The Currency Lass

by Téa Cooper

  It was hard to ignore the mumbles and rumbles of jealousy as everyone appraised first the horseflesh and then his companion. All those men heading west had a look in their eyes that made his skin prickle with jealousy and he guarded Catherine’s every move.

  Anything to stop the slow burn of heat licking through his veins, the simmer of lust invading every inch of his body. He yearned for her, ached, and it took every bit of restraint not to pull her into his arms again.

  Easing to the side of the track, they managed a slow trot but nothing like the speed they’d achieved even with the wagons.

  ‘Catherine.’

  She kept her eyes firmly on the road, guiding Bessie over the uneven ground. ‘Yes?’ Her voice rose barely above a whisper.

  ‘Please forgive me for my behaviour yesterday. I had no right.’

  ‘You had every right because I’ve encouraged you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I left to escape marriage.’ Her lips lifted in a whimsical smile. ‘Cottington Hill will be my husband and my lover.’

  What more could he say? Neither of them had any control over their destiny. The unjust laws of the land dictated her future as much as his.

  At a spot called Wallaby Rocks they found a party of diggers hanging around a group of hastily erected, crudely built shanties. Every one of the men was brimming with excitement over a few handfuls of nuggets.

  ‘We’re looking for somewhere to pitch the circus camp.’

  ‘Not much space left around here. Place is littered with gold, stake a claim and don’t forget your licence, they’re checking on them and there’s heavy fines.’ One of the diggers pointed down river where a man dressed in blue, a constable, had bailed up a couple of men crouched over a cradle.

  ‘We’re not looking to stake a claim, a campsite more like.’

  ‘There’s a spot beyond the river crossing. A flat piece of land, back from the river so no access. No one’s interested. It’d make a great camp if you’re not panning. Go check with the constable. You might be lucky.’

  ‘Thanks, we will.’ Sergey pulled a circus bill from his pocket. ‘Call in at the circus once the big tent’s up and we’ll find you a seat.’

  ‘We’re pretty buggered. Evening’s entertainment might perk us up.’ The digger ran an appraising eye over Catherine’s breeches.

  Sergey’s teeth clenched and he rubbed at his jaw. He’d never felt a moment’s jealousy when Valentina cavorted in the ring, but he wasn’t quite sure how he’d handle all these diggers with their bulging pockets and roving eyes. ‘Let’s go, now,’ he said to her.

  Once the circus caravan arrived, Sergey collared every available male and played tent boss. Despite Hawke and Dan’s absence the big tent went up in no time. Minnie and May built a campfire, made some dinner and then, dressed in their sparkling gear, the band led them all in a parade along the river track.

  The girls tumbled and cavorted on the bed of one of the wagons, the other acrobats balanced on top of each other’s shoulders in an impressive pyramid while Jymie juggled an array of tin plates. Captain Sergey and the Currency Lass promised daring feats of horsemanship.

  By eight o’clock they’d arrived back at the campsite they’d named Circus Point for their first performance.

  Rudi stood at the entry to the big tent, a grin on his face and his eyes alight with the prospect of the night’s takings. ‘Roll up! Roll up!’ he called. ‘To the first circus performance ever given on an Australian goldfield.’

  He didn’t have to work hard, within minutes rowdy diggers crowded the tent, every spare inch crammed.

  When Sergey rode up alongside Catherine he noticed a sheen of perspiration covering her pale face and her blue eyes stared wide. He rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine. No different to Bylong, just a few more people. Do everything we’ve practised and I shall be with you in the ring in a matter of moments.’ And if anyone so much as laid a hand on her he’d knock them from there to kingdom come.

  The band broke into a rousing fanfare and she rode into the ring. Raucous shouts filled the air as she brought Bessie to a halt in the middle.

  Sergey edged closer to the entry, his heart in his mouth. This was much more than the performance at Bylong, one wrong move, one slip up and the crowd would eat her alive.

  ‘Not yet.’ Rudi appeared at his side his hand, catching Tsar’s bridle, restraining him. ‘Give her a moment of glory. She deserves it.’

  ‘She’s scared.’ Or perhaps he was.

  ‘Won’t last long. She’s more than capable. Told you that from the beginning.’

  The drumroll echoed then faded and silence fell. With a quick look over her shoulder Catherine clamped her knees and Bessie reared onto her hind legs, hovering above the crowded front row.

  A long low sigh filled the air as she turned once then brought Bessie down. Applause and a flurry of tossed coins and nuggets flew into the ring, coating the dust until the ground sparkled as brightly as she did.

  ‘Most of them paid their entry in dust or small nuggets. Stuff must be plentiful. Looks like they’ve got pockets full,’ Rudi said. ‘There’s a fortune to be made here.’

  None of it worth more than Catherine. Sergey’s mouth dried and he swallowed his fear for her. ‘Maybe I’ll have to try my luck with the gold.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ Rudi rubbed his hands together. ‘We’ll be raking it in even after we’ve paid the licence fees, and we’ll flog the site when we leave. Let them do the hard work. You just go and give ’em a show they won’t forget and we’ll be set.’ He brought the tip of his whip down on Tsar’s haunches and the stallion leapt forward.

  As Sergey rode up alongside Catherine she drew off her cape and threw it to Minnie then turned her shinning face to him. ‘I think they like me.’

  ‘I know they do. Let’s show them what else we can do. Are you ready?’

  She gave a quick nod, her eyes blazing with elation, and urged Bessie into a trot first, then a canter. He followed her, two laps, then three. Tsar peeled off and came to a standstill in the middle of the ring. She was right beside him, never missing a beat.

  He dropped his reins and stood, then leapt across onto Bessie’s back behind her, the warmth of her supple body heating him, her scent filling him, making his body tighten.

  He felt her tighten in response as Bessie sprang into a canter. Tensing his muscles he sprang to his feet, his hands fleetingly on her shoulders, then arms outstretched as Bessie floated across the sawdust ring with her long strides.

  Catherine spread her arms wide then swept her feet beneath her and stood, her back pressed hard against his chest. He clasped her hands and lowered her down and then flipped down to the ground while she brought Bessie to a halt in the middle of the ring. Whistles, screams and cheers filled the big tent.

  Night after night the miners and their families packed the arena. Catherine blossomed, relishing the applause and the accolades until Sergey doubted that even Valentina could have wooed the crowd as well. Men and women alike jockeyed for the front-row seats and children clamoured to sit at the very edge of the arena, wanting to be as close to their currency lass as possible.

  Sentiments he understood only too well. The unique scent of the salt on her skin and the press of heat when her body moved against his as they performed for the crowd drove him mad with desire.

  She seemed not to notice his ever-increasing tension, her body alight with excitement as she balanced on his shoulders, his hands clasping her narrow ankles. She knew almost before he did which way he would lean, how his breath would catch when she landed. Did she know how he yearned for her?

  Fourteen

  ‘Give Bessie to me.’

  ‘Thanks, Timmy.’ Catherine slipped from the saddle, her legs crumpling as she hit the ground. She was tired, so very tired. The sound of the band drumming their fanfare grated in her ears. As much as she loved the excitement of the performances with Sergey, sometimes she longed for a moment of the peace and solitude Cottington offere
d.

  Sergey would be sitting in the centre of the ring lauding it over the last act as the troupe performed the finale of leaps and somersaults, flips and springs. Everyone, even the band members, twisted and twirled faster than dancing Dervishes, leaving the audience speechless and dazzled, wanting more, ensuring they’d be back for another show.

  All she wanted was to lie down and close her eyes. The nervous energy had sapped her strength. It wasn’t until she’d found herself in the ring that she’d come to understand how hard it was to perform night after night. Minnie and May and all the other acrobats fronted up with never a murmur of dissatisfaction, as long as no one expected them to go anywhere near a horse. Jymie could turn his hand to so many tricks it made her head spin faster than his tin plates.

  As she walked past the long table she grabbed some bread and cheese and an apple. Tonight the thought of sitting with the rest of the troupe was more than she could bear. She wanted to think about Sergey. Ever since the afternoon when he’d kissed her there was a strange tension in him, as though he were holding something back.

  In another time and another place she would have welcomed his attention but Rudi watched them both like one of the wedgetails that swooped over the camp, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of affection. Perhaps it was as well. She’d meant it when she’d told Sergey she’d be married to Cottington. Femme sole. It was the only way.

  If nothing else the attraction she felt for him proved she could in no way have married Bartholomew. A shudder ran down her back at the thought of his pudgy hands on her skin.

  She hooked open the flap on the tent, letting the light from the flares guide her to the candle sitting on the makeshift table by the camp stretcher.

  ‘Psst.’

  She stopped, her head cocked to one side. There was a rustling sound then the blanket on the bed moved. Frowning she picked up the box of Congreves next to the bed and lit the candle. The light flared and she whipped back the blanket.

  Two pairs of wide eyes stared at her from grime-encrusted faces.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  When she took a step forward the two grubby urchins shuffled further up her bed. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’ She reached out a hand and they flinched in unison, ducking their heads and covering them with their arms.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ She dropped her hands. ‘Who are you?’

  They could have been any of the swarm of urchins who hovered at the edge of the ring every night, their eyes wide in their peaked faces, ready to snatch up a stray coin or a speck of gold dust thrown into the ring in appreciation.

  Men might relish the rough and tumble adventure of the goldfields, but for the women and children it was a life of hardship and misery. The glitz of the circus was a beacon in their grey–brown existence. ‘The show’s over. It’s time you went home.’

  The smaller of the two children, a boy, sprang from the bed and sidled towards the open tent flap. The other, a slightly older girl, sat on the side of the bed, dirty scratched legs dangling, bare feet swinging. ‘We’re hungry.’ Freezing cold too, no doubt, the frost had already settled in some of the less protected spots outside.

  ‘Go home and have your supper then. It’s past your bedtime, past mine too.’ If they’d come to see the show surely they’d still be inside the big tent watching Sergey give his finale.

  The boy edged closer to the tent flap. ‘Come on, Becky. She won’t help.’

  ‘Becky? Is your name Becky?’

  The girl nodded and offered a shy smile, making the ingrained dirt on her face crack. ‘He’s Jacky. Me bruver.’

  ‘Becky, come on.’ Jacky jiggled on his bare toes, his eyes darting this way and that, ready to bolt.

  Becky stared at the bread and cheese in Catherine’s hand and her stomach growled. ‘We’re hungry.’

  ‘Would you like some of this?’ She held it out towards the girl. Filthy fingers snaked out and grabbed the chunk of bread and she lobbed it to her brother.

  ‘Take the apple as well.’ Catherine held it out to her.

  The girl stood, her legs so thin and scrawny she looked as though she’d stolen Minnie’s stilts. Then quick as a flash she snatched the apple and side-stepped Catherine until she was standing next to the boy, who was cramming a huge handful of bread into his mouth, swallowing it almost whole. They were starving and needed more than bread and an apple. ‘Why don’t you come with me and we’ll see if there is any stew in the pot?’

  Their eyes brightened and they nodded their bulging cheeks in unison.

  ‘Come on then.’

  As they skirted the tangle of tents and ropes the last of the audience drifted out of the arena and merged into the darkness. The troupe sat clustered around the table, their eyes burning a hole in her back as she ushered the two children onto one of the logs surrounding the fire. The never-empty camp oven hung close at hand, the stew hissing and bubbling.

  ‘Planning on feeding the whole audience or just the kids?’ The nasty snarl in Jymie’s voice made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. ‘That comes out of the takings, you know. Our earnings.’

  There was plenty of stew in the pot, always enough left over in the morning for anyone who fancied a big breakfast. Ignoring his remark, Catherine lifted the lid and ladled out the thick gravy, meat and vegetables into a pair of pannikins and handed one to each of the children. Their mouths hung wide like baby birds as their fingers delved to find the meat.

  ‘Be careful. It’s hot. You’ll burn yourself.’ Her comment made little difference and they shovelled the lumps of potato and meat into their mouths as though they hadn’t eaten for days.

  She stood and waited, pushing her tiredness aside until Sergey’s warm hand came down on her arm and he raised his eyebrows in question.

  ‘They were in my tent.’

  ‘In your tent?’ He guided her away from the fire. ‘What were they doing in your tent? Why didn’t you call someone?’ He scowled down at her. ‘You have to be more careful. This isn’t Cottington, you can’t befriend every stray. The goldfields are full of dubious characters. From now on I want you to wait for me at the end of the show.’

  ‘Sergey!’ She pulled away from him. Sometimes he was just a little bit too protective. Yes, there were some peculiar characters in the goldfields but half of the troupe sat crowded around the fire watching her every move. All she had to do was call and any number of them would have come running. Apart from anything else, a couple of children who were just skin and bones were hardly likely to do her much harm. ‘I’m not a fool. I can take care of myself. They’re just kids.’

  ‘I’ll take care of you. You’re my responsibility.’

  ‘I’m no one’s responsibility.’ Wasn’t that the very reason she’d left Cottington, because she wanted to take responsibility for her own actions, control her own life? She stalked back to the fire and squatted down between Becky and Jacky. ‘Feeling better now?’

  Jacky wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and grinned at her. ‘Yep.’

  ‘Mind your manners.’ Becky glared at her brother. ‘Say thank you.’

  ‘Now I think it’s time you went home. I’ll walk you back. Where do you live?’ Before she had even finished the sentence the two of them had jumped to their feet and disappeared around the other side of the fire. She peered through the flames. Sergey scooped up one child under each arm and headed back in her direction, their legs kicking and a string of outlandish words issuing from their lips, mostly Becky’s lips, in fact.

  He plonked them down on one of the benches in front of the fire and stood over them, hands on hips, glaring. ‘Catherine said we’d walk you home. Now where do you live?’ His brow twisted in a fearsome frown and they scooted closer to each other. The light danced in Sergey’s eyes but they saw only the broad strong horseman towering over them.

  ‘Up the back, over there.’ Jacky hitched his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Where’s your mother?’ Perhaps she’d brought the
m to the circus and was running around frantically searching for her straying children.

  ‘Mam’s not well. Baby’s sick, too.’

  ‘What about your Pa?’

  Becky shot a look at her brother and shook her head. Without a doubt their father would be hanging around one of the grog shops drowning his sorrows in rum and gossip, frittering away his hard-earned nuggets. Why else would his children be starving and his sick wife and baby uncared for? A sudden flash of memory of the childbirth fever that had taken Ma made her blood run cold.

  ‘Maybe we better take some food with us for your Ma. How old is the baby?’ It had only taken a matter of hours for Ma to sink into a decline.

  Becky lifted her fingers and counted. ‘Seven days. A week.’

  ‘A week.’ Catherine scooped up the remains of the bread and cheese and ladled some of the stew into Jacky’s empty pannikin. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

  Becky stopped and stood in front of her. ‘Mam won’t like it. She doesn’t want no visitors.’

  ‘We’re not visitors, we’re helping. We’re taking you home. Your Mam will be worrying about you. And it’s dark. Come along.’

  Faced with her no-nonsense words the two children fell into step. They wound their way through the crowded diggings, skirting the makeshift dwellings and crazy mixture of men and women cloaked in hilarity or misery, all dependant on the day’s fortune.

  Once they reached the river Becky and Jacky ran ahead surefooted, knowing exactly where they were going. It was obvious her concern was misplaced. The kids weren’t lost, they knew their way around far better than any of the circus folk.

  The tents and shanties thinned and they climbed a small hill where a few remaining tufts of grass struggled for survival beneath the stumps of long purloined trees. The entire hillside was bare and for a moment a pang of homesickness hit her for the lush green pastures of Cottington. Compared to this devastation it was paradise. How right she was to fight for it.