Daring Masquerade

by Margaret Tanner

  "Yeah, with the help of that bitch of a woman he's married to." Jack banged one fist against the other. "They deserve each other."

  "They hate me, Virginia because I'm married to Ross, and Bromley because I showed him up in public."

  "I'm afraid you're right."

  "They won't get away with it," Harry vowed. "I'll fight them to the death."

  "You need to be careful of him, my dear. You have the child to think of. Ross wouldn't want you putting yourself at risk."

  "I'll be all right. I can't let them ruin Devil's Ridge."

  "Things will look better in the morning," Mrs. Bates soothed. "What we all need is a good night's sleep."

  Jack declined Hughie's offer to help him into bed.

  "I'm not a cripple. I can put myself to bed. You head off, Hughie; do the milking in the morning for me, will you? I don't think I'll be up to it."

  "Sure, boss. Goodnight, ladies, see you in the morning."

  Harry took a kettle of hot water into the bathroom and had a wash. She simply did not have the energy to boil enough water for a bath tonight.

  Things will be better in the morning. She lay in bed cuddling Eric's rag doll. I wish you were here Ross. She rested her cheek against the doll's grinning face. Where are you now?

  * * *

  Next morning, she came down to breakfast late. Jack sat at the table spooning porridge carefully into his mouth. His appearance shocked her, his face bruised and battered, one eye completely closed and black.

  "Those animals. How could they do this to you?" she ranted. "What type of creatures are they?"

  "Hughie heard some of them are from Beechworth jail, let out for the day to help Bromley."

  That would be right. He would be getting their labor for nothing. She snatched up a slice of toast and rammed it into her mouth.

  "No local men would have attacked me like they did. Never recognized any of them."

  "I'm going into town to see the police," she stated emphatically.

  "Won't do you much good." Jack's mouth took on a cynical curve. "They're probably on Bromley's pay roll too. Forced out the old policemen who have been here for years. They were bushman. Those fellows at the station now wouldn't know a horse from a bloody cow."

  Harry dressed in pants and a shirt, with a hat pulled down over her forehead. Easier and safer travelling as a man. Thinking about prisoners wandering around loose gave her the shivers.

  As she rode past the blackened, burnt out section leading to the crown land, fury surged through her. She clung to the small comfort that at least no local would do such a dreadful thing. Five hundred yards wide and half a mile long, the scorched ground stretched out like a black ribbon until it joined up with the road leading into town.

  A couple of miles from the homestead, the road forked, on the right it led to the mill, the left took you into town. She rode down the main street and spied the framework for a new building. And the general store now extended into an adjoining shop.

  Bromley obviously poured money into the town trying to buy the population. She waved to a couple of people who acknowledged her, but the majority turned their faces away. Most of them thought her an oddity, wondering why Ross had married her. After the baby's birth, especially if it came early, they would begin working out dates and jump to the right conclusion.

  I don't care. I love him and he loves me, too, now. As long as the baby is healthy, Devil's Ridge isn't ruined and Ross comes home to me, I don't care about anything else.

  A thin, weasel-faced policeman listened to her story about the fire and Jack being attacked.

  "Why didn't he report it himself?" He doodled on a piece of paper.

  "Because he's too badly injured."

  "No need to take that attitude, Mrs. Calvert."

  "What attitude am I supposed to take?" She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. "My husband's property gets burned, cinders drop all around our homestead. We could have been burnt to death and Jack gets bashed."

  "Now look here."

  "You look here. Bromley's behind all of this. I want you to do something about it. I want this intimidation stopped."

  "You can file a report."

  "Good, give me the paper and I'll gladly write it out. You can come and interview Jack too. He'll tell you what happened."

  "I'm busy."

  "Are you? I suppose you know about the prisoners from Beechworth that Bromley's got to do his dirty work?"

  "You better watch what you're saying, Mrs. Calvert. Clyde Bromley is a powerful man. We wouldn't want to upset him."

  "Upset him?" Harry seethed. "I'm not afraid of Bromley," she went on recklessly, "or any of his jailbird friends."

  She stormed out of the police station. The police weren't about to do anything. Everyone was either too scared of Bromley or on his payroll.

  On the spur of the moment, she decided to go to the local newspaper office. They had written an article condemning the destruction.

  "Calm down, Mrs. Calvert," the editor said. "I've known the Calverts for years. My older brother and Jack used to knock around together, but you're making serious accusations."

  "They attacked Jack and bashed him." She leaned on the desk and stared him straight in the eye. "If you don't believe me, come out and see him. Ross is on his way to France. How can I let them ruin Devil's Ridge? The police won't do anything. Bromley is using prison labor from Beechworth."

  "What?" The man jerked upright in his chair. "Are you sure?"

  "That's what Jack said. They were the ones who bashed him up. He said no locals would burn our land. They could have set the homestead on fire." She shuddered. "Burning cinders dropped everywhere."

  "I'll do an article on it, but I have to be careful. Bromley would sue me at the drop of a hat, and put me out of business. I'll have to say I interviewed you, and it could mean more trouble."

  "What else can he do? If it will stop them taking that timber and ruining Devil's Ridge, I'll take the risk."

  "Don't expect much support from the townsfolk. Some of the other station owners would be sympathetic, but many of them have lost their sons, they're old men and haven't any fight left in them now."

  "Print whatever you think is necessary to try and stop Bromley."

  "Well, he is a millionaire. He wouldn't need the money. Maybe if we put a few obstacles in his path he might go elsewhere."

  "I wouldn't bet on it," she said grimly. "What we need is support from the locals. If he has difficulty getting workers and supplies it might at least slow him down."

  "He's probably got a couple of corrupt officials on the payroll, but if we keep the pressure up." He rubbed his chin. "Maybe that's the angle we should use. Corruption in high places always raises the public's ire."

  Next, she called into the general store that also operated as an agency for the post office, to collect their mail.

  Please let there be a letter from Ross. She desperately wanted to hear from him again.

  Nothing, except a letter for Jack and a couple of bills. She swallowed a cry of disappointment. Feeling depressed, she started out of the store and bumped into someone. Male hands clamped around either arm, and even before she glanced up, by the way her flesh crawled, she knew they belonged to Clyde Bromley.

  "If it isn't Mrs. Calvert."

  "Mr. Bromley."

  She shook his hands off and stepped back a pace, then attacked straight away. "I've reported your actions to the police. Those prisoners you're using bashed Jack."

  A few interested spectators edged nearer.

  "Really?"

  "Yes. You're using prison labor from Beechworth to do your dirty work."

  "I'd watch what you say." He gave her a threatening glare, his beady eyes embedded in a thick layer of fat.

  "Deny you got those prisoners to burn Ross' land?"

  "I'm warning you."

  "What are you going to do?" She stood with her hands on her hips, staring him down. "Will you get them to bash me up like they did Ja
ck," she yelled, throwing caution to the wind.

  "I'd watch your mouth unless you want it shut permanently." Evil menace loaded his voice.

  "Are you threatening me?"

  The spectators edged away, making it quite clear they did not intend getting involved.

  "Call it a friendly warning." He actually smiled, but not one she'd call friendly. "Come on, my dear. I know you're missing your husband." He lowered his voice still further. "If you're lonely in bed, I'd be happy to pleasure you."

  She glared at him. "Let a fat pig like you maul me! I'd jump into a boiling cauldron first."

  Spinning on her heel, she ignored Clyde's outrage and the shocked mutterings from the spectators and pushed past them. Almost at the door, she heard him growl.

  "Calvert was a fool marrying that slut, even if he did get her in the family way."

  She held her head high and kept on walking. If she turned around she would physically attack Bromley and rip his ugly, pudgy face to pieces with her fingernails. Once again, she had lost her temper, let her tongue race out of control.

  What an idiot. She had played right into his hands.

  Only one person could have relayed that information to him; Virginia. Ross must have told her.

  Her heart weighed a ton in her breast, her head ached and she wanted to be violently ill. Gritting her teeth and swallowing down on her nausea, she mounted and galloped out of town. After about ten minutes, she slid off the horse, and on her hands and knees, vomited her heart out in the bushes beside the track. Feeling weak and sick, she somehow managed to remount and ride slowly towards Devil's Ridge.

  At home, she all but staggered into the kitchen and slumped at the table.

  "My head aches," she whimpered to Mrs. Bates. I can't keep my eyes open."

  "You poor dear." Mrs. Bates produced a damp cloth sprinkled with lavender oil and laid it across her forehead. "I'll make you a nice cup of tea, then you lie down. I told Jack he shouldn't have let you go into town on your own."

  She drank the tea gratefully and let the old lady lead her upstairs and help her undress. Feeling a hundred years old, she crawled between the sheets and closed her eyes.

  Bromley had called her a slut in front of a dozen or more people. If that wasn't bad enough, he insinuated she tricked Ross into marriage by getting pregnant. It made everything sound so sordid. Worst of all, Ross must have told Virginia. The pain of that betrayal almost killed her. Had he perhaps complained to Virginia about it? Lamenting the fact common decency had forced him to offer marriage? It had to be him who told Virginia, no one else would have known. Tears soaked the pillow.

  Oh, Ross, how could you?

  She sat up, sending her head into a spin. Andrew would have known. She flopped back on the pillows. He probably told Sarah who would have gleefully relayed it to her dear friend Virginia. The ton weight crushing her chest and constricting her breathing lifted. Ross hadn't betrayed her at all. She closed her eyes and slept.

  * * *

  Within a fortnight of her visit to town and the publication of the paper, Harry began receiving unsigned hate mail.

  "God Almighty." Jack let out a hissing breath. "Cowardly bastards. You were foolish talking to the press, girlie. They shouldn't have embellished the story like they did, but no decent person would write such filth. We should take them to the police."

  "What good will it do?" Her shoulders slumped. "I wanted people to see what was happening here. I didn't want them spoiling this place."

  "I know, I know." He patted her hand. "We have to be clever from now on. They'll be out to get us. We're the only ones with the guts to stand up to them. I'm going to ride into town, take these letters to the authorities. Bloody Jasper from the paper should have more sense."

  Clearly Jack's ribs hadn't been broken, otherwise he would not have made such a speedy recovery. His eye remained half-shut, though, and the bruising and lacerations had not faded completely.

  Depressed and sad after he left, she wandered down to Eric's plantation and buried her feet in the pine needles. Scooping them up in a pile until her legs were covered to the level of her knees, she leaned back against a tree, with her arms folded across her chest.

  On the breeze, the noise of axes on wood drifted over to her. Already the cutting had begun. A snapping sound rent the air, the ground shuddered as a giant tree crashed down to earth, followed shortly afterwards by another and another. Her hands clasped over her ears failed to block out the noise. Flocks of frightened birds soared skywards as their homes disappeared. The destruction of the forest had begun in earnest.

  I can't give up. I have to do something, but what?

  She must use her head this time; remain cool and calm, without losing her temper. Wait until Jack came back from town and perhaps together they could come up with some plan of action.

  Slowly, she climbed to her feet and traipsed towards the homestead. She waved to Mr. Wu who worked in his vegetable garden. Hughie had gone to check some of the fences so there was no one to talk to except Mrs. Bates.

  Housework had never appealed to her, but she did not like untidiness either, so between the two of them they kept everything in order. The old lady did her best, but the majority of work fell on her. Maybe they should get another woman in to help. Someone prepared to come two or three times a week would be perfect, but almost impossible to find, especially now.

  Domestics were hard to get even in the city according to the papers. Too many young girls wanted to earn big money working in the munitions factories or the woolen mills. I'll write to Elsie and ask her to come up. She could help with the baby later. Mrs. Bates, poor dear, was much too old. It would be nice to have someone young in the house, such a lonely house without Ross.

  She couldn't even meet other women at the Red Cross meetings held in town to help the war effort. After Clyde Bromley's outburst, and all the trouble, they wouldn't welcome her to their meetings. She was virtually a social pariah.

  Jack came back in the afternoon, hot, bothered and angry.

  "They didn't bloody care." He tossed his hat at the hallstand and it missed. "I showed those letters to the police who said they couldn't do anything. Jasper from the paper has also received poison pen letters. Seems the townsfolk want the mill expanded. Want the money Bromley is spending."

  He paced up and down. "He's got twenty men working fifty hours a week at the mill now. Even built a log chute. He's got several horse teams working at the one time. They drag the logs to a chute up on the ridge somewhere, they're stripped of bark before being sent down the chute to be milled. It's criminal."

  "I sat in Eric's plantation and I could hear them chopping the trees down. The earth trembled when they fell to the ground. We've lost the fight, haven't we?"

  "I'm beginning to think so. My God, young Harry, you stirred up a hornet's nest in town. Some people are baying for your blood."

  "I know," she said bitterly. "Thanks to Bromley, they think I'm an immoral slut who trapped Ross into marriage."

  "You're the best thing that ever happened to him. You sent him off to war a happy man. Don't let those old strumpets in town spoil things for you. When he gets back everything will be fine. He'll soon sort them out."

  "What if he doesn't come back?" she whispered. "I don't think I'll be able to survive without him."

  "He'll come back. You have to believe that."

  "I'm trying, but it's hard when I haven't heard from him."

  "It takes at least nine or ten weeks to get to England, more sometimes."

  "I know, Jack, I should try to be cheerful but it's hard."

  "Let's go to the kitchen and you can make me a cup of tea. I'm choking for a drink."

  She stood and walked towards the black marble fireplace. Over the mantel hung two pictures, one a smiling young soldier with a reckless glow in his eyes, a head and shoulders portrait of Eric. In the other, Ross standing, his shiny leggings clearly visible and his officer's uniform immaculately tailored. He wore no hat, his hair was com
bed back but a wayward curl managed to flop across his forehead. He wasn't smiling, and his eyes looked somber. He wasn't a reckless adventurer like Eric, but had enlisted because he felt duty bound to fight for the Empire.

  Over their tea, Jack raged about the mill again.

  "They've got two ten-horsepower engines working twin saws capable of cutting forty to fifty thousand feet of timber a week. It's a big operation. Heard he picked up the mill for a song. That bastard is going to get even richer, and destroy the forest while he's at it."

  "It's terrible."

  "It's the messmate and blue gum he's really after. That crown land is covered with them. They can never be replaced," he went on bitterly. "The district's heritage is being chopped down to give more money to a millionaire. It's disgraceful."

  "We've got to do something to stop him."

  "Hope the bloody snow comes early." Jack banged his hand on the table, making the cutlery dance. It should stop him, or at least put a spoke in his wheel for a few weeks."

  "It might be too late by then."

  "I know, my dear. We could write letters to the politicians, I suppose, and try and garner support from them."

  "They won't help us, they don't care. We'll have to do something ourselves."

  "We have to think about this. Plan a strategy. I know you're young and impetuous, but promise me you won't do anything rash."

  "All right, you write the letters, but if they don't work we'll have to try something else."

  Chapter Thirteen

  As the weeks passed, every door she tried to open slammed shut in her face. No one, it seemed, cared about the destruction Clyde Bromley wreaked in the bush. Day after day she endured the noise of the majestic giants of the forest crashing to the ground. A smoky haze hung over the mountains as piles of sawdust and wood chips smoldered day and night.

  "I'm not putting up with this any longer." Harry stormed into the homestead. "Look at these sheets. They've got soot all over them."

  "I know, dear, we'll just have to wash them again."