Mary Brock Jones (7 page)

She nodded absently, barely hearing him over the begging crowd in front of her. Someone brought her two of the slabs of rock that she had already found were used for everything around here from cooking to furniture. They made an ideal stool and table, and she was soon engrossed in spelling out the wording in one claim after another to puzzled owners, whose faces suddenly cleared as they found out exactly what they were able to do on their claims.

By mid-morning, she was already weary. She stood up, stretching her back and excused herself while she took a quick walk and helped herself to the now warm water in her billy. Philip was not back yet, but she did see Sergeant Garret coming towards her tent. She had met the police trooper briefly yesterday and had been impressed with his calm good sense. He needed it. He was all that served as law around here, one of the miners had told her at the time.

“Good morning, Sergeant,” she called in welcome. There was something very reassuring about the tall, square built officer.

“Miss Ward. Business seems to be going well.”

She nodded, smiling wryly at the queue of men still patiently waiting.

“Your brother not here yet?”

“No. He’s off getting mining supplies, but should be back soon.”

“I’ll come back later then. I need to speak to you both.”

She watched him go, wondering what that was all about. Then sighed. She would just have to wait till the man was ready to talk and, in the meantime, she was building up a regular stream of gold, cash and tradable goods from her customers. What she was going to do with a daguerreotype of Paris she had no idea, but hadn’t the heart to refuse the desperate young man who had tendered it to her.

Maybe the Sergeant could find a way to get it back to him without ruining the man’s pride.

It was not till near lunchtime that the policeman returned—not long after Philip arrived, which made her wonder whether the man had been keeping an eye on her. She had only cold cheese and soda bread to offer him, but he munched through the simple fare with as much sign of enjoyment as if eating a full banquet, all the while asking Philip about his morning’s doings. Nessa waited. The man had not come merely to pass the time of day.

“So you intend heading up the river tomorrow morning, young man?”

Philip nodded.

“And your sister? She’s going with you?”

“Well, yes, of course,”

“Philip and I have travelled widely all our lives,” put in Nessa, “and in places as nearly wild and primitive as this.”

“Maybe, Miss Ward, but among folks like here? I doubt it.” He took one more bite, then put down the crust with a look of regret. He leaned forward, broad arms planted on his knees. “Let me be blunt. There are thousands of miners on the fields, most of them young men, and very few young women. Certainly not single, respectable young women, such as yourself, Miss Ward. So when a young lady sets up in camp with only her young brother for protection … No offence meant, Mr Ward, but I would guess you are not yet twenty. Nor are you used to the kind of persons often found here.”

Philip was about to object, but the man gave him no chance, eying them both sternly. “In short, your presence upriver in an isolated spot with only rough miners … it’s a recipe for trouble. We’ve had claim jumpers and worse in this area, and I can’t be everywhere. I can’t keep you safe, Miss Ward.”

“But the packers have made it clear that my sister is under their protection.”

“And that’ll keep most of the miners under control,” agreed the Sergeant. “If the packers blackball a man here, he starves. Simple as that. But it won’t keep the criminal type away.”

The man only said what Nessa had already thought and pushed away into the dark recess of her head. Philip was a different matter. “I can keep Nessa safe. We’ve always travelled through strange and rough places.”

“Places where most of the population are young, healthy men who haven’t seen a young woman for some time?”

Philip was young and foolish, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. “You think she should stay in town?” His arm took in their surroundings: the false fronts, the garish hotels, boldly spilling their trade onto the streets from the rough canvas-sided buildings, the raucous calls of traders, miners, shysters and rogues filling the streets. “She’s safer here?”

“If Miss Ward would care to follow my suggestions, yes.”

Nessa moved uncomfortably, the word ‘command’ hidden under his voice.

“There is a miner’s wife at the end of town, a Mrs Johnston, who takes in boarders from time to time. I’ve had a word with her, and she would be happy to give Miss Ward a home while you, young Ward, seek your fortune up river.

Philip looked as stunned at the idea of her staying in the township as she felt.

The police officer smiled. “I do have a selfish reason for offering you this. You would be doing me a favour.”

“My mother used to try to hide cod liver oil in a spoonful of honey when I was a child. It didn’t work then either,” said Nessa.

The policeman shrugged. “Let me speak plainly.”

“If you please.”

“You, Miss Ward, are both a Godsend and a problem for me. On the one hand, someone with your skill in languages is very badly needed round here. Anything that stops the kind of misunderstandings that lead to fights is a big help.”

“And the problem?”

“You’re too pretty, too young and too damn single, Miss Ward. Excuse the language,” he added, not very sincerely. “Not even the packers and the name of John Reid will keep you safe in those back country gullies. I want you in town where enough people know who you are to keep you free from harm; and I want to know where you are and who’s with you at all times. You can live with Mrs Johnston and her clan, and there’s a small space next to the assay office where you can set up in business. Both are far enough away from the hotels to give me at least a chance of sleeping nights.”

“You exaggerate, Sergeant,” said Philip. “My sister is obviously a lady. No one would trouble her.”

Nessa watched the sergeant turn and rake his slow gaze over her brother. “You have no idea of the kind of riff-raff we get here, do you young man?”

“Well. They are a bit rough,” blustered Philip.

“Some of the men here are about as bad as you can find in this world, and don’t you forget it, Ward. Why you had to bring your sister here, I have no idea.”

“There was nowhere else for me to go,” said Nessa quietly. “He had no choice.”

That silenced the Sergeant. There was a touch of approval in his eyes. All she could see when she looked at Philip was his embarrassment, and a kind of hope hidden in his eyes. He was not ready yet to stray too far from the comfort and security she provided, but the sergeant’s offer gave him a perfect compromise. He could come back frequently but still tell himself she was safe enough. Not for the first time, she was forced to realise her baby was growing up. She sighed inwardly.

“Forgive us, Sergeant. Your suggestion is eminently sensible. I will come with you as soon as it suits, to make the arrangements.”

Which was how Nessa came to be standing in front of a small cottage that afternoon, in the far corner of the township and set against a small hill south of where the Arrow River swung sharp left into the hills.

The sergeant had described the cottage as a “substantial home, with all modern comforts”. Nessa looked at the small canvas- and slab-sided hut and thought of quite different words to describe it. Mrs Johnston, though, turned out to be a warm-hearted, big woman who dealt with her brood of young children, the difficulties of caring for a family in this primitive place and the rough courtesies of the goldfield with a ready laugh and unflappable calm.

“A shilling a night for room and meals. Laundry’s extra. Pay me once you get some money. Next week’s no problem,” she said in the bluff, straightforward manner in which, as Nessa was to learn, Mina Johnston approached everything in life.

“About your work,” said the Sergeant as Mina finally wound down. “I’ll get a couple of boys to set you up with the stall next to the Assay office. If any trouble comes up, you will be within shouting distance of the assay agents, and my office when I’m in.”

Nessa could only nod in agreement, feeling rather like a leaf bowling down a river with little to do but let the current take her where it would. All her pride could salvage was to insist on staying in her own tent that night. Philip was to set off in the morning. For one last night, she wanted to hold onto all that was left of the only life she had known, the brother she had cared for since he was so small. Next morning, she watched Philip roll up the tent and collect his newly acquired mining tools, and she forced her lips into her best smile. He had traded in their faithful horse to pay for his new gear. Horses were no use in the steep tracks up the Arrow Gorge.

Mostly, she was worried about him. He was so young. That’s what she told herself anyway. The clenching in her guts was
not
panic at the thought of being left on her own.

“Look after yourself,” she said as she fussed over his bags. She was about to check inside his bedroll, but the look of shocked pride on his face made her pull back. Everything suddenly seemed topsy-turvy in this frontier world.

She was more than relieved to see the solid figure of Sergeant Garret. He watched with her as Philip strode across the upper bank and disappeared into the dark cavern of the gorge without even one cheery wave as he climbed the far bank. The sergeant then grabbed her last bag and she was off to Mrs Johnston’s. He stayed, her sole anchor in her confusing new world, as she settled in at Mrs Johnston’s and met the men who were building her office.

By lunchtime, her new business was ready. There was a price list tacked to the outside of a small, canvas-sided hut, and a queue was already forming outside. She launched gratefully into her customers’ demands.

When the queue finally broke up as the day ended, she was so tired she forgot to wonder how Philip was faring until just as her head finally hit the hard pillow in her new bed. Mrs Johnston had put up a curtain to give her a small, private alcove to herself, but she could have fallen asleep even in the middle of the busy main room.

Mina’s husband, Tom, had arrived as the sun was going down. He said little, ate his meal then headed soon after to his bed. But the four Johnston children made up for him, chattering, squabbling, laughing until their mother ordered them outside for what was left of the twilight hours. Nessa lay, eyes closed, listening to them play as she drifted off.

Just before sleep overtook her, a picture came to her. A big, strong, calm man standing watching with her as children played in front of a solid, cob cottage. He put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned into the comfort of his presence. A smile drifted across her face and she knew no more till morning.

“Is that the last of them, Georgie?”

The freckle-faced boy of ten standing guard at her shop door popped his head round the canvas flap, surveyed the street outside, then turned back with a grin. “Yep. Not a single body waiting, Miss Nessa. Lunchtime?”

“Yes, Georgie, it is. I take it you are hungry again?”

The boy nodded his head vigorously, licking his lips as Nessa leaned down to pull out the billy from beneath her desk. Fortunately Mina Johnston knew her son well. It was packed to the top with thick slices of damper, cold mutton and pickles.

“Your mother is a treasure, Georgie.” She set the billy aside in the shade and stood, easing the ache in her back from sitting too long. “Come on, let’s go rescue that ginger beer from the riverside before someone else finds it.”

She laughed as Georgie raced ahead of her. The lad possessed one speed only—full ahead as fast as he could possibly go.

The boy had appointed himself her personal watchdog and protector two days after she had moved in with the Johnstons. The second child in a large family, he usually spent his days helping his father at the river or his mother around the house.

She refused his help at first. It didn’t take long to see how hard the Johnstons must work, both in hunting the gold and in feeding, clothing and making a home for their brood in this place. How could she take Georgie away when he was needed by his family? But it was no problem, they all assured her. And Sergeant Garret couldn’t get on with his work until she had someone to escort her about the place, they added. She had, it seemed, no choice but to agree to the plan, but she could and did insist on paying for Georgie’s time.

Now, hurrying to catch up with the sprite, she wondered if she had not been tricked horribly. Young Georgie was trouble on two legs, with a truly awesome talent for getting into mischief.

Mind you, Georgie was well enough known in the camp that no sane man wanted to get on his bad side. The young scamp was very inventive in extracting revenge—which allowed her to come and go to work safely as long as Georgie was close by. After a week here, she had seen enough to know that was a minor miracle. She had learnt how to sleep through the nightly raucous goings-on in the camp, but she was not stupid enough to leave the Johnston home after sunset and was grateful for the loaded rifle Mina Johnston kept by her bed. The lure of gold drew all types.

She had been in tight spots in her time, but none matched this place. There were just too many young men here, too much money and too few lawmakers to control them. Uncivilised and dangerous was the undercurrent of this place.

But so alive.

She felt the grin touch her face. The sun was shining, her translation business was a roaring success and, for the first time in her life, she had sufficient funds for her needs. Soon, Philip would come back down the gorge with news of a golden strike. They would leave here, go back to England and live in the comfort their birth required. Finally, her real life would begin.

Her smile slipped.
That was a good thing, surely?

Yes, yes it was
. She shook herself sternly. England would be wonderful.

“Hello, darling. Care to help a rich young fella spend his gold?” Then suddenly, a heavy hand fell over her shoulder. A second arm snaked around her waist, held her in far too familiar a fashion and pulled her hard against an overly muscled body. The smell of the man almost made her gag.