A Wicked Deception (2 page)

“Might have an early night
.” James yawned. “I want to be away at first light tomorrow. I’m helping the Johnsons move sheep. Lucky devils, imagine being able to afford a thousand head, including stud rams. No wonder they keep getting richer. All because they dug up a tree stump and found some big nuggets of gold.” He kicked a log back into the fire and stared morosely into the flames. “Nothing like that would happen to us.”

She rubbed her cheek against his
arm. “We have a nice warm homestead with plenty to eat. What more do we want?”

“You could have pretty gowns to wear, bonnets, shoes
. All those fancy things a young lady likes, maybe a trip to Melbourne sometimes.” With his thumb and forefinger, he tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “We could get some fine furniture, carpet even. Oh hell, all the things other people take for granted.”

“I have everything I want here, except…
.” she trailed off and swallowed down on the lump of emotion constricting her throat. Her heart ached for Robbie. She wanted nothing out of life except for them to be wed.

“Forget about marrying Robbie until he makes something of himself. I don’t want you spending so much time alone with him, either.”

“Are you forbidding me to see him?” She gave a defiant toss of her head.

“For God’s sake
. He’s heading for trouble, and I don’t want you involved. If the authorities really clamp down on the miners, they’ll be ruthless.”

“But
….”

“I’ve made my position clear, that’s the end of it. Don’t wait tea for me tomorrow, I’ll be late. Goodnight.” He strode towards his room, leaving her to finish the dishes
.

Would he go so far as to forbid her to see Robbie? He was a good man and a loving brother, who had taken on her care after their parents died. But no
thing would stop her from seeing Robbie.

***

Melanie didn’t hear James leave next morning. After tossing and turning half the night worrying about the sharp words they had exchanged, she slept in late. Washing quickly she dressed in a brown serge skirt. The matching jacket showed off her white lacy under-sleeves.

Chaos reigned in the kitchen
. James, having cooked himself bacon and eggs, left a dirty pan, yolk-stained plate and a crumb strewn tablecloth. Their milking pail stood on the table, so at least he had milked their house cow before leaving. She covered her skirt with an apron and proceeded to do the dishes.

I’ll ride over and see Michael
, she decided on the spur of the moment, scrubbing the fry pan with vigor. James must have been mistaken. Michael would never deliberately snub him. He might have been in England for three years, but that wouldn’t have changed him so much he’d forget his old friends. James wouldn’t be home until late, so she had the whole day free. There being no need to rush home, she might as well have lunch with Michael at Guilford Lodge.

Putting on a brown poke bonnet trimmed with velvet, she hurried outside to catch and saddle her horse, and in less than ten minutes, was on her way.

A five minute ride took her to the edge of their property. She reined in her mount on a rise and glanced back at their split log homestead nestling between giant eucalypts and stringy barks. Her neatly tended garden and small orchard created a pretty, if lonely picture against the harsh bush landscape. Climbing roses and honeysuckle rambled around the posts holding up the bark-roofed verandah. In the springtime, the garden turned into a riot of color, but at the moment only green native trees intermingled with yellow from early flowering wattle.

A kookaburra
’s raucous laugh came from somewhere close by, immediately answered by flashes of red and blue from the wild parrots flitting between the trees. She smiled, suddenly happy to be alive on a day like this, especially surrounded by such majesty.

I
t took her an hour to arrive at Guilford Lodge. She cantered the horse through a huge stone gateway. Up ahead numerous station outbuildings sprawled out like a small town. After passing through thick hedges lining the sweeping driveway, she came to the house.

The
large, single storied stone homestead had a slate roof and a wide verandah running along three sides. Grapevines and jasmine grew in profusion providing shade to the verandah from the fiery summer sun.

She d
ismounted in the front yard and tethered her horse, then stopped to pat a black dog. Yapping excitedly, he pranced around, almost tripping her up. He was obviously happy to see a visitor, yet made no effort to follow her up on to the verandah.

Strolling
over to the carved front door she banged the brass knocker and waited, tapping the toe of her shoe on the mat. Within seconds a young maid answered. Curiosity clear on her face, she glanced at Melanie without speaking.

“
Would you tell Mr. Guilford that Miss O’Dea wishes to see him?” She stifled a giggle at what Michael would make of this, as they had never been formal with each other before. She couldn’t wait to meet up with him again after so long. Would he look different? Would he be surprised at the changes in her? Think her pretty?

“Come this way.”

She followed the maid up a tiled hallway that led into the drawing room. Scattered Persian rugs covered the polished floor boards. Even the grand piano reposed in the same place as before.

Sitting on one of the lovely carved chairs, she sank into the rich, velvet upholstery.

“Good morning, Melanie, what brings you here?”

She stood up on hearing the
aristocratic English voice and almost rushed over to him, but stopped herself at the last minute. This stiff-backed, frozen-faced man wasn’t the Michael she remembered.

“You haven’t been over to see us yet
.” Her accusation tumbled out of its own volition.

“Oh?” Physically he
appeared the same as before, tall and slimly built with wavy brown hair. His deep blue, almost violet eyes, once warm and vibrant, now appeared cold, remote. Fine cord breeches clung to his muscled thighs. Black knee high boots had a mirror shine. He wore a blue cut-away coat with large buttons and looked what he was, a fine English gentleman.

“James said you snubbed him in town.”

“I don’t recall having done so.” His voice sounded clipped, almost hostile.

There would be no welcome for her here
. Sadness washed over her. He had changed beyond recognition. The friendly Michael of years ago no longer existed.

“Would you care for some tea?”
he asked stiltedly.

“No, thank you
. James said you’d changed. Aren’t we good enough for you now?”

He took a step towards her. “Melanie,
I.....”

“There you are, Michael.” A youn
g woman swept into the room. Going straight up to him, she linked her arm through his in a possessive gesture.

“Priscilla, meet Melanie O’Dea, one of our neighbors. Melanie, this is Lady Priscilla Harrington from
England.”

“How do you do.”
Melanie pinned a smile on her frozen lips. So this haughty, slim young woman dressed in blue velvet was the lady James and Robbie had mentioned. Midnight black hair, brushed away from her face, formed ringlets about her shoulders, and her grey eyes held no warmth whatsoever.

A fully flounced skirt, standing out stiffly from her small waist, se
rved to emphasize her arrogant, supreme confidence. The wide sleeves of her jacket, with white embroidered under-sleeves, was the latest in fashion. In contrast Melanie felt shabby even though she wore one of her best outfits.

“Will you be partaking of tea before you leave?” Priscilla asked
with barely concealed animosity, already acting as mistress of the house.

“No, thank you. I just called in for a moment to welcome Michael home
, pleased to meet you, Lady Priscilla.” Melanie felt tempted to give an exaggerated curtsy, or tell this snobbish woman what she really thought of her ungracious behavior. “Goodbye.” With her head held high she marched out of the room, half expecting Michael to call her back.

He didn’t.

On the long, lonely ride home, the perfume from the gum trees wafted on the breeze, birds twittered and gaudy parrots made a splash against the dirty winter sky. Melanie’s shoulders slumped, her hand trembled on the reins and she blinked back tears because her once close friendship with Michael had ended. Why would he align himself with a possessive, arrogant woman like Priscilla? Money. How awful to think her childhood hero had turned in to such a cold-blooded mercenary person. Feeling too unsettled to return home to an empty homestead, she rode over to the diggings to visit Robbie and his father.

Breasting a hill, she reined in her mount and
surveyed the camp. In the distance it sprawled out like a giant canvas city, the mullock heaps giving it the appearance of a huge cemetery, crisscrossed by numerous freshly dug graves.

She shivered at this somber thought, huddling closer into her shawl. Maybe it had been foolish riding over here alone. Some of the miners were released convicts
while others had been lawyers or schoolteachers. Newly arrived immigrants from many foreign lands and desperate people from the city had traveled to Ballarat, all hoping to make a rich gold strike.

Impossible for such a mixed bunch to live together so closely in normal circumstances
, even more amazing, they could do so in such primitive surroundings. Robbie said a comradeship had developed amongst the diggers, forged amidst hardship and hope.

“Joe
!” The code word spread from digger to digger. The police were coming on a license hunt. Men scattered in all directions, although a few resolute or desperate souls kept on working.

Four mounted
police troopers appeared, rough looking men. She gasped in shock when one trooper knocked over a miner who panned for gold. Another chased after some other unfortunate digger and rode him into the ground.

A third digger, bleeding from a head wound, stumbled along in front of a trooper, who every now and again prodded him with a stick.
They chained him to a tree. Such brutality was totally unjustified, obviously a ploy to incite violence and give the authorities an excuse to bring in the English army redcoats.

Anger overcame her fear
of being arrested or attacked by the troopers. Stupid to get involved, but she urged her mount forward anyway. “Can’t you stop this brutality?” she asked the officer who appeared to be in charge.

Close up, he seemed quite young. His white trousers looked clean, his navy jacket neatly pressed, and his black boots shone with polish
. He rode a large black thoroughbred with fire in its eye.

“The men are just having some fun, Miss. This is my first digger hunt
,” he enthused.

“You could stop it.
Please.”

“All right
.” The officer spoke to his men. “You’ve had your fun, round them up. Don’t let this kind of thing upset you, Miss, the men get a little carried away sometimes. You’re not from the diggings, are you?” He smiled, showing even white teeth.

“No.”

“May I have your name, Miss?” He nudged his horse forward.

“Melanie O’Dea.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss O’Dea.” He leaned closer. “Tom Ogilvy at your

service.”

“You’re an American?”

“Yes, late of
West Point, and veteran of the Mexican war.” He flashed a boyish smile.

“What’s a
West Point man doing in the mounted police?”

“I have to make a living somehow.”
In contrast to his smile, his lips turning down at the corners gave him a petulant look. “Couldn’t see myself as a miner, so this was the best I could get. When a man is desperate enough, he takes any kind of job.”

“Oh, are you desperate? You don’t look poor.”

He stared intently at her for a moment, before letting his gaze drift towards the troopers who had started dragging their prisoners away.

“Your mount isn’t police issue
.” She gazed at the impressive stallion.

“Used to be a race horse,” he boasted. “I intend putting him to stud later on, but I have to get some money first. I want to buy several good mares
. When I build my stock up, I hope to supply the military with mounts. The army always needs well bred horses. I learned that from my service in the Mexican war.”

He must have noticed her blank expression.

“Surely you’ve heard of the Mexican war out here, 1846 to 1848?” he asked incredulously.

“No
, we haven’t. You don’t look old enough to have fought in a war.”

“Take it from me, Miss O’Dea, I’m older than I look.”

“Melanie.”

She swiveled her head on hearing Robbie’s voice, and her heart gave an excited skip as it always did on seeing him.
“I came over to visit you, dirty as you are.” She smiled, noticing the mud splatters on his shirt and pants.