A Wicked Deception

by Tanner, Margaret

  She turned the horse around so she could keep the soldier in view while she mounted behind Robbie who swayed dangerously close to toppling off. She put her arms around him to take up the reins clenched in his hand, and he leaned heavily against her. Casting a furious look at the soldier, she dug her heels into the horse’s sides and they galloped away.

  Dawn appeared, the first faint flush streaking the horizon with pink. The air hung heavy with the rancid odor of burning canvas and timber. Spasmodic firing gradually receded as they left the goldfields behind.

  Robbie slumped, a dead weight against her. She could feel a sticky warmth seeping on to her skin as his blood soaked through her clothing. He was badly wounded. Not knowing the extent of his injuries was a nightmare. She urged the horse on, gritting her teeth to stop herself from screaming, or falling down in a dead faint. His life depended on her now. No one else could save him.

  They had to find somewhere safe to hide so she could bandage his wounds and staunch the bleeding. “It’s up to you.” She hammered the words into her brain and called upon a reserve of strength she didn’t even know existed. As they pounded along the track, her heels urged the horse to even greater speed. They must get as far away as possible from the stockade. Find somewhere to hide during the daylight hours so he could regain his strength, before making good their escape under the cloak of darkness.

  His sudden groan was music to her ears. He was still alive. “Hang on. I’m taking you home so you can rest for a while.” Hearing no sounds of pursuit she slowed the horse down and glanced around to get her bearings.

  They had ridden so desperately, she had taken little notice of where they headed. Shock punched the breath from her lungs. They were at the farthermost side of Guilford Lodge. For a moment she thought of Michael. A few years ago he would have helped them. Not any more, though. His father had been a high-ranking officer in some famous British regiment, so all his sympathies would be with the redcoats.

  “Don’t go home. It will be the first place they’ll search,” Robbie gasped before lapsing into unconsciousness.

  They couldn’t ride much further since the horse carried double and Robbie still bled profusely. If she didn’t stop the bleeding he might die. She remembered an old shepherd’s hut that used to be close by. Oh, God, please let it still be there. This would be their best chance. If they hid for a few hours until he regained some strength she could ride for help. Why wasn’t James here to help them? Never in her whole life had she needed her brother more.

  She urged the horse into the scrub. Few people knew about this hut as it had been derelict for years. Once there had been a stream close by and with any luck it would still be running.

  The hut, when they came upon it, appeared even more dilapidated than she remembered. The door hung crazily on one hinge. Pieces of bark had been blown from the roof, but it would still be a haven from the military. She dismounted, and without her support Robbie slumped to the ground.

  “Robbie!” she screamed his name. His eyes were closed, his face devoid of all color, except for a coating of dust and a trickle of blood on his cheek.

  She tethered the horse to a sapling. Kneeling down next to Robbie, she frantically felt for a pulse. A blond curl straggled across his forehead, making him look young and vulnerable. By the rise and fall of his chest he was still alive. Grasping him under the armpits, she pulled him toward the hut.

  He cried out so she must have hurt him, and she badly wanted to give into screaming hysterics. Although only slightly built, he was a ton weight. It took all her strength to drag him through the doorway, and she collapsed exhausted on the floor next to him.

  “Melanie?” he croaked.

  “Yes, you have to help me, you’re too heavy. I’ve got to get you away from the door in case someone tries to come in.”

  She helped him raise himself, and leaning heavily against her they staggered to the back of the hut. His strength spent, he toppled to the ground in a dead faint.

  In the dimness, the earth floor felt rough, and the smell of disuse and decay assailed her nostrils. Hopefully this place didn’t harbor some savage animal. Propping Robbie up as comfortably as possible, she dashed outside to the back of the hut. What a relief, the murmur of running water sounded sweeter than a lover’s serenade.

  The creek opened up into a small sandy lagoon, surrounded by trees and tangled vines. She scooped up a handful of water. It tasted cool and fresh as it trickled down her parched throat. Robbie would be thirsty too. With an ounce of luck there would be some kind of drinking utensil in the hut. She would search for something later on. The most important thing now was bandaging his shoulder to try and staunch the bleeding.

  She ripped off a strip of petticoat and dangled it in the creek, squeezing out the excess water, before scuttling back to the hut.

  He hadn’t moved. Even in the dimness she noticed his eyes remained closed, but they flickered as she knelt beside him and started undoing the buttons on his shirt.

  “Am I hurt bad?” He sounded vulnerable and frightened.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Forcing a note of cheerfulness in her voice, she eased off his shirt. She clamped her lips together to prevent a scream of horror escaping. His shoulder looked a gory mess. She knew little about these things, but once the area had been cleaned up, it was obvious even to her inexperienced eye that the bullet still lay embedded in his shoulder. It would have to be surgically removed.

  When the wound was as clean as she could get it, she tore more strips from her petticoat. Folding one piece into a pad, she used another piece as a bandage to hold this firmly in place.

  “You should have been a doctor, you have gentle hands,” he whispered. “Leave me now. I can make it on my own. You can’t risk getting caught with me, my love.”

  “I’m staying. No one will find us here.” She gently wiped the blood away from his cheek. “When it gets dark I’ll sneak back to the homestead and get us some food, James might even be home. If not, we can try meeting up with him on the road.”

  “Could you get me a drink? I feel so weak.”

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Wait here, I’ll see if I can find a mug.”

  “Check the redcoat’s saddle bag. They always carry a water bottle. Hide the horse, too. Anyone would pick it out as army issue.”

  “What an idiot I am for not thinking of that.” Such carelessness could prove fatal. She wouldn’t put it past the redcoats or the police to shoot both of them on sight.

  “I won’t be long.” She dashed outside. Where could you hide a horse? No place came to mind except the lagoon, which was surrounded by trees and scrub. Taking up the reins, she led the animal to the water. He must be thirsty too, so she let him drink his fill, before leading him into the undergrowth and tethering him to a tree. She dared not unsaddle him in case they needed to leave in a hurry.

  She rummaged through the saddlebags. No water bottle, but a silver flask. Taking out the stopper, she sniffed dubiously. The empty flask had recently contained whisky. If Robbie got stronger after he had a drink, it would probably be best for her to try getting home straight away.

  A quick glance at her clothes squashed this idea. Her gown hung on her, ripped and heavily stained with blood. Her hair had come undone and untidy strands tumbled all over her face. Even the briefest glance in the light of day would reveal she had taken part in a ferocious battle. No, better for them to sit tight until darkness fell.

  A change of clothes, a wash, and no one would suspect her of being a participant in the bloody battle at the Eureka Stockade.

  Dawn finally broke, the sun edging its way up into the cloudless sky, promised another hot day. Racing to the lagoon, Melanie filled the flask and returned to the dimly lit hut. The early morning rays could not penetrate the thick vegetation covering the window.

  In her absence, Robbie had somehow managed to drag himself up into a sitting position. “Oh, Melanie,” he croaked. “What have I done to you?”

  “Nothing.�
� She handed him the flask and he drank greedily until it was almost empty. “Try and sleep. As soon as it gets dark I’ll ride home for some food and clean clothing for us.”

  “Peter Lalor got shot up bad.” He spoke in a harsh, staccato whisper. “They cut us down like dogs. Burned the tents where some of the wounded took refuge. Some bastard betrayed us.”

  “I know. I saw it all.” She wound a blond curl around her finger. “Don’t think about it now, you have to rest.”

  “The army had spies. I’ll hang if they catch me.”

  “No!” She jerked back on her haunches. “Oh, Robbie, no.”

  “Yes.” His voice held no fear, just a resigned sadness.

  “James will help us. He’ll get you into New South Wales, or maybe down to Melbourne, you’ll be safe there.”

  “Leave me, Melanie. If they catch you with me, you could be in serious trouble. I shouldn’t have involved you. I … I panicked.”

  “Go to sleep,” she soothed, stroking his forehead. Too late for recriminations now, she was already involved, up to her neck in it if the redcoat, whose horse she stole, ever saw her again. “I love you, Robbie. I’ll never leave you. When you’re stronger we’ll both go away, start up afresh somewhere else.” She sealed the declaration with a kiss on his forehead.

  The flask needed to be refilled as he would be thirsty again when he woke up. Strange how loss of blood made a person thirsty. She remembered reading in the bible, as Jesus hung on the cross he cried out for a drink, too. If only they had a proper water bottle, it would save her going backwards and forward all the time, increasing their risk of discovery.

  Gently, so as not to disturb him, she checked his shoulder. Blood seeped through the bandage, although the bleeding appeared to be easing. Rising quietly, she slipped out of the hut, darting a quick look around first, to make sure they were still alone. The parrots made a splash of color flittering between the trees. The creek babbled over shiny white pebbles before disappearing into a tangled mass of vines and creepers.

  After she filled the flask, she flicked some of the refreshing cold water over her face. She hadn’t eaten for hours but didn’t feel hungry. She returned to the hut where Robbie lay. He looked young and defenseless as he moved restlessly.

  “The police had spies,” he mumbled. “They trampled our flag into the dirt.” Most of what he said sounded meaningless, only an odd sentence now and again made any sense. “I have to get away.” He struggled to get up, and she used all her strength to hold him down.

  “Please don’t die,” she sobbed, as her tears splashed on to his face.

  Ripping another piece off her petticoat, she soaked it with water from the flask and sponged his feverish face. If things kept on the way they were, she wouldn’t have any petticoats left. Hysterical giggles rose up in her throat, and she forced them back. What kind of fool worried about torn petticoats, when they were in such a precarious situation?

  Why didn’t a person realize what they had until it was snatched away from them? She loved Robbie more than life itself. “God, please help us.”

  To keep herself calm and alert she went through her life from babyhood to the present time. She had been lucky to have loving parents, and, after they died, a brother prepared to care for her. They were closer than most brothers and sisters, yet Robbie was the one she always had the closest affinity with.

  The hours crawled by. Robbie woke now and again. He had a raging fever, tossing and turning, mumbling and raving, as if he were going out of his mind. She kept bathing his face, running backwards and forward to the creek to fill the flask. Why didn’t the soldier have a military issue canteen?

  As the day wore on, each trip became riskier, the threat of discovery greater. It wouldn’t be long before the military started searching the outlying areas for any miners who had escaped from Ballarat.

  Tiredness bore down on her. Hour upon hour she fought against it, until finally she could fight no more. A short rest would refresh her. Slumping against the wall and giving into the temptation she closed her sore, gritty eyes. Her head ached so much she wanted to vomit.

  Something woke Melanie. She would never forget this moment even if she lived to be a hundred. Oh, God, men and horses moved around outside. The sound of male voices, the jangle of harnesses filtered through the walls of the hut. Fear clawed her throat as she sat up straighter, moving slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb Robbie, whose head rested in her lap.

  She fumbled in her pocket until her fingers touched the pistol’s cold steel. The door creaked open. If the intruder merely glanced inside they might escape detection. If he came right inside, they were doomed. They would have to kill her to get her away from Robbie.

  With trembling hands she cocked the pistol and waited. Time stopped dead. Sunlight poured in as a man entered. He was so tall he needed to stoop before stepping inside the hut. As he straightened up, her heart turned to stone.

  The pistol shook erratically in her unsteady hands. “Michael.” For a split second he stared at her, shock and disbelief clearly etched on his face.

  “Did you find any of those rebels?” A man’s voice coming from outside shattered the stillness.

  A quick glance at Robbie lying pale and stricken, and her tear-filled eyes looked straight into Michael’s. Beseeching him not to betray them. A pulse convulsed at the side of his throat. He hesitated for a few seconds before swinging away from them.

  “There are no rebels here.” Without a backward glance he strode off.

  As the door banged shut, Robbie moved, and she covered his mouth with her hand to block out any sounds he might make. The pistol fell to the floor. She left it there. Her hands shook so badly it would have been impossible to pick it up even if she had wanted to.

  The men’s voices came again and harnesses jingled, followed almost immediately by the sounds of horses’ hooves beating against the rock hard earth. In her worst nightmare, she would never have dreamed it possible for the troopers to be searching out this far so soon. Why was Michael with them? Had the fact that they had once been good friends stopped him from betraying them? Perhaps his silence was his way of making amends for Priscilla’s treatment of her?

  Time dragged by so slowly she felt like screaming at it to hurry up. The only activity to break the monotony was two trips to the creek to fill the flask. Robbie would wake, drink then fall asleep again. Better for him this way, sleep would dull the pain he must surely be suffering.

  Melanie dozed fitfully, but felt little refreshed from these cat naps, as something in her subconscious mind prevented her falling into a deep sleep. It was imperative to get back to the homestead for supplies tonight. She stood in the doorway watching the sun drop into the horizon like a fireball, the sky turning crimson, looked as if it were awash with blood. It probably was. The blood of miners betrayed and slaughtered at the Eureka Stockade.

  She reentered the hut to find Robbie awake. “Are you thirsty?”

  “Is it very late?” He struggled to sit up. “I feel so weak.”

  “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Listen carefully, I have to get you to a doctor, the bullet needs to come out before it poisons your system.”

  “There’s a fellow living in Creswick who used to be an army doctor.” His voice sounded so husky she could barely hear him, and finally it faded away altogether.

  She shook him slightly, and he groaned in pain. “Whereabouts in Creswick?”

  “Ballarat side. Harry Jamieson,” he rasped. “Hates the army.”

  “Here, drink some of this.” She gave him more water to revive him. If he slipped into unconsciousness before she could get him on the horse, they were both doomed. Dashing outside, she brought the horse as close to the hut as she dared.

  Robbie hadn’t moved and she splashed water over his face to rouse him. “Please, you have to stay awake.” She shook him again, harder.

  “Oh God, I’m a goner. Leave me and save yourself.”

  “No, no.” She tried to drag him to his
feet. “We can make it, I know we can.”

  “It’s no use,” he fell back. “I’m finished.”

  “If you really loved me you’d try harder. You can do it. For me, please.” Salty tears stung her grazed cheeks as she pleaded with him.

  She would never know how she got him out of the hut, or on to the horse. Her hands trembled, her legs felt so watery she feared they might actually float away. “Help me God, please help me.” Once, twice, she tried to mount but couldn’t. Her foot kept slipping out of the stirrup.

  In desperation she walked the horse to a fallen tree that had lain on the forest floor for years, covered in moss and half eaten away by termites. She stepped up on it and swung her leg over the horse’s back. Perspiration poured from her, the dampness running between her breasts, pooling in the waistband of her gown.

  They set off slowly, the horse instinctively picking its way through the scrub. Robbie was a dead weight against her. Thank goodness their steed proved to be a placid beast, easy to control.

  After an hour or so, they came to the track leading to Creswick. There was no sign of any other living person. Never had she felt so alone or fearful. They could have been the last two people left on earth.

  The bush brooded black and eerie, with only moonbeams and stars to light their way. The sudden, mournful howl of wild dogs caused the hair at the back of her neck to bristle. Had they escaped the redcoats, only to be mauled by a pack of savage animals?

  On and on they plodded. She could feel Robbie’s blood wet and sticky against her skin. He groaned every now and again, so she knew he hadn’t died.

  Would he bleed to death before she could get him to the doctor? Should she have left him in the hut and gone for help on her own? Sobs rose up in her throat, but she swallowed them back down again.

  “Please God,” she prayed from the depths of her soul. “Don’t let Robbie die.” He had always been brave and fearless, all the things she wasn’t. She castigated herself for being so scared and pitiful as she fought to still her trembling hands and calm her splintered nerves.