She checked her watch and, on the dot of five minutes, she threw the door open and the two women returned to the classroom, ignoring the last-minute scrambling as children returned to their desks. The head teacher’s desk lid stood open and Eliza lifted out the roll book, now free of the spider, and began calling out the names.
The large boy was Bert Marsh. Eliza would have laid odds that Bert had been behind the spider. As well as the prissy Martha there were another three Mackie girls. The eldest, Agnes, had been appointed the pupil teacher and, to judge from her sullen glare, resented having her position of authority usurped by Eliza.
As she closed the book, the schoolroom door burst open to admit a latecomer. Eliza took the child for a boy until Flora Donald said, ‘Charlotte O’Reilly, you are late. You will stay in over the dinner hour and write out fifty times “I shall not be late for school”.’
The child looked down at her feet, clad in boots that had begun to come apart, revealing her toes. With her short brown hair and patched boy’s clothes, it was little wonder Eliza had mistaken her for a boy.
‘Yes’m, sorry’m,’ Charlotte mumbled.
Eliza glanced down at the roll book, looking for the child’s name. Charlotte O’Reilly, aged ten. The ten was followed by a question mark. A number of gaps against the child’s name indicated she had missed a great deal of schooling.
‘Take a seat, Charlotte,’ Flora said. ‘Make room for her.’
No one moved.
Martha Mackie stood up. ‘No one wants to sit next to her, miss. She smells.’
The O’Reilly child stared fixedly at the floor and shuffled her feet.
‘She can sit next to me,’ a large boy of about twelve, who had answered to the name of Joe Trevalyn, stood up and moved along his bench. He gave the ragamuffin a smile and Charlotte O’Reilly shuffled onto the bench, perching precariously on the very edge.
‘Thank you, Joe,’ Eliza said.
‘Now, Charlotte, why are you late?’ Flora demanded.
The child raised her chin. ‘Me name’s Charlie,’ she said.
‘In this room, you will be called by your given name: Charlotte. What is the reason for your tardiness?
‘I had to help Ma with a brew.’
Eliza heard one of the girls say, ‘Mad Annie’s mad daughter,’ and the room erupted in laughter. Colour burned in Charlie O’Reilly’s cheeks and she stared at the desk.
Flora clapped her hands, bringing the room back to silence. ‘We’ve had enough interruptions. Miss Penrose, please take your position with the older children for their mathematics class.’
Eliza walked the length of the room to the tall desk with a blackboard on an easel beside it. Pausing only to check there were no stray arachnids in her own desk, she turned to face the children.
‘Thank you to whoever introduced me to that particular species of spider. Could someone please tell me what genus it is?’
Silence. Then one of the boys spoke up. ‘Please, miss, it was a huntsman. They don’t bite.’
‘Yeah, not like a redback,’ Bert Marsh said. ‘Bite from one of those can kill you.’
Eliza looked at Flora, busy writing on the blackboard, and said, ‘You probably all know that I am new to Australia, so let’s start the day with a nature lesson. I want you to teach me about the animals.’
‘But we should be doing mathematics. We are learning percentages.’ Martha Mackie half-rose from her seat in indignation.
‘Mathematics can wait. Who wants to start? What is the largest animal you have seen?’
As the children contributed the names of the local fauna, Eliza wrote them on the blackboard: wallabies (good eating); wombats and possums (not so tasty); bats; the strange platypus that lived in the quiet creeks; parakeets; bellbirds; and snakes. She asked the children to draw their favourite animal on their slates and tell her where they had seen them. A couple of the boys drew snakes and by the end of the morning she learned that the tiger, brown and black snakes, along with redback spiders, were to be avoided at all costs. It had been a most instructive lesson.
‘Remember when the tiger snake bit Danny Greaves?’ one of the children said.
‘He nearly died!’
‘He’s got a beauty of a scar,’ Bert Marsh said with what sounded like grudging admiration.
The name Danny Greaves did not appear in the roll book so Eliza assumed that he had left the town at some point.
Over lunch she watched from the school steps as the children played in the yard. Inside the schoolroom, the strange ragamuffin, Charlie, stood at one of the blackboards, scrawling her lines. While the others ate lunches packed into pails or tied up in cloth by their mothers, Charlie did not appear to have anything. Eliza cut off some bread and cheese from her own lunch and took them over to the child with an apple.
‘There you go.’
Charlie looked up, a pair of startling green eyes shining brightly from her dirty face. ‘For me?’
‘Yes. You won’t learn if you’re hungry. Please stay after school, I would like to talk to you.’
But as soon as the clock struck four and Eliza rang the bell, Charlie bolted and was the first one out the door. Eliza watched her scampering away, her brown legs flying in her haste to be away from the school. With a thoughtful sigh she turned inside to prepare the room for the following day.
‘Don’t waste your time on Charlotte O’Reilly, Miss Penrose. That child has no place among decent folk,’ Flora said as she inscribed ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness’ at the top of the board: the worthy thought for the next day.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘If it were up to me, that child would be banned from the school, but the Board of Advice tells me that every child has to receive an education.’ She gesticulated with the chalk. ‘She is always late, always dressed in boy’s clothes and is generally unwashed. The chance of some nasty infection spreading to the other children is not to be borne.’
‘So your objection to Charlotte is simply that she is inadequately dressed and bathed?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, her mother is—’ Flora Donald broke off. The chalk she held in her hand snapped with a crack.
‘Her mother is what?’
Flora’s lips curled in distaste and she returned to her blackboard, furiously rubbing at the day’s work. ‘Her mother, if you can call her that, has a grog shop up on the Aberfeldy Road. Little more than a bark hut. Brews her own disgusting beer and, from what I hear, grog is not the only thing she sells, if the price is right.’
‘How far out of town?’
‘A couple of miles at least. It’s on the turn-off to Pretty Sally.’
‘So to get to school, Charlie walks into town?’
‘I suppose she does.’
‘And is no one doing anything to help them?’
‘The Ladies’ Committee have tried to take food and clothes but the last time, Mrs O’Reilly saw them off with a rifle. There is no helping them.’
‘And yet the child keeps coming to school?’
Flora shrugged. ‘It won’t last. You’ll see.’
‘Is there no father?’
‘No. The mother probably couldn’t even give you a name if you asked her.’
A number of questions swirled in Eliza’s head but she had tried Flora’s Christian righteousness far enough. She didn’t need to antagonise the woman any more than she already had done, so she changed the subject and they discussed the day, an exercise which included a resounding telling off from Flora for Eliza’s impromptu nature lesson.
Eventually Eliza took her leave.
A man on a horse had turned into the track that ran past the school, leading up to the mine, and as Eliza shut the gate, he slowed, pushing his hat to the back of his head.
‘You must be Miss Penrose,’ he said.
She looked up at him. He had light brown hair, a trimmed beard and a pair of grey-green eyes that crinkled at the corners as he smiled.
‘You have the advantage of me, si
r.’
‘My apologies.’ He swept the hat from his head. ‘Jack Tehan. I had the honour of working with your brother.’
‘Black Jack Tehan?’
He laughed. ‘Ah, you’ve heard me called Black Jack? The nickname is, I’m afraid, ironic. I am black in neither looks nor temperament.’
‘And how did you know who I was, Mr Tehan?’
‘Oh, ’tis a small community and word travels fast.’ He glanced back to the main road. ‘Also I met young Charlie on the way down here and she told me there was a Miss Penrose teaching at the school so I made the connection.’
Eliza remembered where she had heard the name. ‘And you are the man currently managing my brother’s mine, the Shenandoah?’
A muscle twitched in Tehan’s cheek. ‘Yes, your brother employed me as foreman and after … Now I work for your uncle.’ He cocked his head to one side and considered her for a long moment. ‘Forgive my impertinence, Miss Penrose, but you’re not much like your brother.’
‘No. He got the dark Cornish looks, I got the English,’ she said and frowned. ‘And am I wrong in thinking you’re Irish?’
Tehan shook his head. ‘Born and bred in this country,’ he said. ‘Or Tasmania at least. Not sure whether we Tasmanians consider ourselves Australian or not. We’re something of a law unto ourselves, but my dad was Irish and the brogue may have rubbed off.’ He looked up at the darkening sky. ‘Now, if you’ll be excusing me, your uncle is expecting me.’ He paused and gave her an appraising look. ‘Will I be seeing you at the dance on Saturday night?’
‘I’ve not made up my mind. I’m officially in mourning, Mr Tehan.’
‘Aye, you are too, but there’s precious little fun to be had out here so we take it where we find it.’ He tipped his fingers to his hat. ‘Good day to you, Miss Penrose.’
‘Goodnight, Mr Tehan.’
He replaced his hat and gave a curt nod. ‘Pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
Eliza followed his progress up the hill toward the mine.
‘Don’t you be having anything to do with that man.’ Flora Donald’s acerbic command cut across her reverie. ‘He has the charm of the Irish about him but there are several girls in these parts who are nursing hearts broken by Mr Tehan.’
Eliza turned to face her. ‘I am quite capable of forming my own judgements, thank you, Miss Donald.’
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I will see you tomorrow morning, Miss Penrose.’
And with that, Flora left, her shawl wound tightly around her.
Eliza remained by the gate, waiting until both Flora and the enigmatic ‘Black’ Jack Tehan were out of sight before turning for her uncle’s house.
As she made her way up the hill, her thoughts were filled with Charlie O’Reilly. Why did Charlie keep coming back to school when everything from her home life to the antipathy of her fellow students and teachers seemed set against her? Surely there could only be one reason: she wanted to learn. The child thirsted for knowledge.
‘To hell with Flora Donald,’ Eliza muttered as she closed her bedroom door behind her and flung her hat onto the bed. Every child deserved an education and she would do whatever it took to ensure Charlie O’Reilly had every opportunity, if for no other reason than to ensure she escaped her mother’s fate.
Ten
Alec thrust his hands into his coat pockets and hurried across the yard to the adit, the entrance to the mine, which led into a long passageway. He found Trevalyn in the plant room. The foreman stood beside the new boiler in conversation with the mine’s blacksmith. He turned to Alec with a furrowed brow.
‘We’ve a problem with the welding.’
The men discussed the issues and once the men were back at work, Alec and Trevalyn adjourned to the crib room.
Alec asked the foreman what he had heard about the Shenandoah Mine.
‘You’d know more than me,’ Trevalyn said.
‘Just interested in hearing what’s being said about it since Penrose’s death.’
Trevalyn bit into a cold pie, no doubt lovingly packed by Mrs Trevalyn. Alec’s nose twitched. The best he could put together was stale bread and cheese.
‘From what I hear it was showing good promise,’ Trevalyn said. ‘After Penrose’s accident, Cowper promoted Jack Tehan to manage it and if anyone has a nose for gold, it’s Black Jack. Made his fortune in Bendigo and lost it just as fast. I’ve heard he’ll bet on raindrops running down a window pane. Do you know him?’
‘Met him a couple of times. Penrose thought he did a good job.’ But he had sensed a reluctance in his friend when he spoke of Tehan. ‘Got in a foreman straight off the Bendigo field,’ Penrose had said a few months before he died. ‘He came recommended by Cowper. Seems to know his stuff—’ The but had remained unspoken.
Alec looked at the boiler without really seeing it while he brooded on the question of how Black Jack had come to be at the Shenandoah. If he had been recommended by Cowper it made some sense. Charles Cowper had started out on the Bendigo goldfields and must have come across Tehan during his time there, but it raised the question of why Cowper would be recommending a mine foreman to Penrose when the two were barely speaking.
Alec left Trevalyn to finish his pie and descended one of the ladders that lined the shaft to the deep lead. At present the winch was only used for bringing up the extracted rock but with the new boiler they could look at putting in a proper cage to transport the miners to the new level; they had dropped the shaft fifty feet, which made it quite a climb on ladders alone. The reef had widened at this point and now they were striking out westward, following the quartz seam. The early crushings were promising and for the first time in several years of hard rock mining, the Maiden’s Creek Mine was finally producing a marketable quantity of gold, but it was not enough. Not yet.
Alec ducked his head under a beam that had once been a magnificent Huon pine, bought in at some expense from Tasmania. Light but strong and rot resistant, Huon made the best mine supports.
Noticing him, the team at the end of the tunnel stopped work and straightened as best they could, wiping their sweating, grimy faces and pulling their hats from their heads.
‘Afternoon, Mr McLeod,’ David Morgan said.
‘How’s it going?’
Morgan pushed his cap to the back of his head and scratched his chin. ‘Slow work today, boss. We’ve hit hard rock.’
‘Don’t let me stop you.’
Morgan nodded and picked up the yard-long drill bit. George Tregloan swung the mallet and struck the end of the bit. Morgan turned the bit, Tregloan hit it. After a while they would swap places and the third member of the team, John Marsh, would take the bit and Morgan the mallet. It was hard, slow work but at the end of the week they would have drilled the holes into which explosives would be placed. On Saturday the explosives would be blown, the dust allowed to settle and the debris carted out to be crushed by the five-headed stamper below the mine on Monday.
Alec watched the three men. They had been working together so long, they almost moved as one, each alert to the others’ movements. Away from the mine they could be found in the Britannia, slaking the mine dust with a beer. He picked up a piece of quartz, turning it over in his hand. Every time he did this, his heart thrilled to the possibility that this innocuous rock may hold the elusive and seductive glint of gold. He pulled his geologist’s hammer from his belt and struck it, the quartz fracturing into three pieces. He held each piece up and studied it in the light of the lantern that had been hammered into the wall of the tunnel.
‘Anything?’ Marsh said.
Alec shook his head. ‘Where do you think this reef is heading?’
The men downed their tools to discuss the possible line of the seam they had been following. Despite its current westerly direction it could easily change direction and run the risk of running into an adjoining lease. Cowper had been gradually buying out the smaller leases, which made Maiden’s Creek the biggest mine in the district.
Alec
listened to the men’s opinions; they had an instinct for mining and he trusted their judgement. They agreed that the reef was heading down, away from the creek and town. Another lead to be sunk, Alec realised with a thrill of anticipation as he left the men and returned down the tunnel, his heavy boots slopping in the mud and puddles between the rail lines that carried the little carriages filled with broken rock.
At the shaft level he stopped to inspect the pre-cut lengths of wood propped against the wall, ready for installation when the next blast extended the tunnel. He unslung one of the lanterns and held it up. Bits of bark still adhered to the lengths and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He knew wood and something was missing: the warm honey smell of Huon pine. He held the lantern up close to the supports. These were not Huon, but sugar gum, a notoriously brittle wood, unsuitable for heavy work in such damp conditions. This had not been what he specified.
He rehung the lantern and took the ladders several rungs at a time, intent on speaking to Trevalyn. Failing to find him, Alec stormed out of the mine, the mounting anger roiling in his heart. In the yard he found the woodcutters, the Benetti brothers, unloading their cart. They greeted him with broad smiles.
‘Signore McLeod, how are you today?’
Alec took a breath, bringing his temper under control. ‘Do you know anything about the sugar gum supports?’
Giuseppe glanced at Salvatore and shrugged. ‘We were told to provide sugar gum for the support posts.’
Alec thanked the Benetti brothers and left them to their work. Only one person would have overridden his specifications. He threw open the door to the administration building and stormed past Ian in the outer office, entering Charles Cowper’s woodpanelled sanctum without knocking.
Cowper rose from behind his desk, his mouth open to protest Alec’s invasion of his office.
‘Where are the Huon supports that I ordered last month?’ Alec said.
‘What do you mean?’
The Goldminer's Sister Page 9
