A Wicked Deception

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A Wicked Deception Page 11

by Tanner, Margaret


  Melanie tried to stiffen away from him. It infuriated him and his grip tightened even more. She wanted to cry out, but her pride would not let him know how much he hurt. He obviously wanted her to plead with him, beg even. She had humiliated him and he wanted revenge.

  As they proceeded down the main street of town, people stopped to stare. She held her head at a proud angle. No one would ever know how petrified she felt. Her thoughts kept turning to what they would want with her. If James and Robbie had been captured, Tom would have taken great pleasure in saying so. It must be something else, but what? Had the redcoat been able to give a description of her? Asked around the diggings until he found out her identity?

  They came to the commissioner’s office, a building with slab walls and a canvas roof. She hated the feel of Tom’s hands on her waist when he lifted her down, and she would have given anything to be able to slap the gloating leer off his face.

  Inside the room sat two redcoats, a sergeant and an officer. They both rose to their feet as she entered.

  “Miss O’Dea, I believe.” The officer spoke with a clipped English accent.

  “Yes. I would like to know the meaning of this outrage. How dare you send a creature like him to drag me in here like a common criminal?”

  “You can leave now, Ogilvy.” The officer dismissed a scowling Tom.

  “A seat for Miss O’Dea,” the officer ordered the sergeant who pulled out a chair. “Now.” He clasped perfectly manicured hands together. “You’re a sensible young lady, so I know I can rely on you to help us in every possible way.”

  “I will if I can.”

  “You know Robert Pritchard?”

  “Yes.”

  “You realize he was one of the insurgents involved in that disgraceful display at the Eureka Stockade. I lost a number of good men there.” His grey eyes turned to flint.

  “Sorry to hear about your men. How can I help you?” She forced herself to sound polite when really she wanted to physically attack him, claw his cold mean eyes out of his head.

  His lips snapped together. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do, my dear,” he said softly, his voice laden with menace. “We know you helped him escape. Aiding and abetting a known rebel is a serious offence, not to mention assaulting a member of Her Majesty’s forces.”

  “I don’t know where he is, I swear it.”

  “Come now, you do want to help us, I know. Such a pretty face, it would be a pity if it got carved up.” He leaned forward until he got so close she could see the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes.

  “I want to go home.”

  “It is not possible yet, my dear. I shall leave you to contemplate how foolish it would be to continue with this stubbornness. There are ways and means of extracting information.” Without another word he stood up and strode out of the room.

  “Tell him what you know, Miss.” The young sergeant spoke urgently as soon as they were alone. “Major Douglas is a harsh man. It would be a shame if you got hurt.”

  “You’re trying to frighten me. What information could I have that would be of interest to the army?”

  “Pritchard’s whereabouts, Miss. The whereabouts of Lalor and some of the other leaders.”

  “I don’t know Mr. Lalor or the others. You must make the major believe me. I swear it’s the truth.”

  “Pritchard?”

  “I don’t know where he is either.”

  He gave her a hard, disbelieving stare.

  What was wrong with her? Why snivel and plead with this redcoat sergeant? He wanted to frighten her. They would not dare harm her. Surely her throat felt dry and scratchy only because she was thirsty.

  The minutes ticked by. The sergeant, although glancing at his pocket watch several times, made no further comment. Major Douglas came back smiling in an almost benign manner. When she glanced into his eyes her earlier feeling of dread returned a hundred fold. His eyes were the coldest she had ever seen. At first glance they appeared pale grey, yet they were really almost colorless.

  “Now, did you think over what I asked you?” He sat down, splaying his hands on the table.

  “I told your sergeant I don’t even know Mr. Lalor or the others, so how could I know their hiding place?”

  “Pritchard does. He’s a close confidant of theirs. Now, Miss O’Dea, where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come, my dear, you can’t expect me to believe that. You were seen helping him escape by one of my men. You threatened him with a pistol, remember.” He smiled, a smile so chilling she shivered. “Attempted murder is a serious offence. There’s a reward of two hundred pounds for Lalor and some of the other ringleaders.”

  “I don’t know where Robbie is. I did help him, because he got shot.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly realizing what she was confessing to.

  “Yes, go on. You helped him to where?”

  Melanie gulped. It had been idiotic to say anything. She was damning herself from her own mouth, but she could not retract now. “I took him to my place.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I fixed his arm, gave him food and a horse then he left.”

  “You’re lying.” He thumped the table with a clenched fist.

  “It’s true.”

  He laughed harshly. “No, my dear, you wouldn’t let a badly wounded man ride off alone. My informant tells me you were close to each other, extremely close indeed. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” Already she regretted having told him so much. The informant of course would be Tom Ogilvy. Her previous foolish words were a confession of guilt.

  “I don’t know anything else, honestly.” She bit her lip in a futile attempt to stop it trembling.

  His cold fury filled her with dread, as he rose from his chair to come around and stand in front of her. He rocked backwards and forwards on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back. “For the last time, Miss O’Dea, where is Robert Pritchard?”

  It was a waste of time repeating the denial. He didn’t believe her anyway, so she remained silent.

  “Take her to one of the cells, sergeant. In the morning she might be more cooperative.”

  The thought of spending the night in prison terrified her. She could be raped or murdered. Oh, God. Every vestige of moisture dried up in her mouth. With as much dignity as possible, she rose to her feet, and with her head held high, followed the sergeant out of the room.

  “You shouldn’t antagonize him, Miss,” he warned, as they made their way down a corridor leading outside to the log prison.

  Shouting and yelling came from one section. “Some of your rebel friends waiting to be transferred to Melbourne,” he said.

  The heavy wooden door banged shut behind them, and they faced a long corridor. On either side were barred cells, crammed with battered and bloodied miners. Some of them recognizing her called out a greeting and she lifted her hand in response. Surely they would not put her in with all these men?

  At the end of the corridor they came to another heavy wooden door, and here they stopped. “This is a punishment cell. The major keeps it for special cases.”

  Her eyes widened with fear as she watched a policeman step out from a sentry box. He produced a ring of keys, selected the appropriate one and unlocked the door with a loud click.

  “In you go, Miss.”

  A hearty shove almost sent her sprawling into the cell. The door banged shut, leaving her in semi darkness. A sliver of light came from a small slit window high up in the wall. The floor was dirt, dampness and decay oozed from every corner. Melanie shivered in her light summer gown. An iron bed, covered by a tattered mattress, stretched along one wall. Except for a bucket toilet, the cell was devoid of anything.

  She paced restlessly for a time, her shoes making no sound on the sodden ground. How would she survive a whole night alone in here? Having never considered herself brave, in fact, she would have thought the reverse, her silence
ensured James and Robbie’s safety. Surely they could not keep her prisoner indefinitely? Would they torture her?

  As time dragged by the silent loneliness pressed more heavily on her. Even one person to talk to would have made things bearable. She kept time by watching the sky and the height of the sun through the gap between the logs. At sunset she finally heard a key being turned in the lock.

  “Have you come to let me out?” She could not disguise the note of pleading in her voice.

  “No. Here’s some food.”

  The jailer dumped a plate and mug on the floor, the door banged shut, leaving her alone again. No knives or forks were provided, only a spoon. The greasy congealed stew made her feel ill, although she greedily drank the mug of tepid black tea.

  The authorities were deliberately making things unpleasant; this firmed her resolve. She could be freed at the expense of Robbie and James. Never. They can incarcerate me for twenty years and still learn nothing.

  Throughout the long, terrifying night she dozed fitfully. Eerie scratching on the ground made her think of rats and she pushed a fist in her mouth to stop from screaming. One thing she detested above all else was rats.

  The mattress felt lumpy, extremely uncomfortable, and she could not help wondering what kind of person had lain on this bed before, a man or a woman? Were they an innocent victim or a hardened criminal? A murderer may be? More likely some poor unfortunate miner who the major thought might have some information to impart.

  Robbie said someone betrayed them. He’d mentioned the police having spies. The redcoats had mounted their attack when only two or three hundred miners were left inside the stockade, the other six or seven hundred having gone back to their own tents to spend the night. How despicable to betray your friends. This would have to count as one of the foulest deeds a person could perpetrate.

  Morning at last. The sun’s gentle rays edging through the slit of a window lightened the darkness of her prison. Glancing down at her crumpled gown she felt terrible, and no doubt looked even worse. She pinned the loosened strands of hair back and tidied up her clothes as much as circumstances permitted.

  The sound of a key turning in the lock had her stumbling to the door. The same man who brought the meal last night, dumped a bowl of porridge, a slice of plain bread and a mug of tea on the floor without uttering so much as a word.

  Hunger was a gnawing pain gouging at her insides. The porridge was hot and not too unpalatable. Even the bread tasted fresh. The warm food lifted her spirits and the sun now streaming through the gaps chased away all the fears of last night. Major Douglas would want to interrogate her again, but she felt more able to cope with him now. Her fear filled night, rather than break down her resolve, had somehow strengthened it.

  If Douglas thought he would be facing some timid, broken specimen he was mistaken. The birth of a new day replenished her courage, and she wasn’t afraid anymore.

  “I hope you’re going to be more reasonable this morning, Miss O’Dea,” the sergeant said when he came for her. She held her head high without answering. Following him down the corridor she noticed that the cells on either side were still crammed with miners.

  Outside the major’s office the sergeant motioned for her to stop. “There’s quite a little reception committee waiting for you. Some of the prominent citizens are represented, as well as the police and the army. Those rebels, Peter Lalor especially, are wanted badly.”

  As he opened the door a fraction, she heard the murmur of voices then the major’s clipped tones. “Our most promising source of information will be with us soon, gentlemen. The prisoner proved to be stubborn yesterday, but I guarantee a night in solitary confinement will have loosened her tongue.”

  “Her? You mean your prisoner is a woman?” It sounded like Michael’s voice. He couldn’t be here, and yet … why not? He belonged to the gentry.

  “Bring the prisoner forward, sergeant.” She held herself proudly as she entered the room. Apart from the major, two other men sat in the room, one a police officer, the other Michael Guilford.

  Her gaze flew to his face. His skin bleached of color and shock darkened his eyes to violet. He recovered himself quickly, however, giving no further sign of recognition.

  “Now, Miss O’Dea, let me introduce you to Commissioner Browning, and….” Major Douglas hesitated for effect, “The Honorable Michael Guilford representing the local community who want an end to this civil unrest.”

  “You are in serious trouble, Miss O’Dea,” the commissioner said sternly, “but if you’re prepared to cooperate with us, your part in the rebellion will be overlooked.”

  “I don’t know where Robbie is. If I did, I still wouldn’t tell you.”

  The commissioner, with the help of Major Douglas, kept firing questions, one after the other, in an endeavor to confuse her. Michael remained silent, his face set into grim lines. The fact he had aligned himself with these men who hunted James and Robbie, was one of the hardest things she had ever endured. Compared to his betrayal, a night in solitary confinement verged on paradise.

  “You will tell us what you know.” Major Douglas glared at her.

  “I don’t know where Robbie is.” Had Michael mentioned anything about seeing them at the hut? Could it be for some unknown reason, he had kept this information to himself?

  “There are ways and means of making rebels like you tell us what we want to know.” Major Douglas stood ramrod straight, stiff legged, his cold stare boring into her face.

  “You can put me on the rack, flog me at the triangle even, but I’d cut my tongue out before I betrayed my friends.”

  An angry hiss escaped him. The back of his hand slammed into her mouth. Her head snapped back with the force of the blow and she tasted blood where his signet ring tore her lip.

  “I don’t feel there’s any need for brutality,” the commissioner protested.

  It should have been Michael jumping to her defense, but he sat there, his blazing eyes standing out starkly against his white face. He was angry, obviously not with Major Douglas, but with her for being so stubborn.

  Her eyes flashed defiance, as she used her fingers to wipe a trickle of blood away from her now throbbing lip.

  “I think she should be sent to Melbourne immediately to avoid further trouble,” the commissioner suggested. “If it got out about her being held prisoner here there would be an outcry, her family have lived in the district for years. You know how these colonials like to rebel against the crown.”

  “Yes, get her out of Ballarat quietly, no fuss, no bother.” Michael suggested with a bored yawn. “The locals need never know she was ever here. Put her on the first available coach to Melbourne.”

  “Maybe it would be better if we kept her here,” Major Douglas mused.

  “For heaven’s sake, Douglas, put her on the coach and forget about it.” Michael turned to the commissioner. “Did I tell you I intend returning to England in a day or so?”

  “I hope your ship sinks, Michael, or you fall overboard.” She glared at him, and if looks could have killed he would be lying dead on the floor.

  The three men laughed. “You know her, Guilford?” the major asked.

  “Yes, I became acquainted with her family when I first arrived in the colony. She worked in my laundry for a time, but unfortunately, didn’t have the necessary stamina.”

  Bitterness gave way to fury. She wanted to throw herself at him, pummel him with her fists or scratch his eyes right out of his head. He would have to be the most contemptible man she had ever met. To think he had once been her hero.

  The men argued for a time, until they finally reached a decision. She would be taken by coach to Melbourne and handed over to the authorities there. With a heart full of bitterness she accompanied the sergeant back to her cell. Michael’s betrayal had cut deep. I hope Priscilla makes life hell for him. Bitter tears coursed down her cheeks, their saltiness burning her lacerated lip.

  ***

  Next morning after a meager breakfast
, the sergeant escorted her outside the jail to where a carriage waited. “Major Douglas has made arrangements for us to go to Melbourne on the coach. I have orders to take you home so you can change into something more suitable for your journey.”

  The sergeant, having given his instructions, seemed disinclined to speak and Melanie had nothing left to say. The hot sun beating down on her unprotected head made it throb, and she gave a low cry of relief when they arrived at the homestead.

  Nestled peacefully in the shadow of the mountain, it was surrounded by shrubs and creepers, gums and stringy barks. A large red bottlebrush was covered in scarlet blooms. Pink climbing roses almost covered one side of the woodshed, and tears filled her eyes at the thought it might be weeks, months even, before she could return home.

  “Am I allowed to pack a bag?”

  “No. My orders were that you make yourself more presentable.”

  On entering the homestead kitchen, a layer of fine dust covered the table and mantel.

  “I’ll wait here, Miss.” The sergeant hooked a chair over with his foot and sat on it. “Don’t try escaping. You can have five minutes.”

  She scuttled into her bedroom. A glance in the mirror confirmed how frightful she looked. Her eyes were huge, sunken, with dark bruising beneath them, and her skin was pale and transparent, her lip swollen and painful to touch. Never before had a man raised his hand to her in anger.

  Undressing quickly, she washed and put on a clean cotton shift and pantaloons, over this went her petticoats and a sprigged muslin gown. She put on a matching bonnet, but her hands trembled so much she had trouble fastening the ribbon under her chin.

  She placed a hairbrush, a bottle of toilet water, a money purse, and a clean handkerchief into a small bag. Surely the sergeant couldn’t object to this?

  In the kitchen, the sergeant now paced up and down in front of the hearth, although he stopped immediately on seeing her approach. He scrutinized her carefully. His look of shocked surprise and admiration at her changed appearance would have been flattering at any other time. He saw her for the first time as a woman and she felt a sudden twinge of unease.

 

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