The Bushranger's Wife

by Cheryl Adnams

‘What’s her name?’ Prudence asked.

  ‘Misha,’ he responded. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Prudence.’

  ‘I’m Brock,’ he said. ‘I’d shake your hand but …’ He held up his hands, skin and nails black from work.

  Prudence smiled and offered her hand anyway. After a moment’s surprised hesitation, he took her hand lightly.

  ‘I’m not averse to those who do a good day’s hard work,’ she said as he held her delicate pale hand in his huge tanned one. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr Brock.’

  ‘Prudence? That makes you the boss man’s niece then.’

  ‘Yes. My gran and I just arrived on the boat from England.’

  ‘Well then, I believe Miss Misha will be your horse.’

  ‘Really?’ She was tickled. The mare was exactly the horse she would have chosen for herself, had she been given the opportunity. She desperately wanted to take Misha for a ride across the open plains of the property, but dinner would be served shortly and there was, sadly, no time.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Brock,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I can take a ride with her tomorrow morning.’

  ‘As you wish, Miss Prudence,’ he said easily. ‘And it’s just Brock.’

  Prudence smiled, gave Misha another good scratch and headed out of the stables, crossing quickly back to the house.

  Changing out of her travel clothes into a dress suitable for dinner, she checked her appearance in the bevelled mirror. She had hoped she’d be able to relax the standard of dress now that they had arrived in the wilds of Australia. But just because they had left London that didn’t mean her grandmother wouldn’t expect the same level of proper attire for each occasion. Maybe with some careful plotting, she thought, smoothing the heavy silk skirt of her dress, she could convince her grandmother over time that lighter clothing would be more suitable to the climate. Puffing out a breath at the heat building beneath her lace covered throat, she eyed her determined expression in the looking glass. Yes, she could be quite persuasive, even quite devious, when she wanted something badly enough.

  Chapter 2

  As Prudence was sitting down to an elegant dinner, Jack was in a rented room in a Ballarat boarding house shedding his bushranger persona.

  ‘What are you going to do now, Jack?’ Bobby asked. Their third, Garrett, had already taken his share and headed out to the brothels.

  They’d spent a good portion of the afternoon dealing out the loot from their very lucrative day on the highway.

  ‘Thought I would set off to the Duchess of Kent for a pint or a nobbler of whiskey,’ Jack said, taking a few pieces of the jewellery from his portion of the haul and tossing them up and down in his hand.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Bobby’s face lit up. ‘I want to see if that Katie girl is working the bar tonight.’

  Jack laughed. ‘Taken a shine to that sweet Scottish lassy, haven’t you?’

  ‘She’s alright,’ Bobby said blushing red all the way up to the tips of his ears. At twenty-six years of age, Bobby’s experience with women was not limited. But lately he’d had his sights set on one lady only. The barmaid at the Duchess. Love was a dangerous, tricky business. Not that Bobby realised yet that he was, in fact, in love. And love was certainly not a business Jack was keen to enter into any time soon.

  ‘What about you, Jack? Going to see Miss Parker this evening? If her father finds out, he’ll shoot your thing off.’

  Jack just grinned. ‘He’ll have to catch me first. Anyway, I’m not really in the mood. Think I might find a card game and lose some of the jewellery we just appropriated.’

  ‘It was a good catch, wasn’t it?’ Bobby said. ‘Been a long time since we took such a haul now that the gold escorts are doubly armed.’

  ‘It was a good day.’ Jack was thinking of flame red hair and a pair of bright green eyes flaring with anger.

  They set off out of the boarding house, and leaving Bobby at the Duchess of Kent, Jack decided he should drop in on his legitimate business. It had been a while since he’d met face to face with the man who managed the transport company so ably for him. And besides, he had to pay him his share of the takings.

  ‘Mr Jones,’ Jack greeted his manager as he entered the building. He glanced around. They’d recently renovated the small office and he was pleased with the space. A new luggage loading area sat near the door that led to the passenger coaches. All the better to see what travellers were carrying that might entice a visit by Jack the Devil somewhere out on the highway.

  ‘Mr Fairweather,’ Alfred Jones returned the greeting. ‘What a pleasure to have you here? I thought you were still in Melbourne.’

  ‘Just arrived back not an hour ago,’ Jack said, smiling and nodding politely at the couple who waited for their luggage to be unloaded from the carriage. ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey?’ he asked them.

  ‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ the lady answered with a flirtatious smile that her husband couldn’t see.

  Jack grinned back and gave her a wink.

  Their luggage was placed on a small cart and he bid them a good evening as they followed it out onto the street, no doubt heading to one of the many hotels in Ballarat.

  ‘That looked to be quite an impressive jewellery case there, Jones,’ Jack said now that they were alone. ‘Why was I not apprised of this journey?’

  Jones just smiled easily and shrugged. ‘You were otherwise occupied. And with a much larger haul, as I understand it.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Jack acquiesced and dug into the satchel he carried. He handed over two silver candlesticks and a pair of Granny’s ruby earrings, as well as the mother-of-pearl combs. ‘This lot should fetch quite a nice price.’

  ‘I should say so.’

  The man’s wrinkled, blue eyes lit up as he studied the ruby earrings and combs. Alfred had to be almost sixty, Jack guessed. He realised he’d never really known how old the man was and wondered why he’d never bothered to ask.

  ‘My Gloria would love these earrings,’ Alfred spoke of his daughter.

  ‘Then give them to her,’ Jack offered, feeling generous. ‘If she doesn’t like them, she can sell them as always through the pawn shop.’

  Alfred’s daughter Gloria lived in Melbourne with her husband. They ran a pawnbrokers storefront in Flinders Street. A shop of good repute, despite its less than reputable method of receiving stock. Much of what Jack and his friends stole went directly to the Melbourne pawnbroker via Alfred, and any monies gained for the goods were then sent back to Ballarat via the transport business. Alfred was a valued member of staff and a good friend. But, thinking of Alfred’s age again, Jack wondered if he might be looking for a new manager to run his business sooner rather than later.

  ‘How is Gloria?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Well enough,’ Alfred returned. ‘As long as she keeps that ratbag husband of hers in line. The man likes to gamble too much for my liking.’

  ‘Perhaps you should go to Melbourne for a few weeks,’ Jack suggested. ‘Spend some time with her and the family.’

  Jack felt the piercing of blue eyes as the man glared at him. ‘Are you suggesting I’m in need of a break? Am I not doing my job to your satisfaction, Mr Fairweather?’

  ‘No, I am absolutely not suggesting that,’ Jack backpedalled, feeling the wrath of his elder colleague. ‘Your work is as exemplary as always.’

  ‘Don’t handle me, boy,’ the old man sneered. ‘I can still knock your block off.’

  ‘No doubt.’ Jack lifted his hands in surrender. He’d offered the man a way out, a chance to step back from the stressful work of hocking stolen goods. He’d never make that suggestion again.

  Alfred nodded once and began stashing the goods into a satchel marked for Melbourne. ‘No problems with the heist I take it?’

  Glad to be back on even footing with Alfred, Jack thought again of the pretty Prudence and her battle for the locket.

  ‘Not really,’ Jack answered. ‘The old lady had a mouthful of complaints, but there were no
guns in the purses so it was only my ears that suffered injury.’

  Jones wheezed out a laugh. ‘You have to watch out for those old ladies. Remember that one who struck you with her umbrella? The lump on your forehead looked like a boulder and Bobby said you forgot your name for about a minute.’

  Jack cringed and rubbed his forehead. ‘Yes, I remember. Sort of.’

  Danger for a bushranger could come in many forms.

  ‘Well, I am off to lose some of my ill-gotten booty in a game of cards,’ Jack announced. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you about any forthcoming carriages.’

  ‘Staying at the boarding house as usual?’

  ‘As usual,’ Jack agreed.

  ‘Then I’ll find you.’

  Jack left the building and walked out into the street. The lamplighter was just beginning to ignite the gas lamps that now lined the main street of Ballarat. He remembered when only campfires and torches lit the dirt roads of Ballarat. How things had changed, he thought as he followed the man along the road back towards the Duchess of Kent Hotel. He could always find a game of cards there and a nobbler of whiskey to sooth the stress of the day.

  Stepping into the saloon, he waved to Bobby who sat at the bar chatting with the pretty little Scottish barmaid, Katie, as she came and went with her drink orders. At five foot six, she was no drunkard’s pushover. He’d seen her physically toss men twice her size out of the hotel for putting their hands where they shouldn’t have. She had a redhead’s temper despite her hair being as black as night. And sharp, almond-shaped eyes that shone pale blue. Since she’d arrived in Ballarat two years before, Jack had taken to Katie in a brotherly way. But Bobby, he was a fool for her.

  The smell of stale whiskey and tobacco smoke hung in the air as he headed for the back room where several card games were in progress. But before he could make it through the door, he was pulled into a dark corner of the corridor where his mouth was suddenly attached to a pair of warm and luscious lips. An ample bosom pressed enticingly against him and he enjoyed the surprise attack for a moment before needing to come up for air.

  ‘Melody,’ he said, recognising his assailant as he fought to find his breath. ‘If your husband sees you devouring me this way, he’ll kill us both.’

  ‘When will you come to my bed again, Jack?’

  ‘You’re married now,’ Jack said while she continued to nibble at his ear. ‘To most women that generally means not sleeping with other men.’

  ‘I dare you to stay away from me, Jack Fairweather,’ she purred and then went on to tell him what she would do to him if he went with her now. He had to admit her offer was quite tempting. But when he felt her hand creeping down the front of his trousers, sense somehow prevailed.

  ‘Melody.’ He lifted her wrists and held them away from him. ‘You must forget about me. Go back to your husband.’

  ‘He spends more time playing cards than playing with me,’ she sulked, drawing his attention to her full, wet lips again. ‘Women have needs too, you know. He’s in there right now. Come on, Jack, we can sneak out and be back before he’s finished.’

  Hell, her husband was in the next room? The room he was about to go into and join a card game?

  ‘That’s not a good idea, Melody.’

  ‘But I love you, Jack.’ Her eyes welled with unshed tears.

  Oh, dear Lord.

  ‘You don’t love me, Melody. You love your husband. You know you do. You just need to bail him up the way you did me just now and he will pay you all the attention you want. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Believe me. Go in there right now and whisper in his ear exactly what you said to me and I guarantee cards will not be looking too interesting to him anymore.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ She looked unsure, but at least the tears had dried up.

  ‘I know so. What man could resist such … inventive temptations?’

  She giggled and stepped back to tidy herself up, tugging at her bodice to show even more cleavage if it were possible.

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Dangerous.’ It wasn’t a lie. ‘Go forth and seduce your man.’

  She giggled again and he leaned against the doorway as she flounced into the room. More than one male head followed her path, and when she leaned down to whisper in her husband’s ear, he saw the man’s eyes widen momentarily before he licked his lips.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, standing quickly to gather his money, shoving it haphazardly into his pockets. ‘I think it’s time I took my winnings and left while I am still ahead. Goodnight to you.’

  Jack passed the happy couple as he entered the room and Melody gave him a beaming smile. He exhaled a relieved breath and decided then and there: no more married women for him. They just weren’t worth the freight.

  Jack took the position that Melody’s husband had vacated and settled in.

  An hour later, he’d won some and lost some. He had little cash left but a few pieces of the old lady’s jewellery remained in his pocket ready to bid. The men at this table would not ask questions about him betting such an interesting collection of ladies’ baubles.

  Betting the gold pin was easy enough and Jack shrugged it off when he lost it in yet another unlucky hand.

  The next hand was better and his blood began to race through his body in anticipation. He didn’t have any money left but he really wanted to bet big. It was the best hand he’d had all night.

  He pulled out the locket and rubbed it absently between his thumb and forefinger while he watched the other players up the ante around the table.

  As he was about to drop the locket into the pot it flipped open. Inside was a photograph of a woman. He stared at it. She was striking, beautiful. And looked almost identical to the girl he’d taken it from. But this was not Prudence. A sister perhaps? Or her mother. A rare feeling came over him. The same emotion that had come upon him unexpectedly when he’d taken the locket from the girl. Remorse. She’d said it was priceless to her. Had it been a gift?

  ‘You gonna bet that or just stare at it?’ Wendall Crabbe grumbled out of the side of his mouth. Jack had heard that a bullet to the neck at the Eureka Stockade had left him with a face and body partly paralysed.

  Jack looked up at the men at the table. He’d been so distracted by the locket he had forgotten they were waiting for him to bet.

  ‘Uh, no,’ he said, and dug around in his pocket pulling out some pearl earrings instead. He tossed them into the pot. Sadly, it was not his night. His three of a kind was not good enough to beat out a straight.

  Finally, out of items he was willing to bet, Jack retired from the game and headed out onto the streets of Ballarat.

  Standing on the busy corner, he looked in one direction and then the other. Stone and brick buildings now lined the main streets of the town, where less than a decade ago the most modern buildings were the timber hotels. Nine years ago he’d arrived with the initial gold rush at the small settlement of Ballarat to nothing but a dustbowl of mineshafts and calico tents. Jack was astounded by the small city that had grown into existence before his very eyes. The tents and timber buildings had made way for permanent structures, built by the wealth generated in those early years of gold mining.

  His mining days had lasted only a year before he’d discovered the less backbreaking, and more lucrative, profession of thievery. The early days had been easy. Stealing gold from tents while their owners were passed out drunk was like taking Raspberry Drops from a baby.

  Eventually though, miners had gotten savvy and diggers invested in guns or vicious dogs, or both, to protect their tents and their claims. Claim jumping had been rife in those early days and many a man caught a bullet in the back for his trouble. It had been a lawless time—even more so than now.

  Shaking away the old memories, Jack began the walk towards the widow Barnett’s boarding house. He could see it up ahead, dwarfed by two new brick buildings on either side. It looked dilapidated in comparison. He could afford better. He
could afford the Royal if he was so inclined. But Mrs Barnett had taken care of him in the early days and loyalty was Jack’s strongest trait. He would continue to lodge with her until she finally made good on the threats she’d been tossing at him for years and kicked him out. He knew that would never happen. Mostly because he saw to it that any goods headed for her house were never pilfered on the highway.

  Entering the old timber house, he winked at Mrs Barnett who hovered perpetually between the front door and the drawing room, and headed up to his usual bedchamber. He stripped off his shirt and washed the day’s dirt and grime from his body, before laying back on the small bed with a heavy exhale.

  Now that he was alone, Jack had time to think on the day’s proceedings. He’d stolen from a lot of pretty women over the years and they had all been quite rightly scared of him, even disgusted by him. But the young woman he’d encountered today had acted more fascinated than fearful. It was as though it was the first time she had come across a man of ill-repute. Had the scoundrels of London become so subdued that a woman of—he thought back and guessed she was in her early twenties—that a woman in her early twenties had had no dealings with a dangerous man such as himself? Then again, she had probably spent her life wrapped in cotton wool by the overbearing chaperone.

  The girl had had spirit, that’s for sure. And the prettiest green eyes he’d seen in a good long while. He closed his eyes and the vision of her came to him easily. Flame red hair that fell around her shoulders once he’d pulled the combs out and let it run free. He could feel the softness of it brushing against his hand even now. He imagined those full pink lips of hers pressing against his and felt the familiar stirring in his groin.

  He rolled onto his side, restless. Then rolled onto his back again and stared at the ceiling, contemplating heading back out again to find one of his unmarried lady friends. Jack Fairweather could always find a willing bed partner. But right now, none of them compared to the vision in his mind of the lovely Prudence.

  Groaning, he sat up, reached over to the chair where his waistcoat had been flung and retrieved the locket. It was odd. He just couldn’t bring himself to bet it. Laying back on the bed he opened the locket to look again at the picture of the pretty woman inside. This definitely wasn’t Prudence. The eyes didn’t hold the same spark. Annoyed with himself, he snapped the gold locket shut and put it on the side table. He was getting soft in his old age. He’d sell the locket tomorrow for whatever he could get.