The Currency Lass

by Téa Cooper

  ‘It covers the whole of south-eastern Australia.’

  ‘Yep. Compiled from the exploratory expeditions. Got all the roads and tracks marked, too.’

  A whistle sneaked out between Sergey’s teeth. It couldn’t be an original, would have to be a copy, it looked like kangaroo skin; an original would be on parchment. Someone making a quid or two on the side. He ran his finger over the coastline, the route they’d spent the last eighteen months travelling from Port Phillip, up the coast and onto Sydney. ‘Must’ve set you back a bit.’

  Rudi shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘A bit, more importantly a swag of tickets for the last two weeks’ performances. I reckon it’s worth it. You know as well as I do moving the circus takes planning. No point finding ourselves stuck in the middle of nowhere, jammed between a swollen river and a mountain range. We need to go where the people go and roads mean people.’

  Or one person in particular.

  ‘I’ve been asking around. Place called Maitland. It seems we can either backtrack across the Hawkesbury River then take the road through Wollombi.’ He traced the route with a stubby finger then looked up and pinned Sergey with a fierce stare. ‘Or take the paddle steamer to Newcastle and up the Hunter River to Morpeth.’ He stabbed at the coastline and then followed a winding line inland. ‘Much quicker.’ He slammed his palm down on the table. ‘We’ll do that.’

  ‘With five wagons, three drays and more than twenty-five horses?’ A vision of some overloaded half-sunken ark wallowing in the ocean off Sydney Heads flashed through Sergey’s mind.

  ‘More than one paddle steamer.’

  ‘It’ll cost.’ They’d need to split the troupe, send some ahead, a day or two apart.

  ‘Money but not time.’

  Sergey smoothed the kangaroo skin and picked out the route up the coastline then inland along the river from Newcastle. ‘Green Hills?’

  ‘They call it Morpeth now. Map’s a few years old. It’s just a hop and a skip to Maitland. It’s a thriving town, spend a few weeks there and see what’s what.’

  Thriving communities meant businesses; businesses meant money, or the need for money, and that meant pawnshops and pubs—the sort of places all manner of low-life congregated. His fists balled in his pockets, the taste of revenge thick on his lips.

  ‘Nothing this side of hell, and maybe not even that, would induce me to set foot on another ship.’ Valentina puffed out her cheeks and waved her hand in front of her face. ‘I’ll travel by road.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  Her eyebrows rose high up her forehead and she peered down her long straight nose. ‘I’ll not travel by boat ever again, certainly not on the ocean. Whether it’s a sailing ship or a steam kettle.’

  ‘Paddle steamers. Takes only a few hours. It will be very pleasant.’

  ‘No. I’ll travel by road.’

  ‘Don’t be difficult. We’ll dine at the Quay, board the steamer, breakfast at Newcastle and arrive in Morpeth in a matter of a few hours,’ said Rudi. ‘Travel to Maitland, set up camp and be comfortably established by nightfall.

  ‘Think of the time it will save for a little inconvenience and days fighting over all those gluepot, corduroy roads.’

  ‘She won’t do it.’ Sergey rocked back in his chair. He understood his sister’s refusal; she’d suffered appallingly on the journey from Van Diemen’s Land. The moment the ship left Hobart wharf her face had turned a delicate shade of green. ‘Let her go. Dan and Hawke can go with her.’ He didn’t want to be subjected to weeks of complaints and the tirades they’d suffered after the last trip.

  ‘So when we arrive in Maitland I’ll be minus my tent men and our leading lady.’ Rudi hit his fist on the lid of his takings box. ‘We’ll be lucky to see money like this for a while if we’ve only got half a show.’

  ‘Sergey’s well able to entertain the crowd, and quite strong enough to sort out the tent with some help from the grooms. You can manage without me for a week or so. Minnie and May and the other girls can extend their performances. They’ll be happy with the extra attention. Jymie can entertain the crowd for hours with his juggling tricks, especially now he has those flaming hoops. Besides, I have some business to attend to before I leave Sydney.’

  ‘What kind of business?’

  ‘Nothing to concern you, little brother of mine.’

  Rudi threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. ‘It’s impossible to argue with you two when you side against me.’ He flicked his whip in a playful manner, narrowly missing Valentina’s long booted leg. ‘So be it. I’ll make arrangements for the troupe to leave as soon as the paddle steamers can accommodate us.’

  ‘I’ll make my own arrangements. We’ll take four horses and arrive fresh and rested in a little less than a week.’

  So be it. Anything would be better than his sister throwing her heart up.

  He stood, turned to leave then stopped. ‘Valentina, have you a moment?’ He needed to get to the bottom of this Sydney business. Trouble followed his sister like the legion of admirers who swarmed to her every performance.

  She raised an eyebrow in question then thought better of it, threw Rudi an apologetic smile and nodded.

  ‘Walk with me.’ Sergey led the way into the big tent, quiet and empty after their earlier performance. ‘What’s this business you have to attend to?’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s anything to do with you.’

  He huffed out a sigh. ‘It has plenty to do with me as you very well know. Are you up to your old tricks again? You promised that was all over.’ What was the little minx planning? Had some bauble caught her eye? That was the last thing they needed.

  ‘It has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with that. I made a promise to Batya and I’ll honour it.’

  Promises were important. He understood that only too well, especially the ones they’d made to their father on his deathbed. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I waited and travelled the Great North Road with you.’

  Her eyes flashed and her hands stole to her hips, a familiar sign. ‘You’ll do no such thing. If you must know, I have a dinner engagement and I don’t intend to take my little brother along.’

  ‘A dinner engagement?’

  ‘Yes. I have an admirer. Is that so hard to understand?’

  No, of course it wasn’t. Every man in every audience had his eyes on Valentina, most of the women as well. The first equestrienne in New South Wales was a novelty.

  ‘In case it’s slipped your notice I’m no longer a child. Besides,’ she stuck out her lower lip, ‘I’m entitled to a little romance in my life. So are you, my brother dearest.’ She patted his arm. ‘Perhaps you should chase up the lovely young lady who caught your eye tonight.’

  ‘Whatever are you talking about?’ He turned away. Damn Valentina and her sharp eyes.

  ‘Don’t give me that nonsense. I saw your face.’ She tossed her black mane, then coiled a curl around her finger before tucking it behind her ear. ‘I’d give anything for hair that colour.’

  ‘I was simply concerned she’d been embarrassed by Tsar’s antics.’

  ‘And you would like to make it up to her.’

  ‘Of course. I’ve no idea what prompted Tsar to pull that stunt.’

  ‘Perhaps your horse knows more of your heart than you’re prepared to admit. Unlike you, I have nothing to hide. I’ve been invited to dine and I intend to accept. One night, just one night, and then I’ll be on the road and right behind you. I’ll be in Maitland before you know it. Dan and Hawke will be ample protection from any bushrangers or other undesirables and besides, Rudi can’t manage without you.’

  ‘Rudi would have Dan and Hawke if I accompanied you.’ If Rudi got wind of her assignation he’d forcibly restrain her. He guarded his circus’s reputation like a dingo with a carcass. Only yesterday he’d fined two of the grooms five shillings each for swearing and given two of the slack-rope walkers a talking-to for fluttering their eyelashes.

  ‘It’s not necessary. I’m entitled
to my own freedom and I’m in no danger.’

  ‘You’re always in danger. Any woman travelling alone is in danger.’ Any woman who couldn’t keep her hands in her pockets, away from temptation.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you I’ll not be alone? Dan and Hawke will take care of me.’

  ‘Answer me one question. Should I know anything more about this meeting, this assignation?’

  ‘Rest easy.’ Did he imagine it or did those familiar brown eyes slide away from him? ‘I’ve told you. It’s to do with me. Something for myself. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘You make certain Dan and Hawke are with you.’

  ‘I am definitely not taking two muscle-bound rope walkers to dinner.’

  ‘Oh, Valentina, what am I to do with you?’ He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. ‘Be sensible. Let them escort you and wait outside until your dinner is over.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ She turned up her face and he kissed her forehead before she walked away. And with that he had to be satisfied. She did deserve something for herself after all this time, and what difference would one evening with an admirer make? She was a grown woman, five years older than him.

  He wandered back into the tent where Rudi had his nose still buried in the map. ‘Change her mind?’

  ‘Not a hope in hell.’ Rudi didn’t need to know about this man who was courting Valentina. ‘I can see her point. She was ill for the whole voyage to the mainland. She’d be no use in the ring for at least a week. Cut your losses. It can’t take her more than a few days.’

  ‘You’re going to have to make some changes to the performance. Spend more time in the ring and have a word with Minnie and May. They can organise the girls to do more rope walking and something else. Get them to turn themselves inside out and wrap around a chair or two, that should go down well. See what Jymie can come up with. Those flaming hoops went down a storm the other night.’ Rudi threw the words over his shoulder, his eyes glued to the map. He was up to something.

  ‘What’re you looking at? I thought you had the route planned.’

  ‘Distances, places. This place here.’ He stabbed at the map. ‘A place called Ophir, out west. There’s been a bit of talk. A bloke called Hargreaves reckons he’s discovered gold in the area.’

  ‘It’s nothing new. They’ve been talking about it for years. Gold’s been found all over the place. The government decided to give him some acknowledgement. Granted him a pension or some such thing. Half his luck.’

  ‘We’re better off. We’ve been pulling hundreds a night. The Hunter will be just as good. They’re starved for entertainment outside Sydney.’

  So they were off to the Hunter. Just as well because he’d exhausted every back alley, every pawnshop, every dubious haunt in The Rocks and around the harbour.

  Three

  Quite how Catherine had survived the past days she’d no idea. All the curtains in Bartholomew’s house were pulled tight across the windows and the clocks stopped at the time Pa died — though heavens alone knew how anyone could tell because she hadn’t been there. She’d left him alone. Left him alone to die. She choked back a sob and pulled a handkerchief from the voluminous sleeve of her black crêpe dress.

  Bartholomew had even organised mourning clothes for her and all the mirrors were covered with the same black veiling she wore over her face. She tweaked the corner of her veil and snatched a glance in the mirror just in case Pa’s spirit had become trapped. How ridiculous. His spirit would have long gone. Flown to Ma, up under the spreading branches of the cedar tree at Cottington.

  Forcing her gut-wrenching weeping into hiccupy sobs she lifted the veil from her face and stared into the mirror. Blue bruises from her incessant crying stained the swollen skin beneath her red-rimmed eyes. She’d known Pa’s days were numbered, just not so limited. Despite all the advice of the physicians she didn’t believe he’d leave her so soon.

  A sharp rap on the door startled her and she dropped the veil, thankful at least for the privacy it offered. Who’d want to see her swollen catfish face?

  ‘Catherine. It is I.’

  Bartholomew. All she wanted was some peace and solitude. Was it so much to ask? A cup of tea. Curl up beneath the covers of the bed and then sleep. When had she last slept? Too terrified to close her eyes and relive the horror of the past few days, and still it wasn’t over. ‘One moment.’

  ‘It is of the utmost urgency.’ The door closed with a sharp click behind Bartholomew. He gestured to the table where the pot of tea and solitary cup sat. ‘I regret having to disturb you at a time like this, however, I must appraise you of the details for your father’s funeral.’

  She sucked in a lungful of overheated air and flapped at her veil. What she wouldn’t give to take it off. She blew out a breath, lifting it for a brief moment from its insidious clasp, and sank back down into the chair.

  As far as she knew Pa had given no instructions for his funeral but the heat and the length of the journey back to Cottington meant she had little time to waste. The task had to be faced.

  ‘I have retained the services of an undertaker and he has organised everything.’ Bartholomew stuck his thumb and forefinger into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out the coin he always carried. With a flick of his thumb he tossed it high in the air, then snatched it back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. ‘Even managed to secure a plot in the Devonshire Street cemetery. No minor achievement in these difficult times.’

  Sydney? No! Pa would be buried under the cedar tree with Ma and the boys. Not in Sydney. Besides, everyone at Cottington would want the opportunity to pay their last respects. They owed their very existence to Pa’s kindness and generosity. So many of the tenants had worked out their sentences on the property and chosen to stay. Most she’d known all her life.

  ‘Pa can’t be buried in Sydney.’ The ever-present tears prickled at her eyes. Why had Bartholomew made all these arrangements? The funeral would be held at Cottington no matter what some undertaker had decreed.

  ‘My dear, please. Do not upset yourself. Listen to me. It is by far the best for a man of your father’s standing. An emancipist who made good. One of Macquarie’s protégés. A stalwart of the Royal Agricultural Society. He deserves nothing less than a hearse drawn by six black horses, mourners, a series of Mutes. The feast will be held here. Sydney will be our home and where your father will be laid to rest. You’ll want to be near him.’

  He droned on while deep inside her another gargle of sobs threatened to break loose. She had to concentrate. It was as though her will had died along with Pa, sucked right out of her, leaving only a brittle shell.

  ‘There is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I’ll send my man, Gatenby, to collect your belongings from the hotel. We will be married from here. You must know I have your best interests at heart. Sydney will be our home. Put the past behind you. You need never return to Cottington Hill.’

  Never return! His words broke through the fug in her brain. Of course she must return. Wanted to. Pa would be buried in the place he loved best. He didn’t belong in Sydney any more than she did. Ever since Pa had introduced Bartholomew into her life things had gone wrong, ever since that fateful trip to the circus. Why, if she hadn’t gone to the wretched circus Pa might still be … she snatched back a choking gulp.

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself, Catherine.’ Bartholomew took two steps towards her and something about his proprietary air made her snap.

  She jumped to her feet. ‘I will trouble myself. Pa will be buried at Cottington Hill with Ma.’ The veil billowed in front of her face, giving her snatches of fetid air tinged with Bartholomew’s tobacco smoke. ‘I intend to continue his work. One hundred and sixty-seven people are dependent on Cottington Hill for their livelihood. It is my duty and my responsibility. I’ll thank you to allow me to conduct my own business.’

  Bartholomew’s face flushed.

  Too harsh and totally unnecessary. He’d made every effort to help her, in fact wit
hout his assistance she’d have been at a total loss these past few days, especially when The Pulteney Hotel had as good as thrown Pa out. ‘I beg your pardon, however, I feel I’m dishonouring my father if I don’t involve myself.’ Her sentence ended in an embarrassing, high-pitched squeak.

  Bartholomew emitted a rather loud harrumph and perched on the edge of the chair. ‘It’s only right and proper, as your intended husband, that I should make the arrangements for Reginald’s funeral. It will be held in Sydney. As I said I have arranged everything. The professional mourners, a plot in the cemetery and a handsome headstone, which you’ll find most consoling.’

  A plot in the cemetery! No. That wouldn’t happen. Professional mourners! Why did Pa need paid mourners when there were people who loved him waiting to grieve for him?

  ‘Pa’s funeral will be held at Cottington Hill. If you had one ounce of decency in your bones you would not have made any arrangements without consulting me. I’ll be taking Pa back home. He’ll be buried with Ma and the boys under the cedar tree.’

  ‘You’re not thinking clearly. He should be buried here. He is, was,’ he corrected as if she might have forgotten, ‘a man held in great respect by the community for his philanthropic endeavours. Besides, you can’t travel alone and I have urgent business commitments that will take me out of Sydney.’

  ‘I won’t be travelling alone, I’ll be taking Pa back home and I intend to make arrangements to do that.’

  ‘I understand you’re somewhat emotional at this moment. We will discuss matters further in the morning.’

  Somewhat emotional. He had absolutely no idea. There was nothing emotional about her feelings for Bartholomew; at this very moment they were purely physical. She’d like nothing more than to knock the man through the window, preferably while it was closed.

  Bartholomew adjusted his black Parramatta silk waistcoat and stalked to the door. The moment it closed behind him she reefed off her claustrophobic headpiece.

  Once his footsteps retreated she tiptoed out and made her way along the landing to the room where Pa lay. All of her high-flying ideas were very well but she didn’t know how she could get Pa home without Bartholomew’s help.