Golden Hope (11 page)

‘Lucky kid,' he said softly. He halted and played with the errant curl that covered her eyes. ‘Seriously, Clytie, if I behave myself, would I stand a chance with you?'

‘That depends on precisely what you have in mind.' She tried and failed to make the words sound severe.

‘Well, I'll have to move fast. Only another few days to convince you of the truth.'

She fell into his trap. ‘What truth?'

‘That I'm your man – and always will be.'

This time he didn't sound as if he was teasing. The breath caught in her throat. She didn't want the moment to end. Until now the circus had protected her like a child. No man had got close enough to say sweet words to her. Dolores had seen to that.

Rom took a step closer. ‘Just say the word,' he said softly. ‘I'll never look twice at another girl as long as I live.'

Clytie fought to prevent herself drowning in the depth of those crystal clear blue eyes. ‘You know nothing of circus life. You don't know me, Rom Delaney. We are so very different.'

‘I know all I need to know.'

The bells were now ringing in competition from two rival churches. He offered her his arm.

‘Come, I'll show you the town before we pay our respects to God.'

Clytie looked over her shoulder. ‘We're being followed. Is he yours?'

It was the same black dog she had seen in the grandstand.

‘Not mine. He belonged to some fossicker living in a miner's right cabin. One night when the old bloke was raving with fever, Shadow went to fetch help. Doc Hundey stayed all night with him – no point in moving him. He passed away at dawn. Ever since, Shadow has slept outside his master's cabin. I doss down there myself – until something better turns up. Goldie is mine – the dog is
not.
'

Clytie bent to pat the dog's cold nose. ‘I think Shadow has other ideas.'

Sure enough, the Kelpie kept his distance but followed in their wake.

Rom pointed out the buildings of interest. To Clytie the main street looked like a mouth with missing teeth, occasional vacant lots lying between old timber shops, their facades bleached by the sun, most windows filled with old-fashioned, dusty goods. The two facing lines of buildings might well have been transplanted from any other backwater town, but they came alive with colour when Rom painted them with stories of the characters who lived here during the legendary Gold Rush.

‘The famous bushranger Ned Kelly passed through here one night. He never fired a shot in anger in Hoffnung, but it's said he won a local girl's heart. A few years later he was hanged in Melbourne Gaol.
Old-timers say that local girl attended his trial. She wore black for the rest of her days – and never married.'

‘How very romantic. And sad.'

Encouraged, Rom continued. ‘See that storehouse over there? That used to be the Shamrock Hotel, one of twelve hotels and shanties in this street, packed to the rafters with gold-diggers. No bank in those days so there was a shortage of ready money. The diggers chalked up their grog on a tally and paid for everything with nuggets.'

Clytie said drily, ‘I wish that was still the custom.'

‘The track over there leads to the creek where the old Chinese camp was. At one time there were thousands of “chinks” fossicking there for gold the diggers had passed over. Now there's only one Chinaman left in town, an old bloke called Long Sam. They reckon he hid his gold in his teeth. Maybe it's true. The poor devil's dirt poor – and he's hardly got a tooth left in his head.'

Rom shrugged more in sympathy than derision. ‘Last night he was at the circus. Funny to think the whole Cricket Ground used to be his market garden.'

‘How sad. I saw him last night sitting next to that elegant lady with the crippled foot. She had such sad eyes. Who is she?'

‘That's Doc Hundey's sister. A bit of a mystery.'

The pealing bells had ceased their competitive chorus. Rom gestured to the three churches at the top of the hill.

‘Come, which is your pleasure, Miss Hart?'

‘That's easy. The nearest one.'

Shadow knew his place. On reaching the entrance porch of the timber church, he needed no command to crouch and wait for them.

They took the seat in the back row. Light fell in shafts through the mullioned windows, their clear central panes edged in bright blue. Clytie held her hymnal and rose to her feet as the tiny old lady organist began to belt out the music. Dressed from head to toe in black, her squashed pork pie hat was anchored with a giant hatpin. Her face was wizened like a walnut and a few grey hairs sprouted from her chin.

‘That's Holy Maude,' Rom whispered. ‘Would you believe it? The beautiful girl who was Ned Kelly's lover.'

Clytie smothered a giggle. The hymn had barely finished and the ‘man of the cloth' begun his sermon when the doors to the porch were flung open. A man burst into the church, his face blank with fear.

‘It's crashed! It's all over. B'Jesus, we're all done for!'

The whole congregation rose in consternation but the messenger had disappeared before there was time to question him.

The sermon was forgotten. Questions flew around the hall. What has crashed? The bridge? The giant crusher at the mine head? A tunnel in the Golden Hope mine?

Mothers of volunteers were anxious the crash referred to some catastrophic battle in South Africa.

Rom firmly steered Clytie to the door. ‘Come on, let's find out.'

The entire congregation vacated the church within minutes, including the reverend gentleman. But like the captain on a sinking ship, Holy Maude remained in her place, playing the organ to an empty church.

Rom gripped Clytie's hand as they ran but she had to double her steps to keep pace with him.

Rom headed for the group clustered around the noticeboard outside Midd's General Store.

‘It's unlikely the mine has crashed. It's closed today but Jantzen always leaves a bloke with a shotgun to guard it.'

‘Maybe the bridge has been washed away by floodwaters! Will our wagons be safe?'

‘Don't worry. We've survived many floods. The timber mill would have a new bridge erected before you could say Jack Robinson.'

Men and women were shouting and gesticulating in front of the noticeboard. Rom instinctively shielded Clytie as they pushed close enough to hear. In fine working dog style, the Kelpie moved into position to protect them, alert for the first sign of trouble. It was not slow in coming.

A gang of men had pinioned the arms of a respectably dressed man whom Clytie recognised. They dragged him onto the veranda of the General Store to confront the crowd. Pinned to the noticeboard was a newspaper banner, the words too distant to decipher except for one word – CRASH.

Councillor Twyman's voice of authority rang out. ‘Here, Tribe. I demand you give an account of yourself. What's the meaning of this outrage?'

The bank manager was pale and shaken, his celluloid collar askew, his hair and jacket rumpled, his dignified demeanour in tatters.

‘It's not my fault, I tell you. I didn't know how bad things were. We all know how many banks have crashed in recent years. I believed ours would ride out the storm.'

Clytie turned to Rom in horror. ‘Your bank has crashed!'

‘Looks like,' Rom said quietly. ‘If it has, it'll cripple this town.'

A woman's shrill voice called out, ‘Unlock the doors, you scoundrel. I want my money back now!'

Tribe's voice cracked. ‘I regret that is beyond my power, Madam. All accounts are frozen – orders from Headquarters in Melbourne.'

‘Why didn't you ruddy well warn us?' a rasping male voice demanded. ‘You've got me whole life's savings – and you didn't waste any flaming time taking me pay packet on Friday! You must have known the bank was about to crash!'

Driven by anger, no one waited for Tribe's response.

‘It's highway robbery!'

‘Open the damned bank. Let Melbourne Head Office run dry, not poor bloody miners' families!'

‘If you were in America, Tribe, they'd string you up – feather and tar you!'

Clytie felt chilled by the threat of a lynch mob
.

The mood of the crowd suddenly cooled down at the sight of the approaching buggy driven by a man in a tweed jacket, his sandy hair blown about by the wind.

‘That's Doc Hundey, good bloke,' Rom assured her.

Remaining in his seat so that he could address the whole crowd, Doc's quiet words were the voice of reason, clearly intent on lowering the temperature of the crowd.

Clytie looked up into his smooth, fair-skinned face and his weary, kindly grey eyes and instinctively trusted him.

‘Let's stay calm and hear the man out. It's not Mr Tribe's fault our bank has crashed. He's as much a victim as the rest of us.'

One man challenged him. ‘I'll bet Tribe lined his own pockets before the crash.'

‘That's not true,' the bank manager stammered in denial. ‘I don't even own the house I live in. The bank holds my mortgage, too. Now I've lost my position, my good name, my house – everything. I'm a ruined man.'

‘Join the club, mate!' the words were heavy with sarcasm.

The crowd parted begrudgingly to allow Sergeant Mangles to address them.

‘Doc Hundey is right. Cool down, you lot. All right, so this crash is a big shock to all of us. We're all affected – me included. Don't make it worse by taking the law into your own hands.' He turned to the bank manager. ‘I advise you to go home and wait until we receive the full details from Melbourne. Meanwhile, if any of you blokes lays a hand on Mr Tribe's family or the bank you'll end up in the Watch House – and you'll wish your mother never gave birth to you! Do I make myself clear?'

There were grumbles of assent.

‘Now all of you – go about your business,' Mangles ordered.

The crowd was slow to disperse.

Doc Hundey said softly, ‘If any man wants to sit down quietly at the Diggers' Rest and make plans for the future, I'll arrange with Tom Yeoman to open a keg on my account. I'll join you later.'

‘Thanks a lot, Doc,' voices mumbled as the crowd disintegrated.

Most men headed for the Diggers' Rest. Women remained in the street talking, some openly dabbing their eyes, their arms linked in solidarity.

Rom's mouth was reassuringly close to Clytie's ear. ‘That's typical of Doc. He doesn't drink himself, but he knows that a grog or two will release their anger.'

‘They won't lynch that poor man?'

‘This isn't the Wild West. These blokes talk tough. But they'll fire words, not bullets. When they calm down they'll remember Tribe was the man who loaned them money when no other bank manager would.'

He took her arm to turn her away, but was halted by the voices of two women.

‘I haven't got a penny left in kitty to feed my kids. I spent it all last night at the circus.'

‘That circus is to blame. Shame on them, tricking working men out of their hard-earned wages. I'll bet the circus didn't bank our money – they'll leave town with it.'

Rom could not allow that to pass. ‘That's nonsense, lady, and you know it!'

A pretty girl in a flimsy lemon gown spoke sharply enough to show her words were intended for Rom. Clytie was shaken by the anger in her well-bred voice.

‘Delaney would say that, wouldn't he! He's the one responsible for bringing the circus here. Everyone knows what thieves they are, no better than gypsies.'

Clytie was about to respond but Rom drew her firmly away.

‘Let's get out here. It's a waste of breath talking sense to them.'

The girl called after him. ‘You can forget collecting your wages from Father. I saw you slacking on the job. You aren't worth a farthing an hour, Delaney!'

Clytie saw Rom's expression darken. His mouth tightened to bite back his intended response.

‘Lucky she's a girl. If a man had dared say that to me . . .!'

Curiosity overcame her. ‘Who is she?'

‘No one important. She just thinks she is.'

‘You seem to be taking the bank's crash rather well?'

‘Why not? I never did trust banks.'

His face cracked in a smile that gave vent to a great guffaw of laughter.

‘What on earth's so funny?'

‘I just realised I've got twenty guineas in that bank – more money than I'd earn in a year. And I can't get my hands on a penny of it. Tragic, isn't it?'

He leaned against her, laughing until his eyes were wet. Clytie admired his spirit and shared his laughter.

‘Where are we going now?' she asked at length.

Shadow bounded ahead of them as if leading the way back to the circus.

Rom shook his head. ‘Funny dog that. He seems able to read my mind. I planned to take you to a romantic sheltered place for a picnic. But I better take you back to your Big Top. No knowing what trouble might be brewing around here.'

‘Yes, the bank crash has changed everything. Few people will pay to see another performance when their money has dried up.'

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rom was looking resolutely straight ahead. He silently offered her his hand. It seemed to Clytie to be the most natural thing in the world to be walking out with a lad who yesterday was a total stranger. Yet she hesitated.

On instinct, she looked back at the girl who had insulted Rom. Her sixth sense was accurate. The girl remained in the street, holding on to her hat in the face of the wind, her eyes fixed on them.

That decided Clytie. In a gesture of open defiance she linked her arm through Rom's, walking close beside him, a silent statement to Hoffnung that she and Rom Delaney were a courting couple.

The sun was hot on the back of her neck. Carrying the scent of eucalyptus blossoms, the breeze blew her hair across her face. The shrill, high-pitched sound of cicadas sang like a crazy, invisible choir. Shadow led them, guarding them from all danger.