A Wicked Deception

by Tanner, Margaret

  A surgeon, who on several occasions had shared a drink in his tent, was treating wounded nearby so he yelled out to get his attention. He would not die, the wound was not bad enough, but if it didn’t get treated, infection might set in and he could easily lose his leg. Within the hour, he had his leg bandaged, and was making his painful way back to a safer position.

  ***

  Robbie opened Melanie’s letter to James with trembling hands. She was alive! After two years of silence he had given up hope of ever finding her again. Sick bile rose up in his throat because Michael Guilford had tricked her in to believing he had died.

  He had traced Melanie to a house in Geelong, but the doctor and his wife who gave her shelter had returned to England. Scouring shipping records had proved fruitless. An advertisement in the missing persons section of the paper produced no information on her whereabouts, either. It seemed as if Melanie had dropped off the face of the earth.

  After months of searching he resigned himself to never seeing her again. He would spend his life alone once his father passed on, because if he couldn’t have Melanie he didn’t want any other woman. Throwing himself into building up the property so James’ dream would finally be realized consumed his days and half his nights.

  He loved this land like other men loved women. He felt close to Melanie here. This farm was his wife, his mistress, his everything.

  Bloody Michael Guilford. He had always loathed him and not just because Melanie once fancied herself in love with him. He was an utter snob and a spy for the military as well, but to tell such vile lies was unbelievable. The man was positively evil. To let Melanie believe he had been killed. What kind of fiend would do a thing like that? Thank God he had opened the letter before his father saw it. The shock would have just about killed him.

  Melanie had given birth to Michael’s child in some bleak Yorkshire hut with only her friend Ann in attendance. Hate burned through every fiber of his being. If Michael Guilford walked through the door right now, he would take one of James’ guns from the wall and shoot him dead like the evil swine that he was.

  His hands shook uncontrollably as he continued reading. His eyes blurred with tears. He felt as if someone had ripped his guts out with their bare hands. How she must have suffered because of Michael’s fiendish lies. Now she was coming home. Thank God he had time to reconcile himself to the fact that Michael stole her innocence and left her with a baby.

  Could he take on the responsibility of another man’s child? Love her the way Melanie would want her daughter to be loved? If he wasn’t man enough to do this, it would be kinder to stay away from them, and send someone else to meet the ship.

  He paced the floor with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. It wasn’t Melanie’s fault Michael had tricked her into believing they would marry. Wasn’t the child’s fault either, she was Melanie’s daughter, for God’s sake, with O’Dea blood flowing in her veins.

  What kind of man would blame a child for the circumstances of her birth? What was done could not be undone, no matter how badly he wanted to turn back the hands of time.

  If he hadn’t been involved in the Eureka uprising, they would have been married by now, and none of this would have happened. They were both victims of circumstances beyond their control, but now they had a second chance at happiness.

  “I won’t let it slip through my fingers again,” he vowed out loud. If it took a lifetime, he would make it up to Melanie for all she had suffered. As for Michel Guilford, he could rot in hell.

  ***

  February 1857

  Melanie stood staring at the pilot boat as it escorted them into port. Her first glimpse of Australia had been the lighthouse at Cape Otway yesterday. Then they sailed through Bass Strait this evening, and soon would be anchoring in Hobson’s Bay, Melbourne.

  She clutched the ship’s rail with clammy hands. Would James come to meet her, as she had begged him to in her letter? Would he shun her because of the shame a baby born out of wedlock might bring him?

  Taking deep breaths of the salt laden air she let it cleanse her lungs. No matter what happened, there would be a greater chance of survival in the warmth of her native land, than in the bleak little cottage in Yorkshire.

  For three and a half months she had endured being an intermediate passenger, in a cabin seven feet by eight feet. Even though it cost eighteen pounds she still had to share the water closet with a hundred other people. How any of those steerage passengers survived, was a miracle. The ship’s surgeon spent most of his time intoxicated, so many children died from complications of diarrhea and measles.

  One of the immigrant women she befriended told shocking tales of having to share a bunk three feet by six feet with her husband, separated from another couple only by a ten inch high piece of timber. How degrading it must have been. Small and cramped their cabin might be, but it was heaven compared to the pitiful conditions below decks.

  At first her milk supply had been adequate for the baby. She even expressed some of it into a bowl so she could moisten bread for little Ann to eat, but as the weeks passed her supply gradually dried up. How could a woman be expected to nurse a baby, when she lived on such meager rations? She railed against the shipping company who put the pursuit of profit above the welfare of their passengers.

  Breakfast consisted of a piece of bread floating in a salty broth, lunch a shin of beef with sodden, waxy potatoes. Dinner proved to be little better, just a couple of pieces of bread or some moldy ship’s biscuits. If she hadn’t supplemented her diet with rice pudding obtained through bribing the cook with money, she would have succumbed to malnutrition.

  Thinking about the first class passengers, she tried not to let the bitterness overwhelm her. They wallowed in luxury, with good meals and entertainment. They even had a small orchestra, so they might dance until the wee hours each night, while in the fetid blackness below decks, immigrants couldn’t even light a lamp because of the fire danger. Nothing short of sinful.

  She shuddered recalling how she and Ann had struggled to survive after Peter dumped them in the middle of nowhere and disappeared. They worked and lived like peasants, month after month selling their belongings. Poor Ann must have realized she was dying yet she never complained over the last few desperate weeks of her life. After her friend died, Melanie found a note wrapped around the ruby ring Ann so cherished.

  Dear Melanie,

  You have been a good friend to me. You and little Ann brought me great joy, even though we were reduced to living in such hideous conditions. Please sell this ring and pay for your passage back to Australia. I know Geoffrey would have wanted me to give it to you under the circumstances. Don’t be sad, I am going to a better place and I know Geoffrey is waiting for me.

  Your ever loving friend Ann

  Little Ann, who took her first tottering steps on board ship, slept in their cabin but Melanie would have to wake her up soon. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she scrubbed them away with her knuckles as she thought of her loyal friend. After the bleakness of Yorkshire, whatever came their way in Australia could not be worse.

  As she felt strength returning to her limbs from the warmth of the sun, her spirits soared. Home, how good it sounded. Would one of the minute figures waiting on the wharf be James? Please be there, James.

  Her hands shook so much now she had to clench them around the rail so none of the other passengers on deck would see her fear. Don’t be ridiculous, it’s too far away to see clearly. He might be late. She had not been specific about when they would arrive, but James would come. He must.

  Down in the cabin she woke the baby. “We’re home, darling, Uncle James will be waiting.” Brushing the red gold curls back into place, she tidied the child up as best she could in the cramped conditions.

  “Mama.”

  “Everything will be all right, baby, it has to be.” Ann’s deep blue eyes, a legacy from Michael, blinked sleepily.

  They were amongst the last to disembark, so the numbers on th
e wharf had thinned out. No James. Her heart lurched sickeningly in her breast at the thought he would not come.

  She only had a few coins left in her purse, barely enough for one meal. Accommodation, even if she could pay for it, would be hard to come by. Visions of sleeping out in the street rose before her eyes like some horrible nightmare.

  “Melanie.”

  She stared at the figure striding towards her and her head spun. A roaring sound, louder than storm tossed waves crashing against rocks, almost ruptured her eardrums. Dressed in white moleskin trousers and bushman’s shirt, this apparition from the grave looked the same, yet somehow different.

  “Robbie!” Tears welled up in her eyes. To save her life she couldn’t have moved. Robbie was alive! Michael had lied.

  “Melanie.” He ran the last few yards. Pulling her into his arms, his mouth on hers was hot, desperate, as he strained her close.

  “Michael said you were dead,” she blubbered.

  “He always was a bloody liar. I’ve met every boat for days.”

  “James?”

  He didn’t answer. “Where’s the….” He loosened his hold.

  “My bastard daughter?”

  “Melanie!”

  “Say it.” Bitter tears coursed down her cheeks. “Say what you and everyone else thinks – Michael Guilford’s whore and his bastard.”

  The slap on her cheek was little more than a tap, but it stopped her hysterical tirade. Robbie let her go with a muttered curse. Angry color fired his cheeks and his eyes blazed, vividly blue.

  The baby took this opportunity to toddle out from where she had been sitting on the luggage, hidden from view by Melanie’s skirt. Melanie watched a pulse convulse in Robbie’s throat, then he squatted down and stretched out his arms in welcome.

  “Come to Uncle Robbie.”

  With a gurgle of delight, the baby toddled towards him and he scooped her up. “Guilford’s eyes, but your hair, Mel,” he said after inspecting her carefully.

  “Her name is Ann, after my friend.”

  “Hello, little Ann.” He let the baby grab his hat, and his hair gleamed like ripe corn in the sun. A terrible longing, excruciating in its intensity, tore her heart to shreds.

  “I read the letter you wrote to James. No decent man would have done what Guilford did. I’m glad he went to the Crimean War. Hope he copped a Russian bullet in the guts, only that’s too good for him. I’ll kill him with my bare hands if I ever see him again. Ouch.” He disentangled the baby fingers gleefully pulling at his hair.

  “Is this all your luggage?” He glanced at the one, pitifully small trunk resting on the wharf.

  “Yes, we sold most of our things in England to survive. What was left after Ann died, I used for our fares. The ship’s food was awful, so I had to buy extra things from the crew.”

  Tears trickled down her face and she tasted their saltiness on her lips.

  “You’ve never felt cold until you’ve spent winter in the Yorkshire countryside, it must be the bleakest place on earth, and so lonely. Oh, Robbie, if it hadn’t been for the baby, I would have killed myself.”

  “God, don’t say such things. You’ve had a hell of a time, but it’s over now. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a wagon. I thought we could sleep in it on the way home, but I forgot about her.” He ruffled the baby’s curls. “We’ll have to put up at an inn.”

  He handed the baby back to Melanie.

  Robbie had left the wagon under the shade of a huge tree. He threw the trunk in the back before picking up her and the baby and setting them on the front seat. Within minutes, they were on their way. The road seemed much busier than she remembered from two years ago.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “Home to Ballarat.”

  “Where’s James?”

  Robbie’s face turned white. “I didn’t want to tell you this before.” He picked up her hand. “He’s dead.”

  “Dead!” she screamed. “No. No.” She drummed her feet against the wagon floor. Beat at her face until her cheeks stung, and the pain was nothing compared to the loss of her brother. Brave, resourceful James.

  “The redcoats shot him.”

  “When? How?”

  “Near Castlemaine. God knows how they knew we headed that way, but they did, ambushed us on the road. I managed to escape but he didn’t.”

  Her blood froze in her veins. “I told Michael you were going there, but he wouldn’t … my God, it was him. How could I have been so stupid? Gill, short for Guilford.”

  She told him about the overheard conversation in the conservatory. All the time it was Michael. He betrayed them, not once, but over and over. She felt as if someone twisted a knife inside her. He must have known what had happened to James, yet he claimed it was Robbie who had died so she would let him take her to his bed. Had watched her heart bleed over losing Robbie, but kept on lying without a twinge of conscience.

  “Bastard,” Robbie snarled. “I might have known. I had my suspicions all along about him being a spy.”

  “I wish I was dead,” she said in a heartbroken whisper. How could she have been so gullible as to believe Michael’s lies? If it wasn’t for little Ann, she would throw herself off the wagon seat and let the wheels grind her into the ground.

  “It isn’t your fault. He’s a fiend and I hope he rots in hell for what he did. I want to care for you now. No one will ever hurt you again, I promise.”

  His mouth became set in obstinate lines, and for the first time she noticed the gingery stubble of beard on his jaw and chin. He had been little more than a boy when she last saw him, now he was a man.

  He couldn’t know it of course, but he had the power to wound her more deeply than Michael ever did. Unrealistic to expect their relationship to be as close as it had been before Eureka, but if he abandoned her completely life would be intolerable.

  She watched Robbie brooding as they traveled mile upon silent mile, but eagerly drank in the sights and sounds of the bush. The sky looked so blue its vibrancy hurt her eyes. The air hung heavy with the scent of gum trees drifting in on the breeze.

  “We’ll spend the night at an inn,” he said eventually. “I know of a cheap, clean place off the main road, so it won’t be far out of our way.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We can sleep in the wagon like you planned.”

  “No, you need a comfortable bed. You’re not much more than skin and bone, not like the little one.” He glanced at the plump, rosy cheeked child sleeping on her mother’s lap. “I suppose you gave her most of the food and let yourself starve.”

  “I had enough.”

  They stopped along the way to rest the horses and eat. Robbie built a fire, and for the first time in more than two years, she partook of a bushman’s meal, tea and damper. Even the baby ate some of it washed down with water from the stream.

  Night wrapped the countryside in darkness by the time they arrived at the inn. Almost swaying with fatigue, she waited while Robbie went to arrange their rooms. Within a short time he strode back. Even before he spoke she sensed his anger.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The bloody inn’s booked out.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “It’s alright. They had one room, so I took it for you and the baby.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll sleep in the wagon.”

  “That isn’t fair. We’ll all sleep in the wagon.”

  “Don’t be foolish.”

  “Robbie!”

  “Damn it, I’ve paid for that room so you’re having it.”

  “Couldn’t we share?” She touched his arm, “Make up an extra bed on the floor?”

  “No.” He knocked her hand away so suddenly he might well have slapped her. For some reason he hated her. The tears fell fast. She pressed her hand into her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobs, and turned her face away.

  “You’re crying again.” He reached out, spun her around, and pressed her face into his chest. “Don’t cry. I�
�m acting like a pig. I didn’t mean to snarl at you, but it’s impossible for us to share a room.”

  “Why?”

  He muttered something she could not quite catch, but it sounded like a dreadful swear word. “For God sake, I’m a man, aren’t I? Damn it, if we share a room, I won’t be sleeping on the floor.”

  “You don’t have to swear all the time.”

  “Let’s go.” He picked up the baby who had fallen asleep. “You carry one bag, I’ll take the other.”

  He didn’t speak again until they entered the inn, then he only exchanged a few words with the innkeeper as he handed over a key.

  “Nice family you have, Mr. Pritchard.”

  “I think so.”

  The single-storied hotel had rooms running off the side verandah. The man opened the door, lit a bedside lamp, pointed to where some extra linen had been stored and bid them goodnight.

  Melanie was pleased to find a couch where the baby could sleep. She laid little Ann on the bed while she made up the couch, changed the baby and settled her down. The baby lay there with a thumb stuck in her mouth, her red gold curls tumbling all over the white pillow.

  “She looks like one of those cherub things. You know, like they have in a religious painting.” Robbie ran a gentle finger down the baby’s cheek. “Well, goodnight.” He started toward the door.

  “Don’t go.”

  He swung around. “What!”

  “Stay with me, please.” Memories of all the fear filled nights spent alone with a chair rammed against the cabin door to keep predatory sailors at bay, rushed back. “Stay with me, Robbie.”

  “No, it’s impossible.” A pulse convulsed at the side of his jaw and his hands bunched into fists at his side.

  “I don’t mean sleep on the floor.” She stared straight at him, and saw his eyes blazing with a hunger he could not hide.

  “Are you sure? You, I mean, you know what I want?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see to the horses.” He swallowed several times. “If the lamp is turned off when I get back, I’ll know you’ve changed your mind and I’ll sleep in the wagon.” He strode out of the room, shutting the door with a slight thud.