by Téa Cooper
‘How may I help you?’ A man dressed in a black frock coat approached.
‘I’d like to speak to the manager.’
‘You have an appointment to see Mr Noakes?’ He tilted his head like an inquisitive magpie.
‘My name is Catherine Cottingham. I have some important business to discuss with Mr Noakes.’
He opened his mouth to speak then frowned and closed it again, obviously at a loss. He turned on his heels and strode across the shiny floor to a firmly closed door. He glanced back once more in her direction and then knocked. After a few moments he slipped inside.
A large clock on the wall ticked by the minutes as she waited. The bank was hardly busy. Clerks toiled behind the counter although no customers appeared. Perhaps they were all busy digging for gold. Surely Mr Noakes would have the time to see her.
As soon as she had Tilly’s money she’d be back to the stables behind The Royal Hotel and on the way. She smoothed the remnants of a crease in her skirt and hoped that the bank manager would take in a general view of her attire and not dwell on her scuffed boots and crumpled jacket.
After an interminable wait the door opened and a man in a matching knee-length frock coat and shirt with a high upstanding collar with the pointed ends sticking out walked across to greet her. ‘Miss Cottingham.’ He bent in some semblance of a bow. ‘I’m Mr Noakes, manager of the Bathurst branch of The Union Bank of Australia. Perhaps you’d be good enough to accompany me to my office.’ He stepped back and indicated to the brown door where the young man had vanished.
Once inside he pulled a hard wooden chair from against the wall a little closer to the desk, waited for her to be seated and then with a flurry of coat tails he sat down opposite her in what appeared a well-rehearsed routine.
He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t wish to hurry you, Miss Cottingham, however I have an appointment at nine thirty. How may I help?’
‘I have some promissory notes I would like to cash.’
She loosened the drawstring on her reticule and withdrew the flimsy sheets of paper. Noakes leant forward, his eyes narrowing.
Surely this wasn’t such an unusual occurrence. According to Tilly many of the men in the goldfields chose to exchange their pickings for notes.
Making the first break in his apparent rehearsed routine Noakes pulled a pair of spectacles from a cylindrical case and hooked them over his ears, then stretched out his bony fingers and as good as plucked the notes from her hand.
He peered down at them, turned them over, turned them upside down, held them up to the light then nodded ferociously. ‘I feared as much.’
Catherine’s fingers tightened on her skirt when Noakes removed his glasses. ‘We will not be able to honour these notes.’
She opened her mouth then snapped it shut. Let him explain, far easier to produce the answer he required than jump in and say something foolish.
‘These notes …’ Noakes replaced the wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. ‘We are not currently able to honour these promissory notes.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Colour flooded to her face. So much for remaining cool. All she could see was Tilly’s grey face, Becky and Jacky’s trusting expressions and hear the thin wail of the starving baby. She couldn’t fail them. ‘These notes were offered in exchange for gold found under licence on the Turon River at Wallaby Flat, and issued by the gold buyer at the general store. The note expressly states the sum of ten pounds will be paid to the bearer. Now have I made some mistake? You said this was The Union Bank of Australia, didn’t you?’ She stabbed at the words on the banknote.
Mr Noake’s sigh echoed in the small room. ‘Yes, this is the Union Bank. Perhaps I have been a little lax in my explanation. We are conducting an investigation into the validity of certain notes.’
An investigation? Catherine wiped away a bead of sweat tracking across her forehead to the corner of her eye.
‘It’s my responsibility to ensure that all redeemed promissory notes are legitimate. Unfortunately we have seen a succession of these notes and we are currently …’ he held up his hand, sensing she was about to interrupt, ‘currently unable to honour them until we have confirmed their authenticity.’
‘How can their authenticity be called into question? They carry the Union Bank’s name.’ She looked down at a sheet of letterhead on his desk. ‘The note is identical to the name on this letterhead here.’ She stabbed her finger at the paper.
‘Miss Cottingham, I regret to inform you that these notes are forgeries. There is an error in the pattern here.’ He ran his finger along the ornate spirals framing the words ‘Union Bank’. ‘We are following a line of enquiry and until our investigations are complete we cannot honour them.’ He rose and moved towards the door, indicating their meeting over.
‘This is simply not good enough. What, in the meantime, is Mrs Kenney supposed to do? Her husband is dead and she has three children to support …’ Catherine slapped her hand over her mouth. She’d done exactly what she didn’t want to do. Now there would be no chance of poor Tilly getting her money. These men didn’t give a toss about an impoverished widow.
‘Rest assured, Miss Cottingham, we are on the trail of the man responsible and we will ensure these notes are no longer offered. A bulletin has been issued to that effect—our agents have the matter in hand.’
‘Will the people holding the forged notes be compensated?’
‘If the forger is brought to justice The Union Bank of Australia will ensure he accepts his responsibilities.’
Seventeen
Catherine and Timmy covered the twenty dusty miles in record time. The horses were refreshed and well rested, and for a change the stream of gold diggers were prepared to move to one side of the road to allow them to pass.
‘We should be back in the Turon pretty soon.’ Timmy’s words invaded her thoughts and she lifted her head. ‘Shame Mrs Kenney won’t get her money. What’s she going to do? Rudi won’t put up with this sponging for much longer and I can’t see her doing much around the camp to earn her keep. She’s got those kids to worry about.’
These were the same concerns that had plagued her for the last ten miles. Catherine didn’t relish having to explain to poor Tilly that her notes were worthless and she was so determined not to accept charity. She needed money now, for herself and for her children. If only she still had the gold or even the licence for their claim, but that would have long since lapsed because she couldn’t afford the thirty shillings to renew it, never mind working the claim.
The sun darted and drifted between the clouds, turning the landscape to colours worthy of a painting. Beautiful, but no use to Tilly. She needed money and she needed it now.
Did Tilly have to know her promissory notes hadn’t been cashed? She patted the hem of her jacket, feeling the weight of Archie’s money. If she gave Tilly the money and told her the bank had honoured her promissory notes, no one would be any the wiser. It was the perfect solution. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She could have saved the trek into Bathurst. ‘Come on, Timmy, dig your heels in. Let’s see how quickly we can cover the last few miles.’ She clicked her tongue and loosened Bessie’s reins. ‘Come on, girl, show us your best.’
Bessie’s best didn’t last long because they got caught up in a belligerent influx of people heading for Golden Point. ‘Timmy, let’s leave the road and see if we can find a path parallel with it. There are hardly any trees to block our way as they’ve all been taken for firewood or tent posts. It’ll be much quicker.’
She pulled off the track onto the uneven ground, her eyes constantly scanning ahead, looking for the billowing tents of the camp. It was as though she were returning home. Not permanent, yet a home nonetheless. People made a home. Sergey. Her heart picked up, beating a tattoo that kept rhythm with the pounding of Bessie’s hooves on the hard packed dirt.
‘We’ve made it!’ With an excited cry Timmy overtook her and cantered across the stretch of grass towards the collection of white
tents marking Circus Point.
A couple of hands waved in recognition and she slowed Bessie to a walk. She rode into the horse yard and handed Bessie over to Zac. ‘Before I go, Timmy, can you do something for me?’
‘Sure. What do you want?’
She dragged him aside, away from Zac’s flapping ears. ‘I’m going to tell a little bit of a white lie. I need you to keep your mouth shut.’
He frowned. ‘Thought you were a lady.’
So did she, once upon a time. It hadn’t prevented her from bending the truth. ‘I’m going to tell Tilly the bank cashed her notes.’
He wrinkled frowned. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘Tilly won’t take charity. She needs to get well, not worry about money, so I’m going to give her the money and keep her notes to cash when the bank sorts out the mess.’
‘I get it. So you’re kinda like the bloke at the store, an agent.’
‘Something like that. Think you can keep it under your hat for me?’
‘I’d do just about anything you asked me to do, Miss Catherine.’ His face flushed puce. ‘Course I can.’
‘Thanks. Did you see Sergey when we rode in?’
‘Nope. Saw some of the girls, they know we’re back. News’ll be round by now.’
Then where was Sergey? Her body as good as ached for the touch of his hands. Ever since they’d left she’d imagined his strong arms lifting her out of the saddle. The thought made her pulse ripple beneath her skin.
‘What took you so long? Why didn’t you come back last night?’ His voice ripped through her and she took a step towards him. He held up his hand to stop her. ‘We need to talk.’
Her heart started galloping. Not just talk. She wanted his arms around her, his lips on hers. She swallowed. ‘Timmy and I had to stay the night in Bathurst because the bank was closed when we arrived. How’s Tilly? Is she any better?’
‘She’s much better apparently. When you’ve spoken to her come to Rudi’s tent.’ His black eyes bored into her then narrowed. With that he turned on his heel and disappeared. Nothing like the reception she’d hoped for, longed for.
Minnie sat in a pool of winter sun just inside the tent with the baby cradled in her arms. She smiled and brought her fingers to her lips. Tilly lay on her back, her face still pale, however, there was no sign of her previous fever and grey pallor.
Catherine stepped back out of the tent and waited while Minnie settled the baby in the hipbath that formed a makeshift crib, then joined her. ‘How is she?’
‘Better, I think. Much better. She’s having no trouble feeding the baby and she’s eating. Nothing solid but plenty of soup, gravy and tea.’
‘And the fever?’
‘Good as gone. She’s still weak though, and sleeping a lot.’
‘Then there’s no need for Rudi to worry about an outbreak of typhus.’ Catherine shoved her hands into the pockets of her riding habit and felt the comfortable weight of Archie’s money. ‘I need to get changed and tell Tilly what happened.’
‘Have you got the money?’
‘Everything’s sorted out.’ Or it would be very soon.
‘Catherine?’ Tilly’s voice, so much stronger than before, made Catherine turn back to the tent. Tilly was leaning on her elbow and there was a faint bloom in her cheeks, nothing to do with a fever: the return of health.
She crossed the floor and dropped to her knees by the pallet. ‘You’re feeling better?’
‘Much. Tell me. Did you get our money?’ Hope flared in her eyes, cementing Catherine’s decision. ‘I want to give Rudi the money. He’s been so kind allowing us to stay here.’
‘I have your money, all safe and sound.’ She patted her jacket pocket. ‘Go back to sleep and I’ll tell you the whole story when you’re rested. Make the most of it. Your baby will need you again soon.’
‘Pete.’
‘Pete?’
‘Yes, after his father. He’d like that.’ Tilly’s head rested back on the pillow and she closed her eyes but not before a tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. All well and good to recover her health, now she had to face her uncertain reality. The goldfields were no place for a woman and three children with or without money.
When Tilly woke Catherine would give her the money, tell her the bank had honoured the notes and she could pass the coins onto Rudi. She stroked Tilly’s hair back from her forehead. ‘Sleep well.’ Feeling no sign of a fever she tiptoed past the hipbath where baby Pete slept, his thumb tucked into his mouth.
Sergey stood waiting just outside the tent, his foot tapping and a frown slashing his forehead. ‘Come along. There’s someone you need to meet.’ He tugged at her sleeve and led her around the firepit to Rudi’s tent.
She shrugged off his grip. What had him so fired up? ‘Who?’
He held open the tent flap and Catherine bobbed her head and entered then came to a grinding halt.
Princess Valentina!
Her heart gave a strange tug. Was that why Sergey was behaving so oddly? Perhaps Valentina was upset that she’d stepped in and taken her place. Her heartbeat quickened; she didn’t want to stop riding with the circus, didn’t want to lose the special bond she and Sergey had.
‘Catherine, may I introduce my sister, Valentina.’
The girl, woman, which was she? Close up she looked so very different from the woman she’d last seen in the ring. The woman Bartholomew was so taken with. A strange mixture of pixie and statuesque beauty, with her dark hair curling on her neck and her brown eyes flashing.
Valentina almost jumped from the chair. ‘Sergey’s told me all about you.’
Catherine couldn’t say the same. Sergey had hardly told her anything about Valentina other than the fact she was his sister. She flashed him a look but he turned away.
‘I’m happy to meet you.’ Catherine slumped down on the vacant stool and swallowed. When had Valentina arrived? What had taken her so long? And what had made Sergey so angry?
‘Valentina arrived yesterday.’ Sergey anticipated the first of the myriad questions leaping around inside her head. ‘But first tell us what happened in Bathurst.’
From the expectant looks on Rudi and Sergey’s faces they were more than keen for her answer. Was it any of their business? Tilly would have her money and Mr Noakes would ensure the storekeepers didn’t issue any more of the promissory notes.
Sergey could hardly keep still. His eyes kept flicking to the pile of papers in front of Rudi while his foot started an irritating tattoo in the dirt.
Valentina and Rudi seemed equally unsettled. She fidgeted with the folds of her blue skirt while he drummed his fingers on the table as they edged closer to his ever-present bottle of rum.
Catherine let out a huge breath. Was she going to tell them that the bank had refused to honour the promissory notes or the story she’d given Tilly? Now she wished she’d waited, spoken to Sergey first. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘I’ll bet it is.’ Rudi’s growl made her skin prickle.
‘Start at the beginning.’ Sergey prompted, his arms folded across his broad chest as he stood over her. ‘You and Timmy left here yesterday afternoon. Why stay the night in Bathurst?’
‘The road was clogged. I told you. When we arrived the bank had closed so I took a room at The Royal Hotel. I was on the doorstep when the bank opened this morning.’
‘Dressed in that very fetching riding habit. How could anyone resist you?’ Valentina interrupted, earning herself a scowl of reprimand from her brother. She laughed and rocked back in her chair. ‘Such things are important to a woman.’
A surge of relief ran hot through Catherine’s veins. Valentina at least seemed to be friendly. ‘I asked to see the manager, Mr Noakes.’
Rudi opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap when he and Sergey exchanged one of their glances. A trickle of sweat began its slow journey down the back of her neck. The charged atmosphere had nothing to do with Valentina’s frivolous comment. Something else had happened.
Now wasn’t the time to explain what she intended to do for Tilly. She made her decision. She’d stick to her story. ‘The bank honoured the notes. It seems there was some mistake and no more will be issued.’ That was close enough, wasn’t it? Hardly a lie. Mr Noakes had been adamant that the man responsible for the forgeries would be held accountable. All the storekeepers would be informed and the diggers would be warned not to accept the promissory notes. No one else need suffer as Tilly might have done.
‘Well, well, well. What a surprise.’
‘Valentina!’ Sergey sat down on the edge of the table, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He might have thought he looked relaxed but the tension poured from him in waves. ‘So you left with the coin. Without any problems?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Her voice steadied as her lie settled.
Another loaded look shot between the two men and Sergey’s jaw clenched. ‘This Mr Noakes, did he have anyone with him?’
‘No. Well, yes he did. His assistant.’ She was suddenly cold, chilled to the bone.
Sergey’s eyes, like chips of coal, hard and flat, studied her with an unreadable expression. ‘His assistant?’
‘Yes, a boy, with a sharp nose.’
A blue vein pulsed at Sergey’s temple and his gaze bore into her face as though waiting for her to say something more.
‘Tilly’s notes have been honoured.’
‘How did that come about?’
It was none of Sergey’s business. This was Tilly’s money and she needed it. If she told Rudi, or Sergey, she’d given Tilly the money they’d be furious. They would tell her she’d once again involved the circus in matters that were none of their business. Rudi would force Tilly out of the camp. She’d be thrown back to the awful gunya on the riverbank amongst the canvas shanties where she and the baby would more than likely fall victim to typhus. Rudi was less interested in Tilly and her children than the persistent rats that plagued the camp.
If Tilly could pay her way Rudi might let her stay at Circus Point. ‘He said there’d been some discrepancies and the matter was resolved.’ Not strictly the truth but close enough, certainly until she found out what was going on between these three. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’ She raised her eyebrows.