The Goldminer's Sister

by Alison Stuart

  ‘What about the others?’

  ‘We’ll have to see.’ A ragged cheer went up from outside. ‘Ah, here comes another one. Should be young McLeod.’

  Susan Mackie gave a sharp cry and ran to the stretcher, her fingers closing on Ian’s good hand as they carried him in.

  As they set the stretcher down, Ian’s eyes fluttered open and he gave the girl a lopsided grin. ‘Miss Mackie, what a pleasure to see you.’

  ‘And you, Mr McLeod,’ she replied and burst into tears.

  Eventually, David Morgan and John Marsh were carried out, to be greeted by their relieved wives and children.

  It was dark before the last man came out on his own two feet. Enoch Trevalyn waved to the cheering crowd but once inside the crib room, he collapsed into his wife’s arms.

  The Maiden’s Creek Mine drama had concluded with all five men alive and well. Down at the gate, the reverend gentlemen of the town led the townspeople in hymns and fervent prayers of gratitude for their safe delivery.

  Eliza watched from the door of the crib room as the weary rescuers began to filter out of the mine, their feet dragging. The last man to leave was the tall, broad-shouldered Scot. He stopped when he saw her and smiled. They stood looking at each other, overwhelmed with feelings that ran too deep for expression.

  ‘You’re filthy,’ she said at last.

  ‘I can wait,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to check on the lads.’

  Seated by the fire, a blanket around his shoulders, Trevalyn pushed aside the spoon his wife was offering him. ‘I take back what I said about it being bad luck to have a red-headed woman in the mine, McLeod. She saved our lives,’ he said without rancour.

  Alec gave a low chuckle and put his arm around Eliza’s shoulder. ‘Get used to it, Trevalyn,’ he said. ‘I think we’ll be seeing more of this particular red-headed woman.’

  Thirty-Three

  4 August 1873

  On Monday morning, Eliza packed her bag and left Netty’s comfortable but crowded cottage to return to her uncle’s house on the hill. She had no particular right to stay there, but at the very least she needed to collect the last of her belongings and retrieve the papers she had hidden in Tom’s boot box.

  As she passed the police station, her steps slowed. A heavy wagon waited in front of it and Constable Prewitt was leading Charles Cowper out. Manacled, unshaven and filthy, her uncle bore no resemblance to the dapper mine manager he had been.

  He glanced in her direction and a smile lifted his haggard features.

  ‘Can I have a word with my niece, Constable?’

  She hesitated. ‘I have nothing to say to you, Uncle.’

  He nodded. ‘I don’t blame you, Eliza. I just want you to know that I’ll make it right.’

  She gave him a scathing look. ‘And just how do you propose to do that?’

  ‘I intend to admit everything,’ he said. ‘The forgeries, the will, the theft of the gold, everything.’

  ‘That is the least you can do.’ She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. ‘What about Will’s death?’

  ‘I did not kill your brother and I won’t admit to something I didn’t do. You have my word that you won’t see or hear from me again. I am truly sorry, Eliza.’

  ‘I would like to believe you, but I’m not ready to forgive you.’

  Cowper nodded and turned to Prewitt. ‘I’m ready, Constable.’

  She stood, unable to move, as Prewitt shoved Cowper into the back of the wagon, then slammed and locked the door.

  As she turned away, she heard him call her name. She turned back. He clutched at the bars on the door of the wagon.

  ‘Eliza, I ask only one thing of you. Look after Mary Harris and the boy for me. She’s a good woman and she deserved better.’

  Eliza nodded. ‘That is one thing I can do.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She did not linger to watch the wagon drive away. She climbed the hill to the mine manager’s house, but no one answered her knock at the back door and when she turned the handle, she found it unlocked. It came as no surprise to find Mrs Harris sitting at the kitchen table staring at an undrunk cup of tea. No fire burned in the hearth and only the faintest heat came from the oven.

  ‘Come to gloat, have you?’ Mrs Harris asked.

  ‘No,’ Eliza said. ‘I’ve come to claim what is mine.’ She crouched beside the boot box and lifted the lid, relieved to find the envelope, now stained and crumpled, where she had left it.

  ‘I did love him, you know.’

  Eliza sat back on her heels. ‘Then I’m sorry for you,’ she said. ‘I did too, but he betrayed us both.’ She paused. ‘Tell me, was he Tom’s father?’

  Mrs Harris shook her head. ‘No. My husband deserted me when Tom was born. Said he would have naught to do with an idiot child.’ Her face twisted in pain. ‘I made do but it were hard, until Charles found me. He did have a kind heart, Miss Penrose. Back then …’

  Eliza held back the observation that it probably suited her uncle very well to have a bed mate who happened to be a good cook and was happy to be his housekeeper.

  Mrs Harris pushed a key across the table. ‘That’s the key to his desk,’ she said. ‘He kept records of everything.’

  ‘You knew what he was doing?’

  ‘Some of it. But he was doing it for us … for Tom and me. Tom’ll never find his own way in the world.’ She paused. ‘And I think in his own way he loved us. And you and William.’

  ‘But he loved gold more.’ Eliza picked up the key, weighing it in her hand.

  ‘What will become of us now?’ Mrs Harris looked up at her. ‘I can’t hold my head up in the town again.’

  Eliza looked around the kitchen. ‘A new manager will have to be appointed, Mrs Harris, and no doubt he will need a housekeeper. You’ve done nothing wrong and I don’t see why you and Tom should be punished for my uncle’s misdeeds.’

  The woman nodded, the light of hope sparking in her weary face. ‘It would be proper for you to stay up here until—or at least for a little while, Miss Penrose. That would help make it right for Tom and I.’

  Eliza nodded. ‘I’ll stay.’

  Mrs Harris stood and smoothed her skirts. ‘Then I’d best be making up your bed and getting the fires lit, and you’ll be wanting a cup of tea.’

  Eliza let the woman bustle around her, glad that she could help. Why was it always the women who suffered? The Mary Harrises and Annie O’Reillys never asked for the life that had been thrust on them.

  The evening was gathering in as Eliza sat at the table in the parlour, her uncle’s papers spread out around her, the true extent of his crimes now clear. She hoped he would keep his promise and plead guilty to what would be a multitude of charges, but Maidment would still need the evidence to present to the court.

  She was so engrossed in her work that the click of the door opening startled her. She looked up, expecting Mrs Harris with yet another pot of tea, but Alec McLeod stood in the doorway, washed and shaved, his hair still clinging damply around his face in curls. An uncertain smile caught the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were bright as he surveyed the table.

  ‘Quite the businesswoman, Miss Penrose,’ he said.

  ‘The extent of my uncle’s dealings surprises and saddens me.’ She swept a hand across the ledgers and papers. ‘You said he was ruthless and I have it all here. As soon as any mine showed signs of struggling he closed in. I can’t even begin to believe the dreams he destroyed, the men he put out of work … but until the business with Will, it was always legal. What made William and I different?’

  Alec picked up a sheaf of papers, leafing through them. ‘You both trusted him.’ He set the papers down. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘This morning, before Maidment took him down to Melbourne. He says he’ll plead guilty to the charges brought against him. He’ll go to prison but he won’t hang. He has spared me a trial and for that I should be grateful, but I never wish to see him again.’ She held up a legal document. ‘I hav
e my brother’s genuine will and once that is dealt with, I suppose that really does make me a part owner of the Shenandoah Mine.’ She ran a hand over her face. ‘How’s Ian?’

  ‘Susan Mackie and her mother appear to have him well in hand. I left them ladling more good Scotch broth into him. Susan seems to fancy herself as Miss Nightingale, fluffing pillows and wiping brows.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Even my cat seems to have succumbed. I left him by the fire, curled up in Miss Mackie’s lap.’ Alec’s face softened, sinking into lines that told of his exhaustion. ‘To answer your question, Ian is weak and his arm’s badly broken but the doctor doesn’t seem to think that there will be a fever and his arm should mend.’

  Eliza pushed her chair back and took her hands in his. She turned them over, noting the cuts, the torn fingernails and the ingrained dirt that would take many washes to loosen. She kissed each palm in turn, before looking up into his face. ‘And you, Alec? You’ve been to hell and back in the last few days.’

  His fingers tightened on hers and he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘And so have you, lass. Do you have time? Perhaps we can talk—’

  Eliza laughed. ‘Talk? Alec, we have all the time in the world to talk.’ She wanted to say. Forget talking, just kiss me …

  A brisk knock at the door caused them to jump apart. Mrs Harris entered setting down a tray bearing a bottle of wine, glasses and cold pie. She cast Eliza a prim look as she said, ‘I must apologise, Miss Penrose. Thomas and I have been called away this evening. We will not be back until late.’

  Eliza bit her lip to hold back the grin. ‘Thank you, Mrs Harris. I am sure we will manage.’

  The door shut behind the housekeeper and Alec frowned. ‘What’s so amusing?’

  ‘She is leaving us alone and unchaperoned, Mr McLeod.’

  ‘Oh, well, in that case what is a gentleman to do but to leave you in peace.’ He turned to go and she lunged at his arm, pulling him back into the room.

  ‘Please do not leave me alone and unprotected. You never know what trouble I might find myself in.’

  He entered into the spirit of the moment, advancing on her. ‘Hmm … what sort of trouble would that be?’ He took her hand and kissed each finger. ‘This sort of trouble?’ His lips moved to the inside of her wrist. ‘Or this?’

  She cupped his face in her hands. Care and responsibility had etched lines there that belied his age but his brown eyes were soft and it seemed that she saw her face reflected in their depths, as if they had always belonged together.

  His fingers meshed in her hair, dragging it out of its neat coil.

  ‘I’m the son of a miner,’ he said. ‘I don’t know any poetry or grand ways to woo you. I only know about mines and rocks. You deserve better than me …’

  ‘And I’m a goldminer’s sister and the daughter of a miner. Don’t be such a fool, Alec McLeod. Mines and rocks are in my blood and I love you exactly because you are who you are. I don’t want grand romantic gestures. I want a man who will come home to me, a man with whom I can talk about leads and seams and boilers. A man I can share a life with, not be a pretty ornament in his front parlour.’

  ‘You mean what you just said?’

  ‘All of it.’

  ‘That you love me?’

  She made a fist and hit his chest. ‘Yes, of course I love you!’

  She willed him to say the words she longed to hear, but once again Catriona’s ghost caught at her sleeve. He had loved another before her. Maybe he could never love again? Never mind, she would take whatever he could offer.

  Seemingly oblivious to her sobering mood, Alec gathered Eliza into his arms, lifting her from her feet and spinning her around until they both collapsed, giddy and laughing, onto the rug in front of the fire. He stretched out, pulling her on top of him. Her hair had come loose and now tumbled down, brushing his face.

  ‘Lass, I love you with every part of my being.’ He curled a lock of hair around his fingers. ‘But your hair’s getting in my eyes.’

  Her heart gave a leap of pure joy. He had said those three precious words.

  He caught her hand, threading her fingers through his. The humour had gone from his eyes and he seemed to be studying her with a curious intensity.

  ‘Alec?’

  ‘Eliza, I couldn’t bear to lose you. Catriona—’

  She laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder, holding him tight. ‘You’ve lost one love, Alec, and Catriona will always hold a part of your heart. I understand that. I just hope there is room for another.’

  He pulled her close, burying his face in the fall of her rich, chestnut hair. ‘My heart’s been empty for a long while now and there is room enough for you. Will you marry me?’

  Tears pricked her eyes. She had existed in a world devoid of happiness for so long that she wanted this moment to last forever. Nobody knew what the future held so she couldn’t think about the what ifs. She had been blessed to find love and she would cherish every second, every minute, every hour, every day they shared.

  ‘I’ll marry you, Alec McLeod, as soon as it can be arranged.’ She took a deep breath, her heart hammering as she said, ‘Stay with me tonight, Alec. I don’t want to be alone any more. Not tonight or ever again.’

  He locked his fingers behind her neck, drawing her to him.

  Eliza lay awake in the grey light that heralded dawn, curled against the man beside her. His arm encircled her, holding her as close as two people could get. Beyond the window, the township would be waking, the shifts at the mines changing. Except at Maiden’s Creek Mine, which remained closed.

  She turned in Alec’s arms and he stirred. A smile curved his lips and she ran a hand along his unshaven jaw. Her body still tingled from his touch and the narrow bed could have been floating ten feet above the floor.

  ‘It’s getting light,’ she said. ‘You should leave.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ he said.

  ‘But I do. It would be good to keep the shreds of my reputation intact for a little while longer.’

  He screwed up his nose and sighed. ‘Aye, you’re right.’

  Neither of them moved and his hand slid down, curving her breast, his fingers causing her mind to cloud with desire.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, removing the questing hand. ‘You have to go.’

  He sat up, cold air invading their cosy nest, and pushed the hair back from his eyes. ‘Will you be married in the Presbyterian or the Church of England?’

  ‘I don’t care.’ She paused. ‘Yes, I do. The church is important to Ian and Ian is important to you. Reverend Donald can do the honours.’

  ‘I’ll speak to him today,’ Alec said. He squinted at the lightening sky. ‘You’re right. I must get going, much as it grieves me to leave you.’

  He bent and kissed her. She stretched her arms above her head, as contented as a cat, as his lips slid down her throat, brushing against the soft skin. She closed her eyes, giving in to the delicious sensations he aroused, but somewhere in the house a clock struck seven.

  He gave a strangled grunt and slid his feet to the floor, his shoulders hunching against the cold. She ran a hand across the muscles of his back and the breath stopped in her throat. She had never understood what desire meant but now just the sight of this beautiful man banished all sense except the wish to never leave this bed.

  Alec collected his clothes from where they had been abandoned on the floor in their haste and dressed slowly, almost provocatively, as she leaned on one elbow watching every movement, every twist of a button.

  He caught her watching him and smiled. ‘There’s no modesty in you, is there, lass?’

  She shook her head. ‘I never thought a man could be described as beautiful, Alec.’

  Half-dressed, he bent over her and kissed her softly. ‘I’ve got to go. Shall I call on you tonight?’

  She smiled. ‘And tomorrow night, and the night after that.’

  ‘I’m not one to deny a lady.’

  ‘And I don’t think you can describe s
uch wanton desires as I am experiencing as those of a lady. Go, before I turn the key in that lock and keep you here for the rest of the day.’

  His face sobered and he took her hands in his. ‘Have I told you that I love you, Eliza Penrose?’

  ‘You may have mentioned it,’ she said.

  He bent to kiss her, a long, slow, lingering kiss that she wished would never end, but the clock struck the half-hour and he straightened.

  ‘I really must go,’ he said and, pulling on his jacket, slipped out of the house to make his way home before too many curious eyes saw him.

  Eliza curled up and went back to sleep, soothed by the lingering scent of man and desire.

  Thirty-Four

  5 August 1873

  Eliza woke late to the sound of Mrs Harris singing as she swept the hallway outside the door. She’d never heard the dour housekeeper sing before and she had quite a sweet voice. Could it be that Cowper’s disgrace had released her from an obligation that dragged down her soul?

  Eliza left her bed, hurriedly pulling on her nightdress, and threw open the bedroom door.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Harris.’

  The woman leaned on her broom. ‘And a fine one it is, Miss Penrose.’

  ‘I’m to be married.’

  The girlish dreams of being a bride in the ancient parish church where her parents, her grandparents and great-grandparents had been married had long ago vanished and, confined to the strictures of being a teacher in a ladies’ academy, the opportunity to even meet a man had seemed an impossible dream. Now she had a wedding to organise and the realisation that she had nothing to wear dawned on her. A professional visit to Netty Burrell was definitely called for.

  She ate, dressed and, with a lightness in her step, all but skipped down the street to Netty’s shop.

  Netty did everything expected of a good friend. She squealed with excitement and dragged Eliza inside, combing her stock for something suitable that could be adapted to a wedding dress. They settled on a soft grey-green silk and Netty assured her that with some help from one of the other women in the town, she would have it done within days.