The Currency Lass

by Téa Cooper

Becky and Jacky skidded to a halt in front of a hut made of sheets of bark and branches, not even canvas, the base haphazardly marked by a collection of collapsing crates holding their paltry possessions.

  ‘Mam. Mam. We’re home. We’ve got some food.’ Becky ducked onto all fours and disappeared inside the hut.

  ‘Come on, we should go now.’ Sergey stood back, heavy frown lines etching his face.

  ‘Just a minute.’ Quite what she intended to say or do Catherine wasn’t sure but she bent down onto her knees and peered into the hut, which was lit by a measly candle stub.

  She held her breath as the foul stench caught in her throat. Beneath a threadbare blanket lay an emaciated woman, her ashen face covered in sweat. But for the painful twist of her head and the feeble cry of the child clasped in her arms she might have been dead.

  ‘Mam. Mam, Wake up, Mam.’ Becky shook the woman’s shoulder and her eyes flickered open. Then she pushed the pannikin under her mother’s nose, making her cough and retch.

  Catherine crawled forward and rescued the pannikin from Becky’s hand. There was no possibility the woman would be able to eat the heavy stew. Her cracked lips spoke of a raging fever and loss of fluid.

  ‘Becky, go and fetch some fresh water from the river for your Ma. There’s a good girl.’

  Catherine soothed the clammy hair back from the woman’s forehead. ‘You have a fever. Let me take the baby.’ She lifted the damp cold bundle into her arms, dreading what she might find. The woman groaned again …

  ‘Jacky, where’s your Pa?’

  The boy kicked at the stones littering the dirt outside the tent. ‘Dead.’

  ‘Dead?’

  He nodded and a fat tear trailed down his cheek. Becky put her arm around her brother’s shoulder and pulled him close. ‘He got shot.’

  ‘What happened?’ How long ago? Before or after the baby was born. Had no one offered them any help?

  ‘Someone jumped our claim. They shot him.’ Becky wiped her filthy hand across her nose and sniffed. ‘We got the claim back. Not Pa.’

  It was outrageous. The whole area crawled with bumptious constables demanding licence fees yet they hadn’t spent a moment worrying about this poor woman and her children. ‘Sergey, we have to take them back to the camp. They can’t stay here. The woman has a fever. The children aren’t old enough to look after themselves, never mind care for a sick mother and her newborn baby.’

  ‘Catherine.’ He pulled her aside. ‘You don’t know what kind of fever. It could be typhus, its rife. We can’t risk the rest of the camp.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s childbirth, nothing that anyone else will catch.’ Childbed fever—the kind of sickness Ma had succumbed to. The chills, followed by a high fever and that smell. It brought the memories back even stronger, tightening her stomach: the dreadful days she’d nursed Ma, willing her to live. She’d failed. Neither she nor Mrs Duffen had suffered any ill effects other than crippling sorrow.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I know, I just know, and even if it isn’t we can’t leave her here. There’s a heavy frost every morning and the river has an inch of ice on it. They’ll freeze. They can use my tent. I’ll look after her. We can’t leave them here.’

  ‘Rudi’s not going to like it.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Rudi.’ It made her heart bleed to see the two children and their poor mother. No one with an ounce of compassion would leave them there to starve.

  All of these diggers living like animals, toiling in the mud searching for some elusive speck of gold. It was hardly worth it if it meant giving away the very things that made a person human.

  If Rudi did complain, well, she’d take them back to Cottington. How many people had Pa brought to the place and saved from an untimely disaster? If nothing else she’d uphold the morality that was so much a part of Cottington. Something Ma had striven for and something Pa would approve of. She’d sort Rudi out later. ‘If I take the baby, can you carry her?’

  Sergey grunted some sort of vague acceptance and leant into the tent. He scooped the woman, blankets and all, into his arms and strode off towards the circus camp.

  ‘Come on.’ Catherine clasped the baby close to her chest and grabbed Jacky’s sticky hand. ‘What’s your Mam’s name?’

  ‘Tilly. Tilly Kenney, like me and Becky.’

  ‘I need to get our stuff.’ Becky rushed into the hut and reappeared a moment later with a bundle of rags, perhaps clothes. ‘Mam needs this.’

  Catherine nodded. Anything that would get them away from the pitiful humpy; the animals at home were housed in better conditions than this.

  By the time she and the children made it back to the camp Sergey had set Tilly down on the pallet and vanished, to talk to Rudi no doubt. Minnie and May were hovering outside the tent, their curiosity killing them.

  ‘The woman’s just given birth.’ Catherine held out the soggy smelly bundle of the baby and Minnie grasped it. ‘Can you take care of the baby and see if you can clean the children up a little? They might want something more to eat, some tea? I’ll go and settle their mother.’

  ‘We might need to feed the baby.’

  ‘Maybe some water, from the billy, boiled. I’ll see what condition their mother is in. If she can feed the baby it would be better.’

  Catherine sponged Tilly’s poor tormented face and finally her eyes flickered open and the corners of her mouth tilted in a parody of a smile. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  ‘No thanks needed. We have to get you well again, Tilly. You have a baby to care for.’

  With a sigh Tilly turned her head and closed her eyes. Now was not the time to ask questions about her husband. Something had to be done to help the poor woman.

  A shadow fell across the bed. Sergey stood at the entry to the tent, his hands full of blankets. ‘I thought we could make a couple of beds for the kids down on the floor next to their mother. You can have my tent and I’ll bunk in with Rudi.’

  ‘It’s not necessary. I’ll be up most of the night with Tilly, I’m sure.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. Rudi’s spitting chips. He reckons the whole camp will come down with typhus. Wants them out by tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen. She can’t be moved again and the children need looking after. Tell Rudi she’s suffering from birthing fever. No one’s going to catch it.’

  ‘He might get over it,’ Sergey said. ‘Right now he’s worried about Valentina. She should have caught up with us by this time.’

  Catherine turned back to the bed and Tilly’s thin hand reached over the blanket and clutched at her arm. Her cracked lips moved and Catherine bent her head.

  ‘We’ll not take charity.’ She scrabbled at her waist, pulling her chemise from her skirt to reveal a scarf tied tight around her still swollen belly. ‘Take them.’ She tugged at a wad of papers tucked into her waistband.

  ‘I’ll leave the blankets here. Call me if you need anything.’ The blankets hit the floor and Sergey turned and strode into the darkness.

  ‘Take them,’ Tilly repeated, giving another feeble tug at her waistband.

  Catherine reached across the bed and released the pile of crumpled papers. ‘What are they?’

  ‘Promissory notes. Money. Take them. For Becky, Jacky and the baby.’

  ‘You keep them.’ She pushed the notes back into Tilly’s hand. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you. You’ll be well in a few days. I’m going to fetch the baby. If you feed him it might help.’

  ‘Take them.’ The papers fluttered across the bed and slid onto the floor.

  Catherine picked them up and peeled a couple off. There were so many. At some stage Tilly’s husband had found more than gold dust. No wonder his claim was jumped.

  ‘The store. Take them to the store. Get them cashed.’

  ‘Very well. Lie still and rest. I’ll do it in the morning. Sleep now.’

  Tilly’s hand fell limp to the bed and her eyes closed.

  Cath
erine smoothed back the lank strands of sweat-soaked hair lying across the pillow like a stain. More than anything else Tilly needed rest. Free from worry. She tucked all but two of the notes back into the waistband of Tilly’s dress and pulled her dirty chemise down over them. She’d have a word with Sergey and see what she could do.

  She found him sitting at the trestle table with a cluster of girls hanging off his every word. The sight made her smile, they’d do anything for him—except perhaps ride a horse. ‘Can you spare me a moment?’

  He turned around, his eyes twinkling. ‘Of course. Come and sit down.’ He stood and reached for another chair.

  ‘It’s a private matter.’

  He nodded to the girls. ‘I’ll be back soon to hear about this new routine.’

  ‘Tilly has given me these promissory notes and asked me to exchange them. She’s concerned about accepting charity for both herself and the children.’

  ‘She doesn’t need to worry about that. Besides, Rudi won’t take her money. He’d say it’ll encourage her to stay.’

  ‘She doesn’t need anything else to worry about. It’ll make her feel better. I said I’d change them for her but I have no idea how or where.’

  ‘Down at the store.’ He held his hand out and she passed over the two notes. He grunted in satisfaction. ‘There’ll be no problems with these, they’re drawn on The Union Bank of Australia. They have branches all over the place. Hobart, Sydney, Melbourne. We’ll go and sort it out in the morning.’

  When Catherine woke, Tilly lay sleeping peacefully on the pallet next to her, the baby tucked under her arm and the two children curled at her feet. She tiptoed out. Let them sleep for as long as they could. It was probably the most comfortable they’d been in many a long month.

  She pulled the two notes from her pocket and made her way to Sergey’s tent where he sat, his big hands wrapped around a pannikin of tea.

  ‘Will the store be open? I want to cash Tilly’s notes before she wakes up. I’m sure it will help her no end to know she’s not taking charity.’

  He tossed out the remains of his tea. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand how Tilly got these.’ Catherine waved the flimsy paper like a fan in front of her face.

  ‘Easy enough. The diggers bring their gold to the store. The gold buyer, usually an agent for one of the banks, weighs it and exchanges it for promissory notes. It’s much safer than a bag full of gold dust and nuggets. Easier to keep hidden. That’s more than likely why Tilly’s husband got himself shot. Frustrated thieves knew he’d found gold and couldn’t get their hands on it.’

  Sergey pushed opened the door of the store and Catherine followed him inside. A thousand different smells lingered and melded in the dim interior amongst the mishmash of goods. Anything and everything anyone could want from shovels and picks to bolts of canvas and saucepans, dresses, shirts and rabbit skin hats.

  Behind a desk a rotund man sat, a pair of scales in front of him, a ledger and pen and ink, his sleeves rolled up and his florid face peppered with dark growths.

  ‘I’d like to cash these.’

  He offered her a near toothless grin and took the notes and unfolded them. Then rocked back on his chair and interlaced his thick dimpled fingers across his bulging stomach. ‘Nope.’

  ‘What do mean nope?’ Sergey stepped in front of her, his intimidating height dwarfing the man who didn’t appear at all concerned.

  He just shook his bullet head. ‘Can’t pay out on those.’

  ‘They’re drawn on The Union Bank of Australia.’

  ‘Nope.’

  Something snapped and Catherine snatched the notes from the man’s hands and pointed to the words written across the bottom. ‘We promise to pay the bearer on demand ten pounds sterling.’

  ‘You got a problem, you take it up with the Union Bank, that’s their promise. Not mine.’

  ‘Are you telling me I have to go to Sydney to get these cashed? How ridiculous. There’s a sick woman and her children starving. This is a legitimate promissory note.’ Was it? She had no idea, but the storekeeper had exchanged them for Tilly’s gold, he could pay up.

  ‘Well here’s a bit of good news. You don’t have to go to Sydney. There’s a branch in Bathurst. Same as I’ve told everyone. Take ’em to Bathurst and sort it out with the Union Bank there.’

  ‘If you won’t exchange them for cash then we’ll take goods to the value.’ Catherine stood back and cast her eyes around. Shoes. She’d bring the children in and get them some sturdy boots and some clean clothes and a dress for Tilly and … she saw a soft woollen shawl perfect for the baby. She reached out to take it from the shelf.

  The self-satisfied oaf just sat there shaking his head slowly from side to side. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Oh, will you stop saying that. There has to be a solution. This woman needs help.’

  Sergey’s hand came down on her arm. ‘Leave it. We’ll work it out.’

  ‘Too right we will,’ she muttered as he guided her out of the store into the frail sunshine. ‘This is ridiculous. Why would anyone hand over their hard-earned pickings to some storekeeper posing as a gold-buying agent?’

  ‘It makes perfect sense. I told you. Notes are far more attractive than carting valuable gold dust or nuggets over large distances. The mail coaches take the gold to Sydney.’

  ‘How can that man take their gold and then not honour the notes? He is totally unscrupulous.’

  ‘Let’s ask around and see if we can find out what is going on.’

  ‘I’m not going to waste time with that. It’s ludicrous. How far is this Bathurst place? Where is it?’

  ‘About twenty miles from here. Apparently the road is fair, well travelled.’

  ‘In that case I shall go. Now.’

  Sergey let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘You can’t go alone.’

  ‘I absolutely can. I can’t drag Tilly from her bed. She’s concerned she can’t provide for her children. She’ll never get better with the worry hanging over her head and she’s determined not to accept charity.’

  ‘Wait until tomorrow and I’ll come with you.’ He pulled her aside behind one of the wagons. ‘I can’t bear the thought of you away from me.’ The expression in his eyes stopped her breath. Suddenly more than anything she wanted him to kiss her, kiss her the way he’d done on the trail.

  Night after night they’d ridden in the ring, their bodies closer, more intimate than she’d ever imagined two people could be, but she hadn’t allowed herself to think, even to dream. She sucked in a deep breath. ‘We can’t leave Rudi short-handed for the show. We can’t both go.’

  He dropped his arm, releasing her, and took her hand, caressing the palm with his thumb. ‘You can’t go alone.’

  For a long moment they stayed still, eyes locked as if neither of them could break away.

  ‘I won’t go alone. I’ll take Timmy with me.’ She drew her fingertips across the pale scar on his cheek, through the rough stubble to his lips. ‘That’s a far better idea.’ If she stayed a moment longer she wouldn’t have the strength to argue with him. She had to do this, she owed it to Tilly.

  She glanced down at her stained breeches and boots, which were showing signs of wear after the weeks on the road. ‘I’ve got my riding costume in my bags. With Timmy alongside as my groom I shall look like a lady and have no difficulty dealing with the bank.’

  ‘I’m not happy about it.’

  ‘Neither am I but I intend to solve Tilly’s problem.’

  ‘Catherine …’

  ‘No. My mind is made up. If you want to help, find Timmy and have a word with Rudi. It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to get a few things together and I’ll be in Bathurst in a matter of hours. You said there was a straight road. If I leave it any longer it will be dark by the time I get there.’ She threw in a parting shot, ‘You wouldn’t want me travelling a night, would you?’

  He groaned and shook his head. ‘Very well. I’ll tell Rudi. I’m not sure
how long I can be without you.’ He pulled her to him and his lips played on hers, then he rested his chin on her head. ‘I love you. Hurry back.’ His warm, husky voice peppered her skin with goose bumps.

  She stepped back, staring up at him, her knees weak. He loved her? He couldn’t say that. Couldn’t think that. She couldn’t love anyone.

  Cottington. Cottington.

  She turned and ran, repeating the word like a mantra until she reached her tent.

  Tilly’s eyes fluttered open and Catherine tiptoed to the bed. Some colour had returned to the woman’s cheeks and the sheen of sweat seemed to have lessened. She poured some water into a pannikin. ‘Can you sit up?’ She slipped her arm under Tilly’s back and eased her upright. ‘Drink this slowly.’

  Tilly sipped at the water and let out a sigh. ‘Becky and Jacky?’

  ‘They’re fine. Watching the girls rehearsing. Have some more water.’

  Tilly drank almost a full pannikin.

  ‘That’s wonderful. Are you feeling any better?’

  ‘A little.’ She pushed the water away.

  ‘I took your promissory notes to the shop.’

  Tilly’s face brightened.

  Catherine couldn’t leave it any longer and if she was going to Bathurst she would need to take all the notes Tilly had. Would she trust her? ‘The store wouldn’t take the promissory notes.’

  Tilly’s eyes widened and she struggled to sit up. ‘Why not?’ Her fingernails, bitten to the quick, fumbled at her waistband. ‘Pete exchanged all his gold. We have nothing else. He was shot because they couldn’t find any of the gold he’d bragged about.’ She pushed back the blankets and struggled upwards

  ‘Sssh. I have a solution but you’ll have to trust me.’

  Fifteen

  Sergey paced alongside the trestle table and looked up at the sky. Catherine had been gone since morning. The weather was fine; no reason to expect that she’d take longer than a few hours. The mail coach made the trip in a couple of hours, a good rider with a good horse could make the journey easily in a similar amount of time. His lips curled into a smile. Catherine was so impatient, the very devil, taking matters into her own hands. He chuckled and strode out beyond the circle of tents. He hadn’t meant to tell her he loved her. He’d promised himself he’d keep it quiet. He couldn’t offer her anything, probably shouldn’t have blurted it out, but hell, it made him feel good. He’d take a walk out to the Bathurst road and wait for her to return.