An Unconventional Heiress. Paula Marshall
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the sea, where the trees and bushes behind her offered her a little shade. She loosened the fichu around her neck, and since she was alone, she lifted her skirts to calf length in order to enjoy the breeze which came off the sea.
The scene before her came to life on the paper, and Sarah entered the almost trance-like state that accompanied her practice of the art she loved best in the world. So it was, she later understood, that she did not see or hear the arrival on this idyllic scene of what was to spoil it for her forever, so that she could never again pass it without a shudder.
Her first intimation of danger came with a foul smell accompanied by a low laugh. Startled, she half-turned to see that behind her had crept up a Caliban-like figure, half-naked, half-dressed like a scarecrow in a parody of a gentleman of fashion. He held a black bottle in his hand from which he drank as he staggered towards her. A final grotesque touch was a battered beaver hat which he wore on his filthy curls.
His pleasure on seeing her was unfeigned, but when he spoke his accent was so broad that it was almost impossible for Sarah to understand him. Of his intention, however, there was no doubt. He advanced on her, stopping once to call behind him, when, to her further dismay, another half-drunken, scantily clad figure emerged from the trees to leer at her.
Sarah rose and smoothed down her skirts, which seemed to be revealingly tight and scanty before these nightmare apparitions. So far the only sinister characters whom she had seen had been safely confined in irons, or under the escort of soldiers. She looked around her for help, but could see none.
‘I must go,’ she said, shakily, ‘I am expected back.’ Even to her own ears this sounded like a thin and unreal response, and so it seemed to Caliban who continued to stagger towards her.
‘Stay a while, my pretty. Jem and me can entertain you.’ His grin was wide and cruel.
‘No, no, I really must go.’
This parody of drawing-room conversation sounded ridiculous, even to Sarah, and, not surprisingly, had no effect on her tormentor who continued his steady advance on her, throwing away his bottle when he drew nearer. She could not back away from him since the cliff edge was behind her, and his companion had cut off her only other line of escape.
Finally he reached Sarah and caught her by the shoulders, swinging her round and throwing her towards Jem. ‘Let’s play, my pretty dear. Here, you have her, but you’re not to keep her, mind.’
She landed in Jem’s arms and when he caught her he kissed her full on the lips. The smell of gin on his foul breath was strong and his whiskered face scraped her soft cheek. Lost between fear and revulsion, choking, Sarah tore her face away. Her lips were already bleeding.
‘You’ll pay dearly for this,’ she cried, abandoning all pretence that she had any control over the dreadful situation in which she found herself.
‘Not us, missy.’ Jem grinned. ‘What makes you think that you will tell anyone, dearie?’
He loosened his grip, pushing her a little away from him so that he might pull at her hair which had fallen, loose, about her shoulders.
‘A right pretty doxy for us, eh, Charlie?’
He ran his eyes over her while she struggled to free herself after he had caught her again, secure in the knowledge that she could not escape him. Nevertheless, lost in a torment of fear and shame, she kicked his shins, broke away from him, and tried to run towards Sydney. Was it really possible that she was going to be attacked, ravished and killed on this barbarous coast so far from home and friends?
‘Oh, God,’ she cried. ‘Help me! Help me!’
Jem, laughing, allowed her to run a few steps towards the town before he caught her again, around the waist. He gripped her by her streaming hair and kissed her brutally, one hand roving over her body. ‘Stay still, my dearie. Old Jem’ll pleasure you right enough, after Charlie has had a go at you first. Here, Charlie, you have her again, but not for good, mind,’ and he threw her back to his mate with such force that Sarah lost her balance and landed in the dirt.
Charlie pulled her to her feet. She pushed him back, panting, ‘My brother is rich. He’ll reward you well if you take me home.’
‘Take you home? Now, why should we do that? Your filthy money’s no use to us in the bush. No, me duck. You can pleasure us here and now, and then the fish can have you.’
He pulled her to him: his intention was unmistakable. Sarah tried to fight him off, but in vain, and with Jem cheering him on, he began to bear her to the ground, shouting, ‘Oh, I likes a lass of spirit!’
It was hopeless: death and dishonour now seemed inevitable and a great sob burst from Sarah’s throat…
Doctor Alan Kerr had been visiting a shanty in The Rocks where a ragged Emancipist, who had been dividing his time between honest work and thieving, needed treatment for a leg broken in an attempt to burgle one of the poorer grog shops that existed only to serve such outcasts from society as he was. He had been part of a gang that had dragged him home rather than leave him for the watch to find lest he inform on them.
Alan had a good idea of how the fellow’s injury had come about, but he set his leg, left him some laudanum and took as payment a bottle of the grog, which the gang had liberated after the accident. After that he decided to ride home, having been on duty since sun-up when he had been called out to assist in a difficult birth.
He was travelling along the cliff path towards Sydney when, on nearing Cockle Bay, he heard the sound of shouting voices and laughter. He turned a corner to see before him two men and a struggling woman whom they were undoubtedly attacking. He had no doubt about what was happening—or was about to happen.
He swore to himself, spurred his horse, and charged at the men.
Jem and Charlie were so intent on their pleasure that they were not aware that a man on horseback was arriving until it was too late for them to take any evasive action.
Sarah suddenly found herself sprawled on her back, abandoned involuntarily when the oncoming rider’s whip descended on Charlie’s head to the cry of, ‘Let go of her, damn you!’
For a moment the watching Jem was stunned into immobility, and then, with an incomprehensible shout, he fled back down the path by which he had come. Charlie, however, although half-stunned, sprang forward and, shouting abuse, tried to pull the rider from his horse, but was prevented by another blow from Alan’s whip which sent him, unconscious, to the ground on the very spot where Sarah had lain a moment earlier.
She had scrambled away, pulling her dress down, and vainly trying to pin up her fallen hair. She turned to her rescuer, panting at him, ‘Thank God, thank God that you arrived in time. They meant…they meant…’ She ran out of breath.
‘I know what they meant,’ said Alan Kerr grimly, shocked that it was Sarah Langley whom he had rescued in this outlandish spot. What the devil did she think that she was doing here, and alone?
For the first time Sarah grasped that it was Dr Kerr, of all people, who was her saviour; trembling and fearing to fall, she stretched out her hands to him, only to hear him say brusquely after he had dismounted from his horse, ‘Pull yourself together, Miss Langley. You are quite safe now.’
The knowledge that it was Dr Kerr who had found her in this condition and had rescued her from dishonour and death increased her misery, rather than lessen it. Whatever would he think of her now?
Mute and still shaking, she picked up her fichu and tried to fasten it around her neck, something which her trembling hands found difficult. Alan walked over to where the half-conscious Charlie lay and, pulling him to his feet, began slapping him into awareness.
Numbly, she watched while Alan, shaken himself by what he had seen when he had come upon her desperate struggle, finally brought Charlie to his senses and methodically began to beat him with his whip, punctuating the blows with the statement that this would have to serve as punishment since he had no intention of exposing Miss Langley to the shame of a trial in which her ordeal at his hands would have been