Mystic Mountains

her for a while, but then I grew up." His mouth turned down at the corners in a small grimace. "'Twas one way to keep herself from dying in the gutter. At least she would have had something to eat most days. I dunno how she ended up. She went off with this bloke about three months after Da died, an' I never saw her again, did I?"
    Tiger gave him a small pat on the shoulder. What could he say? No doubt she would be dead of the pox by now. He sighed, then brightened as his right-hand man strode towards them, his unlit clay pipe sticking out of his mouth.
    "Ah, here's Gillie now. He's a man of few words, as you'll find out, and happiest working with his sheep and dogs. He's as straight as an arrow in flight. Do right by him and you'll find a friend for life, Dougal. Especially if you care for the sheep."
    Gillie was about forty-five as far as Tiger could fathom, and as thin as a man could get without being invisible, but his strength was of the wiry kind that required little sustenance to keep it stoked. He waved his pipe at them, showing no surprise to see Dougal there.
    " Gillie, we've got ourselves a shepherd," Tiger said, and Gillie nodded once. "Give the lad a shirt, a pair of trousers, and a pair of boots. Then burn the things he has on. We have convicts and men with tickets of leave working on our land, Dougal. They live in quarters yonder and look after themselves with their own rations. But none are very good shepherds, so Gillie here will appreciate your help. Right, I'll leave you to Gillie."
    "Thanks, Mr… er, Tiger," Dougal called after him.
    Tiger gave a nod then strode towards the front of the house, knowing he 'd left Dougal in good hands. The lad would do well. But lord knows what the wench inside would turn out like. Only time would tell if he'd made a serious misjudgment.
    "Well, Thelma, how 's she scrubbed up?" he asked, entering the kitchen and pulling out one of the rung-backed chairs. Straddling it, he rested his forearms along its curved back.
    Thelma clicked her tongue. Shaking her head she folded her thin arms across her chest. "Poor mite, she 's still in there scrubbing as if water's just been invented. I got rid of the lice from her head, I hope. She'll do."
    "Poor mite, is it?" Tiger grunted. "Something tells me I should have left her to go with Malloy. He wanted to take her."
    "Malloy? He's the foulest person in the colony, bar none."
    "She would have preferred to go with Tonkins, it seems. The wench has a grudge against the gentry." Tiger lifted his brows at Thelma 's surprised look. As she opened her mouth to say something the door in the corner opened.
    "Ah, there you are, Bella," Thelma said, smiling, as the girl came tentatively into the kitchen. "Come in now, girl, an ' we'll start to fatten you up a bit."
    "Fatten me up? Am I to be filled out an ' sent off to market like a farm beast?"
    "Heavens above, you 're an ungrateful bundle!" Tiger gave her a reproving look. "Thelma's just wanting to give you a taste of some decent food. We ought to send you packing, and that's a fact. Now, come sit and eat."
    She sat, her head bowed, hands folded demurely in her lap.
    Tiger didn't trust the meek and subservient attitude at all. Obviously she'd worked out that it would pay her to show some respect. The chit was like a fire waiting to be ignited, she wouldn't know how to be demure. But he'd always been one to play with fire, and taming this shrew should prove amusing.
    "I must say you smell sweeter now. Of course the garments don 't exactly make you a lady of quality but they're a step up from what you were wearing." He let his eyes rove over her from her head to her toes in a desultory way he knew would anger her. Her cheeks flared, and he knew she itched to fling an insult at him. Poor mite, indeed.
    "Thank you for these," Isabella muttered as she fingered the coarse woven material of the frock. It reached her ankles and was a bi t on the roomy side, but the near white apron Thelma had given her helped to pull it in round the middle. She'd never owned a petticoat in her life, and the soft material of that felt wondrous. The shoes were on the big side too, but they were the only decent foot coverings she'd ever worn. Hopefully her feet would grow into them as her body grew into the dress, and the stockings helped fill up some of the space in them. It was too hot for the hose, but she hadn't been able to resist the novelty of wearing them.
    How blissful it was to be clean. She would put up