‘You’re purring with excitement,’ I laughed.
‘And indeed I am. You know that Thomas Winchester is to come and make a house for Simon? Well, he arrived an hour ago.’
‘And you happened to be at the Winchesters’ at the time?’
Mother’s eyes twinkled. ‘And Thomas was met at the gate by his parents as he tethered two packhorses. “Glory be!” said Annie Winchester. “You’ve enough baggage to be travelling the world.”’
‘And?’ I had caught her excitement.
‘And he said, “So I should have, because I’ve come back home to live.”’
‘Live! Oh, that is news! Does Father know?’
‘Not yet, so for peace’s sake keep a solemn face till I tell him.’
‘But that’s wonderful for the Winchesters. Did he say why?’
‘Says he sees a great future up these inland valleys, and has had several folk ask about house building. He says he’ll make more money here than in Greymouth and he has a friend following with pitsaws and other tools needed for construction.’
Neither of us could stop smiling.
‘He even said that between times he’d help with land clearance so that his father could concentrate on seeding fenced areas. Oh, God be praised, for ’tis the perfect solution for the family and for all of us.’
We visited with the Winchesters after the evening meal and Thomas was the centre of a delighted group as we seated ourselves around the room.
‘I was telling the family how townsfolk north view the southern part of the province,’ smiled Thomas. ‘The County Council plan to extend a dray road as far as the Fox Glacier, some time in the near future when farms are established. In the meantime, they’ve made that rough pack-track as far south as Karangarua so that travellers can explore the glaciers and southern mountains.’
‘Just what we were saying t’other evening, Michael,’ interjected Mr Winchester. ‘Though we saw it only from the point of view of farm access.’
Thomas nodded and continued. ‘The track will indeed help farmers when it’s finished, for we may be able to drive cattle that way to the saleyards when it’s been properly surfaced.’
I noted the word ‘we’ and felt a glow of happiness for his family.
‘Now travellers need accommodation and I hope to build hostels up the valleys some time in the next ten years. In the meantime, I think it’s excellent that you’re considering opening guest-houses — for a fee,’ he added firmly. ‘I hope you’ll charge five shillings a night and two extra for oats and grazing for horses.’
‘As much as that?’ queried Father, taking his pipe from his mouth. ‘We’d thought to charge a half crown.’
Thomas shook his head and I was impressed by his knowledge and his decisiveness. ‘Travellers who visit scenic areas are prepared to pay for board. You could charge less for workmen, or offer cheaper rates by not charging for horses, or putting men to sleep in the boys’ room. You’ll think of something.’
There was a buzz of discussion, then Thomas spoke again. ‘I shall start work on Simon’s cottage as soon as Banjo Bill’ (Bill Tossan) ‘arrives, and then I’m to start on cottages for the Ross family and for young Nik — one that can expand annually, he tells me.’ And everyone laughed at my embarrassment.
‘After that, I hope to start on a home for my parents near Longridge.’
Father’s head lifted and I could see the shock in his eyes.
Gareth Winchester smiled reassuringly. ‘But we shan’t be doing that until the Kendricks move inland as well.’ And I imagine that gave Father a lot to think about.
Thomas leant back against the kitchen wall, satisfied by the stunned silence. Each of us was visualising our own part in these unexpected plans for the future.
As I looked around at the intent faces, almost all with secret smiles softening work-worn features, I considered these last three days as the happiest of my life. A week ago our lives had been burdened with problems and now Thomas had solved so many of them.
When voices recommenced, I kicked Paddy’s foot under the table and muttered, ‘And what are your intentions, Mr Flynn?’
Paddy’s blue eyes looked at me quizzically, knowing full well that I was thinking of Rowan. ‘Me, m’dear? I intend to go home to me dear friend, Spider, and digest this fine meal I’ve just eaten … and I shall be celebrating the thought of Mary Kendrick’s departure to her expandable cottage with a mug of fine ale. God bless you, m’dear.’ He moved his legs smartly out of reach of my foot and I frowned with frustration.
LYTTELTON PRISON
John Southern followed a line of men out from the workshop where he’d been stitching canvas trousers for the road gangs. He blinked in the bright sunshine of midsummer and reached up to pull the peak of his cap down to ease the sudden glare. It was time for exercise, compulsory for all men not in cells or on work gangs.
It always seemed degrading, being made to walk like an animal to a coloured ring painted on the paved quadrangle, overlooked by high buildings with barred windows that peered down at him. He moved to the ring for Class Three prisoners and took up position behind a man he knew by sight.
In three wide circles, under the sharp gaze of armed warders, they commenced walking … round and round, tramp, tramp, in their squeaking boots, feeling the heat that reflected up from the flagstones and beaten earth, heat that remained trapped between the grey buildings.
Two senior warders watched in silence for a while and then one spoke. ‘What do you make of three six two?’
‘Now, he’s different. Timid bloke. Never makes trouble. His work is steady and neat and he keeps to rules. Shouldn’t really be in Class Three, but he got in with the wrong company. He’s had education, he has.’
‘Have you met his mate? Class Four for manslaughter and almost off his head. Vicious case … noisy, aggressive, rants on that three six two gave him his orders.’
The other warder jerked his thumb towards the unobtrusive Southern who had his eyes fixed on the broad arrow and letter L printed on the jacket of the man in front. ‘Would you say he was a leader?’
‘Hell no! This one’s still shocked by the sentence he received and is just trying to accept things as best he can.’
‘He works well … reads notices easily, and can pen a pattern or instructions as proficiently as the Governor.’
‘Shouldn’t be in the sewing group, then. That’s just routine. Be better in bookbinding or the printing works.’
‘Mm. Deserves it for good behaviour. We’ll bring it up at the next discussion. Don’t often get such cooperation.’
‘Aye. He asked for a Bible the other day. Says he misses reading books. Wonder what he did for a living before he got in with his mate?’
The men in white on the Class Three circle, all wearing trousers that left the striped stockings visible to near the knee, showing that they held long-term sentences, trudged on and on.
Southern’s mind was never still. No longer did he think ‘if’ he escaped but ‘when’, for he now had several possible plans. And an old friend Kell Kellaway near Lake Ellesmere featured in all of them.
Somehow, with Kell’s help, he must get back to South Westland to rescue the hidden gold but, more vital than that, the documents that identified him as the owner of securities held in a Christchurch bank. They were safely stowed for the present but he feared the papers would be damaged by dampness, in spite of the precautions he’d taken. The sooner he retrieved them, the better.
Chapter
– Six –
In early March, my parents and I rode inland one Saturday to view the framework of Simon’s house, and to discuss three possible sites that Nik had chosen for our cottage. Mother and I were to sleep with Agnes in the slab hut while the men were banished to a tent.
Paddy and Spider had been working on the track up the gorge and it now had a much better surface. Nevertheless, the sheer drop seemed only a pace away and we led the horses on a short rein.
When we reached Lon
gridge after a hot ride over the river terraces, I was fascinated to see the skeleton shape of the new house with one wall already timbered. I stepped from one room outline to another, with Agnes excitedly describing all the features. There was even to be a newfangled washroom to one side of the back porch, instead of across the yard or using a metal tub in the kitchen. There was even a passage with rooms on either side. I admit I was a mite envious.
After a light lunch, we climbed the corresponding rise beyond the creek to the north. Here the paddocks had been cleared of stumps in the last few months so that we had a clear view of Simon’s house and the farm sheds, with the mountains peeping above the forest.
We chose a sunny well-drained area about 200 yards from the ridge, where a small stream ran like a silver thread to join the larger creek.
‘We’re far enough apart so that we shan’t hear Agnes’s brats yelling,’ teased Nik.
Agnes coloured and did not look well pleased, so I intercepted with, ‘And likewise, she won’t hear mine.’
Thomas smiled and hastily spread out a few sketches to show the positions of rooms and how the building could be extended. I was delighted to at last visualise my future home, until Agnes pointed to the kitchen-living room and asked, ‘Is there to be no parlour, just the one family room?’
I managed to say calmly that this was all we needed, but her query dampened my joy for a while.
That evening as I lay sleepless on the bunk above Mother, listening to a morepork somewhere nearby, my thoughts turned to my last stay in this valley and the frightening visit I had received from John Southern and Red Lucas. I wondered what their prison sojourns were like, and whether they provided severe enough punishment. Perhaps if they did, one of them might reveal the hiding place of the gold. We could afford a parlour, too, if the gold was traced, although 125 pounds seemed a vast amount of money for just four rooms and a verandah.
We returned to the coast in a light shower, and as we dismounted stiffly in the yard, were surrounded by bouncing children, all shouting their news at once. Rowan had slept the night with them and routines had been blissfully altered. She smiled at their comments and handed Father a bundle of letters, mouthing to me, ‘A parcel for you from Brendan on your bed.’
I hastened inside and unwrapped the package … a copy of Jane Austin’s Mansfield Park.
‘Oh Bren, just what I wanted,’ I breathed. ‘Oh, how I miss you, old friend.’
Inside the book was a long letter in tiny writing, and minutes slipped away as I read all about St Patrick’s College in Wellington, and what it was like to be a boarded pupil. He wrote:
Our master is good value but it is unwise to try larking … I’m always hungry but Matron says that’s because I’m a growing lad. How can I grow on small helpings? … I have several good friends. Mick O’Grady comes from Greymouth, and we tease the others that our fathers pick nuggets of gold off the beaches … Please beg Mother to send me a box of biscuits!
There were amusing tales, too, that set me smiling. I passed the letter on to Mother before I helped serve the evening meal.
Father opened the rest of the mail over a mug of ale while we worked at the bench. ‘Two from County Kerry for you, Mother,’ he called, and she wiped her hands on her apron. ‘And one from young Bess for you, lass.’
My fingers kept touching the letter during the meal, and afterwards there was silence on the verandah as we read in the glow of late sunshine.
I re-read mine with dismay and, without comment, gave it to Mother. Bess had written,
Mary, dear friend, all my letters are read by my cousin and I am grateful for your discreet reply — almost as formal as mine to you. He reads everything that I write so I have destroyed my diary. I should never have written to you but I longed for a sympathetic ear. I intend to ask the cook to post this as it is her free afternoon. She has given me nervous support and may find enough courage to do this if I pay her well.
I’m searching for other employment but this is difficult because my cousin must not know my plans. I have found that my board and lodging are to be payment with only a few shillings a month for pin money. This I am saving for my ‘escape’. How dramatic this must sound, but I cannot survive here much longer. He makes himself unwelcome with his closeness, and his wife is sharp-tongued and as spiteful as the boys. How different in temperament is my cousin to his father, Uncle Cecil. If I had known the situation … but then, I was alone and with no other kin to advise me in obtaining a position in Christchurch.
I shall send letters when possible, but please, dear Mary, be careful not to mention any of my plans in your reply. I trust that you and your family are in good health, and that your lessons are progressing in fine spirits. My respectful regards to your parents,
Bess.
The letter passed to Father and he broke the silence with, ‘Poor lass. That method of payment is illegal these days. The man is employer rather than family. And that part about his closeness; that concerns me greatly.’ He frowned down at the page. ‘I’ve a mind to write to Hugh McAllison and his wife. They’re great family folk and could perhaps visit Bess and check her situation. He’s a shrewd businessman, is Hugh.’
‘Oh, yes … Hugh and Madge would be ideal and so tactful.’ Mother showed her relief. ‘Strange that Bess has no inheritance.’
‘She has, but her father had placed it in trust until she becomes twenty-five, and all the money is tied up in investments,’ I explained. ‘I gathered she could draw on a small allowance.’
‘Perhaps her cousin is a trustee and is holding it from her.’
We looked at each other. ‘I’ll send a letter to Hugh for Tom to post on his return,’ said Father. ‘The sooner that lass is away from there, the better.’
Together we compiled a letter for Bess, full of everyday happenings and finishing with the news that Mr and Mrs McAllison, friends of my parents, would possibly call on her cousin to invite her to their home on her day off. Once the letter left the house in Tom’s mailbag, I settled down to await replies with as much patience as a dog with fleas.
March was a busy month. Ged painted signboards for our two guest houses, showing tariff charges. The Winchesters named theirs Swag & Tucker Guest House, which caused Ged frustration trying to fit in on the board.
‘I wish we’d chosen that one … then I wouldn’t gripe at all this measuring,’ he grumbled as he traced letters in chalk on the weathered board.
‘Kendrick Guest House is just as good,’ I pointed out. ‘And when we move inland, the name will go with us and will be remembered for its good meals and … and …’
‘Its hard beds and noisy brats,’ teased Paddy Flynn, who had stopped by to watch Ged’s neat work.
‘How do you know? You’ve never slept here,’ I retorted, and added, ‘If you take in guests, too, will you call your cottage The Spider Webb?’
Paddy’s eyes sparkled. ‘Indeed, I shall be mentioning that to dear Spider. He’ll be delighted to hear you suggested it.’
I thought of Spider’s dour features and almost wished I hadn’t spoken. Paddy went on his way, humming an Irish ditty, knowing how much Spider dislikes us Kendricks.
When the first of the autumn storms cut out the beach and exposed the gold-bearing sand, everyone looked cheerful. The tides were right for all the work to be done in daylight. This time, the men welcomed the help of the womenfolk, and we shovelled the skin of black sand with its gold content into stockpiles to be barrowed to the sluice boxes. It was always a race against the rising tide because the surging waves usually covered the black sand and deposited stones and grey sand as they levelled the beach.
Excitement was high because the beach hadn’t cut really well since the autumn of last year, and all that gold had been stolen by Southern and Red Lucas. Nothing was said, but all of us had those fearful days in our minds as we worked.
Would I never escape reminders about Southern and what he had done to all of us? Every present memory was soured by his evil touch. Dear God fo
rgive me, for I wished he’d been hung.
Mother and I prepared a late evening meal, our hands chafed from the salt on the shovels, but we were well satisfied. The men worked on by lamplight until the last of the great piles of sand had been washed down the boxing. The plush mats that caught the fine heavy gold dust in its passing were carefully rolled and carried back in the baby’s bath and two large buckets.
Next morning, the pounding waves had wiped the beach clean and it was as if no shovels had touched the sand. The men washed the mats carefully on a sluice box until a carpet of gold appeared over the purple plush.
‘A pleasing sight indeed,’ smiled Father as he rested on a shovel. ‘This time the gold goes north to the bank with no delays.’ He sought Mother’s gaze as both recalled his carelessness last time when the gold had been held at Swag & Tucker for several months.
‘I wish I could travel with you and visit Bess.’
My suggestion was refused, as I had known it would be, but I was frazzled that we had not yet heard from the McAllisons.
Mr Winchester and Sean took the gold north when the tides were right for beach travel. The former was to arrange for our first lot of cattle to be sold at the saleyards at Arahura. He would also organise overnight grazing on the way north, and estimate how far the beasts could travel each day. There were tides to consider and river crossings, but as yet no other stock had been driven for sale, though Gillespies’ menfolk were about to clear land for grazing up their own inland valleys. The West Coast was no longer an elongated goldmine, and men were considering other options.
‘I wish we could go on the cattle drive with them.’ Whistle was hugging Wag as we rested on a huge tree trunk on the beach while collecting a sledgeful of driftwood for winter fires.
‘They’re not even taking Ged who’s near working age,’ I reminded him. ‘It’ll be hard work, long hours full of dangers even for grown men.’
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