A Wicked Deception

by Tanner, Margaret

  The diggings were a hive of industry as usual. Red-shirted miners scurried every which way. Because of the summer heat, many of the men discarded their woolen shirts in favor of lighter cotton ones.

  “Are they still conducting the digger hunts?” she asked.

  “Yes, and getting more brutal every day. The violence is escalating. I think they’re doing it on purpose to incite the miners. They only want an excuse to bring the redcoats in.”

  “It’s terrible. I wish your father would leave the goldfields, I’m frightened for both of you.”

  “He won’t go. Want to hear something funny? The troopers tried to raid one of the illegal grog shops.” Robbie laughed. “A couple of dogs attacked them. Should have heard them squeal, one of them got the backside ripped out of his pants. God, we enjoyed watching it. I suppose you wouldn’t have heard about the Eureka Hotel murder?”

  “No. I received no news the whole time I stayed at Guilford Lodge. What happened?”

  “A couple of diggers met up to have a drink at one of the local hotels but were refused admittance. A dispute sprung up and some of the hotel people ambushed them on the way home. One fellow ended up getting killed. Everyone reckons Bentley, the owner, and his wife did it.”

  “How awful! What happened then?”

  “Well, the police took them into custody, Bentley and his wife I mean, but they let them out after a couple of days. A digger gets killed, but the authorities don’t give a damn.”

  Like a lightening bolt, shock surged through her.

  “It’s true. Some of the diggers called a meeting on the exact spot where the fellow got killed. They raised a thousand pounds to use as a reward to find the real murderers. Once the police arrived, the trouble started. You know something.” He absently rubbed her arm. “Once the diggers finished, not one pane of glass remained in Bentley’s hotel. Things really got out of hand, so the commissioner sent for the redcoats. That inflamed things even more and someone set fire to the hotel and it burned to the ground.”

  “Oh no!”

  “I wish I’d been there, I’m not afraid of English redcoats.”

  “Be careful what you say, someone might be listening. The police are sure to have spies.” She shivered because his reckless ranting was not only frightening, but downright dangerous.

  They dismounted, and he put hobbles on his horse so it could graze. No such thing as a stable for this mount, a hardy stock horse, unused to pampering. Robbie had trained him well. He only needed to whistle and the horse would trot to his side.

  Robbie waved to several diggers. He was well known amongst them, being one of the greatest agitators for improving conditions on the goldfields. A young rebel prepared to die for his cause. Even though she loved him and admired his bravery, she feared for him.

  Uncle Alex was still out working when they arrived at the small, cramped tent. Waving away her arguments, Robbie dragged his father’s bed nearer to the living area, before fixing a rope across the end portion near his own bed. Flinging a blanket across the rope he effectively made a private, if primitive, room for her.

  “Am I to have your bed?”

  “Yes, I’ll sleep under the stars. I prefer it now the weather is warmer. I only need a couple of blankets.” He scrutinized her carefully. “You’ve lost weight, and your hair has gone all dull and listless.”

  He touched a wayward tendril with a warm, callused finger. His eyes, staring straight into hers, blazed brilliantly blue. Hot with passion.

  “I know it looks terrible, but there wasn’t time to brush it each night. After the first few days I collapsed into bed straight after dinner. Wonder if my aching back will ever be the same again.” She grimaced.

  “Settle yourself in and have a rest. I suppose I’d better go and help Father.” He kissed her on the mouth, not much more than a feather light touch of his lips, but every nerve ending tingled. When he stepped away she felt bereft, deprived of something special.

  Slipping off her gown, she lay down on the bed in her petticoats. Oh how good it felt being idle for a change. She would go home every second day to make pies and stews which could easily be heated up here.

  Laying quietly, letting her mind drift, the tension ebbed from her body. In the distance came the muted ring of a pick or shovel against rock. Raised voices filtered into her every now and again, but the goings on were beyond the confines of the tent.

  Calico bags covered the earthen floor. A hurricane lantern swung ever so slightly from the ceiling. She watched it unblinking, and lulled by the gentle movements drifted into sleep.

  “I tell you, we’ll have to do something soon.” An angry male voice woke her.

  “The diggers are getting desperate. You saw what happened at Bentley’s pub, the violence is going to get much worse.”

  “Burn the commissioner’s quarters to the ground,” threatened a different man.

  “Keep your voices down,” Robbie hissed. “My cousin is sleeping behind that blanket. We’ll take a vote.”

  Robbie must be holding some kind of meeting. The smell of pipe tobacco drifted into her.

  “We should get the diggers together again like we did at Bakery Hill on the eleventh, when we formed the Reform League. The authorities had their chance to change the management of the gold fields. Abolish the digger and storekeepers’ tax, but what happened? More bloody digger hunts, more persecution. If we want action, we should fight for our rights,” another impassioned voice declared.

  Melanie wanted to make her presence known, but felt too embarrassed about doing so now. Quietly she slipped into her gown, and letting her hair down, sat on the bed to give it a vigorous brushing. What she told Robbie had been the truth, she felt too exhausted after slaving in the laundry all day to bother with her appearance. His remarks hurt, as her hair had always been a great source of pride. She watched in the hand mirror as the bright mass of curls tumbled down her back and settled near her waist.

  Sounds of movement came from the front section of the tent, murmured farewells, one or two guffaws of laughter, followed by silence. Pushing the blanket aside, she spied Robbie with his elbows propped on the table, his chin resting in his hands, deep in thought.

  “Oh. Have you just woken up?”

  She hesitated. “No, I’ve been awake for a while. You held some kind of meeting here, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, some of the men from the Reform League.”

  “Does Uncle Alex know you’re mixing with these agitators?” she demanded, her voice rising with anxiety.

  “We’re not agitators. We’re reformists, patriots, call us what you like. I’ll tell you this.” He thumped his clenched fist on the tea chest, his face pale and tense. “They hunt us down like wild dogs. Why shouldn’t we fight back in the only way we can. We don’t even have the right to vote or stand for parliament. Only rich, landed gentry like the Honorable Michael Guilford can do that.”

  “I know it isn’t fair. If you pay taxes you should at least be able to vote, but there could be open rebellion. You know what it means?” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. “If you’re caught, they might even charge you with treason. It could mean jail. A firing squad even.”

  He laughed loudly, rocking backwards and forwards in mirth. “How the hell can they put me before a firing squad, I’m not an English army redcoat.”

  She stared at him with worried eyes. Robbie had a reckless streak running through him. In time he could well become a statesman. He was a born leader for all his youth, but if he kept on with this dangerous bravado, his true potential might never be realized. “Please, give all this rebellion stuff up before it’s too late.”

  His lips compressed, his jaw jutted out to show his determination. “I’d do anything for you, but I can’t give up the cause. I won’t, even if I have to die for it.” He strode away, a slim, proud figure in a red shirt, with grubby moleskins tucked into dusty boots. A lump of fear, the size of a walnut, lodged in her throat. She couldn’t swallow it. Icy dread shivere
d along her veins. Never had she felt such a feeling of impending doom.

  In a chastened mood she set about preparing their evening meal. If only James would come home. He could make Robbie see reason, physically drag him away from the goldfields if necessary. Useless appealing to Uncle Alex for aid, he lived in a world of his own, completely unaware of what happened around him. It was up to her, even if it meant following him every minute of the day to keep him out of trouble. She’d dog his footsteps until he came to his senses.

  She decided to make a stew with some meaty bones. Rummaging through the box which served as a pantry, she found potatoes and onions, also little cloth bags of crushed herbs, picked from her own garden.

  Their biggest cooking pot, blackened from much use over the open fire, was scoured clean inside. She peeled and chopped the vegetables before adding meat and water. At least they would have nourishing meals until James returned. She raked up the fire, placed the pot over the flames and extended her hands towards the warmth. Even though summer would be here soon, the evenings turned bitterly cold.

  The sun streaked the sky with pink, showing promise of yet another fine day tomorrow. Glancing around, she watched other women moving about preparing their evening meals.

  On the diggings most men worked in twos or threes, sharing their workload, including domestic chores. Mutton chops and damper were the staple diet of the men. Those accompanied by their women folk seemed to have a little more variety in their meals.

  Children’s laughter echoed from outside a nearby tent, a boy and a girl, the elder probably not more than five or six years old. The young mother, scolding them every now and again, sounded tired, harassed. She disappeared inside the tent, returning a few moments later carrying a baby wrapped in a blue knitted shawl.

  A tall, bearded miner loped towards them. When the children saw him they rushed forward, laughing and shrieking with pleasure, causing him to down tools so he could scoop one up in each arm. What a pleasing welcome for a dusty digger returning home after a hard day at work.

  Darkness fell quickly and the air became frosty. Hundreds of fires now burned brightly, giving a startling effect to the diggings. Wood smoke mingling with cooking smells wafted on the night air. Uncle Alex arrived back first, followed a few minutes later by Robbie. He greeted her fondly, asking no questions, so Robbie must have filled him in on the happenings at Guilford Lodge.

  “Mm, smells good, my dear.” The old man sniffed appreciably.

  “Just stew, Uncle Alex.”

  “Be a change from mutton chops and damper,” he declared, disappearing inside the tent. He reappeared in a short time with the dust washed away from his face, and his hair neatly brushed. He glanced at Robbie who, obviously guessing what was running through his father’s mind, squatted over the fire holding his hands out to the flames. He grinned.

  “You don’t expect me to scrub up, do you?”

  “It would do you no harm. Remember we have a guest dining with us.”

  “Come on, it’s only Melanie. I’m hungry. How about dishing up?”

  Sitting by the warmth of the fire in a companionable silence, the three of them ate their stew. Its rather smoky taste added to the flavor. They drank scalding hot tea without milk.

  Men drifted from fire to fire to chat or smoke their pipes. Camaraderie had developed amongst the miners, rough, hard working men, most leading a lonely existence without a woman’s company or care.

  A number of young men strolled over, seemingly to visit Robbie, but catching a wink from him, she realized some of them had only come over because of her.

  An Irishman produced a fiddle and commenced playing some of the hauntingly beautiful tunes of his homeland. More people wandered over to listen, some of them broke into song, and within a short time everyone around the fire sang with gusto.

  Women drifted over with their men folk now. She had never witnessed anything so poignant, as lonely men from many different lands joined together to sing the songs of their homeland. Their voices rose, lingered for a moment, then faded in the frosty evening air.

  A thousand stars twinkled. The velvet sky stretched out endlessly before them, as row after row of campfires gave the scene a flickering, haunted beauty. Why did she suddenly feel overwhelmed with dread? You’re behaving like an idiot, she kept scolding herself, but the terrible feeling of foreboding would not go away. It hung like a heavy blanket, pressing down on her so she could not escape.

  After a time, everyone returned to their own tents as most would rise with the dawn to start working on their claims. Later, lying snug and warm in bed, she was glad to be with Robbie and Uncle Alex. Tomorrow she would ride home and bring back more food.

  On the verge of sleep, muffled footsteps alerted her that she was no longer alone. “Who’s there?”

  “Did I wake you up?” Robbie whispered.

  “No, but what are you doing in here?”

  “Hell.” He tripped over something and landed on top of her. His breath, smelling of alcohol, caressed her cheeks with warmth.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Her protest sounded feeble, even to her own ears.

  “Melanie.” He started covering her face and mouth with hot, urgent kisses, and his hand fumbled under her blanket. “Please, Melly, I won’t hurt you, I promise. You know how I feel about you. Just a few kisses,” he pleaded.

  He caressed her breasts through her nightgown and within seconds her nipples hardened into throbbing peaks.

  “Oh, Robbie.” She slipped her arms around his neck and returned his kisses. His tongue moving inside her mouth explored at will, and she felt a surge of fiery need deep within her womanhood.

  The buttons on her nightgown gave way to his frantic, questing fingers and she felt his warm, bare skin against her own.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned, seconds before his mouth closed over one tingling nipple.

  Sliding her hands down over his back, she eased his shirt from the waistband of his pants so she could stroke his hot bare skin. A million stars exploded inside her head and she shut her eyes in case the light blinded her. Suddenly she was free. Robbie got up and stumbled away, leaving her feeling alone, somehow cheated because she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

  ***

  When she awoke next morning Melanie drowsily glanced around, wondering for a moment where she was. Suddenly full awareness came. She was sleeping in a tent on the Ballarat gold fields. This thought gave her a feeling of exhilaration that could not be spoiled by Robbie’s abrupt departure last night. He had put her welfare above his own rampaging need and she loved him all the more for it.

  Changing out of her nightgown and into her clothes, she could do little more than rinse her face and hands, but she would have a proper wash at the homestead.

  Venturing from behind the curtain, she realized the men had eaten their breakfast, tea and toast. Spearing a piece of stale bread, she dangled it over the hot coals. As there was no butter left, she spread plum jam on it.

  Compared to most other diggers the Pritchards ate well, as she kept them supplied with butter, eggs, jams and other preserves, while James provided milk and meat. Robbie often went out hunting, usually bagging a rabbit or wallaby, to add variety to their menu.

  She tidied the tent up as much as possible. It was small and crowded, made worse by Uncle Alex’s bed being in the living area. She set off for their claim humming one of the tunes from last night. She didn’t know the name of the song or the words, but the melody was catching. No sign of Uncle Alex, but Robbie industriously worked the cradle.

  “Good morning.” She waved, feeling strangely shy after her wanton behavior last night. If Robbie hadn’t pulled away….

  “You were sound asleep when we left, Father said not to disturb you. Sorry about last night.” His cheeks reddened. “I lost my head.”

  “Me too, I should have stopped you.” She stared straight into his face and whispered, “but I didn’t want to.”

  “Leaving you last night was the hardest thing I�
�ve ever done,” he confessed. “Have you come to help me?”

  She shook her head. “No, I want to borrow your horse. Could you catch it and saddle up for me so I can ride home for a few things?”

  He yelled down the shaft to his father. “I’ll be back in a minute. I’m saddling the horse for Melanie.”

  Within minutes he had the horse saddled. “Maybe you’d better wait until I can come with you.” He frowned. “We could ride double again.”

  “No, don’t bother. I’ll be back in the afternoon. Besides, if we ride double, how can I carry all the things I need?” She tossed her head determinedly to let him know it would be useless arguing any further.

  Riding astride was awkward. She kept pulling her skirt down, because it rode up and showed off her petticoats. Once clear of the diggings, she cut through the scrub, thus avoiding the main track.

  On arrival at the homestead, it stood forlorn with no welcoming wisp of smoke rising from the chimney. She unsaddled the mare and let her loose in the stockyards James had constructed from split logs.

  Inside, she lit the fire, dusted and swept. Surprising how neglected a house became after being left empty for a few days. She set to work making bread and biscuits. Robbie would have to come over in the next few days to kill a sheep, as their last piece of salted meat would be needed for the pie she planned to make.

  Up in the loft she collected some of the apples they had stored there. An apple pie would be a nice change for them. She smiled at the thought of Uncle Alex’s reaction, as it was his favorite dessert. A little butter remained, so she put a chunk in with the other supplies. She started on the washing; unbeknown to Uncle Alex, she had brought some of his and Robbie’s dirty clothes as well.

  With the washing all hung out, she rounded up the cow and milked her again, much to the creature’s annoyance. Sam their shepherd must have already milked her, but a quarter of a bucket had to be better than nothing.