A Wicked Deception (5 page)

“Take my horse, save you going back for your own
,” Robbie suggested. “You can give me the money. Probably safer if I take it to the commissioner.”

James nodded.
“Good idea, Robbie can wait here until you get back. Be a good girl and hurry up. I don’t fancy fourteen days in jail.”

“Fourteen days in jail?”
The thought sickened her. “So long?”

“On your way, I don’t want you riding around alone once it gets dark.”

With Robbie’s help she mounted and rode off.

Once clear of the diggings, she urged the horse into a gallop. She wouldn’t be going to the Johnson place, but to Guilford Lodge because it was much closer, and she wanted James released as soon as possible. Michael would lend them the money even though their last parting had not been cordial. He was not a vindictive man, and James had once been his friend.

She slowed the horse for a time, lest he became too exhausted. It would take nearly an hour to ride to Guilford Lodge. She took little notice of the wild daisies growing in profusion. Pastel tinted ground orchids, normally a source of pleasure, succumbed to the battering of the horse’s hooves.

To save time she took a short cut straight through the scrub. She passed stringy barks and tall eucalypts full of squawking bird life. Small native animals scurried amongst the scrub in the gullies, while several kangaroos grazing quietly, scattered at her approach.

Guilford Lodge, at last. She galloped through the open gates without reducing speed.

As she raced towards the house she realized a garden party was in progress. Several fashionably dressed young ladies sat in the shade of the verandah, sipping tea.

A groom hastened over. Even before he could offer assistance, she dismounted. “I’ll need the horse again in a few minutes, thank you.”

Throwing him the reins
, she dashed towards the house.
What a mess I must look
she thought, running up the steps.

Priscilla met her on the verandah, resplendent in blue taffeta, her dark hair beautifully dressed, not even one strand out of place. In fact
, nothing marred the perfection of her appearance. “Miss O’Dea, isn’t it?” she asked, haughty as a queen.

“Is Michael home? I have to speak with him urgently,”
Melanie gabbled. “It’s an emergency.”

“Wait here.” Priscilla made no effort to introduce Melanie to her guests, her tone of voice indicating to those on the verandah that this inferior
creature didn’t warrant any consideration or courtesy whatsoever.

“Michael,” she moaned in distress as he strode towards her. Her hands fluttered at her breast as she forced herself to stand still, instead of rushing towards him as she once would have done.

“Melanie, what is it?” His eyes flicked over her, his mouth tightening as he noticed her distress.

“The police troopers
are taking James to jail.”

“What!”

The story poured out. Halfway through, he stopped her with a wave of one hand and turned to Priscilla. “You should see to your guests.”

Melanie watched the Englishwoman
pout before flouncing off. Thank goodness Michael had sent her away.

“Now let me get this clear. James has been taken by the troopers because he had no mining license?”

“Yes.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?
I can’t interfere with the due processes of the law.”

She stamped her foot. “I want you to loan me the five pound
s we need to pay his fine, otherwise he has to spend fourteen days in jail.”

“He broke the law. It’s about time the authorities clamped down on the lawless and rebellious behavior on the gold fields. It’s treasonous the way those miners are acting. They’re setting the colony up for civil war.”

“He was only helping Uncle Alex. Tom Ogilvy picked him out on purpose.”

Michael’s hair
touched the collar of his cut-away jacket, which he wore over tight fitting white trousers. He stood straight and tall, like a country squire surveying his kingdom.

“I wasted my time coming here, didn’t I? Go back to your aristocratic friends,” she said bitterly, turning to go.

“Wait.” His hand on her shoulder restrained her. “I’ll give you the money. Exactly how much do you need?”

“Robbie said it would cost five pounds. We can pay it back, not straight away, but James could work it off. Maybe I could get some kind of employment.”

“Are you looking for employment, Miss O’Dea?” Priscilla, gliding up to link arms with Michael, must have heard the tail end of their conversation. “We could do with another maid while we wait for that new girl to come from Melbourne. If you expect me to entertain in the proper manner, we must have more help. My parents would be mortified to know how little assistance I receive.”

“All right.” His lips tightened. “Do you mind helping out for a time, Melanie, just until the other maid arrives? It
shouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks.”

“I’d prefer to work the debt off. I’ll stay here until you get someone else.” He didn’t even try to hide his displeasure, but as far as she and James were concerned, it would be perfect
. O’Deas never took charity.

“Could I have the five pounds now please
? I have to get back before dark.”

His mouth tightened with annoyance as
he handed over the money. “I’m expecting more guests, otherwise I would accompany you. Melanie, please stay away from the diggings. There’s trouble brewing there, big trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me. Robbie is going to take the money into town. When would you like me to start working?”

He glanced at her first, then Priscilla. “Sort out the domestic arrangements between yourselves.” Turning sharply on his heel he strode away, his rigid back testimony to his annoyance.

“You can start tomorrow.”

Melanie stared at this haughty English lady who was Michael’s intended bride and nodded her agreement.

“Report to the kitchen on your arrival,” Priscilla ordered. “The housekeeper will see to everything. A carriage will
fetch you after lunch.”

A shaft of trepidation shot through
Melanie. Venom dripped from Priscilla’s voice, her demeanor threatened retribution. Nothing specific, but she felt it, a clawing, overwhelming sensation of fear, but for a king’s ransom wouldn’t show it.

The groom helped her
mount Robbie’s horse, and without glancing back she galloped away. The spring sun soon lost its warmth once the afternoon drew to a close and chill seeped into her bones. Chill not only from the plummeting temperature, but from worry about James.

What if the authorities wouldn’t let
him out of jail? Thinking of her brother being incarcerated with common criminals caused sobs to rise up in her throat. Tom Ogilvy thirsted for revenge now. Why did she slap him? What kind of fool would deliberately antagonize him? So, he’d openly accused her of being a whore. What did that matter compared to James’ well being? He would probably start picking on Robbie as well now.

Arriving
at the diggings, she dismounted and dashed towards Uncle Alex’s claim. She passed several miners, and even though it was getting late, most of them kept diligently toiling away. Uncle Alex, old and feeble looking, rocked the cradle that separated the lighter sand from the gold.

“Uncle Alex, where’s Robbie?”

“Down the shaft. Did you get the money for James?”

“Yes.” She
hurried over to where Robbie worked and peered over the edge. Three poles, with the tops bound together, straddled the shaft, and from this hung a block and pulley. Notches cut into the sides of the shaft enabled him to climb up and down more easily.

Buckets filled with the wash dirt were hoisted to the surface before being puddled to get rid of the sticky mud, so nothing would remain except gravel and gold
. Uncle Alex would shift more dirt if he took in a partner to share the workload, she reasoned. If only he wasn’t so stubborn. So hell bent on digging up a fortune.

“
Robbie!” His head suddenly appeared above the shaft.

“Did you get the money?”

“Yes, from Michael.” Quickly she explained what had happened. “I’ve got a temporary job at Guilford Lodge to work off the debt.”

Climbing to his feet h
e muttered a curse. “Surely he could have given it to you. He’s got plenty.”

“I prefer it this way, we don’t take charity.”
As she tossed her head back proudly, loosened strands of hair tumbled about her shoulders.

Robbie put a hand out and brushed some of the flyaway strands off her face.
“You have beautiful hair. Sometimes it looks like the sun got trapped in all those curls.”

“They will let James out, won’t they?
Won’t they?”

“Yeah. Give me the money. You better wait in the tent until we get back.” He shoved the money into his pocket
, and with a wave, strode towards his horse.

Few diggers possessed a horse; they always walked to where they wanted to go. The fact Robbie owned one set him apart from the other men, but he was a popular, well known identity around the diggings. She often wondered why some desperate miner didn’t steal his horse as he hobbled it at night and let it graze freely.
The diggers obviously had a code of honor amongst themselves, for they left it alone. This tough, cosmopolitan group had forged a comradeship with each other due to the hardships they shared.

“Do you want me to help with the cradle, Uncle Alex?”

“No thank you, my dear.”

The diggings were a hive of activity, with miners scurrying to and fro, the uniform dress being red or blue worsted shirts, worn over moleskin trousers. Most of the men
had beards, probably because they had no time or water to spare for shaving.

“You’ll stay for dinner when the boys get back, won’t you, my dear?”

Uncle Alex always behaved with old-fashioned courtesy. He wasn’t cut out to be a miner, everyone realized this except him. Before gold fever fired his blood, he had worked at Guilford Lodge as a bookkeeper.

Someone discovered gold in Ballarat
shortly after Michael sailed for England, so Uncle Alex, her mother’s cousin, left the cottage that had been provided for him to try his luck at the diggings. He met with little success, his hopes of striking it rich somehow never materializing. If only Robbie’s mother had not died a few months before the first gold strike things would have been different. Aunt Sarah was a gentle woman, who nonetheless exerted a strong influence on her husband. She would never have allowed him to throw in a well paid position. Maybe he left Guilford Lodge to help ease the pain of losing his wife? Melanie could understand that. They had always seemed such a devoted couple.

“Good evening, Miss. How are you, Alex?”

“I’m all right, Peter.”

“Getting much color?”

“Not yet. Let me introduce you to my niece. Melanie, my dear, this is Peter Lalor.”

She smiled at the tall handsome stranger
who swept off his hat.

“Where’s Robbie?”

As the older man explained about James, Melanie watched Peter Lalor’s face darken with anger.

“We can’t let them get away with this persecution
. Something has to be done. I tell you, Alex, blood will flow here before much longer. The Governor will have a full-scale riot on his hands,” he ranted. “Men won’t stand much more of this degradation and persecution.”

She excused herself and escaped into her Uncle’s tent. Surely it would not come to bloodshed? The Governor would have to do something.
The tent seemed smaller, more pitifully bare than ever. If only Uncle Alex would give up this madness. In a hessian bag hanging from the side of the tent, she found a leg of mutton soaked in brine, colonial ham, as some people called it.

Not even a cloth to spread over the tea chest
, she thought, laying out the cutlery, plates and mugs. From the tent she gazed out over bare jagged hills. The trees and scrub had been replaced by yawning holes and heaps of yellow dirt. Even though summer was not yet here, everything wore a shroud of dirty brown dust.

No surveyed streets,
merely a mud track that turned into a bog in winter, and a dust bowl in summer. Surely some of the gold taxes paid by the diggers should be used to improve the roads. Most men lived in canvas or calico tents, although a few owned crude huts. Successful diggers, or those with money before they arrived, lived in quite grand tents, some even had fireplaces.

There was a church of sorts, which she often attended with Robbie
. Built out of rough planks, it had several rows of benches for worshippers to sit on. The roof was canvas, but compared with the other living quarters on the diggings, the clergyman, whose abode this was also, lived in luxury.

Darkness had fallen before James and Robbie returned. Melanie,
staring at her brother in the firelight, gasped in shock. His face had cuts and bruises all over it.