Ironbark (29 page)

Losing didn't bear thinking about.

During the opening round the partisan crowd was clearly rooting for the Hammer. But Jake felt gratified his assessment was accurate. He danced around his heavier, slower opponent to aggravate him and gain his measure. Jake's weaving caused the older fighter's most damaging blows to glance off Jake's shoulder and the side of his head. In contrast, Jake managed to return a barrage of telling jabs.

Although Jake slipped and was forced to take the thirty-second count that ended the first round, from there on his confidence steadily rose. He kept reminding himself that the Hammer was past his prime while he hadn't yet reached his.

Jake never took his eyes from that podgy face for a second. He read the message in the bleary eyes that signalled the throwing of the man's next punch seconds before he delivered it. Jake inwardly crowed.
I'm going to win, you bastard. Watch me!

At the end of the next round Jake coldly eyed his opponent's
bewilderment when the moment dawned on the man he was outclassed.

It was when the Hammer was down for the count for the second consecutive time that Jake saw it. A landau carriage that drew up on the edge of the crowd. The driver climbed down to gain a closer view of the fight. Two ladies were seated in the open carriage. Both faces were focused on him. Only one of them mattered.
Jenny.

A parasol framed her head. No black wig. Her long blonde hair waved in the wind. Her pouting lips curved in a teasing smile of recognition.

Their eyes met and the blood rush of battle drained out of Jake. He looked into those dark eyes and his memories of their life together came rushing back with love that overwhelmed him.

Jenny gave him her secret smile. They both knew the truth. Jake felt an acute flash of pain that was not caused by the blow from Pete the Hammer that caught him off guard. It was the pain that proved his wife still held him in thrall.

Jake had a sliver of memory of that first ever time she watched him fight but now Jenny was dressed like a lady of Quality – kept by another man!

Consumed by a burst of rage that almost blinded him, Jake lost control and delivered a bombardment of killer blows.

Desperate to end this fight, to be free to grab hold of her, he lost concentration for a split second – a mistake that gave the Hammer the opportunity to knock Jake to his knees. As the referee began the count Jake knew he could easily fight on to win, but he couldn't lose Jenny again. He remained on his knees, and waited out the count.

At the sound of victorious cheers for the Hammer, Jake jumped to his feet and pushed his way through the throng towards her carriage.

He felt as if he would choke with rage when she tapped her driver on the shoulder with her fan and ordered him to drive off at full speed.

Jake desperately broke free of the crowd. Standing alone in the
middle of the open road, he stretched his arms towards the disappearing carriage and called out her name.

Jenny gave him a backward glance. He saw the gleam of excitement in her eyes.

He had lost her again.

When Keziah heard the excited babble of children's voices she lifted Gabriel from his little tin tub. At four months old he loved water so much he was always loathe to leave it. Wrapping him in a towel she hurried to the veranda to watch the arrival of Sunny Ah Wei's travelling emporium. She hoped he'd have new bolts of winter fabrics and news of the outside world.

Drawn by a horse in a harness lavishly decorated with brass, the red, green and gold wagon was a joy to behold. Emblazoned on the side under his name a golden scroll advertised the magical list of contents for sale – Chinese robes, silks, haberdashery, toys, confectionery, kitchenware and herbal medicines that claimed to cure ‘toothache, dyspepsia and all manner of human, canine and horses' ills'.

Barefoot children ran down the track to keep pace with the wagon. Sunny Ah Wei was dressed in his customary robe and cap, his thin pigtail swinging down his back, his face lit up with the celestial smile that had earned him his Australian nickname. Sunny's reputation endeared him to all, not only because his exotic merchandise arrived like manna from heaven in isolated lives, but because of his cheap prices and fair dealings.

While sorting through materials Keziah fished for news after the children had run off. If anyone collected rumours on his travels, it was Sunny, but he preferred to be the bearer of
good
news.

‘Many people collect money for statue in Sydney Town to honour last governor.'

Keziah was pleased to hear it. ‘Mr Bloom says Sir Richard Bourke tried to give us elected government and schools for rich and poor but those damned Exclusives blocked him.'

She steered the conversation to Bolthole Valley, asking Sunny for local news.

‘Big crowd at cemetery for laying of tombstone for lady killed at Blackman's Leap last year.'

‘Who did that?' she asked quickly, hoping to remain anonymous.

‘Good soul but no one know who paid money.'

‘What is the latest bushranger activity? I hear The Gypsy has been sighted.'

Sunny lowered his voice. ‘I think this bolter bail me up last week.'

There was no one in sight but Keziah also whispered. ‘How do you know it was him?'

‘One gold earring. Dressed very flash. Silver belt, gold coins on waistcoat. He said strange thing. “A fine wagon, Sunny. I made Romani wagon for my wife in Wales.”'

Keziah forced herself to ask the conventional question. ‘Did he take all your money?'

Sunny shook his head. ‘Only one silver ring and he
paid
for it!'

Keziah was overcome with pride that Gem would not steal from another outsider. Once she was back in her cottage her tears rained on the black mourning veil she had just sewn to her bonnet.

After the arrival of Jake Andersen's note warning that Caleb Morgan threatened to post a reward for her arrest on his return to Sydney Town, Keziah had acted swiftly. She had sent an anonymous cash order to Bolthole Valley's stonemason and now she knew the tombstone was in place. But the inscription was crucial. Was it correct?

Nerida hovered in the doorway, sensitive to Keziah's emotions.

Keziah brushed away her tears. ‘I know you fear ghosts as much as I do, Nerida, but I need to visit a friend's grave.'

• • •

On arriving in Bolthole Valley, Keziah encouraged Nerida to accompany her to Feagan's General Store. She knew how painful Nerida's memories of this place must be.

‘Remember, Nerida, you are my friend and you are employed at Ironbark Farm where everyone respects you. Nobody will dare treat you rudely when you are with me!'

After collecting the latest newspapers she had ordered, Keziah was careful to assume Saranna's well-bred accent when she asked Feagan for directions to the cemetery.

His sharp eye noticed the bouquet of flowers she carried and he quickly assumed a suitable expression of respect for a mourner.

‘I am sorry for your loss, Miss Plews. Was your dear departed a near relative?'

‘Keziah Smith and I were passengers on the coach that crashed at Blackman's Leap last year. I was at her side when she died but I have been unable to visit her grave till now.'

‘Then you'll be pleased to discover the new headstone some anonymous person erected.' There was innuendo in his voice as he added, ‘It would seem the Gypsy girl had friends in high places.'

Keziah disguised her fear by idly examining the label on a tea caddy. ‘What makes you think so?'

‘An English gentleman named Morgan came here in search of her. It was my sad duty to inform him where her remains are buried. He was disturbed by my revelation.'

Keziah found it difficult to breathe. ‘Is that gentleman still here?'

‘He departed on yesterday's coach. Nothing much here to hold a man of the Quality.'

• • •

The cemetery was deserted. Keziah opened the iron gate then hesitated. Across the road in Hobson's cart the two little boys lay asleep in Nerida's lap. Murphy's dark head lay nestled against Gabriel's blond curls.

She adjusted the mourning veil on her bonnet. In the non-denominational corner she stood before a standing stone and felt a rush of guilt mixed with relief as she read the inscription.
Sacred to the Memory of KEZIAH SMITH. Daughter of GABRIEL STANLEY. Born
Wales 1820. Accidentally Killed Blackman's Leap 1837.
At the bottom edge was the carefully worded phrase she had requested.
May the young girl who lies here rest in peace.

Keziah felt guilty that Saranna had been buried in unsanctified ground, unmarked by her Christian cross, but this false tombstone was necessary to ensure Gabriel's safety.

‘I had no choice at all!' she said, startled by the sound of her voice. After checking to make sure that she was unobserved, she placed on the grave her posy of bush flowers entwined with her favourite herb, rosemary for remembrance.

As she retraced her steps towards the gate she froze at the sight of an approaching horseman wearing a grey cloak and high-crowned hat.
Mi-duvel! It's Caleb!

In panic she hid herself behind a tombstone and prayed to
The Del
to make her invisible, but as he rode past she saw the older man bore no resemblance to Caleb.

She giggled from sheer relief and apologised to the unknown owner of the grave. ‘Forgive me, I'm starting at shadows.'

Back in the cart she woke Gabriel from his sleep and held him tightly in her arms.

‘My little Rom. Now we are free,' she said, feeling far from convinced. She had spent all her money on the tombstone to prove Keziah Smith was dead. She wondered if she had succeeded in fooling Caleb Morgan.

• • •

The four of them sang together as Keziah drove home through the forest. She was grateful for her narrow escape. Only one day earlier and she could have collided with Caleb at Saranna's grave.

Today
baxt
was on her side but she must continue to lay low until she was convinced Caleb had left the colony. Surely he would not remain in this outpost of the British Empire – he loved luxury too much.

Glancing at Gabriel, Keziah clung to the wild hope that Gem would accept the myth of his adoption. Jealousy was inborn in every Rom but in Gem it was uncontrollable. She shivered, remembering that terrible day in North Wales.

Keziah sauntered along the riverbank, waiting for Gem's return from trading a horse. A hare sped across her path, causing her to fall headlong into the water. Unable to swim, she felt the river sucking at her skirt, dragging her down to its depths. Within seconds water would fill her lungs. Her arms flayed wildly, tangled by reeds. Looking up through the water at the sunlight, she sent her thoughts to Gem.
My beloved, I am yours even in death.
And then nothing but blackness.

She regained consciousness to find herself being carried in the arms of a
gaujo.
Gem's voice roared out, accusing the man of rape. When Gem seized him by the throat, the stranger was so stunned he dropped Keziah to the ground.

Keziah screamed that the
gaujo
had saved her life but Gem was so consumed by rage that he was deaf to her words. Until she struck his face so forcibly it left a livid mark. Only then did Gem release his grip. The
gaujo
did not wait to be thanked and raced off into the woods.

Keziah was horrified. ‘If I hadn't struck you, you'd have been hanged for murder!'

Gem gave a wild cry, took her face in his hands and his kiss devoured her. He tore off her wet clothing and hungrily made love to her.

As Keziah looked across at Gabriel asleep again in Nerida's arms she dreaded Gem's rage when he saw the child.
If he was so jealous of an innocent man, how on earth will he react to you, little one?

• • •

On Saturday morning Keziah opened her door to find herself eye to eye with a trooper, Sergeant Kenwood. She invited him to try her cherry cake and poured him tea, chattering with the veneer of Saranna's ladylike manner masking her feminine Romani guile.

Kenwood was a stocky Englishman with an accent difficult to
fathom because of the harelip he disguised with a russet-brown moustache. He was clearly disarmed by her warm hospitality. Not every settler in this locality treated troopers with such respect.

His question caught her off guard. ‘I am investigating the death of Mrs Smith, a Gypsy traveller. I understand you are a survivor of the Blackman's Leap coach tragedy.'

Keziah assumed her most cooperative attitude. ‘I was present when Dr O'Flaherty pronounced her dead. I placed gold coins on the eyelids of her corpse out of respect for her Romani traditions. Then I rode to the Shamrock and Thistle Inn for help. I later returned the horse to Rolly Brothers,' she added quickly, mindful of the savage penalties for horse theft.

‘Did the dead woman ever mention a Mr Caleb Morgan?'

To hide her anxiety Keziah pressed him to accept a whisky from the bottle she kept to loosen tongues and gain information.

‘No, but I recall Mrs Smith said she was a widow and an actress.'

Whisky warmed Kenwood to his subject. ‘Forgive the indelicacy of the question but was Mrs Smith well advanced with child?'

Her mind raced to provide a convincing answer. ‘We had occasion to share a bed at an inn. Keziah was no more with child than I am.'

She flung her arms wide to offer an agreeable view of her full bosom and slim waist.

Kenwood flushed brick red. ‘Quite. Thank you.'

‘May I venture to ask who had such a strange idea?'

‘The said gentleman, Caleb Morgan. I can now report to him no child existed.'

Keziah refilled the trooper's glass. He downed the whisky with satisfaction then asked if she'd heard of the bushranger Gypsy Gem Smith.