A Wicked Deception (23 page)

It was a filthy idea
, revolting, but better than dying. Jesus had shared a stable with animals, so they could do the same.

“No!” Ann yelled when Melanie suggested it
. “Never.”

“It’s better than going out in the cold all the time. You’ll end up with consumption. You’ll die, then what happens to little Ann and me?” She played what she hoped was an ace. “The poor
house?”

“But it’s indecent.”

“Who will know? Just for a couple of weeks until I get stronger. We’re desperate. We can’t go on like this. I couldn’t make it over to the barn now, I’m too weak. If I get sick what happens to the baby? We’ve got no choice.”

“Living with a cow!”

“Baby Jesus did it. Move your things in with me. We can clean the room up afterwards. What’s a bit of cow dung anyway? We can fling the mess out the back door. It’s so cold it won’t stink too much.”

“I’m reduced to sharing a cottage with a cow.” Ann stomped up and down the room. “
Peter, I hate you. I hate you for doing this to me. To us.”

Melanie laughed at the look of sheer horror on Ann’s face. If she didn’t try to find
humor in the situation she would go into screaming hysterics.

Things are d
esperate she kept telling herself as she sat propped up in bed feeding little Ann. What a beautiful sensation, feeling your baby suckling your breast, giving contented little snuffles.

The back door banged open, followed by a loud moo. Their guest had obviously arrived. If their situation hadn’t been so dire, it would have been comical.

“You horrible beast, get inside,” Ann hollered. The clip clop of hooves on the cobbled floor echoed through the cottage, the mooing intensified. Obviously their guest wasn’t happy about the new accommodation.

Better in here than a drafty old barn, Melanie felt like yelling
. “Oh baby.” She stroked her daughter’s brown silky hair. “I hope we’re doing the right thing, but it’s madness for Ann to keep going out into the cold when she’s got such a hacking cough.”

For three weeks the cow lived with them. After
two weeks Melanie was able to get out of bed and totter around. An all-prevailing weakness invaded her limbs, her breasts felt swollen and painful. The weather was the worst she had ever experienced. Gusts of icy wind blew under the doors and they crammed towels against the cracks so they wouldn’t freeze to death.

The wind howled and screamed, snow and sleet fell without respite. Had they wanted to walk into the village they would not have been able to. One slip on the path and they
would end up buried in deep snow drifts.

They were at their lowest point, their wood almost exhausted, their food supplies dwindling. Ann was so ill now she
didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. They slept together for warmth. In all the weeks, with all the dreadful weather, not one person came to check if they lived or died. No one cared. Not even Peter. It was soul destroying.

In the beginning, t
he stench from the cow in Ann’s room wasn’t as bad as she had first feared. Before she became so ill, Ann had religiously cleaned up the cow dung minutes after it splattered to the floor. She would toss it out the back door, along with their waste. It had built up over the last few days, but thank goodness the coldness reduced the smell so it was bearable. What a mess to clean up when the snow melted.

They were in survival mode, having been reduced to living like animals. With an animal.

Melanie mixed the last of their flour into a damper and buried it in the coals, as the bushmen did in Australia. She would never return to Ballarat. She had resigned herself to this. Even if she could by some miracle raise the fare home, she couldn’t leave Ann behind. Even if Ann’s aunt was wealthy enough and generous enough to loan her the money, she couldn’t take the baby away. Ann loved her as her own, had looked after them and sold her precious jewelry so they could all survive. The debt was too great. She could repay it only one way, and that was to let her friend share in little Ann’s life.

The rain stopped
, but the wind still blew in bitter gusts. Dare she risk going out to gather a few logs? Or would she be blown away? Swaddled in blankets, the baby slept soundly in Ann’s small travelling trunk. Ann slept also. Melanie blew them both a kiss. She wound a scarf around her neck, put on the knitted hat and gloves, and with a blanket folded in half and tied around her shoulders, scuttled over to the barn. Grabbing an armful of small logs she staggered back to the cottage. Her limbs trembled with cold, every step was an effort, but she forced herself back outside. Her breath lingered in little puffs on the icy air before vanishing. She found a large tree branch and dragged it through the snow. Panting with the effort she heaved it up on to the verandah and rolled it into the cow’s bedroom. The animal mooed its displeasure at being disturbed.

She chop
ped the wood in the kitchen. Warm and hungry they could survive. Cold and hungry they would die. She allowed herself the luxury of putting on a couple of extra logs so the fire would burn more brightly, give out more heat.

T
he last of their salted beef she dropped into a pot of water then added a handful of potatoes. She would save the broth. Turn it into soup tomorrow, if she could struggle to the village and buy a few vegetables.

Neither Ann nor the baby had woken up during her absence, but now,
Ann wandered into the kitchen rubbing her eyes, pale and listless. “I thought I heard someone outside.”

“You did. Me.”

“What!”

“I had to bring in more wood.”

“Oh Melanie you didn’t. You could injure yourself.”

“I was careful.
Move closer to the fire. At least it’s a decent one now.”

As Ann held her hands out to the warmth, Melanie was shocked at their claw
-like state. The skin was white, almost transparent, revealing the blue veins.

“I made a couple of trips
,” Melanie said. “All the small logs are gone, but I managed to drag up a couple of large branches, and I’ll chop them up tomorrow. The weather looks to be clearing, which is good. We’re just about out of food.”

“I don’t think I’ve got the strength to walk into the village.” Ann slumped in a chair.

“I know. Anyway, you need to stay inside where it’s warm. I’ll go.”

“Melanie, you can’t. Not on your own.”

“We’ve got no choice, I’ll feed the baby then you can mind her.”

Mid morning the next day
, Melanie set off to the village, trudging along the water logged pathway. At the bridge she paused for a moment. The gentle stream had turned into a raging torrent. Foam formed as the water smashed against the stony banks.

Gingerly, she stepped on to the bridge. One foot at a time, she edged her way across.

Made it
!
She gave a relieved giggle that bordered on the hysterical.

Another day or two if the weather continued to improve and the cow could return to the barn. The creature had settled in quite well after the first couple of days. In fact it seemed quite at home now. Imagine being reduced to living with a cow? In her wildest fantasies she would never have believed such a thing was possible.

Melanie was puffing slightly as she arrived at the shop.

“Good morning,
Mrs. O’Dea,” Mr. Richards greeted her.

Had he emphasized the
Mrs.? She returned his greeting. It was a rotten morning but she didn’t dare say so. This man held their lives in his hand. If he wouldn’t give her money for Ann’s emerald brooch, they would be destitute.

“I’d like to order our supplies.” She put in her order, similar to what they had previously bought. “Could I possibly have it delivered today?” She hated the fawning ingratiating manner she had to adopt
. “I don’t have any money.”

His eyebrows shot up to form peaks.

“I thought you might be interested in buying this.” She withdrew the brooch from her pocket and he snatched it out of her hand.

He held it up to the light, turning it around, scrutinizing it. His eyes lit up, greedy, calculating
.

“I’ll give you five pounds plus your order, and I’ll have your purchases delivered by this afternoon.”

Daylight robbery, criminal even, but she had no choice and they both knew it. In a small village like this no one else bought second-hand jewelry.

“You have had your child?”

“Yes, a little girl. I would have liked a boy so I could have named him after my dear departed husband.” Melanie dredged up a dramatic sigh, wondering whether to try and squeeze out a few tears.

“Your cousin is keeping good health?”

“No, as a matter of fact she isn’t. I wanted to ask you whether there was a doctor in this village.”

“The nearest doctor is in Ainsworth, five miles
along the road.”

“What do people do when they get really sick?”

“Put up with it if they can’t get to the doctor. An old widow woman living near the crossroads dispenses herbs. She might help.”

Despair weighed her down. It was an effort to drag one foot after the other, yet she left the shop with her head held high
, dignity intact. Her chest felt so tight she gasped for breath as she struggled along. This was nothing compared to her anguish and despair. What would become of them once they had no more jewelry left to sell? What if Ann didn’t get well?

Chapter
Twelve

8
th
September 1855

A strong wind blew dust into Captain Michael Guilford’s eyes
. He silently cursed this further assault on the Redan, as he waited in a ditch for the order to advance on the Russian defenses. If this battle proved successful, Sebastopol would belong to the English.

The poor management of the
Headquarters’ staff in sending mere boys up here evoked his wrath. He wasn’t a coward, but there was no point in throwing one’s life away on some useless forage. Two months on the Crimean battlefield had certainly alerted him to the stupidity and gross inefficiency of officialdom. If any of his swell London friends could see him now, dirty, unshaven, his uniform hanging in tatters, they would not recognize him.

He wiped the blade of his sword down the leg of his trousers to bring back the shine, wondering why he bothered. The waiting was the worst part. After this battle he would apply for a medical board
and be invalided out of the army. He had done his bit for queen and country, and should, as his father predicted, be granted a knighthood.

The influence of Isabella, his wife, coupled with her money certainly added weight to his claim. He married her on one day
and left for the Crimean War the next, without an iota of regret.

His thoughts strayed to Melanie
. He had been an absolute bastard treating her so shamefully. She was sweet. Her youthful idolatry had inflamed his passion for years.

Major Douglas had helped him orchestrate her escape from the authorities
. Once he found out Robbie’s hiding place and passed on the information, Melanie had been handed to him on a platter. He was able to claim all of her sweet innocence for himself. It was not as if she belonged to the gentry, he salved his conscience with this thought. Had it not been for the fact he needed Isabella’s money and influence to get him out of debt, and fund his extravagant lifestyle, he might well have married Melanie and to hell with his parents’ objections about her lack of breeding. Yes, he had always been fond of sweet Melanie.

When he saw her at the Countess’ ball on the night of his betrothal, he had been shocked
. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought her capable of following him to England. Once she got there, the chance of tasting her passion again proved irresistible.

When the order came to advance, he urged his men up the escarpment where the noise became horrific
. Soldiers on either side of him dropped to the ground, felled by Russian grape shot.

The screams of the wounded curdled his blood. Some
of the men crawling or staggering along were caught in a vertical crossfire directed by the Russian guns. A young officer, newly graduated from Sandhurst, whose tent had been next to his own, suddenly screamed in agony, clutching at the air before slumping to the ground. His blood shooting out like a fountain from a gaping chest wound sprayed all over Michael.

“The Russians are coming.” Some of the soldiers dashing back from whence they came took up the call as they did so.

“Bloody cowards.” Enraged, Michael stood up to induce them to stand and fight. He barely felt the shot thudding into his leg, even though it catapulted him back into a ditch.

A surgeon, who on several occasions had shared a drink in his tent, was treating wounded nearby so he yelled out to get his attention. He would not die, the wound was not bad enough, but if it didn’t get treated, infection might set in and he could easily lose his leg. Within the hour, he had his leg bandaged, and was making his painful way back to a safer position.

***

Robbie opened Melanie’s letter to James with trembling hands. She was alive
! After two years of silence he had given up hope of ever finding her again. Sick bile rose up in his throat because Michael Guilford had tricked her in to believing he had died.

He had traced Melanie to a house in
Geelong, but the doctor and his wife who gave her shelter had returned to England. Scouring shipping records had proved fruitless. An advertisement in the missing persons section of the paper produced no information on her whereabouts, either. It seemed as if Melanie had dropped off the face of the earth.

After months of search
ing he resigned himself to never seeing her again. He would spend his life alone once his father passed on, because if he couldn’t have Melanie he didn’t want any other woman. Throwing himself into building up the property so James’ dream would finally be realized consumed his days and half his nights.

He loved this land like other men loved women. He felt close to Melanie here. This farm was his wife
, his mistress, his everything.

Bloody Michael Guilford
. He had always loathed him and not just because Melanie once fancied herself in love with him. He was an utter snob and a spy for the military as well, but to tell such vile lies was unbelievable. The man was positively evil. To let Melanie believe he had been killed. What kind of fiend would do a thing like that? Thank God he had opened the letter before his father saw it. The shock would have just about killed him.

Melanie had given birth to Michael’s child in some bleak
Yorkshire hut with only her friend Ann in attendance. Hate burned through every fiber of his being. If Michael Guilford walked through the door right now, he would take one of James’ guns from the wall and shoot him dead like the evil swine that he was.

His hands shook uncontrollably as he continued reading.
His eyes blurred with tears. He felt as if someone had ripped his guts out with their bare hands. How she must have suffered because of Michael’s fiendish lies. Now she was coming home. Thank God he had time to reconcile himself to the fact that Michael stole her innocence and left her with a baby.

Could he take on the responsibility of another man’s child?
Love her the way Melanie would want her daughter to be loved? If he wasn’t man enough to do this, it would be kinder to stay away from them, and send someone else to meet the ship.

He paced the floor with his hands clenched into fists at his side
s. It wasn’t Melanie’s fault Michael had tricked her into believing they would marry. Wasn’t the child’s fault either, she was Melanie’s daughter, for God’s sake, with O’Dea blood flowing in her veins.

What kind of man would blame a child for the circumstances of her birth?
What was done could not be undone, no matter how badly he wanted to turn back the hands of time.

If he hadn’t been involved in the
Eureka uprising, they would have been married by now, and none of this would have happened. They were both victims of circumstances beyond their control, but now they had a second chance at happiness.

“I won’t let it slip through my fingers again,” he vowed out loud
. If it took a lifetime, he would make it up to Melanie for all she had suffered. As for Michel Guilford, he could rot in hell.

***

February 1857

Melanie stood staring at the pilot boat as it escort
ed them into port. Her first glimpse of Australia had been the lighthouse at Cape Otway yesterday. Then they sailed through Bass Strait this evening, and soon would be anchoring in Hobson’s Bay, Melbourne.

S
he clutched the ship’s rail with clammy hands. Would James come to meet her, as she had begged him to in her letter? Would he shun her because of the shame a baby born out of wedlock might bring him?

Taking deep breaths of the salt laden air she let it cleanse her lungs
. No matter what happened, there would be a greater chance of survival in the warmth of her native land, than in the bleak little cottage in Yorkshire.

For three and a half months she had endured being an intermediate passenger, in a cabin seven feet by eight feet
. Even though it cost eighteen pounds she still had to share the water closet with a hundred other people. How any of those steerage passengers survived, was a miracle. The ship’s surgeon spent most of his time intoxicated, so many children died from complications of diarrhea and measles.

One of the immigrant women she befriended told shocking tales of having to share a bunk three feet by six feet with her husband, separated from another couple only by a ten inch high piece of timber. How degrading it must have been. Small and cramped their cabin might be, but it was heaven compared to the pitiful conditions below decks.

At first her milk supply had been adequate for the baby. She even expressed some of it into a bowl so she could moisten bread for little Ann to eat, but as the weeks passed her supply gradually dried up. How could a woman be expected to nurse a baby, when she lived on such meager rations? She railed against the shipping company who put the pursuit of profit above the welfare of their passengers.

Breakfast consisted of a piece of bread floating in a salty broth, lunch a shin of beef with sodden, waxy potatoes. Dinner proved to be little better, just a couple of pieces of bread or some moldy ship’s biscuits
. If she hadn’t supplemented her diet with rice pudding obtained through bribing the cook with money, she would have succumbed to malnutrition.

Th
inking about the first class passengers, she tried not to let the bitterness overwhelm her. They wallowed in luxury, with good meals and entertainment. They even had a small orchestra, so they might dance until the wee hours each night, while in the fetid blackness below decks, immigrants couldn’t even light a lamp because of the fire danger. Nothing short of sinful.

She shuddered
recalling how she and Ann had struggled to survive after Peter dumped them in the middle of nowhere and disappeared. They worked and lived like peasants, month after month selling their belongings. Poor Ann must have realized she was dying yet she never complained over the last few desperate weeks of her life. After her friend died, Melanie found a note wrapped around the ruby ring Ann so cherished.

Dear Melanie,

You have bee
n a good friend to me. You and little Ann brought me great joy, even though we were reduced to living in such hideous conditions. Please sell this ring and pay for your passage back to Australia. I know Geoffrey would have wanted me to give it to you under the circumstances. Don’t be sad, I am going to a better place and I know Geoffrey is waiting for me.

Your ever loving friend Ann

Little Ann, who took her first tottering steps on board ship, slept in their cabin but
Melanie would have to wake her up soon. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she scrubbed them away with her knuckles as she thought of her loyal friend. After the bleakness of Yorkshire, whatever came their way in Australia could not be worse.

As s
he felt strength returning to her limbs from the warmth of the sun, her spirits soared. Home, how good it sounded. Would one of the minute figures waiting on the wharf be James?
Please be there, James.

Her hands shook so much now she had to clench them around the rail so none of the other passengers on deck would see her fear.
Don’t be ridiculous, it’s too far away to
see clearly.
He might be late. She had not been specific about when they would arrive, but James would come. He must.

Down in the cabin she woke the baby. “We’re home, darling, Uncle James will be waiting.” Brushing the red gold curls back into place
, she tidied the child up as best she could in the cramped conditions.

“Mama.”

“Everything will be all right, baby, it has to be.” Ann’s deep blue eyes, a legacy from Michael, blinked sleepily.

They were amongst the last to disembark, so the numbers on the wharf had thinned out. No James. Her heart lurched sickeningly in her breast at the thought he would not come.

She only had a few coins left in her purse, barely enough for one meal. Accommodation, even if she could pay for it, would be hard to come by. Visions of sleeping out in the street rose before her eyes like some horrible nightmare.

“Melanie.”

She stared at the figure striding towards her and her head spun. A roaring sound, louder than storm tossed waves crashing against rocks, almost ruptured her eardrums. Dressed in white moleskin trousers and bushman’s shirt, this apparition from the grave looked the same, yet somehow different.

“Robbie
!” Tears welled up in her eyes. To save her life she couldn’t have moved. Robbie was alive! Michael had lied.

“Melanie.” He ran the last few yards
. Pulling her into his arms, his mouth on hers was hot, desperate, as he strained her close.

“Michael said you were dead,” she blubbered.

“He always was a bloody liar. I’ve met every boat for days.”

“James?”

He didn’t answer. “Where’s the….” He loosened his hold.

“My bastard daughter?”

“Melanie!”

“Say it.” Bitter tears coursed down her cheeks
. “Say what you and everyone else thinks – Michael Guilford’s whore and his bastard.”