Farcequin, Part 6: A civilized moment

In case you've missed the travesty thus far, parts one through five are here. (Click the word, here.)

That evening, Elfreda scrounged through her pitiful wardrobe. NOthing is right, she grumbled to herself. If only I'd had more time to shop... and my savings working three years as a secretary hadn't been so threadbare... finally she donned a rose-colored taffeta gown with silk-ribbon piping and a diamond necklace her grandmother had passed down to her. She ventured down the stairs, stopping every once in a while to consider whether it was a good idea to come to dinner at all.

Finally she entered the dining salon and shuddered a little, seeing him there at the head of the table, wearing his wide-lapeled brown-pinstriped white dinner tux. His hair was quite (unintentionally, she thought) rakish; combed along the top of his head so a curl fell in the middle of his forehead, right between his bright blue eyes.

He stood as she entered the room and gestured rather gracefully and graciously, Elfreda observed with some amazement, for her to take a seat to his right. She did, and sat, looking at her plate, which contained a rather large pieces of meat. She shuddered again, hoping it wasn't more rabid-crock-steaks.

"It's beef," Bobbert commented. Elfreda looked up at him in surprise. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Elfreda quickly looked down again and began cutting into the meat. It was perfect--seared, just a little pink on the inside. But as always, she could only take about seven small bites before she was completely full. Seeing her toy with the rice on the side and the salad, Bobbert commented again. "You have eyes bigger than your stomach."

"Mother's always said that," Elfreda said, then wished she hadn't. Her mother was a sensitive topic. The reason she was here at all... here, marrying Bobbert instead of staying home to be courted by Davian.

"In my case it's rather more about the eyes than the stomach," Bobbert replied, seeming to not notice the tension that had suddenly risen up inside his dinner companion. "You do have extraordinarily large eyes."

Elfreda looked up again, staring at him sadly, perhaps a little beseechingly, with her giant, green, lash-fringed eyes. He looked at her and his expression shifted from amusement to something different--slight concern, maybe. A little sadness of his own.

"Come," he said, standing and nearly knocking over the teakwood chair he'd been overwhelming with his large form. He held out a hand. "You look like you could use some fresh air."

"I've had plenty of that today," Elfreda said wryly.

"Some dancing, then. There's a record player on the patio. I'll put one on, and we can practice for our wedding dance."

Dutifully Elfreda rose, brushed one long, flowing red-gold lock from her shoulder, and followed.

The patio was a beautiful place--planter bowls overflowing with red bougianvilla, narcissus and chrystanthemum clustered in others, as well as some tall iris and tulips. As the music turned on she wondered, fleetingly, what sort of fertilizer the household staff used to get them all to bloom so companionably together, and then Bobbert whisked her up in his arms and, breathlessly, she followed. His dancing was graceful, poweful, flowing, energetic and classily understated. He dipped her several times and even raised her up in a lift over his head, spinning her before he set her on the ground.

"Oh, Bobbert," she couldn't help but exclaim, "You are such a wonderful dancer. And so strong!"

A smile cracked his rock-like features, and he dipped her again, planting a kiss on her brow. When he brought her upright again she raised her face. It was an automatic gesture--a response to the warmth she felt from him, the fun of the dance. Her large eyes gleamed like insouciant emeralds. He looked down on her for a moment, smiled a little, and released her. "You're looking better now," he said. "Would you like a cocktail?"

Elfreda experienced a strange sense of loss--sinking from a cloud to the ground. She nodded and sat, waiting while he mixed and handed her the beverage.

"Tommorrow'll be a long day," Bobbert said. "But at least we won't be in the crocs. We're going out to the herd. Culling the especially sick ones before the season gets cold."

"Herd?" Elfreda asked warily.

"The Emus," Bobbert stated.

Elfreda put a hand to her heart. She remembered the emus--giant, screaming birds. When she'd visited as a child, she'd been terrified of them. She glanced up and saw Bobbert was watching her, and placed her hands back in her lap. "Are you hospicing the birds as well, or is the fact their feathers are worth their weight in gold?"

Bobbert's expression hardened. "Bird flu," he said. "They're dying like flies. THe rangers collect them so we can keep them away from the general population. I have people working on vaccines, using serum taken from the birds we care for until death."

"Very noble of you," Elfreda said shortly. "Well, if I'm to be up early I'd better retire." She turned without waiting for his response and left the room.

Once in her room she flung off the gown, threw herself across her bed and collapsed in sobs. Bobbert was trying to break her. That's what he was trying to do--working her so hard, then being so warm and luring her in at night. Why? What was his purpose? Wasn't he the one who'd insisted she come out to this forsaken place and be his wife, holding her mother's cancerous nose over her as insurance for her obedience?

By the time Elfreda fell asleep, her pillow was completely saturated with tears, and her hair tumbled in a damp heap around her face. She didn't hear the door open, didn't hear him come silently in, didn't know he stood by her bedside for several minutes, looking down on her before he turned and left again.

Bobbert's Good Intentions

Farcequin part 5.

If you missed parts one through four and are morbidly curious and/or horrified but can't look away in the same way you rubberneck on the freeway looking at a five-car pileup, click here.

. Surely it’s suppertime by now, Elfreda thought, eyeing the long shadows cast by the sagebrush along the garnet-colored ground. She couldn’t, however, keep from watching Bobbert as he dove into the pool. She gasped as he wrestled a 20-foot croc up onto shore, dragging it by the tail. The danger had her frozen in horror, and the sight of his muscled back and shoulders as he knelt on the monster’s ridged back, pressing it to the ground, as with one deft stroke he slit the creature’s throat, allowing its gore to spill out over the red mud….
“Good one, Sir,” one of the farmhands said, tipping his hat to Bobbert. “Likely get at least a hundred purses and belts out of that one.”
Bobbert nodded curtly, dusted himself off. He turned in Elfreda’s direction and she immediately began shoveling again, shoveling with real intent—keeping her eyes on her task.
“How are you holding up?” He asked. She shivered, sensing his presence as he walked up behind her.
“Fine,” she said tartly.
“You need different boots,” he observed, watching her slide a little in the crocodile refuse.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, turning to glance at him, running her hand over the damp hair around her face, which stuck to her cheeks annoyingly in perfect, gleaming copper rings. ,
After a moment, a moment in which she was intensely aware of the heat of him, standing so close to her; of his breathing, still labored after dispatching the crocodile, he walked away. As soon as she was sure his attention had returned to the creature—now being skinned and disemboweled and dismembered—she leaned weakly on the shovel and put a hand to her brow.
All day they worked tiring, back-breaking jobs. After Elfreda had cleaned the croc pool, Bobbert asked her to feed them, and she climbed the precarious ladder up to the feeding platform, balancing two large buckets of dead skunks, rabbits and raccoons. Carefully, timidly, she dropped the carcasses one by one and the crocs leapt, snapping them up before they even hit the water. One croc came very close to the platform—within three feet. He was a 30-footer; scarred on the face with eyes that seemed cold, intelligent, and evil. He seemed to eye Elfreda appraisingly as he rose up into the air toward her, snapped savagely at the rabbit she had flung into the air, and disappeared back into the pool with a spectacular splash that left her entire front soaked in muddy spatter.
After her buckets were empty, she descended she sadly regarded her genuine leather, five-inch-heel Louboutin boots. She would never again be able to wear them in decent company. She smelled like crocodiles and skunks. She was terribly hungry as well. Lunch, while filling—crocodile steaks seared to perfection, served with a light rose wine which she’d had rather a little too much of—had been quick and hurried, and she felt like she hadn’t eaten for a lifetime
“Time to turn in for the day,” she was relieved to hear Bobbert say. She hurried toward the house, not really wanting to walk with any of the men, but he caught up and fell into step with her. She ignored him, straightening her back and trying to keep her knees from shaking with the strain of her tried muscles. Again she was intensely aware of his rugged presence, half-covered with blood and other substances.
“Ready to call Uncle?” he finally spoke when they were almost to the house.
She turned to him, her eyes blazing like angry agates. “Never,” she spat. “Though I think your line of work is despicable. Raising those poor brutes in a tiny pool and then killing them for… for their skins!”
Something in his face hardened. He took her arm with a bruising strength and walked faster, forcing her to stumble to keep up. “And what do you know of it, missy?” He growled. “Grown up in a clean little house with a clean little yard. A little different when you see life as it really is, at its root, isn’t it?”
She didn’t say a word, but bit her lip again, wincing when fresh blood flowed and she realized she’d bit it in the same place she had the day before.
“Best take care of that,” Bobbert said, flinging her arm away when they arrived at the doorstep. “Not a good idea to be bleeding around rabid crocs.”
“R-rabid?” Elfreda said.
“That’s right,” he replied grimly. “The rangers bring them to us. We make them comfortable as long as we can… feed them, make the end of their life something better than it would be otherwise, and give them a quick, easy death. We use the skins,” he shrugged, “it’s our way of keeping the operation going. All this,” he stretched his hand out to indicate the mansion, its many dark gables and foreboding arched windows, precarious tottering towers and acres of immaculate flowerbeds, “is, as you know, family money. I don’t have to work, Gayle.” He paused, and his face softened. “And you don’t have to, either.”
But Gayle’s humiliation had turned to stubbornness and anger, blazing and intractable as her beautiful coils of hair rippling like flame in the evening breeze. She turned away from him without answering and marched inside, not caring that she left mud all over the floor—part blood, part crocodile refuse. I’ll stick it out, she told herself. I’ll stick it out and prove to Bobbert I’m not what he thinks I am; I’m not some silly society girl who cares about nothing but purses and belts. I’ll show him. I’ll show him what Elfreda Ardmore is made of and exactly what kind of woman he’s planning to marry, even if it means losing all my boots, and limbs, in the process.

Elfreda Pulls her Weight

The next morning dawned glorious and rose-colored. Elfreda stared through her windows, surprised at how beautiful the scrubby, reddish colored landscape looked with the flood of the early-morning sun over it. IT made her wish that she had Eastern-facing windows-- the sunrise itself must be breathtaking, she thought.

She slowly rose from her bed. Her little clock said 7 am, and she was still recovering from jet lag, but she congratulated herself for making an early start despite this handicap. She needed to show Bobbert that she was serious about pulling her weight-- he had been so sneering and sarcastic the other day when he mentioned her smooth hands and working with crocks.

Elfreda bit her lip and looked at her hands. They were beautiful; one of the things about her appearance that she was proud of-- smooth, small, pale, and with beautiful moon-shaped cuticles. She spent a fair amount of time buffing her nails to mirror-brightness in the hope that Davian would notice.

Well, that no longer matters, Elfreda thought dully as she walked to her wardrobe. She pulled it open and sorted through the racks to find something suitable, but she couldn't come up with much. Finally, she donned a pair of knee-high leather boots-- she had saved for months to buy them-- a pair of denim shorts, and a soft, cotton eyelet blouse. She pulled a straw hat from her hatrack and put it on. Finally, she pulled her red hair into little pigtails to keep it out of her face. She surveyed herself in the mirror and felt a stirring of confidence-- she looked like she was ready to work, she thought.

After a hurried breakfast, wherein Janey kept giving Elfreda odd looks, and suggesting various things like that she should rub sunscreen over her pale skin or change into a different pair of shorts (Elfreda just nodded politely and pretended she didn't care-- she didn't have any other shorts, and she didn't want Bobbert to think that she was worried about her pale complexion, not after what he said the day before), Elfreda walked out the back door and asked one of the yard hands to take her over to the crock farm. They drove for what seemed to Eflreda quite a while. The experience was unsettling-- the little jeep roared over rutted dirt swaths and churned up the muddy spots, spattering Elfreda's bare knees, shorts, white shirt, and shiny leather boots with drops almost as red as blood. When they finally got there, Elfreda knew she looked a sight.

She scanned the area with a hand shading her eyes. She saw several men bustling about, mostly with tattered or no shirts on, and filthy jeans and boots. She didn't recognize Bobbert until he turned and raised a hand in welcome. "Come over here," he called. "I have a job for you."

Elfreda had to remind herself to breathe in. Just as she had the day before, she was caught momentarily by surprise at the sight of Bobbert's rippling arm muscles, and Elfreda noticed this time, his build in the chest and back was admirable, too. She dismissed the thought from her mind with a sniff.

Davian couldn't hold a candle to Bobbert for strength, she thought. But who wants a brute when you can have a gentleman?

She shook her head. But I don't have a choice. She had forgotten for a moment, and the dissapointment at remembering her predicament fell on her like a lead weight.

She blinked back tears and took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she came up to Bobbert. "What do you want me to do?" She asked.

Bobbert looked her over, and an eyebrow quivered as he took in her costume, but he didn't say anything about it, for which Elfreda was grateful. Among these men in their tattered ensembles, she knew that she looked ridiculous, particularly the boots. But she was determined to play it off. After all, she'd had nothing more suitable in her wardrobe.

"This is what I would like for you to do today," Bobbert said gruffly, handing her a shovel. "A few of the crocks have been sick lately, and they've been pooping along the sides of the pit. I need you to shovel it into this barrow--" He indicated an encrusted wheelbarrow sitting by the edge of the pool, and Elfreda wrinkled her nose against a most unpleasant smell. "And dump it in the pile we've started over there. It makes the edges too slippery for us to work well with the animals."

Elfreda suppressed her surprise and disgust and began shoveling the smelly lumps into the wheelbarrow. She pressed her lips together grimly, but other than that, kept all expressions of what she felt off of her face. Bobbert watched her for a moment, and then went off to join the others. "Oh-- one more thing," he said, turning back. "Keep an eye out for crocks. They like to sneak up near the edge and spring. I don't want my wife for crocodile feed anytime soon, so look for their eyes-- those little lumps sticking up above the water. See?"

Elfreda couldn't help but shiver as she looked- there were countless little lumps all over the water, some within a few feet of where she was. For a moment, fear paralyzed her, but she felt Bobbert's gaze on her, and so she forced herself to inch a little bit closer to the pool to get the lumps that lay closer to the water, keeping a wary eye on the pairs of eyes as she did so.

The forbidden hallway

In case you have fallen behind (and who could blame you):

Part 1 (includes explanation for horrified/confused readers)
Part 2

Elfreda woke suddenly. For a moment, she was completely mystified, and then the haze of sleep slowly drifted away, and she remembered where she was. Remembering didn't lessen her amazement, however, at her surroudnings. She'd hardly had time or attention to notice them as she drifted off to sleep, but she turned her full attention to them now. She was lying in a cloud of silk, or so it seemed; the linens were delicious, and as she sat up, she realized that she was resting on a cusion of water. A waterbed. A magnificent one, at that, with mahogany posters carved with alligators chasing delicately-carved cupids. Similarly, there was a fresco on the canopy-- two little chubby angels, embracing each other. It reminded Elfreda of a painting she had seen once. She looked around the room and took in the lavishly-carved wardrobe, the windowseat and long, western-facing windows veiled with gold velvet swaths. Everywhere she looked she saw plush furniture infested with plump, overstuffed pillows of glowing, jewel-like shades. The crowning glory was a white marble statue in the center of the room-- Venus de Milo. Someone had thoughtfully painted a bathing suit on her, which Elfreda was grateful for. Obviously, whomever decorated this room has good taste, she thought to herself, lightly touching Venus's marble elbow on the way to the vanity, festooned with candy-pink ruffles and covered with an assortment of glamorous-looking bottles.


As she sat down at it, she started in surprise-- right over the vanity hung a grim picture of a man with grizzled, sandy-colored hair and a day's growth of beard. He stared so, it gave Elfreda the nerves. Bobbert, she thought to herself crossly. Of course he wants to remind me whom I am making myself presentable for.

With this thought, the tears came in earnest. Davian.

Their parting had been terrible. Davian had been relatively calm and unemotional-- putting on a brave face, Elfreda thought fondly. He had, however, taken her hand and smoothed it with his fine fingertips, sending shivers racing up her arm, and told her that he would try to find a way. A way to make sure they could be together. His dark eyes had been pools of molten chocolate as he stared at her, the fervor in his face making its boyish features more grim than usual.

Elfreda sighed and blew her nose. It is no use, she thought. He can do nothing for me. My mother must have her operation, and I must marry Bobbert. That's the end of it. She looked at herself in the mirror, resolution lending an extra jut to her chin and an extra gleam to her eye. She looked well, she knew. Her tangerine-colored sundress was bright and cheery, and brought out the pleasant carrot aspect of her hair. But she must change to something more presentable if she were to meet the master of Grimschanks Manor for an evening together. Our first evening, she thought. He'll have to behave himself; he's too proud to forego etiquette.

She went to her closet, which had been loaded up with the gowns and dresses and wraps and hats and shoes and slacks and blouses and scarves from all of her bags, and selected an amber gown with crystal bangles runnning along the hem and bodice. It became her nicely-- made her appear more sophisticated. Elfreda nodded at herself in the mirror, assuming an expression of cool decorum. She slid her tiny feet into gilt-edged slippers and walked down the hall, careful to keep her head high, her spine straight. She had a little difficulty remembering how to get back to the main salon, and found that she had taken a wrong turn. She ended up in a rather dank, decaying hallway, with worm-eated doorframes and half-crumbled statuary. It was a little eerie, this place-- she couldn't remember it at all from when she and Bobbert had played as children. She jumped as she heard a sublte footfall behind her.

She turned, and sighed with relief, but Bobbert's face was ablaze with fury. "What are you doing here?" He hissed.

"I-I'm sorry," Elfreda stuttered. "I lost my way."

"Well, let me guide you then." His tones were clipped, and there was an ironic gleam in his pale eyes. He placed a firm hand in the small of her back, hurrying her to the point of her tripping on her little shoes. He looked down at them with distaste.

"Here we are," he said shortly, depositing her into the main salon.

"Aren't you coming?" Elfreda asked.

"No." He replied, and turned back the way he came.

Elfreda gazed after him, wondering. A slight chill ran over her as she though of his face when he had discovered her in that decaying hallway.

What is he hiding? She rubbed her arms, and gazed in surprise down at them-- she was all over gooseflesh.

Elfreda's Gaffe

For some reason, blogger's acting up, so I can't add my picture this time. But here's a link to the original installment of my farcequin, and an explanation for any bewildered and horrified readers.


Bobbert hardly spoke as they rode along the main way of the bustling harbor town, or as they bumped along the rocky offroad that lead off into the barren wasteland. The outback, Elfreda thought with a shiver.
"Cold?" Bobbert asked.
"Oh, no," Elfreda mumbled. Suddenly she felt warm linen on her bare shoulders. She fingered it with surprise-- Bobbert's plaid shirt. Without thinking, she turned to look at him and then blushed at the sight of his bare chest. His arms were deeply tanned, the tan stopping short in a line at the shoulder and a round at the neck.
"No thank you," Elfreda murmured, bunching the shirt into one hand and holding it sideways in his direction. She kept her eyes fastened on the road.
He took the shirt silently. "So, is rough flannel not good enough for you then?" He asked after a while.
"Why, I--" Elfreda stuttered. She really had no idea what to say; she was far to embarrassed to admit that it was the sight of his muscled forearms that had prompted the quick return of his offering.
"Well, you'll get used to flannel soon enough," he cut in crisply. Elfreda glanced sidelong at him; his jaw was set, and he had a steely glint in his eyes.
Oh dear, she thought to herself, I've upset him. "No, I'm fine," she hastened. "I'm quite looking forward to helping out with the crocodiles."
He jerked the steering wheel to the right; the car began ambling up a road which ran at a 45 degree incline. The potholes jarred the car horribly; Elfreda bit her lip without realizing it.
"No wife of mine will be getting her hands all scarred up with crocodiles," Bobbert stated, his lips firmly pressed together.
"But Bobbert--"
He pulled the car to a stop with a jerk. "You're lip's bleeding," he said.
Wonderingly she raised a finger to her lips, he pulled it away in a bruising grip and then brought his own lips down on hers. The kiss was ferocious, devouring. When he broke away, his own lips were covered in her blood.
It looks rather like red lipstick, Elfreda thought. "How dare you," she said, whitefaced. She looked at his hand, which was crushing hers-- the cuticles were ragged, the fingers yellow and hard with blisters, the nails chipped and torn.
He followed her gaze and dropped her hand like it was a hot potato."How dare I what? Kiss my own fiancee?" His eyes were blazing. "Well, if that's how it's going to be, then maybe you're right. Maybe you ought to pull your own weight around here. A marriage of convenience, after all. We'll see how your lily white hands fare with the crocs." He didn't bother to open the door for her, he just slammed his abruptly and headed into the house.
Elfreda's bloody lip trembled as she gathered up her mountain of suitcases and soft bags, purses and pelisses and hatboxes. She staggered into the front door. And nearly wept at the kindly face of the woman who met her there. "Janey!" She cried, a quiver in her voice. "How wonderful to see a familiar face."
Janey looked at Elfreda. "You've grown into a magnificent young woman. No wonder young master Grimschanks has fallen for you."
"Oh," Elfreda sighed desolately, "But I don't think he he has. He doesn't seem to like me much at all." Her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, don't mind his gruff ways," Janey said, patting her on the shoulder. "Why, just the other day he scared the scullery maid into hysterics without realizing it. You'll figure out his mind soon enough. He's just like when he was a boy-- kind and gentle as a kitten," her eyes misted reminiscently. "He's the best master I could ever hope to have."
Elfreda frowned. Such an account was nothing in the line of what she had just experienced. Family loyalty, she thought with disgust. I can't see even a tiny bit in Bobbert of the boy I used to play with.

Janey lead her along several winding passages, past hundreds of rooms, until she reached a mahogany door and opened it. Elfreda walked dully into the room and collapsed onto her bed, senseless of the room around her. "thank you, Janey."

"I'll have Donkers bring up your bags," Janey promised. "Supper in half an hour."

"I think I'll skip supper," Elfreda said.
"I don't think that's such a good idea," Janey shook her head, glancing nervously toward the hallway.
"I'm tired, Janey. Make my apologies to Master Grimschanks."
She lay in the pillow, thinking of the complete changes that had come into her life. And in Bobbert. When he had been a child, he had been so fun, so gentle. And a tease. One time when they had been playing together, she had fallen asleep on the front lawn. She had awakened to find pieces of paper rolled up in her nostrils. She'd had a hearty laugh and gotten him back later by cutting off half of his hair.

What happened to that Bobbert? Gayle thought dully to herself. I didn't sign up for this.

And then she remembered. No, I must do as I promised, she thought firmly to herself. It's a matter of integrity. And After all, there's mother's nose to think of.

After a few moments, she fell asleep, and slept so deeply that she never heard the ominous clanging of the dinner gong. Bobbert came storming down the hall and flung open the door, but the sight of her there, with her pale face and cut lip, her delicate complexion and bright hair contrasting so sweetly with the paleness of the pillowcase, his anger melted away. Quietly he closed the door and let her rest. He stood for a long moment ouside the door, his grizzled head bowed, and then walked reluctantly back to the kitchen.

The arrival

This is the first installment of my farcequin. I have devoted only 30 minutes per session to its writing, and so you may expect the height of absurdity and the lowest of the lows when it comes to quality writing. But, that's the whole point of a Farcequin, right? OK. And, along the tradition of the early harlequins, there may be wild innacuracies as to locale, trade, and cultural perception and political correctness. I intend to make fun of Harlequins in every way possible with these posts. All right, I Will not make any more disclaimers, but from now on, if you're offended by anything or just find the whole matter absurd, you can link to this original post once more by clicking on the icon that I will put in the corner of every one of these series posts.

--NOSURFGIRL

Elfreda sighed once more and stared at the rugged shoreline. The fragrant breeze, scented with the tangyness of Bird of Paradise, ruffled the russet colored locks that always seemed to escape and fall charmingly around her face, no matter how severely she styled her hair.
“Well, here it is,” the voice beside her said.
Elfreda turned and smiled at the kindly old man who had been her caretaker throughout the long, arduous journey across the ocean. Her face improved considerably with her smile; soft dimples framed her mouth and made dents in her soft cheeks, which were the smooth, warm color of Irish Cream. “Thank you, Mr. Blackthorn,” she said. Her tawny eyes glowed with her sincere appreciation.
He gave her a kindly smile. “Say no more about it. And my invitation stands.”
Elfreda blushed, a soft, delicate shade reminiscent of spring lilacs. “Oh, I'll be fine,” she said. “I told you I've got a job.”
Mr. Blackthorn frowned and shook his head. “Why a nice girl like you would want to work at a mean place like that-- well, there it is. You know what you're about, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Elfreda said firmly. “My mother is dying in a hospital in London, and the only way I can afford to treat her is to marry Bobbert Grimschanks. He has agreed to treat her on condition of my marrying him.”
“Yes, but,” Again Mr. Blackthorn shook his head. “A marriage ought to be more than a match of convenience. It sounds like he's just using you to seal his business deal. And you're using him for your mother--”
“So both of us understand that it is an arrangement of convenience,” Elfreda said gayly, tossing her head. Her neat bun came undone, spilling radiant curls around her face. She was rather glad for the distraction of taming her wild tresses back into the little chignon that she customarily wore at the nape of her neck.
As fortuitious as Bobbert's offer had been-- they had played together as children, and Elfreda had always been fond of him-- Elfreda's heart was heavy. It was full of one face, one memory--

That of Davian Everingham. She had loved him for, oh, she coudln't recall how long. She had realized for many a year how vain her hopes were-- Davian would likely never settle down. He loved freedom, and the hunt; he was as wild as the Stallions that he liked to catch and tame as a hobby. Elfreda rememebered the jarring experience of their first meeting; she had been out riding, and her high-spirited mare had spooked when a little bunny rabbit raced across its path. She had screamed and hung on for dear life, but it had been Davian who had saved her.

There he had come, crashing through the bush on his dappled Arabian. He reached out and masterfully reigned in her frightened mount.

She had been only sixteen, and quite an impressionable girl. The sight of his tall, square frame, seated so proudly on that beautiful rearing animal-- his dark eyes flashing, his golden locks touseled in a glowing nimbus around his beauitifully shaped head--

The thought still sent her heart thumping.

“Here now, you've got all in a mess,” Mr. Blackthorn said, and helped her hair back into its little net.

Elfreda blushed again. “Oh thank you ever so, Mr. Blackthorn. You have been such a friend.”
He looked at her, his face lined and serious. “I do hope you consider my offer, should any trouble arise.
“I shall,” Elfreda promised. Suddenly she heard her name. She looked wildly about until she spied a scruffy-looking man with a couple of days growth of beard in the crowd.
“You Miss Ardmore?” he called when his gaze alighted upon her.

Elfreda nodded with dismay, noting his patched clothing and hard features. “That's me.” She steeled herself, descended gracefully from the boat, and handed the man her bags. “You may stow them in the trunk,” she said, cooly. “Mr. Grimshancks is expecting me.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Well, it's nice to meet you once again, Miss Ardmore. I suppose you don't recognize me after all these years.”
Elfreda gasped, dropping her little sateen purse in her surprise. “Bobbert?” She whispered.
He smiled grimly at her. Abruptly he turned and picked up her purse and bag and deposited it into the trunk of his auto. He didn't bother to hold the door for her as she got in.
“I'm-- I'm sorry, Bobbert,” she managed finally. “I really did not recognize--”
“It comes from hard living, Miss Ardmore. You'll find that life on a Croc farm isn't as luxurious as it seems. I will expect you to pull your weight, of course. After all, I'm paying for your mother's treatment.”
“Yes, Mr. Grimshanks,” Elfreda whispered. Tears welled up along her lashes; she lowered them so that he would not guess her dismay. She must be cool-- dignified. After all, this was Australia, but she was an American, through and through. And she must show this conceited, unpleasant creature just what that meant.
Yes indeed, Elfreda thought, sniffing and raising her chin stoutly. I shall not show weakness. I shall meet every task that he burdens me with-- no matter how odious, with equanimity and calm. Then maybe I will prove my worth to him-- show him exactly what sort of woman he has decided to marry.