The imposing, newly opened stone school building nicely complemented the impressive St Mary’s Chapel built ten years before. Townsfolk had enthusiastically welcomed and supported the Catholic brothers in their work, bringing as it did opportunities for schooling which would encourage more families to settle in Grass Valley and leaven the numbers of wild single men looking for adventure when they weren’t hard at work in the mines.
The priest who was in charge of the whole mission could not have been more different from the woman who sat in front of her. Graysie had met Father John O’Brien at Cressida Washington’s fundraising fashion show a few days earlier and had been struck by the powerful sense of peace and love he carried with him. If there was anyone who brought Jesus alive in dark places, it was Father O’Brien.
His round, sun-tanned face was almost cherubic, but you’d be foolish to dismiss him as a jolly but inconsequential priest. Physically strong and weather-beaten from many years in the saddle, he carried with him an innate sense of vigor and purpose. His determination and drive were the main reason Grass Valley had this impressive church complex in the middle of town.
Graysie knew he traveled many miles on his staunch mule in all weathers to minister to sick miners, and he was held in warm affection by some of the roughest mountain men because of his willingness to risk his own safety in times of dire need.
He’d identified likely candidates for the priesthood from the tough adventurers he ministered to, and two of them were currently entered into Holy Orders, preparing to return to the diocese as assistant priests. Father O’Brien was known for his open-hearted acceptance of people, and she realized she’d been hoping—anticipating even—that she might have been able to see him with her request for shelter. It was not her lucky day.
When she’d been shown into the cold, silent waiting area on arrival, it had been Sister Mor who had emerged to meet her. And right from the start they seemed to get off on the wrong foot.
When Sister Mor had asked Graysie where she was currently staying, and she’d said with Sir John Russell, the nun’s mouth tightened with disapproval. She had explained he was her ‘godfather’, the nun’s eyes were like granite. Graysie felt a rising sense of panic as it dawned on her that it was very likely she would not find refuge with the Sisters of Mercy. Sister Mor did not approve of her or her quest to care for Minette as a single woman. As if reading her mind, Sister Mor’s voice broke through her reverie.
“We are most certainly willing to take the child if she is a genuine orphan. That is what our mission is set up and called to do. But we are unable to accommodate both of you. And if either of the child’s parents is still alive… Well, we would need some consent or approval from them.”
Graysie’s thoughts flicked to Francine’s husband, a feckless French adventurer who’d been in all sorts of escapades which made for fascinating story-telling during their short courtship. The confines of married life had shown a much less attractive side of Phillipe Coubert, who got surly and bored with domesticity.
Francine had soon discovered he liked the idea of quick riches far more than settling down to concentrated hard work. When she’d fallen pregnant with Minette, he’d been truculent and callous. He had no plans to become some woman’s pet, he’d announced, sitting in a shop or office every day.
He’d deserted Francine soon after Minette’s birth, leaving town with another woman on another wild venture. Francine had been forced to return to her work as a dealer to keep them fed. She had no idea where he was or even if he was still alive, but if he was, he had no interest in his daughter.
No, there was no way she would be re-introducing him into Minette’s life, even if she knew where to find him. She was about to set Minette aside and get up to leave when she heard a rustle in the doorway behind her.
A sister stood in the opening, bowing to Sister Mor before announcing, “Sister Mor, Father O’Brien sends his greetings. He has returned from his visit in the mountains. He apologizes for interrupting but requests that you and your guest meet him in the chancel.”
Sister Mor could not hide the look of surprise, then disapproval, that passed fleetingly across her face before she set her expression to one of calculated composure.
“Well, Miss Castellanos, I am surprised the Father has asked to see you, but we won’t waste any more time…”
Rising from her seat, she stood stiffly and led the way out like she was heading a choir procession down the central aisle. Father O’Brien rose to greet them warmly and then gestured to them to be seated.
“Sister Mor, I won’t detain you from your duties—I’m sure you have responsibilities you would prefer to be attending to. Perhaps we could catch up over lunch in a couple of hours? And I wonder if you could send in Sister Maria to help entertain this little miss here…”
He glanced towards Minette, who was seated close to Graysie on the choir stalls, The Father was seated in a chair in the chancel entry. Rainbow colors streamed through the stained glass of the chapel windows, haloing the priest in bright light.
The Sister masked her surprise as she rose to go, giving Graysie a perfunctory nod as she left. In a few minutes Sister Maria, a young blonde postulant arrived with a basket of musical instruments—triangles, Spanish maracas, Mexican pipes, and a small harp. Minette was captivated within minutes and they settled down a few meters away in the nave to experiment with the sounds of the mini orchestra.
Father O’Brien folded his hands into his lap and leaned forward to speak. “Miss Castellanos, I’ve been hearing disquieting whispers in my forays into the mountains, and I thought it might be wise for us to have a little chat.” His Irish brogue had a comforting lilt, but Graysie still felt a bolt of fear at his words.
Father O’Brien flicked his gaze to where Sister Maria and Minette were making up a little song, the Sister on a wooden flute, Minette on triangles. Satisfied they were absorbed in their game, he turned back to Graysie.
“I was called to give last rites to an old fellow at Sixways earlier today. You appreciate I can’t tell you anything that would break a death bed confidence, but neither do I want to remain silent if I have information that suggests a threat against the living.” He paused and sighed.
“But before I get to that, perhaps you can explain to me, as no doubt you have to Sister Mor, why you are here today?”
Graysie wriggled uncomfortably on her hard seat. “Since we arrived in Grass Valley just over a week ago we—Minette and I—have enjoyed very kind hospitality from Sir John Russell up at the Gold House. Sir John is an old business colleague of my Uncle Eustace. He describes himself as my godfather by proxy… He knew my uncle well, but I have never met him before this week.” She felt herself blushing and cursed inwardly. She was going on about their relationship too much.
“But…” She hesitated. “I feel I can’t prevail on his hospitality any longer, and I wondered if the Sisters might agree to allow Minette and I to stay here at the center as paying guests for a time? I’d like to be close to Willie Watson, to help care for him as well.” She paused, uncertain how to continue. “However, Sister Mor has just explained that does not fit the operating rules of the convent…”
Father O’Brien’s hands lay still in his lap, and he nodded without speaking.
“The truth is, I don’t feel I can stay with Sir John any longer. I urgently need alternative secure accommodation.”
Father O’Brien nodded again. “Secure? Have you any reason to feel unsafe, my dear?”
His quiet concern touched her somewhere deep inside, and she knew if she didn’t hold herself tight, tears would spring to her eyes.
“There have been a number of disturbing events… I just do not know what to make of them, or how worried I should be… But, yes, I do have concerns.”
Graysie felt herself fiddling with a rough edge on one fingernail and had to suppress the urge to nibble at it with her teeth.
“Explain what those are, young lady.” Father O’Brien stared hard and waited.<
br />
“Well… You would have heard about the upset with Madam Ring. Minette went missing and it seemed the Madam was to blame. Except I am not sure it is quite that simple because the troubles didn’t end with the Madam’s unfortunate death… Mrs. Guilliame was threatened, Mr. Nathan Russell and I were attacked, and now Willie Watson has been nearly killed…”
A lump in her throat blocked off the rest of her sentence, and she swallowed hard. “Quite honestly I no longer know who I can trust,” she rasped. “And I am worried that people who have helped me are being put in danger.” She sighed.
“Willie’s beating is the final straw, honestly. I feel responsible. Perhaps it would just be wise for me to go somewhere else and to relinquish my hopes of making something of the inheritance Uncle Eustace left for me, but I so want to give Minette a normal life.”
Father O’Brien nodded. “And Minette? How do you come to have the care of the child? You are not her mother, I understand?”
Graysie shook her head. “No. Minette’s mother, Francine, died in a fire at the Golden Galleon Casino nearly six months ago. We had been dear friends for many years, and long before the fire, Francine made me promise that if anything happened to her, I would treat Minette like my own daughter. Minette’s father left them when she was tiny, and she has no other family here.”
“And your own family, child? Haven’t you others you can call on?” Father O’Brien’s worn face was wrinkled in concern.
“My mother died and my brother and sister went missing after the family was in a stage coach crash when I was nearly five years old. It was thought they were taken by predators.”
Her throat closed up and her voice came out in a strangled croak. She hated talking about her siblings. She couldn’t bear to think of how they’d suffered.
“We were stranded in the wild for hours in the dark before help arrived, you see—my mother dead, the coach driver unconscious, no one to help. Their remains were never found.”
She thought of the many times she’d pretended they’d come home unharmed, that they were all together again. When she was little, they were the only ones she’d tell her secrets to.
“My father never got over the loss, even though he remarried. It wasn’t a happy union and he died a few years after that. I’ve been responsible for my own welfare since I was fourteen. I sang with the Carlton Family Singers until I was seventeen and then branched out in a solo singing career.
“I love music and so does Minette. I know it’s frowned upon in some circles, but singing as a professional career is finally gaining respectability. Just look at the careers of Antoinette Sterling and Madam Adelina Patti. Or Pania Hayes.”
A sudden thought struck her. “I could give singing lessons to the pupils in the convent school—if that would be a help.” She knew she sounded desperate, but she couldn’t help herself.
Father O’Brien tented his fingers in front of his nose and blew out a gentle breath.
“Strangely enough, the Sisters were just saying the other day they need help with the children’s choir and your experience could be of definite value, as long as you know some sacred songs as well as the more popular ones.” He tapped his fingers together in a light rhythm and smiled. She felt as if the conversation was drawing to a close. And then he suddenly interjected, “Miss Castellanos, can you think of any reason why someone would want to harm you or Minette?”
This was the question she had been turning over and over in her head the last few days, and she wasn’t any closer to an answer, but she was shocked to hear it from the priest’s lips.
“I have asked myself that question endlessly, Father. All I know is that someone does seem to want to stop me taking any interest in the mine…” Her voice trailed off.
Father O’Brien nodded. “The man I saw at Sixways today was knifed during a brawl. He was trying to break up a fight—it was a tragic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time—or so I was told. I got the impression he knew more than he was letting on.
“He was close to Madam Ring, and I wonder what she told him. In his deathbed confession he said I needed to warn you that you had powerful enemies. Said he didn’t want to see the child harmed again. He said you should talk to Willie Watson, that he knew more.”
He consulted a pocket watch on a long chain in his cassock pocket and sighed. “Of course, you have already done that and we know how that turned out.”
He reached out and rang a little silver hand bell that sat on the chair beside him. “I need to be getting prepared for midday prayers, my dear, so I can’t tarry any longer talking. I am going to instruct Sister Mor that you will be appointed singing teacher and assistant choir leader. Please sort out the details with her. As part of your annuity you will be provided with quarters in the orphanage annex, if you require them—you and Minette.”
At the sound of the bell, Sister Maria paused in her music-making. Fastening closed a small accordion she turned to Minette and said, “Father must leave now, Minette, and I will go with him, so can you pack up your triangles and maracas in the basket for us to take to the other children?”
She rose and glided to Father O’Brien’s side as the older priest stood slowly to his feet and gathered his priestly robes around him. He turned towards Graysie, clasped both her hands in his, and stood silently, his head bowed for a few minutes, as if saying a silent prayer.
“There is one other thing I would like you to do, my dear. This man you call Uncle Eustace who you say left you this legacy, what more do you know about him or his other business affairs? I recall a fellow called Eustace in one of my early parishes on the coast. Probably not the same fellow, of course—as I recall it, he came from a very good family back East—but perhaps the answer you are looking for lies in your uncle’s affairs.”
He squeezed her hands lightly and walked out, leaving a faint aroma of incense stirring in the air behind him.
Thirty
“So where is it?” Hector de Vile’s mouth was set in a hard line.
Willoughby Martens clenched his back teeth and willed himself to look bold. “I haven’t got it—but neither has anyone else. It’s gone. It’s not around to cause any further problem—for anyone. It got destroyed in the fire at Watson’s place.”
He glared at de Vile, challenging the man to contradict him. De Vile raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Really? Do tell.”
De Vile half turned away to lean against a chest high railing that enclosed a grassy enclosure where three thoroughbreds were going through their paces. His eyes were keenly surveying the action, but Martens knew de Vile would be listening for any hint of weakness or deceit in his voice.
One of De Vile’s passions was horse racing, and he was preparing his stable for a five-day racing carnival at nearby La Porte in a few weeks’ time. Martens followed his lead and stood alongside him. He propped one leg on a lower railing, relaxed and in command for all the world to see. He cleared his throat.
“The Mexican kid took us up there. He’d been there with the uncle. But when the old guy realized we weren’t his friends, he set fire to the report before I could get to it. Killed Fat Jack as we were storming him. Silly bum destroyed the report rather than turn it over. I figured we may as well finish the job so we torched the place, along with Fat Jack. No way of them pinning it back to us. He got his though.”
“And the kid?”
“The kid’s terrified. He won’t be talking if he knows what’s good for him. He ran off into the forest when the boys were busy with the old codger.”
De Vile’s attention snapped back to the track, where a dark gelding and a sable mare were thundering along shoulder-to-shoulder. The young jockeys were bent low in the saddle, whips flailing, intent on winning at all costs. Martens could see this was more than casual exercising for them.
Leaning back on his heels, de Vile rocked in evident satisfaction. A distant, unfocused smile flickered on his lips and was gone.
“Which one would you back to win?�
� He turned to Martens with a triumphant edge to his voice.
There was no mistaking this was a test. With de Vile, everything was a test, he thought sourly.
“The dark horse.” Martens replied before he’d even had a chance to think about it. “Always the dark horse,” he said and laughed.
“You might be right. We’ll have to see, won’t we?” De Vile’s eyebrows drew together, and his expression tightened.
“So why was the Castellanos woman up at Watson’s place just a couple of hours before you got there?”
Marten felt his mouth fall open before he could mask his shock. “The Castellanos woman?”
“That’s right. The Castellanos woman.” Hector de Vile’s face creased in a nasty sneer. “You know her?” The tone was hard, sarcastic. Martens scrambled to recover ground. “Of course I know her. I was with her last night. Gave her that report to soften her up for the share sale.”
He stamped his feet on the ground, as if to underline his control. “Probably went up there to show it to him, is what I’d guess.”
“And he wouldn’t have pulled out Vance’s little piece of work to compare notes?” de Vile said in a voice that could cut diamonds. “What if he was bluffing when he set fire to the report—presuming that touching little scene actually happened. It might well have all been the report the woman gave him – and all a fake show.”
Martens felt the acid burn in his gut. How he hated this overbearing cockerel who thought he was better and smarter than anyone else. Just give him a chance and he’d show them who was destined to be top man.
He’d been unlucky to come up against Nathan Russell, that’s all. If he hadn’t been thrown out of the investment house he’d be one of the richest men in Sydney by now. And now that little bitch was causing him more grief.
“I very much doubt it,” Martens said as staunchly as he could. “Highly unlikely. But just in case…” He eye balled de Vile. “Just in case, why don’t I offer to show Miss Castellanos through the Ophir, say I can explain aspects of our report to her. Let her see why Lightning Bill came to the conclusions he did. Soften her up a bit?”
Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4 Page 17