The Bushranger's Wife

by Cheryl Adnams

  ‘Good evening, Sergeant.’

  ‘Mr Fairweather,’ Sergeant Carmichael greeted him. ‘And who do we have here?’ He looked her up and down, licking his lips. ‘Miss Lola’s girls are getting prettier and more refined.’

  Feeling him tense beside her, she put a hand on Jack’s arm to steady him.

  ‘Pleasure to meet you, Sergeant,’ she said calmly, holding her hand out for him to shake.

  He took it and, with lustful admiration in his wandering eyes, he bent to kiss her hand.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine …’

  ‘Prudence,’ she told him.

  ‘Prudence,’ the sergeant repeated, still holding her hand in his sweaty one. ‘The pleasure could be all yours.’

  ‘I’ll thank you to take your hands off my wife,’ Jack intervened, his jaw clenched so tightly Pru worried he might break some teeth.

  ‘Your wife?’ Sergeant Carmichael laughed. But when neither Jack nor Pru laughed with him, he coughed awkwardly, turning an odd shade of grey before heat flushed his face.

  ‘Begging your pardon, Mrs Fairweather,’ he said. ‘My sincerest apologies. I didn’t realise Mr Fairweather had married.’

  Pru smiled and changed tack. ‘Is it common for gentlemen of the constabulary to be so familiar with the ladies at Miss Lola’s?

  ‘Um …’

  ‘I would have thought it improper for men of the law to be seen cavorting with ladies of the night. I wonder what your superiors would think?’

  She heard Jack’s quiet chuckle beside her.

  ‘Never mind, Sergeant. We’ll keep it our little secret,’ she said in a faux whisper. ‘But perhaps you could do me a little favour.’

  ‘Whatever I can do to make amends, Mrs Fairweather.’

  ‘I’d be ever so pleased if you would stop harassing my husband,’ she said, her tone demanding respect. ‘He is a legitimate businessman. Do you think it possible a woman like me should marry a criminal?’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ the sergeant murmured.

  ‘Whomever you believe to be the perpetrator of these highway robberies, my husband has nothing whatsoever to do with it,’ she went on. ‘I suggest you direct your investigations elsewhere.’

  Eager to be gone, the sergeant dipped his head and left the hotel. Bandi just gave Jack a cheeky wink and followed his superior officer out the door, chuckling to himself.

  Pru graced Jack with a hard look. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the police were looking into you?’

  ‘It wasn’t anything to worry about.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about? Jack, they must have enough information to believe you could be involved in the robberies.’

  ‘They don’t have anything but the ramblings of a disgruntled customer. A judge with an overactive imagination when it comes to criminals.’

  ‘A judge!?’ Pru squeaked, a little too loudly. Jack grabbed her arm and led her out of the hotel to a less inhabited space. They walked in silence to the dray and checking that they were finally alone, Pru launched. ‘You robbed a judge on the highway?’

  ‘I didn’t know he was a judge,’ Jack said, still keeping his voice low. ‘All I knew was what Alfred told us, that he and his wife were a wealthy couple moving out of Melbourne to the goldfields. How was I to know James Collins was the new criminal court judge?’

  ‘Jack,’ Pru groaned, leaning her forehead on the dray beside her.

  ‘If Judge Collins has any suspicions that the business he was using was corrupt, he has no evidence to prove it. I’m careful. You know I am.’

  She let go of a heavy breath and some of the tension.

  ‘You were wonderful in there, by the way,’ Jack said, moving in to put his hands against the dray, trapping her between his arms. When she turned into him, he kissed her nose. ‘Imposing.’ Kissed her cheek. ‘Imperious.’ Kissed her lips. Slowly her anger ebbed as his mouth teased hers. ‘You sounded so much like your grandmother, even I was frightened.’

  She froze and met his eyes, before pushing him back.

  ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’

  ‘Why?’ Jack asked, blocking her escape. ‘I won’t begrudge your grandmother for giving you a spine, for teaching you strength.’

  ‘Don’t ever compare me with her, Jack. I never want to think I could be anywhere near as heartless as her.’

  ‘You may have inherited her spine. But your heart is your own. And mine.’

  Leaning forward, he kissed her softly, his warm full lips igniting tiny lightning strikes across her skin. Despite her best efforts to stay mad at him, she calmed and yielded, as she always did in his arms. He was impossible. Even after all these months, he still had the power to tame her temper, to turn her to liquid with nothing more than a kiss.

  ‘Now, let’s go home,’ he said, his voice affected with his desire. ‘I want to make love to my wife.’

  ‘Well, it will cost you. Being with one of Miss Lola’s girls doesn’t come cheap you know.’

  She chuckled when he slapped her backside as she climbed into the dray.

  Chapter 12

  ‘Tell me again how you heard about this transport?’ Jack queried Garrett.

  It was late afternoon and the three bushrangers were hiding in a cluster of trees on the side of the highway.

  ‘One of the O’Banyon boys said he saw the old man loading a lock box full of rare coins and some gold he’d picked up in Castlemaine. They’re on their way to Adelaide.’

  Jack hadn’t been all that keen to let Garrett organise the robbery. The man could barely organise himself out of bed in the morning. But he’d made one good point. Robbing more coaches that weren’t run by Fairweather Transport would throw off the new, tenacious police sergeant.

  The pounding of hooves alerted them and there was no more time for talk. Covering their faces with the dark kerchiefs, they waited until the perfect moment, before darting out of the bush and into the path of the oncoming coach.

  ‘Stand and deliver, if you please.’ Garrett yelled.

  That’s my line, Jack thought a little disgruntled. Swallowing his pride, he reminded himself, this was Garrett’s endeavour.

  Gun poised, Bobby held the coach driver under control, while Jack moved to the interior of the coach. Garrett, he noticed, went straight for the rear of the carriage, no doubt looking for the lock box he’d been told of.

  ‘Gentlemen, we will not hold you but a minute,’ Jack began his usual spiel. ‘If you could remove your pocket watches and billfolds, and any other valuables you may have on your person, and place them into this sack, we will get along just fine.’

  The three men inside the coach cursed and grumbled as they did as Jack said.

  ‘Dammit.’

  Jack turned his head to look back at what had Garrett so annoyed.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a lock box.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, it’s not a lock box,’ Garrett called back. ‘It’s an iron chest.’

  Keeping one eye on the passengers, Jack stepped to the back of the carriage and stared at the heavy-duty safe strapped to the back of the coach. His heart sank. It must have weighed a ton, and a giant metal padlock secured the chest. There was no way they were cracking into it. What a total waste.

  Garrett stalked around the coach. ‘Where’s the key?’ he demanded, pointing his gun at the men inside.

  ‘It was sent on to Adelaide ahead of us, for just this reason,’ one of the gentlemen told him with a smirk.

  Garrett lifted his gun, ready to whip the man.

  ‘Stop!’ Jack yelled.

  ‘But …’

  ‘Forget it,’ Jack said, shaking his head as he stared at the iron chest. ‘We don’t have time, let’s go.’

  Irritated at Garrett for sending them on a wild-goose chase, Jack stalked back to his horse. The air split with the crack of a gunshot. His own gun at the ready, he spun to see what had happened.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he yelled at G
arrett.

  ‘I can shoot the lock off.’

  ‘Christ, you moron. I said, we don’t have time, just leave it.’

  ‘I can crack it,’ Garrett was insistent. ‘I can.’

  ‘I said leave it.’ The man was out of control and they were quickly running out of time. He glanced down the highway. If another carriage came along, they’d be caught.

  ‘This was my heist,’ Garrett demanded.

  Jack stormed back to Garrett and got up very close to his face, keeping his voice low and commanding. ‘I still run this outfit and if you have a problem with it, you know what you can do.’

  ‘G, let it go,’ Bobby tried to defuse the situation. ‘We’ve got plenty.’

  Turning back to the coach, Jack caught the glint of the gun as it came out the window. While he’d been distracted with Garrett, one of the men inside the carriage had taken the opportunity to reach for a hidden weapon. Lurching forward, Jack grabbed for it. It didn’t take much of a struggle as the elderly gentleman was weak, but suddenly the gun discharged, the noise of it making them all jump.

  ‘I’ll kindly ask you to stay seated, sir, and hand over any other weapons you may be hiding,’ Jack instructed.

  ‘Jack,’ Bobby called. ‘You’re bleeding.’

  The adrenaline must have masked the initial pain, but looking down at his thigh and seeing the spread of the thick, dark blood through his pale brown trousers, the agony flared immediately. ‘Get everything you can and send them on their way.’

  Garrett finished taking what he could manage from the cargo, before instructing the coach driver to move on.

  Bobby quickly wrapped his shirt around Jack’s leg, tightening it to stop the flow of blood. ‘He needs a doctor.’

  ‘No,’ Jack insisted, gritting his teeth through the pain. ‘No doctors. Just get me home.’

  They helped get Jack into the saddle. The wound throbbed, and he swore as he tried to find a comfortable position.

  Trying to move as fast as they could, they set off for Little Windsor. After only a few miles, as the pain in his leg became unbearable, he had to slow his pace.

  ‘Go on ahead,’ he told them, sweat pouring down his jaw. ‘I’ll get there.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Bobby shot back. ‘You won’t make it on your own.’

  ‘We’re not leaving you,’ Garrett added.

  Jack’s eyesight began to blur and he swayed in the saddle. He just had to get home. Had to get home to Pru.

  Bobby reached out to steady him as he swayed again, but by the time they’d gone five miles, Jack was unconscious, slung over the back of Persephone like a sack of wheat.

  ***

  It was always hard waiting for Jack to come home from a job. She knew she shouldn’t be so excited about her husband’s unlawful ways but it was as though she were living one of her beloved stories. Instead of escaping into the novels depicting swashbuckling pirates and Robin Hood, she was living her own real life adventure. It was also wrong that she enjoyed seeing what Jack brought home from whatever coach he had robbed. The jewels, the silver, the expensive trinkets—even if they didn’t keep any of it. That would be dangerous and stupid. It was always sold for cash by Jack’s man, Alfred, either to a buyer on the black market or through his daughter’s pawnbroking store.

  Pru had had a large allowance, thanks to her grandmother, but she had never been able to access it herself. Which was why she had left Carrington Manor with nothing but the bag of coins she’d found in the kitchen.

  Hearing the horses coming up the driveway, her relief was palpable. Jack was home. When she stepped out onto the porch, she was all smiles. Until she saw Jack slumped over his horse.

  ‘Jack!?’ she called, confusion melding with concern.

  Garrett and Bobby dismounted and lifted Jack from his horse, carrying him towards her. She felt dizzy at the sight of her limp and unconscious husband, and had to grab hold of the porch post.

  ‘Bobby, what …?’

  ‘He’s been shot.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ She looked at Jack’s lifeless body slung between Bobby and Garrett like a side of beef.

  ‘Is he … dead?’ Her heart pounded in her ears as she waited for the answer.

  ‘No,’ Bobby said, struggling to lift Jack up the porch stairs. ‘But it’s bad. He’s lost a lot of blood.’

  The men carried Jack inside and through to the bedroom where they lay him gently on the bed. Pru had to take a few deep breaths before she could move her legs and follow the men inside.

  Staring down at her beloved husband, she gaped wide-eyed at the blood now seeping from the sloppily bandaged wound on his upper thigh.

  ‘Go get the doctor,’ Pru demanded, snapping into action. She slowly removed the shirt Bobby had used to try and stop the bleeding.

  ‘Jack said no doctor,’ Garrett grumbled.

  ‘I don’t care,’ Pru shot back. ‘I can’t remove a bullet.’

  ‘What about Doc Blackmore?’ Bobby offered.

  Pru shook her head. ‘He’s a drunk. He’s no use to anyone.’

  ‘He keeps his mouth shut,’ Bobby said. ‘He won’t report the gunshot wound to the police.’

  ‘I’ll go.’ Garrett nodded reluctantly and disappeared out the door.

  Two hours later it was dark, and Garrett still hadn’t returned from town.

  ‘He’s not coming back,’ Pru said, leaning over to wipe Jack’s sweaty brow.

  ‘He will.’ It was more for reassurance than because he believed it she was sure. ‘He probably had to sober old Blackmore up before he could travel.’

  That didn’t fill Pru with any confidence as she gazed worriedly at the man she loved, lying in bed, pale as death already, his wound still bleeding through the latest bandage.

  ‘He’ll be okay, Pru,’ Bobby tried to console her. ‘Jack’s tough.’

  ‘He’s never been shot before, Bobby,’ she replied, swiping a rogue tear from her cheek before it could roll down. ‘What happened out there?’

  Bobby took a deep breath. ‘It was all so fast. Garrett was trying to get into a safe that was on the back of the coach. He was wasting precious time and Jack called him on it.’ He stood up to pace the floor as he thought back. ‘I guess the distraction was enough for a passenger to pull out a hidden gun and in the scuffle Jack was hit. If he hadn’t turned back in time, the bullet might have been in the chest and he’d be dead. If Garrett hadn’t been such a greedy bastard, none of this would have happened.’

  Pru covered her face. Katie had warned her that Garrett would be the cause of Jack’s death. He was stupid and reckless—a bad combination.

  Just then the man himself burst into the bedroom with Doc Blackmore. Pru studied the doctor carefully. Despite being a little shaky and with bloodshot eyes, he seemed to be sober enough as he moved quickly to examine Jack’s wound.

  ‘That bullet has to come out now,’ the doc said. ‘Been in there too long already.’

  ‘So do it,’ Garrett demanded. ‘And keep your mouth shut about it.’

  ‘Alright, alright, settle down,’ the doc tossed back. ‘I need light, heat and whiskey.’

  ‘You’ll not get a drink ’til that bullet is out of my husband,’ Pru insisted, moving the lantern closer to the foot of the bed.

  ‘The whiskey is for him,’ the doc told her calmly. ‘If the blood loss doesn’t kill him, the infection will.’

  Bobby left the room and returned a moment later with a bottle.

  ‘Outside,’ the doc instructed them all.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Pru sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Do you faint at the sight of blood, my dear?’ Doc Blackmore asked. ‘Because this is going to bleed a lot and he may wake up and scream.’

  ‘He’s already bled a lot and if he wakes you’ll need someone to hold him down,’ she said determinedly. ‘I’m not leaving.’

  ‘Me either,’ Bobby said just as determined.

  Garrett just sat down in the corner chair.


  The doctor poured whiskey over the bullet hole, took a quick shot for himself despite the angry glares of Pru, then, heating the scalpel against the lantern’s flame, he widened the wound before using his fingers to dig into the leg to remove the bullet. Pru did have to take a lot of deep breaths to keep from fainting. She’d never seen so much blood before and the metallic smell churned her stomach. Jack never opened his eyes, but his weak groans cut at Pru as much as if he had screamed.

  ‘He’s lost too much blood,’ Pru said, once the bullet had been removed. The sheets she’d torn up for bandages were soaked in the dark red that had seeped from Jack over the last hours. The doctor was stitching him up, somewhat unsteadily Pru thought, but better than she could have done.

  ‘Yes, he’s lost a lot,’ the doctor agreed, wiping the blood from his hands. ‘But it’s the infection you should worry about.’

  She watched the doctor walk over to where the bottle of whiskey had been left. He took a long swig and closing his eyes, sighed in relief.

  ‘Keep the wound clean,’ he instructed. ‘Change the covering regularly. Are you a praying lady, Mrs Fairweather?’

  ‘I used to be,’ Pru answered sullenly.

  ‘Well, I suggest you resurrect it,’ the doctor said, placing a hand gently on her arm. ‘For he’s in God’s hands now.’

  He lifted the bottle to his mouth again, then pointed it at Garrett. ‘You, smiley, I believe you can take me back to town now. There is a woman at a saloon waiting for me to satisfy her.’

  ‘She’ll be waiting a while,’ Bobby murmured to Pru as Garrett led the already tipsy doctor from the house.

  ‘Mmm, and sorely disappointed I would say,’ Pru added, sitting back down beside Jack. They both laughed tiredly, and it felt good, but inappropriate under the circumstances.

  ‘Pru, you need some sleep.’

  She shook her head. ‘I need to watch him.’

  ‘He’ll be sleeping, too. For a good while yet.’

  She didn’t answer him.

  ‘You’re quite amazing, Miss Prudence,’ Bobby said, and then frowned. ‘Sorry, I mean, Mrs Fairweather. I admit, I thought Jack was mad to bring you out here.’

  ‘He didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter,’ she said with a wistful smile as she remembered the day she proposed to Jack.