The Goldminer's Sister

by Alison Stuart

  ‘Then you should know that the spacing of the timber supports, the quality of the wood you have chosen and this mad decision to blow the face prematurely is reckless, if not negligent.’

  ‘Enough.’ The tone of Cowper’s voice had dropped to glacial. ‘I will not be spoken to in this manner. As far as I am concerned, McLeod, this insubordination is the final straw. You are fired.’

  Alec straightened, his anger a roaring inferno. ‘I resign,’ he said. ‘I will not have the safety of this mine compromised by your penny-pinching greed.’

  Cowper shot a glance at the outer office where Ian’s high desk was unattended. ‘You and your brother. Don’t think I don’t know the stories you are spreading. Slanderous lies.’

  His words doused Alec’s anger like cold water. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Some ridiculous tale about how I am using gold from Shenandoah to falsely inflate the returns from Maiden’s Creek.’

  ‘They’re not lies and you know it,’ Alec said. ‘You’ve been stealing the gold from Shenandoah for months. Anyone who knows what they’re looking at can see the correlation. The mine inspector—’

  Cowper laughed. ‘Only sees what I pay him to see.’

  Alec’s blood ran cold. The mine inspector was in Cowper’s pocket? That would explain why the theft seemed so blatant: the only person who would notice was paid to turn a blind eye.

  Before he could think of an adequate response, an explosion shook the building.

  Alec glared at Cowper. ‘Too soon,’ he said. ‘You’re an idiot.’

  ‘Get out, McLeod, and don’t think for a minute you get a reference from me.’

  Alec’s lip curled. ‘I don’t need your reference. Ian and I will do just fine. Tell me where he is and we’ll collect our things and be gone.’

  ‘I sent him down to do an inventory of the fuses.’

  ‘You sent Ian down the mine?’

  ‘Yes. He regularly takes inventories for me.’

  ‘Knowing you were about to blow it?’

  Cowper’s gaze shifted to Ian’s empty desk and his moustache twitched. ‘He’s safe enough.’

  Alec ran across the courtyard and down the long tunnel to the main cavern. A haze of dust hung in the air above the mine shaft, a testament to the recent explosion. He went straight to the storeroom but it was locked and empty. He asked the men working in the cavern if they had seen his brother.

  ‘Aye, he asked to see the new workings so Trevalyn took him down,’ one of the men said.

  Alec flung himself onto the ladder, half-sliding to the level of the deep lead. His nostrils filled with cloying dust and the smell of cordite. The powder monkeys were tucked into the cubby, their faces covered with cloths.

  ‘Where’s Ian?’ Alec yelled.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘My brother.’

  ‘I think they’ve gone forward to check on the fall,’ the man replied.

  Alec glanced down the tunnel. It turned a corner to follow the seam, which minimised the impact of the blast, but the air was still thick with dust. He let out a breath, seeing the muffled light that indicated the path of the miners, the faint glow disappearing as they rounded the corner.

  Curiosity. It had got Ian into trouble before, just as it had led him to re-examine the figures for the two mines that had unmasked the theft of the gold from the Shenandoah.

  Holding a dampened kerchief to his nose and mouth and with head bowed to avoid the beams, Alec started down the corridor after his brother, following the sound of muffled voices ahead of him and … something else. He paused, every nerve in his body tingling with a miner’s instinct. He laid his hand against the wall and his blood ran cold. The vibration in his fingertips grew and there it was again—a faint knocking sound, like the tap-tap of a small hammer.

  He straightened, his ears straining in the dark as the knocking became louder. A definite rapping as if the hammers of the Knockers were beating out a warning.

  ‘Get out!’ Alec yelled.

  A cry came from the end of the tunnel as the miners, sensitive to the nuances of the mine, also picked up the sound.

  The timbers set in the mine for the purpose of warning the miners of a shift in the earth let out a warning growl that was followed by the roar and crash of tumbling rocks. Alec turned as the ceiling came down just feet from where he had been standing. The impact knocked him flat and he lay in the dark, choking on the dust and debris falling around him.

  Coughing, he got to his knees as men ran forward with lanterns. Strong hands helped him to his feet and he hunched over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath as the light illuminated a miner’s worst fear: the tunnel ahead was now completely blocked with dirt and rocks.

  ‘Which team is working down there?’

  ‘Morgan’s team,’ a man said.

  Alec closed his eyes. David Morgan had four children. George Tregloan, who had stepped in to help Eliza on the night of the dance, was newly married. And then there was Marsh, the dour Yorkshireman with his brood of youngsters. And Trevalyn … and Ian.

  Alec thought for a moment he would be sick. Five men trapped by the fall of rubble. At best the fall only took up the tunnel to the dog leg, leaving the site where the men were working clear, but with no air and rising water … The last part of the tunnel may have been shored up with sugar gum but the supports were closer together, the ceiling bracing tighter. That thought gave him hope that the men at the far end of the tunnel had survived.

  Conscious of shouts from above, he looked around at the circle of filthy faces.

  ‘What do we do, boss?’ one of the men asked.

  ‘We start clearing the rubble,’ Alec said. ‘We’ll need every able-bodied man and boy.’

  ‘McLeod!’

  He closed his eyes at the sound of Cowper’s voice coming from above him. The mine manager had to be faced.

  Cowper waited at the head of the shaft, where rescue teams were moving into action. ‘How bad is it?’

  Alec gave a succinct report on the collapse and the five trapped men.

  ‘Are they alive?’

  ‘We have no way of knowing,’ he said. ‘If they are, the best we can do is clear a way to them as fast as we can, before they run out of oxygen.’

  ‘Do whatever is needed,’ Cowper said and walked away.

  Alec rallied the rescue team and the operation began. At least they now had the new boiler and engine available to lower buckets down the shaft and operate water pumps. That would help, but it was still hot, muddy, manual labour. He lent his own strength to the effort, his hands bleeding from pulling the jagged rocks away. It was only when someone tapped him on the shoulder that he stopped.

  ‘Cowper wants you in his office,’ the young lad behind him said.

  Alec wiped his hands on his trousers and nodded, suddenly conscious of his own exhaustion. It took a supreme effort to climb the ladders out of the shaft and he was surprised to emerge into darkness. The yard bustled with activity. A crowd had gathered at the gate to the mine and lights blazed from the crib room, where it looked like the women had set up a kitchen. The scent of fresh bread and soup drifted from that direction, reminding Alec he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  In the manager’s office, Cowper was not alone. Osborne Russell and Sergeant Maidment were at the table, poring over plans of the mine. Angus Mackie sat at the desk going through a pile of papers.

  ‘You sent for me, Cowper.’ Alec was in no mood for niceties.

  Cowper looked up and his eyes gleamed with a cold hatred that chilled Alec to the bone.

  Mackie rose to his feet. ‘Mr McLeod,’ he began in the voice of one about to deliver a lecture. ‘I am shocked—shocked. Such a callous disregard for the safety of a mine. I should order Sergeant Maidment to arrest you here and now.’

  Alec ran a hand over his eyes, not certain he had heard the man correctly. ‘What do you mean, callous disregard? Everything I have done is for the safety of the mine.’

  Mackie held
up a stack of papers. ‘These are purchase orders for the timber used in the shoring of the mine. Sugar gum! You have used sugar gum. Even I know that is a wood unsuitable for mine supports.’

  Alec straightened. ‘I never ordered sugar gum. My orders were always for Huon pine. The order for sugar gum came from another source.’ He glanced at Cowper but the man’s face revealed nothing.

  Mackie stabbed a finger at the topmost paper. ‘Is that your signature?’

  Alec crossed to the desk and picked up the paper. It was indeed a purchase order for sugar gum for use in shoring the mine and the signature at the bottom of the paper appeared to be A McLeod, but Alec had never seen this paper before. The signature may have been a passable replica of his but he had never signed it. Ian could have told them it was not genuine but Ian was not here.

  ‘And then there is the matter of the spacing of the shoring,’ Mackie said, taking the forged order back from him.

  ‘Those were Cowper’s orders, not mine,’ Alec protested, the red mist of rage starting to film his eyes. ‘Trevalyn can confirm—’

  But Trevalyn was not here either.

  ‘And the ordering of the explosion that caused the collapse?’ Russell spoke for the first time.

  ‘That was Cowper,’ Alec said.

  Everyone turned to look at him. Cowper assumed an expression of affronted shock. ‘I deny I gave such an order.’

  ‘Can anyone corroborate your story?’ Russell asked.

  ‘Trevalyn,’ Alec said, uselessly. He scanned the grave faces of his interlocutors and saw no softening. Only Maidment’s eyes, watchful and assessing, offered him any sympathy.

  His gaze came to rest, unblinking, on Cowper. He had called the man ruthless and now he knew just how ruthless. With the only witness to Cowper’s orders among the trapped men, the mine manager would make sure the blame for the entire collapse would rest on Alec’s shoulders.

  Osborne Russell regarded Alec over the top of his glasses. Alec had always found Russell a reasonable and thoughtful man to deal with but the banker shook his head. ‘These are serious allegations, McLeod. I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Just leave me to do my job and get the men out, then I will more than answer them to your satisfaction,’ Alec said.

  Russell glanced at Cowper and shook his head. ‘I think in the circumstances, Mr Cowper has every right to relieve you of that responsibility, McLeod. He informs us that he terminated your position this morning.’

  Cowper straightened. ‘McLeod had no business being in the mine.’

  ‘I went to fetch my brother. He had no business being down there and now he is trapped, possibly dead. Do you expect me to just leave him? No … I am not leaving.’

  ‘You are not required. Trevalyn’s offsider, Williams, is quite capable of seeing to the rescue effort.’

  ‘At least let me help with the digging.’

  Cowper glared at him. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near the mine. Is that understood, McLeod? Get off my property now or I will request Maidment and his men remove you bodily. Maybe a night or two in the gaol cells will make you reconsider your negligent conduct.’

  Maidment stepped forward and laid a hand on Alec’s sleeve. ‘Go home and get some rest, McLeod, you look dead on your feet.’

  The floodgates of anger burst and Alec swept the contents of Cowper’s desk to the floor. ‘You bastard. Maidment, ask this charlatan about the Shenandoah Mine, ask him about the stolen gold.’ He paused, his chest heaving. ‘Ask him who killed William Penrose.’

  ‘Enough!’ Russell roared. ‘There is a time and place for the airing of grievances and this is not it. The priority is getting those men out alive.’

  ‘One of those men is my brother!’

  ‘Get out, McLeod. Go and get some rest and we’ll discuss matters when those men are back with us—alive or dead. I’m sorry Ian is trapped, but there’s nothing more you can do here,’ Russell said.

  Cowper turned to the policeman. ‘Maidment, remove this man. He is trespassing.’

  ‘This is your doing, Cowper,’ Alec cried. ‘Yours! I warned you time and time again that you were compromising the safety of the mine. If my brother dies, I will hold you responsible and I will see you pay.’

  Cowper’s stony countenance did not twitch. ‘You gentlemen are all witnesses to the fact this man has threatened me.’

  Alec took a step toward the mine manager and swung at him with a fist honed on the rough streets of Wishaw. Cowper managed to avoid the worst of the impact but Alec connected with his nose and he staggered back with a howl of pain, blood pouring from between his fingers.

  At the sight of the blood, Alec’s fury subsided. The impact had jarred his hand and he shook it, mortified that he had lost control of himself.

  ‘Get him out,’ Cowper yelled. ‘I want him in a cell, Maidment. A cell!’

  Maidment stepped forward, holding up his hands. ‘Enough. This isn’t helping. Come with me, McLeod. Let these men get on with the job at hand.’

  Outside, the cold air hit Alec like a dousing of water. He collapsed against the wall of the building, his head in his hands.

  Maidment touched his arm. ‘I’m not throwing you in the cells, McLeod, but I want you to go home and stay there. I heard what was said. I know you and I know Cowper. The truth will come out, but for now, you need to stay out of Cowper’s way and out of trouble, understood?’

  Alec nodded, suddenly too weary to even think straight.

  He headed for the gate. Among the crowd he recognised Morgan and Tregloan’s wives. Mrs Morgan held a fretful baby on her hip while a small child clutched at her skirts.

  She stepped in front of him, her hands on her hips, her eyes anxious. ‘What’s happening, Mr McLeod?’

  How could he answer? ‘Everything that can be done is being done,’ he said.

  ‘Are they alive?’ Mrs Tregloan asked, hope bright in her eyes.

  ‘I hope so. The chances are good but we won’t know until we’ve shifted more of the rubble.’

  ‘Why aren’t you down there?’ A man’s voice, angry and frustrated.

  ‘Is it true you’ve been sacked?’

  Alec turned to confront John Butcher, the owner of the Maiden’s Creek Chronicle, who had notebook and pencil in hand.

  A murmur went around the crowd.

  ‘The priority is getting our loved ones out of there, my own brother among them,’ Alec said. ‘Now excuse me, I must get some rest.’

  He dragged his weary feet down the path to his cottage and unlocked the door, slamming it behind him. He found the whisky bottle where he had last concealed it. Ian would not approve.

  Ian injured, afraid and in the dark.

  Ian … dead.

  Windlass butted his head against Alec’s shaking hand and he picked the cat up. ‘Not dead,’ he said. ‘I don’t—I won’t believe he’s dead.’

  Windlass wriggled free and Alec poured a glass of the whisky, downing it in one draught. The liquor burned his throat and he felt the fire course through his veins.

  He looked at the hand that held the glass: black with dirt, the fingernails torn and ragged, blood welling from cuts he hadn’t even noticed. He poured water into the wash basin in his bedroom and tried his best to remove the dirt from his face and hands, but he just seemed to turn the water to mud and drive the dirt deeper into the pores of his skin.

  He stripped off his filthy clothes and had another go at washing before slumping into the chair beside the unlit fire with the whisky bottle, too tired to do anything except brood on the injustice of his situation and how he would answer the charges that would be brought against him.

  If Ian were here, he would have some wise counsel, some sharp words that would bring sense to Alec’s world.

  Alec had lost everyone else he cared about—his parents, his wife, his child. He couldn’t lose Ian. That would be unthinkable.

  He poured another glass. And another.

  Twenty-Five

  30 July 1873


  Eliza leaned her head against the woodwork of the swaying coach and closed her eyes. Her fellow passengers, all as tired and put out as she, also drowsed in the dark. It had taken thirty-six hours for the coach to make the eighteen-hour journey. The heavy winter rains had turned the road into a quagmire and the boggy ground into a waterway. The poor horses had to be changed several times and that had slowed the coach even further.

  They rattled to a halt. Eliza peered around the leather shutter, her heart leaping at the light burning on the verandah of the Shady Creek Hotel. Warm food, warm water and a warm bed beckoned.

  The coachman threw open the door and lowered the steps, helping the stiff and weary passengers into the chill night air. Eliza placed her hands in the small of her back and stretched. Tomorrow she would be back in Maiden’s Creek with all the information she had discovered. She could hardly wait to share it with Alec.

  As she stepped into the parlour where Mrs Gulliver was setting out bowls of hot soup and fresh bread, a burly red-headed man rose from one of the benches.

  ‘Miss Penrose.’

  Eliza smiled at the sight of the coachman’s familiar face. ‘Amos. How good to see you.’

  Something was amiss. Amos Burrell shifted his weight and scratched his stubbled chin. ‘You won’t have heard,’ he said.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘There’s been an accident at the mine.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tuesday morning.’

  ‘Alec?’ The name came out in a hoarse whisper.

  Amos Burrell shook his head. ‘No, but his brother and four others are trapped below. There was a collapse …’

  Eliza subsided onto one of the benches, too tired to comprehend what the man had just told her. ‘The trapped men … are they alive or dead?’ she said between stiff lips.

  ‘No one knows.’

  ‘Alec must be desperate—’ Seeing Amos’s frown, a cold fear clutched her heart. ‘What else has happened?’

  ‘Cowper fired McLeod, just before the collapse. He’s holed up in his cottage. No one’s seen him since Tuesday night and the whole town is blaming him for the collapse.’

  She stared at Burrell. ‘No—Alec couldn’t … he wouldn’t.’