by Darry Fraser
He still stared. ‘I wish, most fervently, that I had laundry to leave every day if it meant I would need to visit here.’
Nell hid a smile. He hadn’t so much as looked in her direction, his attention on Flora. A good-looking man, this one, and clearly not a digger. She shot a glance at Flora, who didn’t seem to know what to do.
‘We do laundry here,’ Flora insisted, slowly. ‘So, if it’s not laundry you want doin’, I don’t know how to help ye.’ She looked from the man to Nell and back to her tubs.
‘I’ll find some laundry if you give me a minute,’ he said, with a smile and a candid stare. He took off his waistcoat.
Josie gave a shout of laughter. ‘He’s a lad, that one. I’ll have a new shirt for him, soon enough.’
‘Ma, shush.’ Flustered, Flora dunked the dolly rod again and pounded the wash. Water plopped onto the ground underneath. She didn’t look up again, just snuck a glance at Nell, pleading help.
The man moved closer to Flora’s tub. ‘I’m looking for Mrs Amberton,’ he said, his waistcoat over his arm. ‘I presume one of you ladies is Miss Flora Doyle and the other is Mrs Amberton.’ He nodded towards Josie. ‘And you must be Mrs Doyle. A delight to meet you, madam.’ He bowed slightly in her direction.
Josie beamed at him. ‘A lad with manners an’ all, Flora.’
He stopped opposite Flora. Through the steam, dodging the sloshing water and the accompanying splashes, he said, ‘I do hope you are Miss Flora Doyle.’
Nell, herself a little bemused, couldn’t hide another smile. ‘She is, and I am Mrs Amberton. Who might you be, sir?’
Stepping back from the tubs and a rosy-cheeked Flora, the man turned his attention to Nell and gave another slight bow. ‘I am Matthew Worrell, Mrs Amberton, from Mr Campbell’s office in Bendigo.’ At her immediate hesitation, he lifted an envelope from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her. ‘I’m sorry I’m so very unexpected, but this will introduce me, my credentials, and my instructions. Could this be a convenient time considering the work to be done?’ He shrugged back into his vest.
Now as flustered as Flora had been, Nell tucked the dolly rod under her arm, took the letter, opened it and read it. It was indeed from Mr Campbell. A few words he had quoted from her letter, and his offer of assistance, assured her that Matthew Worrell and his mission were genuine.
Flora stared at her. Nell stared back. Then, ‘Flora, could I take a moment with Mr Worrell? We will walk, away from the noise.’
Josie piped up, holding up her sewing ‘Take all the time ye want, young missy. These bloomers are done. They’ll be in the parlour here, ready for ye,’ she said and popped into the tent. ‘I’m back to me lad’s shirt, Flora,’ she called.
‘Right, Ma.’ Flora lifted her chin at Nell. ‘’Course. Take all the time you need.’
Nell rested her dolly rod, wiped her hands on her apron and stepped down from the wash stand. ‘Mr Worrell, shall we walk?’
He dragged his gaze away from Flora and took up alongside Nell. ‘Thank you for seeing me straight away, Mrs Amberton. Mr Campbell thought the immediacy of the matter required some urgent action.’
They walked directly across from the laundry fires. Careful to note they were far enough away from big ears and bigger mouths, Nell dropped her voice.
‘A shock, nonetheless, Mr Worrell. What is Mr Campbell advising me to do?’
‘First, he has asked me to convey his thanks to you for being so honest about this matter.’ Mr Worrell looked around and kept his voice low. ‘He believes you are right in wishing it returned to its original owner. Can you be sure of its origins?’
They got to a space where no one could approach without being seen. The sun beat down on their heads and the flies were at their faces, but some of the clamour and shouting had faded with the distance.
Nell clasped her hands together then unclasped them when she realised her nerves would get the better of her. ‘Very early in my marriage, I saw a note about the loan, and have not seen it since. It had my husband’s signature on it, and my nephew’s signature on it as guarantor. It was for a large sum. But I did not see if the currency stated was for nuggets or promissory notes, or pounds. However, I feel that the gold I have in my possession is rightfully the Seymour family’s, on loan to my late husband.’ She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, hands now by her side. ‘I don’t even know how much is there, or whether any of it has been spent.’
‘I see.’ Matthew glanced back at Flora, who resolutely dragged the dolly rod through the laundry. ‘Mrs Amberton, if it is readily to hand, it could be easy, with appropriate receipting and signatures, to transfer it to its rightful owners.’
‘Oh dear.’ Nell thought of where it was in her tent.
Frowning, Mr Worrell continued. ‘I know that this is unusual, but we have no other way of conducting business unless you agree to come to Bendigo.’
‘I don’t have the means to make such a trip.’
‘Forgive us for presuming the same, hence why I am here. Mr Campbell is quite a trustworthy person, and his office carries a great respect in the colony, as he is well known in this area. You can be assured that the dealings will be scrupulous.’
Nell surveyed right and left again. A mere thirty yards away, men bent double over the shallow flow of the waterway, their pans slipping in and out of the water, swishing off the lighter pebbles and sand. Once or twice an excited yell erupted. ‘It’s not that so much, Mr Worrell, although you are right, I am reluctant to simply hand over the bag. It’s more that it might be difficult to retrieve unnoticed, from where I have most of it, now.’
‘I see.’
‘It’s a good deal of weight.’ Nell swished away flies as she glanced around.
‘I could assist if necessary.’
‘You are not known, here, Mr Worrell and it might be suspicious if you were to suddenly begin to assist me.’
Mr Worrell nodded. ‘Mr Campbell thought it prudent to ask if you have suggestions as to how we proceed.’
Nell lifted her shoulders a little. ‘I have given it no thought.’ All she could think of was the soft, sandy and deep indent under her chamber pot in the tent. She could not invite a young man into her tent and have it go unnoticed. She certainly could not lift the gold herself and bring it to him, nor would she do so piecemeal. That would attract as much attention.
He lifted his hat, wiped his forehead on his forearm and settled the hat back on his head. ‘If there were a man hereabouts, who wouldn’t be suspicious on these fields, could he then be of assistance in the retrieval of the bag?’
Nell thought hard. The problem was that the contents of the bags were mostly now in a tin in her tent. No man other than her husband would have any right going into her tent. Unless it could be by cover of darkness.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr Worrell leaned closer. ‘Darkness, you said?’
She must have murmured aloud. She said, ‘I don’t know of such a man, personally. I will need some time to think on a suitable solution. Do you stay in Ballarat while you are here, Mr Worrell?’
‘I will find lodgings and stay until Sunday, unless you and I need more time to conduct our business.’ He smiled. ‘I believe there is a ball being held on Saturday night. I should like to stay and attend if I can secure a ticket.’
Nell’s mind twisted and turned. ‘How will I get my answer to you?’
‘I can be along here by early Sunday morning before I depart, if necessary.’
‘Perhaps that is best.’
‘Shall we?’ he asked and indicated returning to the laundry. ‘I should like to say goodbye to Miss Doyle.’
Flora was ready to drag the clothes from the wash tub to the rinse tub. She straightened up as Nell and Mr Worrell returned.
‘Miss Doyle, I have to go now, but I will come back here for another appointment with Mrs Amberton before I leave for Bendigo on Sunday morning. Will you be in?’
Flora, already flushed with exertion over the tubs, blink
ed, and a frown appeared.
‘’Course she’ll be in,’ a voice drifted from the tent. ‘She puts on a good roast lunch, too. See that you come by after your church, lad.’
Mr Worrell smiled broadly. ‘Ah, thank you, Mrs Doyle. I’ll be sure to do that,’ he called in reply.
‘There’s many others eat here on a Sunday,’ Flora said, ruffled, agitated.
‘So I will be on my best behaviour. Until then, Miss Doyle.’ He nodded towards her and turned to Nell. ‘Thank you, Mrs Amberton. I hope you have found a solution come Sunday. Good day.’
‘Good day.’ Nell watched as he took one last glance at Flora. Then he turned and walked along the creek, dodging children, dogs, and miners at their work, until he was out of sight.
Nell hands shook a little. She wondered about the solution she might or might not find. ‘Well,’ was all she could manage, and she looked at Flora.
‘Well is right,’ Flora grumbled, slapping her apron, and flicking escaped hair back from her face. ‘Another mouth to feed on Sunday.’
‘Somethin’ lovely to look forward to, Flora, me daughter.’
Despite her sudden nerves, Nell smiled at the voice drifting out of the tent, while Flora frowned darkly.
Straightening up in the late afternoon sun, Nell bunched her hands on the small of her back and stretched. The last of her personal washing was done and hung out. There was enough heat left in the day to get it dry before dark, and it might only take an hour or so. She’d bring it inside her tent to fold and stack in the small crates she used for storage.
The hum of the day throbbed to a lull. Women left the digs to tend the cooking fires. Working children found their way home to dinner. Men began to amble back to their tents from the creek to sup and rest up. It wouldn’t be long before those who took to drink would fire up the night, and gunshots and the bellows of the drunks would take over.
‘Nice-lookin’ smalls,’ Flora called over from her tent, her own washing and her mother’s flapping on the line behind.
‘The only good thing I got from my marriage. Good cotton drawers and chemises.’
‘Nice dresses, too.’ Flora nodded at a pile waiting to be washed the next day.
‘Only three I wanted to keep. Plenty for me now, especially if I give away wearing the black thing after the ball.’
‘Good for you. Too dreary by far. And no one cares about who’s wearing widow weeds, no one on the fields, anyhow.’ Flora ducked back into her tent, the flap left open to let air through.
Nell wasn’t so sure about that, but it didn’t matter to her. Widow weeds were for mourning, and she wasn’t mourning anyone, no matter that custom decreed she did.
As she bent to pick up the small tub she’d used to cart the wash from the fires to the line, she saw a horse and rider approach. A slow walk, unhurried, as if the rider knew exactly where he intended to stop. Oh no. He had a grin on his craggy face and a cabbage-tree hat on his head. His loose thin shirt opened at the neck, and patchy grey tufts of hair poked through. Her heart lurched.
‘There you are, daughter o’ mine. I heard you were on the fields again, an’ then I saw ye, from afar, not long back. I can tell me own anywhere, I can.’
Nell stared. He would’ve been the one to follow her. A hundred retorts came to mind, but her voice stuck in her throat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Flora bob out of her tent.
Alfred Thomas reined in, leaned over the horse’s mane a little. Settling in for a talk, it seemed. ‘We feel a bit put aside that you, yerself, never told us your sad news.’
Still silent and staring, Nell tried to form words that just would not come.
‘Now, I know that look. Means yer not so pleased to see me.’ The grin barely moved, but he ducked his head a moment, before his eyes met hers again.
Nell felt the menace of him moving in waves across the short distance, flaring in her chest each time her heart thudded.
‘I came to say that Dora and me are sorry to hear that yer now a widder.’ The grin changed to an appropriate moue for her loss.
‘Bit late, besides,’ Flora muttered as she came to stand alongside. ‘He’s months dead.’
Alfred Thomas flicked a glance in Flora’s direction and otherwise ignored her. ‘And to see that you have what you need, Nellie. You always had what you needed under my roof, food an’ sensible clothes. Got your letters from yer ma, got yer good spoken word. She loved her teachin’, her music and dancin’, God rest her soul. Well looked after, ye were.’
Nell gave a curt nod and resisted gripping her pinafore and bunching the fabric in her fists.
‘And you’d be feelin’ generous for it, I’m sure.’ He looked around. ‘But this—’ he waved his hands, ‘—is not what I was expectin’ for ye, as Amberton’s widder.’ At her silence, he said, ‘I’da thought not to see you back on the diggin’s. Yer had a nice house, good clothes.’ He waved a hand at her bloomers. ‘That’s hardly best bib and tuckers.’
At her stubborn silence, Flora nudged her and whispered, ‘Nell.’
Thomas’s eyes flicked again to Flora, and back to Nell. ‘Amberton not leave ye comfortable, daughter? Or did ye sell off all those trappings for yerself?’ He leaned forward and the saddled creaked as he adjusted his seat. ‘Yer dear old pa thought ye’d be grateful for marryin’ up and—’
‘Get away from here.’ Nell’s teeth had jammed together, and her voice shook.
Flora slipped her hand around Nell’s.
Her father frowned, looked as if he was pained. ‘Thing is, me and Dora need a few things. And Andrew, my dear departed son-in-law, promised to pay a little bit more. So I’ve come to see where it is, this payment owed to me.’
‘Owed to you?’ Nell’s body shook. The rage built, squeezed her insides. ‘You sold me to a monster.’
He let a laugh blurt between his lips. ‘Sold?’ he mocked. ‘Was an agreement for me silence, is all. He got a good deal.’ Shaking his head, he said, ‘A monster. Yer make it sound—’
‘A monster even worse than you,’ she hissed. Flora’s hand on hers squeezed tight.
Alfred Thomas sprang off his horse and flicked away his reins, a nimble action that took both women unawares. They leapt back together.
Flora bent and snatched up her dolly rod, her other hand still firmly holding Nell’s. ‘Don’t come any closer.’
Suddenly Nell’s father staggered backwards. He stumbled, and his hat flew off. A breath shot out of him and he clutched his chest, reeling. A bare moment later, his horse gave an indignant squeal as a large pebble lobbed off its rump. He jumped, stomped and trotted off ahead to safety, reins trailing on the ground.
Nell spun around to see Josie Doyle loading Flora’s slingshot, drawing back another stone, her eyes fierce. ‘I’ve a mind to slap the third one right between yer eyes, Alfred Thomas,’ Josie called. ‘Get yer filthy rotten carcass away from me girls.’
Flora gripped the dolly rod with two hands. Nell rushed to Josie and grabbed the slingshot, hugging the older woman, holding her still.
Nell’s father rubbed a hand back and forth over his chest. He thrust a finger in Nell’s direction. ‘Yer still me daughter and I’m still owed what he promised me. And I know ye’ve got the rest of it hid somewhere. I know you, Nell Thomas.’
‘Get,’ Flora said, her teeth bared, and the dolly rod swung once or twice.
Alfred bent to snatch his hat from the ground, staring off a moment to check the direction his horse had taken. Then he jammed the hat on his head ‘I’m owed, or it’s the troopers next.’ He waved his finger at the women then stalked away, one last glare at Nell.
Aware of the quiet about them, she glanced at the closest campsite. A man had stood and was watching, pans in hand. A woman wrung her pinafore, and ducked into a tent out of sight, a child at her side. Down at the creek, a couple of diggers had stopped panning and looked back at them.
All she heard was a dog barking, and nothing else. It seemed time had stalled. Then like a rushing wind
, all noise came back. The folk at their campsites resumed their day, the men at the creek took to the water again, and Nell let out the breath she’d been holding.
She shot a glance at Flora as Josie shrugged out of her grip. ‘’Tis all right, lass. He’s gone off, hopefully to the devil, though not by me. Weren’t aiming to kill him or I would’a done.’ Josie plucked the slingshot from Nell, tucked it back into her pinafore pocket and wandered back into her tent.
Nell stared after her, then checked her father marching away, the horse still further ahead. She stared back at Flora, her hands spread.
Flora tossed the dolly rod away. ‘Ye’ve had, by far and away, one too many visitors today, Nell.’ She shook dust from her bloomers.
Nell pointed at Flora’s tent. ‘Your mother …?’
Flora shrugged. ‘Who do you think taught me to use the slingshot?’
Josie’s soft snores in the next tent rhythmically marked the minutes of the night. Inside her own tent, well after supper, Nell stared blankly into the darkness. Lying on her pallet, dressed only in her cotton chemise, its length rucked up to expose her legs to cooler air, she thought of her father’s threat. About bringing the troopers in if she didn’t pay him whatever he believed he was owed.
Flora hadn’t questioned her, but the dark frown and the thinned lips showed it played on her mind too. Alfred Thomas had put Nell, and Flora and her mother, at risk, and they were now in harm’s way. He could very easily have brought the troopers back to take Josie away for assaulting him with a weapon.
Though, Nell supposed, even he might have been too embarrassed to do that. Dangerous as it was, a slingshot was thought of as a child’s toy.
She rolled onto her side. How in God’s name could she move the nuggets, and remove herself from the diggings to safeguard Flora and her mother?
She had no solution, and so, as she tossed on the narrow bed, the problem kept her from her sleep.
Twenty-Three
Finn answered the door to Matthew Worrell, who apologised for the unannounced visit. ‘Not at all, Mr Worrell. Come in, come in. Partake of a rum with me. It’s that time of day.’ He had loosened his collar and removed his waistcoat when he’d come in from Ben’s stables an hour ago.
