The Widow of Ballarat

by Darry Fraser

  As Robert Gregg continued his monologue, Lewis scanned the tent for his uncle’s widow.

  Nell saw Lewis heading outside and she ducked behind a throng of people waiting patiently in line to enter the tent. She watched as he searched over her head, presumably checking for Flora’s appearance. Then he made his exit and headed for the supper tent. He looked unhappy, but that was none of her concern. Flora could look after herself in that department if he caught up with her.

  And in the queue, Nell spied her friend, arm in arm with Mrs Doyle. As the line moved forward, Nell fidgeted from foot to foot until Flora and Josie were inside the tent. She followed them inside and pressed her hands to theirs in greeting.

  ‘You look very fine, Flora.’

  Flora let go of her mother’s arm and brushed down her dress. ‘I think it’ll hold up for tonight. But it’s patched here and there, so I hope no one can see.’

  ‘No one can see my stitches, Flora.’ Josie moved in close to make comment.

  ‘Of course they can’t, Ma.’

  Nell smelled the fresh-air scent of clean, line-dried clothes. Josie looked smart and matronly in her soft white blouse, a light cloth shawl and her full skirt of mid brown. ‘And you do look regal, Mrs Doyle,’ Nell remarked. ‘Your skirt is very handsome.’

  ‘’Tis a good tweed this one, saved from me own ma’s house. She had a bolt come down from Sydney just afore she passed on, God bless her.’ Josie crossed herself. ‘And now I’m looking for a drink of that punch,’ Josie said and pointed at a lady holding a delicate glass in her hands.

  Flora looked about a moment. Nell smiled. ‘I’ll get her a drink. Can I get you something, too, Flora?’

  ‘No, I’ll wait—’

  ‘And here’s that fine young fella from yest’dy, Flora. What’s his name again?’

  Matthew Worrell was by their side before Flora could answer. ‘There you all are. I just said to my companion that I was waiting for at least two lovely ladies to arrive, and there are three of you. Just my good luck.’

  ‘Ye’ll go far, lad.’

  He laughed at Josie, gave a little bow towards her, and to Flora and Nell. ‘Allow me to accompany you to the refreshment tent.’ He offered Josie his arm, and with a delighted chuckle she took it. Flora trailed behind with Nell.

  ‘What on earth do I do with him?’ Flora asked, close to Nell’s ear.

  ‘Why does he bother you so? He’s seems nice. Of good intent, as far as I can tell. We need more of that around here, I think.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Flora said. ‘He’s being nice to me.’

  Nell pulled a face. ‘Oh, and that’s terrible.’ But she understood. After the type of treatment Andrew had dished out, anything kind was a wonder to her, and perhaps something to be suspicious of. Yet with the bushranger, no such thought had crossed her mind.

  ‘Lewis always wanted something.’ At Nell’s askance look, Flora said, ‘To improve me, to dress me up. God knows why he chose me in the first place if I needed improvin’ all over the place, but I always knew where I stood with Lewis. I could always speak my mind without a care. I was never serious about him.’

  The refreshment tent had filled as well, the men around the rum keg and the ladies hovering by the lemon cordial and the tea.

  Josie had guided Matthew to the table where rows of four-sided brown gin bottles stood, some uncorked. Matthew paid a penny and Josie came away with a tot splashed into a pannikin.

  ‘Dear Lord. Ma remembers she surely loves her tot of gin.’ Flora thrust into a hidden pocket in her dress and produced a folded handkerchief. She unwrapped it, revealing numerous pennies, and headed for the lemonade. She came back with her own pannikin and poured the contents into Josie’s. ‘No more, now, Ma.’

  Josie winked up at Matthew, who winked back. Her arm was still linked in his.

  Nell leaned in to Flora. ‘But you could be serious about this one,’ she stated.

  Flora blushed. ‘He is too fancy for me,’ she whispered dismissively as Matthew and her mother turned for the exit.

  ‘No fancier than Lewis.’

  ‘Mr Worrell is much more fancy,’ Flora replied. ‘I am much more suspicious.’

  Nell laughed. ‘Well, that’s a good thing to be. Come on,’ she said. ‘We’d better follow and chaperone the two of them.’

  Flora gave a harrumph. ‘I’ll get us some lemonade. Should you not be in the children’s tent, by now?’

  ‘The noise is as bad in there,’ Nell replied and tilted her head towards the tent. ‘I won’t be staying long. Although now you have two suitors vying for your attention, perhaps I’d better.’

  When Flora returned with two small cups of lemonade, they made their way back to the bigger tent. Matthew could be seen over the heads of the crowd and as he kept dipping below the level, Nell imagined he still had Mrs Doyle at his side and had bent down to hear what she might have been saying.

  He caught her eye and beckoned them over with a lift of his chin.

  ‘There you are,’ he said as they approached.

  His dark hair, the deepening dimple and the twinkle in his blue eyes had Nell glancing at Flora. There was that blush again, but this time Flora offered a small smile.

  ‘I can look after Ma now,’ she managed.

  ‘Not at all. I’ve lost my friend somewhere, so I’d be all on my own if it wasn’t for Miss Josie here.’

  Clearly, Matthew thought that if he had hold of Mrs Doyle—Miss Josie, if you please—Flora would be hovering. Clever man.

  ‘And who is your friend, Mr Worrell?’ Nell enquired, looking about at the groups of men and women around them.

  ‘Ah.’ Matthew looked a little uncomfortable at that moment. He stared at Nell, then glanced away. ‘Well, he’s—’

  Finn couldn’t believe what he was looking at. There was Matthew Worrell with an old woman on his arm and two younger women close by. One of whom without a doubt was Mrs Amberton.

  Amid the jostling of other ball-goers, Finn studied her, his heart rate speeding up as he tried to get a clear line of sight. As he well knew, the figure that had appeared gaunt and tired at the hold-up had indeed filled out. Her face was a handsome one—he could see it clearly now in the better light of the tent. His chest expanded as he stood there, as the bodies in the crowd bumped around him and helped hide him. Her wide clear eyes he remembered so well were unmarked by the result of a fist on them. She looked confident, and serene. She’d asked something of Matthew and he seemed at a loss to answer her.

  His heart thumped. This was Mrs Amberton, merely steps from him. Casually chatting to Matthew. He should approach. He should—

  Don’t be stupid, man.

  Did he think he could hide his identity after what had happened between them at the hold-up, and then at her house? Nell would know him immediately. Certainly, the kerchief he’d used would save him from a cursory glance, but not a meeting, not an introduction. And surely he couldn’t meet her, not with both of them knowing now that certain bags of gold were at the centre of a legal matter. He would breach his obligations if he compromised what Joseph Campbell was trying to do. Had Matthew not thought of this? Or was she the ‘entrepreneur’ he spoke of the other night and Matthew’s thoughts were on nothing but her?

  Please not.

  He glanced at the other woman, the dark-haired slim beauty by Nell’s side. No, no—this was the woman Matthew had his eye on. Even in the man’s momentary hesitation, he looked at this woman differently; his expression had altered, softened.

  Nell kept her attention on Matthew’s face, a smile in place until she was crowded a little by another couple, a man and a woman, the woman none too happy to see her.

  Dora Thomas frowned menacingly at her stepdaughter. ‘I see you are well-heeled enough to have afforded a ticket to the ball, even though you are in mourning.’

  Alfred Thomas smirked. ‘She is at that, Mrs Thomas.’

  Nell braced, her glance on one then the other. She looked back at Matthew. ‘Wou
ld you be so kind as to take these two ladies for some more refreshment?’

  ‘Gladly,’ Matthew replied, and he looked gladly ignorant.

  Josie, still in his grip, cried, ‘Goodo,’ as Flora reluctantly accepted his other arm.

  ‘Will you be all right, Nell?’ Flora asked, dragging her heels a little.

  ‘She is in her family’s company, young woman. Of course she’ll be all right,’ Dora snapped, her ample bosom and cleavage covered by out-of-fashion lace ruffles.

  Alfred Thomas leaned over towards Josie. ‘You won’t be aimin’ yer shot at me in here, old woman.’

  ‘Nay, yer too close, so a swift kick to yer nethers will do me just as good.’

  Alfred stepped back swiftly, Matthew blurted a laugh and Flora groaned. ‘Ma,’ she chided hoarsely and urged Matthew out of the tent.

  ‘That old hag needs to be taken off the streets,’ Dora sneered. ‘You would do well to seek better company,’ she said to Nell.

  Nell started to move past them. ‘Indeed, and so I shall.’

  ‘Just a minute, just a minute, Nell Thomas,’ her father cautioned. He brought a finger up in front of her nose as she tried to step around him. ‘Yer not so high and mighty, yet. I know that youngster Lewis Wilshire is in a bad place after his uncle died, leaving him nothin’, it appears, except debt. He might be very interested to know that a certain great deal of gold is still about the place.’

  Nell remained stonily silent, but her heart boomed, and her pulse raced.

  ‘So, give it up to me, now, lass, and we’ll say no more of it. Otherwise, me an’ the traps will be watchin’ yer every step.’

  ‘So you said before. But say what you like, and to whom,’ Nell muttered and pushed past them both. ‘There’s no gold for Mr Wilshire, nor for the likes of you.’

  ‘Watch yourself, Miss High-and-Mighty,’ Dora cried as she stumbled aside.

  The brief spat had drawn the attention of a few, but not for long. The violins and the trumpets were warming up, and excited chatter drowned out anything else her father or Dora might have uttered at her.

  Nell wrangled her way through the crowd, against the surge of folk coming into the tent to catch a glimpse of the band. Breathless, she stepped aside, allowed the press of bodies to rush past her and then, when the horde petered out, she slipped outside.

  Everyone was pouring into the main tent. Perhaps her best hiding place was back in with the children, though all she wanted to do was to get away and back to some quiet place of her own. She hurried around the side of the child-minding tent, tried to block out the wailing cries of some, and the happy gurgles and giggles of others. Away from the lanterns that that now flickered dim light around the tents, she headed for a line of shrubs and a scattered group of chairs recently abandoned. The band had struck up a tune, stopped and started again. Laughter erupted, and she could hear a few jeers. Perhaps the music would not be the best tonight.

  On the edge of the darkness, pacing, she wrung her hands. Too agitated by far, she stopped and found a chair, gripping the back of the seat.

  Her father was an evil man intent on doing her more harm. He would hound her until she gave him what he wanted. In his desperate way he would stick with it.

  He was right, she did have the gold, but how was he so sure of it? She had to think carefully. The gold was as safe as she could make it, yet for Flora and her mother it was in the most dangerous place of all. What had she done? How would Mr Worrell help her get rid of it and return it to its rightful owners?

  Suddenly, hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She felt heat behind her and a low muffled voice.

  ‘Don’t turn around, Nell.’

  Her stomach hollowed, and her pulse pounded ever louder in her ears. She didn’t want to turn around. She desperately wanted to run.

  Twenty-Five

  Lewis bent to his mother’s ear. ‘Mama, have you seen Nell?’

  Enid sat with her two friends, Mrs Jones and Mrs Cartwright, both fine upstanding ladies of the Ballarat fields who loved nothing more than a good gossip about the wrongdoings of everything and everybody. Nothing wrong with that, unless it was tonight when Lewis needed to speak to his mother.

  The rapid chatter at this end of the refreshment tent made his eardrums rattle. He was the only male there. The ladies were in charge of dispensing cake and canapés, such as they were, and the lemonade and the tea. Gentlemen, at the other end of the tent, took care of the licensed hard liquor. There, voices boomed.

  Enid answered her son. ‘I saw her a while ago. No doubt having a fine time without minding her mourning period. She was with that Flora Doyle, and they were buying lemonade.’ She glanced over at her friends. ‘I honestly don’t know what’s happening with people these days. She might well be my sister-in-law, and young though she is, both she and that other girl need—’

  ‘If you could spare a moment, Mama?’ Lewis raised his voice, enough to catch his mother’s attention. ‘Begging your pardon, ladies.’

  Enid excused herself, held her hand out for Lewis. He took her to a quiet corner by the table of small pies, breads and jams, and little cakes. It was nearly denuded and looked as if it had been rushed by a stampeding crowd. ‘Mama, I’ve just heard it said to me that Andrew had bags of gold and that it was perhaps stolen from him when the coach was bailed up.’

  Enid stared at him. ‘Who would say that—someone who’d know?’

  ‘Clearly.’ Lewis related his conversation with Robert Gregg.

  ‘Then Nell must have been aware of it, after all. I asked her at the time and she denied having any gold. She must have it somewhere. I swear to you it was not in that house she vacated.’

  ‘It was indicated to me that it was a considerable amount. If Nell has it, where is it now, and how has she managed to move it?’

  Enid’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps with the help of your paramour. They are certainly very close these days.’

  Lewis shook his head. ‘I doubt that. But tell me, did Andrew ever indicate to you he had gold in a cache somewhere?’

  His mother laced her hands, then smoothed the tablecloth, brushed crumbs from it. ‘I felt he had something. Perhaps I heard him speak of gold. But I assumed it came from his miners, and that he was … careful with his funds.’

  ‘Mama, we both know that to be untrue.’

  ‘Well.’ Enid, nonplussed, straightened the tablecloth again.

  ‘I will find Nell and ask once more,’ Lewis said, and rubbed his forehead. If Nell had the gold, he would be out of debt in no time. She might have come to the end of her usefulness.

  His mother glared. ‘It’s not as if such a thing would have slipped her mind, Lewis.’

  ‘Of course not. But neither is she living the high life and spending it,’ he grated. ‘If she has it, she has a reason to hide it. But I need it. We need it. After all,’ Lewis continued, ‘we are her family.’

  He guided his irate mother back outside and was about to enter the entertainment tent when he saw Flora and her mother standing with a dark-haired man. He blinked hard as he recognised Matthew Worrell, the ledger man from Mr Campbell’s office.

  Under the starlit sky, and with a dozen lanterns throwing light in all directions, the scene looked eerie. And Flora was laughing at something Matthew was saying. Everybody seemed to be having a fine old time.

  Enid stiffened at his side. ‘And just who is that man she’s with, now that she’s given you over?’

  As if Flora had heard, she looked across, her gaze locking with Lewis’s before it flickered to his mother. Her smile fell away. She nodded, acknowledging both. At her distraction, Matthew looked across, as did Josie. Mrs Doyle’s smile remained broad and aimed at Enid.

  Matthew waved a hand. ‘Lewis—Mr Wilshire. Delighted to see you,’ he called over the few yards between them. ‘I’ll have a drink with you sometime tonight.’

  Lewis nodded. ‘Of course,’ he called back. What was Matthew Worrell doing here? And how the hell did he know Flora? His skin
prickled. Something was going on around him. Something was going over his head. Something was happening with people he knew, and with events that hadn’t been run past him. He was missing something. A crack was appearing, a chasm widening; he felt the bottom of it dip and fall away under him. His gut trembled a moment.

  Then it was gone. He freed his mother. Wiped a hand over his mouth.

  Flora had gone back to her conversation with Mr Worrell, and her loudmouthed mother was part of the fun. Flora had met someone else—that was why she no longer wanted to be with him.

  Flora.

  ‘Papa! There he is.’

  An excited female voice reached his ears, and he focused to see a finger pointing at him, then smartly drop, the owner knowing it to be rude.

  Enid plucked his sleeve. ‘Lewis, who is that young woman?’ she enquired, her eyes widening. She gave him a quizzical look.

  The young, dark-haired woman, a happy light in her eyes and a smile on her face, stood directly in front of Lewis, held her hand out by way of introduction as she spoke to the older man at her side. ‘This is the man, Papa, who saved me from that horrible trooper and a terrible fate after the stockade.’

  Twenty-Six

  Nell held her breath. That voice. She recognised it instantly. Immediately, those green eyes above the kerchief came to mind. She couldn’t see him, but his presence behind her hummed in the air between their bodies.

  ‘You look very well.’ Each word was a feather-like touch along her neck. ‘You look extraordinary, in fact.’

  Was he so close? Her hands shook, and she started—

  ‘Please. Don’t turn,’ he said.

  Fighting to keep still, she fixed her gaze on the tents in the distance, and the folk darting in and out, the laughter erupting around the pained strains of the orchestra warming up. Her chest rose and fell rapidly despite her struggle to control her breathing.

  ‘Your situation seems much improved since our last meeting.’ Each word murmured against her skin and glided along her shoulders.