Band of Gold (10 page)

He stepped up, knocked on the door and waited, but not for long. It soon opened to reveal a girl standing in a short chemise, blue stockings and grey suede boots that laced up to her knees. Her hair was falling out of its clips, her breasts out of her stays, and she smelled as though she could do with a good wash.

‘Er, good morning,’ Rian said. ‘I’d like to see Lily Pearce, if you will.’

‘Ooh, yes, an’ I
know
she wants to see
you
,’ the girl replied, grinning. ‘I know who
you
are.’

‘Would you just fetch her, please?’ Rian said wearily.

The girl disappeared, but was back in less than three minutes.

‘She says you’re to come in.’

‘Tell her I’d rather speak with her out here.’

The girl shook her head. ‘Nup. She says come inside or she won’t see you.’

Rian sighed and took off his hat. In the hall was a carpet runner with frayed edges and an unpleasant-looking stain in the middle of it. There were several not very well executed paintings on the walls featuring women in various stages of undress, and a hall table on which sat a china bowl containing six dead flies.

‘Miss Pearce’s office is this way,’ the girl said, smirking and indicating that Rian should follow her.

They passed an open door; Rian glanced in and noted three bored-looking young women sitting around. Two were chatting and one was knitting. All were dressed only in their undergarments, and Rian wondered if they were cold. Summer had recently arrived at Ballarat, but its warmth hadn’t penetrated the dampness he could feel rising up under the house.

The girl in the grey suede boots knocked on a door and opened it, announcing triumphantly, ‘Here he is, Miss Pearce!’

Office my arse, thought Rian as he went in. Lily Pearce had arranged herself elegantly at her desk, a ledger book open in front of her and her legs crossed to show a hint of silk-clad calf.

‘Captain Farrell,’ she cooed. ‘How
delightful
to see you. I knew you’d come to see me sooner or later.’

As well as the desk, the room contained a large, white-painted iron bed draped with a red comforter and matching cushions, a tin bath in one corner, an armchair, and a pair of huge armoires, one of which featured a built-in mirror, bowl and accompanying ewer.

‘I’m here on business, Miss Pearce. Personal, but business all the same.’

Lily smiled. ‘Yes. Most men who come to see me are after some sort of transaction or another, Captain. Or can I call you Rian?’

‘No, you can’t.’

Lily rose from the desk and, her hips swaying, walked slowly across to the armchair where she subsided gracefully in a way that caused her low-cut bodice to gape even wider. ‘Well, I don’t mind calling you captain, Captain. You can be the pirate master and I’ll be the slave girl you’ve captured from some exotic corner of the world.’

‘For Christ’s sake, I’m not here for that!’ Rian said through gritted teeth, valiantly resisting the urge to stride across the room and slap the bloody woman. ‘I’m here to tell you to keep the bloody hell away from me. And my wife. And my crew, if it comes to that. You’re a troublemaker, Lily Pearce, and there’s nothing at all about you I’m remotely interested in.’

‘Not even this?’ Lily asked shamelessly as she slowly slid her skirts up her legs, past pale pink stockings and white flesh, finally revealing a bush of dark hair nestled between her parted thighs.

A wave of anger and intense frustration swept through Rian, but to his horror he felt his cock, completely independently, begin to swell in his trousers. He thanked God he had his hat in his lap.

‘No, not even that. Come on, Lily, why would I be interested in
scrag-ends other men have picked over when I have choice tenderloin in my bed every night?’

There was a ringing silence as the belated realisation that Rian truly did dislike her, perhaps even scorned her, cut sudden ugly lines into Lily’s painted face. She slammed her legs shut, leaned forward and spat, ‘You
bastard!
How
dare
you!’

Rian felt his erection deflate immediately.

‘Get out of my house!’ Lily’s face was white with fury. ‘You’ll pay for this, Rian Farrell. By Christ, you’ll
pay!
’

Rian stood, relieved to be on his way. ‘Just so long as you stay away from me and mine, understand?’

Her hand quivering with rage, Lily pointed to the door. ‘Go on, fuck off!’

So Rian did.

Ballarat, November 1854

R
ian had some excellent news for Kitty: this afternoon they had hit the lead, and the very first bucket of washdirt had shown the colour. Not just tiny, barely visible flakes, either, but actual nuggets; most not much bigger than match-heads, but a couple the size of peas. There had only been time to put a couple of buckets through a cradle before the sun started to go down, but tomorrow they would begin working the long tom, sluicing the washdirt as fast as they could dig it out and bring it up.

From now on, one of the crew would be sleeping above the shaft with a loaded shotgun, and tonight Gideon had drawn the short straw. Someone would have to take his supper out to him.

‘What’s Pierre cooking tonight?’ Rian asked as they rattled in the cart towards home.

Hawk, sitting on the seat beside him, replied, ‘Pork? He said yesterday he was seeing the butcher about a pig.’

‘I thought it was going to be one of his gumbos,’ Simon said in a jerky voice, bouncing around in the back.

‘I could eat a whole pig meself, so I could,’ Mick remarked. ‘I’m starving.’

They were almost back at Lilac Cottage now, in high spirits and prattling on, looking forward to a good supper and a few whiskeys perhaps to celebrate.

‘Is that Wong Fu?’ Rian pointed towards a shadowy figure dodging between the huts and tents. ‘What’s he’s doing here?’

By the time the cart had stopped outside the cottage, Wong Fu was knocking on the door.

‘Mr Wong,’ Rian said as he jumped down, ‘good to see you.’

But Wong Fu was not his usual calm, inscrutable self. ‘I must speak with you, Captain. It is urgent.’

Rian ushered him into house. Kitty, sitting in the rocking chair darning socks, looked up. ‘Mr Wong? What are you doing here?’

The Chinese man’s hands were pressed against his belly, each gripping the opposite wrist, the skin of both white from the pressure. ‘Bao has not come home. I told her to be home before the sun was properly set. When did she leave here?’

Rian and Kitty exchanged a look of dawning horror. ‘Amber was spending the afternoon with Bao at
your
camp.’

‘No, Bao was coming here,’ Wong Fu whispered.

And all three of them realised that something was very, very wrong.

They formed into three search parties: Hawk, Wong Fu, Rian and Pierre in the first; Haunui, Tahi and Daniel in the second; Ropata, Simon and Mick making up the third. Rian wished Gideon was with them, but there wasn’t time to fetch him.

Leena also asked to join the search, but Ropata told her to stay
behind and mind the children and the tents. Kitty insisted on coming.

‘No,’ Rian said as he checked that his pistol was loaded. He stuffed the powder horn, balls and caps into a pocket, half-cocked the pistol and slid the barrel under his belt.

The door was open and everyone waiting outside, but Kitty didn’t care as she rushed around looking for her cape and her stout boots. ‘But she’s my daughter.’

‘No,’ Rian repeated, very quietly.

‘But I can’t let her wander around in the dark by herself.’

‘Kitty, I said no.’

‘But Rian—’

‘
I bloody well said no!
’ he shouted right into her face, standing over her so she was forced to take a step back. ‘
No
, all right? Stay here!’

Then he was gone, leaving Kitty staring after him in shocked dismay and dizzy with horrible, grinding fear.

Outside Rian exhaled raggedly, experiencing exactly the same emotions as his wife. He had bullied her, and harshly, but he was terrified of what they might find, and the thought of Kitty being there was almost more than he could bear. He caught Hawk watching him and looked away.

‘Where should we start?’ Hawk asked quietly, calmly.

‘I don’t know, do I?’ Rian snapped.

Hawk could see that his friend was in no fit state to lead the search. Normally he was extremely capable and level-headed, but not when it came to his precious daughter.

To Haunui he said, ‘You, Tahi and Daniel go along the road towards Red Hill and the Camp. Simon? You men go into the gullies towards Golden Point. And ask everyone you pass whether they have seen them. We will go east out along Navy Jack’s Lead and the Canadian, and around the tents there.’ He turned to Rian. ‘What time do you want to meet up again?’

‘We won’t. We’ll keep looking until we find them.’

Hawk made an arbitrary decision. ‘We will meet at eleven o’clock back here. We will eat, then we will go back out again.’

Rian seemed satisfied and turned away, ready to go. But then he paused, and said, ‘And if we find them, and they’ve been—’ he glanced at Wong Fu, wondering if his own face was as awash with fright as the Chinese man’s. ‘If someone’s got them, then
I
want to deal with them.
My
way. Understand?’

Everyone nodded, and set off.

Rian’s party had not been walking for more than ten minutes before footsteps came pounding along behind them.

‘Rian! Rian, man, stop. Wait!’

Patrick O’Riley was pelting down the track after them, dodging potholes in the rapidly fading light, his gun in one hand, hat in the other. Panting, he pulled up and bent over, his hands on his knees. ‘Kitty told me what’s happened, so she did. Thought I could lend a hand seein’ as I’ve been here a lot longer. Know more people, you see. Know where they live and that.’

Grateful, Rian nodded. ‘Thanks, Patrick. Appreciate it.’

They walked on, looking left and right, in every shaft and pit, behind every mullock pile, and calling out at every tent, hut and shanty they passed. A few hard-hearted bastards shouted at them to shut up and piss off, which made Rian want to pound them to a pulp, but a gratifying number of passers-by stopped and asked who they were looking for, and said they’d keep their eyes open.

‘How many friends has the lass got?’ Patrick asked after a while.

With a jolt Rian realised that he didn’t know, that he had spent so much time lately up to his waist in muddy water that he’d lost touch with his daughter’s daily affairs. ‘Just Bao, I think,’ he said, looking to Wong Fu for confirmation.

The other man nodded. ‘Bao has not said anything about another playmate. I would know.’

‘So no other friends at all? Not even acquaintances?’ Patrick
probed. ‘Not even to say hello to in the street? Lasses? Adults? Women? I might be after knowing them, you see.’

‘No. I’m pretty sure—’ Then Rian remembered something that had happened at the dance. ‘A chap named…Christ, what was it? Apparently comes into the bakery all the time. Stirling? Sewell? Scurr?’

Patrick’s face fell. ‘Ah,
shite.
Searle?’

‘That’s it.’ Rian’s eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Why?’

Patrick looked as though he wished he were anywhere else but standing in front of Rian. ‘Josiah Searle. He’s, well…ah God, how do I say it?’ He blew out his cheeks and took a precautionary step backwards. ‘I’m sorry, Rian. Some say he’s one for the girls. The young girls.’

Rian remained utterly motionless for several seconds, then kicked viciously at a mullock pile, sending gravel and dirt scattering in all directions.

‘Steady,’ Hawk warned, laying a hand on Rian’s shaking arm. ‘We do not know whether this man even has them.’

Remembering Searle’s cheery smile as he lounged on the counter chatting to Amber, Pierre said, almost to himself, ‘I will kill him.’

Wong Fu said nothing, simply stood with his fists clenched by his sides, his face rigid.

‘Does he live by himself, this Searle?’ Hawk asked Patrick.

‘He
was
livin’ in a shack out past the end of Navy Jack’s, with an eejit called Alfred Tuttle. And he is an eejit—the man’s half-witted. But Searle had the shite beaten out of himself back in July, and he might have set up his swag somewhere else by now.’

‘Could you find this shanty?’ Rian asked.

‘I think so,’ Patrick replied, hoping he hadn’t just signed an innocent man’s death warrant. But he didn’t think he had.

Rian checked for the third time that his pistol was loaded. ‘Come on then, let’s go.’

‘Is that a good idea?’ Hawk asked, nodding at the gun.

But Rian didn’t answer.

They moved in silence now: Rian didn’t want to alert Searle to their approach.

After close to half an hour it seemed they had passed the last derelict shacks some time ago; uninhabitable affairs that had collapsed into the mud during the winter. This far out, the sounds of the diggings were muted.

Rian stopped, peering around the now moonlit landscape. ‘You’re sure this is the right way, Patrick?’

‘’Tis.’ He held a finger to his lips and pointed.

A hundred yards away a squat little hut came into focus, a faint line of yellow light spilling from a window. Suddenly a yelping sound ensued from the shanty. Rian raised his pistol, fully cocked now, and felt his heart lurch into his mouth as the door flew open and two figures, hand-in-hand, shot out and raced towards them. A second later he was almost sick as he realised he’d been about to shoot his own daughter.

Amber launched herself at him and he dropped the pistol and gathered her in his arms. ‘Amber, sweetheart, are you all right?’ But she wasn’t—he could see that her lip was bleeding. ‘Oh, Christ, love, did he hurt you?’

‘They tried. We have to go, Pa. I’m frightened of those men.’

Men?
Rian felt an incandescent rage rise up in him. ‘In there?’ He gestured at the shanty.

Amber nodded, and started to cry.

So did Bao. She had collapsed and was crouched in a huddled heap, keening quietly, her delicate hands covering her face. Wong Fu squatted before her, his hands fluttering helplessly over hers, trying to calm her, speaking to her gently in Chinese. The fastenings on the front of her jacket had been torn and he clumsily tried to do them up again, but she let out an anguished wail and jerked away from him,
scrabbling at the fabric and wrenching the garment closed herself. Then she turned her head and vomited a stream of watery bile onto the ground.

Rian, fury making his voice almost unrecognisable, tuned to the Irishman. ‘Patrick, take them home, can you? Tell Kitty we’ll be back shortly. Tell her we’re…dealing with it.’

Patrick understood exactly what was going to happen, and condoned it wholeheartedly. He slung his gun over his shoulder and held out his hands. ‘Come on, lasses, let’s go home, shall we?’

‘Wong Fu?’ Rian looked at Bao’s father. ‘Do you want to stay or go back?’

The tears running down the man’s cheeks caught the moonlight, but his jaw was clenched when he answered, ‘I will stay.’

Bao seemed on the verge of fainting. Patrick offered to carry her, but she immediately shrank from his outstretched hand, so Amber settled an arm protectively around her. The Chinese girl clung to her so tightly that Amber felt the fabric of her dress tear.

As Patrick led the girls away, Rian, Hawk, Pierre and Wong Fu crept up on the shanty. Then Rian kicked in the door.

Two men sat on wooden crates in front of a small fire. The smaller of the pair nursed a copiously bleeding nose, while the larger, a man with a shock of red hair that obviously hadn’t been cut or brushed for some time, was hunched over with his hands clamped on his privates, moaning to himself. What meagre possessions there were lay scattered around the shanty—a single spindly chair on its side, the bedding from two bedrolls kicked about, and the remains of what appeared to be a meal of cabbage, meat and perhaps damper strewn all over the floor.

‘Josiah Searle?’ Rian demanded, pointing the barrel of his pistol directly at the man’s face.

Searle nodded miserably. He seemed to have bite marks across the bridge of his nose.

‘Who’s this?’

‘Alfred Tuttle.’ Searle said quickly, clearly keen to share the blame for whatever had gone on in the shanty.

‘Did you lay a hand on those girls?’

Searle blinked up at him. ‘What girls?’

Rian kicked the crate out from underneath him so that he sprawled on the dirt floor. ‘My
daughter
, Searle, Wong Fu’s
daughter! Those
girls!’

Searle righted himself. ‘I didn’t touch them.’

‘We didn’t do nothing,’ Tuttle mumbled. ‘She kicked me in the nuts, that one with the pretty hair.’

Rian didn’t believe either of them. ‘For God’s sake, they’re children!’

‘You were
going
to touch her, Josiah,’ Tuttle accused Searle. ‘And you slapped her face.’

‘Shut up!
You
tore the Chinkee girl’s blouse!’

Rian fired his pistol at the roof to shut both of them up.

‘Stop it!’ Searle whined, his hands over his ears. ‘I can’t help it—I’ve tried, but I can’t.’

Apparently not bothered by the noise, Tuttle wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, ‘Got nice tits, the Chinkee girl.’

Pierre stepped over to him and gave his flank a swift, hard kick.

‘If you let us go we’ll never go near them again,’ Searle pleaded.

‘No, you won’t go near them again,’ Rian said, ‘and let this be a reminder.’

He reached down, dragged Searle up off the floor and punched him in the face. Then he did it again. And when Searle fell down, he kicked him hard in the kidneys. But when he dragged him back up by the hair, Hawk grabbed his arm.

‘No, Rian, leave him. You might kill him. He is not worth swinging for. You, too. Pierre. Let him be.’

Pierre was only two-thirds the size and weight of Tuttle, but such
was his rage that he had managed to rip out a chunk of his hair, knock out two of his teeth and bloody his nose.

And through it all Wong Fu stood by the door and watched, his face impassive.

‘Did they interfere with her?’

‘She says not.’

Rian felt ill with relief. ‘And Bao?’

Kitty shook her head. ‘Thank God, though it was close.’

‘What’s she doing now?’

‘Having a wash. She’ll be out in a minute. Put your hand back in the basin.’

Rian dangled his swollen knuckles in the warm salted water again. They stung where he’d grazed them against Searle’s ugly perverted head.

They sat in silence, the lamplight flickering on their dismayed, weary faces.