‘Indigo, it’s good to see you out of your manly workpants,’ Elena said, her smile belying the cattiness barely hidden in the words.
‘Elena,’ Indy greeted her with a nod and glanced across the room to where Gloria Gibson was keeping an eagle eye on her daughter’s progress. ‘I see your mother has been hard at work. I have no doubt your dance card is filled already.’
‘Naturally,’ Elena said haughtily. ‘I do enjoy a good dance.’
‘And enjoy a good man more,’ Indy murmured. But Will had heard, and put his white gloved hand to his mouth to cover the chuckle that was leaping out unchecked.
‘Shall we take some refreshment?’ Mr Lawrence suggested.
The foursome walked out of the tent and into one of the beverage tents. Mr Lawrence ordered whiskey for himself and Will, and lemonade for Elena as she requested before turning to Indy.
‘Lemonade, Miss Indy?’
Indy frowned at him like he’d gone mad. ‘No. I’ll have a whiskey.’ Then added a belated, ‘Please.’
Will looked away to hide his smile. Two minutes in Indy Wallace’s company and he’d been more entertained than fifteen minutes in Elena’s.
Mr Lawrence’s expression showed his disapproval at Indy’s choice of drink, although he did not argue. He handed over the required shillings to the barman and passed the drinks to Will and the ladies as they moved back outside for fresh air.
In front of the tent, drinking nobblers of brandy, were several of the civil servants from the government camp. If Will were honest, he didn’t particularly like the two gentlemen, but he politely introduced Indy, Elena and Mr Lawrence to the men he knew only a little from occasional interactions.
‘May I present Mr Errol Mathews and Mr Colin Simons.’
Mr Lawrence shook hands with both men. ‘A pleasure, gentlemen. Isn’t it nice to see the diggers and the peacekeepers mingling together,’ he stated raising his drink in toast before he downed it.
Will saw Indy give the man a sour look.
‘Only the gentlemen diggers of course,’ Mr Lawrence added. ‘Have to keep some degree of decorum at the ball.’
‘That depends on what you consider to be the actions of a gentleman,’ Indy tossed back lightly.
Will choked a little on his drink at her quiet, but very pointed, slap. It went over Mr Lawrence’s head, however, and he ploughed on talking politics with Mathews and Simons. It didn’t take long before Will realised Albert Lawrence was trying to ingratiate himself with the government officials.
‘And what do you feel about the miners’ requests for a voice in the legislature?’ one of the men asked Lawrence.
‘Ridiculous,’ he answered, rolling his eyes heavenward. ‘How could an uneducated man be expected to make decisions of government?’
‘Who says all diggers are uneducated?’ Indy demanded. ‘You’re a digger, Mr Lawrence, and you’re educated.’
He looked uncomfortable then, almost embarrassed, Will noted.
‘I’m a barrister, Miss Indy,’ he corrected her, his back straightening.
‘Only because you didn’t find any gold,’ she said. Will had to bite his lip to quell the smile. She really was untamable. Poor Mr Lawrence. One more word from him and all hopes he had for himself and Indigo Wallace would go up in flames.
Will couldn’t help himself. He decided to add fuel to the man’s already smoking hopes. ‘And the licence hunts, Mr Lawrence, what do you think of those?’
‘A necessary evil, I’m afraid, Lieutenant.’
At least he’d aimed for contrition, Will thought. He let his glance slide sideways to Indy and saw her big blue eyes narrow and her lips press together. Will knew that look. Poor Mr Lawrence was about to get the tongue-lashing of a lifetime.
‘And do you believe the beating and trampling of an invalid servant was justified?’ Indy asked.
‘You mean the priest’s servant man?’ Mr Mathews asked.
‘He was caught unlicensed on the goldfields,’ Mr Simons added.
‘He was unlicensed because he is not a digger, sir,’ Indy explained. ‘He was visiting someone on the fields at the direction of Father Smythe. And your Assistant Gold Commissioner stood by and watched with never a care for the poor fellow.’
‘He would not explain himself,’ Mr Simons added.
‘He is Armenian and barely speaks a word of English.’ Her tone was getting sharper and Will could see she was struggling to hold on to her temper.
He was surprised to find he admired her lack of timidity in the face of powerful men. A woman with strength and intelligence was a wonderful thing. Simpering women, who thought of nothing but the latest dress styles, did absolutely nothing for him. He enjoyed a good debate and why shouldn’t a woman have an opinion of her own? But he could see Mr Lawrence didn’t feel the same. The man was more interested in putting himself in good stead with the government gentlemen. He was already puffing himself up ready to respond.
Don’t do it, Albert, Will warned the man silently.
‘I heard it was Gregorius who attacked the trooper,’ Mr Lawrence said, nodding at Simons and Mathews. The men just shared a glance, neither agreeing nor denying.
‘That’s a lie!’ Indy threw back, her face reddening with her barely suppressed fury. Will had to give her credit though. He’d expected her to explode by now but she was keeping surprisingly calm—on the surface.
‘So by your estimation, Mr Lawrence,’ she began again, ‘should you be wandering the goldfields, they would have the right to beat your thick head in as well.’
‘Indy, please! There’s no need to be crass.’ Mr Lawrence’s face turned a sickly puce, before it coloured up to a nice crimson as embarrassment took over.
‘I’m afraid Miss Wallace is quite right, sir,’ Will added, schooling his expression into a severe soldier’s scowl. ‘If I were to see you on the goldfields and you were unlicensed, I would have no choice but to arrest you. Now I, myself, would not take to beating a man for anything as simple as not having a gold digging licence,’ he said with a pointed look at the two government men. ‘But arrest you I would.’
‘Well, then it’s a good thing I am a barrister,’ Mr Lawrence said. ‘I have the money to bail myself out and the wherewithal to represent myself in court.’
Lawrence, Mathews and Simons had a great laugh, but Will could see that like a kettle ready to boil, Indy had hit her limit. He decided to intervene before poor Mr Lawrence ended up with a scratched face. He turned to ask Elena if she would excuse him, but discovered she had already gone, having obviously become bored with the conversation. He was not the least bit upset.
Looking back at Indy, her clenched jaw and heavy breathing showed him the extent of her anger towards Mr Lawrence and his new friends.
‘Miss Wallace, would you care to dance?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Without even looking at him, her answer was rapid and definitive as she prepared to launch into a full out attack on the three laughing men.
He sighed, and hoped it wouldn’t be he who ended up with a scratched face.
‘Please, Miss Wallace?’ Not bothering to wait for her answer, he took her arm and spun her forcibly away from the group.
***
Inside, dancers were engaged in quite a vigorous reel and the tent was beginning to steam with so many bodies in locomotion. The room’s aroma was getting a little ripe, and lantern and cigar smoke hung thick in the air, making it hard to see, let alone breathe. But Indy’s breath was coming fast as she fought against her temper. She didn’t know who she was more furious with. Those three stuck up, ignorant men belittling her views on politics as though she were nothing but a … but a … woman! Or the Lieutenant for interfering and insisting she dance with him.
And he still had hold of her arm.
‘Stop steering me around. I’m not a bloody bullock dray.’ She wrenched her arm from his grip as he stopped on the edge of the dance floor.
‘Shall we attempt to join the revellers in this wild country
dance?’
Full of venom, she spun towards him. ‘Why did you drag me away?’
He leaned in close, his dark eyes fixed on hers. ‘Take a deep breath, Miss Wallace,’ he said, his voice emanating strength, ‘and dance with me.’
Fighting her annoyance with him, Indy took his first suggestion and some of her anger leaked out with the exhalation. But she still continued to scowl, even as Will took her in his arms.
The music shifted and without missing a beat he led her into the slow waltz. After a few minutes of quiet dancing, Indy felt the rest of the tension slowly leaving her. She began to relax, allowing herself to enjoy Will’s strong hands holding her confidently as he moved about the room, using only the slightest pressure on her back to guide her.
‘Is it a requirement for soldiers to be able to dance?’ she mocked, finally breaking the silence.
‘Yes. It is included in all basic training. No man can become a soldier unless he masters at least the waltz, and the reel.’ His eyes scanned the dance floor without emotion, his tone serious. But then he looked down at her and grinned broadly.
She couldn’t help but chuckle at his attempt at humour. It felt so comfortable to move with him to the slow cadence of the orchestra’s music. His gloved hand was warm on hers, and she remembered again his teasing smile as he had noticed her dirty fingernails. She flushed again. He had been kind not mention it. That made him more of a gentleman than Mr Lawrence would ever be.
Albert Lawrence. What an arse he turned out to be. Falling all over himself to snuggle up to those government officials. She wondered if he really meant what he’d said about the licence hunts and poor Gregorius. It didn’t matter. She would never again be dancing with the likes of Mr Albert Lawrence.
‘Is it true what you said about that poor servant being beaten?’ Will asked, breaking into her thoughts.
‘You doubt me, sir? You doubt the priest who told me so?’
‘No.’ His reply was quick. ‘I simply ask to ascertain the facts.’
‘The facts are that the poor lad, a servant to Father Smythe, was sent into the goldfields to deliver a message for his master. Servants do not hold licences. Everyone knows that. Johnston knows that. But he stood by and watched that officer beat Gregorius about the head.’
His calm composure slipped a little. ‘Johnston saw?’
Indy nodded. ‘That’s what Father Smythe said. And those men back there, Mr Lawrence included, just laughed at the expense of a poor disabled boy. Gregorius will stay in the jail until the pounds can be raised to release him.’
‘Miss Wallace, you are breaking my hand.’
‘What? Oh, sorry.’
Releasing the grip that had tightened as her fury had resurfaced, she expelled her aggravation with a long breath. Gazing about the room, Indy could feel the Lieutenant’s eyes on her. It was unnerving, the way he studied her. She’d caught him doing it before. Looking at her as though she were a puzzle he was trying to solve.
‘Mr Lawrence is not the man for you, Miss Wallace.’
His comment surprised her and she tilted her head back to meet his dark eyes. There was no mocking in his expression, or in his tone.
‘No, I should say not,’ she agreed in earnest, and the last of her anger dissipated at his understanding. She licked her lips as she took her turn to study him. He really was very handsome, so tall and solid. It was a pleasure to be in his arms. She had to fight a sudden urge to run her hand into his hair and pull the tie away to let his blond locks fall free.
‘And who, pray tell is the man for me, Lieutenant Marsh?’ she asked, hoping to shake the errant romantic thoughts from her head. But looking back up at his face, she could see he was no longer focused on her. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched and it was his grip on her hand that had tightened. Confused, she followed his intense glare and saw what had caused his demeanour to change so rapidly.
Sergeant Warren Donnelly leaned casually against one of the huge tent poles. Drinking from a pannikin, he had such menace in his eyes she physically shivered. She forced herself to turn away from him. She was used to ignoring her estranged father. But when she looked up at Will, he could no longer meet her eyes. He too had turned away from Donnelly, but he also made sure he looked everywhere else but at her.
Dread was an icy wave flowing through her body.
He knew.
The Lieutenant had somehow discovered she was the bastard daughter of the Police Sergeant. And the fact that he wouldn’t look at her told her he was disgusted by it. Disgusted by her. She didn’t know why it mattered to her what he thought, but suddenly she felt ill and dizzy. The room was too hot, the cigar smoke too thick. She gritted her teeth against the rising nausea. No. She was not this weak woman. She would not faint in the arms of a man like some swooning fool.
Gathering her pride, she pushed back out of Will’s arms and he finally met her gaze with a confused frown.
‘Miss Wallace, are you alright?’
‘I am. Thank you for the dance, Lieutenant,’ she said, the strength in her voice belying the sickness she felt. Turning away from him, she ran out of the tent as quickly as she could manoeuvre through the crowds.
Once outside, she took in huge gulps of crisp night air and tugged at the tight bodice of her dress, fighting the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. Would she never be free of the torment of Warren Donnelly? The dress was strangling her. She had to get out of it.
‘Indy!’
She schooled her face, wiping her wet eyes, then turned and smiled with all the enthusiasm she could muster. Annie was rushing towards her with Walter O’Shanahan following along, holding her hand. Indy was surprised at the intimacy of his clasp on her.
‘Having a good time?’ she asked, struggling to keep her voice clear.
‘I am having a ball,’ Annie said, then laughed at her own little joke. ‘A ball!’
Annie’s rare exuberance was astonishing. It appeared the O’Shanahan knew how to show a lady a good time. Walter laughed along with Annie, not taking his eyes off her. The man was clearly smitten.
‘Where have you been?’ Annie asked, still breathless with joy. ‘I have hardly seen you all night.’
‘Actually, I was just on my way home.’
Annie’s face fell. ‘No. Not yet. It’s only just gone midnight.’
‘I know. I’m tired.’
‘Where is Mr Lawrence?’ Annie questioned, looking about. ‘He should escort you back to camp.’
‘No, thank you,’ Indy said, keeping her thoughts about Mr Lawrence to herself for now. ‘I am quite capable of getting home alone. I’ll see you in the morning, Annie. Goodnight, Mr O’Shanahan.’
‘Goodnight, Indy.’ And taking Annie’s hand again he dragged her away, thankfully before Annie could ask more questions.
Taking a deep breath, Indy walked away from the noise and the smells and the disappointments of the Subscription Ball and back to her place with the diggers in the camp.
Chapter 8
Strong hot winds were stirring up dust from the goldfields and whipping Indy’s hair haphazardly about her face. She tied it back again and pulled her hat down to secure it. Her skin stung from the dry heat and she crunched down on dirt that blew into her mouth when a dust devil swept through the goldfields.
Sneezing up her own storm, she cursed the spring squalls, as more dust and flower pollen got into her nose and eyes. It was downright awful out on the fields, and she was desperate to wash away the filthy sweat that had congealed on her body and in her hair. A vision of her favourite swimming hole in the river sprung to mind as she took a long drink from her water bag and watched Sean climb out of the pit.
‘I’d wager there’s more soil coming down the blasted hole than I’m digging out,’ he said, dropping onto his back and puffing from his exertions and the heat.
Indy tipped the water bag up so that a stream of liquid trickled slowly over his face.
‘Ahhh,’ he sighed, a goofy grateful smile crossing his
young features. ‘Keep going.’
‘I’m not wasting good water on the likes of you,’ she teased. ‘Now get back down that hole and keep digging, you lazy git.’
‘Can’t,’ he said sitting up and looking far too serious. ‘Ma says I’ve got to go to the meeting on Bakery Hill to join the protest over that Gregorius feller that got his head cracked last week. He’s still in custody at the government camp and Father Smythe is hoping to raise some funds for his release. Ma’s expecting you there too, Indy.’
Indy screwed up her face. As much as she wanted to be there to join the protest against the disgraceful treatment of a handicapped man, the idea of a wash in the river had taken root, and she wasn’t keen to let it go. She figured she could do both as Bakery Hill was on the way to the river—in a roundabout way.
Reluctantly joining Sean, she dragged her feet the short distance to Bakery Hill and stood amongst the large group made up mostly of the usual Sunday Mass Catholics. She listened to Father Smythe preach, again. Wasn’t once a week enough? As the meeting went on and on, Indy lost interest as the protest turned into a sermon. Slowly and quietly, she crept backwards, away from the crowd, and using a passing bullock dray as coverage, made a run for it.
Feeling a new sense of freedom, she followed the barely discernible path through the dense bushland beside the rise of Black Hill. Twenty minutes later she was standing in front of the glorious shimmering river. Here, the mostly narrow Yarrowee River widened and deepened enough for a good bathe and a relaxing swim.
She scanned the trees around her. It was the most secluded spot she knew. Quickly stripping off her filthy working dress, she waded into the water, huffing and swearing as the freezing water bit at her ankles. Just because spring had arrived, didn’t mean the rivers had warmed any. But the feeling of grit and filth that seemed to be entrenched in her skin, long outweighed her delicacy at the cold. Wading in far enough, she took a deep breath and dove headfirst into the water. Coming up for air, she exhaled audibly the breath she’d held. She wanted to scream out loud with the luxury of the icy water washing away what felt like months of grime from her body. So scream she did. She whooped and laughed and duck-dived, enjoying the shocking deliciousness of the cool liquid across her naked skin.
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