Jo-Beth shook her head, careful not to look beyond the screen, but evidently determined to stay. Then someone banged on the door and she went to it, holding it open only a few inches.
‘Lucy! You can’t come in. Paul is having a treatment –’
‘I must see him.’ Lucy’s voice sounded high and strained. ‘I’ve been terrible to him and I want to say I’m sorry and I’ll do anything I can to help.’
‘Not now. Paul wouldn’t be able to talk to you. He’s not well enough.’
‘No. Let me in. I must see him.’ Lucy pushed the door suddenly, violently, sending Jo-Beth reeling back. She ran across to the couch and, brushing Elly aside, knelt to snatch Paul’s hands against her breast. ‘Dearest Cousin Paul, I had to see you, to tell you how much I’ve missed you.’
Elly grasped her shoulder, but she twisted aside, saying sharply, ‘Why are you here? I’d have thought you’d be needed at the hospital. Paul’s doctor is caring for him perfectly well, I’m sure.’
Paul managed to produce a few, half-strangled words, ‘For the love of Heaven, get her out of here.’
Jo-Beth had her by the waist, lifting her away from the couch. Then as she struggled her arm caught Elly’s makeshift screen, knocking it down. Lucy stared at Paul’s leg, at the box with its writhing contents. Her scream was shattering. Elly made a grab for Lucy’s free arm then helped hustle her to the door.
‘Take her home, Jo-Beth, and stay with her if Mrs Brockenhurst isn’t there. I’ll call in later.’
Lucy had gone from white to red. She dragged her arm free and hit out at Elly. ‘Don’t touch me. What are you doing to him, you fiends?’
‘We’re helping him, Lucy. I’ll explain it all –’
‘No. You’re lying. What you’re doing is vile. I’ll get the police... the Governor...’
Jo-Beth slapped her cheek, lightly, stingingly. ‘Shut up, my lass, and pay attention to your elders. Paul has asked for this treatment. He’s not drugged or restrained in any way, as you can see. But it’s taking all his strength to withstand it, and the last thing he needs is interruption from a spoilt, hysterical brat who thinks the universe revolves around her precious self. Now, you come with me, and no more argument.’
Elly stared at the closed door, listened to the receding footsteps and the sound of Lucy’s angry sobbing. She went back to Paul.
Sweat streamed down his forehead and his hands were locked, white-knuckled. Elly wiped his face as she sat down.
‘Paul, it will help if your attention is distracted. Talk to me. Tell me about your childhood in Yorkshire. Was it on a farm?’
With an obvious effort he focussed his mind, saying through clenched teeth, ‘Yes, not far from Great Ayton. Good... land, it was, and we... made a good living.’
‘You told me you went to school, so your father would have been prosperous if he could spare you from the farm. Did you have only the one sister?’
For an instant, the half-smile appeared. ‘Jessie. She had... hair like spun straw and a merry nature that could charm birds into the kitchen to feed from her fingertips.’ The light in his face died, and Elly quickly asked another question.
‘Were you happy at school? Were you a studious little boy?’
‘When it suited me.’
She heard the breath hiss between his teeth, and knew she must goad him into an emotional response if he was to forget his present torment. She had to tap into the very private well of anger she knew existed beneath the surface. ‘So how did it happen? What took you out of school into the mills?’
‘I don’t want to think about... that.’
‘Yes you do. Tell me, Paul.’
He held her gaze firmly. ‘It’s not your affair.’
She was just as adamant. ‘I’m making it my affair. You’re not the only person with a difficult past. Children have always suffered for their father’s sins.’
‘My father committed no sin,’ he roared. ‘He was a wonderful man. If he hadn’t been so innately good he’d never have been cheated out of his land by a smiling villain not fit to wipe his boots!’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘I’m damned if I will.’ He sounded less like an enraged adult than a cross, sulky child, and Elly grinned.
Paul said stiffly, ‘I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.’
Delighted that he had forgotten the maggots for the moment, Elly continued to prod him. ‘Shout as much as you like. Who was this villain who stole your land, and how did he do it?’
Paul looked grim as he travelled back into the past against his will, driven by her into remembering.
‘He was a gentleman, so-called, a member of the railway company who knew our land would be wanted for a new spur line to be built out to the coast at Whitby. When my father refused to sell mysterious fires broke out in the hayricks, sheep were savaged by wild dogs, fences came down. Our workmen were bought off –’ He stopped, stretching out towards the screen. ‘Could we... No. Never mind. I’m sorry, what was I saying?’
‘The farm had been under attack.’
‘Yes.’ He visibly collected his thoughts. ‘One night several sheep were found with their throats cut in a field. Two men lay against the stone wall: my father, unconscious from a bump on the head, and a stranger, dead with a bill-hook through his chest. My father was arraigned for murder. He’d no need to swear his innocence to me. I knew him for a man who could never kill another, whatever the provocation. And there were many to swear to his good character. At the trial there was enough doubt to save him from the noose, but he was transported for life.’
Elly poured another small whisky and prodded him to continue. ‘So your mother couldn’t manage without help, the farm had run down, and the railway entrepreneur bought it at a low price. Where did your family go?’
‘To a cottage in the village. Mam had fallen pregnant and ill, so Jessie stayed with her while I went into the mill. The money for the farm swelled the purses of doctors with their useless medicines and the equally useless lawyers who failed to bring my father off. I slaved in that mill, drawing lint into my lungs with every breath, but the pay was pitiful. The babe came into the world sickly, and Mam never fully recovered. Grief for my father didn’t help.’
He lapsed into gloomy silence, and Elly urged him to continue. ‘So you took ship to Australia and lost your family tragically at sea. You found yourself alone in a strange country at... what age?’
‘Fourteen years. I felt like forty, with the weight of misery and experience on my back. It made me very angry, very resentful.’
‘I think you still are.’
His head snapped up and he gave her his full attention. ‘Is that what you think? That I’m brooding over my losses, still?’
‘Are you not?’
‘In part, I suppose. I’ve thought of pushing the Yorkshire gentleman under one of his own trains, knowing it was only a child’s dream.’ He paused. ‘Elly, the boy who’d gone on the streets, running wild, had the good fortune to be rescued, educated and stood on his feet by a philanthropist. I’ll tell you about him some day. But the boy grew into a man with a mission: to create a society of equal opportunity, where children are not enslaved through poverty; where men may speak for themselves without fear of reprisal; where the law is the same for all and one man may not own another nor treat him as something lower than the beasts.’
His voice had taken on power as he defined his purpose in life. To Elly he sounded like the old Paul. ‘As the child of a convict father I should have been relegated to the under-class in our society. But I refused to be classified, branded. I’ve fought to be seen as the man I made myself. I’ve also waited a long time to avenge my father’s murder.’
Shock held Elly immobile, searching for words. ‘Murder! I thought he was transported...’
‘He was.’ Paul thumped his thigh with a fist. His voice rose. ‘Christ! Will those little buggers never let up? Elly, I think I’ll go mad.’
She flew to him, h
olding his shoulders as he struggled to rise from the couch. ‘No. No. You must go through with it. It’s your only hope of saving your leg. Paul, tell me about your father. Who killed him?’
His eyes bulged with effort. She could see him being torn by a desire to knock her aside and rip away the bindings holding the maggots against his flesh, saw the cracking self-restraint which allowed her to hold him down against the cushion. She was no physical match for him, yet she prevailed, helped by his still-functioning will.
‘My father... They assigned him to a country property,’ Paul panted. ‘The overseer was bad, but his master was worse. On his orders my father died on the triangle, his back shredded to ribbons by the cat. That man will die by my hand, one day.’
The catharsis of his last speech seemed suddenly to release the alcohol to flood his brain. He went limp in her hold, his jaw slackened as his head fell to one side and he slept. But before long he began to moan and mutter, his fingers twitching, reaching down his legs towards the source of his restlessness. The hours passed while Elly sat with his hands locked in hers, her back and neck stiff with fatigue, listening to him rave in a half-awake drunken state about the itch, the awful, tearing, nerve-shredding itch of tiny mouths nibbling, chewing, gorging on his flesh.
But when daylight filtered through the windows Elly detached herself from his hold to inspect the wound, and she saw what she had prayed for. Cleaning away the glutted creatures into her box she found that the necrotic tissue had all but disappeared, leaving behind healthy pink granulated tissue, the beginnings of new flesh. If she wasn’t so exhausted she wouldn’t be crying, she told herself, as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
Paul’s cracked and weary voice recalled her. ‘What is it, Elly? Has it all been for nothing?’
She beamed through the tears. ‘My dear, it worked. It worked!’
He bolted upright and tore away the screen to stare at the wound where red and black flesh had made way for raw pink. ‘It’s true,’ he croaked. ‘You did it, Elly.’
‘I’m not so sure. I seem to detect the guidance of another Hand here.’ Elly shook herself mentally. Mysticism at dawn! Impractical and misleading. She must pull herself together.
Paul seemed dazed. He sat staring at his leg, muttering, ‘It’s true. It’s true,’ while Elly wondered whether she had the strength to finish off here and get back to the hospital. A hot drink. That’s what they both needed.
Yawning and stretching cramped muscles, she revived the almost dead fire then put water on to boil.
‘Elly?’
Paul’s voice, so tentative, made her shrink inwardly. He had remembered his loss of control during the long night and wanted her to leave. He couldn’t bear to face the person who had heard and seen his humiliating disintegration.
‘Yes, Paul?’
‘Come here, please.’
She went slowly, not meeting his gaze as she sank down again on the stool beside the couch.
‘Elly, I placed my trust in you, knowing you’d stand by me through whatever came, and you upheld that trust magnificently. I know I didn’t suffer alone through those hours. There will never be any way to thank you. I simply want you to know I couldn’t have held out without your presence, holding me, giving me your wonderful strength. I owe you my life, Elly.’
It wasn’t a moment to politely demur. Elly felt she had held Paul’s life in her keeping for a time, or if not his life, his sanity. She never wanted to see anyone go through such an experience again. But it had been worthwhile. His leg would heal in due course. The cracked shin bone was minor in comparison with the infection, and Paul would walk again without aid. His career and life were safe, but for how long, with Cornwallis on the prowl?
‘Paul, do you have any idea who your assailants were?’
‘Hirelings, thugs in the pay of Cornwallis. I’ve thought so from the beginning, when I woke up to find how close I’d come to being crippled. It’s his style.’ Paul sounded so matter-of-fact, Elly was amazed, and then angry.
‘How can you be so calm about it? What if... when he tries again?’
‘I’ll be ready, and more careful.’ He drew her close beside the couch. ‘Elly, it’s you I’m afraid for. You’re next in line for his vengeance.’
‘I know it. But how can we guard against the unexpected? He won’t try the same ploy twice. He’s too clever. He’s a sadist, Paul. He’ll draw out the plot with twists and traps. Do you know he pays the Governor at Darlinghurst Gaol to let him watch hangings, now they’re no longer public? I even saw him set the rope around a poor man’s neck.’
Paul stiffened. ‘How in the Hell did you see such a thing?’
‘Oh, from a window. I was attending a patient at the time.’ Elly dismissed this. ‘The importance lies in the sidelight to his character. We can expect almost any response from such a man, the more twisted and cunning, the more likely.’
His muscles relaxed and he lay back, exhausted, while Elly hurried to fetch a steaming mug of tea. She refused to let him talk until he had drunk most of it. Then, placing the mug on his table he said, ‘My dear, we must make plans of our own. A creature who will pay to participate in a hanging is, as you say, capable of any action.’
‘I know it. But although I started this, now I want to put aside worry over the future, for just a few minutes longer. I want to relive the joy of our success.’ She put her hand in his. ‘Paul, you’re whole and healthy, or will be again. It’s a kind of miracle.’
His fingers closed over hers, tightening. A tide of exhaustion mixed with elation washed over and through her, as she gave silent thanks. The luck, or divine planning, or whatever, had been with her and Paul that night – something much more powerful than either of them. And she was grateful to the depths of her being.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
For the next few days after the burning of the Eureka Hotel Pearl saw little of J.G. as he moved through the various camp sites, talking with the men and adding to his understanding of the situation. She found that she had more than enough work with an outbreak of sandy blight caused by wind-blown dust, and a consequent call for her particular form of eye wash. This simple solution of boiled boracic and herbs acted like magic on the painful swelling, made worse by poor diet and the generally run-down condition of the sufferers. At least the warmer weather meant less rheumatics and pneumonia.
November was an uneasy month. The arrest of Westerby and two others charged with burning down the Eureka Hotel had caused uproar amongst the miners. At a meeting on Bakery Hill a crowd of nearly ten thousand gathered to wave their banners and listen to moderate speakers plead for restraint while firebrands preached rebellion. A deputation went to the Governor demanding the release of Westerby, although the hotel proprietor, Bentley, and his two henchmen were convicted of Scobie’s manslaughter and sentenced to three years’ hard labour on the roads.
Rumours flew that the Commissioner and the Governor were secretly planning to teach the diggers ‘a fearful lesson’, and a detachment of the 40th Regiment marched into Ballarat from Geelong, jeered by the diggers. There was some scuffling which led to a few injuries. And tempers still ran high that night when a troop of mounted police rode through the camp to the accompaniment of shots in the air, showers of sticks and stones and angry cries of ‘Joe! Joe! Get rid of the bloody traps.’
Things remained strangely quiet around Golden Point during the next day. Pearl missed the background noise of the windlasses creaking, of digging, chipping, cursing, of water running. She knew a meeting had been called and felt uneasy, knowing the temper of the camp.
She was also worried about J.G., whom she had not seen for days. His ferreting activities had several times led him into trouble with men who resented his curiosity or feared his motives. The goldfields already had their own newspapers. They didn’t need any toffee-nosed city journalist poking around, misrepresenting their case. But the occasional black eye never deterred J.G. While not particularly healthy or strongly built, he had the doggedness o
f an Irish terrier, with a respect for the truth shining through all his whimsicality. In fact, Pearl cared a great deal about what happened to the man.
Thinking back on their encounters in Sydney Town she also recognised just how long ago this caring had begun, even when she believed she hated him for interfering in her affairs. Was it because he had so obviously cared what happened to her, an insignificant little woman from a despised country, without presence, riches or connections, who flew at him in a fury whenever he approached her? But how much of that caring went beyond humanity and friendship? Would someone as restless and cynical on the one hand and broad-mindedly inquisitive on the other, ever consider tying himself down to a woman, when he had always roamed the world freely and clearly loved doing it? It wasn’t possible.
She had to forget any notions of love and permanence between them and enjoy the friendship. This point settled, she firmly turned her mind to a case of asthma aggravated by the patient’s conviction that it could be cured by smoking stinkweed.
J.G. slipped into her tent later after the lamps were lit, while she bent over her case-book entering the details of the day. She raised her head as a shadow passed over her packing-case desk to see him transfigured. It was more than normal excitement there, she thought – more like a solemn fervour, almost exaltation.
‘What happened? I can see it must have been something momentous.’ She waited in some trepidation for his answer.
J.G. paced the tent restlessly. ‘How can I explain? This meeting… It was the experience of a lifetime, a conversion. I listened to plain men address their fellows with an honesty and consideration for the rights of others that I’ve never heard or seen. It was democracy and brotherly love and rage against tyranny, all rolled into one. And by all that’s Holy, it was magnificent.’
A HAZARD OF HEARTS Page 33