The Goldminer's Sister

by Alison Stuart

  She stood and thanked Maidment. He saw her to the door and she strode out of the police station onto the northbound road. To call the uneven track a road seemed a little like calling a flower seller a duchess. As Eliza dodged the puddles and ruts, she thought of Charlie O’Reilly, who made this trek daily for the sake of a little learning. Little wonder the child’s attendance was erratic.

  Passing through a forest of blackened trees sprouting new life, Eliza crested a ridge and paused to catch her breath. Her new boots had started to rub blisters on her heels but she’d come too far to turn around so she limped on.

  Ahead of her the road dipped into a heavily wooded valley and as she rounded a bend in the road, a rough bark hut came into view. Twenty or so yards before the hut, another track led off to the right, a handpainted sign indicating the road to Pretty Sally, and beyond the hut, the road forded a wide fast flowing creek.

  The hut had a low verandah on the front with rough benches propped either side of the only door. Behind it she could see a precarious outbuilding, probably used as a stable and a small yard enclosed by rough-hewn railings. A thin thread of smoke escaped the crooked stone chimney. A sign had been hammered to a verandah post proclaiming BEER AND FOOD. The scent of hops, wood smoke, and boiled cabbage hung heavily in the air.

  In contrast to the rough setting, a sweet, clear singing drifted from the glassless windows of the shabby hut. As Eliza approached, a scruffy dog tied to the verandah by a long rope rose to its feet, barking a warning. She gave the animal a wide berth and stepped onto the verandah and knocked on the crooked door.

  ‘Is anyone at home?’ she called.

  The singing stopped.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Mrs O’Reilly, my name is Miss Penrose. I’m the schoolmistress in Maiden’s Creek.’

  ‘Who’s with you?’

  ‘No one. I came by myself.’

  A bolt scraped back and the door opened a few inches. ‘You must be the school ma’am that Charlie’s been blatherin’ on about. What ’appened to old rod-up-his-arse?’

  Eliza blanched at the description of her predecessor. ‘He is unwell. Miss Donald and I are standing in for him.’

  ‘That dried-up old ’ag? She’s worse than Emerton. So, ’ave you come to tell me that my Charlie can’t attend again?’

  ‘No, but I do want to talk to you about Charlie.’

  ‘What’s she been up to now?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So you’ve walked all this way for nothin’?’

  ‘Please, may I come in? My feet hurt—’

  ‘Poor you,’ the woman said, her tone dripping sarcasm.

  The door opened and Annie O’Reilly stepped out into the daylight. She wore a brown woollen gown, open at the neck, and a dirty apron tied high over the unmistakeable bulge of advanced pregnancy. Lifeless black hair, barely constrained in a rough knot, hung in lank strands around her face.

  ‘Ain’t you never seen a pregnant woman before, Miss ’igh and Mighty?’ Annie said, green eyes narrowed, her chin lifted defiantly.

  Embarrassed at being caught staring, Eliza looked at the woman’s face and realised with a shock that Annie was probably only her age.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—that was unforgivably rude,’ Eliza said.

  ‘Yeah, well … sit down and take the weight off your feet.’

  Eliza sank down on one of the benches and Annie sat beside her, awkwardly positioning her heavy body on the lumpy bench. She ran a hand over the bulge beneath the apron.

  ‘Reckon it won’t be long now.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Eliza, who had little experience with pregnant women. She wondered who the father was, or if this woman even knew who among her gentlemen callers was responsible.

  ‘So, what can I do for you, Miss Penrose with the sore feet?’

  ‘Charlotte—’

  Annie stiffened. ‘What about ’er?’

  ‘She’s very bright.’

  The antagonism faded from Annie’s face and she blinked. ‘Bright? What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean, she could do brilliantly at school, if she was given half a chance.’

  ‘Could?’

  ‘Yes, her education seems to have been interrupted and while she is very quick to grasp mathematics, her reading and spelling is very far behind others of her age.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, it ain’t my fault she’s behind. The schoolmaster said she wasn’t fit to be at school. Told ’er to stay away.’

  ‘That has all changed. Attendance at school is now compulsory.’

  ‘So they tell me. Well, I don’t give a tinker’s curse.’ She caressed the bulge of her stomach again. ‘When this one comes, Charlie’ll have to stay ’ome and ’elp. I can’t do it all by myself.’

  ‘No, she can’t miss any more school,’ Eliza said.

  Annie O’Reilly rose to her feet, not without difficulty, steadying herself on one of the verandah posts. ‘No? That’s too bad, Miss ’igh and Mighty, because that’s ’ow it is for the likes of Charlie and me.’

  Eliza stood up. Annie was taller by a few inches and as they faced each other, Annie’s eyes hardened and her mouth set in a thin line.

  ‘Please, Mrs O’Reilly,’ Eliza said. ‘I am sure we both want what’s best for Charlie. Until the baby is born, can you make sure she doesn’t miss any more school?’

  Annie tossed her head. ‘What good’s it goin’ to do ’er? You’re just goin’ to put notions into ’er ’ead.’

  ‘With a bit of decent education, Charlie—’ She was going to say has a chance of escaping this but she caught the words. ‘Charlie could go into service or work in a shop.’

  The defiance faded from Annie O’Reilly’s eyes. ‘You think so? You really think she could do that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have walked all this way unless I truly believed it.’

  ‘You’ve said your piece, now you can turn and walk back the way you came.’

  ‘Mrs O’Reilly—’

  ‘I’ve a brew on the boil and I can’t be talkin’ to you.’ Annie turned and waddled back into the hut, slamming the door behind her.

  Eliza stared at the crudely made door with mounting frustration. What chance did Charlie have in these circumstances? Then again, what chance did Annie O’Reilly have with another mouth to feed? The desperation of the woman’s situation clawed at Eliza’s heart and conscience as she turned back to town.

  She distracted herself from the pain of her blistered feet by reviewing Charlie’s situation. Had her mother, ‘Mad Annie’, made her choices or had they been thrust on her by circumstance? What would it take to give Charlie the chance to escape the drudgery her mother envisioned?

  She started at the sound of whistling and a horse’s hoofs behind her, moving to the far side of the track to let the rider pass.

  ‘Deep in thought, Miss Penrose?’ Jack Tehan looked down at her from the back of his tall bay gelding.

  ‘I was.’

  ‘May I ask what you’re doing out here?’

  ‘I’ve just been to visit Mrs O’Reilly.’

  Tehan swivelled in his saddle to glance back up the track in the direction of the O’Reilly’s grog shop. ‘You keep strange company,’ he said.

  ‘I wanted to speak to her about Charlie.’

  The humour drained from his face. ‘What about Charlie?’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Of course I do. I pass the O’Reilly place every time I go up and down to Pretty Sally. She’s a good-hearted child.’

  ‘And a very bright one.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I’ve said too much.’ Eliza straightened. ‘It’s none of your concern.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ The flickering of genuine interest in his eyes belied his words but in a heartbeat the cynical, world-weary look had returned. ‘Can I offer you a ride back into town?’

  She thought of the blisters and considered his sturdy horse. ‘Will your horse take two?’

 
Tehan laughed. ‘He’ll hardly notice the weight of you. It won’t be comfortable but you’ve a way to go yet and you seem to be limping.’

  He kicked his foot out of the stirrup. Eliza placed her left foot in the iron and Tehan grasped her arm, hauling her up behind him. She swung her right leg over the horse and found herself pressed up hard against the man’s back, her skirts hitched around her knees in a most unbecoming fashion. She breathed in a familiar and not unpleasant scent of horse and leather and man.

  ‘Hold onto me belt,’ Jack said, and she obediently twisted her hands into the worn brown leather.

  With a laugh, he kicked the horse into a canter. Despite herself, Eliza let out a sharp cry and clung tighter, pressing her body against the wool of his jacket, feeling the smooth flow of muscle beneath the rough cloth.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she protested breathlessly.

  His shoulders lifted in laughter and he turned slightly to look at her. ‘I think you need a little fun and laughter in your life, Miss Penrose.’

  And despite herself, Eliza laughed.

  He slowed the horse to a more dignified walk and darkness began to close in as they climbed the last hill before town.

  Eliza tapped her Galahad on the arm. ‘Let me down here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.’

  Tehan glanced over his shoulder. ‘Fearful for your reputation, Miss Penrose?’

  ‘Yes … no … It is probably best I am not seen riding like a hoyden behind a man who has something of a reputation in this town for breaking hearts.’

  ‘Is that what they say about me?’

  ‘They do.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll save your good name.’

  He halted and held her steady as she slid off the back of the horse.

  ‘Thank you for the ride. You saved my feet.’

  ‘The pleasure was all mine.’

  They had stopped on the road beside a ruined house. Not much remained but the brick chimney, rising starkly against the lowering sky. It seemed a little distant from the line of the fire that had ravaged the bush to the north of the town.

  Eliza shivered. ‘What is this place?’

  ‘Before me time but I hear tell that a smallpox victim died here and the house had to be burned to the ground to prevent infection.’ Tehan pointed up the hill to the left of them. ‘She’s buried up there. Couldn’t even be carried to the cemetery.’ He leaned toward her and said quietly, ‘They say her ghost still haunts her old home and she can be seen in the ruins, wringing her hands and wailing.’

  Eliza took a step back. ‘Really, Mr Tehan, you don’t believe in such nonsense?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m Irish, Miss Penrose. Far be it from me to question things we don’t understand. Good evening to you.’ He touched his fingers to his hat and kicked his horse into a trot.

  Eliza lingered on the side of the road for a moment or two, her eyes drawn to the ruins of the house. In the gloaming, the place had an eerie feel. As she turned to walk the last few hundred yards into town, she thought she caught a flash of movement in the ruins. She whipped around but saw nothing except the blackened outline of a chimney. The chill wind caught at her skirt and she shivered again. The walls of the valley seemed to close in on her and her breathing sounded loud in her own ears. Eliza caught her skirts and ran, ignoring the blisters, not stopping until the warm, welcoming lights of Maiden’s Creek came into view.

  Fourteen

  12 July 1873

  Alec’s intentions of confronting Tehan about the ransacking of his house were frustrated by his commitments at the mine. Installing the new drive shaft and commissioning the boiler meant he was working from before sunrise to almost midnight all week, but by Friday night, the bulk of the work had been accomplished and preliminary testing of the boiler looked promising. He felt quite able to take Saturday for himself and in truth, he couldn’t face Ian’s reproachful looks any longer. Eliza Penrose had to be told about her brother’s invention.

  By the time Alec had hired two horses from Sones Livery Stables and led them down the main street to Cowper’s house, he felt physically ill. He just hoped he could frame the revelation in such a way so as to not incriminate his own suspect motives or frighten her with the knowledge that Black Jack Tehan also knew about the plans.

  The thought of Jack Tehan, with his green eyes and his Irish charm, made Alec seethe.

  What hope did a bluff Scottish engineer have? What hope did he want?

  Eliza waited for him beside the road below her uncle’s house. He stared at her. She was dressed in some sort of formal riding habit of rich dark green velvet with black frogging on the tightly fitting jacket. An outfit completed by a black velvet hat trimmed with a green feather and neat black gloves. She would have been quite at home on a grand estate back in England.

  She had once come from a grand estate in England, Alec reminded himself.

  Eliza frowned and looked down at her attire, holding out the long, impractical skirts. ‘Is there a problem, Alec?’

  Alec managed a smile. ‘Forgive me saying this, but you look as if you are settling for a gentle canter in the park, not a ride in the Australian bush.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Eliza frowned. ‘I didn’t have anything else. My father gave this to me and I have always loved it, but there has been precious little opportunity to wear it in more recent years.’

  ‘You look lovely,’ Alec said, and she did. The colour suited her and made her grey eyes sparkle. ‘If I’d known you were going to be so grandly dressed, I would have asked Sones for a side saddle.’ Alec gestured at the smaller of the two animals, a grey pony, with its standard English riding saddle. ‘Although I doubt he has one. No one rides side saddle out here, it’s too damn dangerous.’

  Eliza’s eyes widened and Alec felt the heat rising to his face. ‘I apologise for swearing.’

  ‘I thought as much. I will manage with my skirts astride.’ She ran a gloved hand down the pony’s nose. ‘She’s lovely. What’s her name?’

  ‘Nobby.’

  Eliza shot him a sharp glance and he shrugged. ‘Sones is not one to give his beasts fancy names.’

  He bent and cupped his hands. Eliza placed a polished black riding boot in them and he hoisted her up with such force she almost flew off the other side. He apologised and caught at the trailing skirts to steady her as she settled into the saddle and arranged her skirts decorously around her. He wished himself anywhere else. She must think him a clod.

  He swung into his saddle and twitched the horse forward. Alec had not been born to the saddle and he had an engineer’s deep distrust of horses. Unlike machines, the beasts had minds of their own.

  ‘My parents would have confined me to my room on bread and water for a week if they ever caught me riding astride,’ Eliza said as they set off down the main street. ‘Where are we going?’

  Alec tipped his hat to the back of his head. ‘I know a pretty spot on the Thompson and—’ he patted his saddle bag, ‘—I have packed provisions.’

  ‘Oh, a picnic. How wonderful. What about the waterfall?’

  ‘I asked one of the lads and he told me the creek is flooded. It will have to wait till finer weather.’

  The wooded hills closed in on them as they headed away from the township, the mountain ash tall and straight, while tree ferns bowed and dipped like graceful dancers.

  ‘It smells wonderful,’ Eliza said, taking a deep breath. ‘I suppose in a few years all these lovely trees will be gone?’

  Alec sighed. ‘The mines are hungry beasts.’

  ‘It will be such a shame. What will become of the animals and birds?’

  Alec had no answer for that, so they rode on in silence until Eliza gave a soft cry and drew her horse up. Leaning toward Alec, she said, ‘Is that a kangaroo? The sweet thing.’

  The little animal had stopped on the track ahead of them, standing upright, ears forward, regarding the interlopers with curious eyes.

  ‘A wallaby,’ Alec corrected, refraining from adding that if h
e’d had a rifle with him, the ‘sweet thing’ would be dinner for him and Ian for a week.

  The wallaby shook its head and went down on its forepaws, lolloping slowly into the underbrush.

  ‘Have you not seen one before?’

  Eliza looked at him, her eyes still bright with wonder. ‘No. The children at the school told me about them and I’ve seen pictures in books, but to see one in real life … It was magical.’

  Alec explained the difference between wallabies and kangaroos as the track descended toward the river. Eliza chatted about the children at the school. Drawn out by Alec’s comfortable presence, she voiced her concerns for Charlie O’Reilly.

  ‘Have you seen how they live?’ she asked.

  Alec nodded.

  ‘Charlie has so much potential and it can’t be safe for a woman and child out there in the middle of nowhere. I wonder if Annie could be persuaded to move into town?’

  ‘Are you trying to change the world?’

  ‘If I had the means, but I’m as poor as the proverbial church mouse.’

  They reached a curve in the river where a grassy bank sloped down to a small cliff eaten away by the river. Alec slid off his horse, took the reins of Eliza’s horse and helped her to dismount. She straightened, stretching her arms above her head.

  ‘I haven’t ridden in so long, I shall be quite sore tomorrow.’

  Alec secured both horses and took out the blanket and food he had purchased from Draper’s Bakery. He spread the blanket over a fallen log as Eliza stood watching the river. After the winter rains, the Thompson River was high, curling around the boulders and cutting corners in its haste to reach the sea.

  ‘This is lovely,’ she said.

  He joined her and they stood side by side, revelling in the fresh, clean air and the silence, broken only by the distinctive call of a whip bird, answered by a chatter of parrots. They were north of the confluence so the filthy water flowing from the town and mine was swept away. Here the water was still pure, coming straight from the mountains. It was possible to forget the depredations man had inflicted on the landscape around Maiden’s Creek.

  ‘You were right about this impractical outfit,’ Eliza said, hoisting her skirts over one arm to sit on the log. Alec set down the satchel, leaving Eliza to spread out the picnic: bread and cheese, bottles of ginger beer, a fruit cake and apples. Hands in pockets, he returned to the river, summoning the courage to tell her that he had her brother’s plans.