An Unconventional Heiress. Paula Marshall
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stop, Dr Kerr, I cannot bear this. After all, you did prevent the worst.’
On hearing this, Alan gave her attacker one last blow before he threw down his whip, and turned his attention to Sarah. Charlie, relieved that he was not to be hauled before the beak and then summarily hanged, ran off towards the bush, lest worse befall him.
The anger and fear that he might have been too late, which Alan Kerr had experienced when he found her being assaulted, now spilled out over Sarah herself.
‘Oh, you may say stop now, Miss Langley, now that you have been rescued, but what, in God’s name, prevailed on you to go running around the wilderness exposing yourself to the riff-raff of The Rocks?’ His angry gaze swept over her. ‘And in the most provocative clothing, too. Have you no common sense? Where is your brother—or his man—who ought to be here guarding you?’
Whatever happened she must not cry! She would not, must not, give him that satisfaction. She might owe him everything, but she did not need to be so addressed. In her misery and distress she forgot that while she might have thanked God for her delivery she had not properly thanked Alan. More than that, she had no idea that relief at her narrow escape was fuelling his anger.
‘I forgot,’ she said, lifting her head proudly, ‘I forgot that I was not at home in England, but was in this barbarous country. I shall not forget again.’
She turned away, to pick up her scattered painting materials: it was almost as though she were dismissing him.
Alan barked at her back, ‘Good God, madam, you surely don’t expect me to leave you here to find your own way home after this? Come, let me help you up on to my horse immediately. You must overcome your dislike for me long enough to allow me to see you safely back home. The two whom I have driven away are not the only ones around here who prey on helpless women.’
Sarah felt as though she were living in a dream—or rather in a nightmare. In an almost trance-like state she allowed him to help her up into the big grey’s saddle so that he could lead his horse to the Langleys’ home. Slowly, she began to recover from the mental paralysis caused by the attack, becoming sadly aware of her dirt-streaked face and torn and grimy clothing.
Luckily they met few people on the way back but, to her horror, when they neared her home she saw that John was outside, remonstrating with Mrs Hackett who stood, stiff with righteous anger, at the front door.
He ran to meet them, saying, ‘Thank God that you are safe. I have just learned from Mrs Hackett that you went out on your own, without any attendant. Whatever could have possessed you to do such a thing?’
He took a harder look at her. ‘Good God, Sarah, is it possible that you have been attacked?’
Before Sarah could speak Alan answered him. ‘Yes. I am happy to inform you she has come to no harm, but her common sense ought to have told her that she should not have gone wandering around the cliffs above Cockle Bay. She appears to be stupidly unaware that she now no longer lives among the tame peasantry of the Hampshire countryside. Fortunately I came upon them before the rogues who were attacking her had done more than give her a severe fright.’
His voice was dryer and harsher than Sarah had ever heard it before. He speaks as though I were asking to be attacked, she thought resentfully. The tears, which never seemed to be far away in Dr Kerr’s presence, were threatening to fall—but she would not let them, never.
John Langley was reassured by Alan’s calm authority. ‘You are not hurt then, my dear.’ It was more of a statement than a question. He turned to Alan again. ‘Do I understand that I have to thank you for saving Sarah from physical assault—or worse?’
This time Sarah forestalled Alan. ‘You are correct, John. I owe him my life—and my honour—and I have not even thanked him properly yet. If you will let me down, I will do so.’
What an absurd figure I must cut, she thought when she finally stood on firm ground again. She turned her dirty face towards Dr Kerr.
‘I know that you think me an idiotish creature who goes cavorting idly around the countryside, a fine lady who should not even visit New South Wales, and deserves to be attacked for her folly. But I owe you more than I can ever thank you for.’ To her horror she was so near to tears that her voice faltered.
‘No more of that,’ she said, regaining her self-control. ‘Perhaps, one day, we might meet and speak without quarrelling. And now, I must go in and try to mend my ruined self.’
She bowed to Dr Kerr and walked slowly into the house, bedraggled but gallant, with her head high and her gait steady.
Alan, listening to John Langley’s thanks, looked after her. He did not insult Sarah’s brother by saying that he had done nothing, nor did he seek to exaggerate his rescue of her.
He heard John out in silence and then said gravely, ‘I must inform you that I think that your sister may feel that, because of the antagonism which lies between us, I was overly harsh in my treatment of her after the attack. I was harsh at first out of the shock of discovering that it was she who was being attacked.
‘I must also inform you that I have treated many women who have been assaulted thus and I have invariably found that to be too sympathetic may drive them into hysteria and later into despair. It may seem cruel, but it is the right—and the only—thing to do in these cases since there is no medicine which might help them. It pains me to have to be so hard but needs must, I fear. Fortunately your sister possesses a resilient character which responds to firm treatment. I hope that I did not come on too strong with her, but she rallied rapidly and showed no signs of falling into the vapours.’
He added, a little wryly, ‘On the contrary, she was so busy being angry with me that she had less time to refine on what had so nearly happened to her—which, all things considered was, medically, a good thing.’
John grasped him by the hand. ‘Yes, she is a strong-willed creature, that I will allow. And you, you took no hurt yourself, I trust?’
‘None, but I must warn you that your sister may show some adverse reactions to her unfortunate experience. You must watch her carefully and send for me if her spirits seem unduly low.’
He refused John’s offer of a glass of sherry. ‘No, I will not come in, thank you, Langley. Make sure that your sister has a proper escort in future. Send your man Carter round to my surgery and I will give him a cordial that will help her to sleep.’
He brushed aside any further thanks. John watched him ride away and could only think that it was a pity that the man was an Emancipist—he deserved better—and that Sarah had taken him in such dislike. He understood why Governor Macquarie respected Kerr, not only as a doctor, but as a man. There were many worse back in England who had not suffered transportation and he resolved to find out what misfortune had brought him to Sydney.
Sarah lay in bed, covered only by a thin sheet, her brain and body both burning. John had come in a moment ago with a glass containing a cordial that Dr Kerr had sent to soothe her. There had not yet been time for it to work, only for the sickly taste to add further to her bodily discomfort. But this was as nothing to her mental agony.
Mixed up with her memories of the afternoon, and her encounters with Alan Kerr, were those of her last six months before she had left England. It was as though they had been a prologue to all that had happened to her since she had set foot in New South Wales. Prominent among them were her recollections of Charles Villiers, of whom she had resolutely refused to think ever since she had left England. The attack, however, had broken down the barriers she had erected and she sank into a reverie in which the dreadful present gave way to the hurtful past.
She had met Charles at a dinner given by their neighbours in Hampshire. Their daughter, Emily, her best friend, had arranged for her to sit by him. ‘I’m sure that you are going to like him,’ she had said earlier. He turned out to be charming as well as handsome. From the crown of his neat fair head to the heels of his well-polished shoes he was all that a gentleman should be, turned out à point, but not overdone: Brummell himself would have approved of him. He was well read. His