Where Rainbows End

  ‘What if the rains last for days and make the roads unusable? We could be stranded in Camden for weeks, which will certainly disrupt my plans.’

  ‘But if we continue, we might not make it and be stuck on the range without shelter.’

  Pippa leant forward. ‘The rain is light at the moment. If we hurry we could clear the mountains before the roads are rendered useless. You say Picton is on the other side?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Noble.’

  She nodded to her father. ‘Then we should hurry.’

  He looked at Robson. ‘What’s your opinion of continuing up the mountain in this weather? If we push on, what do you think of our chances at succeeding?’

  Robson put his finger around the inside of his collar and shivered. Scrunching his shoulders against the weather, he peered through the rain at the range. ‘It’ll be tough, but not an impossible climb. A decision needs to be made before it gets any later. We can’t be stuck up there in the dark.’

  Pippa frowned in thought. ‘I guess there isn’t an inn along the mountain top?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘It’s too risky,’ said Gerald, sighing. ‘We’d better turn back—’

  ‘No, Father.’ She grasped his arm.

  ‘Dearest—’

  Pippa’s grip tightened, her eyes pleading. ‘We can do it, I know we can. And if we turn back now, it will delay us. That means less time to view our land, and we could miss meeting the surveyor.’

  Gerald wiped the moisture from his eyes. ‘I’ll not put you in jeopardy.’

  Pippa smiled and licked the rain off her lips. ‘This bit of water doesn’t bother me.’ She leant her shoulder against him. ‘Come, Father, where is your sense of adventure?’

  Groaning, Gerald gave a look of the damned to Robson.

  They began the ascent; however, shortly after, the ruts and holes in the road caused Robson and Gerald to drive off the dirt track and into the bush alongside. The wheels creaked, churning up the thick mud. Before long the rain became an unrelenting downpour, quickly turning the road into a quagmire.

  Pippa pushed back her damp bonnet and peeped out from under the canvas to peer up at the huge expanse of mountain range looming before them. Recent landslides had deposited earth and rock onto the road and in places new tracks were cut into the surrounding bush.

  Plucking at the wet folds of her skirts, Pippa glanced at her father. His coat glistened with raindrops. ‘Others are making it through.’ She pointed in the direction of the winding road and, in the distance, through the trees, they glimpsed a bullock team picking their way carefully down the slope towards them.

  The weather made the main track over the range a perilous trek. The steep climb wound its way through thick scrub. At times they rounded a bend to find themselves at the very edge of the track with the escarpment falling away at dizzying heights, while at other times they were squashed against sheer rock faces.

  As the horses strained against their harness, Pippa gripped the edge of the gig until her fingers went numb. She refused to close her eyes as the wheels slipped and skidded towards the edge of the cliff. Her relief was audible when the road veered back inland.

  Despite the danger, the magnificent view of a cloud-topped valley between the trees filtered through her anxiety. She treated the elements as a test. The grey, wretched weather and the terrible road conditions paled in significance as she gazed at the tree-cloaked hillsides and outcrops of rock formations. Washed free of dust, the colours of their surroundings manifested. She wished she could paint it.

  Pippa jumped when a loud thunderclap heralded their final ascent. A fork of lightning split the sky, making all the horses toss their heads.

  ‘Well done, Father.’ She kissed him and he breathed more easily as they peaked the ridge.

  ‘Now we must go down.’ Gerald slapped the reins. ‘Hold tight, my dear.’

  If Pippa thought the journey up was treacherous, the passage down took the heart out of her chest. Her father rode the brake all the way, but this didn’t stop the wheels from skidding in the soft mud. The rain pelted them without let up.

  Turning in her seat, she watched Robson hold his pair skilfully. The loaded wagon was harder for him to handle than their light gig.

  Suddenly, the front wheel on Pippa’s side hit a large rock, jolting her high off her seat. She screamed and reached for her father.

  ‘Pippa!’ Gerald grabbed at her skirts.

  She came down with a thump. The force landed her sideways, tipping her half out of the gig. With strength she didn’t know she had, she held onto the seat. Below, the cliff dropped away. Small rocks skirted down the embankment and tumbled over the edge.

  ‘Hold on, Pippa. Don’t let go.’ Gerald struggled with the frightened horse. ‘Steady girl, steady,’ he soothed the animal.

  Heaving herself up, she scrambled back into the seat, her heart beating so fast she thought it would explode. ‘I-I’m fine, Father.’ Her voice shook, her throat went dry, and for a moment she wondered if she’d be sick.

  ‘Sit closer to me. Link your arm through mine,’ Gerald ordered, his arms straining with the effort to hold the horse.

  Pippa clung to the gig’s front rail, and vaguely noticed one of her gloves now sported a good-sized tear. Taking hold of her emotions, she straightened in the seat and did as he instructed. Regardless of the rain, she felt hot and feverish from the experience.

  ‘Farther down, the track widens.’ He indicated with his head to a spot in front of them. ‘I can stop there.’

  ‘No, I’m all right.’ She braced herself as they bumped over a rut. Thunder roared again. ‘Keep going, Father.’

  When at last the road levelled out onto a grassy plain, it seemed the rain took pity on them and lessened. Weighted leaves hung low on the trees and dripped a tattoo of raindrops. They crossed a small wooden bridge. The water below it coursed and dashed over the rocks, lapping at the scarred banks.

  Pippa couldn’t resist grinning at her father now the shock had receded. ‘Just think, we have to do it all again in a few weeks.’ She couldn’t help but laugh. It released their tension.

  ‘What am I to do with you?’ Gerald shook his head and chuckled.

  She sniffed the air. Sharp scents she’d never experienced tickled her nose. Pungent aromas of the native trees, only a few of which she could name, permeated the air. Now the danger was over and the excitement returned to tingle in her veins. Behind them, rumbling like an empty stomach, the thunder continued eastwards.

  To the west, the clouds parted. Rays from the setting sun highlighted the little town of Picton as the gig bumped its way along the road. They were too tired and dirty to take much notice of the small township. Lanterns lit the windows of the George Inn, and to Pippa it seemed a dry haven from the uncomfortable, wet gig seat.

  Once in the yard, her father helped her down, while stable hands came out to help with the horses. ‘How do you feel, pet?’

  She shook out her saturated skirts. ‘In need of a hot bath. I hope they have one. I’m cold to the bone.’

  Robson joined them. ‘We were lucky to escape without damage, Mr Noble.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Gerald took Pippa’s arm. ‘Come, a hot bath and a hot meal are in order. And perhaps a brandy or two.’

  Pippa woke and gazed out of the window. Dawn filtered the night’s darkness with stripes of cherry and gold. She had slept well and, refreshed, was eager to begin the day. A little sore from yesterday’s journey, the absence of Cissie made dressing a chore that required patience until the innkeeper’s daughter came with hot water and offered to help. The girl also had dried Pippa’s garments overnight and neatly packed them away.

  Slipping out of the inn’s front entrance, Pippa walked to the stables. The town was quiet at this early hour. Yesterday’s rain brightened the surroundings, washing away the cloak of dust and dirt. She paused to look out to the west. Daylight showed a line of clouds in the distance. She breathed deeply and the clean air filled her lungs.
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br />   Inside the stables, she shook awake the two stable boys asleep on straw bales beside the horse stalls. The boys yawned and scratched their heads, but didn’t grumble as they helped harness her father’s mare to the gig.

  She was leading Ginger out of her stall when Robson appeared. He grinned at her and nodded; both of them knew she had made her point. She might be a woman, but she was no dainty flower easily crushed.

  ‘Sleep well, Miss Noble?’

  ‘Perfectly well, thank you, and ready for another day.’

  They left Picton straight after breakfast and made a good pace to Bargo some twelve miles further south. There, Gerald halted the horse and after a whispered conversation with Robson, reported in to the local constabulary.

  Puzzled, and a little annoyed at not being informed of their intentions, Pippa climbed down and stretched her legs. Along the street, a bullocky and his team rested under a large gum tree. Situated across the road was a small timber cottage. The front part was a shop.

  Pippa entered and took note of the few items for sale. Soap, bottles of ointment, candles, shoe brushes and the like cluttered the shelves along the back wall.

  A woman came through a doorway behind the small counter. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good morning.’ Pippa inclined her head. ‘May I buy a drink?’

  The woman smiled. ‘Would you like a bottle of fresh ginger ale, miss? I made it yesterday.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Gerald came into the shop, a frown worrying his forehead. ‘There you are.’ He waited for Pippa to pay and together they left the shop.

  ‘You should not have left the gig.’

  She paused to stare at him. ‘Why?’

  Flustered, her father guided her up into the gig’s seat without answering. Pippa turned to him as he climbed up and took the reins. ‘Why did you see the constable?’

  ‘Simply to get our bearings.’ He looked over his shoulder, checking that Robson was ready to depart, and then flicked the reins to set the horse in motion. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head at him. ‘You are a terrible liar, Father. The Great South Road is the main road and, from the maps, we travel on it right to Berrima.’ She sensed his hesitation and narrowed her eyes. ‘At breakfast, Robson mentioned the police as I came to my chair.’

  Her father shifted in his seat. ‘He did, yes.’

  ‘Well?’

  Gerald patted her cheek. ‘Enjoy the journey, my dear. Let us count how many types of birds we see.’

  Pippa jerked away. ‘Do not patronise me, please.’ She looked over her shoulder at Robson. Every now and then he would search the scrub on either side of the road. They were travelling fast. Why would they endanger the wagonload by moving at this pace?

  ‘Father?’

  Gerald kept his gaze on the road ahead. ‘Yes, well, you see … there is talk, no, well, more than talk, really. That is to say, there have been actual sightings and evidence of … well …’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Bushrangers.’

  Pippa stared at him. ‘Bushrangers?’

  ‘This stretch of country is known for them. This is the infamous Bargo Brush. They hide in the trees waiting for a carriage or a wagon of valuables and hold them up,’ Gerald whispered, again flicking the reins. ‘The constable said it has been quiet of late. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t there.’

  Anger flared in her. ‘How could you keep such important information from me?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I … we thought it best not to worry you.’

  ‘Being ignorant of the facts worries me more.’ She peered into the bush around them. At a fast trot, it was difficult to pick out unusual objects. Abruptly, the virgin bush had turned into a trap. Within its shadows a hidden menace lurked.

  In a smooth movement, Gerald moved his foot and with the toe of his boot nudged a rifle out from under the seat. His look held meaning and Pippa nodded. Gently, he moved to hide the weapon again.

  ‘You should have told me this morning, Father. What would I have done if we were attacked and I didn’t know of the rifle’s existence?’

  ‘I have a pistol in my coat, as well.’ Gerald spoke between clenched teeth. ‘If anything should happen to me, then you get it straight away, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ A shiver ran along her skin as a magpie called from a tree nearby. Every sound had to be identified quickly.

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re a good shot. You know how to make a bullet work.’

  ‘Yes,’ she repeated. An image of a cold winter’s day came to her unbidden.

  Snow lay deep on the ground. In the icy stillness of a grey afternoon, just as the light was fading, Pippa leant against an elm tree and raised the rifle to sight a stag half hidden in the wood. Behind her, Grant placed his arms around her, holding the weight of the rifle. ‘Be still,’ he breathed into her ear. Her mind recoiled from shooting the proud stag, but her body grew hot under her woollen coat at Grant’s nearness.

  Grant’s mouth came closer, making her hair whisper about her ears as he talked. ‘Have you sighted him?’

  Pippa closed her eyes. She leaned back against Grant’s chest. Turning her face up to his, she smiled. ‘He is not the stag I want …’

  Mittagong was sighted a few minutes before noon after another short, steep climb of mountain ranges. With the threat of bushrangers behind them, Pippa eagerly gazed at the little cottages and huts along the road to the village. Great tracts of land had been cleared. Grazing cattle and sheep gave a welcome notion of permanency.

  Closer to the township, the number of cottages, inns and shops increased. Pippa studied her father’s maps. The town was situated at the northern end of a triangle with Berrima to the south-west of Mittagong.

  ‘Do you wish to rest a while, my dear? Or go straight on to Berrima?’ Gerald smiled, the tension of journeying through the Bargo Brush obviously sliding away.

  ‘Oh no, Father, let’s go straight on to Berrima.’ She grinned. ‘We’re nearly there. Besides, I can explore this village another day.’

  ‘There is much to explore of this district, my dear.’

  ‘And I cannot wait to begin.’ Pippa linked her arm through his. ‘Look, Father, Mittagong seems very well settled into a niche between those two large mountains. We’ve continually climbed since leaving Bargo. Have you noticed how the air is much cooler and the grass is greener?’

  ‘Yes, and all good grazing from what I see.’

  As they left the busy little town and drove along, they noticed many men and wagons. Gerald pointed to a group of small buildings, which were a hive of industry. ‘I was informed that this is the colony’s first iron mine, the FitzRoy Iron Mine, named after the Governor himself.’

  ‘Most impressive.’

  ‘From the map it appears Berrima should not be far. The horses will be glad of a rest.’

  The amount of traffic on the road to Berrima surprised them. After a few miles of dense bush, they rose over a hill and levelled out before meandering down a slope and into the township. Bark and wooden huts dotted the roadside. Everything seemed raw.

  Felled trees opened up the landscape. Timber fences and buildings in different stages of construction filled her view. The settlers, eager to develop their homes, had forgotten to leave some trees standing. The result was a stripped selection of land, bare of anything that made it established. It was the opposite of the pretty quaint villages of England.

  Despite this, Pippa’s first look at Berrima made her smile. Small stone, brick, and wooden cottages lined the main street that snaked through the town. And, on closer inspection, she noticed some women did try to beautify their homes by growing flowers, as square bits of gardens offered new spring buds behind white picket fences.

  On their right, built on a slight rise, was the courthouse – an impressive stone structure – and next to it, the horrifying Berrima Gaol. The sight caused a shiver to trickle acro
ss her skin.

  As they continued, Pippa saw a shallow creek to the left then more houses and stores. At the edge of the village, Gerald turned right at the green and reined in before the Victoria Inn.

  ‘Come, my dear, you must be all in. I know I am.’ Gerald yawned as he helped her from the gig. The sun was behind the distant hills now.

  ‘It’s not yet full evening, Father. Perhaps we could walk to stretch our legs?’

  ‘Good lord, my dear, I’m stiff as a board. All I want is a bed to lie on. Tomorrow will come soon enough and then we can discover the town.’

  Pippa shook out her skirts and gazed around. ‘It is more open than I expected. True frontier country.’

  A large man wearing a white apron came out of the inn’s central door. ‘Welcome, welcome!’ He shook Gerald’s hand vigorously. ‘Mr Noble and party?’

  ‘Yes. We are here at last.’

  Robson pulled the wagon to a stop behind them, but didn’t climb down from his seat. ‘Is there room for the wagon around the back, landlord?’ he called.

  ‘Aye, go straight ’round, there’s a young lad who’ll help you,’ the landlord replied before leading Gerald and Pippa into the inn.

  A few men drank in the taproom and nodded respectfully as she passed. On the other side of the small hallway, a quiet hum of voices filtered through from the main bar. Gerald conversed for a minute with the landlord and then they were shown to their rooms.

  Pippa’s bedroom, though sparse, held all she needed. She waited for her trunk to arrive. Robson brought it in and a young maid with a jug of warm water and towels followed. Left alone, Pippa washed and changed into a white blouse, soft grey skirt, and matching short jacket. Pleased with her appearance in the small table mirror, she left for the dining room.

  After a meal of mutton stew and vegetables, Pippa sat back and listened to her father’s plans for the following day. Outside, twilight descended as they talked.

  Gerald sipped his brandy. ‘The good landlord told me the surveyor isn’t in town at present but is sure to arrive tomorrow or the day after. In the meantime I think it prudent to start making enquiries as to the building materials available and workmen.’