The Girl From Eureka Read online

  The Girl from Eureka

  Cheryl Adnams

  romance.com.au/escapepublishing/

  The Girl from Eureka

  Cheryl Adnams

  On the sun-drenched goldfields of Eureka, a wild colonial girl and an honour-bound soldier will break all the rules to claim a love worth more than gold...

  Ballarat, Australia 1854

  Gold miner Indy Wallace wants nothing more than to dig up enough gold to give her mother an easier life. Wild and reckless, and in trouble more often than not, Indy finds herself falling for handsome, chivalrous British Army Lieutenant Will Marsh. But in the eyes of immigrant miners, soldiers are the enemy.

  Will has been posted to Ballarat with a large contingent of Her Majesty’s Army to protect the Crown gold and keep the peace. But once he meets rebellious Indy, he doubt’s he’ll ever be at peace again. As Will and Indy’s attraction grows, their loyalties are tested when the unrest between miners and the military reaches breaking point.

  On opposite sides of the escalating conflict, can their love survive their battle of ideals? And will any of them survive the battle of the Eureka Stockade?

  About the author

  Cheryl Adnams lives in Adelaide, South Australia. She has published four Australian rural romance novels and this is her first Australian historical novel. Cheryl has a Diploma in Freelance Travel Writing and Photography, and has lived and worked in the United States, Canada and spent two years with a tour company in Switzerland and Austria. Her passion for Italy, volcanology and cycling have made their way into her stories and her favourite writing retreats include Positano on the Amalfi Coast and Port Willunga Beach just south of Adelaide. When she’s not writing, Cheryl is still creating in her busy full-time job as a trainer and learning designer.

  If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit my webpage cheryladnams.com, follow me on twitter @cadnams, or like my Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/cheryadnamsauthor.

  Acknowledgements

  I enjoyed researching this important moment in time and want to especially thank Clare Wright for her incredible Stella-Award-winning book The Forgotten Rebels of Eureka. Her insights and untold stories of the women who were at the Eureka Stockade, and in Ballarat during that time, were vital to the creation of Indy and the other female characters.

  Thanks also to the amazing work of Sovereign Hill, the Gold Museum and the MADE Museum in Ballarat for keeping the history alive. I urge you to visit Ballarat and see this incredible historical site and gorgeous city for yourself. Researching this book was truly a wonderful experience and I am happy to say that I know just a little more about Australia’s foundations as a democracy and our interesting and all too often overlooked history.

  Huge thanks to Kate Cuthbert at Escape for taking on Indy’s story, and to all the crew at Escape for their efforts in bringing it to readers. Thank you to my editor Chrysoula Aiello for being so easy and wonderful to work with. Thanks to Belinda Stevens for your design expertise and the beautiful cover.

  And last but not least, thanks to all my faithful readers who have stuck by me through the highs and lows. Writing can be a challenging business and it’s only when you face the struggles that you understand exactly what having a passion for it means.

  To all the feisty Indys I’ve known who stood up for what they believe in

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note: The Facts

  Chapter 1

  August 1854

  The strange murmur grew louder.

  As their journey stretched on, the travelling party had settled into an exhausted silence. They were no longer able to find the energy or desire to converse. The coach that carried the lady creaked and groaned as the wooden wheels crackled on the dirt road. The horses struggled to pull the coach up the hill, they too were tired. This was the final hill, the old coachman had assured them. It was nearing sundown and a huge flock of large, white parrots with the sulphur-coloured crests flew overhead, screeching their departure.

  While the travellers ascended the hill the murmur became a rumble, deep, with no discernible qualities in the otherwise peaceful countryside. The two escorting soldiers crossed glances as the din increased in volume. In silent agreement, they rode ahead of the carriage to the top of the hill to inspect the way forward, wary of danger as always.

  Reaching the crest, Lieutenant Will Marsh shaded his eyes against the bright sun perched low on the horizon. Only when the golden orb became obscured by a cloud was he able to take in the full effect of the vista below. And he knew he would never in his life forget his first look at the mining town of Ballarat.

  The unmelodious symphony of so many humans in such a dense space was near deafening now, as he cast widened eyes across the expanse of the messily erected township below. From his elevated vantage point it seemed to him as though an army of ants had moved in and turned the place upside down and inside out. Barely a patch of green was visible, despite the supposedly abundant winter rains. Mineshafts and their resulting conical-shaped piles of dirt were strewn haphazardly, interrupted only by the canvas tents erected in, around, between and sometimes over the top of the shafts. It reminded him of military camps he’d been stationed at, although somewhat less ordered. Flags representing different countries flapped and snapped on top of tent posts in the cold wind, clearly stating the nationality of those living in proximity. Even in this mottled together township, folks seemed destined to congregate like with like.

  It was easy to distinguish where the Irish camp ended and the Canadian camp began. The American Stars and Stripes flew above yet another grouping of tents. But it was the Union Jack that was most prominent amongst them, and there were many flags he did not recognise at all. What lay before him in this busy makeshift metropolis was a map of the world.

  Humans of every kind—adults and children, men and women—could be seen moving about the place on foot or on horseback. Will watched with bewildered amusement as bodies appeared and disappeared in and out of the ground, reminding him of rabbits back in the wilds of England. Men shifted dirt from here to there and back again and the dust that rose into the air from all this industry left a gritty haze, hovering like a gauzy blanket over its busy inhabitants.

  Industry. Yes, that was the word the view conjured for Will. Gold mining was an industry of epic proportions.

  ‘Welcome to the Ballarat Goldfields, Governor Hotham,’ Will said, as the important man rode up beside him on his impressive-looking stallion.

  When the Fortieth Regiment of Her Majesty’s army had been relieved in India, Will had expected to be sent back to England. Instead, he’d found himself on a ship bound for one of the latest acquisitions of the British Empire.

  Victoria. So named for their Queen, it was a settlement in its infancy, having split from New South Wales and formed its own government only three years prio
r. And for the small contingent of a rather war-weary regiment, the town of Melbourne had been the port where their ship from Calcutta had landed. Alongside them, boatloads of immigrants arrived on the shores of Victoria seeking not only gold, but a life free from the famines of Ireland, the economic ruin of England and the European continent and the wars of Africa.

  Will and his comrade, Lieutenant Cedric Timmons, had been sent on to Ballarat ahead of their comrades, as the newly appointed Victorian Governor Sir Charles Hotham had required a guard detail for him and his wife to visit the goldfields.

  Staring out at those goldfields now, Will shared a bemused smile with the new Governor. The coach that had paused upon reaching the summit began to move again, breaking Will out of his trance.

  Leading the way, he and Timmons rode slowly down the hill and into the bustling township. Gunfire rang out as the coach trundled through the centre of town. Twisting quickly in his saddle, Will’s hand went to his revolver by instinct, his eyes sharp on the man he protected.

  ‘Gold!’

  He stared astounded as a man, covered head to toe in dried mud, danced an ungainly jig before firing his weapon into the air once again, whooping and cheering as he went.

  ‘Another lucky strike,’ Timmons said lightly, his relaxed manner surprising Will.

  ‘And what? They’re shooting it out for it?’ he asked, baffled by the reckless behaviour.

  Timmons chuckled. ‘No, I believe when someone gets a strike, they fire off their weapons. Actually, as I understand it, they fire off their weapons for any damn thing.’

  Will removed his hand from his gun, but did not relax completely. ‘Interesting place this Victoria.’

  The party passed through one large campsite and then another. While the men still toiled in the mines, women bustled about by campfires preparing the evening meal. People stopped and took note of the carriage and its entourage as they travelled by, but didn’t seem to know the importance of its passengers. Will kept his eyes peeled, but the residents of Ballarat were more interested in getting about their business than the arrival of more people.

  A veritable trooping of the colours topped the timber buildings that lined the main road into the town proper. More British standards flew, and even the red flag of the Chinese sat atop what appeared to be a food stall. An assortment of languages could be gleaned above the relentless noise of gunfire, barking dogs and mining apparatus. Will recognised the tongue of his homeland and a few Eastern European dialects were also evident. The sing-song of Celtic Ireland blended together with the clipped sounds of the Africans, making for a dazzling assault on the senses.

  ‘They say the world has moved to Victoria,’ Timmons said.

  Will turned his head to follow the path of an oddly dressed Asian man as he scurried across the road, carrying on his shoulders a long piece of wood with two huge bags of rice tied to each end. In his haste the man almost collided with a very large, bullish black man.

  ‘Watch it, Chinaman,’ the black man grumbled loudly in a strong American accent.

  ‘Whoever “they” are, I’d say they’re right,’ Will responded.

  ‘Do you suppose we’ll find any chunks of the gold stuff?’ Timmons asked with an almost boyish hope.

  ‘We’re here to protect Her Majesty’s Governor until he and his wife return to Melbourne, Timmons. Then we are charged with protecting the gold, not finding it.’

  ‘I heard that in the first years of the rush you couldn’t walk ten feet without tripping over a nugget,’ Timmons said, his eyes filled with excitement. ‘The gold was easy pickings for any man with a bit of determination and a good, strong back to dig out a nugget and change his fortune. If it happened to be just lying about on the ground, would you not take some? Take it and get out of the army? Get far away from any British garrison and start a new life. I hear of places in this colony that are unlike anything in England.’

  ‘There were places in India unlike England too. Did you want to stay there and make a home?’

  ‘Good Lord, no.’ Timmons’s pinched expression told of his disgust. ‘Those Godforsaken places were war ravaged, overrun with disease, and peopled by savages. But this place, Victoria, I hear it is so big there are lands no man has even seen yet.’

  ‘No white man perhaps,’ Will said eyeing one of the dark-skinned natives who stood on a distant hill, watching. Will was distracted by a group of children chasing chickens across the road, and when he looked back to the hill, the native man had disappeared. Was the native keen for his own bit of the gold? Or perhaps he was wondering what had happened to his beloved homeland. Will had seen plenty of what invaders had done to foreign lands and their people for Queen and country. It was rarely a happy merging of nations.

  Scrubbing his hand across his filthy face, Will shook off the unwarranted feelings of discontent. He enjoyed his life in the army. He was just tired from their long boat trip from India, and now this three-day journey to the goldfields had him worn out and saddle-sore. All he needed was a good feed, a snort of whiskey and a bed and he’d be his normal cheerful self again.

  ‘Did you see the stretches of golden beaches as we sailed up the coastline into Melbourne?’ Timmons went on, his voice filled with reverent awe.

  ‘I did,’ Will answered, barely listening anymore as he took in the massive spread of the diggers’ camps. There seemed to be an organised chaos to it all.

  ‘And the weather, Will.’ Timmons leaned his face up to the sun, which had popped out from behind the clouds again for one last peek before it set. ‘Evidently, this is what passes for an Australian winter. It’s so mild. Until that blasted rain that met us earlier this afternoon, the sun has shone every day.’

  ‘And that is why this place suffers with water shortage,’ Will tossed back with a grin for his friend and comrade. ‘You romanticise a place you know nothing about, Timmons. Give it a few weeks. I hear the summers are brutally hot, the snakes and spiders are copious and deadly, and the flies and mosquitos are large enough to carry a man away, boots and all.’

  Timmons laughed heartily. ‘A romantic I may be, Will, but you are a cynic of the fantastic kind.’

  Will couldn’t argue with that. He felt like a belligerent old man sometimes. He never thought he would feel so old at twenty-eight years of age. Then again, there were times he never thought he would live long enough to see his late twenties.

  ‘You need to relax and enjoy our new posting, Will. This is no war-torn place. There will be no trouble here.’

  A gathering of diggers had stopped working as the coach passed and were paying more attention to Hotham’s arrival. Some of the men removed their hats and smiled as Lady Hotham waved at them. Other faces amongst them were filled with suspicion and it was those men that Will kept his eye on.

  ‘There’s always trouble. You just have to know where to look for it,’ he murmured.

  The travelling party arrived at the government camp without much fanfare and were directed to the Gold Commission Office. Will stood by while Governor and Mrs Hotham were introduced to the Gold Commissioner Robert Rede, his Assistant Commissioner James Johnston and Police Inspector Gordon Evans.

  The minute the new Governor and his wife were led away to their quarters, the polite mood in the tent vanished. Ignoring Will and Timmons, the senior officers began to argue. It was easy to see that Police Inspector Evans was none too pleased at being forced to give up his comfortable quarters to the new Governor.

  ‘If Hotham had to spend some time in the tents, perhaps he would follow up on the more permanent housing Governor La Trobe promised.’

  ‘Evans, I am not going to trouble the Governor with our petty concerns on his first visit to the goldfields,’ Rede dismissed. ‘Nor will I put him in unsuitable quarters.’

  ‘Then give him yours,’ Evans murmured.

  ‘If that will be all, sir,’ Will interrupted, keen to get out of there. These two gentlemen were clearly not friends. ‘Timmons and I would like to get settled in our tent.’<
br />
  Commissioner Rede dismissed them with a distracted wave of his hand and they set off to unpack their horses and find their accommodations. Compared with others Will had been stationed in, the government camp was a relatively small garrison that sat on a slight rise surrounded by a fence with picketed posts. Behind the Gold Commission Office they had just left, where licences were sold to miners, Will noted several wooden buildings he assumed to be the homes of the Gold Commissioner and his assistant, and the recently put out Police Inspector.

  Across the grassy compound stood the mess tent. His stomach made an embarrassingly loud rumble as he thought again about food.

  ‘Your stomach reads my mind, Will,’ Timmons said as they carried their saddlebags across the compound. ‘Let’s relieve ourselves of this gear and see what’s on offer at the mess.’

  They passed by several other wooden structures including the courthouse that boasted a wide veranda and a makeshift jail beside it made of thick logs of wood. Its current inhabitants numbered four, and Will wondered what the men had done to find themselves unwilling guests of Her Majesty. They appeared extremely worse for wear so he imagined drunk and disorderly to be the charge.

  Reaching the northern border, on the edge of a small incline, the two men found rows of white calico tents, where soldiers, both commissioned and non-commissioned, were clearly housed. Even from a distance Will could see the shabbiness of the calico. The mould and mud of a long wet winter had taken its toll on the temporary housing. It didn’t concern Will overmuch. He’d lived in worse conditions. Several campfires burned in a small break of land beside the soldiers’ camp, and on the other side of the fires were more tents in even worse disrepair than the military accommodations. Policemen in dark blue uniforms, ill-fitting and equally as shabby as their tents, eyed Will and Timmons with contempt as they crossed to the soldiers’ section.

  A young corporal directed them to a tent at the rear of the garrison. It was barely large enough to hold two men. But Will observed the surrounding tents holding three or more soldiers, many of them sleeping on the ground. He wondered what poor souls had been evicted from their home to make way for two new officers.