Free Dorothy Eden by Vines of Yarrabee

from her unknown assailant (who had swaggered off, leaving her to try to arrange her torn clothing), and the other kind, the gentle familiar loving of her parents that put a new baby in the cradle each year.
    One day she would find that kind.
    She had not expected it of Harry Jarvis. He was weakened by disease and his hungry grasping of her had been pathetic. It was gratitude only that prevented her from wincing from him. She owed him this. And when she knew there was to be a child, she was glad for his sake. She resolved that her baby should know the kind of peaceful home that she had known, because it was the memory of that only which had enabled her to survive, without permanent scars, that other violent assault.
    But now Harry was gone, and her unborn child’s secure home gone. Once more she had to face the unknown.
    Yarrabee—the country place with the musical name. She had never been in the country, never seen more than the heat-hazed hills on the other side of the harbour, and wondered what lay beyond them.
    Yarrabee, and the red-headed stranger who had been kind without the motives she had come to expect from men. Or if the motives had been there, they had not been apparent. Molly was so unused to either kindness or sympathy that she thought this must be why Gilbert Massingham’s remained so vividly in her mind. She remembered the liveliness of his blue eyes, his quick smile, his look of virility. He was not over-handsome (she would have mistrusted that), but he had a strong stubborn look that she liked. He was a part of that unknown country that lay beyond the harbour hills. Her heart beat more quickly when she thought of it. Was this what she had kept her optimism for, for so long?
    But the slight young woman sitting opposite her, very upright in an immaculately starched and ironed muslin gown, and asking questions in a cultured voice, was another thing. She looked so freshly out of a well-ordered London drawing-room that Molly was already anxious for her. And envious, too. Homesickness could surely be faced with equanimity if one had someone like Mr Massingham at one’s side, to cherish and protect one.
    Cherish and protect. What lovely words, representing something completely alien to her.
    ‘Please answer me, Mrs Jarvis.’
    ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I was wool-gathering.’
    ‘What were you wool-gathering about?’
    ‘I was thinking how long it was since I was in a nice room like this.’
    The young woman looked about the room in some disbelief. Of course it wasn’t grand, but if Miss Lichfield only knew what other kinds of rooms existed in this country she would appreciate the luxury of the rugs and polished furniture and starched lace curtains.
    ‘It was a long time ago, ma’am. I was only eighteen.’
    ‘That was your age when you were—when you left England?’
    ‘When I was accused and sentenced quite wrongly, ma’am. But I expect your husband will have told you about that.’
    ‘He is not my husband yet, Mrs Jarvis. We are to be married next week. But we are talking of you, not of me. Mr Massingham tells me that you are an accomplished cook. Is that by English standards or by those in the colony?’
    ‘I wasn’t trained as a cook, ma’am. But my mother taught me good plain cooking when I was a child. I was the eldest of nine, so I had to be useful. I never learned fancy dishes, but I can do everything else necessary.’
    ‘Well, that should not be a problem.’ The young lady had a very pleasant face when she smiled, not pretty, but lovely and gay, with light shining in her lavender grey eyes. ‘I have a large household companion book that my mother insisted I should bring. I am sure it contains all we will need to know.’ She pressed her lips together as if she had realized she was too quickly accepting a woman with so doubtful a past. She sat up straighter and said primly, ‘Since Mr Massingham has engaged you, I don’t imagine you expect to be cross-examined. I have only been here