Bridie enjoyed the company of all the new arrivals, with one exception. One afternoon Jacobus came drifting back into camp and sat down on the long bench, making himself at home. Every day from then on he’d be there with Marmalade tucked inside his shirt, playing his concertina, showing Tom his magic tricks or chatting with one of the other men. He became a familiar part of the backcloth of her life, yet he made her uneasy. It wasn’t simply that he’d stolen Sugar, nor the fact that Eddie Bones obviously disliked him. Sometimes, when Jacobus looked at her, she felt he knew exactly what she was thinking. It was as if he understood all the lies she’d ever told and every promise she’d broken.
Some nights she dreamed of Gilbert coming into camp and discovering her in this company of thieves and thespians, and she would wake in a cold sweat. And then she’d wish that she could will Brandon into her dreams instead. She knew he’d like everyone in the camp. But she could hardly make a picture of Brandon in her mind any more. It was as if her old life was slipping further and further away, as if it had all happened to someone else.
On a sweltering February afternoon, Eddie called a meeting of all the performers. They sat crammed inside the big tent on upturned crates with the canvas flapping around them as Eddie announced his plan to open a theatre.
‘Now some of you men know that I’ve made application to Melbourne, but the government says it won’t grant us a licence as the diggings is too wild a place. There aren’t enough police on the fields as it is and they think we’ll be stirring up trouble. But I’ve seen the magistrate and he’s on our side. Where there’s theatre, there’s civilisation, and he’s keen to see the goldfields civilised. If we can get enough signatures on a petition, he’ll forward it to the government and we’ll have our theatre. So here’s the rub, boys, I need you all to scour the fields and secure every man’s mark you can. The sooner we get the licence, the sooner we’ll be in business.’
The actors set out to every corner of the diggings, explaining the plan and getting signatures on the dusty sheets of paper that Eddie Bones had given each of them. Bridie and Tom trudged from one camp to the next with a pencil and the petition, asking each miner to make his mark to secure support for the theatre. Eddie took the list into every makeshift store in the canvas town and quickly gathered hundreds of signatures.
Bridie was sitting at the entrance of the big tent, darning a pair of Tom Whiteley’s socks, when Eddie Bones came into camp, whistling. He had a thick envelope tucked under his arm.
He tweaked Bridie on the cheek and called out to Amaranta. ‘We’ve got it. We’re in business, my songbird,’ he said as Amaranta came out of the tent. He put his hands around her slim waist and lifted her into the air.
Amaranta laughed. ‘Ah, Eddie, I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist you! You could sell fire to the Devil himself.’
Bridie watched them with bewilderment. That same morning, Amaranta had called him the greatest fool she’d ever known, and their angry words had sent Bridie scurrying from the campsite. She hated hearing them argue, but here it was, not three hours later, and they were like newlyweds again.
‘We’re official squatters on the Ballarat Road,’ laughed Eddie, unrolling the new licence. ‘Official! Right here, to be precise, at the heart of the goldfields, “the site is to be used as a place of amusement for a term of one year, on condition said place of amusement will only be opened three nights per week; that each night’s performance will terminate at ten o’clock; and that no exhibition will be given that would tend to lower the morals and good behaviour of the inhabitants of Ballarat”.’
‘That shouldn’t be difficult,’ said Freddy Wobbins, slapping Eddie on the back. ‘If you consider the morals of this place, we can’t make ’em much lower.’
They set to work the next day. Men appeared from nowhere, tools in hand, to help construct the new theatre. Eddie and Amaranta’s tent was dismantled and moved further back on the site, along with all the other small tents that had been erected by the new thespians. Teams of men and horses towed saplings and great trees that had been felled in the nearby bush. Bridie loved the sharp, heady scent of the fresh-cut eucalypts.
Once word had spread that the theatre was to be erected and that Amaranta, the Songbird of the South, would sing in it three times a week, support came from all corners of the diggings. Storekeepers donated old lumber, pieces of sheet iron, tin and zinc, packing cases and rolls of calico and paint. Even the government officials who’d been so reluctant to begin with arrived with bags of nails. Bridie was kept busy making tea and baking damper, and cooking up big pots of stew and soup for all the workers, who would often arrive in the early evening after a full day working their claims. They laboured late into the night, under a big, bright autumn moon. It was a strange scene, the theatre coming into being by moon and star and firelight, on nights crisp with the promise of cold weather.
‘We’ll call her the “Star”,’ said Eddie Bones, looking up at the huge swirling mass of stars above them. ‘The brightest star in the Southern Hemisphere, that’s what our theatre will be, with the most beautiful star within!’
When it was completed, the building looked more like a giant cabin than a conventional theatre. It was made of huge logs, odd pieces of cut timber and canvas. The orchestra pit was just that, a hole dug into the ground, with seats made of logs and planks. The seats for the audience were made of packing cases and boxes, and at the rear, a giant felled gum tree. In the centre of the theatre, suspended from the bark roof, was a big hoop of iron with dozens of sockets for candles. Big Bill, who’d been a blacksmith before he became a goldseeker, had made it, lured to help by Eddie Bones with the promise of a free ticket to the opening night.
‘Our own chandelier,’ said Tom, laughing, as he jammed candles into the rough black holes. Bridie saved all the fat she could from her cooking and set it in pots, storing them up for when the theatre was completed and they’d use them to light the stage.
Bridie sewed the stage curtain from every scrap of fabric she could gather. Every morning after she’d finished the chores of feeding the camp, she’d sit on an upturned box in the theatre, stitching stray pieces of fabric that she’d been able to beg, borrow or steal. There were fragments of fine cloth mixed with rough hessian potato sacks. When she finished it, Tom helped her thread it onto the two young saplings that he’d whittled smooth to act as curtain rods.
For Bridie, making the scenery was the best part of the whole season of building.
Everyone in the troupe worked as a team while the other helpers finished the structural work. Robbie McRobbie rolled out the great big sheets of calico that the storekeeper had donated, and then Tom helped nail them to a frame. There were to be two scenes, one set inside a palace and the other set outside. Tom painted the two scenes on opposite sides of the screen. There seemed to be no end of things that he could turn his hand to. Bridie watched him admiringly as he painted a high balcony on one corner of the backdrop.
‘You see, when we have to change the scene, we’ll simply turn it about!’ said Tom. Bridie laughed. Eddie Bones had already explained the procedure but she liked the way Tom was always so keen to tell her things. Sometimes, she knew he watched her, waiting to think of something clever to say. It made her feel as though everything around her was changing, exactly like the backdrops in a play. One moment, Tom looked like any other boy on the goldfields, with his worn boots and grubby face and hands, but then she’d catch sight of him from a different angle and feel astonished. When he hooked his thumbs into the belt of his trousers, tipped his hat back and laughed, he was the handsomest man she’d ever set eyes upon.
One bright autumn morning she realised that more than anything she wanted Tom to look up from his script and stare straight at her, Bridie O’Connor. She wanted him to gaze at her alone and not stand there acting as if Amaranta was his princess and the only focus of his interest. She looked down, and seeing a bright pinprick of blood on the tip of her finger quickly put it to her lips, tasting the
blood and wondering at the strength of her desires.
34
Broken promises
Bridie knelt beside Tom and watched as he painted the advertisement on a big sheet of canvas, with little flourishes. The lettering was perfectly shaped, black and bold.
‘You’ve a fine hand, Tom Whiteley,’ said Bridie. Even if she couldn’t read every word, she knew elegant writing when she saw it.
‘Can you read it all right?’ asked Tom, beaming.
Bridie took a deep breath and then confessed. ‘I never finished learning my letters.’
‘That’s something else I’ll have to teach you sometime. It’s not so hard as it seems. Here, I’ll point to the words as I read,’ said Tom, sounding even more pleased with himself. ‘Grand Opening Night of the Star Theatre on Government Road, Under the patronage of Captain Worthington, Gold Commissioner, When will be Produced the thrilling musical drama of The Princess of Patagonia, Supported by the Full Company and featuring the Songbird of the South, Amaranta El’Orado. After which, the National Anthem with full band and chorus, and the whole to conclude with a grand vocal and instrumental concert of songs, duets and dances. Doors Open at 7 o’clock. Admission: Boxes 10s, Pit 5s.’
‘How are we going to manage a full band?’ asked Bridie, a little worried by the extravagant description.
‘Eddie already has a big list of volunteers for the band. I’ve heard him talking about it. There’s an American miner called Jake who can play the banjo, there are two fiddle-players as well as Marconi, and I’ll play the tin whistle – when I’m not on stage playing the Princess’ guard, that is – and there’s a Cornish miner called Charlie Peat who has a trumpet. Oh, and Jacobus will play his concertina after he’s finished doing his magic act.’
‘And all will come to our rough temple of drama to worship at the shrine of the beautiful El Ave Chant D’Oro,’ said Jacobus, leaning over their shoulders. Bridie jumped. She hated the way Jacobus always sneaked up like that.
‘C’mon,’ said Bridie, ignoring Jacobus. ‘Don’t we have to hang this up somewhere? I’ll help you.’
‘Eddie said to take it down to the old gum tree in front of the new government building.’
Bridie took a corner of the big poster and Tom took the other and they carried it down the road together.
‘You don’t like the old wizard, do you?’ said Tom when they’d got out of earshot of Jacobus.
‘What’s there to like about him?’ said Bridie.
‘Well, he knows some fine tricks and he treats that crippled dog of his well. I feel sorry for him. Besides, I heard that you nursed him when he was sick, but now you won’t even talk to him.’
‘And what’s it matter to you, Tom Whiteley?’ she said, starting to feel annoyed.
‘It matters because I’d like to know you better, Bridie, and if you don’t trust him, there must be a good reason,’ he said, blushing a little as he spoke.
Bridie couldn’t reply. She didn’t want to talk about Jacobus. A hundred questions were whirling around in her head. Why did Tom want to know her better? Did he think she was pretty? Or did he like her like a friend or a sister? What was it that he saw in her?
They pinned the sign up outside the post-office building and stood back admiring it. There were dozens of other small signs and notes pinned to the wall of the building. Some were tattered and worn with age, some were on new parchment.
‘What are all those other signs about?’ asked Bridie.
‘They’re a bit like lost and found notices,’ answered Tom. ‘See, this one is a note from one miner to his friend telling him to look down Chinaman’s Gully when he arrives at the diggings. This one is from a woman looking for her husband: “Mrs Emily Durbridge seeks news of her husband, Henry. Anyone knowing of his whereabouts, please write or send word to . . .”, and then it’s got an address in Melbourne. Eddie Bones says that sooner or later everyone in the world will come past the Ballarat Post Office.’
‘I wish that was true,’ said Bridie. ‘It’s three years since I’ve seen my brother Brandon. Sometimes I feel frightened that I wouldn’t recognise him if he did come to the diggings. He’d be more than twelve years old. I don’t even know what he looks like now. He wanted to go to America but I promised I’d bring him to Australia. I promised I’d send for him, but I don’t even know how to find him, even if I had the fare. I sent him two letters from Melbourne but there was never any answer. He could be anywhere in Ireland, anywhere in the world.’
Tom reached over and touched her lightly on the arm. ‘Everyone is coming for the gold from all around the world. Maybe he stowed away on a ship or got himself a job as a cabin boy. He might be like the lads I came with. Teddy Raggan was only twelve. Maybe your brother will come to the diggings one day, Bridie, just as you have.’
Bridie tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a small broken sob.
‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll put a sign up for you. You never know, you might get news of him, and even if he doesn’t come himself, there are enough Paddys on the goldfield, one might be from your part of the country, one might have even been in the same workhouse as you.’
Back at camp, Tom pulled out his pen and ink again and read out each word as he wrote it in his elegant, curling handwriting.
‘If this should meet the eye of Brandon O’Connor who may have come to the goldfields from County Kerry, Ireland, or any person from County Kerry who knows his whereabouts, his sister, Miss Bridie O’Connor of the Star Theatre Troupe, is most anxious to hear news of him.’
They walked back along the dusty road to the post office and Tom nailed the note up alongside the raggedy older signs. Bridie touched the clean paper with her fingertips, tracing over her own and Brandon’s names, the two words she clearly recognised.
‘It’s hot as hell today, so of course the ink dries quickly,’ said Tom, taking off his cap and wiping the sweat from his forehead.
‘Sometimes, when it gets this hot, I go up to the waterhole,’ said Bridie.
‘You know somewhere good to bathe?’ asked Tom, his eyes lighting up. ‘I thought the creek was too shallow or too filthy hereabouts. Will you take me there?’
Bridie led the way across the hot, golden ground and into the scrub. When they reached the waterhole, Bridie looked up at Tom. He was much taller than her, almost a man, and she was overcome with embarrassment.
‘I’ll just sit and have a rest while you swim,’ said Bridie.
Tom didn’t argue with her. He threw off his shirt and untied his boots, but when it came to taking off his trousers, he blushed and then laughed at himself.
‘It’s hot enough that my trousers will dry on the walk back,’ he said, buttoning them up again. He dived into the waterhole, sending sprays of silver water up into the air. The bush was still and shimmering in the afternoon heat.
Bridie watched his red-brown hair and the white arc of his arms as he swam out into the heart of the deep waterhole. Then he turned and called to her, ‘Bridie O’Connor, you can’t sit there in the burning sun. I promise, I’ll not look at you, but you’ve got to come into the water.’
Bridie swallowed hard. There was nothing she wanted more. ‘You promise you’ll keep your face turned away from me?’ she called.
‘I promise!’
Bridie stripped down to her underclothes, shyly, all the time watching the back of Tom’s head. The water had turned his hair a rich, dark mahogany. The bush was still, with only the echo of bird cries against the surface of the billabong.
Bridie dived into the cool water and gasped with pleasure. Her shift clung to her skin and her bloomers filled with water and billowed around her. She dived under and her hair swirled as she parted it with her hands. When she surfaced, Tom was watching her, grinning.
‘You promised to keep your back turned,’ said Bridie, splashing water into his laughing face.
‘You’d not deny a man such a vision of loveliness as yourself.’
‘A lie on
my soul if you’re not the worst flatterer in the whole Colony, Tom Whiteley,’ said Bridie. She tried to sound cross but the words came out full of warmth. Tom dived deep into the tea-brown water so she couldn’t see him, but she felt the swish of his body as he moved past her underwater. He came back to the surface, spluttering. For a moment, he rested his hand lightly on her shoulder, as if to steady himself but Bridie felt the caress of his fingertips like fire on her bare skin. She turned quickly, and swam away from him, her shoulder tingling where he’d touched her. The water was like liquid silk against her skin and she opened her mouth, savouring its sweetness.
35
The living and the dead
Bridie worked late into the night, sewing furiously to finish everyone’s costumes for the grand opening. The troupe had rehearsed the play countless times and Eddie Bones said that they would open on Friday night, but here it was Monday and there was still so much to do. When Bridie went to the store to buy more thread, Mr Pescott was happy to give it to her. A group of boys followed Bridie down the road, calling out questions.
‘Are you in the show, miss?’ called one boy.
‘I betcha she’s the Princess,’ said another, elbowing his friend. ‘She’s Tom Whiteley’s girl.’
Bridie spun around on her heel and glared at them. ‘Off with you, you pack of half-wits,’ she shouted. The boys laughed at her flash of temper, but they slowed their pace and let Bridie stride ahead. She couldn’t help feeling a thrill of pleasure at what they’d said, even though she wondered how they could think she looked like a princess in her threadbare green dress, her hands red and raw from hard work. And who had told them she was ‘Tom Whiteley’s girl’?
In the theatre, Freddy Wobbins and Tom were on stage, working through their lines, but they were constantly distracted by the argument Eddie Bones and Amaranta were having in the orchestra pit. Bridie stood at the theatre entrance with the princess costume in her arms, waiting for Amaranta to notice she was there.
Bridie's Fire Page 19
