Ironbark (34 page)

The words dried in his throat but he forced them out. ‘Sir, would you entrust me as your courier should you need mail delivered to Ironbark? My fiancée is resident there.'

Daniel wasn't really sure if that was the truth but Saranna's months-old letter stated she was heading to Ironbark so he added quickly, ‘She came free from Home, Sir. A well-educated young lady of good family.'

Jonstone registered faint surprise. ‘A
lady
? Indeed, Daniel. Is there no end to your surprises?' He dipped a quill in ink and commenced writing a letter.

Daniel had not been dismissed so he was unsure if he was expected to remain. The hands of the grandfather clock moved so slowly he imagined they must be painted on its dial. At last the master blotted the document, sealed it with red wax and the ring bearing his family crest and handed it across.

‘This requires the signature of George Hobson and that Jew lawyer, Bloom. I do not care to risk sending it via Her Majesty's Mail in case it should fall into bushrangers' hands. Ride to Ironbark Farm. Do not return without both signatures.'

‘Most kind of you, Sir.' Daniel hesitated. ‘But what if troopers should question me?'

‘A convict pass? Quite so. No time to obtain an official one. I'll write one for you.' Jonstone raised an eyebrow. ‘I trust
you
will not seize the opportunity to bolt, Browne?'

‘Sir, you can count on me to do your bidding. I swear I will guard it with my life.'

‘Yes,' Jonstone drawled. ‘Iago tells me you are most amenable.'

Daniel flushed at the name – Iago to this man, the Devil Himself to his convicts. Daniel backed out of the room as if leaving the presence of royalty. He still had no firm details of payment for Victoria Jonstone's portrait but he had gained a precious period of freedom to confront Saranna.

Daniel hadn't had many opportunities to ride a horse, but he told himself this was no time to be nervous. Racing off to the stables he asked the groom to be sure to inform the Devil Himself of his absence on the master's business and promised the boy a precious plug of tobacco if he delivered the message. Months ago Daniel had checked out the cross-country route to Ironbark, knowing Saranna might be there. He gingerly mounted the horse and rode off with his convict pass carefully hidden in his boot along with a sketch pad and pencils to record anything that fired his imagination.

Daniel was determined this journey to Ironbark would change the course of his life. Whatever the reason for Saranna's silence, he would force her to petition the governor for permission to marry a convict –
him
!

Cutting across country to avoid a likely encounter with bushrangers on the Sydney Road, he rehearsed his reunion with Saranna. She had promised to set him free but had broken faith with him. Was attack the best form of defence?

Stopping to bathe in a creek, he was conscious of the dilapidated state of his slop clothing but was startled by the possible solution close at hand. At the rear of an isolated homestead on the far side of the creek was a line of washing with a man's suit hanging out to air!

Was this Our Lady's answer to his prayers or temptation placed in his path by the Devil? If caught thieving Daniel faced the lash. He struggled with the humiliating alternative; the prospect of confronting his snobbish fiancée dressed in dirty convict clothing. For once pride conquered fear. He counted the minutes. Thank God the homestead appeared to be deserted.

Daniel ran from bush to bush to shield his route to the washing line. He grabbed the suit and tore a wet shirt from its pegs. Back at the creek he panted with exhilaration as he examined the clothes. Not a perfect fit but good enough. The wet shirt would dry on his body as he rode. His own straw hat was weathered but who was he to quibble with
providence? He tied his neckerchief to make a hatband.

Hopeful he could pass muster as an Englishman who came free, nonetheless he checked his coveted convict pass. If troopers caught him without this they had the power to charge him on suspicion of being an absconder. A mile further on he remembered to hide the convict clothes at a fork in the track so he could put them back on before his return to Gideon Park.
Nothing must be left to chance. Saranna is my only hope to gain my freedom.

• • •

Waiting on the veranda of Ironbark Farm for George Hobson's signature, Daniel was brought tea by Polly, a sassy Cockney assigned girl who pointed out the schoolhouse and chattered about how their teacher Miss Plews was ‘highly thought of'.

Daniel was suddenly alerted by the distant figure of a woman ringing the school bell. Although her back was to him he recognised Saranna's dress and her dark hair, worn in a chignon at the nape of her neck. She closed the door behind the last pupil and Daniel could hear children's voices raised together in song as the lesson began.

After he gained the lawyer Joseph Bloom's second signature on Jonstone's documents Daniel tethered his horse and walked to the cricket oval beside the schoolhouse. He seated himself on a felled tree trunk on the far side of the field and began sketching but kept one eye on the schoolhouse with a growing sense of unease.
What if she
did
recognise me that night – and refuses to marry a bushranger?

The sun was directly overhead at midday when the school bell was rung. Children swarmed outside and headed for the cricket pitch. It was clear from their arguments they were intent on playing a match of Currency Lads versus England. The two boy captains selected their teams and a redhead with an Irish accent vented her fury when girls were denied the right to play.

‘Girls can't play for nuts!' the boys chorused.

The England skipper, a boy they called Big Bruce, attempted fair
play. ‘How can we pick you, Winnie? You Irish can't play for the Currency team and you
won't
play for England.'

A boy taunted her from the rear. ‘Bog Irish-Catholics are lower than a snake's belly!'

She retaliated, ‘Your pa is a Proddie police informer! Ain't nothing lower than
that
.'

Their insults escalated into a fist-flying sectarian brawl, which drew the distant figure of the teacher to investigate. Daniel stiffened at the sight of Saranna as she hurried to the pitch, her dark hair escaping from her chignon, the collar of her blouse pinned with a brooch.
That damned cameo she had been ready to die for.

As she drew closer Daniel saw there was something very odd about her. Her walk was graceful, more confident than he remembered. And he was startled to see how curvaceous her body had become. Could two years absence account for these changes? Or was it something else, something quite sinister?

He shielded his face with his hat and studied her as she placated the children.

‘Could I suggest a way everyone will have a chance to play, no matter which country you come from? Ironbark boys versus Ironbark girls!' she announced.

The teacher spoke with a delightful Chester accent but it was not Saranna's voice!

The boys hooted in derision, but the little girls cheered until a hasty head count proved the girls were two short of the number needed to form a team.

‘Magic can fix that!' Saranna's impostor hurried back inside the schoolhouse.

Daniel was still numb with shock when moments later the children fell about laughing at the appearance of their teacher's magic. She returned to the pitch with her hair braided like a schoolgirl, her long skirt looped between her legs and tucked into her belt to allow her to
run, but covered by a pinafore to ensure modesty. She was accompanied by a smiling Aboriginal girl dressed in similar clothing who carried a fair-haired toddler on one hip and led a dark-skinned little boy by the hand. The teacher turned to the little girls.

‘Isn't it lucky my friend Nerida has come home to Ironbark? Now you've got the two players you need for the girls' team.' Her gesture included all the students, ‘Today we will all make Ironbark history!'

The children gave Miss Plews a rousing cheer. Winnie, the little Irish redhead, won the toss and sent the girls' team in to bat.

During the embattled cricket game Daniel saw Saranna's impostor glance his way but, apparently satisfied that he posed no threat, she threw her energies into the game.

As his pencil flew across the page Daniel's thoughts were in turmoil.
I recognise her now. She's the other girl on the coach we bailed up. Thank God I was masked. Why in hell is she masquerading as my fiancée?

Daniel watched her with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant admiration as her long legs streaked down the pitch, unfettered by petticoats. This girl was no mouse. She was a free spirit. Could he succeed in bullying her to reveal where Saranna was?

At stumps the children celebrated with afternoon tea, then they clambered onto their ponies and rode off singing. Saranna's impostor was nowhere to be seen.

Daniel rolled up his drawings and headed in the direction of the teacher's cottage. He had waited long enough. And he wanted no audience to witness the showdown he planned to force on her. He seated himself on the schoolteacher's veranda and waited for the impostor's return.

• • •

Keziah's footsteps faltered as she recognised the figure on the veranda. The stranger who'd been observing their cricket game was sitting astride her squatter's chair.
He looks as if he's master of the house. The hide of him!

She was confused when she saw Nerida. Her friend always waited in the cottage with Gabriel and brewed tea ready to chat with Keziah on her return from school. But now she stood beneath Gabriel's window as if keeping guard. At sight of Keziah she slipped away to her
goondie
with little Murphy.

‘Who are you? What are you doing here?' Keziah demanded as she stormed up the steps.

‘Daniel Browne. I came to give you your portrait, Miss Plews. A true likeness, yes?'

Keziah shivered with unease even before she saw the portrait. It was exact in every detail. Except one.
Mi-duvel! It isn't
my
face. It's the face of Saranna Plews!

The stranger's face was blank and his voice was cold. ‘You'd best invite me inside – whoever you are.'

Keziah's mind raced. Few
gaujo
men could call her bluff but this man was quite different. If he was simply Saranna's beloved fiancé why on earth did she feel this fear in the pit of her stomach?

She nodded coolly and entered the house ahead of him. Uninvited, Daniel settled himself down in the carver's chair at the table. She felt him studying her as she poured the tea Nerida had brewed for her. Keziah seated herself at the other end of the table and managed an enigmatic smile.

‘So, how can I help you, Mr Browne? Do you take milk? Sugar?'

Daniel Browne dropped the last pretence of politeness. ‘You can cut out the play-acting. Tell me the fate of the real Saranna Plews or you will suffer the consequences.'

Keziah ignored the threat and assumed a sympathetic attitude in an attempt to buy time and gain his cooperation.
If he's Saranna's fiancé it's only natural he's alarmed to find me using her name.

‘I am sorry to be the one to break the news to you. Saranna and I were fellow passengers on the coach from Sydney Town. We became friendly. There was a terrible accident – our coach crashed over
Blackman's Leap. Saranna suffered terrible injuries. As she lay dying she spoke to me most lovingly about her fiancé but she didn't say his name. When the doctor pronounced her dead I placed coins on her eyelids. Forgive me, this must be most painful for you, not knowing what happened to her.'

‘Lies are always painful,' he snapped.

She tried to remain calm. ‘That
is
the truth. I presume you were her fiancé?'

Daniel Browne nodded but made no sound except for the drumming of his fingers on the table. Keziah was surprised to see his face was devoid of all emotion. She could detect no trace of sorrow. But perhaps he was in shock? Or a man who could never reveal his true feelings?

She felt a sudden surge of panic at the thought he might ask to visit Saranna's grave.
I can hardly tell him the truth, that Saranna's buried under the name of Keziah Smith!

She was startled to see how Daniel's gaze wandered over her body as if she were naked. But not in the usual way
gaujos
looked at her. This seemed more like cool observation than lust. She sensed he was struggling to weigh his options before he spoke.

‘I came here expecting to find my fiancée. It hardly matters who you really are because I know who you are
not.
I can expose your fraudulent identity whenever I choose.'

Keziah tried to sound equally cool. ‘So this is blackmail.'

‘Call it what you will. You have no choice. I have it in my power to allow you to continue to live as Saranna for the rest of your life, but in return you must do
exactly
what I want.'

Keziah was struck by a desperate thought.
I could say he attacked me and I killed him in self-defence.
Her eyes strayed to the carving knife fixed to the wall.

He followed her glance. ‘Oh no, I wouldn't risk that with your child asleep in the next room.'

Keziah felt her blood run cold.
He must have seen Nerida return to put Gabriel to sleep – and then sent her packing.

She made a final bid to win his sympathy. ‘Saranna died before she was able to tell me your name but she left you a message. I must honour my promise to her.'

Daniel stared at her in silence. Keziah felt sure this man had never loved Saranna as much as she'd loved him. But what if she was wrong?

She leaned forward and said the words softly. ‘Saranna's dying words were, “Tell my beloved my last thoughts were of him”. Her final words made no sense to me. “Tell him he must always live for his mistress.”'