The Girl From Eureka Read online

  She slapped furiously at his back, struggling to be released. ‘Put me down!’

  Dammit, there was no exit. They were trapped. Looking rapidly about the kitchen he hit upon an idea. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Wallace, but you need to go.’

  And with that, he tossed her into the wooden garbage chute and watched her slide down and out into the yard.

  Collecting her dislodged hat from the floor, he didn’t stand around to hear the rest of the quite inventive string of profanity that followed her departure. But he heard enough to decide that the lady had spent too much time with rough gold miners. Timmons joined him a moment later and the two of them managed to find their way out a side door of the hotel before anyone else could catch up with them.

  To Timmons’s surprise, Will began to run around to the back of the hotel.

  ‘Will! The horses are at the front. We don’t have time for you to pick up a girl!’

  Regardless of Timmons’s warnings, Will skirted the corner and stopped short as he saw a furious Miss Wallace standing at the bottom of the garbage chute in what seemed to also be the pigpen. She was covered in vegetable scrapings and was wiping the mud from her face when she spotted him.

  ‘You!’

  The fury in that one word had him hesitating to assist her. Instead, he stood back and watched her scramble first over the pigs, squealing now in their disapproval at being disturbed, before she climbed easily over the low wooden fence.

  ‘Now, Miss Wallace,’ he warned as she stormed towards him, dirty blonde curls flying about her furious face.

  Her fists were clenched, her sapphire eyes blazing. ‘How dare you?’

  He took a wary step back as she neared. ‘Stop. Do not do something that will no doubt hurt you more than it will me.’

  She halted in front of him and took a deep breath, exhaling long and slow.

  ‘That was uncalled for,’ she said in a calm voice, belying her obvious rage.

  ‘I’m afraid I have to disagree. That establishment, with or without the brawl, was no place for a lady.’

  She opened her mouth to speak but he put up a hand to cut her off. ‘Despite what your admirers in the local constabulary say, you are still a lady.’

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ she insisted, a mischievous glint coming into her eye. ‘Do you want me to show you?’

  ‘I have no desire to see how many ways you can hurt a man, Miss Wallace,’ he told her and then frowned as he took in her appearance. ‘I’m sorry, I cannot have a serious conversation with you with that cabbage leaf hanging from your hair.’

  Furiously, she pulled at her hair, trying to find the leaf and failing dismally.

  He shook his head impatiently. ‘Please. Allow me.’

  She lowered her hands and stood still. He went to take a step forward before he remembered his last run in with her. His shin had sported a bruise for a week.

  ‘Do not kick me,’ he warned. ‘I was only trying to help you.’

  With great care he removed the cabbage leaf from her hair and then smoothed the flyaway strands down. His fingers brushed together over a golden lock. It was so soft. A softness so at odds with her current temperament, that he found himself noticing again how pretty she was, even covered in mud and vegetable scraps.

  Her high cheekbones were not pale and translucent—unlike that which so many English ladies took pains to retain—but showed a healthy tan thanks to the Australian sun. Deep blue eyes were rimmed with long dark lashes and were presently too bright, he realised. The anger was still there, but he found it added something. There was a fire in those eyes, a spark that sizzled as she stared unabashedly at him. And her lips—an Irish rose was never so pink. Remembering himself, he dropped his hand and cleared his throat.

  Shouts permeated from inside the bar again, and a moment later Timmons rounded the hotel mounted on his horse with Will’s stallion trailing behind him.

  ‘Come on, Will. Let’s go!’

  He ascertained Miss Wallace was quite healthy, if her fury was anything to go by. She didn’t require a chaperone.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Wallace,’ he said, bowing lightly before taking a running jump and mounting his horse in one quick movement. Giving it a sturdy kick, he and Timmons fled along the road back to the government camp, passing the police troopers who’d no doubt been summoned to break up the fracas at the Eureka Hotel.

  ‘How was the girl?’ Timmons asked as they raced along the dirt road.

  ‘Angry,’ Will said, but grinned broadly as he recalled how she’d looked covered in food scraps.

  ‘Well, I guess that’s the last time we’ll be able to drink there.’

  ‘There’s always the Clarendon,’ Will tossed back and they laughed all the way back to camp.

  Chapter 4

  The yawn was almost audible before Indy stifled it with her hand as the minister droned on.

  She didn’t attend Mass often. Only on the odd occasion when she felt the need to placate Annie. The woman could guilt an alcoholic into sobriety. Here, in the seventh circle of hell that was the Victorian goldfields, she wasn’t completely convinced that God existed. With so much death, particularly children, she could scarcely believe a loving God could stand by and watch his flock suffer.

  As Father Smythe completed his hellfire and brimstone sermon, Indy surmised there were more than a few passing similarities between the Victorian goldfields and Sodom and Gomorrah. It was no wonder God was less than eager to bestow his blessings here.

  But even the fear of being struck down in God’s house couldn’t stop the giggle that popped out each time the priest used the word ‘strumpet’ when he spoke of the loose women of Ballarat. Annie’s pointy elbow temporarily curbed Indy’s uncontrollable mirth, but soon Sean was chuckling right along with her. Finally, Annie sent them a glare that had Indy and Sean fighting hard to keep a firm hold on their childish snickering.

  When Mass was over and the communion taken by the faithful, Annie, Indy and Sean left St Alipius Church and followed the parade of parishioners up to the main street.

  And because it was Sunday, ladies were at liberty to stroll down the high street, thrilled to show off their best churchgoing dresses. The Sunday stroll had become a market for unmarried men to shop for pretty wives, and for unmarried women to dress up and flirt with, or ignore, those men as they chose.

  But on this particular Sunday, the spectacle wasn’t in the array of styles and fabrics on show or the fancy bonnets purchased thanks to husbands who had struck gold during the week. It wasn’t in the diggers eyeing pretty girls and hoping they would drop a metaphorical handkerchief in order for the gentleman to pick up and begin a courtship.

  They heard them before they saw them.

  Ratta tat tat. Ratta tat tat. A drummer rapped out the cadence.

  Marching down the hard-packed clay road and into town were soldiers. Many, many soldiers. Their red coats, adorned with shining brass buttons, paired with black trousers that had red side-stripes, flashed in bright contrast to the dull brown tones of the wooden buildings and nearby mines. They paraded by in their black boots, still surprisingly shiny despite the long march from Melbourne. Ballarat had seen soldiers come and go for many years. It was nothing new.

  ‘Oh, they look so clean, these soldiers.’ Indy overheard Elena Gibson say. ‘Look at those boots. I’ll wager I could see my face in them.’

  ‘Perhaps they shined them up on the outskirts of town,’ Indy said, rolling her eyes at the women who stepped forward to get a better view. They waved their handkerchiefs and batted eyelashes as the soldiers marched solemnly passed. Most didn’t blink an eye or take any notice of the crowd, but occasionally a soldier would give a sidelong glance at the ladies who would then giggle and make a fuss and sigh.

  Indy could see the distaste and disgust of the diggers who had come to town in hopes of meeting a woman. But the women were now too distracted by the spectacle of the soldiers to care about securing a dirty, poor miner husband.

  ‘Th
ey appear much more refined than those soldiers who were here over the winter,’ Elena’s mother, Gloria, added. ‘These gentlemen are still fit and proud. They are, as yet, untouched by liquor and the squalor of the government camp. They hardly live in luxury over there, you know.’

  ‘They must be the replacements for those poor exhausted soldiers,’ Elena said.

  Indy just shook her head at Elena’s cooing and sighing. ‘Those poor exhausted soldiers arrested your son and brother Freddy just last week. Or had you forgotten?’

  ‘It was a misunderstanding,’ Gloria hissed back, her quiet voice unable to hide her anger at Indy’s dig.

  ‘So Freddy wasn’t caught drunk and disorderly beside the Melbourne Road rolling around in the bushes with a strumpet?’ Feigning shock, she covered her mouth with her hand and whispered loudly. ‘What would Father Smythe say?’

  ‘Indy,’ Annie said, in hushed reprimand.

  Gloria and Elena gave Indy narrowed glares, before turning and moving away in the opposite direction to continue their ogling of the incoming regiment.

  ‘Why must you be so prickly?’ Annie asked, disappointment in her voice. ‘Everything that comes into your mind flies straight out of your mouth.’

  ‘It’s a gift.’ She honestly didn’t care what the likes of Elena and Gloria Gibson thought of her. ‘Besides, at least now you know I was listening in church.’

  Turning back to the street, Indy had to admit the soldiers did cut a fine picture marching through town towards the government camp.

  Unbidden, Lieutenant Marsh’s face came to her and, in comparison, she thought none of these new soldiers as handsome as he. She shook her head at her own thoughts. She hardly knew the man. Had met him only twice. And both times he had been pushing her about. Arrogant. That was the word for Lieutenant Will Marsh. Arrogant. Not handsome.

  Indy heard her name being called and looking around for the face that matched the voice, she spotted Mr Albert Lawrence cutting a hasty path in her direction.

  ‘Miss Wallace,’ he called again, waving as though she couldn’t see him, barely ten feet away.

  She liked Mr Lawrence—mostly. A gentleman a good decade and half again older than she, he was educated and personable, but she always felt he was a little too impressed with himself and his station in life. He’d been a barrister in London and, despite sinking a mine with his brother in the early gold rush days, Mr Lawrence had gone back to his occupation. He had discovered that, even here on the goldfields, there was far more money to be made from the law. His clientele were gentlemen mostly, in property and business disputes. He never seemed to be available to represent the lowly diggers when they got themselves into trouble. It was a character trait that grated on Indy. But she liked Mr Lawrence—mostly.

  ‘Miss Wallace,’ he said, bowing his head and touching his hat to both ladies. ‘Mrs Sheridan.’

  ‘Mr Lawrence,’ Annie responded and elbowed Indy. She would have black and blue skin after all the elbowing Annie had been giving her today.

  ‘Hello, Mr Lawrence. How do you do?’ she asked as he shook hands with Sean.

  ‘I had hoped to find you here today.’

  ‘Then you are of good fortune, sir,’ Indy said and began walking again. He fell into step beside them as they passed the Criterion store. Annie stopped to covet the lovely lace tablecloths.

  ‘We have no table, Mother,’ Sean reminded her, but Indy could see Sean eyeing off the tablecloth and jingling the shillings in his pocket. Annie had a birthday coming soon.

  ‘I heard along the grapevine that a Subscription Ball is to be held at the Adelphi Theatre in a few weeks,’ Lawrence went on. ‘It will be the event of the season.’

  ‘Will it?’ Indy tried to muster the appropriate amount of excitement. Nope, she couldn’t do it.

  ‘I was hoping that you may permit me to accompany you to the ball.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you, Mr Lawrence,’ she responded politely. ‘But I’m afraid I am not much for dancing.’

  ‘Then we shall simply talk the night away.’

  He was not to be dissuaded it seemed. Indy was determined to try, but before she was able to open her mouth again, Annie intervened.

  ‘I’m sure Indy would enjoy a night out.’

  She graced Annie with her own version of Annie’s scary eyebrow.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Lawrence exclaimed, taking Annie’s acceptance as gospel. ‘I look forward to it.’

  ‘Me too.’ Indy didn’t even try to feign enthusiasm this time. She was too busy staring daggers at Annie. They watched him walk away, and when he disappeared into the tinsmith’s store, Indy launched.

  ‘Annie, what did I ever do to you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Annie asked surprised. ‘He’s a lovely, well-established gentleman. You could do worse.’

  ‘Annie!’

  ‘You’re twenty-three years old. You’re not getting any younger.’

  ‘I don’t believe I’m for the knackery quite yet,’ she tossed back, insulted. ‘And what about you?’

  ‘What about me?’ Annie raised her chin. ‘I’m widowed. I had my husband and he died. The only good thing the man ever gave me was Sean.’

  ‘You’re still a young, attractive woman. And you’re a nice woman, despite your propensity to stick your nose into other people’s business. There are plenty of men who would be lucky and willing to have you.’

  Annie just smiled and shrugged.

  Indy grinned deviously as she spotted someone she knew heading their way. ‘And here comes one such gentleman now. Good afternoon, Mr O’Shanahan!’

  ‘Hello yourself, young Miss Indigo Wallace,’ he said crossing the busy road to join them.

  ‘What a coincidence,’ she said stepping forward to take his arm. ‘We were just discussing the Subscription Ball in a few weeks. I, myself, am going with Mr Lawrence but Annie here loves to dance and requires a partner. Would you care to stand up with her, sir?’

  ‘I’d be most honoured,’ he said, sending Annie a shy smile.

  ‘Then it’s settled,’ Indy said shaking the older man’s hand.

  ‘I’ll call for you on the night of the ball, Mrs Sheridan,’ he said, and touching the brim of his hat lightly, he quickly scurried away towards the baker’s shop.

  Indy turned with a self-satisfied grin. Annie’s expression was so murderous, Indy was almost sure she could see steam coming from her ears.

  ‘Looks like we’re both going to the ball, Cinderella,’ Indy said, and taking her skirts she swished in a semi-circle and walked into Spencer’s Confectionary store.

  *

  As the latest arrival of the Fortieth regiment marched into the government camp, Will was delighted to discover that one of his closest friends, and a fellow officer, George Preston was amongst them.

  ‘Welcome to Victoria!’ he called and embraced his oldest and dearest friend.

  ‘I thought you were bringing the entire Fortieth with you.’ Will surveyed the large gathering of soldiers. A few he recognised, most he did not.

  ‘No, just a small contingent for now,’ George said. ‘I’ve brought Captain Wise but Captain Thomas will arrive with the rest of the regiment at a later date I believe.’

  Will showed George around the camp quickly before leading his friend towards the accommodations.

  ‘We marched in through town,’ George said. ‘What an interesting place. There were a few ladies waving us on who were pleasing to the eye.’

  Will cringed. ‘They were more than likely waving you out of the place. We are hardly welcome here, George.’

  ‘Whyever not?’ George asked, truly surprised. ‘Her Majesty’s regimentals are welcome, by the fairer sex at least, wherever we go.’

  ‘I fear this place is going to be different from our other postings.’

  ‘Quieter I’d expect.’

  ‘No physical battles, I grant you. More of the clash of ideals type, I would say.’

  Will made room for George in the tent he s
hared with Timmons, but most of the new arrivals would be relegated to sleeping under the stars as accommodations were already overcrowded. When his friend had squared away his belongings, the two men stood in the sunshine and caught up on their time apart.

  ‘Well then,’ George said. ‘Are you going to show me around this place they call Ballarat? I’ve heard of nothing else but the Victorian goldfields for the last year.’

  ‘It’s a long ride from Melbourne. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take some rest?’

  ‘I’m a little saddle-sore, but a quick trip across town won’t kill me, old boy.’

  Riding with George down the main street of town, Will was surprised at how rapidly the place had grown in the six weeks since his arrival. There were more tents in the campsites, more mineshafts and piles of dirt besides. More permanent timber structures were continually being built on what was becoming the budding township of Ballarat’s high street.

  Since the publican’s licences had been offered, beyond a dozen hotels now graced the streets around the different goldfields of Ballarat and they were all doing a roaring trade. The number of stores that sold necessities, digging tools, food, and of course the ever present—but always hidden—stashes of grog, had doubled overnight.

  ‘I was sure I was going to be exiled to the East Indies for the rest of my life,’ George complained. ‘Finally, we got orders to ship out, and then half the regiment came down with cholera and we were all quarantined for a term before we could sail. My word, there’s a pretty looking lass.’

  Will twisted in his saddle to follow George’s glance. A woman with long blonde hair and a straw bonnet whispered and giggled with two friends as they passed by. He couldn’t see her face but the long, golden curls had him wondering if it were Miss Wallace. When she turned and lifted her face to them and Will saw that it was someone else, he was baffled by his disappointment.

  George tipped his hat at the ladies.

  ‘Perhaps you can ask her to the Subscription Ball,’ Will teased.

  ‘Who is the ball open to?’