The Widow of Ballarat

by Darry Fraser

  Governor Hotham was still turning a blind eye to almost every plea for compassion and mercy.

  If sick and injured men could be hidden on the fields, in tents, under beds, in cupboards and behind bushes, then surely a woman tending laundry could well hide in plain sight. It was said there were nearly thirty thousand souls or more on the fields. Nell could very well hide among them.

  As she returned from the outhouse, soft snores were coming from within Lewis’s room. Perhaps he would not be making another appearance for some time, after all.

  Enid was in the kitchen, her night cap still in situ, wisps of hair showing from underneath. The kettle stood on the stove top, a light steam coming from it.

  ‘Oh good,’ Nell said. ‘Tea. I’ll make it.’ She might be able to get a decent cup if she got to the tea leaves first.

  Enid sat heavily at the table, her chair groaning as if she were too heavy for it. It might need repairing, for her sister-in-law was not a stout woman. Nell glanced about at the other chairs. None looked to be in decent repair. She hadn’t noticed before, and wondered why disrepair had been tolerated. Well, no matter to her. Now they could afford new chairs using Andrew’s money.

  ‘I have need of tea,’ Enid said. ‘I am to go to the town this morning to help start to fit out the entertainment tent for the ball, Saturday week. A number of subscriptions have come in late, believe it or not.’

  Of those on the fields who could write, answering the subscription invite might not have been high on their must-do list. There had been a big nugget unearthed recently, and the frenzy for more had taken over. The fields were a hive once again; panning had been less successful, digging deeper more so. Nell’s morning with Flora the day before had been a mine of information.

  Enid’s musing brought her back to the conversation. ‘They are expanding the tent, adding another for seating so there will be more seats to dress, and more tables for food. You must attend with me, Nell,’ she said, and held out a cup to receive tea from the pot. ‘We have need of more helpers, even if you are in mourning. There will be many widows among us today.’

  Nell held the pleasant smile on her face as she poured. ‘Not for me, thank you.’

  ‘We will go after we do the chores here.’

  Enid seemed not to have heard her. Nell’s smile was still in place as she dropped the kettle back to the cook top, and turned to her sister-in-law. ‘I have no interest in assisting the fit out for the ball. I am sure there are many ladies far more qualified than I who could help.’

  Enid blinked at her. ‘Nevertheless.’

  Nevertheless. Whenever Andrew uttered that word, it augured his next episode.

  A shiver sped up Nell’s back. The involuntary shudder was obvious. Enid was startled. ‘Damn your nevertheless, Enid.’

  Indignant, Enid’s face pinched. ‘I—’

  Nell leaned over the table. ‘I will not be assisting at the entertainment tent.’

  Lewis appeared in the doorway. ‘Nor should you, aunt. I’m sure the good ladies of the Ballarat diggings can arrange the tent without your help. Isn’t that right, Mama?’

  Enid turned, her face still reflecting Nell’s effrontery, and gaped at her son. ‘You are not correctly dressed for breakfast.’

  ‘We are not at the governor’s table, dear Mother, nor likely to be. I am dressed for breakfast in my own home, with my relatives around me. I am wearing a shirt, trousers and my socks.’ He rubbed a hand through his sleep-tousled hair then pushed off the doorjamb. ‘Some tea, if you will.’

  Enid was for a moment frozen and pink at the rebuke, then stood and stared at the kettle before reaching out for it.

  Nell took a seat at the table. It was one thing to argue with Enid to her face, but quite another to see her embarrassed by her adult son, the man who stood to inherit everything.

  Lewis took a chair across from Nell, accepted the cup of tea from Enid, and nodded to her. ‘Thank you.’

  Was he flexing his muscles now that his uncle had gone? Or perhaps Nell hadn’t noticed before how poised and mature he was. It appeared that he was very much at home as head of the family.

  He sat comfortably in the silence and gazed candidly at Nell before setting down his tea. ‘I will be going to Bendigo, probably tomorrow. It seems the time is right to have the will read and check my uncle’s estate.’

  Without looking at Enid, Nell heard a short, sharp intake of breath from her sister-in-law.

  ‘I should accompany you, son,’ Enid said from behind Nell.

  ‘It’s an arduous day’s journey, Mama. No need to take an uncomfortable coach ride. I’m better alone, on horseback. I can fully report to you on my return.’

  Enid came back to the table, the blackened kettle in hand. She landed it with a thump on the table. ‘I should be there.’

  ‘I believe I am named as Uncle Andrew’s successor, so it would stand to reason that I undertake the business at hand. Knowing Uncle’s intentions, the meeting with Mr Campbell should be very straightforward.’ Lewis scratched his nose with a forefinger. ‘Besides, I should think the journey would tire you too much. And, as Nell is my uncle’s wife, uh, widow,’ he corrected and ducked his head in apology to Nell, ‘I am saving her the unpleasant ordeal of having to be present.’ He looked up at her from under his brows. ‘I should say how sorry I am to hear of your other recent sad news, aunt.’

  Nell nodded, embarrassed, partly because Lewis at least had the good grace to appear sympathetic where Enid had not, and because Lewis had even alluded to such a thing. A gentleman usually did not, it being women’s business that she might have miscarried. He didn’t seem to appear gleeful about the inheritance all being his, either. And she couldn’t care less about being saved the ‘unpleasant ordeal’ of the will being read. As soon as she was gone from this awful house and away from its occupants, the better.

  Had she for one moment entertained ideas of marrying Lewis? To become Enid’s daughter-in-law by it? God forbid she should have any more of these ridiculous ideas. Certainly now she couldn’t blame any silly thoughts on being worried about being pregnant. Clearly desperate circumstances had forced her brain to conjure desperate solutions.

  ‘Besides, Mama, you’ve just said you’ll be helping at the entertainment tent. Much better for you there than struggling in a cart all the way to Bendigo.’

  Smoke rose in a thin curl from under the kettle. Enid snatched it off and stared in dismay at the scorch mark left on the table.

  ‘Look at this,’ she hissed before turning smartly and dumping it back onto the iron cook top. ‘Go then. I would not stand in your way as you undertake your responsibilities.’ She turned back with a squinted glance at Nell before she addressed her son again. ‘In the light of Andrew’s passing, we will decline to attend the ball itself. I will assist with the fitting out of the tent, but it would not be—’

  ‘Mama, we will be attending,’ Lewis interrupted. ‘Even if I, too, have to wear black to satisfy some matrons. We are not in the Old Country, nor do we bow overly much here to the old ways.’ He set his cup aside and laced his hands on the tabletop. ‘Please don’t look so shocked. The races went ahead despite many men losing their lives mere weeks earlier. I saw a number of women there and even some in apparel that was indeed black.’ He looked at his mother, glanced at Nell. ‘And I say that you both shall attend.’

  Enid’s voice had stopped in her throat, her mouth open. Nell brushed her skirt down, concentrating on the task.

  He took the last of his tea. ‘I will partake of that bread, Mama, and some cheese if you have it, then I must go to the diggings.’

  Enid moved herself smartly and gathered thick slices of damper, and a chunk of cheese from a muslin bag. ‘I don’t believe Nell should attend the ball,’ she insisted, stiffly.

  ‘Even so, Mama.’ Lewis turned his gaze to Nell. ‘Your subscription invitation will stand as before,’ he said. As Enid thumped a plate in front of him, he took to his breakfast. ‘It’s to be support for a miner
’s hospital. Good cause, wouldn’t you think? Don’t look so stricken, Mama. We can afford to flout the rules, here and there, eh?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I will be back by Friday. I look forward to next week’s social engagement. It will be just the thing for all of us.’

  Andrew had bought tickets on subscription for them. Nell hadn’t considered attending a social gathering since his death, but it seemed Lewis was intent on having the family present at this next one. For what purpose, she couldn’t surmise. Perhaps it was a last kindness to her, even though it seemed to have upset his mother no end.

  Nell remained silent as Lewis ate, her thoughts spinning. If he was to be away for some days after tomorrow, she would have to find a quiet moment today, without Enid in earshot, to broach the subject of the other house with him.

  If an invitation to attend a ball was still open for her, perhaps he would be conducive to the idea of her occupying the other house, after all.

  Fourteen

  Bendigo, January 1855

  ‘Mr Seymour, good afternoon. Please. Have a seat.’

  Finn Seymour reached over and shook Mr Worrell’s hand. He took the proffered chair, a polished leather affair with dark timbers, smooth under his hand, and heavy. So like Joseph Campbell to have good, solid furniture.

  He sank into it. ‘Thank you. I know your cousin well, the venerable Mr Campbell, and consider him a good friend. I’m happy to finally make your acquaintance, Mr Worrell.’

  ‘And you, too.’ Young Worrell waved a hand towards the door. ‘Mr Campbell—’

  A voice spoke from behind. ‘—Will catch up with you in due course, Finneas.’

  Finn turned to look at the man in the doorway. His face split into a wide grin as he got back to his feet. ‘Joseph.’ He gripped the other man’s hand. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘And you. I see you’ve met the younger, good-looking one of the family.’ Joseph nodded towards Matthew. ‘He’s also got brains, thank the Lord.’

  Mr Worrell laughed. ‘You’re not so much older, cousin.’

  ‘That is correct. I just feel it.’

  Finn could tell there were some years between them, maybe ten, if that. His friend Joseph did indeed look much older than Matthew, but then, he’d always looked older than his peers. A tall man, the good life appearing around his middle as if he was carrying something spare, he would barely be in his late thirties. His light brown hair seemed always receding but had never receded too much. A big nose, the kind that made you think of a bare-knuckle rules man, and kind eyes. Intelligent eyes. Eyes that when their gaze pinned you down, you blustered out all the truths of whatever matter had brought you before him.

  ‘Mr Worrell here is taking me over my ledgers.’ Finn nodded back towards the younger man.

  Worrell did not have the look of his cousin; he was of sturdier stock, though he appeared to be as tall. His nose was not that of a boxer’s; it was more patrician. His intense blue eyes were light and clear. His dark hair and pale skin attested to his roots—Welsh, perhaps. It was the added presence of a dark mole on his left cheek that made him look as if he might have carried Romany blood. He had the look of a man who knew his business.

  ‘You are in very good hands, my friend. When you are finished, we’ll attend to your legal matters in my office.’ Joseph nodded at both, and walked off down the short hallway.

  Finn returned to his chair and eyed the documents in front of him on the desk. ‘So, Mr Worrell, what do you say? How are things looking?’

  Matthew Worrell flattened his palms over the papers a moment, then reached across to open a ledger. ‘There’s no doubt about it, you are in a very good position. Your implements and tools merchandising business is doing well. That is, until the stockade affair interrupted it somewhat.’

  Finn leaned forward. ‘It didn’t last for long. Only a few implements, considering, were confiscated from the miners as weapons.’ He peered at the numbers.

  Mr Worrell nodded. ‘That’s true. I have entered purchases up to last week, and the subsequent sales.’ He ran a finger down a line of neat figures. ‘In fact, it looks as if your business even outperforms that of a digger’s finds in some cases.’ He smiled then, a bright wide-mouthed grin that returned youth to the face that had been serious so far.

  ‘I’ve heard the same from other merchants. A man can’t give away a dairy cow but can sell a pan and a shovel for the price of someone’s soul.’

  ‘A sign of our times, I fear. It is said that the man who supplies the diggers easily wins the gold. Do you hold any mining licenses yourself?’

  Dropping his chin, Finn studied his boots. ‘The law states that “all persons connected with the search for gold” must have a license.’ He looked up. ‘That includes me and my business, so I do have one, but don’t use it to dig. It’s almost criminal to have to pay it. I’d rather supply diggers the tools than be the one constantly looking over my shoulder from a hole in the ground.’

  ‘The troopers?’ The younger man’s eyes lit up. ‘Are they as bad as—?’

  ‘And the rest.’ Finn shifted the conversation. ‘You haven’t decided to try your own hand at the diggings, Mr Worrell?’

  Matthew tipped his head towards the door, his eyes wide. ‘I have heeded the advice of my wiser cousin. He is far more sensible than me, though I am still interested in new opportunities. He says men have a need for good ledgers and solid legal advice, and that this is where we will sustain our future. So, for the time being, here I sit.’

  Finn detected a regretful tone. ‘And that also makes you a wise man.’

  ‘Besides,’ Matthew leaned back in his chair, and smiled with a broad grin, ‘Bendigo has much civilisation, such as timber and brick dwellings. Far superior to the canvas tents of Ballarat.’

  ‘Ah yes. I admit to happily foregoing life in a tent.’ Finn settled back, his hands across a flat belly. ‘And Bendigo is eminently more comfortable because it’s not in a state of morbid fear.’

  ‘Hopefully, that business in Ballarat has settled. Now, let’s get down to it.’ Matthew Worrell checked his line of figures again. ‘I’d say your business has sustained its level of stability. If anything, it’s clear that demand for your supplies is growing.’

  Finn nodded. ‘And certainly so if we can successfully negotiate the road from Melbourne before winter comes. Some leave it too late, and bullock wagons get bogged. Horses pulling carts get bogged. It can be terrible. Most often death for the animals if they can’t be pulled out.’ He briefly looked to the ceiling while he thought of his next words. ‘Would the business attract a purchaser, were it to go up for sale?’

  Mr Worrell’s eyes widened. ‘For sale?’

  ‘I am increasingly weary of the rush for gold.’

  Matthew Worrell stared at him. ‘Weary of the greatest economic surge in the history of mankind?’ He blinked at his own audacity. ‘I mean—’

  ‘Precisely that, Mr Worrell. I look around on the fields and see greed, envy, death, scourge, and a lot of poor people.’ He frowned. ‘Oh, some of them might have held a good few nuggets, but they’re not the majority. They are mostly fools with nothing more than hope. The rest are drunks, men who abandon their families, and women who ply a trade because of those men. Yet I see there are a great many women who do better than the menfolk with their enterprises. But we know that won’t last.’ He inhaled, a long intake. ‘No. My time there has a limit. And I have my eye on another venture.’

  Mr Worrell was taking in Finn’s speech, his mouth open and finally closing. He dropped his gaze to the figures before him. ‘There seems to be much more money to be made.’

  Finn sat forward. ‘True. But the life there sickens me. The only family I had left was lost to the greed of the fields.’ He laced his hands. ‘My father started the business just as the fields opened up, but the boisterous noise of the diggings grates on me. The lack of privacy, the barracks life of the tents, the constant gunshots for no good reason…’ He thought he felt a tremor begin and clen
ched a fist. ‘I have no need to remain there.’

  The young ledger keeper lowered his voice. ‘And my condolences. I heard that you’d had a bereavement while you were away—’

  ‘There were two family members who passed away during that time.’ Three, if one counted Susie’s unborn child, Finn thought, though the law did not.

  As he hoped, his reply stopped Mr Worrell taking the conversation any further in that direction. To his credit, the man only tapped his fingers on the papers under his hands. ‘To answer your question, you are in a good position to sell.’

  ‘I thought the skirmish might have panicked business people. It appears not so.’

  ‘You’re right. Should you realise a sale, your cash assets will be very healthy. But consider this, Mr Seymour. The moment word is out that you wish to sell, there might be opportunists who would simply start up a run of supply from Melbourne in competition.’

  ‘You are good at your job, Mr Worrell. That could happen any time. I wonder if the diggers would be too busy to think of it,’ Finn countered. ‘But you’re right. I should consider it a possibility. Perhaps we need to make a more discreet approach to businessmen who might well be prospective buyers.’

  ‘In that case, could I help in any way to prepare a proposal, or a sale document for you?’

  ‘Certainly. And when the time comes, I will take the documents you prepare to the banks, if necessary, to secure a loan for my next venture.’

  ‘And, if I may ask, what is the next venture that so interests you?’ Mr Worrell had the light of adventure in his eye.

  Finn warmed to his subject. ‘You might have heard that a Mr Cadell and a Mr Randell, river captains and competitors, successfully navigated the River Murray upstream to Swan Hill.’

  ‘An exciting race last year, it was. I’m very interested in news of it.’

  ‘It’s the beginning of a new trade route between three colonies,’ Finn stated. ‘And I believe a very lucrative one at that. I’ll look at building paddle-steamers to carry freight and produce up and down river.’