Band of Gold (4 page)

Rian brought the cart to a halt, handed the reins to the hotel’s stable boy, and climbed down.

‘Just arrived?’ he asked, offering Kitty his elbow as she alighted.

Hawk nodded. ‘About half an hour ago.’

‘Safe journey?’

‘
Oui,
’ Pierre confirmed. ‘’Cept for my arse. The seat on the wagon, he is very hard.’

Mick knocked back the last of his brandy and belched. ‘Seen the claim yet?’

‘Yes, and all it is is a big hole,’ Amber said disappointedly. She knelt next to Bodie’s cage and crooned, ‘And how’s our kitty-cat? Did you have a nice sleep on the way?’

Bodie gave her a baleful look.

‘Can we let her out yet, Pa?’

‘Not yet. Wait until we get back to the cottage or she might run away and get lost.’

Pierre snorted. No matter how many times Bodie ran away, she
never became lost and never failed to return.

‘Is the cottage suitable?’ Hawk asked. ‘
Is
it a cottage? Or is it just a shanty?’

‘Well, it is a cottage, but actually it’s smaller than the
Katipo
’s living quarters,’ Kitty replied, ‘and, I have to say, far less comfortable. But I expect we can make do.’

Amber tickled Bodie’s head through the cage. ‘Simon said we should pitch the tents just behind it, then Pierre can watch out for Ma when she hangs out the washing.’

Hawk shot a questioning look at Rian, who frowned darkly and said, ‘Yes, well, there’s a hell of a lot of men here…’

Kitty sighed. ‘Rian, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. You know that.’

‘Yes, but still, I don’t want—’ He glanced at Amber, and modified what he had been about to say. ‘I don’t want anything untoward to happen.’

Amber opened Bodie’s cage and let her out. ‘Whoops!’

Bodie stretched luxuriously, clawed the boards of the verandah, then streaked off it and disappeared.

‘See?’ Kitty accused, wondering why Amber had to be so contrary. ‘Your father told you.’

‘She be back,’ Pierre soothed.

‘And we met this lady on the coach,’ Amber said, ignoring Kitty. ‘She had dark red hair and a lovely blue cape. But, actually, I didn’t like her, and neither did Ma. Did you, Pa?’

‘No, I didn’t. And if you see her again, I don’t want you going near her, all right?’

‘Why not?’ Mick asked, his eyes twinkling. ‘She sounds like she might be worth getting to know, so she does.’

‘Er…’ Simon began.

But Rian interrupted. ‘I suspect she’d charge you for it, Mick.’

‘He means she’s a whore,’ Amber said cheerfully.

‘Amber!’ Kitty admonished.

To distract Amber from pursuing the subject further, Gideon unfolded his huge frame, stood, and said in his deep, rumbling voice, ‘Where shall we unload the wagon?’

Grateful for the diversion, Rian explained the route to Lilac Cottage.

The journey down the hill was as treacherous as it had been earlier, but even more so with the extra weight of the loaded wagon. But they descended without mishap, and with Bodie, who had come scampering and had landed with a flying, scrabbling leap on the canvas securing the load.

The tents were pitched a hundred yards or so from the rear of the cottage, on relatively dry ground and not too close to the privy. The tents themselves were of a reasonable size and could accommodate up to four men, but were nothing like the size of the truly enormous circular structure they had noticed this time from the Main Road. Amber had been intrigued, insisting that it must be a circus tent, although that seemed unlikely.

Some of the gear was unloaded into the crew’s tents, while the equipment worth stealing was packed into the smaller of the two bedrooms in the cottage, as Amber had elected to sleep on the floor in the main room by the fire. By one in the afternoon the animals had been hobbled, fed and watered, Pierre had built a fire and was preparing a meal, and Amber was swaggering about in her heavy new ‘gold-digger’s boots’. Kitty had to admit she was grateful for hers; the lighter boots she usually wore were clarted with mud and would be ruined in no time.

After the meal, and leaving their daughter in the safe hands of the crew, Kitty and Rian prepared to set off on horseback for a tour of the diggings. The horses—a bay and a chestnut, named Finn and McCool by Amber after the famous hunter-warrior of Irish legend—were sound and fine-looking. Unfortunately neither of the saddles
was designed for a lady to use, a fact neglectfully overlooked by Rian when he’d purchased them.

‘Well, I’m not sitting astride in skirts,’ Kitty complained. ‘I think I’ll wear my trousers.’

‘You bloody well will not!’ Rian exclaimed. It was all very well Kitty habitually wearing trousers on board the
Katipo
, where there was only the crew to see her, but here on the diggings it was a different matter altogether.

‘But I won’t even be able to get my leg over, never mind my modesty!’

‘Then I’ll help you up,’ Rian said, through slightly gritted teeth. ‘Daniel, hold the reins, will you?’

Daniel took a firm grip on Finn’s bridle and held the horse’s head steady, as Rian put his hands around Kitty’s waist.

‘When I lift,’ Rian instructed, ‘put your left foot in the stirrup and hook your other knee over the pommel.’

‘No,’ Kitty said, ‘I’ll slide off.’

‘Not if you hold on, you won’t.’ Leaning closer, Rian whispered in her ear, ‘Behave, or I’ll throw you over the other side.’

‘You wouldn’t!’

‘I would,’ he said and lifted her with ease.

She landed in the saddle facing him, and quickly clamped her knee over the low pommel as he placed her foot in the left stirrup.

‘I can feel myself sliding off already,’ Kitty grumbled as Daniel handed her the reins.

‘Then brace yourself with the stirrup,’ Rian said as he mounted McCool. ‘Don’t worry, we’re not going far like this, just to the saddler.’

‘I wouldn’t
have
to worry if I were wearing my trousers.’

‘God, woman, why must you be so unendingly
stubborn!
’

‘Why must
you
be so bossy!’

They glared at each other, then burst into laughter.

Neither noticed as Daniel looked away, his expression impassive
but his heart smarting from the knowledge that he would always be excluded from any such intimacy with Kitty.

At the saddlery, Rian asked to see a range of women’s saddles.

‘Don’t get much call for ladies’ saddles in these parts,’ the saddler replied.

‘You don’t have
any?
’ Kitty said, hopefully.

The man pushed his cap back on his head. ‘Didn’t say I didn’t have
any,
but I don’t have what you might call a
range
, as such.’

‘Well, how many do you have?’ Rian asked impatiently.

‘One.’

‘We’ll see that, then, if you will.’

The saddler disappeared into the back of his shop, re-emerging a moment later with a side-saddle slung over his arm. ‘Top-grain cowhide. Not very prettified but serviceable, so I’m told. I could tool the safe and pommel for you, if you’re interested? Leaves and flowers, perhaps?’

Rian raised his eyebrows at Kitty, who shook her head. ‘No, that will do nicely, thank you,’ he said as he opened his purse.

‘Up on the hill, are you?’ the saddler asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘On the hill, near the Camp? Where the swells all live? It’s just that only ladies buy side-saddles, and the ladies here all live on the hill. In fact it’s only ladies as can afford to buy and keep horses, now that I come to think of it.’

‘No, we’re down on the Flat,’ Kitty said.

The saddler looked taken aback, but noticed the flash of indignation that crossed Kitty’s face. ‘Oh, well, beg your pardon, Missus. And I’m not saying as there aren’t decent women on the Flat, of course. There’s a good few hardworking, God-fearing wives on the diggings.’

Rian said, ‘I’d like to leave a saddle here to be collected by one of my men later today. Is that possible?’

At the man’s nod of agreement, Rian handed over the money and
waited while the saddler counted out his minimal change, which he did with a flourish.

‘Christ, that was expensive,’ Rian said outside.

‘It wouldn’t have cost anything if I’d been able to—’

‘—wear your trousers. Yes, I know—but you can’t, not here, and that’s all there is to it.’

They changed the saddles then headed off up the road, which had narrowed to a rutted street lined on both sides with stores. Kitty was surprised at the variety of goods and services on offer. But then there were a lot of people to service on the diggings—over 20,000, according to the proprietor of Bath’s Hotel. Most of the business premises here were wooden and seemed relatively permanent, unlike the canvas stores out in the gullies, which drew attention to themselves with the aid of large, gaudy flags on tall flagpoles. Here they passed barber shops, doctors’ and lawyers’ offices, tent- and mattress-makers, drapers—one of which, Kitty noticed, had a particularly spectacular window display of laces, silks, satins and fancy hats—several chemist shops, a gunsmith, a confectioner, two jewellers, bakehouses, a bakery, a grocery, an assay office, a photographic parlour, a post office, two blacksmiths, a tinsmith and a candlemaker, a theatre, several stables, shanties advertising lemonade or coffee or ginger beer or all three, which Rian insisted were grog shops, and at least nine hotels. There was even an undertaker’s parlour, with a selection of coffins in the window and a sign advertising the services of a monumental mason.

Verandahs or boardwalks fronted most stores, keeping shoppers out of the worst of the muck. Down the centre of the street a channel had been worn by animals’ hooves, wagon wheels and rain, and along this trickled filthy water, mud and sewage. Melbourne’s central business district might be grander and more established, but there seemed little on sale there that couldn’t also be purchased here.

Further along the street, where the road widened again, were a
sawmill, several timber merchants, a brickyard, a foundry, and a wheelwright and coach builder.

‘I think we’ll sell four of the bullocks,’ Rian remarked.

Kitty adjusted her seat: already the high, curved pommel was pinching the tender flesh above her knee. ‘Won’t we need them when it’s time to go back to Melbourne?’

‘Yes, but we can buy another team. Otherwise we’ll only have to feed them, and the price of feed here is ridiculous. We’ll keep two, sell the wagon and buy a smaller cart. Perhaps two.’

‘But we’ll keep the horses?’

Rian nodded. ‘I don’t fancy walking everywhere, do you?’

Eyeing her filthy boots, Kitty agreed. ‘We also need to buy a few things for the house. A bath, for a start.’

‘Yes, well, you and Amber can go shopping tomorrow.’

‘She needs a camp bed or something similar. I don’t want her sleeping on the floor.’

‘Well, get her whatever she needs.’ Rian brought McCool to a halt. ‘Amber was right: it
is
a circus.’

Before them sat the enormous round tent they had seen the day before. From this angle, the sign was clear:
Jones’s National Circus
.

He sighed in weary resignation. ‘We’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t bring her to see it.’

‘Well, we will, then,’ Kitty replied simply, noting the banners advertising trapeze artists, strongmen and acrobats. ‘It could be quite an afternoon’s entertainment.’

‘Not for me, it won’t,’ Rian said. ‘I don’t hold with men swinging about in their undergarments. It’s not…manly.’

Kitty laughed and tapped Finn with her heel to move him along. They soon came to a capacious chapel built from bush timber with a canvas roof, then even more hotels, a concert hall, assembly rooms and another huge tent, its sign proclaiming it to be the Adelphi Theatre.

‘I’d no idea Ballarat was such a mainstay of culture,’ Rian remarked drily.

‘Or so tolerant,’ Kitty added, inclining her head towards two men hurrying in their direction.

They were Chinese, immediately recognisable by their loose tunics and trousers, and their conical, broad-brimmed straw hats. Behind them trotted five European boys, throwing stones and shouting insults.

‘Little shites,’ Rian muttered. He urged McCool forward until he was between them and the Chinese, glaring at one boy readying himself to heave another stone. ‘Hey, you! Yes,
you
, boy. What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Chasing the Chinkees,’ the boy replied insolently.

‘Well, don’t!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I
said
not!’ Rian barked, then leant down as if to take a swipe at him.

The boy skipped out of the way and blustered, ‘I’ll tell my father!’

‘You can tell who you bloody well like. Now bugger off!’

Sullen-faced, the boys backed away, then turned and ran. Rian watched them go, then glanced at the two Chinese men, watching from a safe distance. One of them bowed slightly, and Rian touched the brim of his hat.

The remainder of their reconnaissance was fascinating, if uneventful. The diggings were littered with prospectors working on claims staked mere yards apart, and criss-crossed with muddy tracks over which bullocks pulled carts piled with washdirt, and men laboured to push teetering wheelbarrows. Many of the tents they had seen yesterday appeared to house both miners
and
the shafts they were sinking, and dogs, bulldogs in particular, roamed everywhere, getting underfoot and barking aggressively at passers-by. Here and there women and children fossicked in piles of mullock, hoping,
perhaps, to find a few flakes of previously undetected gold.

Stopping to talk to diggers as they went, Rian and Kitty discovered that the sails they had noted all around the diggings were the contraptions Mr Harcourt had spoken of, that the half-barrels filled with washdirt and water that men were vigorously stirring were called puddlers, that a cradle was a box on rockers through which washdirt was sieved with water to separate the gold, and that the largest of these set into the Yarrowee and its shallow winter tributaries were called long toms.

On the way back to Lilac Cottage, Rian finally admitted to Kitty that he had a lot to learn about mining.