A Wicked Deception

by Tanner, Margaret

  “By law, the child of a slave mother is automatically a slave, regardless of who fathered it.”

  His callousness made her shiver, and James’ lips compressed. Clearly realizing he did not have a sympathetic audience, Tom steered the conversation back to more mundane things. She heaved a sigh of relief when he left a short time afterwards. In all conscience she didn’t want anything to do with a slave owner.

  ***

  The night of the ball finally arrived. Melanie had been plagued with nerves over the preceding days, excitement about going to her first ball tempered by worry. What if she did something wrong and made a fool of herself? What if she got herself talked about because she didn’t have a chaperone? At times like this she really missed her mother. They would have had such fun planning a special gown, experimenting with hairstyles.

  The white muslin gown she had sewn was cut rather low, exposing more bare flesh than she had ever showed in public before. The flounced skirt, supported by numerous petticoats, sat out beautifully, emphasizing her tiny waist.

  She dressed her hair carefully, drawing it back from a centre parting with ringlets falling over her shoulders. If there had been another woman to help her, she would have worn an even more sophisticated style.

  Robbie strode into the room and skidded to a halt. “You look….” He swallowed several times. “Beautiful.”

  “Yes you do.” James stared at her as if he couldn’t quite believe what he saw. “You’re so grown up.”

  Their lavish praise eased the nervous tension in her stomach and stilled her trembling knees.

  Robbie wore black trousers and a loosely knotted white silk tie. His navy knee length evening coat had large buttons down the front.

  “You look handsome,” she said, not even trying to disguise her admiration in front of James. “Where did you get the clothes from?”

  “Borrowed them.” He gave a cheeky grin, his eyes sparkling with devilment.

  Draping her mother’s dark green velvet cloak around her shoulders, she slipped her hand through Robbie’s arm. A coach drawn by a pair of black horses and driven by a liveried coachman waited in the front yard. James whistled in astonishment.

  She swallowed several times because her throat felt constricted. “Did you hire it especially for tonight?” she asked, in a voice husky with wonder.

  Robbie laughed, and, ignoring James’ frown, brushed her forehead with his lips. “For the prettiest girl in Ballarat, nothing is too good.”

  “Thank you, this is going to be a night I’ll never forget, but where did you get the money from?”

  “I stashed a bit away,” he said evasively, as he helped her into the coach. When her skirts were settled over the red velvet seat he sat opposite and clasped her hand.

  “Have a good time both of you,” James said, “and Robbie, take good care of her. I really think you should have organized a chaperone.”

  “Who would I get? Anyway, everyone thinks we’re cousins. I’d never do anything to tarnish her reputation. I’d die for Melanie, you know that.”

  They didn’t speak for a time, both of them too intent on enjoying the unfamiliar luxury of riding in such a grand coach. No horse to control, no buggy to drive, nothing to do except sit on the gloriously soft seats and indulge their senses, soak up the ambience.

  Finally she broke the silence. “You shouldn’t spend your money on me like this.”

  “Why not? I want you to have a night you’ll always remember.”

  No moon or stars lit their way because heavy banked up clouds had swallowed up the sky. She shivered in her light clothing, but a foot warmer on the floor of the coach kept her feet cozy. As they breasted a hill, she gazed out into the distance. Hundreds of fires burning brightly outside the diggers’ tents created a beautiful, if eerie scene.

  The Commissioner of Police’s residence, three miles out of Ballarat, was the venue for the ball. The mansion stood in a large beautiful garden, lit by ornamental lanterns strategically positioned around the grounds. The carriage wheels crunched on the gravel drive, and when they turned into a large courtyard, she gasped in surprise at the line of opulent coaches.

  Light spilled out from practically every window of the large double storey house. Robbie helped her out of the coach with a hand at her elbow and her feet sank into something soft. A scarlet carpet strip, rolled out from the courtyard area to the marble steps leading on to the verandah, saved her dainty evening slippers from getting wet and muddied.

  With her arm now linked through Robbie’s she felt quite regal as he escorted her inside. A uniformed manservant took her cloak, and a maid showed them into a stately reception room. A large portrait of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, in coronation robes hung in a gold frame on the wall opposite the door.

  A waiter approached them, and Robbie picked up a glass for each of them. She had never tasted champagne before and the bubbles got up her nose as she nervously gulped down a couple of mouthfuls.

  Glancing at the elegant silk and taffeta gowns worn by the other ladies added to her feelings of insignificance. Diamonds, rubies, and other precious stones, twinkled about their throats, wrists and fingers. Her simple gold cross looked as out of place here as she did.

  She recognized some of the guests by sight or from seeing their pictures in the newspapers. Prominent leaders of the community, wealthy landowners, all well represented here tonight. People like herself and Robbie did not belong with judges, surgeons and the landed gentry.

  Robbie wandered away from her, and as she desperately glanced around trying to find him, she spied Tom Ogilvy. When she waved to him he strolled over.

  “Good evening. Care to dance, Miss O’Dea?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she accepted eagerly, desperate to get away from the scrutiny of several haughty ladies who didn’t bother concealing their curiosity as to why someone like her would attend a function such as this.

  An eight-piece orchestra played a waltz, one of the few dances in her limited repertoire.

  Tom proved to be an accomplished dancer. “You waltz very well, Miss O’Dea, you’re as light as thistledown.”

  “Thank you.” She gave a nervous trill of laughter. “You dance well, too.”

  When the dance ended, Tom escorted her from the floor and back to her seat. She cast nervous glances at several well-dressed, obviously wealthy guests. Stewards, wearing red coats with blue collars, gilt buttons on their flaps and cuffs, and blue waistcoats over black breeches, scurried by, adding to the atmosphere.

  Michael entered the reception room with Priscilla clinging to his arm. His expression registered surprise at seeing Melanie, but he smiled and inclined his head. Priscilla, after giving her a haughty glance, rudely turned her back.

  How dare she? Melanie fumed. Who did this woman think she was?

  “May I have the next dance?” Tom led her on to the dance floor before she could frame a refusal. His face appeared flushed now, and he held her much closer than on the previous occasion. His breath, heavy with the smell of spirits, stirred her hair.

  Thank goodness when the dance finished he led her back to where Robbie stood. So, he had decided to honor her with his presence had he? She ignored him and accepted Tom’s offer to dance again. Robbie scowled fiercely but she didn’t care. Why bother bringing her here if he kept on disappearing? It was humiliating and she wouldn’t put up with it.

  An hour or so after his arrival Michael strolled over.

  “Would you do me the honor of the next dance?” He smiled and held out his hand.

  “Thank you, I’d like that.” He escorted her on to the dance floor. She couldn’t understand why no other man except Robbie and Tom had asked her to dance. She might not be the prettiest girl in the room, but certainly wasn’t the ugliest either.

  “You look enchanting, my dear,” Michael whispered in her ear. “You dance well, too. I’ve been watching.”

  “Thank you, I learnt from an expert.”

  “Oh!” He quirked an enquiring eyebr
ow.

  “You. Don’t you remember?” She laughed. “James accompanied us on the piano in your drawing room.”

  “Ah yes, I’d forgotten. Tell me, what are you doing here?”

  “Robbie brought me. He won two tickets in a card game.”

  “Rubbish. That young devil is up to something.”

  “Please.” Her lips trembled. “Don’t spoil things for me. I’ve had a wonderful evening. Robbie arranged for us to come in a fine coach with velvet seats and a liveried coachman. I felt like a princess.”

  “You’re so sweet.” With one finger he pushed back a stray tendril of hair that had worked its way loose and fallen across her cheek.

  “So, here you are, Michael.” Priscilla minced up to them. She offered no greeting, so the smile froze on Melanie’s lips

  His hand dropped away. “Priscilla, I wondered where you were. You remember Melanie?”

  “Of course. Lord and Lady Beckworth have been asking for you.”

  “We’d better not keep them waiting. Thank you for the dance, my dear.” He bowed slightly.

  “Goodbye.” Melanie bit her lip to stop the angry words spilling out of her mouth at Priscilla’s snub. What a horrible, rude creature.

  They made a striking couple. Priscilla’s gown of lemon silk sat low at the front, showing the swell of creamy white breasts, and her skirt belling out over numerous petticoats emphasized her tiny waistline.

  Tom walked towards her with an uneven gait. “I’ve been s … searching for you.” He slurred his words. “It’s hot in here.” He ran a trembling finger around his collar. “Let’s take some fresh air on the terrace.”

  She shook her head. Casting a desperate glance around the room, she searched for Robbie who was nowhere to be seen. He had neglected her shamefully. She would have no hesitation in telling him so at the first opportunity. Tom grabbed her hand, his fingers bit into her flesh as he dragged her through the double glass doors opening on to the empty terrace.

  “Cold, beautiful princess?” he asked, as she shivered. “I can warm you up.” He put his arms around her shoulders.

  She tried pulling away, but he held her firmly. She wanted to scream and kick out at him, but sensed this would be useless as her puny strength couldn’t match his. Keep calm, she told herself. Dear God, why had she agreed to dance with him so often? Why hadn’t she refused him? Told Michael or Robbie about him pestering her? Her own foolishness had placed her in this awful position, but if she remained calm, she might be able to extricate herself without creating a scene.

  “We should go back inside, I don’t have a cloak.” She gave a nervous, high pitched laugh.

  “Not yet, pretty girl.”

  Before she realized his intention, he pulled her body hard up against his own. His mouth closing over hers cut off a scream. His slopping wet lips, tasted of alcohol. He kissed her brutally, crushed her body so hard against him, breathing proved impossible. Kicking at his legs was useless against his superior male strength. She fought for survival. Desperately punched at his shoulders, using her fists with all the strength she could muster. If her hand had made contact with his face she would have scratched his eyes out. Everything started going black. Then she was free.

  “Touch her again, Ogilvy, and you’re a dead man,” Robbie snarled. He shoved Tom away and positioned himself between them.

  “Oh Robbie.” She sagged against him with relief.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  Tears of relief pooled in her eyes. “He wouldn’t let me go.” The tears poured down her cheeks. Why was she acting so foolishly now the danger had passed? Robbie draped his arms around her, and she rested her face against his chest.

  “As for you, Ogilvy, you’re lucky I don’t kill you.”

  “I only took a few kisses. She liked them too.”

  “I hated them. I hate you, you despicable, drunken pig.”

  “So innocent looking, aren’t you,” Tom sneered. “I wanted a few kisses. Not much to ask from a mining town whore.”

  Robbie lunged at him. His fist contacted so hard with Tom’s mouth it knocked him to the ground.

  “I’ll get you for this, Pritchard,” Tom threatened as he rose groggily to his feet and advanced towards them, fists raised. “I’ll get even with you too, Miss prim and proper Melanie. That’s a promise.” He swung away from them and stomped off muttering obscenities.

  How good it felt being held in Robbie’s close, comforting embrace. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

  “Why on earth did you come out here with him?” Robbie demanded.

  “He made me, gripped my hand so tightly I couldn’t get free without creating a scene.” She broke away from him, remembering how he had neglected her for most of the night. “Anyway, where were you? You dumped me here and left.”

  “I’m sorry, Mel. You have to believe me. Something serious came up – about the miners. I can’t tell you what, but I always kept an eye on you. I saw Ogilvy dragging you outside, bastard.”

  “I can’t go inside, I must look frightful.”

  “You are a bit messed up.” He took her hand, squeezing her fingers reassuringly as he led her from the terrace around to the front verandah. “I’ll go in this way to collect your cloak. There shouldn’t be anyone around at the moment as supper is being served.”

  He strode inside, leaving her alone on the verandah. If he hadn’t come to her rescue the consequences could have been dire. You fool. Just because Robbie neglected her she had allowed Tom to take liberties.

  When Robbie returned with her cloak, he laid it gently across her shoulders, and she fumbled with the tie until he lifted her hands away. “Let me.” He adjusted it carefully. His knuckles brushed her cheek accelerating her heartbeat.

  His breath, with only a trace of whisky on it, warmed her face. “Oh Melanie, you’re so beautiful.” He groaned and gave her a quick kiss. “I wish we could get away from James, the diggings, everything, just the two of us.”

  “I wish we could too.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “We’d better get out of here.” He stepped back a pace. “If Ogilvy spills his guts in there, I’ll probably be arrested for assaulting a police officer. Drunken bastard.”

  “Robbie! Stop swearing all the time.”

  “Well, he is. Wouldn’t have dared take such liberties with one of the gentry, but he didn’t mind treating you like a whore. Lucky I wasn’t carrying a gun, otherwise I’d have shot him down like the mongrel dog he is.”

  “Don’t talk like that. It’s dangerous. You could get into serious trouble if the authorities heard you.”

  When she settled herself into the beautifully cushioned interior of the coach and arranged her skirts, Robbie slipped in beside her and signaled the driver for them to be off.

  They held hands in the darkness. Huge eucalypts bordering the road seemed black, almost grotesque, and she shivered, pulling her cloak around her more securely. This special night had been ruined by Tom Ogilvy. She should never have agreed to dance with him so often. He probably took it as an invitation to treat her like white trash. She once read in a book that’s how wealthy southern folk thought of ordinary working class people. A memorable occasion had been totally ruined by a drunken slave owner.

  When they arrived at the homestead, a lamp stilled burned. Please God, let James be in bed. She would be incapable right now of pretending the evening had been enjoyable. To go through one of his probing inquisitions would be an absolute impossibility. Robbie helped her out of the coach and motioned to the driver to leave them.

  “I’m sorry about your night being ruined.” He pulled her into his arms, and his mouth moved on hers. Tentative at first, but when her lips trembled in response, his kisses grew fierce, hungry, demanding a response that she willingly gave. His hand slid under the neckline of her gown. His fingers caressed the top of one breast.

  “Oh, Robbie I love you so much.”

  His heated skin burned like a firebrand. Passion consumed
her. It came from deep within, sizzling along her veins until her whole body felt as if it had been caught in a massive fireball. Her nipples hardened, thrusting against the material of her gown. A whirling sensation built up in the pit of her stomach.

  “Oh, God.” He finally dragged himself away, and she heard him gulping air into his lungs.

  She trembled at the depth of feeling they aroused in each other.

  “You’d better go inside,” he said, in a voice raw with emotion. “Before James catches us and takes a stock whip to me.”

  ***

  August 1854

  The new Governor for Victoria, Sir Charles Hotham, arrived at the diggings. As Melanie let James help her down from the buggy, excitement and hope surged through her. For such a distinguished person to visit the diggings must mean the miners were going to receive fairer treatment from now on. An expectant murmur rippled through the crowd as he began to speak.

  His speech started out conciliatory, he took up a relaxed pose and a slight smile tugged at his lips. Someone at the back of the crowd booed him and his stance became rigid, his tone instantly changing. “Let there be no mistake, I will be taking a tougher stance than my predecessors. I will not tolerate lawlessness. I proclaim that from now on license searchers will be increased to twice weekly.”

  Angry muttering raced through the crowd and Melanie shivered with trepidation. The Governor’s proclamation was inflammatory. He obviously wanted trouble so the army redcoats could come in and crush the miners once and for all.

  ***

  Winter turned into spring and the apple and peach trees in their orchard became laden with white and pink blossom. Wild flowers bloomed profusely, their perfume wafting on the breeze. This is my favorite time of year, with new life bursting forth everywhere, a time of hope and renewal.

  She was kneading bread dough when the pounding of hooves broke the quietness of the day. Rushing outside, she was shocked to see Robbie leap off his horse. He looked so pale with his burning eyes the only vestige of color left in his face.