A Wicked Deception

by Tanner, Margaret

  It took five trips to and from the well to fill up the big iron pots on the stove. Annie and Mrs. Smith had started work in the kitchen by this time. Annie smiled shyly, a nice girl, intimidated by the bullying housekeeper.

  In a gentleman’s household like this, there would have once been twice the number of domestic servants, but it proved hard, if not impossible, getting workers of any kind in the midst of gold fever.

  What a terrible morning. Melanie was ordered to scrub the kitchen floor. The cold flagged stones dug into her knees, and it didn’t take long for her wrists and shoulders to start aching.

  Mrs. Smith prepared picnic hampers bulging with cold chickens, pressed tongue, several varieties of cheese, fruit and salad vegetables. Fresh scones with tiny pots of jam were packed into wicker baskets, as well as several varieties of cakes and biscuits, plus eight bottles of French champagne.

  Melanie stared at the baskets enviously. A few years ago she and James had spent many a happy day with Michael, shared his picnic hampers, and rode his thoroughbred horses.

  Wandering to the window, her eyes were drawn to Michael, resplendent in beautifully cut breeches and jacket, mounted on a grey stallion. The women rode sidesaddle, and wore the most fashionable riding habits, with pretty feather-trimmed felt hats.

  Eight people had assembled, but from this far away she could not see any of the other guests clearly enough to recognize them. Not much chance of her having met any of them before, though. Michael numbered titled gentry amongst his friends now. Doubtful whether the ladies would go on the hunt with the men, more likely they would find a suitable place to relax until the hunters returned.

  The hunting party did not arrive back until late afternoon. While the ladies rested, the men relaxed with drinks on the side verandah. Michael’s valet organized refreshments from a private cellar, in another wing of the house.

  Dinner was served promptly at nine o’clock. Melanie followed Juliet into the dining room. She carried a Crown Derby tureen with the lid lavishly decorated with flowers.

  Lady Priscilla sat resplendent in a gown of white organdie. A gold choker encrusted with rubies encircled her throat. Sitting at the table, wearing a burgundy jacket and a leer on his handsome face was Tom Ogilvy. Melanie’s hands shook so badly the soup almost slopped out of the tureen.

  The colorful gowns of the women, the perfect tailoring of the men’s clothes, would normally have interested her, but not any more.

  As she served Tom his soup, his hand, hidden by the tablecloth, grabbed her skirt.

  She sprang back, almost upsetting the tureen in her hurry.

  “Take your filthy hands off me.” Conversation at the table ceased abruptly, followed by a shocked silence.

  “How dare you, a mere servant, abuse a gentleman?” Priscilla’s voice rose shrilly.

  “A gentleman? You call him a gentleman?” Melanie glared at Priscilla. “What gentleman would go about insulting young women? Would victimize and persecute innocent miners because they don’t carry their licenses with them? He’s nothing but a sadistic, brutal, slave owning pig,” she recklessly shot the words out.

  “Apologize to Mr. Ogilvy at once.” Michael leapt to his feet. “I will not have such vile talk in my home.”

  “Why should I? It’s the truth.”

  Priscilla looked ready to swoon, while Michael’s face turned white with rage, and a vein pulsed in his neck.

  “This man took a whip to my brother. Did it give you satisfaction putting welts all over his face?” Angry tears filled her eyes.

  “Melanie, I demand you apologize to my guests.”

  “I’d burn in hell before apologizing to the likes of him.” She raced out of the room and down the hallway, half expecting to hear Michael dashing after her.

  She rushed through the kitchen on her way to the back door. The cool evening air brushed her face, and as she hurtled into the darkness, tears scalded her cheeks.

  Her headlong flight stopped beside a huge gum tree down the farthermost end of the garden, and she rested her damp cheek against the rough bark of its trunk. An owl hooted, the howl of a wild dog echoed mournfully in the stillness, answered immediately by the barking of station dogs. Stars twinkled and the moon bathed the garden in silver light.

  “Melanie! Where are you?” Annie’s voice floated on the night air.

  “I’m over here, next to the big gum tree.” She tried to pull herself together so as not to upset her young friend.

  “Did you ever cause a fuss? Juliet had to get the smelling salts for one of the ladies then help Lady Priscilla to bed. She said Mr. Guilford is furious, intends dismissing you. As for Mr. Ogilvy, he stormed out of the house and rode off.” Annie told the tale with relish.

  “I don’t care what happens to me. I told the truth. Ogilvy took a riding crop to my brother. Dragged him away in chains like some wild beast, all because I wouldn’t allow him to take liberties at a ball.”

  “I didn’t think you were an ordinary domestic servant.”

  “I’m not. I owe Michael Guilford five pounds. Once I pay the money back, I’ll never set foot on this wretched place again.”

  “Mrs. Smith sent me out to get you, wants us to clean up. She’s angry too. You should be careful. She’s treated you mean right from the start, now things will be even worse.”

  The two girls traipsed towards the house. Melanie wiped the tears away from her face with the corner of her apron, before following Annie into the kitchen. Pride stopped her from letting the housekeeper see how upset she was. Mrs. Smith hovered like an avenging angel. Instead of the angry rush of words she expected, the woman looked her up and down and smiled grimly.

  “I’d hate to be in your shoes by the time Lady Priscilla finishes with you tomorrow. You won’t have Mr. Guilford here to protect you, either. He leaves for Melbourne early in the morning and won’t be back for several days, so I hear.”

  Melanie knew they would try and break her spirit now, but she would stay here until the debt was paid or die in the attempt. She didn’t even bother answering the housekeeper.

  Strangely, she slept well that night, not waking up until morning. Once again she dressed and washed in semi-darkness. It would never be light in this dungeon as there were no windows, only a wire vent to let in some air.

  She stirred up the fire in the kitchen and replenished it with several logs, before preparing the water for Priscilla’s bath. Annie said Priscilla always took an early morning bath before breakfast, then returned to bed for a few hours. Oh, to be rich and idle. Such a pampered young woman would never have done a day’s work in her life, not with numerous servants pandering to her every whim. What would she know of the hardships endured by the miners and their families?

  Priscilla apparently insisted on clean bed linen and a fresh nightgown each morning. She would be eating alone now Michael had gone to Melbourne, because her chaperone, Mrs. Knightsbridge, still lay stricken in bed with gout. The orders were that the dining room table still needed to be set up with a fancy cloth, the best silverware and bone china. So much extra work because a spiteful, selfish woman considered no one but herself.

  Straight after lunch, Melanie found out what this spoilt creature had in store, by way of punishment, for last night’s outburst. Priscilla raged at her for what seemed like hours, condemning her as a lazy, stupid interloper. “Laundry,” she finally spat out. “That’s your job from now on,” and minced off.

  ***

  Melanie entered the stone laundry building to be met by a wall of stifling heat from the large fires serving the coppers. Perspiration broke out on her forehead within seconds.

  An old crone supervised a part aboriginal girl who listlessly transferred scalding sheets from the copper with the aid of a stick, then dumped them in a trough of cold water. Melanie jumped back from the hissing steam.

  Like a witch leaning over her cauldron, the crone stabbed a bony finger at Melanie. “You girl, get over there and stir the lard for soap and candles.”

>   The nauseating stench from the back of the room almost overpowered Melanie, but she took up the wooden stick and started stirring the boiling mixture.

  “That’s Belle.” The woman jerked her head at the girl. “I’m Mrs. Prince. Mrs. Didn’t think I got a man, did you?” Mrs. Prince cackled like a demented rooster.

  How could a person endure working under such extreme conditions? It would be hard, no use denying that. Priscilla would try to break her in Michael’s absence.

  Chapter Four

  A week of sheer drudgery crawled by. Melanie’s back and arms ached, her hands became chafed and red, but she kept doggedly working. Where she got the strength from she didn’t know. Pride stopped her from taking up the offer Priscilla had made through Mrs. Smith. “If you want a change of job, apologize for your outrageous behavior.”

  Never, she vowed, pummeling the clothes vigorously. She yelped when scalding water splashed up on to the back of one hand. An angry red mark instantly appeared. No point complaining to Mrs. Prince, there would be scant sympathy, more likely abuse for being so careless.

  Melanie dry retched every time she watched Belle and Mrs. Prince eat greasy mutton chops with hunks of bread for lunch. Neither seemed to mind the numerous flies crawling all over their food, death from starvation would be preferable.

  Most days Annie sneaked down with some bread and butter. Today she had brought down the bread and two slices of cold lamb wrapped in a cloth, and they sat in the shade of a tree to eat it.

  “You look terrible.” Annie touched Melanie’s cheek in a gesture of sympathy. “You’ll die if you stay in here. Mr. Guilford arrived home yesterday, why don’t you try and see him.”

  “Never.” Melanie dropped the bread back on the cloth after taking a couple of nibbles. “I wouldn’t give Priscilla the satisfaction of seeing me in this state.” And she did look awful. Each morning she glanced into the filthy fly-spotted mirror, but it couldn’t hide her pale skin and sunken eyes.

  She ate her breakfast and evening meal in the kitchen, but felt too exhausted to eat properly. If Annie didn’t sneak her down some food for lunch, she went without.

  The temptation to take the easy way out and ask for lighter work became stronger each day. Only the thought of Priscilla’s triumph stopped her. They could burn her at the stake, flog her at the whipping triangle. She would never take back what she said about Tom Ogilvy.

  Outside the laundry the sun poured down, but inside a furnace like blast enveloped everything. She picked up the bread again and listlessly chewed at it. After a few bites she shoved it in her apron pocket so Belle could have it later on. The poor girl devoured her food like a starving dog.

  “Thank you for bringing this down, Annie, but you shouldn’t take such a risk. No telling what Mrs. Smith will do if she catches you.”

  Giving her friend a wave, Melanie wearily trudged back inside to start boiling a fresh lot of lard for candles and soap.

  Melanie worked with the sleeves of her dress rolled up to the elbows and usually undid the top two buttons on her bodice. Several ugly burns scarred her arms, where she had accidentally knocked up against the copper. The scald mark on her hand still throbbed. If it started to blister she would have to get Annie to put some salve on it so it wouldn’t get infected.

  How could anyone work in this place at the height of summer without completely melting away?

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  She raised her head on hearing the enraged male voice and let out a gasp of shock as Robbie marched towards her.

  “So, this is what working for Guilford means. Out.” His fist was raised, his eyes blazed. She had never seen him so enraged. “You can stay with us until James gets home. Our tent is better than this … this hell hole.”

  He strode towards her, but skidded to a halt when he got up close. His eyes blazed as they swept her from head to foot. His jaw clenched. “How the hell could you let them do this to you?” he raged. “I ought to kill Guilford.”

  Straightening up, she ran her hand across her aching lower back. “Don’t carry on, I’m all right.”

  “All right! Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?” He grabbed her hand and dragged her out into the sunlight.

  “Where are we going?” she asked wearily, brushing a trembling hand across her perspiration soaked forehead.

  “To see bloody Guilford. Who else?”

  “Please.” She tugged at his hand. “I’ll come home with you now, but don’t say anything to Michael. He wasn’t even here when I started working in the laundry. Priscilla came up with that idea.”

  With one hand gripped tightly in his, she had to follow him. He dragged her through the kitchen, completely ignoring an outraged gasp from Mrs. Smith.

  “Have Melanie’s bag packed by the time I get back.” He threw the words out over his shoulder. “I suppose the Honorable Michael, in the company of his lady, are in the drawing room sharing afternoon refreshments?”

  He strode up the hallway, propelling Melanie along until they came to the drawing room. Letting go her hand, he shoved the door open with such force it slammed against the wall.

  “Guilford, I want a word with you.”

  Melanie watched from the doorway as Robbie marched towards Michael, who sat on a couch next to Priscilla, sipping tea.

  “How dare you let Melanie slave in your laundry.”

  “What on earth are you raving about?” Michael rose from his seat and stood with his legs slightly apart, one hand thrust into his pocket. “She helped out in the kitchen.”

  “Like hell,” Robbie yelled. “That bitch next to you made her slave in the laundry.”

  “Michael!” Priscilla’s hands flew in shocked outrage to her face.

  “Leave my house.” Michael clenched his hands into fists at his side. A pulse convulsed in his throat and a red flush stained his cheeks.

  “We’re going, but before we do, look at this.” In two strides he went back to Melanie and pulled her into the room. “Show him, Mel.” He pushed her towards Michael. “What do you say about this?” Robbie held up her burnt hand. “Your arms, let him see those too.”

  She watched Michael’s face contort. He expelled a shocked noisy breath.

  “You can’t think I knew about this, I….” he trailed off, as if realizing by defending himself he admitted Priscilla’s guilt.

  “You did this.” Robbie turned his fury on Priscilla. “You snooty bitch. Forcing Melanie to slave in the laundry. Making her sleep in a dingy cellar under the kitchen.”

  “Cellar?” Michael’s lips thinned. “I left instructions for Melanie to have one of the guest rooms.”

  “She slept on a bed with no linen and one lousy candle for light. Come on.” He tugged at her hand. “Poor we might be, but even a tent on the diggings would be more comfortable.”

  Without another word they started across the room.

  “Melanie.”

  She hesitated, before turning around. Michael stayed standing, the color slowing returning to his face. “You have to believe me, I’m truly sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Goodbye, Michael.”

  She ignored Priscilla, who sat with her head tilted arrogantly to one side. They hurried into the hallway, then through to the kitchen where Annie waited with her bag.

  “Goodbye, Annie.” Pointedly turning her back on the housekeeper, Melanie smiled at the younger girl.

  With her hand in Robbie’s they left via the back door, which he slammed viciously. There had been no sign of Juliet who always seemed busy running errands for her demanding mistress. No sign of the elusive Mrs. Knightsbridge either.

  Robbie helped her mount his horse first, put the bag in her hand, and swung himself up in the saddle behind her. “A bit awkward.” He grinned, as he put his hands around her so he could hold the reins. “I would have brought your horse over if I’d realized you were coming back with me.”

  “What made you come?” She leaned back against him. What a relief, lett
ing him take command of an intolerable situation, but she had come out of it well, her pride still intact, spirit undaunted.

  “I missed you. When I visited the kitchen asking where you were, the girl Annie told me what happened. I wanted to kill someone. After I saw the state you were in, I just couldn’t let you stay. James would have flogged me.”

  “I’m glad you came. The whole situation had become unbearable. You shouldn’t blame Michael. He left all the domestic arrangements to Priscilla. She wanted revenge for what I said to Tom Ogilvy at her dinner party.” She explained what happened.

  He gave a low whistle. “You only told the truth. Apart from being bloody snobbish, I reckon Michael Guilford is spying for the military. ”

  “He wouldn’t do such a despicable thing.”

  “Of course he would. You should have seen him at the ball, thick as thieves with the commissioner. I heard he’s distantly related to Sir Charles Hotham.”

  They lapsed into silence for a time. The sounds of the bush and the horse’s hooves soothed her. How good it felt having Robbie’s arms locked around her, the warmth of his strong male body and the feel of his heart pounding against her back. Her eyes grew heavy. She blinked several times before giving up the struggle to keep them open.

  Melanie awoke with a start. She must have dozed off. Poor Robbie, not only did he have to support her weight, he had to hold the carpetbag as well.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right, you’re worn out. We’ll be at the diggings soon. Father will insist you stay with us until James returns from the drive.”

  “I could go home. I’m not frightened of being on my own.”

  “Father will insist, so would James. We don’t have much room, but I can hang up a blanket to give you some privacy.”

  After the fearsome loneliness of the cellar, it would be nice to sleep near people again for the next week or two. “All right, but I’ll have to go home every second day to do my baking and washing. The conditions on the diggings are too primitive for me.”