The Widow of Ballarat

by Darry Fraser

‘And just who was he, this dead husband of yours?’

  Flinching, Nell just shook her head. ‘A most terrible man.’ She turned and fled the store, her heart in her mouth as her feet pounded back down the way she’d come.

  There were many other stores, but none she had notes for, none from where she could easily exchange gold for goods. That would be too suspicious, especially if the women at Mrs Willey’s store alerted others. She’d got past the first merchant by exchanging the tiny nugget for bed linens and the chamber pot, but that must have been just luck.

  Damn Andrew. Damn him, damn him, damn him to hell. Her head rang with the thud of her pulse.

  Too nervous for tears, too worried for her next hour, day, week, Nell kept her feet flying. The nuggets weighed heavily on her, bouncing in her pinny pocket as her hand kept it closed. Even trying to exchange them would bring the law down on her. No bank would open an account for a woman. No honest merchant would take this amount of gold from her—widowed or otherwise—and exchange it for notes, and no dishonest one would leave her any.

  She stopped by a horse trough, leaned on it to catch her breath. It was no temptation for her, even though her mouth was dry. She was craving water. Clean water. There was only one place she knew she could get herself a drink at no cost and no notoriety—a long cool draught of water—and that was from the barrel at Amberton House.

  People looked at her in her bloomers, at her flushed and sweaty face, prompting a tut-tut from some of the ladies. Once her breathing was steadier, she brushed herself down and headed in the direction of her previous abode.

  It was around midday, and broad daylight—surely it would be perfectly safe there now?

  As she rounded the corner, Amberton House came into view, sitting smugly in between the two empty lots. The builder’s cart and supplies seemed to be untouched to the right of it, and there wasn’t a sign of life on the other side. She looked back over her shoulder in the direction she thought she’d taken with Finn Seymour, back to his house. How many times had she passed his house and not known who lived there? Coming this way, she didn’t have to pass it, but going to the township and not the camp, she was so close.

  She had to shake off that thought. Staring at the dwelling, her fate now in her own hands, she straightened up and walked resolutely around to the back door of the house. Sure enough, a window had been smashed. No one had been back to board it up. And goodness knows what might be in there, having taken up residence the night before. She peered in, but nothing seemed amiss.

  The barrel at the back of the house was a welcome sight. She opened the lid, dipped her hand for the bucket, dropped it and hauled back a pail of water. Scooping one-handed, she slurped a drink, splashed a little over her face and neck. What she wouldn’t give now for another bath. She looked around, assuring herself she was alone.

  A bright patch of yellow caught her eye. Oh. The golden wattle was in bloom again.

  Courage.

  Midday. Finn leapt from the cart and waved Ben off to the general store to secure an order to take for wholesale purchases. He strode into the Bank of Victoria. Though it had been robbed in October just after he’d returned, it was still the best place to park the many gold nuggets.

  He produced Mrs Amberton’s receipt for it, and Joseph Campbell’s letter of its provenance, and once the manager was satisfied, requested the clerk assist him to bring the bags inside from the cart. The manager said that it should be received behind closed doors, but Finn couldn’t wait for the bank to close. He wanted it locked down, in the vault and safe, now. He wasn’t coming back to do it.

  Watching as the manager and the clerk wrangled the bags inside, the warning sensation in Finn’s arm surprised him. He pressed it to his side, scrawled a signature on the bank’s ledger and uttered an apology to the manager for having to hurry.

  The walls of the bank wavered in front of his eyes. He had to get outside. He pushed through the door, and the shots in his head, which he knew weren’t real, rang loud enough to shatter his eardrums. Enough time to get around the other side of the cart, he slumped against the wheel of the cart, and wave after wave of tremors hit him. His boots scuffed the dirt as he tried desperately to stay upright against the wheel.

  Distant shouts reached him, but he couldn’t discern the words. He slipped further down the wheel, and from under the cart saw the nervous stomps of the horses’ hooves as his shudders rocked the cart.

  Shouts again, and this time Ben slid to his side, grappled him into a sitting position, fists in Finn’s shirt front. ‘I got you sat straight, Finn. Just take them deep breaths.’

  An hour later at Steele and Sons, Ben pushed the pannikin of tea at Finn. ‘Bad, this one. What happened?’

  Finn shook his head and flexed his hand before he took the cup. ‘Seems to be gone now,’ he said. Leaning over the roughhewn bench that served as a table, he blew into the tea.

  Ben sat in an old chair and hooked an arm over the back of it. ‘Don’t reckon you should be goin’ anywhere for a while.’

  ‘Have to. We’re right down on all the tools and got orders up to here.’ Finn tapped his forehead. ‘Need to get stock back here fast.’

  ‘Bollocks. You need to get into your pa’s store fast. You haven’t looked at a damn thing in it since you came back. You dunno what’s in there. And you nearly knocked yourself out this time,’ Ben said, his voice hardened. Finn remained silent, flexing both hands. ‘Look, you got most of that gold back. You told me Wilshire is out of action for a while, so take a break. Hire a couple of lads for me to take to Melbourne and you sit here awhile.’

  ‘It’s my business to look after.’ Frustrated, groggy in the head from the episode at the bank, Finn couldn’t trust his body to look after him, much less look after his business.

  Ben pointed at him. ‘You have one of them bad turns on the road and you might just leap off the cart and kill yourself. Or the cart might roll over you.’

  ‘You had the brake on today, like always.’ Finn studied his hands. Steady. Why was his head woolly?

  Ben snorted. ‘I say you don’t go. Not tonight, anyway. Leave it a day or two.’

  Finn lifted his chin. ‘Might be right.’ He took a swallow of tea, black tar, the way Ben liked it. Grimacing, he reached for the rum and splashed a little into the cup.

  Ben held out his pannikin. ‘Always better with rum.’

  They heard a shout from outside. Matthew Worrell ducked into the shed. ‘Afternoon.’ He held up a pint pot. ‘Got some lemonade.’

  ‘Better step inside then,’ Ben said. ‘What flavour lemonade?’

  Matthew pulled a cut log around to sit at the table. ‘The rum flavour. The whisky flavour didn’t taste very good.’

  ‘Only a pint pot?’ said Ben.

  ‘I have work to do later,’ Matthew answered. ‘Thought you did too.’

  Finn rubbed his face, knuckled his eyes and rolled his shoulders. ‘What brings you this way so early in the afternoon?’

  ‘Two things. First, I came looking for company other than the laundress and her mother. Was putting my case forward about leaving tonight, and I met with some staunch resistance. A little bit of distance for an hour or two might work in my favour.’

  ‘And the other laundress? What does she say about you moving her friends away?’ Finn believed Nell would take over the laundry. He was glad to know where she would be when he returned.

  Matthew dropped his chin. ‘That’s the second thing. Mrs Amberton was asked to leave the laundry, Finn,’ he said. ‘For everyone’s sake, hers included.’

  Finn sat still a moment then palmed his hands flat on the table. ‘And did she leave?’ At Matthew’s nod, he barked, ‘Where did she go?’

  Ben turned to stare at Finn. ‘Mrs Amberton was asked to leave?’

  Matthew answered Finn. ‘I don’t know. She left the camp altogether. I don’t believe she said anything to Flora—Miss Doyle—about where she was going.’

  ‘I thought they were friends,’ Finn gro
wled into his tea, thinking hard.

  ‘Miss Doyle’s protective of her mother. And she seemed to think you care for Mrs Amberton, if you’ll pardon me for saying, so I was to tell you what had transpired.’ He waited a beat.

  Finn nodded, wiped a hand over his mouth. ‘No idea where she went?’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘None.’

  Ben scratched a brow. ‘Only place I know would be Amberton House. And why not? It’s empty still, far as I know. Maybe she’d go there …’ He looked at Finn. ‘A man needs to go look, just in case. An’ yer would regret this, if yer didn’t go.’

  Finn agreed. ‘Aye.’ He got to his feet, glanced between the two younger men at the table and pointed at the grog bottle. ‘Don’t drink all of that.’ He steadied himself against the table as the room swayed in front of him.

  ‘Whoa, Finn. Wait up,’ Ben said and shot around, bear-hugged him from behind, under the armpits. ‘Sit. Gather yourself.’

  Matthew thrust up out of his chair. ‘What is it?’

  Ben had Finn back in the chair. ‘Gets the turns or something. Came back from the war with it.’

  Matthew, agape, said to Finn, ‘You’ve had another attack?’ When Finn shot him a look, he inclined his head and shrugged. ‘Joseph made me aware.’

  ‘Yeah, he had an attack,’ Ben answered, terse and low. He slopped more tea and then rum from Matthew’s pint into Finn’s cup. ‘He’s all right, now.’

  ‘You need a doctor?’ Matthew asked. ‘I’ll go for someone if you direct me—’

  Finn shook his head. ‘They’ll want me in an asylum,’ he wheezed.

  ‘He don’t need no doctor, just some sleep.’ Ben shoved the pannikin under Finn’s nose and waited until he took a drink. ‘You need bed, mate, more’n you need to be gallivantin’ around after some woman and the rest of your gold.’

  ‘I’ll just take a minute.’ Finn’s hands clasped under his chin. The room had stopped swaying, and some of the sick feeling in his guts disappeared with it. This was the worst he’d felt so far. He couldn’t get a grip on it, on what was happening. When he was right in the thick of extreme danger or if he was on the periphery, he could never be sure he wouldn’t shake like an earthquake. What was it? ‘I need to get my sling.’

  ‘Let’s do that.’ Ben nodded. ‘I’ll drive you to your place. But we’ll leave off the trip to Melbourne for a couple of days.’ He stood up and went to the cart, the horses still harnessed from the morning. ‘Ready when you are.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ Matthew said.

  Finn stood, taking care. ‘All right,’ he said to Matthew. ‘But afterwards, accompany Ben from my place to the laundry. If Miss Doyle is worried about undue attention, you should be there. Ben can help if needs be.’

  ‘Fine with me,’ Ben said. ‘But if Wilshire is laid up, who’s Miss Doyle worried about?’

  Matthew looked at Finn, who said, ‘Nell’s father. Alfred Thomas.’

  At Finn’s house, once he had the kettle on the kitchen cooker, and water heating for a wash, he said it was time for Ben and Matthew to leave.

  After he assured both of them that he was indeed capable of tying his own sling and sitting in his own chair all by himself, they left him. Not without reminding him where they’d be if he needed them.

  Fat lot of good they’d be if he did need them. The walk up the hill was at least half an hour for a fit man. But Finn wasn’t intending to need anybody.

  He rummaged in one of the camphor chests Louisa had used for storage and pulled out a sailcloth bag, a thin rope as its drawstring. Once his sling was strapped, he pushed the bag into the sling, donned his hat and took to the street on foot.

  Amberton House was not far. If Nell was there, he would once again try to entice her away. If she wasn’t there, he would prise the gold from the wall anyway, and add it to the vault in the bank. Then he would move on and set about to look for her.

  Thirty-Eight

  Nell was hungry. That was the pain in her belly. Hunger. She sobbed a laugh. A pinny pocket full of gold, atop a rock wall with thousands of pounds worth of hidden gold in it, and no food in her stomach.

  Right now, she’d happily part with a little of the gold, risking capture, to get her hands on some eggs, or some ham. When had she last eaten? She couldn’t think when.

  Giddy with hunger, she took up another scoop of water. Perhaps she would take the smallest nugget to that merchant who’d changed the button of gold for her. She’d argued about the rate of exchange until she got a more satisfactory one. He’d remember her. Where had she put her license? That would have been in her tent, all burned, thanks to Lewis. Would she need to show it? She’d have to do something quickly. Wouldn’t survive here without funds, food. Shelter. Safe shelter.

  Finn Seymour. Had she just made another stupid decision?

  Slumped on the wall, her head hanging, she hadn’t heard the horse’s approach until the voice from a few feet away grated on her nerves.

  ‘Wondered if I’d find ye here, after all, Nellie Thomas.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut as she recognised her father’s voice. ‘Did you, now?’

  ‘Aye. But you look a little poorly. Bit like I’m feelin’. Don’t mind that I don’t get off me horse. I’m a little tender after a right boot in me nethers at the ball last night. ’Twas that mad old woman laundress.’

  Nell nearly laughed. ‘Could have been anyone wanting to kick you.’

  He hissed in a pained breath. ‘Ye test me patience, girl.’ He looked grey in the face, his clothes crumpled and thick with dust as if he’d slept in the dirt.

  She looked up. ‘You’re despised six ways to Sunday.’

  ‘And I’ve just as many friends, Nell Thomas, a number of them troopers. What does yer smart mouth say to that?’

  Nell looked away and shook her head. ‘The gold is back with its rightful owner. All nice and legal. Whatever agreement you had with Andrew Amberton, it’s moot. You’ve lost.’ The gnawing in her stomach made her feel sick. She wanted to retch. Instead, she scooped another mouthful of water and as she bent sideways, her foot scuffed a rock in the wall. It dropped to the ground.

  Her breath hitched as she straightened, not daring to look down. She put her foot on the rock, brushed at her skirt. Glanced. Oh God. A gold bar was exposed. She shuffled over a few inches, her dress covering it.

  ‘Oh, I know there’s no more gold in the house. I had a look in here last night to be sure, once I could stand up proper-like and walk again.’

  Nell couldn’t feel sorry even for him, her own father. The thought of Josie’s kick …

  ‘So, unless you have another gold nugget hidey-hole for me, it looks like I need to find yer another husband.’ He leaned towards her, eyes wide.

  Though his menace and his threat chilled her blood, she gave a short laugh. ‘I think you’ve lost your mind believing you’ll ever be able to do that again. Your last choice was detestable, nigh on a murderer—’

  ‘Murderer. Bloody rot, girl. A strong man—’

  ‘—Without making mention of any of the other idlers you tried on me before that.’

  ‘Ah,’ he sneered. ‘Nigh on thirty thousand people here, most of them menfolk, good strappin’ lads and none of them was any good enough for yer, was they?’

  Nell stared. ‘Is that why I got sold to the man with the money? Because I refused all the drunks and the no-hopers around our camp you brought to look me over? Half of them had deserted their wives and families. Sound familiar, does it, Pa?’

  Alfred shifted in the saddle, carefully.

  ‘You can’t force me now,’ she said. ‘I’m a grown woman. I’m a widow. I’m independent.’

  He scratched his ear. ‘That so? Heard your tent at the laundry burned down. Went up to see. Sure enough. Gone. Abandoned. So, I put a stake on it. Both yours and yer friend’s.’ He pulled a paper from his pocket and waved it at her. A license, perhaps. ‘Just in case you might’ve buried something there.’

  You’re
too late. She aimed a scowl at him, nonetheless.

  ‘Independent now, are ye?’ He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, stuffed the paper back into his waistcoat. ‘How you gonna keep yourself now Andrew’s gold is gone?’

  What else had he heard, if he’d already heard so much?

  ‘It was never Andrew’s gold, and you know it,’ she accused. ‘You were both as bad as the other.’

  ‘And like I said afore, Nell, I know you. You got some of it somewhere and it were owed to me.’

  Nell felt a wave of dizziness hit her. The afternoon sun, no food, and talking to her father. It was enough to send any poor body dizzy. But she couldn’t stand up and go for the shelter of the house without risking the gleam of the rough cast at her feet catching his eye.

  ‘You ailin’, girl?’

  She glanced at his squinting face. Her stomach rolled again. ‘Just go. There’s nothing for you here.’

  He straightened up. ‘What ails ye? Ye’re still me daughter. Ye can’t be gettin’ sick, now.’

  ‘No, a sick money-making bag won’t help you, will it? But if you get off that horse,’ she said, as he made a move to dismount, ‘so help me God, I’ll find the strength to get off my deathbed to kick you myself.’

  Nell heard the rumble of affront as he righted himself in the saddle. ‘Kick yer own father, would yer?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got a gun to shoot you.’ She doubled up again. ‘Now, get away from here. Bad enough I’m at this hell-hole of a house. Don’t need you as well.’ She began to retch.

  Alfred reeled the horse about, his voice rough. ‘What is it, girl?’

  ‘A contagion,’ she rasped, hoping he’d ride off, scared witless.

  He slid off his mount and came a little closer. ‘Nell. Nellie.’

  ‘Get away from me,’ she cried, with an eye on him. ‘A contagion, you could fall ill, too—’

  He backed up. ‘I’ll get help. I’ll bring Dora—’

  ‘Just leave, and don’t come back.’ Nell slumped, and rested clumsily on an elbow, mindful of her foot covering the gold bar. Under half-closed eyelids she watched him.