Ironbark (16 page)

Carelessly she tossed her empty goblet on the grass. She held his eye as she tweaked the neckline of her gown lower before leaning her elbows on the low stone wall that separated them. The upper curve of her breasts was so clear in the moonlight that Daniel saw the beauty spot Nature had placed in a most seductive place.

‘Do you like my dress? It's French,' she asked him.

‘Not as beautiful as the girl who—' He halted, appalled by his audacity.

‘The girl who wears it?' Her laughter was infectious. ‘My! You are quite the young gallant, are you not?'

Daniel smiled despite his nerves. There was a safe distance between them but he suspected she enjoyed the novelty of flirting with a stranger. Did she guess he was a convict?

She picked up an apple that had fallen on her side of the wall and played with it as if it were a child's ball. Her voice was almost a purr.

‘Do you like the taste of forbidden fruit, lad? Eve gave Adam an apple like this one.'

The inference was unmistakable and Daniel was alerted by a flash of danger. ‘Please Ma'am, you best go inside. I must return to my cabin.'

‘Oh. Did you not come free, Daniel Browne?'

Daniel wanted to run from the scene but was afraid of offending her.

‘I'm assigned to Master Jonstone, Ma'am,' he admitted.

‘Ó la la! A convict. I'd never have guessed. Your face is quite handsome. You speak like a gentleman.' She giggled. ‘What naughty thing did you do to be transported?'

‘I was innocent of the charge, Ma'am,' Daniel said quickly. He had repeated this claim so often he hoped one day he would believe it himself.

‘I see you're blushing, Daniel, how sweet,' she teased. ‘Forgive me, lady, but I
must
go!'

His heart raced in fear as a gentleman appeared on the terrace. Julian Jonstone! Daniel panicked. He leapt down from the tree and bolted into the bush. A backward glance saw the girl tuck her hand through Jonstone's arm and gaze up at her host as if he was a knight who had come to her rescue.

‘How foolish of me, Julian. Was I in any danger do you think?'

Daniel was short of breath when he slid into his bunk in the darkness. He lay awake going over every detail of the night, every curve of her body, every angle of her exquisite face. If only he had the paints and brushes to immortalise her. The girl with no name had the face of a naughty angel. A body like Helen of Troy. Men would risk their lives, their empires to possess her.

Daniel felt a wave of confusion. Although she did not stir him physically, she excited him so much that his hand and his imagination itched to record her beauty for posterity.

• • •

Dawn brought changes that were as always beyond his control. Daniel was summoned to a distant paddock to remove the stumps of trees.
Ironbarks. Tough as hell. Just my damned luck. I trust the others assigned to the job are strong enough to pull their weight.

The Devil Himself rode past on his prancing stallion and wagged a warning finger.

‘Mind this teaches you to keep your eyes off your betters, Daniel Browne. Master doesn't take kindly to a convict so bold he frightens his lovely guest of honour!'

‘I'd never be guilty of hurting a lady, Sir. I regret very much if I frightened her.'

Daniel expected his defence to be met with disdain. So why was the overseer smiling?

‘I believe you, Daniel. Ladies of the Quality are well beyond your taste, are they not?'

The Devil Himself gave a short laugh that left Daniel confused. Less serious misdemeanours had earned other assigned men the lash. Why was he being lenient with him?

The overseer's face was in profile as he casually asked the question. ‘I take it you were transported with a certain Maynard Plews. You were his partner in crime were you not?'

Daniel flushed and said automatically, ‘I was innocent, Sir.'

‘Quite so – you
all
are! But it may interest you to know Plews was assigned to the lime kilns in Newcastle. Being half submerged in water each day did not agree with him. He drowned. Some say by his own hand.'

After the overseer rode away Daniel was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. Shock, sadness, a resurgence of grief for his role in shortening the old man's life. Then he experienced a fresh layer of shame that sprang from his acute sense of relief. Now there was no one left alive to expose his guilt! A sudden thought chilled him. Or did that power now rest in the hands of the Devil Himself?

Daniel only realised the full extent of his punishment when he sighted a mammoth stump so deeply rooted in the earth it appeared to
reach to the depths of hell. He alone was assigned to dig it out.

His mind seethed with rage. That little vixen had enticed him to talk to her. Played with him like a kitten with a ball of wool. In frustration he turned his anger on Saranna. She had promised to follow him to the ends of the earth. Where the hell was she? He swung his pick violently against the tree stump.

Women – you can't trust any of the bitches.

Jake Andersen swore under his breath as he checked the names and destinations of the five passengers on his list. He wanted to get everything right on his first job as driver of a Rolly Brothers coach. But he knew this trip would prove an uphill battle.
Jesus wept! Good women are as scarce as hen's teeth in the colony. Just my bloody luck to cop two out of five. A spinster and a widow. Both just off the bloody boat from England. No doubt they'll be as picky as hell. I'm gunna be stuck with them for weeks!

Jake checked the time by the White Horse Tavern clock. Six o'clock. High time for the coach to depart. But he only had one of his five passengers in hand. Through the window he could see Dr Fergus O'Flaherty inside the tavern's coach office having one for the road from his silver flask. Jake had already strapped the Irishman's case of whisky on the roof but he wasn't expecting any grief from that quarter – the doc was such a gent he doffed his hat to every woman he passed.

Jake carefully re-checked his team of horses, more than ready to get the coach on the road. He was never too impressed by the size and clamour of Sydney Town. It might seem like a drop in the ocean compared with England's towns but it was still too big for him.

He blew into the palms of his hands to warm them and surveyed the traffic hurtling along George Street, the main artery in and out of town. There were humble ‘shay carts', four-in-hands, hackney carriages, jaunty gigs and wagons loaded with farm produce from Windsor and Parramatta. It was market day and barrows were being heaped with vegetables and fruit. The street swarmed with men. The only females in sight were weathered farmers' wives or weary, hip-swaying women who Jake knew were eyeing him off as a prospective customer.

A young girl paused to try her luck. Greasy hair hung over a bare shoulder and she smelled of gin but her voice was hopeful. ‘What's your fancy, love?'

Jake tipped his hat. ‘Thanks but it's more than my job's worth to leave my horses.'

She disappeared into the crowd as if she had never existed.

Jake felt a catch in his throat remembering that constable's warning about runaway wives who ended up selling their bodies on the streets of The Rocks. Would Jenny's protector abandon her when he tired of her? Jake asked himself what he would do if he found Jenny had sunk so low? He didn't want to face the answer.

The very moment a good woman halted in front of him Jake knew he had trouble but he doffed his hat and tried to get off on the right foot.

‘I'm your driver, Jake Andersen. You'd be Mrs Smith or Saranna Plews, right?'

‘
Miss
Plews,
Andersen
,' she corrected coolly in her correct English accent.

‘Righto,' said Jake.
So I've copped one of those New Chums who look down their nose at us colonials.
He was determined not to let this Pommy girl's manner get under his skin.

‘Seeing as you'll be cooped up in my coach for ages, Miss Plews, you'd best stretch your legs until we're on our way.'

Her mitten-covered hand flew to her mouth in horror. Jake immediately realised his mistake – his forbidden reference to a lady's nether limbs.
You've got a fair bit to learn, girl. But at journey's end the blokes in Ironbark will soon cut you down to size.

Miss Plews carried a large carpet bag. Jake offered to stow it with the rest of the passengers' baggage already roped to the roof-rack but she clutched the bag to her bosom and scurried inside the tavern.

‘Please yourself, lady,' he muttered to himself. ‘Anyone would think you're hiding the crown jewels.' He looked down both ends of the
street.
Where the deuce are the other three?

Two drunks headed for him on a roll. Jake recognised the rough cloth of their suits was a product of the Parramatta Female Factory. No mistaking these lads for anything but Currency.

‘We're the Crooke brothers bound for Goulburn. This our coach, mate?'

Jake's manner was confidential. ‘I enjoy a pint as much as the next bloke, so I'd better warn you. There are two females on board who won't take too kindly to grog – they're both
nuns
.'

The brothers crossed themselves. ‘Jesus! We don't want to upset no nuns!'

‘Good on you!' Jake shepherded them towards the tavern. ‘Hop inside and the bloke in the booking office will get you fixed up on another Rolly Brothers coach – all blokes!'

That just leaves the widow, Mrs Smith. What the hell's keeping her? I've got her bag on the rack, so I can't bloody well leave without her.

Suddenly a girl came running towards the coach in a flurry of red petticoats. ‘Jesus wept!' Jake muttered under his breath, ‘what have we got here?'

He caught a flash of pretty ankles below the red petticoats. She clutched at a silly little hat with a feather curling over the brim. Although she was swathed in a shawl, any fool could see her bosom pushed her red blouse to the limit. Dodging the crowd she collided with him, breathless. Her words had a lilting accent.

‘Thank you for waiting. I was given the wrong directions. When I started running back someone shouted, “Thief!” I had to do some fast talking to a police officer, I can tell you!'

Her laugh was rich and open, not the polite titter of well-bred English girls. Most of her kind guarded their pale complexions against freckles but the widow's olive skin was no stranger to the sun.

‘You'd be Mrs Smith, right? I'm your driver, Jake Andersen. Jake.'

‘It's pleased I am to meet you, Mr Andersen. I can't wait to begin
our journey. You mustn't mind my questions. I've only been here three days. The colony is a whole new world to me.'

A gust of wind sent her silly little hat spinning across the road above a double lane of traffic and Jake dashed off in pursuit, dodging nimbly between horses and cartwheels to rescue the hat before it landed in the gutter. He darted back between carriages to hand it to her.

The Widow Smith's vivid blue eyes were laughing at him through a wild mane of black hair that the wind blew in every direction. Jake was a bit thrown.
Jesus wept, a man could get lost for a fortnight in that jungle of hair.

Looking into the widow's eyes Jake felt he was falling down a deep well. He quickly reminded himself,
There's not a good woman alive who could tempt me. I'm happy to pay Lily Pompadour for everything I need.

Rain suddenly pelted down and George Street was soon awash with mud-splattered vehicles and a sea of men's umbrellas. Although Jake had previously ridden Horatio through this part of town, navigating a coach between drunken pedestrians and drivers in the rain would be quite another matter. He rounded up his passengers to shelter under the tavern's awning.
Dr O'Flaherty is pleasantly drunk, Miss Plews is twitchy and the Widow Smith's looking around her like a kid at a fair.

Just as Jake was ready to beckon them to board the coach he was bailed up by a shifty-looking bloke he'd seen earlier in a huddle with another coach driver.

Jake eyed the man's coat. A pawnbroker's ticket was still pinned to the collar.
No doubt about it, this bloke's dodgy.

‘Could I have a word with you, me old china?' The man's eyes were furtive and his accent was pure Cockney. ‘Ever come across a Keziah Stanley in your travels? Looks a bit Gypsy like. Just off the boat from the Old Dart.'

Jake was guarded. ‘Who wants to know?'

‘A gent in England. Quality. Plenty of brass. I'll make it well worth
your while.' The Cockney jingled coins in his pocket to emphasise his point.

Jake saw Mrs Smith was lurking in the tavern doorway. She looked terrified.

‘Never heard of her,' he told the Cockney. ‘Now bugger off, I've got work to do.'

When the informer slunk out of sight, Mrs Smith gave Jake a tremulous smile.
So that's it. A good woman on the run from a bloke with pots of cash.

‘Righto, time to hit the road.' Jake laid a wide plank across the footpath to protect their boots from the muddy puddles. The Widow Smith was the last to climb on board. Jake's eyes strayed again to that flurry of red petticoats and her nice pair of ankles.
No harm in me just looking.

Mi-duvel! Thank God I'm on the open road again.

As the coach rolled its way past the Toll Gate at the head of the Parramatta Road Keziah touched the silver amulet hidden under her blouse, grateful that her ancestors had protected her from being discovered by that Cockney spy the Morgans had hired to hunt her down. Had Jake Andersen sensed her terror and covered up for her? She sent a mental blessing of thanks to him anyway.

She felt exhilarated to be travelling for the very first time in a coach lead by a team of horses. Every mile took her closer towards Gem. Of course no coach could be as comfortable as her
vardo
. Every bump in the road caused Dr O'Flaherty to roll into her and the wind occasionally blew the rain her way through the open window. Glass panes wouldn't have lasted five minutes on roads as rough as these, but Keziah didn't want to roll down the canvas blind. Better to be a bit damp than miss any of the extraordinary scenery they passed.