‘You and I know that, Miss Penrose, but there’s a lot of angry folk in town who want to see the blame placed somewhere and McLeod’s been nicely set up to take it.’
‘My uncle,’ Eliza said with bitterness.
Amos nodded. ‘They say McLeod had been ordering in shoddy wood for the supports and pushing through with the blasting when it wasn’t safe.’
Eliza buried her head in her hands. All her excitement at the prospect of returning to Maiden’s Creek evaporated. She was returning to a disaster of monumental proportions.
14 August 1873
The remaining miles to Maiden’s Creek took all the following day and it had gone dark by the time the coach drew to a halt outside the Empress Hotel.
‘What’ll you do?’ Burrell asked Eliza as he handed down her bag.
‘I don’t know.’ In truth, she didn’t feel able to return to her uncle’s, not knowing what she had discovered in Melbourne.
‘There’s a bed at our place,’ Burrell said, ‘and Netty’ll be pleased to see you.’
Eliza nodded, grateful in the knowledge she still had friends in the town. Netty’s welcome was everything she needed, a warm hug, hot tea and a bowl of fragrant stew from the huge pot bubbling on the stove.
Netty poured her own cup of tea and sat down at the table. ‘You heard about the accident? I suppose Amos told you?’
Eliza nodded. ‘Is there any more news?’
‘No. They’ve been down there for near on three days.’ She paused. ‘People are saying … well, they’re saying that they don’t expect they’ll be found alive.’
Eliza ran a hand across her eyes. ‘And Alec?’
‘No one’s seen him since your uncle threw him out. Everyone’s saying he’s responsible and Cowper sacked him for his incompetence.’ Her face crumpled. ‘Alec, of all people! It’s lies, of course.’
Eliza’s blood ran cold. Ian possibly dead, Alec disgraced and herself conveniently banished to Melbourne. While certainly not everything could be blamed on Cowper, she felt that he must have guessed that she was getting uncomfortably close to the truth of his duplicity and she couldn’t have done it without help. Alec was being punished for helping her.
Netty hauled the pot off the stove and placed it in a basket on the table. ‘I was just going to take this up to the mine,’ she said. ‘They’ve men from the whole district working around the clock.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Eliza said. She gestured at her travelling bag, ‘Can I beg a bed off you, Netty?’
‘Of course, but don’t you wish to return to your uncle?’
‘I never want to set foot in his house again.’ Eliza gave her friend a quick summary of her discovery regarding the will.
Netty shook her head. ‘I always felt there was something not right about that. But that’s for tomorrow. Can you help me here?’ She lifted the basket with the pot of stew as Eliza wrapped one of Netty’s shawls over her head and shoulders. In the dark, she wouldn’t be recognised.
An ominous silence hung over the town. Every stamper battery in the valley had been shut down as a mark of respect. Lights blazed from the Maiden’s Creek Mine, flickering as figures passed in front of them. At the gate, a small crowd waited, huddled around a makeshift brazier with tin mugs of tea in their hands.
‘Any news?’ Netty asked.
One of the men shook his head. ‘Nah. Word is McLeod was taking shortcuts with the mine props. He’d better keep his head down. If those men are dead, he’ll be too.’
Eliza’s stomach lurched. ‘Where is he?’
‘Hiding in his cottage,’ the man replied. ‘No one’s seen him since Cowper threw him out.’
‘And him with his brother one of ’em that’s trapped,’ one of the women said. She peered at Eliza. ‘Here, ain’t you Eliza Penrose?’
The crowd moved, cutting her away from Netty’s side. They circled her and a man grabbed her arm.
‘This is your doing,’ he said. ‘I saw you the day you came poking your nose around the mine.’ He looked around the crowd. ‘You know what they say, never let a red-headed woman near a mine or disaster will befall.’
Eliza shook off the hand. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You and McLeod. You’ve both doomed this mine,’ another woman screamed.
Eliza scanned the dirty, strained faces, looking for sympathy, finding none.
‘That’s enough! Let Miss Penrose pass.’
The crowd fell silent and moved away from Eliza as Jack Tehan swung off his horse. Leading the horse with one hand, he tucked the other under Eliza’s elbow and propelled her through the gates.
‘I thought you’d left Maiden’s Creek,’ he said.
‘That would have pleased you,’ Eliza said, pulling her arm from his guiding hand.
‘Me? Nothing to do with me.’ He glanced at the administration building. ‘Does your uncle know you’re here?’
‘Not yet. He has enough to concern him. I’ve just arrived in town. What are you doing here?’
Tehan shrugged. ‘See what help I can be.’
Netty had pushed her way through the crowd, huffing under the weight of the heavy basket. She thrust it at Tehan. ‘If you want to help. You can carry that to the crib hut.’
Tehan hefted the basket and, still leading his horse, crossed the courtyard. A light glowed from the mine’s adit and the sound of men’s voices and the rumble of carts bringing the detritus out echoed dully around the space.
Eliza glanced at the mine manager’s office. Through the lighted window she could see Charles Cowper in earnest conversation with another man.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked Tehan.
Tehan’s steps faltered and he swore. ‘It’s the bloody mine inspector.’
‘He doesn’t look happy.’
‘He’s never happy and if I’ve any sense, I’ll keep my head down until he’s gone. If you see your uncle, tell him I’ve gone back to Shenandoah.’
He handed the basket to Netty and led his horse down the dark gap between two buildings where the trolleys ran to the batteries.
The crib room seemed to have been taken over by the Ladies’ Committee, with Mrs Russell and Mrs Jervis in command. Flora Donald stood at the door, handing out bowls of soup and bread.
‘Brought you a mutton stew,’ Netty said.
Flora stood aside. ‘Come in and set it on the table.’
Eliza pulled the shawl closer around her head as they stepped into the light.
Netty asked for news again.
‘They say it could be weeks before the rescue party gets through to them. If they’re still alive, they won’t last until Sunday,’ Mrs Jervis said.
One of the women bent over a pot on the fire straightened, wiping her hands on her apron. Eliza realised it was Mrs Harris.
Their gaze met. ‘Miss Penrose. You’re back,’ Mrs Harris said with little warmth.
Flora swung around, her brow furrowing. ‘What are you doing here?’
Eliza did not feel she needed to explain her return to either woman. ‘I am here to see if I can be of any help.’
‘Best help you could have offered was to stay in Melbourne.’ Flora set her empty tray down on the table with a thump.
‘At least Cowper’s not left his office. He’s no coward. Not like McLeod. The collapse is his doing and if he shows his face, he’ll be torn apart,’ Mrs Harris said.
‘What do you mean it is his doing?’ Eliza said.
‘Mr Cowper says he’s been taking shortcuts with materials and pushing through the tunnel faster than he should have done.’
‘But that wasn’t his doing—’ Eliza began but Mrs Harris fixed her with sharp, angry eyes and she knew argument would get her nowhere. The woman’s loyalty lay with Cowper.
She glanced at Flora, expecting the same righteous anger as Cowper’s housekeeper, but Flora just shook her head and turned to her work.
‘There’s nothing for you to do here,’ Mrs Harris said in a softer tone of voice. ‘If it’s
a bed you’re wanting, the back door’s unlocked. No one’s home. Even Tom’s helping with the mine.’
‘Miss Penrose?’
Jenny Tregloan sat with two other women, older but just as haggard. She crossed to them, crouching in front of Jenny and taking her icy hand in her own. ‘Mrs Tregloan, what can I say?’
Tears welled in Jenny’s eyes. ‘If I lose him …’
‘It’s our husbands down there,’ one of the older women said. ‘I’m Ada Morgan and this here’s Janet Marsh.’
Ada Morgan put an arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. ‘She’s with child, Miss Penrose.’
Eliza looked at the other two women, seeing the faces of the Morgan and Marsh children in the school room.
Janet Marsh, the oldest of the three women, lifted her chin. ‘I have faith in the Lord, Miss Penrose. I don’t believe for a minute they’re dead.’
But Eliza knew mines. She knew that even if they had, by some miracle, survived the fall of rock, air would be running out. If they weren’t reached soon, it would be too late.
She had no words of assurance nor of comfort. ‘All we can do is pray,’ she said and rose to her feet.
With a quick, knowing glance at Netty, Eliza left the crib room. She didn’t have much time. A mad plan had come to her as soon as Mrs Harris had said the house was unlocked but empty. This could be her one opportunity to search for her brother’s missing will and the plans—if her uncle had them.
But first there was the matter of Alec McLeod.
The crowd at the gate had dissipated as the night deepened so there was no one to pay her any heed. She took the narrow path to the McLeods’ cottage. No light burned in the living room and the house was in silence. Her concern increased and she slowed her step as she approached the front door. Even in the dark she could make out the word ‘Murderer’ daubed across it. She stared at the ugly word for a long moment before knocking.
Getting no response, she went to the back door and found it unlocked. She pushed it open. The room was in darkness and no fire burned in the hearth. The icy air was heavy with a miasma of whisky and unwashed male. She groped on the dresser for a candle and match box.
‘Who’s that?’ a muffled voice came out of the dark.
‘Eliza.’
‘Go away.’
She found the candle and its thin light illuminated the room. Alec sat slumped over the table. She set the candle down on the mantelpiece and crossed to him.
His head was buried in his arms and an empty bottle lay at his side. His fingers, curled around another half-full bottle, told their own story. He had been subsisting on nothing more than whisky and self-pity for the last few days.
‘Alec …’ She touched his arm and he jerked upright. The bottle he’d been holding slewed its contents across the table.
‘Whatcha doin’ here?’
Eliza righted the bottle. ‘What’s happened since I’ve been away?’
‘Ian’s trapped in the mine … he could be dead.’
Eliza moved to the fireplace and found the embers were completely cold. ‘And drinking yourself into oblivion and dying of cold is going to help him?’
‘Seemed like a good idea.’ His fingers found the bottle again. ‘Ian … Is there any news?’
She squatted beside him and laid her hand over his. ‘None. I’ve just come from the mine. Everyone is blaming you. What happened?’
‘Cowper ordered the last explosion that brought the mine down.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘And now Ian is down there. He shouldn’t even have been there …
She tightened her grip on his hand. ‘Why did Cowper take that risk?’ she asked.
‘Greed.’ He blinked and she thought she detected the glint of tears in his eyes. ‘My signature is on the purchase orders but I never signed them. You have to believe me, ’liza.’
‘He’s a forger, Alec … or he knows a forger. The will, my brother’s will, that is forged too. I’ve seen it.’
Alec frowned, clearly too befuddled by the whisky to comprehend what she was saying.
‘When I stood up to him, he fired me … me and Ian.’ His head collapsed on his arms and his shoulders shook.
Eliza picked up the whisky bottle. ‘And did you think you’d find the answer in a bottle?’ she said, setting it on the dresser out of his reach.
The candlelight flashed in his eyes as he raised his head and rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘Don’t lecture me, Miss Penrose. It’s your fault—’
‘Yes,’ she said, her gaze holding his. ‘Yes, it is all my fault. I should never have involved you or your brother. I’ll make it right, Alec. I promise.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’
She touched his face, her fingers rasping on his unshaven chin. She half-expected him to pull away but he put his arms around her. She longed to provide some comfort, tell him everything would be fine, but there were no words to ease his pain. They held each other in silence, the anguish leaching from him. His brother missing, possibly dead, his reputation destroyed … Small wonder he had taken to the bottle.
She laid her hands on his chest and pushed him away. ‘Alec, you need to sober up. You’re no good to anyone—least of all Ian—like this.’
He shook his head and ran a hand over his eyes. ‘I’m no good to anyone. Couldn’t save Catriona or the bairn and now Ian—’
She grabbed his arms and shook him. ‘Stop it! Feeling sorry for yourself is not the answer. You are good at what you do and what we need now is someone to tell us how to get those men out. Drinking yourself into oblivion is not helping anyone.’
‘But they don’t want me. You saw my door.’
‘They need you. You’ll see, Alec, they’ll come looking for you. You’re not a coward and you’ve lost two days wallowing in self-pity. Get some sleep, tidy yourself up and face the naysayers.’
He reached out and touched her hair, curling a lock around his finger. ‘You’re a stronger man than I am, Eliza Penrose.’
She smiled and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, his bristles rough beneath her lips. ‘I can’t stay,’ she said. ‘There is something I have to do while I have the chance.’
‘What?’
‘I am going to find the evidence that my uncle is a liar and a thief.’
As she turned away, he caught her arm. ‘Not now. He’s cornered and dangerous.’
She snorted. ‘Now is exactly the time,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe he knows I’m back and there’s no one at the house.’
‘Don’t do anything rash.’
‘I’ll be careful.’ She gave him a gentle shove. ‘Go to bed, Alec. Sleep off the whisky. Tomorrow is a new day.’
Eliza skirted the shadows, crossing the valley to Cowper’s house on the hill. No lights shone from the windows and she slipped around to the rear of the house. An emergency candle and tinder box stood on a shelf inside the back door but before she lit the candle, Eliza took the precaution of ensuring every curtain on every window was tightly drawn. The last thing she needed was for someone to report a light in the house.
Only when she was completely satisfied the house was in darkness did she light the candle and try her uncle’s bedroom door. Her heart leaped when she found it unlocked. He must have been so distracted by events at the mine that he had neglected to secure it. She smiled. More fool him.
The furnishings were plain and good quality: a large bed, washstand, chest of drawers, desk and nightstand, with a rag rug on the floor to add colour and warmth. She began by systematically searching drawers and cupboards. She discovered nothing of any interest, except her uncle’s predilection for silk handkerchiefs. That left his desk, a massive roll-top in the corner. She searched the drawers and found a small strong box but both the box and the shutter itself was locked. She searched the room again, this time looking for concealed keys, but found nothing. She could only assume that her uncle had the keys to both.
She replaced the box and leaned against the bedstead to
look around the room. It reflected her uncle’s fastidious nature. Only one picture adorned the walls, an amateur watercolour of a Georgian country house, the crumbling facade of elegant columns immediately recognisable as Cowper’s childhood home in Devon. Her mother’s family had, like her own, fallen on hard times and the house had been sold some twenty years ago but she remembered visiting it as a small child. The sole resident had been her grandmother, a crusty old dame who was quick with the cane if she caught Eliza slouching.
She walked over to the painting for a closer look, her heart giving a jolt as she recognised her mother’s initials in the corner. Up close, the painting stood oddly proud of the wall and, with shaking hands, she took it off its nail and laid it on the bed. Hardly daring to breathe, she turned it over and could have given a whoop of joy: the paper lining had been slit down one side. Gently she pried the slit open and her excitement increased as she withdrew a heavy envelope. She unwound the string fastening the envelope and pulled out the contents, giving a gasp of pleasure at the sight of Will’s plans, the set that had been taken from her by the bushrangers, identifiable by her brother’s signature and Alec McLeod’s scribblings. With it was another document, heavy legal paper with the words LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF WILLIAM JOSIAH PENROSE inscribed in an elegant hand on the outside, along with the name of the law firm that had drawn it up: Messrs. Kennedy, Bolton and Briscoe.
Tears welled in Eliza’s eyes and she sank to her knees beside the bed, holding her brother’s original will. This would go a long way to proving the other a forgery.
The sound of men’s voices coming up the path to the front door made her shoot to her feet, her heart hammering. She hurriedly replaced the documents in the envelope, rehung the painting, extinguished the candle and headed for the kitchen as a key turned in the front door. In her haste her hip caught the kitchen table and a cup and saucer crashed to the floor.
She froze.
‘Who’s there?’ Her uncle’s voice.
No time to hide and nowhere to conceal the documents on her person. As a light flared in the hallway, she tripped over Tom’s boot box and, lacking any other ideas, thrust the documents as far down into the depths of it as she could.
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