by Darry Fraser
‘I could help you with your mother, too. And laundry’s not dangerous work.’
‘It can kill yer all the same.’ Flora met her gaze. ‘You could help with Ma, that’s true.’ She leaned forward to pour herself some more tea. She tugged on her bottom lip and sat back. ‘An extra hand … We’d have need then of another washing tub, maybe another boiler.’ She stared off down the way, at Tillo’s back, and her eyes narrowed.
Nell slumped. ‘I can’t buy one, yet, but I will be able to, soon.’ It wasn’t enough of a reason to use any gold, but if needs be she could borrow a little of it …
Flora held up a finger. ‘Wait here.’
She marched away from the fire pit and Nell watched her follow Tillo. She called out, and the man stopped and turned. Flora stood, first with her hands on her hips, then a thumb pointing back to her tent site. The other hand was palm up.
Tillo shook his head. Flora clamped hands on her hips again as she spoke. Tillo threw his in the air. Flora stood taller and waited. Then he said something in reply and she threw her head back and laughed, turned smartly and made her way back to Nell.
‘A new half barrel will be here tomorrow. Might stink of rum … I mean lemonade,’ Flora said, and laughed again. Few folk legally distilled rum and sold it on the fields. It was always disguised as lemonade of some sort. ‘For a pound’s worth of laundry, we will have an extra tub. I’ll build a second stand tonight for one more boiler. I reckon Tillo will find us another for later.’
Nell’s chest expanded. ‘A pound, that’s it? Nothing more? Just what would you owe him?’
Flora gave a short laugh. ‘Nothing more than his washing, Nellie. I’ve never done business on me back. Doing the laundry is hard enough on me back as it is.’ She sat again, looked around and pointed at a pile of rocks. ‘I’d gathered those a while back. Now they’ll come in useful. They’ll make a bigger stand than this one.’
‘I appreciate it. I’ll help you build it.’
‘It’s hard work, Nell.’
‘I know.’
‘I mean all of it. Hard because we’re doing it on our own, for ourselves. There’s them that don’t like it.’
Nell nodded. ‘But times are changing.’
‘And your sister-in-law? How’re you going to get around her?’
Nell’s mouth pursed. ‘As far as she’s concerned now, there’s nothing to worry about. The will says it all.’
Flora kept her eyes down. ‘And Lewis?’
‘Lewis’s only worry was that I might have given birth to a boy. Now he can have the will read and not feel as if his life has been stripped from him.’
Flora looked up then. ‘So, he inherits straightaway?’
‘It all goes to the surviving male member of the family. I believe Lewis will hear the will, then he’ll begin to grow his assets. I’m not secure in either house.’
Flora kicked at the dirt, bent to toss a few twigs onto the fire. ‘So. You’ll leave there. You’re a widow. You’ll take a job here on the diggin’s.’ She looked at Nell. ‘That’s brave.’
‘It’s necessary, not brave.’
‘And speaking of brave,’ Flora said, waving away Nell’s scorn. ‘You haven’t told me of your adventure. How brave were ye when you got bailed up?’
Nell rolled her eyes. ‘Not brave at all. I tripped and fell out of the coach, and when the gun went off again, I scampered like a baby underneath it, screaming my head off. Got my dress stuck under a wheel and couldn’t move until I tore bits off it. Might’ve got myself trampled by the horses or driven over by the cart. Not brave. Stupid as a rock.’
Fascinated, Flora chewed her lip. ‘Why did he not shoot you?’
Nell stilled, remembering the low voice, the tentative, ‘You’re hurt.’ And then the other thing he said came back to her. ‘He used his fists on you, too.’ As if he might have known how Andrew treated his first wife. Why did that suddenly come to her, now?
She looked at Flora. ‘I don’t know. After the shot killed Andrew, lots of things fled through my mind. I was scared for my life, but not once did I think that I would be killed by the bushranger.’ Nell tried to recollect more. ‘I said a very ridiculous thing to him, and as silly as it sounds, he seemed a gentleman.’
‘A gentleman? He murders your husband—wait, I see it now. It would seem a gentlemanly thing to do, murdering Andrew for ye. Ha!’ Then Flora winked at Nell and crossed herself.
Nell inclined her head. ‘I should cross myself, too, but the bushranger didn’t shoot Andrew. That shot came from behind him.’ She shuddered. ‘Either a lucky shot, or a very good marksman. It could easily have been me killed by that shot.’
Flora’s eyes flickered in thought, then her gaze fell to the fire and she was silent awhile. ‘A marksman, you say?’ she said when she looked up. She took a deep breath. ‘You were lucky the bushranger didn’t have his way with you then, over his shoulder and off to his lair.’ She waggled her finger in the air.
Nell said, ‘By the time I’d found my tongue, I didn’t believe I was in any danger. Not from the bushranger, anyway.’ She burned, remembering her proposition, and cursed Andrew again for her feeble state of mind at the time.
‘What is it? You’ve gone red in the face, Nellie Thomas.’
‘He was a gentleman.’ Nell thought of the kind eyes, of the polite rejection. Of honour. Her embarrassment flamed once more, and she wondered if she would ever see him again. She was hopeful that perhaps she would, if her note had been delivered, yet she had no clue how she would ever manage to hold up her head in front of him.
‘Hmm. By the look of those bright spots on your cheeks, is it a pity you couldn’t have made his acquaintance?’ Flora laughed.
Nell glanced up. ‘A fine thought.’ She tapped her fingertips on the pannikin, and changed the subject, tossing her tea into the fire. ‘But it won’t help find a place to live, especially if Enid and Lewis decide against letting me take up the other house.’
Flora slapped her knees. ‘It just might help if we knew where he was, this gentleman bushranger of yours. Perhaps he could swoop you up and take you off with him.’ Then she shrugged. ‘Failing that, your new lodgings will have to be a tent here in camp.’
Nell looked about her, at the rough and tumble of the camp, at the dust and the dirt, the hard, worn-down faces of men and women alike. The white people, the black people, the yellow people, myriad languages, the bellowing, the brawling, the children of all races on the diggings, scampering about, their dirty faces and patched clothes evidence of the fickle luck on the fields. Her heart banged. ‘Yes, I know. A tent here in the camp.’
Ten
Nell decided it was time to inform Enid that she was not with child. She’d had a few weeks of calming herself in the relative safety of Wilshire House, but now she should move elsewhere, away from Enid’s constant disdain, and begin to make a new life.
On the verandah—a narrow strip of boards only a few feet from the street front—she found her sister-in-law fanning herself, silent and frowning. Composing her features, Nell began. ‘Enid, it appears I am not with child.’
Enid’s tenuous civility evaporated like fog on a summer’s morning. A glint of light showed in her eyes. She sat forward in her seat, the fan forgotten. ‘I had the sense that you were not.’
Enid’s vehemence and acid glance gave Nell a prick of fear and reminded her of her husband’s violence. But Enid was not Andrew, and Nell was not in danger of being punched and beaten. She debated whether to sit or to turn away and run down the hallway, throwing something at the wall as she went. Drawing in a shaky breath instead, she decided to be more determined—for her future, for her old self, the confident and no-nonsense Nell. Wrangling with Enid would set things straight and would out the undeniable truth. She breathed more deeply as she drew out a chair to sit alongside her sister-in-law.
‘You will also note that I am not unhappy about it.’
Enid glared. ‘You should be on your way, then, not getting comfo
rtable.’
Nell settled in the seat, her hands still in her lap. ‘One of your midwife friends had said that she’d seen many beatings, and that mine were not the only ones Andrew doled out. That he could have actually murdered Susan.’
The snort from Enid could have been derision, but it sounded more like she was choking on the accusation.
‘She said that trauma such as I had suffered,’ Nell continued, and watched Enid’s gaze dart away. ‘You know, the beatings, the black eyes and jaw, the cracked ribs and bruised stomach,’ she went on as Enid now seemed to squirm. ‘All by Andrew—although the midwife didn’t have to actually say that—’
‘So, only you say,’ Enid hissed, quick to clarify. She chewed her lips, her face screwing up and twitching as she held on to her outrage.
‘All that, and his murder before my very eyes,’ Nell resumed, swallowing down the nerves, ‘would be enough to send the womb hysterical. The woman was sure of it. Do you remember she said as much to you, too?’
Enid put her nose in the air. ‘Of course I remember what she said. The most terrible event of a husband’s murder would have been a great shock for any woman,’ she conceded, obviously not caring to address Andrew’s violence.
Trying not to bare her teeth, Nell said, ‘His brutality was something no woman should have had to endure.’
When she looked at Nell, Enid’s eyes were wide and glassy. ‘I don’t believe one word you say, Nell Thomas, about what you were supposed to have endured. My brother was a—’
Nell’s wrath boiled over. ‘Your brother was a loathsome man,’ she rasped. ‘And you turned your eye from all his barbarisms to ensure that you and your son survived. You let nothing get in the way of that, not even common decency.’
Enid rounded on her. ‘What did you expect?’ she spat. ‘You, only a laundress, forced upon him by your father—a failed squatter because of his gambling, his drinking. A man who set up a laundry and had his daughter work it.’ She leaned over. ‘I told him often that you and your father were only after his money.’ She fanned furiously.
Nell returned her glare, frowned darkly as her voice thrummed. ‘And you were not? If it meant that your son was once again his sole heir, and that you were not turned out, you’d turn an eye to anything, even my murder.’
Enid’s mouth thinned. A shrewd calculation showed in the squint of her eye. ‘Lewis is now the heir, plain as day, anyway, as you have so kindly advised. Your accusation is baseless. Moot, in fact. You are a disgrace.’
Was Enid about to smirk? Nell scorned. ‘I hope the madness of your brother stopped with him and that his insanity, and your malicious traits, have not been inherited by your son.’
Enid’s small eyes popped, and a deep red flush spread over her features. She slapped the fan against her chest. Breathing in angry snatches, she muttered, ‘You ungrateful hussy.’
Nell’s rage erupted, and she shot out of her chair. Alarmed, eyes fearful, Enid thrust back into her seat. Nell bent to her. ‘It was only sheer chance he managed to rape. His apparatus almost always failed. Then he would attack me for it.’ Shaking with fury, she watched Enid scoot her chair back.
Enid’s mouth worked before her voice sounded, sneering. ‘You lie. Susan carried almost to full term. She was weak, they said, the baby coming too early, dead in the womb, is all—’
‘An innocent,’ Nell exploded. ‘She and her baby did not deserve their most horrible fate.’
Enid faltered, her mouth working at the harsh reality of Nell’s words. She took a moment, then rallied. ‘You … make all this up, this … these stories.’
Nell throat squeezed. ‘Why do you hide from it? He was insane.’ Her hands balled into fists again. And as suddenly as it boiled up, her rage cleared, its flare dropping away. Letting go of the breath she was holding, she rocked and rocked in the warm air. She had to calm herself. There was no point to this. No point.
Enid only shook her head, denying. Afraid.
Releasing her hands from their clench, Nell flexed her fingers. ‘It was a cruelty on Susan that caused her death, I’m sure of it. And I am glad his madness does not grow on a child within me.’ She beat down the last of her fury, but raw emotion shuddered in her voice. ‘Your brother can no longer harm anyone. The bullet was too quick a death and hell is too good for him.’
Enid blanched, and for a moment her mouth dropped open in shock. Then the squint twitched. ‘Well, then,’ she said, breathing raggedly, clearly feeling no longer in physical danger. ‘You know what that means.’ Her lips flattened before she enunciated each word between her teeth. ‘You can pack your bags.’
Nell knew that had been coming. She’d already made plans to move back into Amberton House and take her meagre possessions with her. ‘I will certainly do that. But I will stay here just a few more days before I make my final departure.’
‘You will leave today,’ Enid snapped.
‘I think not,’ Nell said firmly, evenly. ‘While I don’t want to stay in this hostile place a moment more than necessary, I need more time to secure myself properly. Lewis is now the head of the house. I will negotiate with him.’
Enid propelled out of her chair, drew to full height and pushed past. Nell’s thudding heart made her giddy, but she’d done what she’d set out to do.
Carrying her sewing kit in a basket, Nell got to Amberton House later that afternoon. She’d needed somewhere out of Enid’s way. By the time she arrived, she’d built up a thirst. The water carter had delivered a barrel some time ago, long before they’d left that fateful morning in the coach. She headed out the back for it. A pitcher still sat next to it on the short dry-rock wall that held it off the ground.
Odd. Here was another lone sprig of yellow wattle, its flowers faded a little, lying beside the pitcher. She looked around. No flowering shrub in sight. Perhaps a bird … She sat stock still when she spotted another sprig of wattle atop the wall further around, and yet another older sprig, withered, at the foot of the wall. Ahead of her thoughts, her heart raced. This was no bird dropping twigs. The sprig was in the exact same place as before.
Who’s been here? Children? Why wattle? Her own shrub had lost all its blooms. She’d hastily grabbed the last of it on the morning she and Andrew fled. She remembered she’d needed to be reminded of her courage. The bright yellow balls of colour had resembled the sun shining. She’d tucked the sprig into her bonnet, a quick flick of a pin to hold it in place …
The bushranger had handed her bonnet back to her. He’d stared at the wattle, brushed his fingers over it. Had he been here? Her heart pumped harder.
She bent and picked up a sprig. Little yellow dots, like dust puffs, flew off. It had dried, had been here a while. Had the bushranger left sprigs, and perhaps at least twice more since? He’d said he’d see she was safe when returned to her home.
So, had he come? It could have been him who came the first night after the hold-up. But how would he have known where she lived? Ah, of course. Mr Steele.
She’d been frightened that first night, believing it to be a thief, an opportunist after the massacre. Not for one minute had she thought it would be the bushranger. She had scurried to stay at Wilshire House, too fraught to stay on her own. And now she was scurrying again, away from there.
Alarmed, she shook herself at the direction her thoughts were turning. She’d wanted him to find her, that’s why she’d sent the note. But what sort of dangers would that attract? Her mind must still be addled. Dear Lord, what was she doing? Stop. Think.
The weight of the gold dragged on her. Foremost was her safety, but afterwards the gold had to be her priority, and only then could the distraction of her clandestine visitor be addressed.
She perched carefully on the edge of the wall. Lifting the lid of the barrel, she leaned over, cupped her hand and dipped it in the bucket. As she trickled cool water into her mouth, the words that had shouted inside her head when she was speaking to Flora returned.
A tent in the camp. She sighed. There w
ere thousands camped there already, and she well knew the life. As long as she avoided her father, it wouldn’t be so bad. He still lived somewhere in that maze of humanity, eking out an existence on God only knew what. Not that she’d be interested in ever seeing him again, nor listening to his chortling over his own daughter’s downfall. He hadn’t cared a damn for her anyway, as long as he’d gotten his money. Nell shuddered. She owed him nothing.
But gold was at her fingertips. Almost literally. Bending to pick out a loose rock in the wall, she felt behind it for one of the bars she’d slid into the hollow. Still there. Replacing the rock, she tapped it into position with her foot. She knew where each one was secreted. She would have to begin her sewing and work quickly. A new garment each day would have to be loaded with as many of the nuggets as it would take without pulling it out of shape. Then she would go to the laundry and work with Flora.
She headed to the back of the house and threw open the doors to air the place out. Today it seemed different to her. She might prevail upon Lewis to gift it to her after all, or rent it to her cheaply. At least that way she would have respectability, and she did have to live somewhere. If Enid had a say in it, the chances of Lewis doing anything of the sort were slim. She wouldn’t want to share her brother’s estate, especially with Nell, if she didn’t have to.
Then again, Lewis seemed a sensible person. Showed nothing of the debauchery that afflicted his uncle. Or she hoped not. Horror. She’d never succumb to that again. So, was working on the fields as good as she could come up with? But what else to do? What else to do? Flora had told her to return tomorrow. Nell needed to put a plan together.
The light was fading now, so she had to work fast. She hurried to the bedroom. On the bare but foot-worn floorboards, she knelt and dug under the mattress, a wool affair—an expensive one, so Andrew had said. It had been his pride and joy. He’d pinched her and punched her and pushed her off it when he took a fancy to. She hadn’t had the strength to drag it out of the house and burn it. Enid had insisted it came with her to their shared house and Nell had insisted it stayed where it was.