Daring Masquerade (27 page)

"Yeah, and how's that, lady?"

"By refusing to work. Go on strike," she cried recklessly. "Don't let a millionaire like Bromley exploit the workers."

A man strode out from another building. "Excuse me, madam, I'm the site manager. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm telling the men here about the damage the indiscriminate logging is causing."

"You're urging them to go on strike?"

"Yes, I am. You're ruining the forest and my husband's property."

"You should be ashamed of yourself," he growled. "Hindering the war effort."

"War effort?" Harry shot back "I don't care about the war effort. The government doesn't need this timber for the war. They only want to line their pockets. I'd prefer to have the Germans here, they'd do less damage than you people."

Angry muttering rippled through the assembled men. Her runaway tongue had got her into trouble again.

"You should be locked up for treasonous talk like that, madam," the site manager's voice dripped ice. "I ought to report you to the authorities."

The other men nodded their agreement. "She should be arrested," someone said, and one man actually spat on her.

"You uncouth animals, the Germans couldn't be as low as you are," she retorted furiously, rubbing the spittle off her jacket with a handkerchief.

"You dirty little Hun lover," another man yelled, picking up a stone and threatening her.

She was a fool for having ventured here alone. Would she never learn? Wheeling her horse she galloped away, with catcalls and abuse ringing in her ears. A couple of stones passed over her head, thankfully missing both her and the horse. She did not slow her mount down until a turn in the track hid them from view.

Would they follow her? She turned her head. No sign of pursuit as yet.

You've really done it this time, she castigated herself, even as she tried to still her trembling hands. Your impetuous behavior could have got you killed, and what about the risk to Ross' baby?

She slowed the horse down after a time, and cried with relief once she reached the boundary of Devil's Ridge. The homestead stood serene and beautiful against a backdrop of red and amber leaves. Chrysanthemums nodded their colorful heads and the early Easter daisies buzzed with industrious bees.

Jack met her on the verandah. "Where have you been? Mrs. Bates said you rode off with a bee in your bonnet about something."

"I went over to the timber mill."

"Bloody hell, that's asking for trouble."

She told him what happened, and blinked back tears when the story was through. "I'm an idiot."

"No, no." He patted her lowered head. "You wanted to help."

"I'm sorry." She sniffed into the white handkerchief he handed her as they filed into the homestead. "What's wrong with me? Why do I do these stupid things all the time?"

"Don't worry, girlie, it will blow over," he said more confidently than he felt. When confronted, Harry was like a powder keg with a short fuse, ready to explode at any moment. Her heart was in the right place, though, she loved Ross and Devil's Ridge with a passionate intensity.

She was under terrible strain, doing more work than one in her condition should do, both inside and outside the house. Such a tiny slip of a thing trying to carry the whole weight of Devil's Ridge on her slender shoulders. Worrying about Ross at the same time. Why the hell didn't he write? Letters had started coming through from France, according to the mailman.

"You don't think there will be any repercussions?"

"No," he lied, patting her on the shoulder.

He only wished that were true. He wouldn't put anything past Bromley and his cronies, and Harry was certainly a thorn in their side. They would love to get rid of her.

"I might have a lie down after I have a cup of tea." She rubbed her forehead.

She sounded absolutely exhausted, and a dispirited slump rounded her shoulders. He wrung his hands in anguish. If only he wasn't so old and useless.

"You're doing too much, Miss Harry, you mustn't get yourself so worked up," Mrs. Bates soothed.

Jack carried the kettle over and filled the teapot. Since the cold weather set in, the old lady's hands had became more knotted. Some days they were almost useless, but Mrs. Bates refused to give in. It broke his heart to watch her struggles.

"You pour the tea, Jack, my hands are shaking too much and Mrs. Bates shouldn't have to do everything."

Catching on, Jack did the pouring, leaving the housekeeper to cut them a piece of ginger cake. He watched Harry take a couple of nibbles.

"After I've had a lie down I'm going to write to Elsie and see if she can come up for a while. We could do with some help, Mrs. Bates. I'm not doing enough in the house to help you. It's a big place to care for on our own."

Harry must have seen the old lady's crestfallen look, and her next words confirmed it. "Elsie didn't like it at the Littlejohns and I promised I'd invite her up after Ted left for overseas. She's proud, won't come unless she thinks she can be useful. I'll tell her we need a maid for now and a nursemaid when the baby comes."

"Good idea." Jack supported her. "A pretty young thing like you needs company other than a couple of old fogies like us."

"Oh, Jack." Harry laughed at the compliment. "If I didn't love Ross, I could have married you."

"If I'd been thirty years younger, Ross wouldn't have had a chance, I can tell you."

"No finer looking man than Jack in his day," Mrs. Bates put in.

The three of them laughed. The tension broke.

* * *

Two days after her confrontation at the mill, a letter finally arrived from France.

Dear Harry,

I have received several letters from you. Keep up the good work, you can't know how anxiously I wait to receive them. At mail call it is awful not receiving anything. The disappointment is absolutely crushing. I am one of the lucky ones. I don't think there has been a time when I have not received something, although some of the chaps are not so lucky. There are a few in my unit who have received nothing. Must be terribly disheartening for them.

We are in France as you will guess. I spent a couple of weeks in England, or Blighty, as the men call it over here. Didn't see much of it, spent most of my time training at Salisbury Downs.

There is a church called Notre Dame des Brebieres in Albert that was damaged by the German shells in 1915. A golden Madonna lies at an angle across it, looks ready
to topple off at any moment, but somehow she still manages to cling on. It is a fascinating sight really, and has caused a lot of superstitious talk. The English soldiers say the war will end when she falls, while the Germans think who ever knocks it down, will win the war.

I did get to see Paris, had a couple of days leave and went to the Moulin Rouge. Saw the can can a very naughty dance where the chorus girls kick their legs up high and lift their skirts up over their heads to show off their fancy knickers. Some of the young soldiers nearly caused a riot, well you can guess, I suppose, how it affected them.

Don't worry, I enjoyed watching them, (what man wouldn't), but that was all.

Give my love to Mrs. Bates and Hughie, tell Jack I'll be writing soon.

All my love. Ross.

She put her lips to the line of x's scribbled across the bottom of the page.

"Yeah, I read something about those can can dancers," Jack mused when Harry gave him the letter to read. "Very saucy, quite scandalous, in fact." He chuckled. "Wouldn't mind seeing them myself."

"I wouldn't either," Harry answered with a grin.

She was in the kitchen helping Mrs. Bates prepare lunch when angry male voices interrupted her. As she dashed up the passageway, Jack shouted "It's preposterous. Her husband is an officer fighting in France."

"What's going on here?" Harry stepped out on the front verandah and immediately wished she hadn't.

"Mrs. Calvert, you're under arrest." The policeman she had lodged the complaint with stepped forward.

She threw her head back defiantly. "What for?"

"Hindering the war effort. Being a German sympathizer."

The accusations slammed into her with the force of a physical blow. Her hot temper and runaway tongue had finally got her into serious trouble.

"You are to accompany me into town immediately."

"If I refuse?"

"I'll use force."

"Get off this property. I'm not going anywhere with you. Bromley put you up to this, didn't he?" she went on fiercely. "It's a lie. I'm not a German sympathizer. You can all go to hell."

"Harry, for God's sake." Jack grabbed her arm to restrain her from throwing herself at the police. "Control yourself. We can sort this out peaceably."

"Peaceably? He's come to arrest me with three armed policemen." She shook herself free. "What will you do if I don't go with you? Shoot me?"

One of the policemen stepped up. Before she knew what was happening, he clapped handcuffs on her.

"Now this is going too far. It's an outrage." Jack dashed forward. Another policeman drew his gun.

"No Jack," she screamed. "Don't. I'll go with them."

"I'll come with you."

"This is all a mistake. Follow me in. Help me sort it out."

They bundled her into the back of a cart, pushed her to her knees and manacled her to the side.

"You'll pay for this," she threatened them. "I'll get a lawyer."

"Shut up," one of the policemen said. "Ought to put you up against a wall and shoot you. Traitor."

"Traitor?" she screamed. "My brother died from wounds he received on Gallipoli and my husband is an officer fighting in France at this very moment."

"We're just doing our job." The youngest policeman almost apologized to her. "We didn't know about your brother or husband. They said you were a German sympathizer."

"I'm not. I only wanted to save my husband's property from being ruined while he was away."

"We're following orders from a higher authority."

Much higher authority, she realized, right from the very top. The higher the official the greater the chance of corruption, and Bromley was wealthy. He hated her, probably hated Ross, too, and wanted to get even. More importantly, he wanted Devil's Ridge. The timber was valuable and Ross owned hundreds of acres of pristine bush, but was that enough? How much profit would he make after paying off corrupt officials and bribing policemen? What else lay on that Crown land, or even on Devil's Ridge itself, that would make him want it so desperately?

If she felt bad before, the humiliation she felt, passing down the main street manacled to a police cart, multiplied a hundred times over. She held her head at a proud angle, ignoring the comments hurled her way by some of the townsfolk. Word of her alleged treachery had obviously spread like wild fire.

"Traitor, traitor, Hun sympathizer."

She ignored the abuse and stared straight ahead.

"Shame on you."

The taunts were terrible, but on pain of death she would never let on.

Surprisingly, a few people yelled their support. One woman called out how disgraceful it was treating her so badly with her husband away fighting.

"Let her go," someone else said, and the crowd started arguing with each other.

"I always knew you were a German sympathizer."

A woman ran up beside the cart and spat on her. Shock surged through her at such vicious behavior. This woman was the one who gave Gil the white feather.

"My brother is dead. He killed himself because of creatures like you," Harry yelled.

"You're a disgrace to Australian womanhood." A couple of her equally vitriolic cronies joined this female viper. "You ought to be shot. Our brave young men spilling their blood on the battlefield and you betray them."

Harry fought back. "Why don't you become an army nurse if you're so patriotic, or don't you have the guts? Sending someone else off to die while you sit safe and comfortable here at home."

"There's going to be a riot, I tell you," one of the policeman whined. "She's trouble."

Obviously all the decent police were in the army, if these sniveling specimens were anything to go by. On arrival at the police station she received the shock of her life. They bundled her into a cell. She was in the throes of a nightmare. This kind of thing didn't happen in Australia in 1916. They wanted to frighten her and they had, although she would never show it.

Normally, she would have fought strenuously. They would have had to drag her into the cell kicking and screaming but she couldn't risk something happening to Ross' baby. They would be just as likely to push her over, or punch her in the stomach. Oh God, instinctively she folded her hands protectively across her unborn child.

The door clanged shut leaving her alone. She put her hand out to touch the hard, cold bars at the front of her dingy concrete cell. Fear rose up in her throat and the taste fouled her mouth. She wanted to scream but dared not. Once she started she would never be able to stop. Jack would come soon and get her out of this hell. Terrified, she glanced around. Cold seeped into her bone and it was still daylight. Dear God, what would it be like at night? Freezing, dark and lonely as a tomb. Goosebumps broke out on her arms and her teeth chattered.

Time ticked by, she did not know how much, but she could have cried with relief on seeing Jack being escorted in by one of the policemen. She struggled up from where she sat slumped on the rough, damp floor.

"You've come to get me out? Oh, it's been terrible."

He looked pale, absolutely haggard. "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"They didn't hurt you?"

"No. Get me out of here, I can't stand it." She shook the bars of the cell.

"Five minutes," the policeman said.

"What does he mean, five minutes? I want to go home."

"Listen to me, there's not much time." He covered her hand with his. "They're sending you to Melbourne."

"What!" She jerked her hands out from under his and took a step back.

"Those gutless bloody police rang their superiors, told them there might be a riot here."