The Widow of Ballarat

by Darry Fraser

  ‘Ah. The store. My father’s legacy. Not something I ever wanted,’ he said flatly, and tucked an arm behind his head.

  She said nothing, just continued a lazy whirl over the band of his ribs and flat stomach.

  ‘In any case, I’d already scheduled a visit to the fields for tomorrow. Apparently, all my laundry must come with me, too,’ he said, and laughed a little.

  She kissed his chest and murmured, ‘I intended to sew the nuggets into every garment you and Mr Worrell own. I brought it in my own hems, very piecemeal.’

  ‘That’s how you brought it in?’ He shook his head. ‘Hiding gold in a goldfield. Ingenious.’

  ‘There are four more bars still at Amberton House, where I was going last night. I’m not sure how to get them, now.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘I’d loosened a few rocks in the stand under the water barrel, on the south side. They’re in behind.’

  He was quiet for a moment. ‘Perhaps I can get them. No suspicion would be aroused if I turned up in full daylight to inspect a new purchase.’

  Nell raised her head, alarmed. ‘You wouldn’t buy the place?’ she asked. ‘It should be razed to the ground.’

  ‘I wouldn’t buy it.’ He reached over to toy with her hair as it fell over her face. ‘But if anyone questioned me, that’s what I would tell them.’ He stroked her arm. ‘Don’t worry. I can get them.’ He hugged her. ‘And after that, when these last two trips to Melbourne are done, I can move on to other things. Perhaps,’ he started, ‘you’d like to take that journey with me.’

  She wriggled, wanting to keep her voice calm. ‘I had hoped to make a living for myself.’

  ‘As a merchant’s wife you could make a living in the business. You would be invaluable.’

  She stared at him. ‘Wife, is it?’ she asked, stunned.

  ‘Of course. How could I let some other man have you by his side?’

  He was offering marriage … She didn’t want to think on that now. Didn’t want to think what other thing the night of heady love-making might bring to her, either, but she might have to. She snuggled deeper. ‘I know plenty of women work their own businesses on the fields,’ she said. ‘Laundry is not exactly what I would choose, again, I have to say. I should find something else.’

  ‘Women do work their own businesses. But outside the diggings, do they, so much? I’m thinking I—we—might like to live in Bendigo. There seems to be more civilisation there; get out of Ballarat and its race for gold at all costs.’

  ‘By all accounts it is different from here, more town living than goldfields.’ Idly, she wondered what she could do there.

  ‘I had wanted to build boats for the Murray at Goolwa in South Australia, but I doubt my current aversion to loud noise would tolerate it.’ He held up the arm she rested on and pretended a tremor. ‘Land has also been opened up north of here on the river. A place called Echuca. It might be good to invest there.’

  ‘Perhaps I could teach somewhere, after all,’ Nell mused, then she sighed and moved against him.

  ‘Why? There are teachers hereabouts already. Besides, I detect your heart is not in it.’

  ‘It’s something I could do, I suppose, other than sewing, or baking. Or laundry.’

  Finn said, ‘I have a suspicion you could turn your hand at whatever you chose.’

  Nell remained silent. Perhaps she would widen her scope and find something she’d be happy doing. Perhaps it could be working with Finn. Still, a woman had to be careful what she attempted. Too much had happened to her to believe hard work and expectations alone would make all things right.

  Finn was thinking far ahead of her, far ahead of where they were now. He was right to offer marriage, but as she’d said to Lewis—it seemed so long ago now—she had to be allowed to administer her own finances. Would any husband agree to it? Did she risk losing someone like Finn Seymour if he wouldn’t agree? She would have to study that thought at length.

  Another time. For now, he’d turned on his side, his face in her hair, and his strong arms wrapped around her. His velvety smooth erection nudged her bare leg.

  Thirty-Five

  The sun had risen minutes before, and dawn was streaking golden light over the pitted earth. Ahead, the miners were stirring from their tents after a night’s rest.

  ‘People might talk,’ he said.

  Nell shrugged. She sat alongside Finn on the hastily laden cart as it bounced and swayed over the road. ‘I don’t care if they do. None of them cared about speaking up before. Besides, it could be that you simply gave me a seat on your cart from a friend’s house.’

  He cast her a sidelong glance, tugged on the reins and the cart horses turned into the fields. ‘I wonder where Mr Worrell got to last night. I’d offered him lodgings.’

  ‘Perhaps he escorted Flora and Mrs Doyle home.’ She knew she sounded distant, but it was for the best. She’d woken up feeling she’d moved too fast. Despite the glorious night she’d spent in his bed, she was unsure. Of herself. It had niggled at her through her sleep.

  Finn glanced at her again. ‘You won’t be going back to the Wilshires for anything, will you?’

  Nell shook her head. ‘I’m finished with them. If there’s anything I need, I will buy it.’ She looked across at him, and her heart warmed. ‘Especially as I wondered if it was Lewis at Amberton House last night.’

  ‘You’re not safe, Nell, not with Lewis angry, along with your father. I’d have a word with them, but I suspect it wouldn’t help.’

  ‘No. It wouldn’t.’ His interference on her behalf would only madden things. ‘Once this gold is out of my hands, there’s no need for me to feel unsafe.’ She gave him a small smile then stared ahead as something caught her eye. Leaning forward in the cart, she squinted up the hill.

  Shouted greetings reached them as miners, slipping braces onto their shoulders, headed away from their tents and straight for his cart. The horses reined in and Finn leaned across to her. ‘This lot won’t take long to sell off. Ben’s on his way, so I’ll be up at the laundry soon.’

  She stepped out of the cart, not waiting for him to help, and stared at Flora’s laundry site, her eyes blinking in the glaring morning light.

  ‘What is it?’ Finn asked, following her gaze. A group of men had arrived and were pulling tools from the cart, weighing them up. ‘Nell?’

  She grabbed her skirt and started to run. She stumbled, righted herself, heard Finn call out, ran on. The closer she got, the clearer the situation became.

  Her tent was gone. The tubs were empty, the fires out. Mrs Doyle was perched on her tree stump, sewing. Flora, arms folded, kicked the dirt at her feet. She could see Mr Worrell on his haunches trying to coax the fire to light.

  She couldn’t see anything of her tent. ‘Flora,’ she called. ‘What happened?’

  Flora spun around. Mr Worrell stood immediately.

  Nell flung herself over the last few yards of dirt and stopped, dry-mouthed, as she saw the pile of blackened, burned canvas. ‘Was there an accident? Is everyone all right?’ She scanned all three faces.

  Josie rocked back and forth. ‘We’re all right, lass. We’re all right.’ Her fingers darted over her lad’s shirt, the needle flashing.

  ‘And good morning to ye, Nell.’ Flora dusted off her bloomers, a couple of back-and-forth slaps.

  ‘Flora. I ran and ran from the ball. I got to Amberton House and—’

  ‘Lewis came.’ Flora was frowning at her feet, scuffing the dirt again. ‘This is his work.’

  ‘Lewis did this?’ Nell spun to Mr Worrell. ‘Lewis Wilshire?’ He nodded.

  ‘Threatened us with a gun,’ said Flora. ‘Threatened to burn my tent down too, and Ma with it.’

  The blood drained from Nell’s face.

  Flora flung out a hand. ‘What have you got here, Nell, that he would threaten us?’

  A glance at Mr Worrell and Nell knew he hadn’t said anything. Her good friends had been put at risk. She threw her head back and
let out a yell of frustration, of rage, and stomped over to the remains of her tent.

  ‘He said he’d be back for it, or else,’ Flora said, alarmed, and coming close to raising her voice a little.

  Nell kicked over the frame of the chair and it collapsed in a puff of white soot and ash. Her cot and its bedding were nothing but shapes at her feet, recognisable only by the pattern on a remnant of the old patchworked quilt she used. Her booted foot thrashed out at it.

  Flora came closer, her voice now low. ‘Nell, I need to talk—’

  Matthew reached her. ‘Mrs Amberton, let me help you.’

  Nell toed the chamber pot, gave it a good foot and it sailed up in the air before exploding into bits of charred porcelain. She dug her heel into the hollow of the dirt that had been underneath it, then fell to her knees, scraping at the hole. Grabbing a piece of lightly scorched bed-frame timber, she scooped the dirt out of the hollow.

  ‘Bloody gold. Bloody, bloody gold,’ she muttered through her teeth as she hacked at areas of the hollow that had hardened. ‘All this trouble for the sake of it. As if there’s not plenty of gold for everyone. I will unearth this lot,’ she scratched harder, ‘and fling it back,’ as she dug deeper, ‘to where it came from,’ she ground out. ‘Blast you to hell and damnation.’

  Flora tried again. ‘Nell, what are you doin’?’ She bobbed down beside her.

  ‘It’s under here. What Lewis wanted. It’s under here. It belongs to the Seymour family, but Lewis wants it.’ Nell kept shovelling furiously.

  Mr Worrell hunkered down beside her. ‘Mrs Amberton, let me dig.’ He pulled the scoop from Nell’s bleeding fingers and began to scrape.

  Flora took Nell’s arm firmly, helped her stand then dabbed at her scraped fingers with her pinny. ‘You brought gold in to the diggings?’

  ‘I’m not mad,’ Nell grated and brushed out of Flora’s grip. ‘Where else could I hide it? Where else would no one think to look?’ She squeezed her hands together, tried to stem blood flowing from a finger. ‘Someone was even at my old house last night, sneaking around. If it wasn’t for—’

  Josie chuckled by the fire. ‘All them hems. All them hems.’

  Flora glanced at her mother then stared at Nell. ‘In the hems?’

  Nell nodded. ‘And that’s how I was going to get it out again.’

  ‘With my help,’ Mr Worrell said, brushing dirt off a tin box, still partially covered in the shallow hole. ‘And Mr Seymour’s, in our newly washed and mended laundry.’ He flicked a look at Flora. ‘It was to ensure you and Mrs Doyle were never in danger. We just hadn’t counted on Lewis coming here. I’m sorry for that.’

  Nell stared as more of the box was uncovered. Then she looked around her, checking for anyone watching. ‘And where did Lewis go?’ she asked, her mouth a tight line, her foot tapping.

  ‘Left. As cocky as only he can be,’ Flora derided. ‘If I ever see him on a dark night again—’

  ‘No need for that now, lassie, no need for that now.’ Josie rocked over her rag.

  Flora went to her, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘’Course not, Ma, it’s all right.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Josie repeated. ‘It’s all right.’

  Mr Worrell opened the tin from the hole in the ground. He whistled low.

  Nell peered inside. There, nestled in the quiet space, dull, clean and snug, lay the nuggets, innocent in their neatly packed state. Probably less than half the five thousand pounds’ worth, she was sure, and it all belonged to Finn Seymour. The rest he would retrieve from Amberton House himself.

  She looked over her shoulder and down the hill. Mr Steele had just arrived on horseback where the men were purchasing tools. After a short conversation, Finn hauled a bag off the cart, tied it onto Ben’s horse, mounted and made his way up.

  Run run run.

  She wanted to pick up the nuggets, one by one, and hurl them down the hill. Instead, she took in a deep breath, tried to calm the anger boiling within, swallow down the panic.

  Andrew. Lewis. Gold. Pa. Bushranger.

  Nell looked around her, wanting to see a solution. She wanted it over and done with. It was impossible now to get the heavy box out of the ground without attracting attention. The gold would have to stay where it was. Finn had dismounted and was striding towards her, the bulky bag of laundry on his back.

  Shouts of concern for the burned tent reached her ears. Flora fended off anyone coming too close, saying that all was well, and that the laundry would fire up soon, that Sunday lunch would be late. She darted a glance at Nell as Finn approached.

  Nell’s eyes widened, not at Finn, but at the troopers who made their way towards them on horseback, behind him. Miners stepped out of their way, some waving fists at the troopers, others miming shooting them once the mounted police had passed them by. Her blood ran cold.

  Thirty-Six

  Finn glanced over his shoulder to see the troopers. They must have followed him up from his cart. He looked back at Matthew, who indicated with a tilt of his head that he should go to a spot behind where Nell was standing.

  She had stared past him, as had Miss Doyle and Matthew. Mrs Doyle kept her seat by the fire, muttering as she stitched.

  So Finn trudged over and passed Nell. She glanced as he dropped his bag of laundry over the hole in the ground, and on top of the tin box. He smiled broadly, jauntily at her. ‘My laundry, ma’am. You said it would be returned to me—’

  ‘As you can see, Mr Seymour,’ Flora snapped, and stood with her hands on her hips, angling towards the troopers. ‘There was a fire here last night. Destroyed one of our tents. The laundry is not yet open. Will have to be another day before it’s done.’

  Finn turned to Flora, his smile widening. ‘Ah, Miss Doyle, if I remember correctly? I haven’t availed myself of your laundry for some months. I’m sorry to see there’s been some bad luck. I hope all is well?’

  Flora cleared her throat. ‘Well enough,’ she grumbled, deferring politely.

  ‘If the trouble has delayed your service, the next day will suit. I will certainly manage until then.’ As the two troopers reined in, Finn turned to them, his hands flexing. ‘Good morning. Is it another license hunt, already, gentlemen?’ He pulled a paper from a waistcoat pocket, unfolded it and held it out.

  Flora marched into her tent and produced her own license paper, brandished it, even though the troopers made no attempt to check it, or to dismount.

  Matthew held up his hands. ‘I’m a visitor.’

  A trooper, both hands bandaged, sat at an awkward angle in the saddle, hugging the reins. He leaned forward. ‘No license check. There’s been a complaint.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s been plenty,’ said Finn.

  The troopers had their eyes on Flora.

  ‘Complaint? About my laundry?’ she asked of them. ‘What is it—some weak-kneed down-and-out miner hasn’t got his trousers back and he’s sent in the police?’

  The injured trooper focused on her. ‘A gent’man said he was accosted here last night.’

  The other looked around. His uniform was smudged, poorly patched, and Finn could smell both the men from where he stood.

  ‘What gentleman?’ Flora asked. ‘Me ma and me were back here, late, after the Subscription Ball. No gentleman was here except for Mr Worrell. He walked us safe home.’

  The troopers looked at Matthew. ‘And still here, I see,’ the first trooper said. ‘At dawn. Miss.’

  Flora burned red.

  Matthew winked at her as he turned to the troopers. ‘I certainly made no complaint, sirs,’ he said.

  The trooper rolled his eyes. ‘The complainin’ gent’man said he was minding his own business after being in these parts when he was throwed stones at.’

  The other trooper struggled to keep down a chortle.

  Finn watched as Matthew frowned slightly as if trying to remember something. Flora blinked at her mother. Nell stood, hands on hips.

  Josie rocked a little back and forth at the fire.
Chattered softly. ‘I must be cookin’ for the bairns, Missus McGinty. I must be darnin’ their smocks fer Sund’y best.’ Josie’s chatter was barely audible, a lyrical noise as she discussed housework with her imaginary friend.

  The trooper went on. ‘Got hisself a right shiner, all closed up and bloody. Might lose it, he told us. And got hisself a nasty lump on the back of his head. Seems he copped one as he was comin’, and another as he was goin’. Bedridden, he is. His mother says he’s right not well. Some Chinamen got him to the hospital tent afore he crawled all the way there hisself.’

  Nell’s brows drew together in a dark frown. ‘Does it look like we throw stones at our customers?’ she asked, archly. ‘Which of us ladies—’

  Hand-bandage pointed at Flora. ‘Miss ’ere has a good aim with the slingshot, I heard.’

  Flora’s mouth dropped open. ‘I just said we’d come back from the ball. I wasn’t aiming any slingshots in the dark.’

  Matthew made a coughing noise. ‘If I might approach you, sirs.’ He stepped up to the horses. He looked around and then beckoned Hand-bandage who leaned down to hear. ‘I will attest that Miss Doyle never left my company last night.’

  Flora’s face bloomed a deeper red, but she held her tongue. Josie’s lyric chatter in the background kept up in the otherwise eerie silence.

  The trooper shifted in the saddle, and his glare moved around the tent sites. ‘How’d the fire happen here?’

  ‘Me ma got confused. Took to cookin’ in the tent ’stead of out here.’

  Everyone looked at the mad woman chattering quietly, rocking by the fire.

  ‘Should be locked up afore she kills ever’body. Place will explode in a fireball,’ the other trooper said. He lifted his chin at Hand-bandage. ‘Let’s go.’ They turned their horses and ambled back the way they’d come.

  Miners lined the way along the creek until they were well past, then the jeering began, a few rocks thrown. The troopers kicked their horses into a trot.

  ‘Ma,’ Flora started and went to kneel by her mother.

  ‘’Tis all right, now.’ Josie settled herself more comfortably and continued with the lad’s shirt.