Victoria Aldridge - Ben Morgan's Mistake.pdf - Victoria Aldridge - SilverWitch

Ben Morgan's Mistake

Victoria Aldridge

"Am I your property?" Ben asked.

"For the time being, and for your safety only."

Emma stiffened as she felt his fingers brush across her abdomen.

"There's no need to go overboard, Mr. Morgan--this is only a display

of affection for the chief, so that he doesn't follow his perfectly

natural impulse to slit your throat."

"Is that so?" Without warning he jerked her towards him, so that she

collided against his chest.

"How dare you!"

"I was only displaying my affection."

Victoria Aldridge is a fifth-generation New Zealander.

She married young and happily, and spent some years travelling before

settling down with three children. Her husband has his own company,

and due to his unfailing support she has been able to complete her BA

and begin writing.

BEN MORGAN'S MISTAKE

Victoria Aldridge

MILLS & BOON

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was

reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer. Neither the author nor

the publisher has received any payment for this book.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the

imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone

bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired

by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents

are pure invention.

part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with

Harlequin Enterprises H B.V. The text of this publication or any part

thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the

written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of

trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated

without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or

cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar

condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent

purchaser.

MILLS & BOON and MILLS & BOON with the Rose Device are registered

trademarks of the publisher.

First published in Great Britain 1998

Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

Victoria Aldridge 1998

ISBN 0 263 81285 5

Set in Times to man 10 on 12pt.

04-9901-71515 C1

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Caledonian International Book

Manufacturing Ltd, Glasgow

Chapter One

They buried Thomas on a Sunday.

There had been no rain for weeks, and the soil was little more than

dust, floating lightly, blackly through the air as Kahu threw one last

shovel of earth over the mound that was the Reverend Thomas Augustus

Johnson's last resting place.

"It's not right, Mrs. Johnson." Kahu leaned on his shovel to survey

his handiwork.

"The reverend always said no work on Sundays, just Church. He wouldn't

have liked you doing this."

Her late husband would certainly not have liked the unmistakable ring

of satisfaction in his servant's voice, Emma thought.

"Burying the dead isn't work," she said defensively.

"Besides, we had to do it today. With this heat..."

It seemed too indelicate to finish the sentence, even with Kahu's

interested dark gaze upon her. She knew he was wondering why she was

not crying.

Perhaps she should try to pretend, perhaps she should pull out a

handkerchief and bury her face in it until Kahu went away and left her,

satisfied that the mourning rituals were complete. But today she

seemed to lack the energy to do even that. She turned her head away

from his curiosity.

She was standing now on top of the hill where Thomas had wanted his

church to be built. They had already cut down a few of the

heavy-fronded ponga trees in preparation for the foundations and it was

in this clearing, with the Whanganui River sliding quietly by below,

that they had put Thomas to rest.

He would have approved of her choice of site, she knew. For the first

time in her life she had done the right thing, and he wasn't here to

witness it. Burying him that was the easy part. Carrying out his

life's work, now--that was quite different.

"The church," he had said, in a voice that was halfway between a wheeze

and a whisper, and which had frightened her terribly. He had made a

feeble gesture and she had taken his hand, careful not to show her

revulsion at his hot, dry touch. His fingers had clutched at her as if

clawing at her own health and strength, his bones brittle beneath the

pale, stretched skin.

"The church... Promise me!"

Emma had nodded quickly, anxious not to upset him, but it had not

prolonged his life.

"So much left undone..." he had said in a whisper so faint that she

barely caught his words, and then he was gone.

Leaving her here, alone. She turned away from the grave and looked out

over the hills, steep, tree dark endless. How many miles to the

nearest European settlement? Fifty miles? One hundred? Were there

any inland at all? No, the only way to leave was surely back down the

river, although it had taken them over a week to get this far upriver,

to the Place-With-No-Name. That was what she called it in her head,

although the Maoris had a name for it, a name in their beautiful,

melodic language that meant something like "The Place Where Three

Chiefs Met and Ate Fish'. She had tried to learn it, but Thomas had

decided that the site of his new church was going to be called

Redemption, and sO there had been no point. It no longer mattered what

name the place went by--now it would always be

The-Place-Where-Thomas-Is-Buried.

Kahu was treading down the earth over her husband's grave,

half-humming, half-singing "The Lord is my Shepherd' under his breath.

They had sung the psalm, she and Kahu, and she had found the relevant

passages in Thomas's bible to read over the blanket-wrapped body. None

of the native people had come to the funeral.

It was not as if they didn't know of Thomas's death: Emma was certain

they knew everything about her and Thomas, down to the most intimate

details. From the moment they had arrived at the village there had

been a swarm of enthralled observers watching everything they did. Day

and night the Maoris squatted around the campsite, commenting

cheerfully to each other on the white-skinned strangers' clothes, food

and ablution habits and making off with whatever they thought would not

be missed. It would have been so easy then to have befriended them.

Emma was fascinated by the language, their openness, their dark beauty.

Beguiled by their smiles, drawn by their beckoning fingers, she would

have wandered into their village at once, but Thomas would have none of

that!

"Tell them, Kahu," he had ordered on that first day, as he carefully

drew a line in the soil around his and Emma's belongings.

"Tell them that within this line is our property. Not theirs. Tell

them."

Kahu looked surly.

"They won't understand, Reverend."

"Perhaps Kahu is right," Emma ventured nervously.

"This is their village, after all, and we don't want to impose..." She

looked at Kahu for support and was taken aback by the hostility in his

eyes.

She, too, did not understand. But, oh, how she wanted to! Instead,

the opportunity to learn was lost, and Kahu gracelessly translated

Thomas's directives to a bemused and uncomprehending audience.

Enough of Thomas's intention had got through,

however, to ensure that offence was taken, and the open-handed offers

of friendship were tacitly withdrawn.

That was why there had been no other mourners at Thomas's funeral

today. She knew enough about the Maoris to know that they were a

people with an elaborate set of mourning rituals. Yet the only

acknowledgement of Thomas's death had been a lessening in the number of

observers that day, and that unsettled her. No, Thomas had not been

liked here. Not even respected.

Kahu, who had been with them ever since Wellington, had not liked

Thomas either. He would never have come this far up the river with

them had Thomas not promised him good wages. But they had needed an

interpreter, and someone to help with the heavy work, and Kahu had

seemed willing enough in the beginning. Emma watched him stamping hard

on the grave, the soft earth puffing up between his toes. At any

moment she expected him to break into a little dance.

"What am I going to do, Kahu?" she asked suddenly.

"Do, Mrs. Johnson?" Kahu lifted his heavy shoulders in a shrug.

"Go back downriver. That's the only thing to do."

She hugged Thomas's bible closer to her chest, trying to conjure up his

presence. Tall, thin, slightly stooped from a lifetime of study. Grey

hair worn a little too long, because Thomas had not cared for the

vanities of the body. And his eyes. Dark, intense eyes that had

seemed to penetrate to one's very soul, seeking out any evil that might

be lurking there, and always finding it... She shivered.

"I could go back downriver, I suppose," she thought aloud.

"Or I could stay here and build the church. Thomas wanted it so much,

and I wouldn't want to disappoint him."

Kahu made a noise of disbelief through his nose.

"How can you disappoint him, Mrs. Johnson? He's dead now. With his

Maker."

"Yes, he is, but I'm sure he's still watching us."

And he knows what I'm thinking, she thought with a rising sense of

dread. He knows that when I woke up this morning, the first thing I

felt was free. Free and young. I'm only twenty-three, after all, My

life is only just beginning... Your life of service is only just

beginning. She had to stop herself from glancing back over her

shoulder, so clearly did Thomas's familiar words sound in her head. How

often had he had to remind her of the enormous debt she owed: to the

Lord, to the Church and, most of all, to himself. He had been right to

do so, of course. She had so much to atone for, and she owed Thomas so

much. But did she have to repay the debt here, all alone?

"Kahu, if I go back downriver, will you come with me?"

He shrugged again, his eyes sliding away from her.

"Maybe, Mrs. Johnson."

"I can pay you, Kahu," she said steadily and completely untruthfully.

If Thomas had any money left over after purchasing the materials for

the mission, she could not find it. Kahu had not been paid since

before they left Wellington--she had heard the men arguing about it.

Once she had dared to ask her husband about funding for the mission,

and Thomas had haughtily reminded her that--if she only had faith--the

Lord would provide everything they would need. But not, it seemed, a

little hard cash with which to bribe Kahu.

"Maybe, Mrs. Johnson," Kahu repeated stonily.

Her heart sank. If not Kahu, who else? She dared not ask any of the

local men to take her. She knew nothing of their language, and what

guarantees did she have that they would not find it less bothersome to

simply tip her into the river, or worse? The Maoris who had rowed them

up here had left as soon as I Thomas had paid them, taking the canoe

with them.

How long would it take to make the return journey?

If she walked, it could take weeks. And there were all those native

villages they had passed. What if they weren't as friendly as this

tribe had been? What if she became lost, or injured, or... Oh, this

was not fair! she found herself thinking.

How could Thomas have put her in such a position?

Why had he refused to listen to her pleas and that of the other

churchmen in Sydney that they go to one of the Missionary Society's

settlements? They would have been safe then, with others of their own

kind, in a part of the country where the Maoris were known to be

friendly. But Thomas had denounced the Missionary Society as spineless

and lacking in dedication. And of course she, as his wife, had to

meekly follow where he led... Guiltily, she thrust her disloyal

thoughts from her.

Thomas was dead now, and this situation was for her alone to resolve.

Anger would change nothing.

Her head was aching with the heat and the worry, so she went back to

her hut and made herself a pot of the sweet manuka leaf infusion that

had to pass for tea. The sun was approaching its zenith now, and under

the heavy black folds of her voluminous dress the perspiration was

trickling down her back and between her breasts. Paler colours would

have been so much more suitable to these temperatures, but Thomas had

Victoria Aldridge - Ben Morgan's Mistake.pdf

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