The Widow of Ballarat

by Darry Fraser

  ‘Thank you. And if you please, call me Matthew.’ He dropped his bag at the door and brushed off his boots on the step. He entered the short hallway behind Finn.

  ‘And call me Finn. Now, this way.’ Finn indicated a room off to the right. ‘Hat and coat here, if you will,’ he said and waved at two vacant pegs on the hallway wall.

  Finn led Matthew into the parlour room set with two chairs, a small table holding a decanter and two sturdy glasses. The window, open, with simple lace curtains on either side, allowed in a warm breeze. At least it moved the air. A chair in one corner, much like a dining-room chair, held a stack of newspapers. The fireplace, now empty, was clean but the faint acrid smell of wood smoke still permeated the room. On the mantle was a sketch of his parents, John and Celeste, and only one framed daguerreotype of Finn and his wife Louisa, on their wedding day five years past. There were no feminine trappings in the room.

  Finn indicated Matthew take a chair by the window. Pulling the stopper from the decanter, he poured two generous shots. ‘I take it your visit is for business.’

  Matthew nodded and took up a seat. ‘It is. I have here a letter from Joseph regarding the subject you and he last spoke of. For your information, I am also privy to its contents.’

  Finn took the letter from Matthew’s outstretched hand, opened and read it. His eyes widened, frowned and widened again. When he finished, he looked across at Matthew, the letter fallen to his lap. ‘Mrs Amberton believes that certain gold she has in her possession is rightfully my family’s.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘And,’ Finn said, struggling to grasp the situation, ‘Mrs Amberton has only just become aware that the gold is not her husband’s?’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘Astounding.’ Finn looked down at the paper, wondering again if Nell had known at the hold-up. ‘And Joseph is also concerned that I might take matters into my own hands.’

  Matthew smiled. ‘It would be a reasonable assumption.’

  Finn snorted a laugh. ‘It would. He also warns me against it. However, I am in no hurry to be dangling from a noose for my trouble.’ He reminded himself that he’d very nearly taken matters into his own hands. ‘I presume, therefore, that you are here to help me refrain from such folly. He says that you have discussed a possible solution.’

  Matthew took a swallow of rum. ‘We have. And today I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Amberton in order to facilitate a handover, if you will, of the gold.’

  Finn’s mind ticked. ‘You work quickly.’

  ‘You’ll agree, the matter would be best dealt with sooner than later.’

  Finn remembered Mrs Amberton on that day, in her torn skirt, the ragged chemise underneath. Her startling blue eyes set in a gaunt face, one under a deep bruise. The memory of her desperation, and her desperate plea. Her unusual composure in the face of a dire threat. Her disdain for her husband and the lack of grief for his demise.

  The gunshot from over his shoulder. Then he remembered the warmth of Nell against him at her house, sure of herself, offering …

  He let go a swift breath between his teeth. ‘She is well after her ordeal?’ Finn’s glass swayed in his hand. He had no desire to take a drink.

  ‘Would seem so.’

  Careful to maintain a neutral tone, Finn asked, ‘And where is she now?’

  ‘Ah. Client confidentiality, I’m afraid. But apparently retrieving the gold from where it is kept—and I hasten to add I’m not privy to that information—might prove problematic.’

  ‘Hard to know how to handle the situation if two of the most necessary pieces of information are withheld.’

  ‘Understand fully. But my cousin advises us to be prudent, and he is the lawyer in the family, not me. He believes we might only just be within the letter of the law and must proceed with the utmost caution. Delicate, for him.’

  ‘Of course.’ Finn’s thoughts weren’t on Joseph’s delicate position, but on bright, intelligent blue eyes, a strong temperament and a curve to her hip he remembered under his hands.

  Matthew continued, ‘I’m his minion in this matter, so I am following orders. But he has given me some discretion, and should we decide upon a suitable course of action, and, all being lawful, perhaps we can proceed.’

  Finn looked up. ‘So you are here for some time?’

  ‘I hadn’t planned to be. Perhaps only into early next week, all being well.’

  ‘That would seem optimistic.’

  ‘I have no way of knowing how long it might take. Or even if we’ll be successful this trip. All I can say is that Mrs Amberton is keen to finalise the matter.’

  Finn shook his head. What a turn of events. The bushranger had made his bold feelings known to the woman from the coach. The gold in her possession he learned later was rightfully his. And she wanted to return it to a man she didn’t know was the bushranger. ‘Extraordinary.’

  ‘Our thoughts exactly. It would be in our best interests to do the same and finalise quickly if possible.’

  ‘And she wants no part of the gold for herself?’ Finn remembered how desperate she was to survive, and what her desperation had driven her to ask of him. How brave and lovely she’d seemed in the empty house. How he wondered afterwards if she’d been scheming.

  ‘She says that whatever she has in her possession is to be returned and, further, that she has no way of knowing if it’s in its entirety.’

  Finn spread his hands. ‘I’m amazed.’

  ‘The interesting thing for me,’ Matthew said, and sat back in his seat, one booted foot crossing the other as he stretched his legs. ‘Is that as difficult as she believes the gold is to retrieve, she won’t have a man assist her. I think she murmured something about needing to be under cover of darkness, but she wouldn’t elaborate.’

  Finn sat up, wrapped his glass in both hands, but still didn’t take a drink. The gold was hidden, that was obvious; it wasn’t at the house that she’d occupied. He’d searched it as best he could. ‘She must have it close by, somewhere,’ he said, more to himself than to Matthew. How had she done it? How had she moved that much in gold without being seen?

  ‘How so?’

  Finn held up a hand. ‘No reason to say. It just came into my head. But if she didn’t want a man to help her, it was perhaps in a very private area, perhaps her bed chamber.’ He frowned. Could it still possibly be at the Wilshires’ house?

  ‘Then that would now be her tent. I can’t imagine it’s there. Have you met Mrs Amberton?’ Matthew asked.

  Finn took a moment. ‘Not formally, no.’ He thought again of the woman who’d scampered under the coach, who’d so brazenly offered herself to him in exchange for … something she wanted, who’d asked to be handed back into the coach. Who later, at night, alone, at her house, had returned his embrace, leaving him in no doubt that she had wanted the same thing he had.

  Strictly speaking, he had not met her. He had found her. It might be time for a woman in his life again. He dismissed the thought. What woman would want a man broken by something he couldn’t name or understand? Then he derided himself. His self-pity was embarrassing to him.

  He glanced at his wedding picture on the mantel. Louisa gazed out serenely, even though posing for the photographer at the time had taken a gruelling hour of restricted movement, aching muscles and ignoring a particularly insistent blowfly. It wasn’t long after that day she’d noticed a lump in her breast. Nothing we can do, she was told. It’s too far gone. Now, her soft laugh sounded around him, and her voice told him that he was wasting time, that life was for living and not for holding on to the dead. And she would’ve said it just like that. She hadn’t needed to waste words, either.

  He looked at the sketch of his parents. Kind people. Wise. He felt the acute need of them now. Both gone—his mother Celeste of pneumonia, long before his father. He could do with their stoicism, their wisdom.

  Matthew’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

  ‘Pity. She seems very fine. Perha
ps one day you might meet.’ Matthew downed his rum and stood. ‘I should be off to the town, Finn. I must find lodgings, and some dinner. I hope to stay for the Subscription Ball tomorrow night. After that, we should put our heads together for a strategy.’

  Finn waved him back to his seat. ‘No need to find lodgings elsewhere. Stay here. There’s plenty of room. And it’s a short stroll to the tent where the ball is to be held. I have a ticket, and can assure you, for the right price, you could purchase a ticket at the door.’

  ‘Very kind. If I’m not imposing.’

  ‘Not at all. We can work on our plan for retrieval. Especially over a meal at the pub. We lost the Eureka Hotel late last year but there are numerous others. Last I heard the Duchess of Kent pub has a fine dinner on offer. It’s not far from here.’ Finn swallowed a mouthful of rum, waited as it hit his stomach. It settled warmly, so he took another swallow. A visit to the pub would test his nerves, but the time seemed right. If a tremor took him there, he would know he needed more time, and that his plans would indeed take longer to realise than he hoped.

  ‘Thank you. I’d be delighted.’ Matthew’s eyes lit up. ‘Lead me to a good ale and a hot meal.’

  The hotel already had a crowd of patrons, rowdy, hungry and thirsty. Finn directed Matthew to a table just vacated and thrust aside the used dinner plates and empty ale mugs. He beckoned a serving woman and ordered. She removed the last patron’s remnants as she left.

  Tobacco smoke wafted thick and aromatic around them, and the hops of ale, the sweet spice of rum, and the mouth-watering scents of meat gravy hung in the air.

  There were raucous tones of happy miners, groups of table-thumping Germans, singing Italians, huddled Englishmen, loud Americans, and colonial miners breasting the bar, awaiting plates of thickly sliced rich meat with gravy, oozing flavour and sustenance, and ladles of potatoes.

  ‘Loud,’ Finn commented as two pots of ale were delivered. He felt his arm shake, but nothing came of it.

  ‘Might calm down once they all get a meal into them. Seems there’s every country in the world eating and drinking here.’

  Finn leaned across to be heard. ‘Goldfields. They’ve come from everywhere. No different to Bendigo, except for the stockade fight, and that hasn’t stopped anybody arriving. Though there’s some still paying for the privilege of speaking up.’ He nodded and pointed at a lone diner, a man whose slight body was jostled by those behind him as he sat staring into his dinner plate. ‘Carboni. Tried for treason.’ The man was restless, his red hair and close-cropped red beard giving him the look of a zealot.

  Matthew looked across. ‘He looks ill.’

  ‘Released from prison recently. Dysentery. Maybe his meal is not sitting so well on him.’

  ‘Any word on Peter Lalor?’

  Finn shook his head. ‘He’s reported as being in Melbourne, perhaps Geelong. It’s well known now he lost his arm. I’ve got the Ballarat Times back at the house if you’re interested.’

  Matthew raised his eyebrows. ‘The Ballarat Times. It’s all around Bendigo that Mrs Seekamp prints it now that her husband’s in jail for his reporting the stockade incident. Poor fellow was a good voice for the people. Scandalous that a woman is at the helm,’ he said in a mock furtive whisper, and laughed.

  ‘She is much maligned for it, but she’s a fierce advocate for the miners. And she’s petitioning for her husband to be released after charges of sedition.’ Finn thanked the woman who landed two steaming plates of meat, gravy, potatoes and cobs of hot bread in front of them. He reefed into his pocket for his coin purse and handed over a pound, waited for change plucked out of her pinafore pocket. ‘Admirable, but for how long they’ll let her stay at the helm, I don’t know. You should read her editorials, they’re feisty.’

  ‘With great interest. One very surprising thing I noticed on the goldfields was the number of women working a trade, for their own benefit. And quite respectable woman at that.’

  Finn pushed meat and gravy onto a fork with a chunk of bread torn from a cob. ‘And a number are publicans. The publican in this establishment is a woman, a Mrs Spanhake.’ Finn pointed to a young woman surveying her patrons, hands on hips. ‘They’re merchants and traders, and quite capable entrepreneurs too. Interesting times.’

  ‘Next they’ll want the vote.’ Matthew loaded meat and potatoes onto a piece of bread and took a bite.

  ‘The working man has to get his vote first. That might be the only good thing to come out of this whole sorry mess. There’s talk the mining licensing will change. Would also be a good thing if only the powers that be could properly govern their own troops.’ Finn chewed, savouring his meal. ‘They need to clear the charges laid on men who were unlawfully attacked.’ He took a long draught of ale. ‘My opinion only. Tempers are still raw here.’

  Matthew looked around. ‘Seem a happy lot, despite,’ he observed. He took another mouthful, and nodded appreciatively.

  ‘On the surface, yes. After a few grogs, not so happy. Any more than a few and the rot starts. In my business I hear it all. The good luck, the bad, the rotten troopers, the corruption, the lack of genuine concern from the governor’s office. Unstable as it is, while the gold’s coming out of the ground, and while this—’ he said, holding up his right arm, ‘—still plagues me, I can still turn a profit here. But if there’s another riot, more bloodshed … I have to plan ahead.’ Finn waited for a tremor, as if by mentioning it, one might occur.

  Matthew piled another chunk of bread with meat and gravy. ‘If we retrieve the gold, what would you do?’

  ‘I would sell, as you are aware. I’ve had to revisit my thoughts on the paddle-steamer idea. I’m not sure my health would allow me to—’

  ‘But if you had an agent, a manager?’ Matthew straightened.

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘To oversee. To carry out your plans, to grow your Murray company.’

  Finn considered what the ledger man was talking about. ‘You liked the idea of building boats for the Murray?’

  Matthew’s handful of bread hovered over his meal. ‘I did. I’ve thought of nothing but that since your visit to our office. However, I’ve no funds. The thought just came to me that I could be of assistance if someone were to finance the project.’

  Finn dropped his fork onto his plate and pushed it away. ‘I wouldn’t be so financial to do that and keep myself as well. But I thank you for the offer. I’ll look at that idea more carefully once the loan is repaid by the lady. Besides, Joseph would miss you at the office.’

  Shrugging, Matthew picked up his pot of ale and downed the contents. ‘Times are changing, as you said. In my work, I am fully aware of what might occur once the gold runs out, or the world economy is no longer hungry for it. I have to plan ahead, too.’

  Finn laughed. ‘You’ll find something. I’m sure your quest for adventure will be tempered by a shrewd mind.’

  Matthew grinned in return. ‘One would hope.’

  A large figure stopped by Finn’s shoulder. ‘Mr Seymour, I’m sorry for interruptin’ yer dinner but I’m needin’ some picks and some pans. Will ye be comin’ to the diggin’s tomorrow by any chance?’

  Finn turned in his chair. A miner, Ned Francis, a customer of Finn’s, stood, hat held in thick-fingered hands, his wiry black beard carrying crumbs from his own dinner. His digger clothes, the calico shirt, the rough patched pants and waistcoat, stretched over a stocky frame and the heat of the day came off him in sweat and dust.

  ‘Mr Francis. I’ll be at my store at six in the morning, loading my cart. Can you not send someone in?’

  ‘Would, if my two lads weren’t still laid up from the attack. Can’t trust no one to manage if I’m gone.’

  After the buying trips to Melbourne, Finn and Ben would often drive a cart to the edge of the fields, load a couple of barrows full of tools from the cart and push them into the rows of campsites, selling wares on the spot. ‘Picks and pans it is, then. I’ll find you soon as I can, after dawn.’

 
; Francis blew out a breath. ‘I’m grateful. Might be worth your while to load another cart, there’s others in need of tools. Seein’ as there’s been more good finds lately, deeper than before, we’re all runnin’ out of things.’

  Finn nodded. ‘Good news.’

  Ned Francis nodded at Matthew, then at Finn, and pushed his way back through the throng.

  ‘And that request,’ Finn began, ‘has finished off my night here in the pub. I must load up a cart tonight. Try to find my driver. He’d be somewhere in one of the hotels, but I hope I don’t spend half the night trying to find him.’

  ‘I’d gladly give a hand if it saves you some trouble,’ Matthew said, wiping his plate clean with the last of his bread. ‘I was going to revisit the goldfields on Sunday, but an extra visit tomorrow would make me a happy man.’

  ‘Some added attraction?’ Finn asked. He stood, ready to leave.

  Matthew stood with him. ‘A very interesting entrepreneur has taken my eye.’

  Twenty-Four

  Ballarat, Subscription Ball for the Miner’s Hospital

  ‘That’ll do us for today, Nell. You’d best get on back to Mrs Enid’s house to dress.’ Flora pulled the last of the pegs from the line and tossed them into a bucket at her feet. She rolled a pair of men’s trousers, stiff after drying in the heat of the day, and tucked it under her arm.

  Nell was clearing the line opposite. ‘I’ll fold this lot and be on my way.’

  ‘Don’t sound so happy about it,’ Flora said, and laughed a little. ‘You might want to cheer yourself up before tonight. Don’t take no mind about your father’s threats.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Wish he hadn’t come here, though.’

  ‘So do I and I can’t help but mind.’ Scooping up a pile of dried clothes at her feet, Nell looked over at Flora. ‘If you weren’t going to the ball, I wouldn’t be going either.’ She walked towards Flora’s tent and the upended crates they used for folding the laundry. ‘Don’t forget, I’m the one being taken to the ball by Lewis and his mother, not you. Cheerful will be hard to do.’