by Janet Woods
The praise was unexpected, as was her generosity. ‘Thank you, Mrs Benstead.’
‘Well, go on then girl,’ she said gruffly. ‘Get out of here. The water carrier’s coming, so you’d best get in the queue.’
Sarette had forgotten how heavy water was. ‘Heavier than gold and twice as precious, so don’t waste a drop,’ her father had often said. Usually he’d fetched it with the horse and cart. Provisions in one hand, water in the other, she made her way back to her camp under the eucalyptus trees, frequently changing hands as her shoulders began to ache.
Finally she reached the track that led to her tent. The horse and cart was nearby. ‘Flynn,’ she shouted, and placing her bags on the ground she hurried forward. She was brought up short when a woman emerged from the tent. She was wearing the blue dress that had once belonged to Sarette’s mother. ‘Who are you?’ she said.
‘Sarette Maitland. This is my camp, and that’s my mother’s dress you’re wearing.’
The woman’s hands went to her hips. ‘Is it now? We bought this claim and everything in it from Flynn Collins. Lock, stock and barrel.’
Dismayed, Sarette stared at the woman. ‘But it wasn’t Flynn’s to sell. He only owned half the claim. The rest belonged to my pa before he died. And the horse and cart was my pa’s too. It didn’t belong to Flynn. He stole it.’
‘Well, that’s too bad. Get off my property.’
‘I’ll go to the police.’
‘Please yourself. You can’t prove any of this is yours, and I have a receipt.’
‘You’re a thief and a liar.’
The woman advanced on her and slapped her several times around the head. ‘Don’t you call me names, you skinny little wretch.’
Sarette couldn’t ward off the stinging slaps and as she staggered backwards her heel caught on a root and she tripped. The woman picked up a branch. Scrambling to her feet Sarette turned and ran, crashing wildly through the undergrowth until she was out of breath and her exposed face and arms were covered in scratches.
After a while she realized she wasn’t being followed. She’d also left her precious provisions behind. She didn’t intend to leave the water, she’d worked too hard for it.
Later in the day she sneaked back to the camp. Her provisions had gone. There was a man there, with a youth, skinning a kangaroo with a sharp-looking knife. Both of them were too big and mean-looking for her to tackle.
She had nothing now, only the clothes she stood up in. As the shadows lengthened she slowly made her way back towards town, though what she was going to do there, she couldn’t imagine.
When darkness fell and she could walk no more she sank to the ground, too weary for tears. The earth beneath her still retained the heat of the day and the air was humid and balmy. Above her, the stars scattered thickly across the sky and Sarette thought she could feel the world turn.
Her stomach rattled with hunger, her face stung from the woman’s slaps and her throat was parched with the need for moisture. It would be a good night to die. Sarette willed it, and the stars began to blur before her eyes and her limbs became lethargic. Darkness crept through her body and she thought she could hear an angel singing. His voice was loud and deep, and she wished he’d shut up, so she could die in peace.
‘Abide with me; fast falls the eventide. The darkness deepens, Lord, with me abide—’
John Kern tripped over something soft that grunted with annoyance. ‘Damn and blast, and I was in fine voice tonight too, Hercules.’
His horse, who was following a couple of lengths behind him came to a halt and gently snickered.
John crouched, felt along the bundle, then announced his verdict. ‘It’s certainly a child,’ he told his horse.
The horse nudged a wet nose at the bundle, the force of which rolled it over. It hissed with annoyance. ‘Go away. I want to die in peace.’
‘And a fine night for dying it is, too. I think I’ll die with you. ‘When other helpers fail and comforts flee, help of the helpless—’
‘Do be quiet.’
He lowered his voice to a whisper and finished, ‘Oh, abide with me.’ There was a moment of silence, then, ‘Before you die, could you direct me to my house? I’m lost.’
A muffled sob reached his ears. ‘How can I, when I don’t know who you are and where you live? When I heard you singing I thought you were an angel coming to take me to heaven.’
‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry to get to heaven, my dear. Angels are tedious creatures who sit on clouds, flap their wings and play harps. Besides, they have to be good all the time, and I’m sure that wouldn’t suit you at all. My name is John Kern. What’s yours?’
She gave a watery giggle. ‘Sarette Maitland.’
‘Ah, just the person Hercules and I was looking for before I was lured into the grog shop by a lady with a large bottom and a thirst on her. Well, never mind. You’re too young to know about such things.’
‘What things?’
‘Grown-up things. What were you doing way out here by yourself? I was looking for the horizon.’
‘In the dark? I thought you said you were looking for your home.’
He laughed. ‘Perhaps my home is on the horizon. I lied. What’s your story?’
‘My father’s partner sold the claim and the camp. The woman who lives there now was wearing my mother’s dress, one I was keeping for myself to grow into it. And she beat me when I asked for it, so I ran away, leaving my water and provisions behind. When I went back for them they were gone. Her husband and son looked mean and I was too scared to ask for them. So I left. I was going into town but I think I took the wrong trail and it got dark. I was tired, and I decided to stop and rest. Then I got it into my head to die. I was just going to when I heard you sing, and thought you were an angel.’
‘I saved your life then. Hercules was very clever to find you.’
She decided to humour him. ‘Why were you looking for me, sir?’
‘To employ you, of course. I’d noticed you working around the store, and you reminded me of someone. Mrs Benstead said you work hard, don’t eat or talk much and never complain. I need a housekeeper if you’re willing. The stars look pretty, don’t they?’
‘I used to sit and watch them with my pa. Sometimes one would shoot across the sky and we’d both make a wish. Pa’s wish was to find enough gold so he could buy a proper house and could take me away from here and give me an education. I used to wish that Pa’s wish would come true, so he’d be truly happy. He was so sad after my ma died.’
Poor girl to lose both her parents, John thought, and her looking so much like his own dead daughter that his heart had nearly stopped when he’d first set eyes on her at the store. Not that he’d ever seen Margaret covered in dirt like this ragged little waif, or wearing worn boots that were too big for her. Margaret had been bathed by her governess every day and had dressed in satin and lace. She’d worn ribbons in her hair and the softest of kid slippers on her feet.
And what was he doing, offering to take this stranger in and giving her a home when he’d made plans to dispose of his life? He was too old for children. The grief of losing Margaret had turned his mind. Like Sarette, he’d wanted to die so he’d started to drink himself to death, and he’d almost succeeded, but not quite.
He wasn’t really a believer, but if God did happen to exist, what if he’d sent him this girl, who reminded him so forcefully of the child he’d lost. What if this was his opportunity to redeem himself by saving this little waif?
Claptrap! he thought uneasily. Nevertheless, she needed somebody to care for her. He placed a bottle in her hand and sighed. Conscience was a hard taskmaster. ‘Here, swallow this. Then we’ll go home.’
She must have smelled the liquor on his breath because she asked prissily, ‘What is it?’
‘Ah, a typical female. We’ve only just met and you’re nagging me about my drinking habits.’
‘My pa said only fools drink whisky in the diggings.’
‘I as
sure you that this bottle contains only water, twice boiled to keep the typhoid at bay. I brought it along for Hercules, but I daresay he can manage without it till we get home. I reserve the whisky for myself, it dulls the brain while it quietly rots away the guts. So your pa was right, and I admit to being a fool. Now we have that settled, drink up or shut up.’
Only water, he thought, giving a wry smile as she put the bottle to her lips and tipped it. Water was life and death here, and the girl was gulping it down as though she’d decided on living after all and had a private river of water at her disposal.
When she’d emptied the bottle he lifted her on to the horse and mounted behind her. She was slight, weighing next to nothing. He clicked his tongue. ‘Take us home then Hercules. And mind your manners. We have a young lady on board.’
Two
Dorset, England
My dearest Magnus,
Today I find myself on the diggings in a place that is called Coolgardie. A large amount of gold was discovered here a little while ago, in an area appropriately named, Fly Flat. So far I’ve sifted a little dust, enough for my day to day needs, but riches still evade me.
The area is a Godforsaken place, dusty and hot, and with sparse vegetation and no water, except what is carted in. As you can imagine the longing for the green hills of home overwhelms me from time to time.
I have pegged my claim and built a temporary shelter on it (one cannot really call it a home), a sketch of which I enclose. As you can see, I show very little promise at architecture.
Magnus Kern chuckled. His uncle John had a sense of humour, one that was evident in his sketch of the ramshackle hut. By the looks of it, the walls were made of sacks sewn together and attached to a frame. There were sheets of corrugated tin for a roof, and tacked on here and there. A veranda was built on the front supported by rough wooden poles, with branches to provide shade. Under it was a stool to sit on and a wooden barrel next to the support, either to store water, or to use as a table, he supposed. A peasant would scorn the offer of a mean hovel such as this in which to house his pigs.
His uncle’s present address was quite a step down from Fierce Eagles, once his uncle’s home, and now the property of himself, the last to bear the Kern family name. The house was named after the stone eagles perched atop each gatepost, which gazed fiercely down at visitors as they passed through, and those after the business the Kern family had derived its livelihood from.
His solid home was of a size easily managed by a half a dozen servants. It drew its income from land rents and the interest paid from investments. Magnus Kern had a personal fortune of fifty thousand pounds a year, a fortune inherited from his father.
I can’t remember the last time I had a bath. It matters not since we all smell the same here, and are used to it. It rains very little. If it did rain I daresay I’d strip down to my skin and run about in it. Not many of the women who live here would be scandalized by such behaviour. Most are decent women who support their families through hunger and illness, and I admire them greatly. Conditions here are wretched, and they cope with such privation, and would welcome a substantial downpour, I think. It makes me realize how spoilt I have been all my life.
As had he, but it worried Magnus not at all that the fortune he’d inherited had been gathered in the first place from thievery and smuggling. Honest he might be known as, but Magnus knew when to close his eyes and look the other way.
The deeds to Fierce Eagles had been gifted to him by his uncle John before he’d left for the Antipodes. Magnus’s name had been added to the deed, his uncle’s signature witnessed and notarized by his solicitor.
In vain Magnus had argued, ‘You’re only fifty years of age, still young enough to marry and father a child again.’
‘Nay, Magnus. There was only ever one woman for me, and my marriage was riches indeed. When I lost her I knew I could never love another. And when my sweet girl followed her mother to the grave just as she began to blossom into womanhood, my heart began to die inside me. Since then I’ve willed myself to stop breathing with each dawn that comes.’
‘But the house—’
‘Is yours now. Find yourself a woman you can love and live with for ever. Preferably a wicked one, who can give you as good as she gets in bed. Fill her with your children, give her your heart, smack her arse when she needs it and be content. With me leaving, this house has seen the last of its wild days.’
Magnus had laughed at that. ‘I will be forever looking at things and wondering which pirate brought home that, and which smuggler risked his life with the revenue men. You must consider me tame compared with yourself and my ancestors.’
‘Not tame, just honest, and there’s a certain bravery in that. You enjoy life, and you have a reputation amongst the fairer sex as well as being an astute judge of mankind. You deserve a house such as this one. It wears its current reputation badly, and needs someone like you to bring it some dignity. It punished me, but it will treat you kindly if you do the same by it. I promise you, Fierce Eagles will give you a huge amount of prestige, which will attract the most deliciously naughty of the damsels to your side. They will like the reputation of your ancestry, and secretly hope you make as dangerous a husband as you look as if you might.’
Magnus had tried to hide his grin. He’d never have thought that his uncle would wax so poetic. ‘You’re trying to shackle me before I’ve finished sowing my wild oats. You should take your own advice.’
He remembered the sadness that had come into his uncle’s eyes. ‘I’ll never be able to live at Fierce Eagles again. I’m off on my last adventure, before the final one calls me. If I grow tired of wandering I’ll return and reside in the house I bought in Bournemouth. I’ll gaze at the sea and the coast and dream of the time your father and grandfather, and every other Kern before us, lived a life of adventure and took on the authorities and won.’
‘Except for my father.’
‘Aye lad, and to my infinite sorrow, for I loved my brother dearly. But he gave me you to care for, and I’m so proud of you. If he’s looking down, or looking up, whichever is appropriate, he’d be extremely proud of his son, too. As for me, who would have thought that John Kern would eventually earn his living by his wits and the sweat of his brow.’
‘Good luck with the venture. Keep me informed of your progress.’
Magnus had been taken in a bear hug, and his uncle’s voice had been thick with the emotion of the parting. ‘You’ll know when I’ve struck it rich. I’ll send you some gold. Look after my dog.’
With that John Kern had turned away and strode off. Now and again Magnus received a letter from him, but they were few. He gazed down at his uncle’s elegant hand.
Life is interesting, if nothing else. Like most people here I live for the moment I discover a significant gold strike. Odd how a search for riches takes a hold of a man. But it’s not the gold I want, but just to unearth it from where it hides in its bed. They call it gold fever. I keep my eyes to the ground when I walk in case I inadvertently uncover a large nugget with my big toe and cover it up again with my heel. How ironic an act that would be.
I hope you are well, Magnus. Wed yet? I think not. Time has a habit of slipping by, and there’s nothing quite so sad as an ageing roué. Remind yourself that you need to get yourself an heir for Fierce Eagles. In the meantime I’ll console myself with the fact that you enjoy the company of women, and will be firmly hooked by some fluttering miss one day.
At twenty-four he was hardly an ageing roué yet, Magnus thought, and he grinned. He couldn’t imagine marrying a woman who fluttered.
If this letter arrives in time, I wish you and the staff a happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year. There’s a brace of brandy bottles in the cellar that I laid down fifteen years ago. You’ll know the ones. Open them for the staff with my felicitations. Yes, yes! I know the house and contents are now yours. Humour me on this occasion, and drink to my health with the staff.
If this letter doesn’t arrive in time, it�
��s bound to get there by your birthday in April, if not, the one after. So, happy birthday.
From your affectionate uncle,
John Kern.
The letter was dated a year after John’s uncle had arrived in the colony, and had taken six months to get to him. Now it was February and he was a few weeks off the birthday after, when he’d be twenty-five years of age.
He crossed to the window and gazed out at the day. The grass was crisp with frost and the early morning air was blue with smoke rising from the chimneys. The sky was clear, and he doubted that it would rain. Today he had business to conduct, a meeting with Ignatious Grimble, family friend and the solicitor who’d always managed John Kern’s affairs. Together they’d inspect his uncle’s house in Bournemouth, note any maintenance needed, and make sure that all was well with the tenants before the lease was renewed for a further year. He had to be careful with tenants, since as far as he knew, the rent was his uncle’s only source of income now.
After that he would call on Isabelle, surprise her for her birthday, even though she wasn’t expecting him. He took a small box from his desk and slipped it into his pocket.
Smiling, he strode into the hall, shrugged into the long coat and overcape that his manservant held out, then pulled on his gloves and went out to the waiting gig.
His horse was impatient for exercise. Steam snorted from his nostrils and he stamped his forelegs when Magnus approached. Stepping into the gig, Magnus settled himself and took the reins from the stable hand. ‘Thanks, Robert.’
‘He’s frisky this morning, sir, ’tis the cold.’ Robert looked as though he was about to say something else as he fussed with the bridle.
‘What is it Robert? I have to get going.’
‘Branston noticed that the post arrived yesterday and—’
‘You want to know if I heard from John Kern?’ He smiled at the loyalty still shown to John by his former staff. ‘Yes, I did receive a letter from him. You can tell the staff that at the time of writing he was in an area called Coolgardie, which is situated to the west of the Australian continent. He was quite well and is looking for gold. He’s built himself a . . . dwelling of sorts.’
