by Darry Fraser
How many times had he heard that?
Finn looked over his shoulder at the cart, top heavy with new tools ready to go straight to the fields on their return. Pans, shovels, sieves, picks, axes, buckets, and a couple of large soil-washing ‘puddling’ cradles on order for two of his more affluent customers. There were windlasses and winches for those men now digging shafts. After finishing with alluvial gold, which was becoming harder to find, miners needed heavier tools to continue striking it rich, or hoping to.
Laden to the hilt and beyond, the cart journey back to Ballarat had been a slow one, as usual. Finn’s mind was on the off-loading. He wondered how quickly could they make another trip before the road to Melbourne became a winter wreck with horses and bullocks bogged all along the track, perishing if they couldn’t be dug out. Finn had only seen it once, and never wanted the experience to be his again.
‘You might be right,’ he said. Thoughts of how to go about cleaning out the store floated, and he had to give grudging credence to Ben. It was time to—
His arm gave a sudden jerk and it snapped to his side. He grunted, waited for the inevitable, but like the last few times, nothing eventuated.
Ben glanced across. ‘Another one?’
‘A half start,’ Finn replied, stretching out his arm and flexing his fingers. ‘The damnedest thing.’
Levelling a rifle over his knees, Ben sniffed and spat. ‘Whatever it is must be on its way out. You haven’t had a full-blown attack for a while.’
‘Who would know? I don’t want to put a wager on it.’
Silent for a while longer, they listened to the clop of horses’ hooves over the track. They passed men travelling on foot with swag and spare boots over one shoulder, tools or a gun strapped to their chest, each hopeful of a find on the fields.
Here and there, men shouted for a lift. Good-naturedly, Ben fobbed them off. He turned to Finn. ‘Last camp tonight before Ballarat tomorrow. You’d miss this if you went off boating up and down the Murray.’
‘Sure enough, I’d certainly miss this,’ Finn gibed. He gee-upped the horses and used the slack reins to flick the flies away. He watched men walking on either side of the cart as they headed north. Hope and dreams were in each one—young and older, excited and jaded, well clad and not-so-well clad. All manner of nations walked this road, and today, at least, it was a quiet affair.
Finn’s arm stiffened a moment, muscles twitched and bunched, and just as quickly relaxed. Another half start. He spoke to Ben but looked straight ahead at the road. ‘It came to me as we were going south that I wouldn’t be able to be around the building of a steamer. Too much sudden noise, too much steel and banging of hammers on anvils.’
‘Seems to be the sorts of things that set you off.’
‘That was one part. If I got past the building of the damn thing and took to the wheel of a steamer, could my body keep a crew safe? I don’t know.’ He glanced across. ‘You’ve already grabbed me twice to stop me going off the cart.’
Ben lifted his shoulder, shifted the rifle. ‘Like you said, we could buy passage on a steamer at Goolwa, take a week or two to see if you could abide it.’
The plan was that Finn would hire Ben to accompany him for a reconnoitre as much as for a safeguard for himself. He didn’t know if the engines would set off the tremors, and there was only one way to find out if the shrill, ear-splitting blast of the steam whistle would do it. Would he risk it?
‘Don’t want to topple off deck and have you follow me in,’ Finn said. ‘I’ve heard the river’s a treacherous waterway.’
Ben grunted. ‘I’ve heard it, too. Never stopped an adventure before.’
‘Never did.’ But Finn’s heart was heavy. He wouldn’t risk it. Not yet. Certainly wouldn’t risk the life of another.
Under the boiling sun’s rays, Finn concentrated on the road ahead. Tomorrow he’d be home. Offload this lot, sell, and begin it all over again. Maybe clear out the store. Maybe not.
Not even the memory of the intense blue of the woman’s eyes, nor the soft blonde tendrils at the nape of her neck lightened the load he carried today.
Twenty
Ballarat
Amid the steam of the laundry tubs, and between the wringing of rinsed, sodden clothes ready for hanging on the line, Nell’s tent took shape.
Flora hammered a peg into the ground. ‘Please God that I strike a nugget as big as my fist,’ she muttered.
Nell stood over her. ‘Have you paid a license fee just in case you do, Flora?’ she asked, a tease in her voice. She held on to a sturdy rod once meant as a stirring dolly for the tubs; it would now act as the spine onto which her canvas would be hung and secured.
Flora stood up, swiping the perspiration from her forehead. ‘Ha. I certainly have, and I have to anyways, gold or no. But if I found a nugget I’d hold off yellin’ about it until things changed around here. There’s talk of a new franchise from the government, a new fee, but it might take another uprising before that happens.’
Nell lowered her voice. ‘Is that sedition I hear?’
‘Sedition, perhaps. Hand me that other peg, would you? Hotham hasn’t come down out of his castle yet, and no one is being compensated for all the murder and ruin, so now we’re waiting to see if our boys will be hanged for their trouble.’
Nell knelt beside her, holding the guy rope taut while Flora hammered the peg home. ‘There’s lots of talk, Flora, but I hope nothing bad will happen again.’
‘Aye. No action while we all keep our heads down, and our loved ones safe.’ The soft Irish lilt was whispered.
‘I’m hearing that no jury will convict even one of the men they have in prison.’
‘As you say, lots of talk. Gossip only, too early by far for anyone to know that. I’m hearing that Lalor is alive and keeping his head down until there’s amnesty, but who knows what the government has in store for us.’ One last hammer blow and Flora fell onto her backside. ‘Uh. Hard work in this heat. Wouldn’a do diggin’, myself, for anything. I druther my laundry. Come on, one last thing to do.’ She clambered to her feet, grasping Nell’s outstretched helping hand.
Together they fitted the rod between two poles set six feet apart, fashioned to hold it high overhead, and grappled and hauled the canvas over it. With a few last shoves, and cheers from the men around them, a great swathe of patched and dirty canvas fell over the rod and draped to the ground.
‘Your new home, madam,’ Flora said, out of breath, and gave a mock curtsy.
They carried a cot newly purchased from Tillo into the tent, then stood back, dusting off and admiring their handiwork.
‘It’s a beautiful thing. And that will have to do for now,’ Nell said and turned back to the tubs. ‘I’m back to my work.’
She would go back to the house after sunset and inform Enid and Lewis of her decision to move out from under their roof. She’d take her possessions from there to the diggings, use part of her wages from Flora to buy bed linen, a chamber pot, cooking utensils, some bloomers—though Flora said she’d have to order them in—and a sturdy, small tin box to bury somewhere safe.
It was time to make a life not beholden to any man.
Lewis had his bread in one hand and a fork in the other as he stared at her. ‘And just when is it you think you will be leaving here, Nell?’
Candlelight flickered from a stub on the table, from the cooking mantel, and the hutch that housed Enid’s crockery.
‘I will move my possessions this next few days, if that is suitable, so I must ask for grace until then.’ Nell wondered if Lewis was about to try and stop her leaving, but what reason would he have to do so?
‘Is it completely necessary?’ he asked.
Enid cleared her throat and moved her plate and cutlery.
Nell held his gaze. ‘I would not want to be a burden to you, especially now, Lewis.’
He dropped his bread on the plate and pushed his chair back from the table. ‘Especially now,’ he repeated and glanced darkly at his mo
ther, who turned away, before continuing. ‘Surely life in a tent on the fields is not what befits you as Andrew’s wife.’
Enid sat up, her back ramrod straight.
Nell took in a deep breath. ‘Andrew made his feelings perfectly well known to you, and to your mother, about my being his wife.’
Lewis frowned. ‘And you are well aware that he was not a man in control of his own mind.’ He ignored his mother’s quick glare. ‘You are his widow. You were his rightful wife.’
Nell twisted her hands together. ‘Lewis, with respect, has it not occurred to you that I wish to be as far from Andrew and his … estate as possible?’
Enid shot to her feet, her eyes ablaze. ‘The effrontery,’ she aimed at Nell.
Lewis reached over and laid his hand on her arm. ‘Mama, you cannot deny—’
Enid’s venom spat out of her. ‘Married or not, he thought you nothing more than a doxy, after his money, after his gold, after his position in society and what it could do for you.’
Nell stood, her chair scraping as it was thrust back. ‘I cannot believe even you think that—after what he did, and how often he did it. And it’s more than clear now that he had no money for me to go after.’ She faced Lewis. ‘I am not asking your permission, I am telling you I am leaving this house, and that I will be gone as soon as I can. I will make no claim on you.’ Resisting a glance at Enid, who was undoubtedly bristling behind her, she waited for his response.
He sighed heavily. ‘I will assist you with the cart, so that you can make the transfer of your belongings without effort.’
‘Thank you.’ Nell gathered her plate and cutlery, picked up Enid’s and took them to the wash bowl on the bench. ‘I do not have to attend the ball, either,’ she said, and brushed herself down as if she’d spilled crumbs.
‘On that, dear Nell, I must insist you do, if just for my sake. I would like to show you that the Wilshires have some heart.’
Nell blinked at Lewis. He kept a straight face as Enid harrumphed and marched out of the kitchen.
He pinched his lip, pensive. ‘Oh dear, it seems I’ve upset my mother again.’ He looked at Nell. ‘Apparently I do it on a regular basis. Courting a lowly laundress, having a lowly laundress put me by, and now wishing to continue the courtship with the same lowly laundress, who still won’t agree, I might add. Not to mention, defending my mad uncle’s widow, and wishing only her comfort and safety, but also finding myself the head of a penniless family with debt up to my hairline.’
A small frown crossed Nell’s brow. ‘I’m sorry about all that for you, and that you’re so out of sorts with Enid.’
Lewis held up his hands. ‘There’s no love lost between you, I can see it. No need for apologies.’
‘It’s not as if she invites even a friendship, Lewis. She never has.’
He dropped his gaze. ‘I know she stood by and said nothing, did nothing when you were …’
She let him stand in a moment’s discomfort before saying, ‘I heard you arguing with Andrew the night before we left.’
Lewis licked his lips. ‘Yes.’ He brushed crumbs off the table. ‘I had seen the evidence on your face of his latest effort with his fists. I felt it my duty to intervene.’
Light-headed, Nell leaned back on the bench. ‘Was it his fists that had you falling off your drunken horse?’ Dear God. Had her husband seriously injured his own nephew?
Perplexed a moment, he tilted his head then snorted a laugh. ‘Not Andrew. He wouldn’t lift a finger against me, even in a rage. It wasn’t the first time I had warned him.’
Nell nodded. ‘Susan?’
‘Aye, his first wife. Dear Susie.’ He exhaled, shook his head.
Something triggered a memory, another voice, but before Nell could grasp it, Lewis continued. ‘Unfortunately, when I stepped in there, he retaliated on her. I have never forgiven myself for that. Or him. Eventually she lost her life.’ He glanced up, and a light in his eyes glinted. ‘I was not going to allow it to happen to you too.’
The room closed in, the warm air a creeping weight on her skin. She was remembering Andrew’s retaliation on her after her trip to the magistrate when she’d tried to intervene on her own behalf: her cracked ribs, a blackened eye, the bruises on her wrists. Yet the way Lewis spoke now, something … A skitter of knowledge vibrated deep within then fled up her spine. She still couldn’t grasp it.
The candlelight barely flickered.
He went on. ‘Except that, on that night, if he hadn’t promised to rein himself in, I would have done more than just argue with him. He needed to be put away, for good.’ He shook his head again. ‘But there were other more pressing matters than needing to remove him right at that point.’
Nell held her breath. What was he saying? What was she remembering? A patter of heartbeats clouded her thoughts.
He pulled the candle closer, poured melted wax away from the wick. The drops pooled in the dish underneath and the wick burned brighter. ‘He was supposed to come to the Eureka Lead with me, to stand with us, the few men who remained under the flag. We were standing up for our rights, not arming ourselves in rebellion. We hadn’t expected a massacre—God knows the so-called stockade was barely three-foot high in places. Half the men still behind it were sleeping off the rum. Instead, I found Andrew after the skirmish, hiding at the house, bundling you ungraciously into the coach he’d hired, and trying to go God only knows where.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I couldn’t stop him. Not then.’
Nell eased herself into her seat again. ‘He would have planned it.’
Lewis scratched his forehead, took up the chunk of bread and dragged it around the gravy on his plate. ‘Do you know where he was taking you?’
‘No.’ Nell was still, her thoughts on the driver of the coach, Mr Steele. ‘If Andrew told me, which I doubt, I have forgotten. I was not at my best at the time.’
‘Of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just that once again, I find myself perplexed at his behaviour. In some ways, even in his madness, he seemed organised, and calculating.’ He took a bite of the bread and gravy, chewed and swallowed. ‘I have another subject I’d like to discuss with you.’
Startled, Nell shot him a glance.
He seemed to be considering his next words. ‘Though you do full well know our situation now, with only the mining bringing in some funds, I feel it my duty to offer marriage, Nell. Not just my duty, mind you.’ He hesitated. ‘I should say, I am delighted to offer marriage.’
Surprised, her breath short, she measured her words carefully. ‘Thank you, Lewis,’ she said. ‘I must decline. You know it.’ Her eyes met his. ‘It’s not necessary. There is no obligation to me, and no expectation from me. You don’t need an added burden at this time.’ She gave a faint smile. ‘Besides, ours would not be a good match.’
‘But perhaps it would,’ he disagreed. Then, after catching her frown, he said, ‘Perhaps it would not.’ He pushed back in his seat. ‘I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But to go into the fields and work for yourself … It cannot last, this independence of women. Once the final glitter of gold has been dug up from Ballarat and everywhere else, things will return to normal and women will take their rightful place in the home.’
She waited a beat before her answer seethed out of her. ‘If my rightful place was what I encountered in my father’s home and then in my husband’s home, I am not in a hurry to ever go there again.’
Lewis held her stare. ‘Yes, but surely under a better man’s protection—’
‘I will take my chances alone. I will work while I can still earn my own living.’
‘You might change your tune if you meet a decent man,’ Lewis said. ‘One who is not your nephew, I hasten to add.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘When you marry, you will have to forfeit all that hard-earned income.’
‘Unless he gives me leave to keep it, I will not be marrying him.’
Lewis nodded. ‘Then I’ll raise my glass to him when we meet. And on that note, I must insist you accompany us
to the ball, Nell.’ When she lifted her shoulders, unsure, he said, ‘Because if you come, I think I can convince Flora to come.’ He held out a ticket addressed to “A Lady”.
She took it and blurted a relieved laugh. ‘To think your marriage proposal might have come from the heart.’
‘It did, Nell. It’s just that my heart is equally delighted you declined.’
Twenty-One
Bendigo
Mr Bagley handed loose documents to Mr Campbell. ‘I’ve just opened the mail, Mr Campbell. There are a couple of client promissory notes, and there’s also something from a Mrs Andrew Amberton.’
Joseph Campbell looked at the paperwork in his hand. He tucked the notes one behind the other until he came upon the letter to which his clerk referred. ‘Thank you, Mr Bagley.’ He turned, took his cup of tea, and retreated to his office.
The notes could wait. The letter from this Mrs Amberton might be interesting.
Dropping all the documents to his desk, he sorted the promissory notes to one side to give to Matthew later and turned his attention to the neatly written, one-page letter.
Dear Mr Campbell, I beg leave to address you on a legal matter. I am the widow of Mr Andrew Amberton. He passed away suddenly after being gunshot when on a coach ride out of Ballarat. It was early on the same morning as the Eureka massacre and I was of the unfortunate circumstance to be with him at the time.
Joseph noted little sorrow in the few words so far.
On this ride in the coach, my husband was carrying two bags of gold containing many nuggets and rough cast bars and weighing such that I would not have been able to carry them myself.
Mr Campbell’s brows rose. He shifted his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose and read on.
As you might be aware, I am the second Mrs Amberton. My predecessor, Mrs Susan Amberton, passed away mid spring of 1854. It has come to my attention that the bags of gold were a loan to her husband at the time, Mr Andrew Amberton, from her father and was to be repaid to her father.
