Golden Hope Page 13

  Rom leapt down from the horse and stood hat in hand. His manner was reassuring but Clytie knew her mother could never hope to follow his casual bush directions.

  ‘I’m taking her to one of the loveliest spots on the Lerderderg. You’re most welcome to join us if you feel inclined.’

  ‘Thank you, but you’ll be relieved to know I have two readings booked today. Besides,’ she added with a wry smile, ‘three’s a crowd. Just bring her home safely, mind?’

  Rom raised a hand as if swearing an oath.

  • • •

  On the track to his cabin they saw a figure approaching. Once tall and strong, the ageing Chinaman was now thin, bent like a sapling under the weight of the twin baskets hanging from his shoulder brace.

  ‘Hey, Long Sam. Have you got a moment? I’ve got some work for you, if you’re interested.’

  Sam’s crestfallen face assumed a hopeful smile as Rom halted Goldie and leant down to shake his hand and introduce Clytie.

  ‘This lady and her mother are new in town. They could do with your help in setting up a vegetable garden. What to grow and when. They’re both circus performers – so they’ve never had a chance to own land before.’

  ‘I know, I know. I see Little Clytie and Missus Dolores at circus. Very clever, very clever.’

  ‘So it’s agreed. I’ll pay you for your work, not Mrs Hart, right? I’m a friend of the family.’

  Sam’s face was wreathed in smiles and he eagerly agreed with Clytie’s suggested date for him to commence work.

  As Goldie continued on their way, Clytie kissed Rom’s neck through the shirt that was mottled damp with sweat.

  ‘That was a lovely thing you did. Both for us and for Sam. But we can afford to pay him.’

  ‘I won’t hear of it. Brass always turns up when I need it. Stick with me, girl, and you’ll never want for anything.’

  That’s the nearest thing he’s said about us and our future.

  There was no mistaking Shadow’s loyalty. He bounded ahead of them as if he could picture precisely where Rom was headed.

  • • •

  Whipstick Pool was only known to the initiated. Otherwise you needed luck and an explorer’s compass to find it. They traversed veins of creeks through dense bushland that looked as if it had not been penetrated since it was the sole domain of whichever Aboriginal tribes knew it to be their territory for untold centuries. No traces of them remained except occasional walking tracks that Rom pointed out were made eons before the invasion of gold diggers. They continued on foot.

  ‘I want to show you something. Lead Goldie and stick close by me. Watch out for snakes.’

  ‘They don’t scare me. Snake-charmers have been in circuses for generations,’ Clytie said airily, but took care to follow closely behind Rom.

  He used a stick to slash the dense scrub that blocked their path, then halted at the mouth of a small clearing. At the heart was a small oblong patch of ground bordered by white quartz stones.

  ‘This is the grave of Jarrod Currey, a young ex-convict who dug the first gold shaft near this spot. He struck gold but his luck ran out. Dying of fever, he begged his mate Rolly to write to the fiancée who had promised to wait for him until he’d made his fortune.’

  Clytie covered her mouth with her hands, silently imploring him to give the tale a happy ending.

  ‘Jarrod’s dying words were, “Don’t let Mary waste her life on a dead man.”’

  There was a catch in Clytie’s voice. ‘His last act of love. To set her free from her promise.’

  Rom averted his eyes. ‘The problem was Rolly was illiterate. All he knew was her name was Mary and she lived somewhere in England.’

  Clytie gasped. ‘So she never knew Jarrod was dead! That was almost fifty years ago, but Mary might still be alive – waiting.’

  Rom held her tight, discomforted by her tears. ‘Hey, women are practical creatures. I reckon she got fed up waiting and married some other bloke.’

  ‘How cynical you are.’ Clytie broke free from his embrace, stopped by the thought. ‘This isn’t one of your tall tales, is it?’

  ‘I swear I got it straight from the horse’s mouth. Old Rolly still lives around here and keeps his hand in fossicking.’

  ‘Why is there no name on his grave?’ Clytie demanded.

  ‘The marker was destroyed in a bushfire.’

  ‘We can’t leave him lying in an unmarked grave!’

  ‘You don’t expect me to make a tombstone here and now?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘Well, I’m not leaving here until you do!’

  Clytie knelt by the grave and began weaving a wreath of gum leaves.

  ‘That’ll teach me to tell a woman a sad love story,’ Rom muttered as he stomped through the bush.

  He finally returned with a flat rock and some black and ochre-coloured stones. After drawing a few letters he began chipping away.

  Curiosity overcame Clytie. She peered over his shoulder, resting her head against him. ‘Thank you, Rom,’ she said softly.

  ‘Don’t expect his whole life history – that’d take until Doomsday,’ he said tartly. ‘I’ll write his name and 1854, the year he died. Does that satisfy you?’

  Clytie kissed the crown of his head and whispered in his ear. ‘If you add the words, “Beloved by Mary”, I’ll love you forever.’

  Rom gave a short laugh. ‘Women! You sure know how to get around a man.’

  As a compromise he wrote the additional words in ochre and placed the stone at the head of the grave.

  Clytie held his hand and bowed her head. ‘May The Creator of All Things comfort Mary and allow her to be reunited with Jarrod Currey – somewhere, sometime.’

  Mollified, Rom drew his arm around her waist and led her away towards the promise of Whipstick Pool.

  It was Shadow who discovered it. They followed him through the scrub until it broke open into a sudden clearing dominated by a towering rock, a natural castle-like structure veined in red, gold and other metallic colours that spanned the entire length of the pool.

  Clytie was delighted to find a crescent of rocks forming a broken fish trap that Rom immediately began to restore.

  ‘It’ll take time, but that’s where you’ll find our next meal,’ he promised.

  Sword flies gracefully skimmed the surface of the water that reflected giant trees on one side, the towering red cliff on the other. The bush gave that reassuring, undefinable purring sound that lulled the senses.

  ‘Some old-timers called this place Scheisse Gully.’

  Clytie recognised the German swear word. ‘Why? It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘It means shit. The first German diggers here named it out of disappointment. Didn’t find a ha’penny’s worth of gold dust. Later they made a fortune on Ballarat, so all’s well that ended well for them. But the name stuck.’

  ‘Maybe there’s still gold here, waiting to be found,’ Clytie said idly.

  ‘Stranger things have happened, girl.’

  The midday sun was blazing so she stripped down to her petticoat. But one foot in, the water was so icy she was deterred from entering it until she saw Rom’s smug smile.

  In defiance she pinned her hair on top of her head and slid into the water. With teeth chattering, she kept her head above water as she dog-paddled down the length of the pool. She emerged, conscious that the wet petticoat clung to her like a skin and her whole body was clearly visible.

  ‘You’re no piker, I’ll say that for you,’ Rom called. ‘Now swim back!’

  Once was enough. She walked around the edge of the pool to rejoin him, startled when the silence was pierced by the strange cry of an unknown bird – unnervingly loud, yet guttural.

  Rom explained this was a Bitternbird, whose nests were so well hidden in the marshes that few had ever seen them.

  Clytie shivered. ‘That cry sounds like a warning.’

  ‘What a child you are. Come here, I’ll take care of you.’

  His washed shirt was drape
d over a bush to dry. He stretched out in the sun on the bank, his smile clearly confident of the pleasure his body could give her now that she was no stranger to any part of him. He patted the mossy bank beside him, his voice soft and coaxing.

  ‘You just promised to love me forever. How about giving me something on account?’

  He fed her wild bush berries, crushing the juice against her lips and kissing them as if no other taste would satisfy him. His hands were intimate, warm and demanding but led her slowly, surely to whatever he wanted. They had begun to make love, wrapped in each other’s arms, naked in the sun, when Clytie felt a shiver of unease.

  ‘There’s someone watching us.’

  Shadow, true to his sheepdog training, was exploring the territory around them, sniffing the ground for any unseen danger.

  ‘Nonsense, Shadow would be the first to know.’

  Just as she was about to abandon all control to Rom, she sat upright.

  ‘I forgot, I had to give you something. A gift.’

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ he asked, his hand returning to caress her thighs.

  She rolled across and reached for the pocket of her skirt.

  ‘Doc Hundey suggested we should read this.’

  Rom read the title and laughed until his eyes were wet with tears.

  ‘You sure know how to dampen a man’s ardour. Just as well I’m not easily deflated.’

  He pressed her hand between his thighs and she knew the moment had come. Clytie could not be the one to deny them.

  He rolled her under him, his breath hot on her neck. ‘I promise to read Doc’s book tonight. Meanwhile there’s a time for every purpose under heaven, as some wise bloke once said.’

  Clytie lost count of the kisses, the waves of mounting passion, the veins of tenderness, the almost unbearable excitement all blended together.

  Finally they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Clytie was vaguely aware of the shifting lacy pattern of shadows from the trees, a strange delicate contrast with the height and power of the eucalypts. She was startled awake.

  Shadow was barking – two voices were yelling for help.

  Rom instinctively covered her with his shirt and leapt to his feet, as naked as a Viking warrior.

  ‘You rotten bastards! Come and show yourselves – if you’ve got the guts!’

  Clytie drew on her clothes, trembling at the sight of two men leering at her through the bushes a few yards away.

  ‘Call off your bloody dog,’ a voice whined.

  Shadow appeared, dragging a man by the leg of his trousers, like a hunting dog bringing his prey to his master.

  ‘Good dog,’ Rom said. ‘Go get the other mongrel!’

  Shadow obeyed in a flash.

  ‘I know you, you creep. You’re not called Dirty Dan for nothing! How long have you been spying on us?’

  The man gave a toothless leer. ‘Long enough. Can’t blame a bloke for having a bit of fun.’

  ‘I’ll give you fun!’ Rom roared as he hoisted him like a bag of chaff and sent him hurtling into the water.

  ‘Help! I can’t swim!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go to your funeral!’

  Shadow returned as fierce as a lion, his teeth clamped onto the other man who was clearly slow-witted.

  ‘I never seen no one do it before,’ he confided to Rom as if that was a reasonable excuse for spying on them.

  Having dressed in haste, Clytie urged Rom to save the man from drowning.

  ‘All right, all right, I’ll fish him out just to please you.’

  With Shadow snarling, ready to pounce on them, Rom lined the men up on the bank.

  ‘If I catch you blackening this lady’s good name – my dog will separate you from your waterworks, you hear me?’

  The pair wasted no time in bolting blindly into the bush.

  Rom’s hands were shaking. ‘You did a great job, Shadow. Best mate a man ever had.’

  Riding home on Goldie, Rom tried to reassure her. ‘I can’t report those blokes to Mangles without involving you. Don’t worry, those mongrels will be too scared to talk.’

  Clytie was none too sure. Pedro always said when the grog is in the truth is out.

  Rom’s mood was darkened by defeat. ‘I’m damned sorry, Clytie. I wanted it to be romantic for you – but it all turned sour.’

  ‘No! I won’t let those idiots spoil the magic of it – we even heard that mysterious Bitternbird. It was just perfect – and I’ll never forget you made it all happen.’

  They rode home in silence. Clytie had already learned Rom was the only one who could break himself free from a black mood.

  At the door of her house she watched him riding off towards the main road – destination unknown, but with Shadow leading the way.

  He halted a brief moment to toss the words over his shoulder. ‘You’re quite a girl, Clytie Hart.’

  Clytie hoped that this was Rom’s roundabout way of saying ‘I love you’.

  Dolores emerged from the bedroom dressed in her best finery, a scarlet cloak draped around her shoulders, ready to begin the evening’s Tarot readings at the Diggers’ Rest. Clytie noticed the faint touch of rouge on her cheeks that heightened the blue of her eyes.

  ‘What’s up, girlie? I can read you like a book.’

  ‘Nothing, Mama. It was the perfect day for a picnic. As you can see, I didn’t drown. Who’s on your list of clients tonight?’

  ‘One from Bitternbird. And a local name that surprised me.’

  ‘Sonny Jantzen. I saw it in your diary. Rom says that Sonny –’

  Dolores held up her hand to cut off her words. ‘You know better than that. I take heed of what I see in the cards, not the cruel gossip that’s spread on the grapevine.’

  She kissed her daughter’s cheek. ‘Remember that, darling, when people begin to gossip about you – and me. And they will.’

  Chapter 14

  In Clytie’s eyes, the first months of autumn were more like an Indian summer. The days passed in a blaze of sunshine, laughter and clandestine, passionate hours spent alone with Rom. She tried to banish the shadow that reality cast across her life.

  Hoffnung was awash with news and rumours. The Empire was into the second year of the war – and it seemed the tides of victory or defeat changed from day to day.

  In addition to Melbourne’s Age, Herald and Argus, Hoffnung had access to newspapers published in Ballarat, Bendigo, Bacchus Marsh and other towns in the Gold Triangle, brought by train to Bitternbird then taken by mail cart to Hoffnung’s Post Office.

  Newspapers and noticeboards often carried conflicting reports of the latest events in South Africa. The names of past and present sieges and battles – Colenso, Kimberley, Modder River, Ladysmith, Diamond Hill, Johannesburg and the Transvaal – felt unreal to Clytie. There was growing speculation about Kitchener’s scorched earth policy and the guerrilla warfare tactics of Boer leaders, Botha, Viljoen, De la Rey and De Wet.

  The war at the forefront of every mind in Hoffnung seemed to Clytie to be taking place on some remote planet that she had no wish to discover.

  Her private world was coloured by hope. She grasped confidently at the signs of Dolores’s marked improvement in health, the years of Vlad’s brutality behind them. Buoyed by this belief, Clytie felt free to explore with Rom love and its unspoken boundaries.

  She worked each day in the new kitchen garden, inspired by Long Sam’s knowledge of the seasons, the affinity between plants and how to rotate them. Yet at the end of each day she became restless for Rom’s return from whatever work had come his way. Employment was increasingly scarce. She was afraid that the idea of signing up as a volunteer was never far from Rom’s mind.

  If only Mother would break her rule about the Tarot and give me a clue about our future.

  • • •

  Her chance came a few days later in the garden. Clytie sat on the grass at her mother’s feet, arms clasped around her knees. A shared meal with her mother was now a rare event. They passed like
ships in the night. Clytie was aware that her mother’s readings were now mostly at night, which meant she slept most of the day.

  ‘I’m glad your bookings are growing, Mama, but you mustn’t tire yourself.’

  ‘Don’t fret, child, the language of the Tarot is like my mother tongue. My only problem is that my clients keep asking me when the war will end – and whether or not the Golden Hope is doomed. I tell them I can’t foresee if it will flourish or be forced to close.’

  Clytie’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘And can you? Is that why Sonny Jantzen comes to you for readings?’

  ‘You know as well as I do a reading is a private relationship between client and clairvoyant.’

  ‘You can’t blame me for trying, Mama. Hoffnung’s fate affects our lives too.’

  ‘Your life, you mean. I take it Rom Delaney is the answer to a maiden’s prayer.’

  ‘You still don’t trust him, do you?’ Clytie said wistfully. ‘He likes you!’

  ‘Naturally. He wouldn’t dare put a foot wrong with me – he knows I’d lock up my daughter!’

  Clytie’s sigh of disappointment gave Dolores a change of heart.

  ‘It’s nothing personal, sweetheart. It’s just that I know more about the ways of men than you do.’

  Dolores finished the slice of strawberry cake and licked her fingers with satisfaction. Her question sounded casual enough.

  ‘What exactly does Rom do when he rides off to Bitternbird?’

  ‘He’s landscaping a garden for Pius James’s wealthy aunt. And before you jump to conclusions, Rhoda James is eighty.’

  ‘Hmm. Who knows but I might become a wealthy woman myself.’

  Clytie took this as her cue. ‘People say you have a regular client, a wealthy landowner who drives from Bitternbird every week.’

  ‘Don’t believe everything people say – it’s just Chinese whispers. That cake was delicious. Is there another piece going begging?’

  Clytie was only too happy to bring it to her.

  ‘The strawberries are from our garden. Long Sam is amazing. He manages to grow things out of season.’

  ‘I know I said I’d leave you to handle the house-keeping. But just how much are we paying Sam for his work?’

  Clytie hesitated. ‘Nothing. Rom pays him – just until we get on our feet, he said.’