The Cloud Leopard's Daughter

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Sherry? To hell with that,’ Amber said. ‘Make mine a brandy, I’m freezing.’ Her upper lip and nose were now glistening and red, liberally coated with a smear of witch hazel and mercury ointment.

  Rian waved at a barmaid to attract her attention. She meandered across, her crinoline knocking over two stools as she approached, her hair piled into an elaborate sweep of glossy ringlets and her heavy gold jewellery flashing in the lamplight. Kitty stared at her; the girl looked more high-class whore than barmaid.

  Rian ordered beer, brandy, whisky for himself, and asked Kitty what she fancied.

  ‘A small brandy, please.’

  ‘Right away.’ The girl smiled: two of her teeth were also gold.

  As she swayed off, Amber remarked, ‘The pay must be good here for barmaids.’

  Mick, Hawk and Pierre laughed.

  ‘The mademoiselle she has more than one job, perhaps?’ Pierre said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  Rian took off his hat and scratched his head. ‘We stopped by Cobb and Co and bought tickets for the coach tomorrow morning. Seven seats. Hawk, Pierre and Simon, I want you to come with us. And you, Haunui.’

  Kitty knew he’d chosen his crew members with the most level heads. And Simon had always been good at dealing with people. As a younger man he’d been a missionary at Paihia and Waimate with the Church Missionary Society, but had suffered a crisis of faith and left in 1845 (though he still ministered occasionally, usually only when someone specifically requested pastoral assistance or had died). He had been sailing with Rian ever since.

  ‘How far away is this place?’ Haunui asked.

  ‘Lawrence?’ Rian leant back as the barmaid arrived with their drinks and plonked them artlessly on the table. ‘I don’t know. Girl, do you know?’

  ‘Know what?’ she asked, a hand on an ample hip.

  ‘How far away Lawrence is.’

  ‘It’s about sixty miles south-west of here, near the Tuapeka diggings. Gabriel’s Gully? Takes a day by coach.’

  God almighty, Kitty thought, a whole day in a coach.

  Rian grunted and handed the barmaid a sixpence for her trouble. She looked at it as though she barely recognised such small change, but dropped it down her cleavage nonetheless, gave the table a quick wipe with a reeking rag and left them to it.

  Rian said, ‘The coach leaves from the Provincial Hotel. We’re to be there by a quarter past five.’

  ‘In the morning? So early.’ Pierre looked aghast.

  ‘You’re used to it,’ Mick said.

  ‘But we are ashore. I am on the shore leave.’

  ‘No you’re not, so go easy on the beer tonight,’ Rian warned. ‘Apparently the coach won’t wait for stragglers. So, where are we eating?’

  Ropata said, ‘The City Buffet. Just opened and advertising a chef who’s supposed to be an “experienced Parisian Artiste”.’

  ‘Sounds all right,’ Rian said, though Pierre snorted disbelievingly and declared he’d rather eat at a Chinese restaurant.

  The City Buffet was definitely all right, and certainly no mere ordinary. Kitty had the oysters aux natural and pheasant cutlets vol-au-vent with pâté de fois gras, Rian chose the pheasant followed by roast sirloin of beef with horseradish sauce, and Amber had hare julienne soup and roast turkey farcie aux truffe. Pierre had four courses: eels en matelote, salmi of whole duck, roast hare and game sauce, and charlotte à la Russe, though he didn’t finish any of it and insisted that the eels tasted muddy, the duck was overdone, the game sauce was too gamey, and the cream in the charlotte was off. No one else complained about their meals. Rian laughed and called him a jealous old harpy, but Kitty patted his hand and assured him that his cooking was just as good, which it almost was.

  After dinner they went upstairs to the smoking and coffee lounge, though Mick left, announcing his intention to visit the ‘Devil’s Half Acre’, a squalid area of town notorious for its saloons and whores. After a moment Simon slipped out after him, and though they were all aware it wouldn’t be a woman whose company he was seeking, no one said anything. They never did.

  *

  Later that night aboard the Katipo, Kitty snuggled into Rian’s chest. She could barely keep her eyes open and knew they had to be up very early in the morning, but she had something she needed to say.

  ‘You could have told me, you know.’

  ‘Told you what?’

  Astounded, she pulled back and glanced up at his face. He looked relaxed, his eyes closed, which was good: he wouldn’t see her hand coming if she chose to slap him.

  ‘About Fu and Bao! Why didn’t you?’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t want to worry you.’

  Kitty sat up. ‘No, you just behaved like a bear with a sore head and made everyone’s lives a misery.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  No apology, Kitty noted.

  ‘But you’ve got other things to worry about,’ Rian said.

  Did she? ‘Have I? What?’

  Rian opened an eye. ‘I don’t know. Haven’t you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Both eyes now. ‘And you’d be finding out anyway. I just thought the less time you had to fret about it, the better. Amber, too. Look at how upset she is now she knows.’

  ‘Stop trying to look after us!’ Kitty exploded. He was always doing this, treating both of them as though they weren’t even capable of tying their own boot laces.

  Rian looked at her, truly taken aback. ‘Stop looking after you? But I can’t.’

  ‘We’re grown women, you know, Amber and I.’

  ‘I do know that.’

  ‘Good.’

  Silence, save for the creaking of the Katipo’s timbers, then loud voices and a burst of raucous laughter outside as a party made its way along the wharf to its moored ship.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’ Rian asked eventually.

  ‘I suppose.’

  He pulled her close and arranged the bedclothes cosily over them. ‘So, do you feel better now, knowing that Bao’s been abducted?’

  No, you swine, I don’t. ‘Well, hardly.’

  ‘See, I told you you’d worry.’

  ‘But at least I know now what was upsetting you,’ Kitty retorted. ‘God, poor Fu. Poor Bao. Imagine not only being kidnapped by your own uncle of all people, but then discovering you’re to marry someone you’ve never set eyes on before.’

  ‘At some point she would probably have had to marry someone she’d never met,’ Rian said. ‘I believe that’s how the Chinese do these things.’

  ‘I know, but at least Fu would have chosen someone decent for her.’

  Rian stroked Kitty’s hair thoughtfully. ‘You know, I’m more than happy to meet with Fu, but I’m not sure how we can help him.’

  ‘Perhaps he just wants advice.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I can’t understand why he hasn’t gone after Bao himself.’

  ‘But if he has a claim here, wouldn’t he lose it if he abandoned it? You know what it was like at Ballarat, especially for the Chinese.’

  Lifting Kitty’s legs, Rian settled them across his lap so she was nestled over him like a question mark. ‘I can’t see Fu putting gold ahead of Bao, though, can you? She’s more important to him than anything.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘So why hasn’t he?’

  But Kitty couldn’t answer, because she really didn’t know.

  *

  The Cobb and Co coach clearly did not wait for stragglers. They had been told the interior was fully booked, but there was an empty seat when they departed at exactly half past five. The weather was foul – wet, the rain accompanied by an icy wind, and the sun not yet risen. According to the driver – a chatty, personable man who introduced himself as Ned Devine – the journey would take around nine hours, plus stops for a meal and to water and change the horses.

  The interior bench seats accommodated nine, as Kitty discovered when she climbed inside – four at the front facing five at the back. She chose a rear seat
as she didn’t fancy travelling the whole sixty miles backwards. Rian, Amber, Pierre and Hawk sat next to her, leaving Simon and Haunui to sit opposite beside the only traveller not in their party, an older gentleman who piled several bags in the empty space next to him. There were already two men occupying the box seats outside beside the driver, which apparently cost more than interior seats and were highly favoured. (Surely not on a day like this, she thought.) It appeared that no one, however, had bought a seat on the roof.

  Amber’s face was looking better, though marred by her expression, which was sour at having to leave a warm bunk on the Katipo so early. She was desperately upset about Bao, too, and not bothering to conceal it.

  Kitty was sick with worry herself, for both Bao and for Fu. For Bao to be abducted by her own uncle . . . On the other hand, while Wong Kai had once done Kitty a very big favour, she knew how ruthless he could be, and despite her distress and dismay she wasn’t entirely surprised to hear what he’d done.

  The coach started off with a lurch, all six horses leaning into the harnesses. Kitty’s head hit the wall behind her.

  ‘And we’re off!’ announced the nameless gentleman cheerfully.

  Kitty gave him a watery smile that, embarrassingly, turned into a yawn so enormous she thought her face might turn inside out. ‘I do beg your pardon,’ she murmured from behind her glove.

  ‘You have my sympathies, madam,’ he said. ‘It’s certainly an evil morning for rising early. Please, allow me to introduce myself. Lawson Trippe, Esquire, at your service.’ He half-rose from his seat and offered his hand all round. When he came to Haunui in the corner he exclaimed heartily, ‘Ah, one of our dusky native friends!’

  Haunui winked at him and gave his hand an extra hard squeeze.

  Lawson Trippe, Esquire, sat down again, rubbing his fingers on his trousers. He was a big man with a gut, bushy grey mutton chops and a florid face. His clothes were very well cut, his boots shone, and he wore a heavy gold watch chain with a fob containing a large, glittering red stone. A ruby, Kitty wondered, or glass?

  ‘Travelling to the diggings on business, Mr Trippe?’ Simon asked politely.

  ‘I do have some commercial interests at the Tuapeka, yes, though more at the Dunstan. That’s where the money is these days. Yourselves?’

  ‘We’re visiting a friend,’ Simon replied.

  ‘Is that so? A lot of folk have moved on from Gabriel’s Gully. I do hope your friend isn’t one of them. You might find your journey’s been wasted.’

  Rian stretched out his legs, sliding his boots under the seat opposite. ‘I don’t think so. Our friend is settled at the camp near Lawrence.’

  ‘Oh. Oh dear.’ Mr Trippe looked crestfallen. ‘I think you might have been put wrong, I’m afraid. I believe that’s the Chinese camp. You certainly don’t want to go there.’

  Kitty held her breath.

  ‘Oh, I think we do,’ Rian said. ‘Our friend is Chinese.’

  ‘Really?’ Mr Trippe stared. ‘Good God. Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t take your womenfolk. I’ve heard some most alarming stories about, well, I won’t raise the subject in mixed company, but you men will understand the matter to which I’m alluding. Pardon me, ladies.’

  ‘Do you actually know any Chinese people, Mr Tripe?’ Rian asked.

  ‘Trippe. No, not as such, but—’

  ‘Then I suggest you refrain from repeating what is essentially gossip.’

  Mr Trippe opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  No one said anything for the next twenty minutes. The sun still hadn’t risen and it was freezing inside the coach. The door had a glass window, but the window openings on either side and in the opposite wall weren’t glazed; their leather curtains were down to keep out the rain, but sadly admitted the cold. Kitty entertained herself by watching her warm breath make little clouds of vapour in the air.

  Eventually, Mr Trippe cleared his throat. ‘I do apologise for my earlier comment.’

  Rian nodded. ‘Accepted, thank you.’

  Cheering up visibly, Mr Trippe said, ‘Did you know that these coaches are American made? Have you travelled with Cobb and Co before?’

  Poor old buffoon, Kitty thought. Clearly he can’t bear the thought of going for nine hours without talking to anyone.

  ‘We went by coach from Melbourne to Ballarat once,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think it was a Cobb and Co. Was it?’ she asked Rian.

  ‘It was, actually.’

  ‘This particular model is the Concord,’ Mr Trippe blathered on, ‘named by the man who invented it, JS Abbott, who hailed from Concord, New Hampshire. Fascinatingly, it has a most unique suspension system, the coach body sitting on eight leather straps supported by curved iron jacks, which is why the Concord is sometimes referred to as the Jack coach.’

  ‘That is interesting,’ Simon said politely.

  ‘They say the suspension system provides the most comfortable mode of transport across land known to man, though in my opinion it does rock somewhat.’

  At that moment the coach hit a pothole and they were almost hurled off their seats. Amber started to laugh and so did Haunui, though Kitty didn’t think any of them would be quite so amused after they’d spent an entire day being similarly thrown about.

  Rian retrieved his hat from the floor. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Yes, well, I do feel the roads to the goldfields could be maintained with a little more vigour,’ Mr Trippe replied.

  ‘We haven’t even left Dunedin yet.’

  Mr Trippe tweaked the curtain over his window and peered out into the slowly encroaching dawn. ‘It appears not.’

  ‘Anyone for the cards?’ Pierre asked, producing a pack from his pocket.

  ‘I say, what did you have in mind?’ Mr Trippe looked thrilled.

  ‘Vingt-et-un, euchre, whist? Poker?’

  Oh, not poker, you poor fool. Pierre, Hawk and Amber were all extremely crafty players and Kitty knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. Unless he was even more crafty, or an accomplished cheat.

  Rubbing his hands together, Mr Trippe declared happily, ‘I think poker might be just the thing, don’t you?’

  Oh dear.

  Rian shook his head in rueful anticipation, said, ‘Wake me up when we stop for food,’ settled his hat over his face and slouched even lower in his seat.

  By ten o’clock Mr Trippe had lost eleven pounds and signed a promissory note for thirteen more, which they all knew he would never pay because they wouldn’t see him again, but no one minded. Simon had just suggested – very tactfully – that they change to some other game that didn’t involve gambling for money when the driver stopped to water the horses. Everyone got out to stretch their legs and use the facilities behind the coaching inn, then they were off again along a road that only deteriorated the farther they travelled from Dunedin. The landscape was rugged but it wasn’t bereft of civilisation. There were plenty of amenities on the roadside catering to miners on their way to and from the diggings on the Tuapeka and the Dunstan: coaching inns, hotels, stables and, most predominantly, grog shops.

  Their next stop was at the Taieri River, where the horses were unharnessed from the coach’s shafts and ferried across the water, followed by the coach itself, then its occupants, who froze in the icy wind tearing down the valley from the snow-covered mountain ranges. When they reached Waihola, overlooking the lake of the same name, half an hour later, they stopped for a hot meal (Pierre paid for Mr Trippe’s, as he was now out of funds) and to change horses, then carried on to Milton before turning inland.

  By that time Kitty was thoroughly sick of JS Abbott’s marvellous Concord. The damned thing rocked and swayed like a ship in high seas, except nowhere near as comfortably or soothingly, and despite its unique suspension system it bounced mightily when it hit potholes, ruts and rocks, and she’d hit her head on the ceiling twice now. She felt as though she’d ridden for a week on horseback, and they still had over three hours to go. Rian, however, had managed to sleep almost the wh
ole way. Or he had at least pretended to sleep, possibly so he wouldn’t have to talk to Lawson Trippe, who had just not shut up. Neither had Amber or Pierre, both bored silly once they’d grown tired of playing cards. Simon had retreated into his book and Hawk hadn’t said much either, though that wasn’t out of character. Haunui dozed but every time the coach hit a bump his head whacked against the wall and he woke with a flailing jolt, frightening the life out of Mr Trippe.

  But at least the landscape was worth looking at. They’d all decided they’d rather be cold than suffocate so they’d fastened back the blinds to enjoy the splendid scenery. The sky, however, was a dull silver colour and looked ominously heavy, suggesting that snow wasn’t far away. They passed through Waitahuna just before three o’clock in the afternoon, and an hour and a half later arrived at Lawrence, exactly on time.

  The town was small, built entirely of wood like most other gold towns – and smelt strongly of pigs.

  ‘Don’t you start,’ Kitty warned Amber.

  ‘Will you take us out to the Chinese Camp?’ Rian asked Ned Devine after they’d farewelled Lawson Trippe, Esquire.

  Ned scratched the back of his neck. ‘Can’t, sorry. I’ve to ready the coach for the return trip. I’ve a schedule to keep to, you know.’

  ‘Damn. How far away is it?’

  ‘Half a mile or so.’

  Kitty eyed the pile of bags Hawk had just retrieved from the roof of the coach: she didn’t fancy hauling those half a mile.

  Rian asked, ‘Do you know where we can hire a cart?’

  ‘I don’t, but someone in the pub’s bound to,’ Ned replied, pointing across the street to a hotel called the Oasis.

  So off they trooped to the pub, where Rian found a man willing to transport them to the Chinese Camp in his wagon for five shillings. By the time they came back out of the Oasis it was snowing lightly, and growing dark.

  ‘God,’ Kitty muttered, pulling the hood on her cape over her head. What a thoroughly unpleasant day it had been all round. Her bum and back hurt from being bounced about in the coach, and now they were to be frozen to death crouching in somebody’s delivery wagon. She glanced at Simon – hat jammed on, hands shoved deep in his pockets and looking as miserable as she felt – and caught his eye and they burst out laughing. But it wasn’t funny, really, and if it hadn’t been Wong Fu who needed their help they would probably have stayed the night at the Oasis. Or perhaps not come at all.