Band of Gold

by Deborah Challinor

  Kitty went red. ‘No, it was not.’

  ‘Yes, it was!’ Rian was laughing now.

  ‘No, it wasn’t!’ Kitty snapped, thinking she was far too old for this sort of thing.

  She was saved from further discomfort by Amber appearing at door and announcing that supper was ready.

  Walking arm-in-arm with Rian to the crew’s tents, Kitty noticed that, now that the end of October was approaching, the diggings suddenly, and unexpectedly, seemed a little less harsh and unforgiving. The breeze on her face was no longer laced with the icy touch of winter, and the colour green was creeping back into the landscape. She had been so busy with the bakery she had barely noticed the quiet approach of spring.

  No one said anything as they dug into Pierre’s lamb stew with dumplings, savouring the usual high quality of his cooking. These days he prepared enormous amounts of food: he was feeding thirteen people, and sometimes Patrick and his wife, Maureen, as well as occasionally Binda and her own two grandchildren. There were seldom leftovers.

  Mick set his tin plate on the ground, leaned back on his elbows and burped gently. ‘Would anyone be thinking of going to the moonlight dance?’

  Nods from the crew, but Kitty was mystified. ‘What dance?’

  ‘At the Adelphi Theatre, Saturday night,’ Mick replied. ‘Have you not seen the bills posted everywhere?’

  Kitty hadn’t. ‘And it’s a public affair? For diggers?’

  ‘If it wasn’t, it would be at the assembly rooms, wouldn’t it?’ Simon said, referring to the frequent balls held by Ballarat’s government officials for themselves, military officers and the town’s swells.

  ‘Can I go?’ Amber asked eagerly. She’d been to the circus once so far, but a dance would be even better.

  ‘Certainly not. Not by yourself,’ Kitty shot back.

  ‘Well, why don’t we all go?’ Rian suggested. ‘It’ll do us good.’

  Mick sat up. ‘Think of all the colleens!’

  Don’t get your hopes up, Kitty thought; Flora had already told her there were only about 200 single women on the diggings. But that wouldn’t deter Mick, and he’d probably visited one of the brothels already. If he had, she hoped it had been Flora’s establishment and not Lily Pearce’s.

  But, she wondered, what do you wear to a dance in a tent in the middle of a goldfield?

  Anything, apparently. The men all seemed to sport trimmed whiskers and slicked-down hair, and were dressed in ensembles ranging from the simple addition of a waistcoat over clean work clothes, to pressed serge or canvas trousers, jackets and smart hats. The women had also gone to some effort to look their best, wearing a great array of bonnets featuring lace, ribbons and artificial flowers, and even a few fancy straw hats. Practical day dresses had been replaced by ‘best’ gowns, and drab capes with light shawls in paisley, tartan and good wool.

  Kitty chose a dress made for her by Rian’s sister, Enya, a dressmaker in Sydney. It wasn’t her most elaborate gown, but its full faille skirts and fitting bodice in soft raspberry complemented her colouring and was not so ostentatious that she would stand out among the other women. Rian hadn’t bothered to dress up, despite Kitty’s exhortations, but had put on a decent jacket and had condescended to shave, and Amber wore her favourite dress, a checked rust and navy blue taffeta with a high neckline and a full, calf-length skirt. But she had refused to wear the ribbon Kitty had picked out for her hair, ‘inadvertently’ leaving it on the daybed before they’d come out. As a consequence, her hair was already tumbling wildly about her face.

  Ropata and Leena, however, had declined to come. Leena was still smarting over Lily Pearce’s unpleasant comments, and was convinced that everyone would point her out as ‘that myall’. Realising that his wife’s pride had been badly bruised, and feeling for her as deeply as if his own mana had been offended, Ropata acquiesced to her request that they not attend.

  The Adelphi Theatre, although only a tent, was vast and already filled almost to capacity with people evidently determined to have a good time. In one corner was a rough stage, on which was jammed a musical ensemble consisting of four fiddlers, two penny-whistle players, two men and a woman with bodhráns, a concertina player, and two men who sat with uilleann pipes across their laps.

  Wooden benches formed a perimeter around the sides of the tent; the centre was cleared for dancing. The fact that there wasn’t a bar didn’t seem to be a deterrent, and many had brought alcohol with them. The noise level was already high, and the air above the crowd hazy with pipe smoke.

  Rian dodged through the throng and found a place to sit that would accommodate them all. Kitty spotted Patrick and his wife and waved, noting at the same time that there were very few Aborigines in attendance, and not a single Chinese person. Rian withdrew a bottle of whiskey from the sagging pocket of his jacket, eased out the cork and took a healthy swig.

  Amused, Kitty warned, ‘I’m not carrying you home tonight.’

  ‘Ah, there’ll be a spare wheelbarrow somewhere.’

  After a few preparatory fiddle squeaks and a wheeze from the concertina, the band launched into an energetic and not quite synchronised rendition of ‘The Daughters of Erin’. Shawls and jackets were immediately discarded, the crowd surged towards the centre of the tent, and the dance floor became a whirling kaleidoscope of movement and colour. Mick, Gideon and Pierre—reeking of the lavender water he habitually wore for ‘special occasions’—headed determinedly off, on the prowl for partners, leaving Simon, Daniel and Hawk behind.

  Observing the great clusters of unpartnered men standing around, Rian muttered, ‘They’ll be lucky.’

  Mick, no doubt, would be, Kitty thought—he usually was—and Pierre would probably find someone, too, his exoticism and immense charm overcoming his short, wiry stature. Gideon might initially find it more difficult to convince someone to dance with him, given his spectacular size and alarming appearance, but his huge smile and lovely manners made him more popular with the ladies than might be expected.

  Rian nudged Daniel in the ribs and urged, ‘Go on, get out there. But you’d better be quick.’

  ‘No, I’d prefer to just watch,’ Daniel replied, trying to ignore Rian’s amused look. He stared moodily ahead for a moment, then reached under the bench for his bottle.

  Rian shrugged. ‘What about you, Hawk? Happy to be a wallflower?’

  Hawk scowled, his brows almost meeting in the middle. ‘I do not dance, Rian. You know that.’

  But Kitty, noting his proudly curved mouth, high-bridged nose and the gleaming fall of his black, waist-length hair, suspected it wouldn’t be long before some woman, tipsy with ale, would summon the nerve to ask him onto the floor. And he did dance, just not in this manner. She’d watched him more than once over the years performing the rhythmic, hypnotic and elaborate dances of his people, which required great strength, and he had been beautiful to behold.

  ‘What about you, Simon?’ she said.

  With exaggerated dignity, he replied, ‘I think you are forgetting, Kitty, that I have two left feet.’

  Kitty laughed.

  Simon added sanctimoniously, ‘Anyway, I note that you’re not dancing.’

  ‘He’s got a point there, mo ghrá,’ Rian conceded. He took Kitty’s hand and said in a beseeching voice, ‘Madam, would you care to dance with a lonely old sea captain desperate for the attention of a beautiful and cultured woman?’

  Kitty was very surprised—he must be in a good mood, as he was almost as reluctant as Hawk when it came to dancing. Accepting with the grace a queen might bestow upon a favoured courtier, which she spoiled by giggling, she followed him onto the dance floor. Glancing back, she saw Amber standing before Daniel, hands determinedly on hips, presumably badgering him into dancing with her. Daniel smiled, put his bottle aside and stood, and Kitty thought, Ah, you’re a good man, Daniel Royce.

  The band tore enthusiastically through a range of songs, each one greeted with a loud cheer by the convivial, and increasingly drunk, crowd. Kitt
y and Rian were bumped mercilessly as dancers hurled themselves around in energetic reels and jigs, polkas and hornpipes, accompanied by much loud stomping and shouting.

  Kitty watched, amused, as Mick went from partner to partner, spinning giggling, pink-faced women as far out as they would go and whirling them back in again, ignoring sour looks from husbands and hopeful beaux alike. Gideon had indeed found himself a partner, a tiny woman whose head barely reached his chest and who shrieked with delight every time he lifted her in the air and spun her around. Even Simon was up now, mashing the toes of a middle-aged woman who was politely smiling throughout his shuffling efforts.

  Finally, the band, clearly requiring a breather, eased into a version of ‘Carrigfergus’, with which many of the dancers, and the crowds of men left lining the perimeter of the tent, joined in, bellowing with particular gusto the lines ‘But I’ll sing no more ’til I get a drink, for I’m drunk today, and I’m seldom sober!’

  And it was during this interlude in the dancing that heads began to turn like wheat in a gentle breeze towards the tent’s entrance. Kitty, craning her neck, just managed to see that Flora McRae, dressed again in elegant black from head to toe, had arrived accompanied by five or six comely young women. They paused for a moment in the doorway, surveying the crowd, heads held high.

  ‘That’s Flora,’ Kitty murmured to Rian.

  ‘The woman in black? And those are her girls?’

  ‘I presume so. Would you like to meet her?’

  ‘Yes, I would, actually.’ Rian laid a hand on Kitty’s arm. ‘But not just yet, eh? If I go charging up to her, people might think I’m desperate to, er, secure a business transaction.’

  ‘Well, you’d have to stand in line,’ Kitty remarked, nodding at the crowd of men already drifting towards the women, their carefully arranged expressions implying that their intentions were merely to dance with the pretty young things.

  She led Rian off the dance floor and sank gratefully onto the bench, hot now from her exertions and uncomfortably aware that the fancy boots she hadn’t worn in months were pinching her toes.

  Amber, strands of hair sticking sweatily to her face, pointed. ‘There’s Flora over there, Ma. Can you see her?’

  ‘Yes, we saw her come in.’

  Amber waved energetically. ‘Look, she’s seen us.’

  Flora approached, weaving her way between couples and small groups who had begun dancing again now that the tempo of the music had increased, and sat down beside Kitty.

  ‘Good evening, Kitty. I trust you’re enjoying yourself? Good evening, Mr Bullock,’ she added to Simon, then nodded politely at Daniel.

  Simon inclined his head. ‘Good evening to you, Miss Langford. It’s a pleasure to see you again.’

  ‘Mrs McRae,’ Kitty reminded him.

  ‘Oh, of course, I beg your pardon.’

  Flora shifted her gaze to Rian, where it lingered for some time. ‘And this, Kitty, must be your captain?’

  Kitty caught Rian’s eye and smiled. ‘Yes. This is my husband, Captain Rian Farrell. Rian, this is Mrs Flora McRae.’

  Rian reached across Kitty and briefly clasped Flora’s hand. ‘I’ve heard much about you, Mrs McRae.’

  ‘And I you, Captain,’ Flora replied graciously. ‘I felt it was time that we met. I don’t normally attend these public affairs—my girls are perfectly capable of making their own, shall we say, arrangements—however, I did tonight in the hope that you would both be here.’ She paused. ‘I felt it would be inappropriate for me to be seen visiting Lilac Cottage. For you, I mean, not me.’

  Rian waved away her last comment. ‘Thank you for your consideration, Mrs McRae, but I receive whomever I choose at my own hearth. And so does Kitty. You are welcome to visit Lilac Cottage whenever you like.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Flora replied. Then her mouth made a tiny moue of distaste. ‘I suspect we are being observed.’

  Kitty followed Flora’s gaze: Lily Pearce had also arrived, and stood near the door watching them with narrowed eyes. Then she turned haughtily away and clicked her fingers, sending her girls out into the crowd.

  ‘She has them trained like animals,’ Flora remarked. ‘And I am told, I’m afraid, that that is exactly how they sometimes behave, although I’ve never had the misfortune to see it myself.’

  ‘Animals?’ Rian queried interestedly. ‘Rats? Apes? Dingos?’

  Flora looked at him, her pale face impassive. ‘Oh, no. I’m given to understand that dingos are really quite bright. And apes.’

  The corners of Rian’s mouth twitched.

  ‘And on that note,’ Flora said, rising, ‘I have matters to see to, so you must excuse me. Delightful to finally meet you, Captain Farrell. Goodnight, Mr Bullock.’ She bent and whispered in Kitty’s ear, ‘I could arrange something for your quiet friend, if he’s amenable. He’s far from unattractive and I expect none of my girls would consider it a chore.’

  Kitty glanced at Daniel. ‘Perhaps you should ask him yourself.’ She was shocked to realise that the faint pang she felt at Flora’s offer was something close to jealously. ‘Actually, there’s—’

  Flora eyed her with dreadful perception. She smiled knowingly. ‘Then I take your point. Goodnight, Kitty.’

  Her cheeks burning, Kitty watched as she walked away.

  Rian took her hand. ‘An interesting woman, your Flora McRae.’ Then he burst into laughter. ‘What on earth is he doing?’

  Kitty and Rian stared in bemusement as Pierre, some yards away on the dance floor, executed a series of horribly complicated steps around a woman almost weeping with laughter at his antics.

  ‘That,’ Kitty said slowly, ‘is his version of a hornpipe. I think.’

  ‘Shall we try our version?’

  But as they stood the music changed to a reel, and they were caught up in a group of ten dancers, weaving a lively and complex pattern, and changing partners every few bars.

  ‘Who’s she dancing with now?’ Rian asked.

  Kitty followed his gaze towards Amber, who was laughing and spinning around with a man in a smart blue waistcoat. ‘That’s Mr Searle. He comes into the shop. I think he’s taken a shine to her.’

  ‘Bit old for her, isn’t he?’

  ‘Don’t worry, she says he has bad breath.’

  Rian caught Kitty around the waist, led her under his arm and turned to face her. She laughed and curtsied and around they went again, swinging in time to the music and ducking between other couples. Then Kitty let go of Rian’s hands to execute a spin, and when she turned back Lily Pearce, like a great, bright raptor, had swooped on him and steered him away and into the crowd.

  Kitty stood absolutely still, her mouth open, feeling sick. Then Daniel appeared at her side, his hand hovering near her shoulder, and she could see he wanted to take hold of her so she wouldn’t look such a fool, but couldn’t decide whether it would be the right thing to do.

  ‘Did you see that!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I’ll cut in, get her away from him,’ he said, looking as offended and embarrassed as Kitty felt.

  But Rian was already extricating himself even as Lily, one hand clamped against his back and the other gripping his shoulder, led him deeper into the dancing throng.

  ‘Let go of me,’ he warned.

  ‘No.’ Lily laughed. ‘I think this is awfully cosy, don’t you?’

  Rian’s eyes narrowed and his voice was taut with anger. ‘Well, I fucking don’t. So get off me! ’

  Lily’s lips parted and she breathed rather than spoke the words, ‘Make me.’

  Dangerously close to losing his temper completely, Rian grasped the hand gripping his shoulder, disconnected it and pushed Lily away.

  ‘I’m not interested, do you understand?’ he growled. ‘I don’t like you and I don’t want you. Keep away from me.’

  He turned his back on her, but as he did, he heard her say quite clearly, ‘But I want you, Rian Farrell. And I always get what I want.’

  ‘Rian?’

/>   ‘Mmm?’

  Kitty rested her face against his warm, damp chest, surreptitiously inhaling his lovely masculine smell, the scent that always came off him after they had made love. ‘I nearly had a heart attack when Lily took you away tonight.’

  Rian smoothed her hair with a languid hand. ‘Christ, so did I. I wondered what the bloody hell she was doing.’

  Kitty was quiet for a moment. Then, ‘What did you say to her?’

  Rian heard the disquiet in his wife’s voice, and it upset him. ‘I told her to leave me alone.’

  Kitty took Rian’s hand and held it, then absently twisted the ring he wore, a heavy gold band set with a milky, grey-blue star sapphire cabochon. She’d had it made for him five years ago and he rarely took it off, not even when he was working. ‘In no uncertain terms?’

  ‘Definitely in no uncertain terms.’

  But Rian wasn’t at all convinced that Lily Pearce had received the message. The damn woman was a harpy, and she was causing trouble, and he would have to put a stop to it.

  Chapter Seven

  Late October 1854

  There is a man looking for you, Mrs Farrell,’ Wong Fu said as Kitty passed him the baguettes he had requested. He glanced outside at Amber and Bao sitting on the verandah, giggling together and wiping macaron crumbs from their mouths. ‘He is giving your name, your husband’s and your daughter’s.’

  Kitty swept a stray lock of hair off her face with the back of her wrist. ‘Did he give his own name?’

  ‘No, I have not spoken with him. I have only been told.’ A pause. ‘But he is a big man and he has dark skin.’

  Gideon? But Wong Fu had met Gideon and knew who he was. Then, with a sensation like the warmth of the sun rising on a cold winter morning, Kitty suddenly thought she knew. Her heart thudding with excitement, she asked, ‘Is he alone, do you know?’

  ‘I was told he has a boy with him.’

  It must be! ‘Thank you, Mr Wong! This is wonderful news!’ Kitty turned to Pierre. ‘Did you hear that?’ She pulled off her apron and tossed it over a chair. ‘I’m just going up the street to see if I can find them. Will you be all right?’