Golden Hope (10 page)

‘Kind of you, I'm sure. But we have work to do tomorrow. Rehearsals, you understand,' Dolores said politely.

‘Of course,' he said, marshalling his thoughts.
There's more than one way to skin a cat.

‘Clytie, you may walk our guest to the toll gate. Whoever's on guard tonight needs to know Mr Delaney is our guest – not some horse thief.'

Rom walked close by Clytie's side through the darkness behind the wagons.

‘What do you do when you aren't inviting circuses to play here?' she asked with a sidelong smile.

He selected the more respectable phases in his personal history. ‘I've been a bullock driver, a Cobb and Co coachman here and in South Australia. Done a spot of shearing in Queensland – where I met Banjo Paterson who wrote –'

‘
Waltzing Matilda
? Oh, do tell me. I love that song, what's the true story behind it?'

Rom seized the chance to embroider his half-truth. The one true fact was he had passed through Winton, where Banjo wrote the song, but it was a year after the event. Why spoil a good story by sticking too closely to the facts, when he had a lovely girl hanging onto his every word?

He halted under the camouflage of the spreading arms of a pine tree and looked down at her. He prided himself he was not entirely without morals.

‘You look very young in that fairy costume, Clytie. I reckon you must be more than fifteen. Old enough to –'

The dimples in her cheeks seemed to dance along with the laughter in her eyes.

‘Yes, Mr Delaney. Old enough to ride – a horse.'

Rom couldn't help himself. He lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her gently on the lips.

She caught her breath then pulled back a couple of paces.

‘You had no call to do that. You townies are all alike. You think because a girl travels in a circus, she's free and easy – and a bloke can have his way with her.'

‘I'm sorry,' he said quickly. ‘I had no idea I was going to do that before I did it.'

‘I bet that's a bald-faced lie. You were planning this, weren't you!'

There was a time to lie and a time to tell the truth. ‘Yes, I've been thinking about you all day. I think I fell for you the moment I saw you on the road to Melbourne. You were dressed like a boy, but as soon as I looked into those dark eyes of yours I knew I was a goner!'

He pressed his advantage. ‘Look, Miss Hart, I apologise for coming on too strong. But I've only got a couple of days to prove to you I'm really a decent bloke – when you get to know me.'

I overplayed my hand but I think she's wavering.

‘Will you give me another chance? May I watch you rehearsing? And if there's time, I'll take you anywhere you want to go. You name it.'

Clytie eyed him speculatively and her eyes narrowed. ‘Anywhere I want? In that case you can take me to a church service tomorrow morning. Any one will do. I'm not choosey.'

This girl is sharp. She won't be easy. But I like a challenge. I've never lost a round with a girl yet.

He bowed. ‘Church it is, Miss Hart. How about the early service, then there's time for a picnic and a swim in my favourite water hole? It's going to be very hot,' he said softly.

She flushed, unsure of the note in his voice. ‘Very well. I'll go – just as long as my sister agrees.'

I'll charm Dolores into letting you off the leash – to be alone with me.

Rom was able to answer with total sincerity. ‘I
really
look forward to that.'

Next morning the sun was rising in a cloudless sky so blue it reminded Clytie of the cloak on the statue of that Virgin Lady she had seen long ago, the day Pedro the Clown married Ruby the Aerialist.

Although Clytie had not been inside a church since, as a small child Dolores had taught her to pray to The Creator of All Things. Clytie was quite content to accept her mother's word that The Creator was everywhere – whether you were inside a holy place or travelling nine months of the year on the circus route.

This golden morning the circus family was only just beginning to stir. Clytie had left Dolores sleeping in their wagon, exhausted after the ugly scene last night with Vlad. It was no surprise to her that he had not shown his face again. He was never a man to apologise for the acts of violence that he blamed on Dolores for ‘pushing him over the edge'.

Clytie tried to dismiss the memory of the tangled cries and images of brutal love-making that she had imagined in the darkness – a pattern from which her mother seemed unable to break free.

If only Vlad would go off and join Wirth's Circus, or the FitzGerald Brothers – if they'd have him. And leave Mother and me in peace.

Little family campfires were burning brightly and the smell of breakfast was so tantalising Clytie felt her nostrils twitch as she made her way to the small timber grandstand of the Cricket Ground. It was hardly grand, so small that its three rows of benches would hold at best no more than a score of spectators.

Last night it had been set up with trays of meat pies, sandwiches and alcohol disguised as ‘soft' drinks. Today it held nothing but empty boxes. A large black and tan Kelpie was busily scavenging.

Wildebrand's rehearsal roster was pinned to an inner wall of the grandstand to protect its hand-coloured lettering from the weather. A number of the troupe were unable to read or write, so to save them embarrassment the roster listed cartoon symbols in place of all their names, indicating Boss Gourlay's orders for them to try out new routines or polish existing acts.The drawings included a lion for
Lionello, a rope for Ruby the Aerialist, a dagger for Vlad, a fan for Dolores and in place of Clytie's name was a fairy wand.

She ran her eye down the roster. The changes to Vlad's new act were scheduled for nine o'clock. Their equestrienne act was not listed. Had Gourlay sacked them both? Or must she continue to replace her mother in Vlad's act?

Clytie asked The Creator of All Things to free her from Vlad's act but also to protect Dolores from his anger – and his knives.

The note she had left by her sleeping mother's bedside stated her intention to go to church with Rom Delaney, but assured her she would return in plenty of time for the special afternoon performance – free for children, given each one was accompanied by a paying adult. It was hoped every child within a ten-mile radius would flock to see them in buggies, on horseback or by ‘shank's pony'.

Clytie felt a quickening sense of panic.
What if he doesn't come for me? What if I never see him again?

She decided to set out alone for the cluster of churches on the hill they had passed when entering the town.
Let that Rom Delaney find me if he has a mind to. I'm not chasing any man.

Passing the lion's cage she saw Lionello whispering soft words to Missy who lay prone on the floor of the cage. Lionello turned to her with a stricken expression.

‘She's not herself – far from well. She's never turned on me like she did last night. But she'd never hurt me. Missy is like my own little daughter.'

Clytie knew the story. After losing his wife and daughter in a scarlet fever epidemic, Lionello had transferred his love to the cub he had trained from birth.

‘Don't worry, Lionello. I'm told there's a doctor in town who has a magic way with sick animals. Would you like me to fetch him?'

‘No quack is brave enough to examine a lion. They won't believe Missy is as gentle as a kitten.'

Clytie bit back a smile. ‘Maybe this Doctor Hundey is different.'

Lionello shrugged in disbelief. ‘No, she will let no one but me touch her.' He turned away to offer endearments to the prone lion.

On reaching the log bridge crossing the fast-flowing creek, Clytie paused at the sight of the figure on the other side, standing stock still beside his horse.

Rom Delaney wore yesterday's waistcoat over a workman's striped shirt. His hair appeared darkened with water as if he had bathed only moments earlier. He flashed that cheeky, crooked smile that made her heart skip a beat. The bunch of flowers he held looked suspiciously as if it had been plucked from someone's garden.

‘Hey, weren't you going to wait for me?' he asked in mock indignation.

‘I never wait for any man,' Clytie said carelessly.

‘Maybe I'm the exception to the rule. A man worth waiting for,' he said, transferring the flowers to her arms.

Her laugh dismissed his bravado. ‘Ho ho! You
have
got tickets on yourself.'

Disconcerted by the power of his gaze, she buried her face in the flowers.

‘From your garden, are they?' she teased.

He met her little trap head on. ‘I don't own a house – or garden. I commandeered these from the local park. The truth is, Clytie, I haven't a penny to my name until Mr Tribe opens his bank on Monday and I collect my prize money.'

‘Prize? What for?'

‘The best idea to attract people to Hoffnung. Your circus!'

Clytie gasped with admiration at the gamble he had taken.
A trickster indeed.

Rom was quick to reassure her. ‘Don't worry. I'll feed you bush apples and wild blackberries and the purest creek water in the State of Victoria. Stick with me, Clytie, and you'll never go hungry.'

She laughed at his cheek, admired his honesty and right at that moment fell headlong for his charm – no turning back now.

‘I brought Goldie for you. If
you
can't ride bareback, no girl can.'

She shook her head. ‘That's too much like work for an equestrienne. I'm happy to take shank's pony.'

Walking by Rom's side, Clytie was excited by the warmth of his hand under her elbow as he steered her around the potholes and rocks on the steep hill towards Main Street.

They talked at ease. Questions and answers ricocheted between them about each other's lives. Hers were truthful, but on guard against an outsider's misconceptions about the circus and its moral code.
Rom's stories were so colourful and extraordinary that she was tempted to believe some were second-hand adventures in which he had cast himself as hero.

‘Were you born here in one of the Colonies or in the Old Country?'

‘Whose Old Country is that? Not just Mother England. People came here from all over the globe during the Gold Rush. Californians, Germans, Italians, Chinamen, Frogs – you name it.'

‘I know that. Circus performers also hail from different countries. I meant
you.
Delaney is Irish, isn't it?'

Rom darted a look to gauge her response. ‘My name was drawn out of a hat. I was found in a clothes basket on the doorstep of a Roman Catholic seminary. I reckon some poor girl trusted the priests to find a home for me to hide her shame. Or else she dumped me back on some priest who fathered me.'

If he intended to shock her, he failed. But he had gained her full attention. ‘I was about a week old. Stark naked except for a pair of men's bootlaces tied to my leg.'

Clytie stopped in her tracks, delighted by the discovery. ‘Madam Zaza told me bootlaces are a symbol of good luck to gypsies. Maybe Rom is short for Romani – there's a bit of gypsy in every one of us, they say.'

‘Who knows? I was christened “Roman”. I had to work like the devil for my keep. But the priests did teach me to read and write. When I was twelve I got fed up with all the prayers – and beatings. I hit the road, travelling with an Irish swagman who knew my dead mother. He suspected he was my father. We split up every time he got fighting drunk and ended up in the nick.'

Clytie held her breath when he brushed a loose curl back from her face.

‘Enough about me. I want to know everything about the girl I plan to marry.'

‘You've said that line so often before, it's got holes in it!'

Her laugh was so infectious that Rom laughed at himself.

‘All right, you win. Church first. Bush tucker second. I promise I'll get you back in plenty of time for the matinee. On condition that after tonight's performance we can talk about the future.'

Clytie allowed him to drape his arm around her shoulders, but at the sight of a matron hobbling towards them with a hessian sack
slung over her back, she pulled away from him, instinctively recognising the breed of town gossip.

Rom doffed his hat to the woman. ‘Morning, Mrs Mintner. I hear your lad's gone off to volunteer. Those Boers better watch out. Your Jack's a great shot.'

The woman scowled. ‘Enough of your blarney, Delaney. Our Jack's a good lad, knows his duty, he does.'

‘Don't worry. It'll all be over in a few months,' Rom said with confidence the words that people wanted to believe.

‘Humph! That's what they said about that war in the Crimea. Dead wrong, they were. Killed me brother, it did,' she said morosely and continued without breaking her stride.

Rom called after her. ‘That sack's heavy. Let me carry it home for you.'

‘What for? I'm as strong as a horse. Have to be with an invalid hubby.'

Clytie watched her. ‘She must be eighty if she's a day.'

‘Not by a long shot. But she's had a rough life. She was a diggeress back in the old gold days. They don't breed them like her anymore.'

Clytie noticed they had veered from the direct track to the churches on the hill.

‘Hey, where exactly are you taking me?'

‘Anywhere in the world you want to go. The moon?' he asked, pointing to the faded disc that hung suspended, lingering by day in the bluest of skies.

That old woman was right. Rom sure has a touch of the blarney.

‘The moon will do just fine – as long as I have a return ticket. I must be back in plenty of time for the children's matinee. I'll choose a child from the audience to ride bareback with me around the ring – held tight in my arms of course.'