‘No, Clara,’ Padraig said urgently. ‘Don’t be upsettin’ yerself. I came to thank ya for easin’ his pain. He was comfortable, even jolly, in his last few days and he passed peaceful-like, in the night. Father O’Brien said the words and we buried him today.’
‘I am so sorry, Padraig,’ I said. A longing for my mother threatened to swamp me. If only she had been here, perhaps we could have saved him.
It was not long before Mother’s Encyclopaedia of Common Diseases and Remedies had to be put to use again. Word had spread quickly. I made it clear that I had no training, but we were once again without a doctor so that didn’t seem to matter.
‘Ya’ve a level head on ya, and a kind heart,’ Padraig had reassured me when I commented on this to him at the dance. ‘Besides, ya can read what it says in that magic book there.’
‘Padraig!’ I protested. ‘I’m not a witchdoctor! There is nothing magic about it.’ But I could see that people were desperate. Even when I knew I could only dispense a little comfort, I could not refuse them.
Warden and Mrs Finnerty finally arrived two weeks before Christmas.
The grapevine had been active again and we knew when to expect them. I rushed out to meet the coach.
‘Clara! How good to see you.’ Mrs Finnerty hugged me and I shook hands with the warden. ‘My, you are looking well.’
I laughed and smoothed down my apron, thinking I must look a sight and that she was just being kind, but the warden was nodding. ‘Yes, and even more grown up,’ he said.
‘Oh, John, of course she has grown up. It’s been months since we saw you, hasn’t it, Clara?’
‘Yes, Mrs Finnerty,’ I said. ‘But I will look after you – just like before. You are to have the brand-new suite and all the best linen and there’s water standing ready in the jug for you …’ They smiled at each other while I prattled on, and laughed when I finally stopped for breath. I felt myself blushing with the pleasure of seeing them. ‘I do hope you will like it here,’ I said.
I might have changed, but the Finnertys hadn’t. They still felt like family. I had missed them almost as much as I missed Mother and Susan, and had sent a letter back to them in Southern Cross when Jack went last. That was at the end of November but I hadn’t heard from them. And I hadn’t seen Jack for nearly a month.
Then one day I looked out and saw his team and wagon in the street. I rushed out with my dust cloth still in my hand. Jack looked up and waved, but he was busy exchanging paperwork with someone from Bayley’s Mine. His wagon was loaded with a large engine: a replacement for one of the condensers that had broken down. I went back inside to finish my jobs for the day, knowing that I would see him later once he was done with his work.
In the evening we strolled out of town and sat down to rest on our usual rocky seat.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Jack said.
I was about to say, ‘Did it hurt?’, which had become a standard joke between us, but he looked so serious I stopped myself just in time. ‘There is so much pressure on our wells and soaks that we don’t have much water left to sell out here. And with all those condensers pumping water at the mine, my deliveries are not so vital anymore. Besides, I’m ready for a change. I’ve saved up some money from my wages. I think I’ll try my luck at prospecting after all. See how it goes. What do you think?’
‘Are you trying to cramp my style, Jack Raeside?’ I said, even though the biggest smile was stretching across my face.
‘Heaven help anyone who tries to come between you and what you have decided to do,’ he said, giving me his usual cheeky grin. ‘No, you can keep your troupe of admirers, as long as they don’t expect sympathy from me when you dump them.’
‘What, dump them for you?’ I huffed.
‘Well it’s either me or the donkey wearing the red bloomers. No-one else will ever make you laugh as much.’
‘Or cry as much.’ I giggled at the memory of tears streaming down my face from laughing so much the day the poor old donkey wore Mrs Fagan’s red bloomers.
‘That’s settled then,’ Jack said. ‘First dance is mine.’ He stood up and pulled me to my feet. Then, with his arm around my waist, we began to waltz. We stirred up the red dust, scattered some stones and scared a frill-necked lizard. I became helpless with laughter in no time.
That night after I got home I thought a lot about Jack moving to Coolgardie.
When Jack and I met again after work the next day, I said, ‘I know what it’s like to dream of striking it rich. But I’ve come to realise that Coolgardie is not like Queensland. Most of these men find so little gold you wonder how they keep going. I never thought I would say this, but I think it might be better to run a hotel. Gold comes and goes, but men will always need a drink.’
‘Or two,’ Jack said.
‘And food.’
‘And a place to sleep, at first.’ We were finishing each other’s sentences, as we used to do.
‘Are you reading my mind again?’ I asked. A small thrill of recognition travelled up my spine. It was as if we had never been apart.
‘I wouldn’t dare,’ Jack smiled, but he wasn’t looking at me. ‘There’s just one problem with your pub idea, though …’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Money.’
Jack arranged for fresh horses and set off for the Cross the next day. I waved to him and stood watching while the column of dust from his wagon rose into the still air. I thought about Jack coming to live here. I would be so happy if he did, but I wondered if he would come to regret it. Wispy clouds feathered out across a pale sky and thunder rumbled threateningly in the distance.
January 1893
It was a hot day. I was taking my time to wipe down the tables in the dining room, with the damp cloth cooling my hands, when I saw a strange woman walking by along the street. She was dressed in a beautiful flowing gown, gossamer-light, with swirling panels of orange and blue. The fabric was so fine that I could almost see through it and the woman’s bare shoulders swayed as she walked. I expected her to come into the hotel, but she went straight past. She must have arrived on Snell’s coach, but where could she possibly be going, dressed like that, at this time of day?
I finished setting up the tables and was cleaning the bar when the same woman walked past again, this time in the opposite direction. I hurried through my chores and went out into the yard. Mrs Fagan was hanging out the bedsheets.
‘Did you see that woman in the beautiful dress?’ I asked her. She nodded. ‘Who is she?’
‘I couldn’t be tellin’ ya her name, lass,’ Mrs Fagan replied, removing the pegs she had been holding in her mouth. ‘But she’s advertisin’ her business for all to see.’
‘What business is that?’ I asked.
‘She’s a woman of ill fame. Not the first of her kind to arrive here, but the most brazen,’ Mrs Fagan told me.
I frowned. ‘Is that like a woman of the night?’ I asked. ‘Pa has told me to stay clear of them.’
‘Your Pa is tellin’ ya right, Clara, but these women are necessary out here. Women like her could be after savin’ decent folks like us from some … unpleasantness with the men.’ I must have looked puzzled because she went on. ‘Now that the town is changin’, there are many more strangers around.’
I thought about this and wondered if Pa would agree. I wanted to ask Jack what he thought, but he’d gone back to Southern Cross.
The Finnertys’ suite was next on my list of jobs for the day. When I knocked on the door, Mrs Finnerty called, ‘Come in, Clara.’
I began with the dusting, as I always did, but couldn’t resist asking Mrs Finnerty if she had seen the brightly dressed woman.
‘I have indeed,’ Mrs Finnerty said and frowned. ‘She is a notorious prostitute who was working in Southern Cross. She has been the cause of many disputes that the warden has had to deal with.’
‘What sort of disputes?’ I asked. Mother had never mentioned this woman in her letters, but then I don’t suppose she wanted to tell me.
‘Mostly over m
oney,’ Mrs Finnerty said. ‘She charges for her services, which the men expect, but they don’t expect to find that their pockets have been emptied as well. Some say she gets them drunk and they fall asleep. Others say she picks their pockets before they have even taken their trousers off.’
‘Mrs Fagan says we need women like her here,’ I said.
‘Does she now?’ Mrs Finnerty looked surprised. ‘And why is that?’
‘She says that women of her kind may well save us from unwanted advances from the men,’ I said.
Mrs Finnerty looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘Although I’m afraid the warden wouldn’t agree. He has enough to do sorting out drunken brawls and fights over claims, without unscrupulous women making more trouble. He has been out at the camps all day investigating another suspicious death.’
My hand came up to cover my mouth. ‘I hope it’s not someone we know,’ I said.
‘He didn’t say,’ Mrs Finnerty replied. ‘But the doctor has recorded cyanide poisoning as the cause of death.’ A doctor had arrived with the latest influx of prospectors. He had left his practice in the city to try his luck, but was constantly being called on to deal with medical problems and didn’t have much time for prospecting. ‘Cyanide is commonly called the woman’s weapon, you know,’ she added.
‘She only arrived this morning,’ I protested. ‘And surely such a beautiful woman would not murder anyone!’ I stood there with the feather duster dangling from my hand. Mrs Finnerty took me by the shoulders.
‘Ah, Clara, you are such a trusting soul,’ she said. ‘A woman may be as beautiful as the sun, but have a heart of soot.’
Mr Wisdom was once again finding it near impossible to get staff to come out as far as Coolgardie to work, in spite of the higher wages he was offering. He had almost given up when a young woman from England replied. A month after he had first advertised the position, a stranger climbed nimbly down from Mr Snell’s coach. She was small and dainty, but sensibly dressed, and I liked her immediately.
‘Hello, you must be Florrie,’ I said and shook her hand. ‘I’m Clara. Come on in, I’m sure you’re exhausted.’ Although I did think she looked remarkably fresh and full of life.
‘Oh no, I’m too excited to be tired,’ Florrie told me. ‘Everything is so new and different. I have already learned to build a camp fire and sleep under the stars. And I met a real bushranger in Southern Cross. The new policeman tried to arrest him, but he talked his way out of it.’
‘Moondyne Joe,’ I laughed. ‘He’s got a silver tongue on him, that one. You can’t believe a word he says, but he tells great stories.’
‘I’ve never met anyone like him,’ Florrie said. ‘I felt as if I had stepped right into the pages of a Boy’s Own adventure book. Then we saw kangaroos and an emu and a whole flock of black cockatoos. So different from England.’
‘Have you just come all the way from England?’ I asked.
‘Not today,’ she laughed. ‘I arrived in Fremantle four weeks ago.’
‘I hope you like it here,’ I said, thinking that life in Coolgardie would be quite a shock for her.
‘Oh, I’m sure I will,’ she said.
‘Here you go, miss,’ Mr Snell placed Florrie’s travel bag down beside her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You have been very kind.’
I immediately thought of my own arrival in Coolgardie. The town had already changed so much since then, but I still remembered how kind people were.
‘Your mother sends her love, Clara, and says she will write soon,’ Mr Snell said, before he climbed back up to his seat behind the horses.
Florrie seemed to settle in over the next few weeks as if she had always been with us. She was quick and confident, always up for a challenge, and we became great friends. I told her about Jack and the dances and parties.
‘There don’t seem to be many young women around,’ she said.
‘You’ll be very popular,’ I grinned. ‘I hope you don’t mind dancing all night.’
‘I love dancing,’ Florrie said. ‘As long as no-one gets too serious.’
‘Oh, they’ll all want to marry you,’ I laughed.
‘Then they will just have to wait in line,’ she said. ‘And anyone who misbehaves can go to the end of the queue.’
I asked Florrie about England.
‘Cold, damp, grey,’ she told me.
I was disappointed. ‘But what about Buckingham Palace, the Grenadier Guards, the Queen? Isn’t it all very grand?’
‘Oh yes, but they’re in London. I come from Sussex.’
‘What’s that like?’ I asked.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘Lush grass, white sheep grazing on the hills, but not enough sunshine. I’m bored with all that misty rain on green fields.’
‘That’s lucky,’ I smiled at her. ‘We have sunshine. And we’re definitely short on green fields.’
Although Mrs Fagan’s tongue could be sharp at times, she mothered us both and made it clear to the men in town that anyone who tried to get too physical with her girls would have to deal with her as well.
We both worked hard, but it was fun to have someone younger than Mrs Fagan to talk to. When it came to the dances, we made a pact with each other. We would dance with all the men equally, and not favour just one – when Jack wasn’t here, of course. We didn’t want them fighting over us.
April 1893
The weather had continued to be very hot for the whole of March, going on into April. One Saturday afternoon, I was setting up the tables in the dining room when a man staggered in through the main door. He took off his hat and I saw that it was Paddy Hannan. He was a well-known prospector who had been camped out past Tipperary for a while. Although he was never very sociable, like Arthur Bayley, he had a reputation for being able to smell gold. He had left Coolgardie three or four weeks back to try his luck further east. Paddy had never been a big man, but always strong and wiry. Now his face was gaunt, his lips were dry and cracked, his skin seemed to hang loose on his bones and the whites of his eyes had a yellowish tinge to them. He was asking for a room, but I had to tell him that the hotel was absolutely full.
‘Would ya not have a corner of the stables, then? I’d be happy to share with me horse.’ He spoke slowly, pausing for breath between the words. His body swayed and he put one hand on a table to steady himself. I quickly pulled out a chair.
‘Please, sit here,’ I said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He sank gratefully onto the chair.
I went to find Mrs Fagan and told her that Paddy was in the dining room. ‘I know we are full,’ I said, ‘but he looks terribly ill. He can have my room – just for a few days – and I’ll bunk in with Florrie. I’m sure she won’t mind.’
Mrs Fagan looked hard at me. ‘Ya’ve a good heart, Clara, but we can’t be takin’ in any old prospector who comes along, especially one who is already ill. How do we know he won’t be passin’ on some dreadful disease to the rest of us?’
‘Oh, please, Mrs Fagan. We can’t turn him away. What if he dies? I will always blame myself.’
‘Aeh, child, these men know what they’re comin’ to.’
‘But sometimes they don’t. I meet them at the dances and some of them have been told the most terrible lies. They believe that there is so much gold lying in the streets of Coolgardie that anyone who comes here will pick up a fortune – before lunchtime.’
Mrs Fagan sighed. She went to the open doorway between the kitchen and dining room and looked in. I stood close behind her and peeped over her shoulder.
‘Ya’re right, Clara,’ Mrs Fagan said softly. ‘He looks awful peaky, so he does.’ He was slumped in the chair with his mouth hanging open, his eyes closed. We need not have worried that he would see us watching him. He looked as if he might never open his eyes again.
Mrs Fagan crossed the room and tapped him gently on the shoulder.
‘Mr Hannan,’ she said. ‘’Tis true we’ve no rooms left, but Clara has offered ya hers.’
&
nbsp; He opened his eyes. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Very kind … couldn’t possibly.’ He tried to stand but his legs would not support him and he fell back onto the chair.
‘Come, now,’ Mrs Fagan said firmly. She was a strong woman and lifted him easily to his feet. Putting her shoulder under one of his arms, she indicated that I should do the same. He weighed almost nothing and between us we steadied him for the walk around the verandah to my room.
‘Rest here,’ Mrs Fagan said, and sat the poor man on my bed. Then she turned to me. ‘Gather up ya things, lass. Florrie can be makin’ up a camp bed for ya.’
While I packed my few belongings into my travel bag, Mrs Fagan took off Mr Hannan’s boots. She lifted his legs and swung them up onto the bed.
‘I’ll be bringin’ ya some water,’ she told him, although I don’t think he heard her. His eyes had closed again. His skin had a sort of waxy look to it and every breath he took sounded as if it would be his last.
‘Get out yer doctor book, Clara,’ Mrs Fagan said quietly. ‘I’m after thinkin’ he may have typhoid.’
‘Typhoid!’ I exclaimed.
‘Hush now, lass,’ Mrs Fagan whispered, her finger resting across her lips. ‘Ya’ll be scarin’ the livin’ daylights outta him.’
I suspected there was not much ‘daylight’ left in him by then, but I took the encyclopaedia out of my bag. Mrs Fagan made a shooing motion and we stepped outside onto the verandah. I looked up typhoid fever in the book and began to read:
A severe infection caused by the bacterium Salmonella typhi being ingested into the stomach and passed into the stool or urine.
Causes: Eating or drinking food or water contaminated by flies, poor hygiene or lack of sanitation.
Treatment: Plenty of fluids, bed rest, plain rice.
NB: Highly contagious.
During that first day, I looked in on Mr Hannan as often as I could. Eventually I woke him and supported his head while I held a mug of boiled water to his lips. He took a mouthful and swallowed it eagerly, then slumped back and closed his eyes again. His skin was hot and damp to touch. He had taken off his shirt and a pinkish rash showed above the neckline of his flannel undershirt. I put a bucket beside his bed and went out quietly.
Goldfields Girl Page 9