by Darry Fraser
Can’t sit here all night. On her feet again, she dusted herself off and peered into the deserted road. Now. Where was she? Oh yes. She’d gone the long way without realising; she recognised a few houses, ones she’d passed on errands before her marriage. Flickering candlelight in a couple of homes glowed softly and seemed to shed a little light on her path as she picked up her direction. After this corner, Amberton House was only a couple of blocks away. She knew she had to make a left turn here at the cross road.
Gulping down air, she steadied then maintained a resolute walk, head down, as she tried to pick out the road under the pale light of the moon. Thank God it wasn’t raining, or cold. Nights in Ballarat in summer might sometimes be relieved by a cool change, but not tonight. All the same, the shivers ran through her as she heard noises of the night all around.
A dog barked then bayed and a chain rattled as it must have lunged against its restraints. Breathless, she rounded the corner. Moving smartly, her steps confident, she was sure the house wasn’t too far along now. Had Lewis paid the rent, or any part of it? Would a landlord have boarded up the doors? God almighty, where would she go if she couldn’t get in?
Nell slowed. Her steps faltered, and she tried to focus on where she was. She could see a cart and building materials, timber stacked in a neat pile. Thank heavens. The empty site. Amberton House was only a short dash across the paddock now. She almost laughed and put a hand to her chest in relief.
No matter if it was locked up, she would find a way—
A shadow, darker than the night. A figure creeping around the side of the house.
She shrank back but under even the low moonlight she would be seen. She froze, waited until the shadow moved behind the house. Dropping to the ground, she crawled to the cart, for once thankful that she was wearing the black of widow weeds.
Dirt scraped her knees through her skirt as she scrambled on her hands and knees over tufts of prickly grass, sharp twigs, and hard pebbles.
Window shutters rattled in the dead of night. A moment later, a door rattled, then another. Whoever this man was, he was checking the house and finding it well locked.
Crab-like, she crept under the cart’s draught poles and inched her way behind the wheel on the far side. Gathering her skirt close, she flattened herself on the ground, peeping between the sturdy spokes of the wheel to see the side of the house.
There it was again, the shadow. Furtive. Stalking from the back of the house to the front, bent forward like a hunter nearing his prey.
Her panting breath roared in her ears. Forcing herself to inhale deep, quiet lungfuls, her mouth drying, Nell watched.
Around he went again, silent as the windless night.
Hearing nothing but the pounding echo of her heartbeat in her ears, she waited. Frustrated at the shake in her hands, she tried to still them. She tried to make herself as small and insignificant as possible behind the cart’s wheel, but her cramped limbs were clumsy.
How to escape? To run and not be seen or heard? He had rounded the house again, but what was he looking for?
Inching her way upright, she knelt, bent low to keep her eye on the house. Held tense in fear for so long, her limbs tingled, pins and needles prickled as her blood flowed again.
The roar of a gunshot blasted into the air. Her hands flew up to cover her ears as they split with the noise. The crunch and shatter of wooden shutters, and the tinkle and crash of glass exploded into the night.
She didn’t hear the soft glide of footfalls. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and a hard arm wrapped around her waist.
Thirty
Flora looked across the flames at Mr Worrell, who sat on a log, holding a pannikin of tea. The night was dense around them, the only noises were Josie’s soft snores nearby and the yells and songs of drunken miners further away at a nearby lemonade tent.
‘Who’d have thought?’ he said, his face creasing in a grin. ‘I was about to chase high adventure on the Murray River, but I’ve found it here, at a Subscriber’s Ball in Ballarat Town.’
Flora rolled her tea pannikin in her hands. ‘Thank you for walking us back here but there wasn’t any need. I’m sure me mam would’ve fought off a pack of wild troopers tonight.’
He laughed. ‘I’ve no doubt she would have, for you, Miss Doyle. You have to admire a strong woman.’
Flora felt her cheeks warm. ‘Well, I should take to my bed.’ She looked around at her tents, at the tubs, barely lit by the firelight. ‘And you should get going.’
‘Are you sure you won’t have trouble tonight?’
She shook her head. ‘Not sure, but what would either of those men dare do here in the dead of night? Too many others about.’ But she remembered the enraged look on Lewis’s face as she’d emerged with Josie as they’d flown out of the crowd.
They both sat quietly for a moment.
‘Dangerous place for two lone women anyway. Why do you stay?’
‘Because I haven’t earned enough to leave. Because it’s dangerous for a woman anywhere.’ She sat up straight, looked around again. ‘I told Nell not to come back tonight. I shouldn’t have done that. She would’ve been safe here. Now I worry I frightened her off and I’m wonderin’ where she is.’ She looked over the lowering flames, the smoke barely visible and wafting away on a gentle breeze. ‘Her father was bellowing at her to stop, and he’s been here, threatening her. Then there was her nephew, Lewis, right there behind her father tonight, shouting at her.’
Mr Worrell tapped his cup. ‘Allow me to stay here this evening, for you and your mother, just for my own peace of mind. Find me some blankets and I’ll sleep by the fire. If Mrs Amberton returns in the night, or anyone else comes, I will be here.’
Flora didn’t answer. Sipped her tea. ‘So what is it her father would want? Is it something to do with why you’re here?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Is it likely to get me and me mam in the way of trouble, Mr Worrell?’
He tilted his head. ‘Hard to say. And please, call me Matthew.’
Then Flora heard a gun being loaded and a man stepped up to the firelight.
‘Not a word, Flora. Not a sound,’ he said and swung around. ‘You either, Matthew.’
Thirty-One
Matthew Worrell stood up slowly, warily, his eyes fixed on the figure in front of them.
Flora shot to her feet, glaring across the low flames. ‘Ye think I don’t know it’s you, Lewis, behind that stupid mask.’
Lewis pulled the kerchief from his face. ‘I said not a word. Clearly your Gaelic ire makes you deaf though I must say the firelight makes you look truly fierce.’
She ignored his derision, stood with her hands on her hips. ‘What in the name of all things holy do ye think you’re doin’?’
Matthew tossed his tea into the fire. ‘Is this wise, Lewis?’
Lewis swung to face him, the gun dangling casually from his hand. ‘Of course it’s not wise. But wisdom won’t get me the gold, will it? Force will.’
‘There’s plenty of gold here. It’s a bloody diggings,’ Flora snapped. ‘You just have to get your hands dirty.’
The revolver came up fast as he cocked it, and waved it at Matthew. ‘Such language. I see you are wise enough not to try and tell her to shut up,’ Lewis said.
Fear caught in Flora’s chest. ‘What are you doin’?’ she breathed.
His eyes glittered with firelight, and he barked a laugh. ‘It seems I’m shortly to be married, dear Flora. So I need to clear some debts, almost all of them incurred by my demented uncle in his debacle of a life. And his gold will ensure that happens.’
Flora’s mouth dropped open. ‘Married?’
Lewis tossed a glance at Nell’s tent. ‘Nell? Come out, now,’ he called softly.
‘She’s not here,’ Matthew said, his hands by his side, his eyes on Lewis.
‘You sure about that?’ Holding the gun steady at Matthew, Lewis squatted, picked out a burning stick and tossed it at Nell’s tent.
Lewis pulled another burning stick from the fire and straightened up. ‘You were telling the truth, Flora,’ he called. ‘No Nell.’ He pointed the gun again at Matthew’s empty hands. ‘Never a good idea to be on these fields without a weapon.’
Flora was crying, screaming inside the tent. ‘Ma!’
‘Where is it?’ Lewis demanded of Matthew. He waited a beat before he waved the gun impatiently. ‘Come on, man, I see you’re thinking of a way out of it, but there isn’t one. Just tell me where it is, and all this will go away. I know Nell has my uncle’s gold. And I want it.’
The stink of burning canvas hung in the air. Fabric smoked then peeled away from itself, dropped from the timber rod and fell over Nell’s bedding. Embers landed on her chair and it caught alight. A makeshift little table by her bed began to smoulder.
Matthew wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘She hasn’t told me,’ he said quietly, cool-headed. ‘I was to come back for lunch tomorrow, here at the laundry.’
Men from further down the camp began to shout they’d bring water, they’d bring blankets, but before they could gain momentum, Nell’s tent collapsed, the flames smothering themselves. The little chair and table burned brightly before dying out, the bedding scorched and smoking.
Lewis yelled, ‘Stand down, no need for help. It’s out.’
The camp site was a known tinderbox. Testy shouts of ‘good on yer’ and ‘watch yerself ’ faded off as the growling men retreated.
He looked over at Matthew. ‘’Tis a good thing you haven’t moved.’ The burning stick twirled in his fingers. Lewis flicked it across to Flora’s tent.
It landed short of its target and Matthew bounded over to stomp it out.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Lewis said, his voice softly eerie. ‘I know our Miss Flora has got her poor old mam out the other side of the tent and they’re probably high-tailing it to somewhere they think is safe. A shame they were so worried,’ he said and tilted his head. ‘I was simply checking that the man they had at their campfire was a good man, not some ragamuffin thief.’ He chewed a cheek then said, ‘I see all is well here. Pity a spark set off the fire in Nell’s tent. Always a problem here in the camp, unguarded flames and all that. Everyone knows it.’ He pointed the gun again. ‘Be sure to tell Flora that unless I learn of the whereabouts of Nell’s gold, and soon, it’ll be more than an accidental fire.’ Lewis turned to go then turned back. ‘And another thing. I wouldn’t bother the troopers with this. My standing in the community is so far unblemished, and they’ll believe what they’re paid to believe.’ Then he left, and his shadow melted into the darkness beyond the firelight’s reach, and his menace with it.
Matthew let out a breath. Clenched his fists to stop the shakes.
Flora burst out of her tent. ‘Are you all right?’ She rushed to Matthew, grasped his hands, then dropped them, stepping back.
He nodded. Looked at his hands. ‘I’m all right. Not as calm as I’d hoped, but all right.’ He stared at her tent. ‘Your mother?’
‘Could barely rouse her. But I got her up just before I saw the flame under the tent.’ She pointed to where the second stick had landed. ‘We were ready to run out the other side, like he said, but now he’s gone, Ma’s back in bed.’
Matthew nodded, listened for the light snores, but couldn’t hear anything yet. He felt for the log he’d sat on earlier and slumped to his backside. ‘Not something you want to stare down every day.’ He rubbed his face hard. ‘I’m glad you’re safe, Flora.’
She sat beside him. ‘And you too, and that you’re here.’ Her shoulder brushed his. ‘And he’s getting married. That’s a surprise.’ She shook her head, stared into the fire. ‘He’s an odd one. His uncle was mad, insane I would say. But Lewis has a …’ She searched for the word. ‘A certain coldness to him. He never hurt me, or anyone else that I know, and he’s not a coward like his uncle. But what was he talkin’ about, about Nell? I don’t understand. Would he have killed one of us just now?’
Matthew wiped his hands rigorously on his trousers. ‘Don’t know. Glad he didn’t.’
‘At least that fire’s out,’ Flora said, pointing to Nell’s things, and the glow flickering over two little piles. ‘All but done, anyway. Oh, Nellie, Nellie.’
She stood up and Matthew stood with her. They stared across at the ruins of Nell’s tent, at the little sparks coming from the remains of the bedding and canvas.
‘I wonder where she is,’ Flora said, and her hand crept into Matthew’s.
Lewis wasn’t his best in the dark. But the moon had risen, and he could see well enough. He knew which direction home was in. Behind the row of tents was safe and he took confident steps towards the township, still ever mindful of holes in the ground.
What had he just done? What possessed—
The first missile hit him just above the right eye. He went down on his knees. Before he could bellow, before the pain exploded in his brain, another hit him in the back of his head.
Pitching forward, he saw stars on the ground, somehow. He fell heavily on them, the earth tilted, shuddered, and pain shot into his face.
He wondered if he’d just died.
Thirty-Two
Held tight against a powerful male, unable to make a sound with the hand over her mouth, Nell shook. Terrified by the gunshot and paralysed by the man in whose grip she was, she barely heard the voice.
‘Nell, it’s your old friend. No noise, now. The night carries the softest whisper.’
The bushranger. Even here. She nodded, and felt the hand loosen and drop away from her mouth.
‘I’m going to crawl back in line with the cart so we can’t be seen from the house. You need to crawl back with me.’
She turned her face, caught the tickle of the kerchief on her chin, but his cheek was bare. She wanted to look closer—
‘Can you do it?’
She nodded, looked away.
‘Let’s go now while he’s occupied inside. But he won’t be long.’
A glance back to the house and Nell saw a light flicker to life.
‘A candle. That’s good.’ His voice was close to her ear. ‘If we go now, the candlelight will prevent him seeing anything of us. We can run. I’m going to take your hand, and we’ll get up and go. All right?’
Nell pushed to her feet behind him, kept low, felt the burn of more pins and needles. He crouched ahead of her, thrust his arm back and her fingers found his hand. They moved off slowly at first, keeping their bodies low. Once on the road, away from the building site, he pushed them into a loping run for a time.
She didn’t stumble, didn’t hang back, kept up with him until he slowed, and stopped. He pushed open a little gate and as they stepped into a house garden, it swung shut behind them. Up a step, and then inside an unlatched door.
In the hallway, lit by a candle on a narrow table, he locked the door with one hand. He slipped off the kerchief, pressed his mouth against her neck, his hands on her hips, her waist. ‘Nell.’
Breathless herself, scared out of her mind for hours, needing the privy, wanting a wash and a drink, she pushed back to see his face, her hands on his chest. As she stared into those green eyes under the auburn brows, they looked back at her with something she couldn’t fathom. She took in the empty broadcloth sling hanging from around his neck and under one arm, and dropped her hands, her eyes wide as she recognised him. ‘Mr Seymour.’
He rested his head against hers a moment and pulled back. ‘I really should introduce myself before accosting a lady. Finneas Seymour, at your service. It would do me a great honour if you were to call me Finn.’
She allowed her gaze to roam over the weathered face. Allowed the beat of her pulse to respond to the decidedly delightful familiarity in his eye.
‘Well, Finn,’ she said, her throat so dry that her voice
wobbled at first. Her chin came up and her mouth was so close to his she could feel a tingle in her lips. ‘Please direct me to the outhouse, then to a bowl of water for a wash, and afterwards, to a cup of tea.’
Thirty-Three
Finn leapt from his seat. Nell had knocked on the open parlour door while he was deep in thought. His hand shook as he sat the glass of rum on a table beside him. ‘Please, come in,’ he said.
Hesitating in the doorway, she clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Thank you for the use of your water. I feel much better.’ She dropped her hands to brush quickly at her skirt, yet, by the light of the candles in the room, her dark clothes already seemed much less dusty than before.
She passed by his open arm, and the faint tangy scent of his soap on her reached him. ‘I’m afraid there are no feminine accessories here for you to be properly refreshed,’ he said, and cleared his throat over the catch in his voice.
Her gaze strayed to the mantelpiece and to the two framed pictures on it. ‘Though there once might have been,’ she said. ‘Is that—?’
‘My late wife, Louisa.’ He crossed the room to the mantel and laid a hand by the frame on the left. ‘She’s been gone nearly three years ago, now. This house was where we lived.’ He took a breath. It was the first time he’d mentioned Louisa as ‘late’ to another woman. He looked at his wife’s face in the picture, and his heart gave two heavy thuds. Then it calmed, and something of the pain in his chest let go. All seemed well, still. All seemed right.
Nell followed his gaze. ‘I didn’t know her but your home feels as if it would have been a happy one.’
Finn felt his eyes burn. ‘Does it? It was.’ Taken aback for a moment, he pointed at the next frame. ‘And this is my father and mother, John and Celeste Seymour.’