Ironbark (18 page)

Keziah saw Jake Andersen's mouth twitch as if for once he was enjoying himself.

‘You New Chums will soon get the hang of things. Everything's different. Trees, weather, animals – even the way we think and talk.'

O'Flaherty poured whisky into his tea and asked the question. ‘I'm told you Currency Lads consider Jack is as good as his master. I gather you'd not be having much time for those of us born at Home, eh lad?'

‘You're half right. But we only cut the Sterling down to size when they deserve it. No need for you to worry, Doc.'

O'Flaherty chuckled in response. ‘So it does pay to be Irish sometimes.'

Keziah realised this was the first time she had ever seen Jake Andersen relaxed and laughing. Was the journey also leaving its mark on him too?

When Saranna timidly asked about the fate of prisoners whose sentence had expired, Keziah was equally alert for Jake's answer.

‘Emancipists if they're pardoned, otherwise expirees or old lags – free men all! They can serve on juries – even become police constables. Some former convicts have made huge fortunes and get to dine at the governor's table. It mightn't be your idea of British justice but we do things different down here – for better
and
worse.'

With that, Jake Andersen strode off. Keziah rushed after him to ask her own question.

‘I saw a newspaper inside the last inn but I can barely read. Is there any news of bushrangers?' She was only interested in one bushranger – Gem. Not surprisingly, Jake Andersen misinterpreted her concern.

‘Don't you worry, Mrs Smith. I always carry a shotgun at the ready.'

• • •

The inn was intended to be a small oasis of comfort but an overflow of passengers from a rival coach had created problems. When Jake Andersen went off to check the horses, Keziah overheard the
publican's wife apologising to Saranna Plews because she'd have to share a room with Mrs Smith.

‘My guess is that widow Mrs Smith ain't what she claims to be. I've seen plenty of her kind at Home. A Gypsy, I'll be bound. Take my advice. Sleep with your money under the mattress. You know what thieves them Gypsies are.'

Keziah stalked off in anger. She felt the babe's fluttery kicks of sympathy in her belly as she passed by the Rolly Brothers coach.

Jake Andersen had bedded down under the wagon to sleep. He appeared disconcerted when she peered at him between the wheels.

‘Thank you for your patience. Before I arrived in this country I'd heard fearful tales about head-hunters and cannibals. Now I can see this land has a beauty all its own. I could live here for years and only scratch the surface of its magic. Goodnight, Mr Andersen.'

‘Jake,' he corrected her. Then asked if her bed was all right.

Keziah nodded and moved off in the direction of the stables. She made up a bed in the hay covered by her shawl. There was no tap water. She was deciding whether the horse trough looked clean enough to wash her hands and face when she discovered Saranna Plews standing nervously at her elbow.

‘My goodness, what are you doing out here, Mrs Smith?'

‘I've chosen to sleep where I am welcome. A mare and her foal make fine bedfellows,' Keziah said firmly.

Saranna flushed with embarrassment. ‘What the publican's wife said was a mistake. I'd be happy to share my room with you, Mrs Smith.' At Keziah's hesitation she added, ‘Forgive me. I have not been friendly. We are both strangers in a strange land.'

When Saranna held out her hand, Keziah smiled and together they walked back hand in hand to the inn.

They stripped down to their petticoats to sponge themselves at the washbasin. Like children they could not stifle their giggles as they bounced on the lumpy double bed they were sharing. The mattress
sank in the middle. Keziah checked the door. There was no lock.

‘I'd suggest we take the advice of the publican's wife and hide our purses under the mattress. There was a man in the bar who looked ready to cut your throat for a penny.'

Saranna's eyes widened in horror as Keziah wedged the chair under the door handle.

‘Don't worry. If this fails I'm sure Jake Andersen would come to our rescue in a flash. Dr O'Flaherty told me Jake is a bare-knuckle pugilist.'

‘Imagine that!' Saranna's tone suggested Jake was a prime specimen for a zoo.

• • •

Lying in bed the two girls watched the flickering candlelight throw shadows across the room. When Keziah blew it out, the darkness seemed to give Saranna permission to confide in her.

‘Isn't this fun? I've never in my life shared a bed. I was an only child.'

Keziah realised that Saranna was making an effort to bridge the chasm between them, volunteering information about her life. How her mother had died in childbirth and she was raised by her father and elderly aunt. Her fiancé had been employed at her father's art gallery but the family business failed, ‘forcing my fiancé to try his luck in the colony'.

Her hesitation suggested there was far more to the story.

‘Aunt Georgina never recovered from the shock of our house being sold. When she died I had barely enough money to pay for her funeral and my ship's passage. On my arrival in Sydney Town I learned Father had died only months before. It was a terrible shock.' Her lip trembled but she pressed on. ‘A clergyman arranged work for me in Ironbark until I can rejoin my beloved.'

Although Saranna did not mention her fiancé's name her voice was filled with love when she spoke of him. Keziah felt guilty that she
couldn't share details of her own life because she needed to lay a false trail to escape Caleb Morgan.

‘Your fiancé is a lucky man to have won your heart,' she said sincerely.

‘I would marry him tomorrow if it were possible.'

Keziah sensed the true reason for the delay. Like Gem, Saranna's man had been transported in chains.

When Saranna fell asleep Keziah thought about the suspicious publican's wife. Although until now Keziah had kept her Romani vest with its border of coins out of sight in her bag, the woman had sensed Keziah's ‘Gypsy' background. So might others. She decided it was high time to weave a fanciful Romani story. She had once read the palm of an actress performing in Manchester and began to weave details of that woman's colourful life into a background for ‘Mrs Smith'.

• • •

At breakfast Jake Andersen smoked his pipe under the canopy of a gum tree. O'Flaherty was in a conversational mood, lacing his tea with the whisky he no longer bothered to disguise as medicine.

‘I'm destined for Melbourne Town, Miss Plews for Ironbark. What are your plans in the colony, Mrs Smith?'

Keziah took a deep breath and launched into her story. ‘I have come here to perform in a play.'

Saranna was agog. ‘Really! Do tell us, Mrs Smith. I just love the theatre.'

‘My dear late husband and I grew up in the theatre. We became actors in King William's own company, the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. We starred in a new play which was the talk of London and Mr Barnett Levey contracted us to perform it here in Sydney Town at his new theatre. When my husband died suddenly I was grief-stricken. But I decided I must not let Mr Levey down. The show must go on, you see. So I have come to this new land to build a new life.'

‘How courageous of you. What is the play?' Saranna asked in awe.

Saranna and Dr O'Flaherty had clearly accepted the ruse at face value but Keziah saw from Jake's expression that he had not.
No one's fool, that one.

‘“The Gypsy's Secret”,' Keziah unfolded the coin-edged vest from her reticule. ‘I play the role of a Romani Gypsy. I am making my theatrical costume shabby for the sake of authenticity.'

O'Flaherty raised his flask in a respectful toast. ‘I have no doubt you will give a splendid performance.'

In response to his compliment Keziah graciously inclined her head to conceal a smile.
If only they knew what a performance I am giving them right now.

She felt a twinge of guilt when Saranna leaned across with tears in her eyes.

‘You are a very brave lady. If we should never meet again, may I wish you every happiness in rebuilding your life in the colony, Mrs Smith.'

Keziah felt relieved when they continued their journey. She hated lying. Yet she had just packed more lies into one speech than she had told over the entire span of her first seventeen years.
Protecting this unwanted babe has turned me into the ‘Gypsy liar' I've avoided all my life.

The coach suddenly jerked to a halt. Again, Jake Andersen beckoned his passengers to the edge of a cliff and gestured with pride to the dramatic mountain pass ahead of them – Blackman's Leap.

Despite the impressive beauty of the scene Keziah gave an involuntary shudder.

Jake's eyes narrowed in concern. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing,' Keziah lied. ‘A goose just walked over my grave.'

Jake Andersen cursed himself. He was a day behind schedule. A rough calculation by the position of the sun told him only four daylight hours remained to reach the village beyond Blackman's Leap. He didn't know exactly how long he needed because this was Rolly Brothers's new coach route and he'd only travelled it once before on horseback. But one thing he did know. Only a fool would attempt to cross the pass after nightfall.

He stopped the coach in front of an inn so new the timber was unweathered. It stood on the edge of untamed bushland in odd contrast to its emerald green lawn. A strong wind rattled the swinging sign on which two painted floral emblems illustrated it was the Shamrock and Thistle Inn.

This staging inn was Jake's last chance for a fresh team of horses before the pass. Mac Mackie had warned him the publican Fingal Mulley's reputation was a bit dodgy so Jake carefully checked the available horses then confronted the publican with his arms folded across his chest as he looked down at his rotund host.

‘You're new to this country, Fingal, so I'll give it to you straight. Rolly Brothers insists on the best quality horses. This is their new coach route over the pass but they're expanding their business at the rate of knots. If you want to keep their custom, you won't save your best team for a rival company. You'll hand them over to
me
.'

Fingal Mulley was so eager to please he bobbed like a cork.

‘I assure you my teams are the finest in the county, Mr Andersen.'

‘Yeah? I reckon three have been in harness since Captain Cook was a boy.'

‘Never! Utterly dependable they are. I'll be swearing that on a stack of bibles.'

‘A bible's not much use to me if the team don't pull together,' said Jake. ‘What about the leader? How experienced is he?'

‘I swear on my mother's grave, Mr Andersen. I'll be giving you a full refund if the team is not entirely to your satisfaction.'

Jake gave a reluctant nod. In his experience blokes who swore on bibles and graves tended to be liars.

His three passengers were clustered outside the inn, ready to board. As he strode past them towards the stables he was wryly amused to see the changes the journey had made since Sydney Town, how his bush tucker and the landscape had both left their mark on them. The last time he'd stopped to boil the billy the genteel Miss Plews had eagerly eaten his damper straight from the fire, even if it was with miniscule bites. O'Flaherty had wolfed down his share with the help of his whisky flask. And the Widow Smith's ravenous appetite was something to behold.
Jesus wept, that girl can eat. Where does she put it all?

Jake saw the Widow Smith was chomping on another piece of fruit.
At least food'll keep her quiet for a bit. When I told her questions were the best way to learn – big mistake. She took me at my word. I wish I'd never left the bloody door open.

When the widow looked up Jake hastily averted his eyes. He had already fallen headlong down one well.
Jenny.
One good woman in a man's life was one too many. The irony of the situation struck him. He'd aided the Widow Smith to escape detection from a bloke in England while Jenny was hell-bent on escaping from
him
.

‘Won't be two ticks,' he called out as he headed for the stables.

For the second time he gave each horse's harness a complete overhaul. Something was not quite right. When the chestnut leader snorted and pawed the ground, Jake spun around to investigate the cause. Had he been spooked by a snake?

The Widow Smith stood at his elbow. Despite the frivolous mood of
her silly feathered hat, her eyes were serious, her tone confidential.

‘There's something wrong with this chestnut stallion, Mr Andersen.'

Jake didn't take kindly to having his knowledge of horses challenged.
So an English girl thinks she knows more about horses than a Currency Lad born in the saddle, does she? We'll see about that.

‘I reckon he's properly harnessed. His shoes fit perfect. Nothing wrong with him I can see and I'm damned sure I would.'

‘I don't expect you to believe me but as a child my father taught me how to read a horse's thoughts.' Her tone was polite but it was clear she wasn't going to budge an inch.

Jake was aware the other passengers were now eavesdropping so he decided to humour her.

‘So you think he's ill, do you?'

‘Not ill. Afraid. I can smell his fear!'

Jake was annoyed to see O'Flaherty's frown and Saranna Plews's open-mouthed response.

Oh gawd, now there'll be panic in the ranks.

‘Righto. Just to make
you
happy, Mrs Smith.' He re-checked the chestnut stallion thoroughly but it was the widow who succeeded in calming the horse. Despite Jake's irritation there was something about her that demanded his respect.