Band of Gold (5 page)

A
ugust became September and the weather finally began to improve. The rain was no longer a daily occurrence, and the swamp that was Ballarat Flat began to recede slightly, as though it were gradually being sucked back into the Yarrowee, which, it was said, would itself shrink to no more than an ambitious stream in the summer months. The temperature could still be low, though, and there were still days during which puddles remained iced over until the sun rose to thaw them. But the mud, at last, was hardening off.

Between them, Kitty and Amber had transformed Lilac Cottage. They had bought drapes to keep the heat from the hearth in and the cold out, and heavy oilcloth and a carpet for the floor. A daybed for Amber had been ‘delivered’ by Patrick O’Riley, with more tapping of the nose and a discreet payment from Rian, and shelves had been built in the back bedroom so Pierre had somewhere to arrange his pantry and store his cooking utensils.

It was while she was out shopping—on her own, against Rian’s
wishes—that Kitty once again, to her distaste, encountered Lily Pearce. There was something about the woman that raised Kitty’s hackles.

She was looking at the price of linsey-woolsey when a voice said, ‘Mrs Farrell, how
nice
to see you again.’

Realising to whom the voice belonged, Kitty reluctantly turned around. ‘Good morning, Miss Pearce.’

Today Lily Pearce was wearing a bright Prussian-blue skirt and fitted jacket, and a tiny black straw hat decorated with velvet flowers. It was a much fancier outfit than her travelling costume, but equally well cut. Kitty felt an irrational pang of jealousy at the quality of the woman’s clothes, even if the colour and style were rather unsuitable for day wear. But then they would be, in her line of business. She noticed with petty satisfaction that there was mud on Lily Pearce’s hem.

Lily’s rouged lips curved in a pleasant smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘I hear you and your fine husband have settled nicely into Lilac Cottage. Silly name for a slab hut, but then Henrietta Murphy was quite a silly woman.’

Kitty hadn’t even met the Widow Murphy, but still she bridled at the unkind comment. And how did Lily Pearce know they had taken over Lilac Cottage?

‘Were you acquainted with Mrs Murphy?’ she asked. ‘I wouldn’t have expected you to travel in the same circles.’

Lily flicked her bright curls over her shoulder. ‘Not so much
Mrs
Murphy, no. More her husband. And how is your charming daughter?’

‘Well,’ Kitty said brusquely.

‘And has Captain Farrell made his fortune yet?’

‘No.’

Lily looked surprised. ‘Really? I was sure that a man with such enthusiasm and…
passion
would have struck gold by now.’

Kitty didn’t reply. She eyed Lily warily.

Lily smiled again. ‘Of course, having been here for some time, I know quite a lot about mining. Why don’t you tell him to come and see me? I could perhaps give him…a few tips.’

Over my cold and lifeless body, Kitty swore to herself, then suddenly became aware of a presence behind her.

Lily Pearce’s gaze shifted.

Wearily, a woman’s voice said, ‘Go and tout your wares somewhere else, Lily. You’re wasting your time with this one’s man.’

Fascinated, Kitty watched Lily’s face lose its veneer of amusement and her eyes narrow to obdurate slits.

‘And you’d know, would you? Tried and failed already?’ she said, her sudden venom coarsening her accent. She laughed unpleasantly, then swept out of the shop in a flurry of skirts.

But Kitty missed her grand exit, as she’d recognised the owner of the voice. She stared for a long moment, then felt the anger and the tension drain from her body. She smiled. ‘Flora Langford. It’s been
such
a long time.’

‘Yes, it has, hasn’t it, Kitty? Nine years? Or is it ten? And it’s Flora McRae now.’

Kitty continued to stare at her old friend, realising she wasn’t particularly surprised to see her here at Ballarat. There were shallow crow’s-feet around Flora’s blue eyes now, but her hair was still a rich, dark gold and her face as calm and pretty as ever. Kitty also noted her heavy, black grosgrain dress and discreet jet jewellery.

‘Are you widowed? I’m very sorry to see that, Flora.’

Flora waved a black-gloved hand airily. ‘Yes, five years ago. But I like black. You know that.’

Kitty nodded, recalling the day in Auckland when she had discovered several gowns at the back of Flora’s wardrobe—one black satin and one scarlet, both too beautiful, and rather too
risqué
, for a girl employed as an assistant to a watchmaker.

‘You don’t wear scarlet any more?’

Flora laughed. ‘Oh, no,
my
scarlet days are well behind me. But I am still in the business, and what better place to operate such a business than on the goldfields where a lonely man will pay almost anything for an hour with a soft, willing and perfumed woman?’

‘You have…an establishment?’

Flora nodded. ‘The finest in Ballarat.’

‘And Lily Pearce? Is she also…?’

‘A madam, yes.’ Flora made a disdainful face. ‘A working one, however. And her house is nothing compared with mine.
My
girls are said to be the most alluring in all of Victoria.’

Kitty was sure they were—Flora Langford had always had a flair for business.

Flora eyed Kitty thoughtfully. ‘I have some time to spare, Kitty. Would you like morning tea?

They seated themselves in the dining room of one of the Flat’s more salubrious hotels. The table was spread with a white cloth, the carpets were a floral pattern, oil lamps gave the room a soft glow and a fire crackled in the grate beneath an ornate mirror.

‘Very nice,’ Kitty remarked as she untied the ribbons of her bonnet, wondering yet again whether she should just not bother with it. Flora wasn’t wearing one. ‘Quite “genteel”.’

‘It is. The menu is often passable, too.’

Neither said anything as a young girl took their orders, then bustled off.

‘And Captain Farrell, is he well?’ Flora asked.

‘Yes, very,’ Kitty replied. ‘Exasperating, though. He’s decided to try his hand at gold mining.’

Flora nodded. ‘I’d heard about that.’

‘Had you?’ Kitty was startled. ‘How?’

‘There may be thousands of men on the diggings, Kitty, but more often than not they’re poor souls pushing barrows all the way out from Melbourne and hoping to make their fortunes. There aren’t many Irish sea captains. Word travels fast here. I heard the name and wondered, so I asked around. I was hoping our paths might cross.’

‘Yes, well, he bought a claim while we were in Melbourne. In fact he spent a good portion of the money from our latest cargo on it,’ Kitty said ruefully. Then she laughed. ‘He’s absolutely convinced we’ll make
our
fortunes.’

‘You might,’ Flora said, leaning back so the serving girl could set down a tray of tea and cake. ‘You’re still sailing and trading around the world, then?’

Kitty nodded, and turned the teapot three times. ‘Constantly, since the last time I saw you.’

‘On the right side of the law?’ Flora’s finely arched eyebrows went up.

‘Not always. You know what Rian’s like.’

Flora had a fair idea. She had never met him, but Kitty had talked about Rian frequently.

Kitty said, ‘And did Hattie marry her butcher?’

‘Yes, six months after you left. And produced a child exactly nine months later. Each to her own, I suppose.’

When Rian had sent Kitty to Auckland to keep her out of harm’s way during the Northern War in New Zealand in 1845, Kitty had boarded with a widow named Mrs Fleming. Hattie Whelan and Flora Langford had also been lodgers.

‘And I left just after that
,
’ Flora continued, transferring a piece of cake onto a plate and reaching for a fork.

This time Kitty’s eyebrows went up.

‘I had to,’ Flora said flatly. ‘One of my “gentlemen” decided he wanted to marry me.’

‘Not your Mr McRae?’

‘No, not Mr McRae. I made it clear that I had no interest in being a married woman, but he was very persistent. And then he became rather unpleasant, pointing out that were our affair to become public, I would have more to lose. He was quite correct, of course. He was a single man, after all, whereas I would be revealed to all and sundry as a harlot. Which, as you know, I was. Not an ideal situation in a town as small as Auckland. So I left New Zealand.’ Flora sipped her tea, then relaxed back in her chair. ‘You’re looking very well, Kitty. Married life must suit you. Or is it the bracing sea air?’

‘Both. I do love the sea, but Rian is my life.’

‘Still?’ Flora looked surprised. ‘How extraordinary.’

‘Well, what about your husband, Mr McRae? Did you not love him?’

‘Not really.’

‘Then why did you marry him?’

‘I know, I always said I wouldn’t be a wife, didn’t I? But he was
extremely
wealthy, if somewhat elderly.’ Flora met Kitty’s gaze steadily. ‘And then, of course, he died. A tragedy.’

‘And left you all his money?’

‘Yes.’

Kitty fleetingly felt sorry for poor, deceased Mr McRae, then gave a mental shrug: Flora’s business was her own.

‘And how is that child of yours, Amber? Still wild? Or do you have a great brood of them now?’

‘No, just Amber. And, no, she’s not still wild. Well, not often.’ Kitty smiled. ‘I think you’d like her, Flora. She’s very, well, shall we say, independent? And rather clever.’

‘She wouldn’t remember me, I’m sure.’

‘I think she would. She remembers Mrs Fleming and Hattie. Why don’t you come and visit us?’

‘Perhaps. Tell me, Kitty, I’ve always wondered this, how did your
husband take to being told he had suddenly become guardian to a little street urchin?’

‘Father, Flora, not guardian.’

‘I would have thought it would be the last thing a dyed-in-the-wool sea trader and part-time smuggler would want to hear.’

‘It was, and to be honest he wasn’t pleased at first. But then there was all the other trouble and by the time that was over he’d decided he quite liked her. Now he adores her.’

Flora took a bite from her slice of cake, then made a face and put it back on the plate. ‘Lard, not butter. What trouble was that?’

Kitty blew out her cheeks, not ashamed of what she was about to impart, but not exactly proud either. ‘When we arrived back at the Bay of Islands, after we left Auckland, Simon, Amber and I went off to look for Rian. And Amber was stolen, by a woman who’d been our housegirl at Paihia when I first went out to New Zealand. Her name was Amiria. Anyway, I followed them and when I caught up with them I…well, I had to kill her to get Amber back.’

There was a short silence, then Flora said mildly, ‘You do surprise me, Kitty’, in a tone that suggested no surprise at all. ‘Well, these things are sent to try us, I suppose. Oh dear, that was trite, wasn’t it?’ She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. ‘And what happened to Mr Bullock? Is he still in New Zealand filling native children’s heads with religious rubbish?’

‘No, he isn’t, actually. He left the church and he’s been sailing with us since, well, since we last saw you.’

‘As a seaman? Really? I’d rather gained the impression he wouldn’t have the fortitude for that sort of life.’ Flora held Kitty’s gaze. ‘But, of course, a number of sailors are perfectly happy with the company of other men.’

Startled, Kitty stared at her. ‘How did you know?’

Flora gave a faint smile. ‘Because when it comes to those who would rather love someone of their own sex, it takes one to know one.’

‘Oh.’ Kitty felt a blush creep across her face. She’d had no idea!

Flora laughed. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you, Kitty. I’m normally more discreet than this. And I assume Mr Bullock also is?’

Kitty wondered if Simon’s ears were burning. ‘I’ve never been aware of him pursuing a…liaison. And the others, the crew, think the world of him. I wouldn’t imagine they would if he…you know.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Flora replied.

‘Simon is just, well, Simon. A good, decent and loyal man. And a friend.’ Kitty paused, embarrassed and wondering how her next question would be received. ‘Flora, if you…well, being the way you are, how did you manage to…go with men?’

Flora drained her teacup, and placed it precisely back on its saucer. ‘Money is a great motivator, Kitty. But back to Mr Bullock—you say he left the church entirely? I must say I’m quite surprised by that.’ She thought for a moment. ‘No, actually, I’m not. He
wasn’t
your usual sanctimonious, self-righteous pedant, was he?’

‘No. But he hasn’t lost his faith. It just doesn’t, well, rule his life any more.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. So, how long are you expecting to stay at Ballarat?’

‘I don’t really know. Until either Rian becomes rich beyond his wildest dreams, or he gets sick of it and gives up, I suppose.’

‘You’ll get very bored here, Kitty. There isn’t a lot to do. Unless you’re interested in fossicking?’

Kitty recalled the women and children she had seen scratching almost desperately in the dirt left behind by the miners. ‘No, I’m not. I’ll leave the prospecting to Rian and the crew.’

Flora looked thoughtful. ‘Well, you might want to consider finding yourself something to occupy your time. A small business, perhaps?’

‘Such as?’ The thought had never entered Kitty’s head.

‘There’s a bakery for sale just down the street. You could look at that.’

Kitty laughed. ‘But I don’t know how to cook! Well, not to a standard that people would be willing to pay for.’ But a spark of interest had flickered within her. ‘Pierre does, though,’ she said slowly. ‘But I don’t think we could come up with the money to buy a business. We’ve spent most of it on the claim and the mining equipment.’

‘Mmm. Well, as it happens, I’m looking for an investment. I’ve more money than I know what to do with.
My
business is flourishing,’ Flora said wryly.

‘You would put up the money?’ Kitty asked, astounded.

‘I would. I trust you to make a success of it. You’re an intelligent woman, Kitty, and I know you have the drive to do whatever you put your mind to.’

‘And what would you expect in return?’