Here they knew their place. A yawning divide existed between them and the Abbotts. Belle hated it. Sometimes she saw the servants looking at her with a veiled hostility.
Sarah’s tentative knock came at the door. ‘Miss Clara wants to see you.’
The little girl ran in, clutching her favourite panda toy. She leapt onto Belle’s lap, tipping her backwards onto the bed.
‘Mind your mother, Miss Clara.’
‘It’s all right, Sarah,’ said Belle, her tone kinder now. ‘I’m just having a little lie down.’ She shut her eyes.
Clara burst out giggling and shook her. ‘Mama . . . wake up. Wake up! You shouldn’t be in bed. You should be dressed, it’s lunchtime.’
Belle opened her eyes and shushed her daughter with a finger to her lips. ‘I can’t get up,’ she whispered. ‘The baby’s asleep.’
Clara’s eyes widened and she put her ear to Belle’s stomach. ‘I can hear it snoring.’
It was Belle’s turn to laugh. She pulled Clara in for a hug, breathing in her sweet smell, finger-combing her shiny chestnut hair. It was getting so long, long enough to plait.
Clara began jumping on the bed. ‘I’m all packed, Mama.’
Packed? Of course. Clara was off to Binburra after lunch.
‘Knock, knock?’ Edward pushed in the door. ‘Can we join you or is this party just for girls?’ Robbie followed him into the room – a handsome, fair-haired boy, with Luke’s melting brown eyes. He clutched a tin soldier in his hand.
Clara squealed with delight. ‘Papa.’ She bounced off the bed into her father’s arms.
‘How are my two best girls doing?’ Edward kissed Clara and then his wife.
Belle called her son onto the bed, but he stayed by his father. ‘Robbie, Clara is going to Grandma’s house. How about we spend this afternoon together? Just the two of us? We can do whatever you —’
‘Robbie’s coming with me to the sheep sales today,’ said Edward. ‘We’re going to buy some new rams, aren’t we, son?’
Belle glared at her husband, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘Maybe Robbie doesn’t want to go look at a lot of smelly sheep,’ she said. ‘Maybe he’d rather spend some time with his mother.’
‘Smelly sheep? We’re talking about top stud rams. They’ll have been primped and preened within an inch of their lives. I probably smell worse than they do.’
Clara burst into giggles. Even Robbie managed a smile.
Belle couldn’t see the funny side. ‘Come here, Robbie.’ He jammed his hands into his pockets. Belle went over and knelt down awkwardly beside him on the carpet.
‘Careful,’ said Edward.
Belle waved his concern away. ‘Robbie, darling, stay with me. We’ll have lots of fun.’
His father put an affectionate hand on the little boy’s shoulder. ‘You’re spoilt for choice today, son. What will it be?’
Robbie slipped his hand into Edward’s. ‘Papa’s buying me my own ram.’
That was cheating. Why couldn’t she have Robbie for one bloody afternoon? It was ridiculous, the way her husband monopolised him. To think she’d been worried he might not accept another man’s son.
‘All right, Robbie,’ said Belle as Edward helped her to her feet. ‘I’ll come to the sales too. You can tell me all about those rams.’
Robbie’s face lit up. ‘We’re buying Saxon Merinos, Mama. They grow extra fine, soft wool.’ He stepped out from behind Edward and went to his mother. She reached out and stroked his hair. ‘Papa wants some Lincoln and Southdown ewes too.’
‘Does he?’ said Belle, well-pleased with the compromise she’d proposed. ‘That’s settled then.’
Edward frowned. ‘What would people think of me dragging my pregnant wife around a muddy sales ground?’
‘Who gives a hoot what people think?’
‘Sorry, Belle, I’m afraid I can’t allow it.’
‘You can’t allow it?’ Her voice rose a notch. Robbie edged away from his mother. ‘Since when do I need your permission?’ Eddie had never spoken to her in such a way before.
‘That came out all wrong.’ Edward’s tone softened to one of careful contrition. ‘What I meant was that I’m not comfortable jolting you about on those rough roads. It’s up to you, of course, but with only a few weeks to go I wish you’d stay home and rest.’
A wave of weariness washed over her. She was tired. Tired of being pregnant. Tired of living in this stuffy house. Tired of her lingering grief at Luke’s death. She started to cry, quietly at first, then in great, heaving sobs.
Robbie bolted from the room. Clara’s face creased with concern. She rushed to Belle and wrapped chubby arms around her as far as they would reach. ‘Please don’t cry, Mama. It makes me sad.’
Edward guided Belle over to the bed and gently sat her down. Then he kissed his daughter. ‘It makes me sad too, honey. What can we do to cheer Mama up?’
‘I know.’ The little girl put Panda in Belle’s lap. Clara adored that toy, despite it being threadbare and with stuffing coming out. Nobody could ever prise it away for long enough to mend it. ‘You keep Panda while I’m at Grandma’s,’ she said solemnly. ‘So you won’t be lonely.’
Belle’s tears subsided. She and Edward exchanged proud glances. What a special, loving, generous daughter they were blessed with.
‘That’s a lovely idea, Clara, but I think you’d better take her with you. Panda might find it hard to sleep without you.’
Clara hugged Panda tight, clearly relieved that her mother had not taken up the offer.
Edward took Belle’s hand. ‘See how very loved you are?’
‘Why don’t you two get on with things and let me rest. Ask Sarah to get my novel from the parlour. The Jungle Book, on the table by the window. And tell her not to lose my place.’
‘I’ll get it for you myself,’ said Edward as the dogs began barking. ‘That will be Grandpa wanting his princess. Kiss Mama goodbye.’ He hoisted Clara onto his shoulders and they left the room, smiling and blowing kisses.
At least they were happy. Belle herself remained on the edge of tears. She padded to the window and watched her father climb down from the seat of the brougham. Her favourite carriage had been repainted a lovely claret colour, and she didn’t recognise the in-hand pair of matched bays drawing it. With a wrench, she realised Papa must have bought them without consulting her. There was a time, not so long ago, when he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing such a thing. Buying horses had always been a family affair. Belle loved the excitement of visiting stables, trialling new teams, comparing and researching pedigrees. Loved having the final say, as she invariably did.
Not any more. Papa loaded Clara’s case, and then Clara herself into the elegant little coach. His princess. They looked up at her window and waved. Belle’s heart lurched with loneliness – and something more, something shameful. Envy. Envy of her own daughter. What was wrong with her?
She hadn’t paid much attention when her mother said marriage wasn’t enough. When she said a woman needed to fill her life with something more meaningful than domesticity. That’s why Mama had started the school at the mining camp. How often, as a girl, had Belle teased her? ‘You want to appear charitable, Mama. That is your goal.’ Since Belle had started her own family, she’d regretted those unkind words. Where would the poor of Hills End be without that school? It had grown from half-a-dozen children in an old miner’s cottage to over fifty pupils in a building designed for the purpose.
Well-loved by the townsfolk, the school not only offered an affordable education, but also held evening classes for women on subjects such as childbirth, health and hygiene. Belle was no longer a carefree, thoughtless girl. She understood the importance of these things. Perhaps, when the baby was born, she would volunteer there. It would please Mama and be an escape from the tedium of Canterbury Downs.
The matched pair took off for Binburra at a spanking trot. Eddie’s phaeton swung into the driveway and drew to a halt at the front door. He emerged from under the bluestone verandah. Robbie followed close behind him, clutching a small leather case, which contained the sheep stud books. They climbed in and drove away.
Belle arched her aching spine. Another empty afternoon stretched before her. What was the point of even getting dressed? She climbed under the covers, eager to dive into her Indian jungle adventure. Belle made herself comfortable, and looked across at the bedside table. Eddie had forgotten to bring up her book.