The Girl From Eureka

by Cheryl Adnams

  Indy nodded. ‘And the boy and his mother only heard the murderers’ voices outside their tent. They didn’t see anyone.’

  ‘Well, I still believe in justice,’ Annie told them. And taking the remaining food from Indy and Sean, Annie packed up her lunch bag and stormed back to camp.

  ‘I didn’t get my pudding,’ Sean sulked, gazing longingly after his retreating mother.

  Indy handed him hers and he brightened instantly, biting heartily into the piece of teacake. She wished she believed in justice too. But she feared there would be no justice for a murdered miner when the accused was friendly with the local authorities. She wouldn’t be surprised if Bentley was also lining the pockets of those authorities to ensure the ongoing ease of obtaining his liquor licence for the Eureka Hotel.

  ***

  Despite her scepticism, two days later Indy found herself squeezing into the hot and tiny courtroom in order to watch the case against Bentley and two of his staff. The makeshift courtroom in the grounds of the government camp only held about thirty people, but many other miners gathered outside the courtroom, all anxious to know if Bentley would indeed hang for the murder of a fellow miner.

  As court was called to order, Indy saw that she had been right to be dubious. There was no jury. Only Commissioner Rede, Assistant Commissioner Johnston and Magistrate D’Ewes presided. The grumbling of the miners who had made it into the courtroom showed their dissatisfaction at the whole proceedings, but order was called and the trial began.

  The trial lasted two days as the witnesses were called, and by the end of the first day Indy had seen enough. She’d guessed from the start it would amount to nothing and it hadn’t taken long into the trial to realise she had been correct. Frustrated, and unable to listen to anymore so called ‘cross-examining of witnesses’, Indy left the courtroom to make her way back to her mine.

  Along the road, she came across Father Smythe, and couldn’t stop the grimace that formed on her face. It had been a few weeks since she’d last been to Mass and while she liked the young priest she always felt guilty whenever she saw him. Knowing she couldn’t avoid him, she took a deep breath, put on her best smile and prepared herself for the lecture she knew would come.

  ‘Hello, Father Smythe.’

  She was surprised when he didn’t acknowledge her, and taking a closer look, she noticed he appeared most anxious. Unable to watch someone in such obvious distress, she put a hand on his arm before he could pass her by.

  ‘Father Smythe, are you alright?’

  He blinked at her, as though just realising she was there.

  ‘Oh, Miss Indy,’ he said, his accent strong with the Irish county he hailed from. ‘I beg your pardon. I did not see you.’

  ‘Are you well? You seem a little upset.’

  ‘Oh, I am well in body, Miss Indy, though I am at sixes and sevens in mind.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that. How is your young servant fellow?’ she asked, hoping to lighten his mood. ‘I didn’t see him at my English class this week.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘This is why I fret so. He was arrested on the Gravel Pits diggings a few days ago.’

  ‘What? Why?’ Johannes Gregorius was a sweet Armenian man who had a physical disability. He was dedicated to Father Smythe and did not belong in the horrid holding cells of the government camp.

  ‘He was running an errand for me and was picked up in a licence hunt.’

  ‘But he is not a digger.’

  ‘No, but the police officers did not care. They arrested him anyway,’ Father Smythe told her. ‘When I went to the government camp to see him, they would not let me in. They said I had to pay the five pound fine for his being unlicensed on the goldfields. Then they said he had to go to court. But his court date had to be put off in light of the current Scobie case being brought to trial. They struck him during the raid. I fear for his safety in the jail. He is not a criminal, Miss Indy.’

  ‘No, of course he isn’t. Father, I’m so sorry,’ she said wishing there was something she could do.

  The justice system of Ballarat was breaking down before her eyes. The licence raids were abhorrent and carried out by overzealous, and usually drunk, troopers who secured a cut of the fine paid by those arrested. Of course they were going to be enthusiastic with such a reward on offer. But assaulting and incarcerating poor invalid servant boys was stepping way over the line. Before she could utter any more words of comfort to Father Smythe, he had once again become lost in his own grief and moved on up the road towards the church.

  Chapter 7

  On the day of the Subscription Ball, the town was abuzz with excitement. Diggers left their mines early to wash up and women prepared their finest gowns, purchased especially for the ball if money allowed it. As the sun, half a golden orb now, tucked under the horizon in the west, hundreds of men and women, many with babes in arms or children in tow, were walking the short road to the Adelphi Theatre.

  Mr Lawrence had collected Indy from her tent and she, along with Annie, Sean and Mr Walter O’Shanahan, joined the throng as they entered the large theatre tent.

  The theatre’s long wooden pews had been moved to transform the space into a makeshift ballroom. A large area was clear for the dancing, and the heavy pillars supporting the tent’s roof were festively wound with pink bunting and colourful garlands. Lanterns were hung about the tent adding a slightly oriental feel. Smaller tents surrounded the large theatre and served as ladies’ dressing rooms and safe havens where mothers could leave their children with carers, should they wish to dance. Refreshment tents were in abundance to provide libations and a quieter space to chat.

  Indy glanced around at the thickening crowd. Gentlemen diggers mingled with civil servants. Even Commissioner Rede and Assistant Commissioner Johnston were in attendance with their wives all gussied up in their finest ballgowns. Several of the commissioned officers of the regiments mixed and mingled with single ladies, and Indy wondered if Lieutenant Will would make an appearance.

  Up on the stage, a band warmed up their instruments readying for the first reel. It wasn’t long before lively music filled the tent and drew couples onto the dance floor.

  ‘Miss Indy would you like to dance?’ Mr Lawrence asked.

  She cringed before turning back to smile prettily at him. ‘Perhaps later.’

  She had absolutely no intention of prancing about like a horse at dressage, but she didn’t wish to be rude to Mr Lawrence so early in the piece. His disappointment was evident, but he soon became engaged in conversation with several gentlemen in his acquaintance, leaving Indy to wander the room alone. She said hello to people she knew, declined more requests to dance by eligible bachelors, and some not so eligible. She spotted Sean dancing awkwardly with a young lady she recognised as one of the new school teachers. He sent Indy a nervous and shy smile. She returned an enthusiastic two thumbs up.

  As she stood in a corner watching a high-stakes card game at one of the tables in the games room, she felt someone sidle up to her. Irritated at the invasion of her personal space, she gritted her teeth.

  ‘Listen, I’m sure there’s plenty of room for the both of us without you hovering over my—’ she began and turned into the broad and cheesy grin of a familiar face.

  She laughed out loud and slapped his shoulder heartily. ‘Jack Fairweather! What in the name of Victoria and Albert do you do here?’

  ‘What?’ he asked, holding on to the lapels of his coat and raising his nose high in the air to give off the appropriate amount of snoot. ‘A man of the highway cannot attend a ball?’

  ‘A man of the highway by any other name would spell bushranger.’ Indy kept her voice low, so as not to be heard by the crowd.

  ‘And being so, I have money to burn,’ he said as they wandered back into the main tent. ‘Granted most of the money was theirs once,’ he said, waving a hand at the crowd. ‘But let’s not quibble over a small technicality such as that.’

  ‘And where did you get that suit?’ she asked, chuckli
ng again as she looked him over. Jack was a handsome fellow, a year younger than herself. Pale brown eyes were topped with long lashes, his russet hair hung longer than current fashions dictated, but Jack Fairweather would care little for that. His inability to grow a decent beard meant his baby face gave him an edge on the highway. Who would believe such a fresh-faced young man could be a dangerous bushranger?

  ‘I liberated this fine article of clothing from an American gentleman coming in from Melbourne for the ball.’

  Indy struggled to contain her laughter as she saw that the suit pants didn’t quite reach his ankles.

  ‘So it’s a little small.’ He shrugged against the tightness of the jacket. ‘I couldn’t exactly measure the man while I was robbing him, could I?’

  ‘No, because that would be rude.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Jack said with a nod and a wink. ‘Watching all this dancing is making me thirsty. Shall we get a drink?’

  She looped her arm through his and smiled. ‘Let’s.’

  They walked arm in arm through the crowd and Jack nodded to folks, who frowned at the man they didn’t know, or simply said hello out of politeness. Indy had to stifle her giggles. He had no shame.

  Indy had met Jack briefly after her arrival in Ballarat. He had been a miner on the Golden Point fields and, although he had made some good finds, his impatience saw him seeking a less exhaustive and more immediate way of making money. He’d started with petty theft, stealing gold and money and items from other miners. But once he began to hear stories about the highwaymen of New South Wales, he turned his hand to bushranging and had never looked back. He robbed drays and coaches along the Melbourne Road with his two partners, and moved around the towns of Victoria’s goldfields so as to elude the lawman. He popped in and out of Ballarat every few months and always dropped by to see Indy. He would never have thought to steal from her, or any of her friends or family.

  Once out of the theatre, and into the cool, fresh night, Jack steered Indy towards one of the many refreshment tents. At the bar, he handed over his shillings and ordered two whiskeys.

  ‘So, who did you come with?’ Jack asked, as they moved back out of the tent. ‘Never thought I’d see the day Indy Wallace would attend a dance.’

  ‘Annie backed me into a corner,’ she said, her sigh full of regret. ‘I’m here with Albert Lawrence.’

  Jack choked on his drink. ‘That old peacock? Whatever possessed you?’

  ‘Oh, he’s not so bad as some of them,’ she argued, but it didn’t sound convincing, even to her.

  ‘Not so bad?’ Jack repeated. ‘Well, there’s glowing praise if ever I heard it.’

  Indy just shrugged.

  ‘No. You, Miss Indy, need a man who will give you trouble and lots of it.’

  She snorted, ‘Who? Someone like you perhaps?’

  ‘You could do worse than the likes of me,’ Jack answered, taking offence.

  ‘Really? Worse than a thief?’

  He looked offended. ‘What’s your point? I may not be rich, but I have enough. I’m handsome, I have all of my own teeth—almost. What more could you want?’

  ‘I’d rather the man I end up with not end up with a bullet in his gullet,’ she stated.

  ‘There’s just no pleasing some women,’ Jack said with a huff and swallowed the rest of his whiskey.

  ‘I have no desire to marry anyone, Jack,’ Indy said and tossed back her own drink, feeling the delicious liquor warm her from the inside out.

  They moved back inside and watched the dancing increase in energy. Alcohol was beginning to loosen bodies and lips, and all sense of propriety was quickly disappearing. A fight broke out in a corner of the tent and the three miners involved were quickly removed from the theatre by nearby and, as usual, overzealous policemen.

  ‘But you don’t want to end up like those old spinsters, do you?’ Jack asked, nodding in the direction of a row of older women seated along the wall. ‘You’re not getting any younger, Indy.’

  It was the same thing Annie had said to her. ‘Christ almighty, when did everyone become so concerned with my ageing?’ she asked, talking to herself more than him. ‘Do I have that many wrinkles about my eyes?’

  ‘No, indeed. You are still the prettiest miner on the goldfields.’

  ‘Considering I am one of only a few women who still work a mine, it’s a thin compliment, but I’ll take it anyway. Besides, there are worse things than being alone.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Jack conceded. He turned to face her. ‘But you deserve better than that.’

  The rare seriousness in his expression sent a little niggle of unease running through her. ‘Jack, you can’t really mean you and me? You’re like a brother to me.’

  ‘And what man doesn’t like to hear that from the woman he’s courting?’ Jack stepped back, focusing again on the couples on the dance floor.

  His heavy, frustrated sigh had Indy staring up at him, stunned at the turn of the conversation. She and Jack had been friends for years. Regardless of how handsome he was, she had never had designs on him as a potential partner. She really did see him as a brother figure, and had thought he felt the same about her. Apparently not. How long had he been carrying a torch for her?

  ‘Are you courting me, Jack?’

  ‘Evidently not very well if you don’t recognise the signs,’ he responded, but gave her one of his patented crooked smiles anyway. ‘Oh well, mustn’t dilly-dally.’ The old relaxed and devilish Jack was firmly back in place. ‘There are pockets to be picked.’

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘I bid you goodnight, Miss Indy. Tell Mr Lawrence that if he so much as touches you inappropriately, he’ll be facing guns at dawn with Jack Fairweather.’

  ‘I can look after myself, Jack.’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘Stay out of trouble,’ she called after him as he began to move away.

  ‘Of course I won’t,’ he called back, and threw her a wink before the crowd swallowed him.

  ***

  Indy was leaning against a tent pole feeling decidedly bored when Mr Lawrence approached her and asked again for a dance.

  ‘I may as well tell you, Mr Lawrence, I have no intention of …’ She stopped short of saying she had no intention of dancing, when across the dance floor she spotted Lieutenant Marsh. He was with Elena Gibson, who sashayed elegantly in a blue silk gown embroidered with gold thread. The dress sat daringly off the shoulder and was cut very low in the décolletage. It was no doubt the latest fashion out of London and her mother must have spent a fortune on it, hoping to catch Elena a good husband, no doubt.

  Watching Elena dancing in the Lieutenant’s arms, left Indy with a strange feeling she did not recognise, and a bitter taste in her mouth that had nothing to do with the cheap whiskey she’d been drinking.

  As Mr Lawrence was about to give up and walk away, Indy grabbed him. ‘On second thought, I would love to dance.’

  He grinned with obvious delight, allowing her to lead him into the crowd that was in the middle of an easy polka.

  Mr Lawrence was a fine enough dancer, and she allowed him to lead her about the floor for a while as she watched the Lieutenant and Elena over his shoulder. Indy could dance; she just never saw the point of it. She didn’t need the exercise and wasn’t looking for a husband, so what purpose did it serve? On a mission now though, she manoeuvered Mr Lawrence in the direction she wished to go and he fumbled a little on his feet.

  ‘Keep up, Mr Lawrence,’ she scolded, not taking her eyes off her destination.

  ‘Miss Indy, I know you aren’t much for dancing, but it is generally the man’s position to lead.’

  ‘Huh?’ she asked, not paying him any attention. ‘Oh, yes of course.’

  ***

  Will did his best to stifle the smile that threatened. While he pretended to listen to Miss Gibson prattle on about her last visit to Melbourne as they danced, he found himself immensely entertained by Miss Wallace driving her poor partner across the floor. He won
dered what she was up to. From the little he knew about Indigo Wallace, she didn’t strike him as a woman who liked to dance, and rarely did anything she didn’t want to without a good reason.

  He turned his attentions back to his current dance partner. Elena Gibson was a pretty dark-haired woman, whose mother had all but thrust her daughter at him, urging them to dance. Trapped, Will had obliged the young woman, and her mother, and taken Elena to the dance floor. But the moment he’d spotted Miss Wallace, his attentions to Elena had waned. Out of the corner of his eye, he made a good study of Indy Wallace. Her long flaxen hair was wound into an intricate braid with wildflowers woven through it. The dress she wore was a dull purple, it had some lace, but it was plainer than the fabrics, colours and flounces of the other women’s ball gowns. It didn’t matter a damn though. She was still, by far, the most beautiful girl in the room.

  He felt the less than gentle bump in his side and knew instantly that it was Miss Wallace and her partner.

  ‘Oh, I am terribly sorry,’ Indy apologised as soon as he turned to acknowledge her. ‘I told Mr Lawrence I am a dreadful dancer, didn’t I, Mr Lawrence.’

  ‘Quite,’ Mr Lawrence agreed, bending to rub his aching toes where she’d trod, more than once, in her rush to get across the dance floor.

  Will extended his hand to her rather embattled looking partner. ‘Lieutenant William Marsh.’

  ‘Albert Lawrence,’ the man returned, shaking his hand.

  ‘Miss Wallace.’ Will turned his attentions to her and dipped his head cordially. ‘You look lovely this evening.’

  ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  He took her hand and bowed to kiss it, but he couldn’t quite stop the smile on his lips as he noted that she still had dirt beneath her fingernails. You could dress her up but you couldn’t quite clean the digger out of Indigo Wallace.

  She must have seen him notice her nails, because she pulled her hand back rapidly and hid them both in the folds of her skirts. He was thrilled to see the flush in her cheeks. So there was a self-conscious young woman under all that bravado after all.