Golden Hope (7 page)

‘You won't tell him?' Clytie asked in horror.

‘What choice do I have? I can't perform without her in my new act. Unless . . .'

Dolores screamed. ‘No! I won't let you. Not now – not ever.' She collapsed weeping, rejecting Clytie's attempts to calm her.

‘What's going on?' Clytie felt her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth.

‘It's too late to sober her up. I need you in her place. Just hand me my props – that shouldn't be too difficult for you.'

Vlad's dark face was stony and expressionless as he tossed a parcel at Clytie.

‘Work it out between you,' he said, slamming the door behind him.

Clytie gasped when she opened the parcel.

‘How beautiful! Look what Zaza has made for you.'

Held in her hands, the new costume bedazzled the eye with its myriad fragments of light.

Dolores stared at it then turned her face to the wall. ‘Not for
me.
'

Clytie was chilled by the truth. The costume was too small for Dolores. A red film of rage clouded her vision.

Vlad ordered Zaza to make this for
me
–
she tried to warn me. Mama's too drunk to go on. I have no choice but to take her place.

Dolores was out cold. Clytie placed a pillow beneath her mother's head. With trembling hands she shed her old kiddie costume and unbound the bandage that flattened her breasts. The shimmering new costume fitted her like a glove.

The face of the older girl in the mirror was the face of a stranger. Clytie read the expression in her eyes.
Watch out, Vlad. This girl is capable of murder.

The horse plodded along the quartz road past Hoffnung Mineral Springs, carrying Doc and his medical supplies. On one side lay a wide arm of the creek. The other side of the road was lined with mullock heaps from long abandoned diggings, silent witness to the local history of Crimea Point. This almost derelict end of town had in its heyday produced the richest gold nugget ever to come out of the whole Hoffnung goldfield.

The long neglected place was reduced to a few lean-to shacks. The sun-bleached sign of Cobb and Co still swung over a corner building which had once served a thriving, boisterous community. Now its broken doors rattled in the wind, its windows boarded up like blind eyes in a wrinkled face. This end of town had once boasted eleven shanty pubs and an overflowing population of tent-dwelling diggers, including 12,000 Chinese fossickers.

Doc was here to pay a social visit to Long Sam, Hoffnung's last surviving ‘Celestial', one of the 20,000 who had arrived in Victoria in a single year, equalling the number pouring off ships from Britain and Europe. Some had later returned to China, others remained in the Colony to become successful businessmen.

Doc did his best to keep an unofficial eye on Long Sam's health, a difficult feat considering the man was too proud to visit him as a patient. Reduced to poverty and a lonely life in a decrepit shack, Long Sam tended the Chinese graves of his last four friends in the cemetery, and to supplement his frugal diet, grew herbs and vegetables in his small patch adjacent to the creek.

Doc was never resigned to the fact that Long Sam and his four fellow countrymen were once famous for their cabbages and had supplied the whole town with vegetables grown on the land they had cleared and farmed beside the Lerderderg Creek. Councillor Twyman had commandeered the farm of the last survivor, Long Sam, for the town's use as Hoffnung Cricket Ground. Doc knew that Long Sam had been paid nothing, on legal grounds that he had not officially owned any title to the land.

Here, the sole area that was sealed off from invasion by dogs, bush animals and the pranks of schoolboys was Long Sam's vegetable plot. An ironic reminder of the past, it was fenced with curiously marked timber palings, their flecks of bright paint sole evidence of the Joss House where Chinese diggers had once worshipped.

Doc's horse-drawn cart came to a halt in front of the neat stone pathway to the cabin, the borders of which were unfenced but marked out by a line of white-washed quartz stones. Long Sam's straw coolie hat rose above the vegetables he had trained along the trellis and his face broke into a welcoming smile.

‘Doc Hundey, how good to see you. You have time to take tea with me?'

‘I was counting on that, Sam. No tea as refreshing as your China tea.'

Sam chuckled with pleasure and hurried off to bring the mugs of tea.

Doc joined him on the log seat and after admiring his garden and casually mentioning the news from China he had read in the newspapers, he opened up the subject of his visit.

‘You remember Herbie Muddlestone, the old digger at Barnaby's Ridge? He told me your cabbages were the world's best.'

Long Sam nodded and smiled. ‘Very kind old gentleman, he is well?'

‘He thought highly of you too, Sam. I was with him last night. He died peacefully in his sleep. He had ordered new spectacles but never got to wear them. He asked me to pass them on to you in case they were of any use to you.'

Sam was clearly moved by the unexpected gift. He opened the case with care and ceremoniously placed the glasses on his nose. His face broke out in a radiant smile.

‘You have grey eyes, Doctor. I can see the colour of the lorikeets clearly – no longer a blur. How kind of Mr Herbie to think of me.'

Doc smiled and looked away. He had learned over the past ten years how to conceal a lie that hurt no one. He had ordered the spectacles to be made up by an optician in Bitternbird, following his own rough calculations of Sam's eyesight taken without his knowledge.

‘I can have them adjusted for you if one eye is short or long sighted.'

‘No, no,' the Chinaman hugged them to his chest as if threatened by the loss of them. ‘They are perfect.'

Doc gave a sigh of satisfaction.

‘I suppose you heard what happened this morning. You know Rom Delaney, that handsome lad with the silver tongue? Don't ask me how but he managed to convince Wildebrand Circus to change their route and perform here in Hoffnung.'

‘A real live circus?'

‘What's more, the manager gave me two free passes for tonight's performance. I have a patient to visit. My sister may well attend in my place. That leaves one ticket going begging. Pity to waste it. Could you use it, Sam?'

He held out the ticket in the palm of his hand. Sam looked stunned.

Doc pressed on. ‘Chinese acrobats are the cleverest in the world, I'm told. I don't know how good this circus is, but we're never likely to have another one visit Hoffnung, are we?'

Long Sam accepted the ticket with a trembling hand. ‘Thank you, Doctor, I can't believe my change in fortune. This morning while I was drawing water from the creek two schoolboys broke into my house. They stole a box of precious things. Now the day has ended with these gifts.'

Sam held the glasses and the circus pass as if he had discovered two golden nuggets. He bowed low. ‘Thanks to you, Doctor.'

‘My pleasure, Sam. Thanks for the tea. I must be off home now – it's been a long day.'

Long Sam was still waving as Doc steered the cart around the corner, cutting him off from sight.

Doc's thoughts returned to the problem of his difficult sister. He had not allowed Adelaide to appear in public since she collected her last remittance cheque from the Post Office, sent by registered mail from England to prevent anyone steaming the envelope open.

He remembered the times as children when Father took them both to the circus.

Me in my sailor suit. Adelaide in her long dress, her wild red hair streaming down her back . . . how delighted we were when Father explained that in circus life all are of value – stars, clowns, dwarves, bearded ladies. There are no outcasts in a circus.

At the thought of the orthopaedic boot that had isolated Adelaide as a child, the target of the cruel taunts of village children, Doc patted the ticket in his vest pocket and encouraged the horse to increase its speed.

Adelaide will need time to ready herself for a rare public appearance.

Rom Delaney prided himself he was never one to turn down a windfall. Despite his triumph earlier in the day, and the heady promise of an account for twenty guineas at Tribe's Mortgage Bank, he was pleased by the note delivered by Pius James's messenger boy, offering him a few hours' work shovelling coal that afternoon.

What's his hurry? Mine not to reason why – it's cash in hand.

Rom was confident he could finish in time to attend the circus.

Humming a racy music hall song under his breath he worked to its rhythm, shovelling the final stage of the pyramid of coal into the cellar at the rear of Pius's Farm Produce Store and the Blacksmith's Forge. Pausing to free the tail of his damp shirt from his trousers, he mopped the sweat running down his face.

Never having possessed a timepiece, Rom had learned to record time in his head. Anxious not to miss the opening act of the circus in case it involved Little Clytie, he kept an ear out for the whistle blast from the mine head that signalled the end of the miners' day shift. Boss Jantzen had closed the mine for the next day to enable the miners to attend the circus with their families – and save him paying their wages.

He wasn't the only tightwad in town. Pius James was said to have grown a beard to save the wear and tear on a cut-throat razor. A pillar of his church, he never put a foot wrong in terms of the law.

But I'll bet there's a bunch of convicts in his family tree
.
It takes one to know one.

Rom enjoyed the ironic memory of his father's claim that he had been a rebel at the Eureka Stockade, knowing that Paddy Delaney had been an escaped Vandemonian convict – and had probably fled the battle at the sound of the troopers' first gunshot.

He increased the speed of his work at the sight of Noni James crossing the cobblestones towards the flower beds. By all accounts Pius was intent on seeing his daughter ‘marry up' into ‘old family money' – a limited choice in Hoffnung.

Noni was nineteen and ripe for marriage – a virgin in reputation only. He didn't hold that against her. It was her snobbery that riled him.

The setting sun outlined Noni's slender body through the thin layer of a white muslin gown that was modest – until the sun's rays betrayed her. It left little to Rom's imagination. Conscious of her covert glances, he mopped his face with his shirt-tail, revealing a flash of bare chest. Determined to ignore her, he continued working.

She crossed to the water tank and unlocked the padlock chained in times of drought to protect their precious water supply against theft. She filled a tin cup with water and approached him, her head held high.

‘Here, Delaney, you better drink this.'

‘Thanks a lot,' he said, draining the water in one long draught. Their hands touched by accident as he returned the mug to her.

She drew back as if he had burned her. ‘You best toe the line, lad, if you want future work from my father. Don't be getting any ideas above your station.'

‘Oh? What ideas would that be, Miss?' he asked innocently enough, enjoying her discomfort.

‘Father has rejected several potential suitors. He says only one man in town is worthy enough to marry me.'

‘Right. I get it you're saving yourself – for Mr Right.' The words were said with respect but the glint in his eye must have betrayed him. The girl's face flushed bright pink.

‘You may think it a joke, Delaney, but a respectable girl has to protect her reputation. Father keeps a shotgun beside the family Bible – in case any man takes it into his head to have the wrong idea about me.'

‘Your father's a wise man. You can't be too careful, Miss James. The world is full of us blokes with wrong ideas.'

She gasped, clearly unsure whether to return to the house or retain a tenuous hold on her dignity.

What's she waiting for? I'm not going to put a foot wrong, sweetheart. Girls like you are trouble.

He continued to shovel coal, masking his words with seeming politeness.
‘
It must be difficult to find Mr Right in a town this small, Miss James.'

‘None of your business, Delaney,' she said with a toss of the head. ‘Best get back to work if you expect Father to pay you.'

Yet she remained watching him so Rom could not resist adding fuel to the fire.

‘Sonny Jantzen's pretty stiff competition for any of us blokes. Being heir to a goldmine and all that.'

Noni's blush confirmed the name was right on target.

Seething with anger, she stammered. ‘How – how presumptuous. A no-hoper like you! Who do you think you are?'

‘Well,' Rom said casually, ‘you could say I'm the bloke who won the bank's prize – to save Hoffnung.'

Her intended retort was broken by the whistle blast from the mine head that marked the miners' last shift.

The sound was more than welcome.
Six o'clock. Half an hour to get me cleaned up before the circus.

Rom held Noni's eyes with slow deliberation as he removed his shirt and slung it casually over his shoulder. Standing head and shoulders above her, she was forced to look up to him. His height was the one advantage he had over her.

Noni tried to regain the upper hand. ‘I'll call Father to pay you your wages. You'll need cash to attend the circus.'

‘No hurry. I'm the guest of honour – seeing I'm responsible for bringing the circus to town. I trust you and Mr Right will enjoy it.' Rom could not resist a parting shot. ‘Don't worry, Noni, your secret's safe with me. Sonny won't get to hear it from me.'

•  •  •

The tank beside the abandoned miner's right cabin was rusty with age, now a collection of holes held together by bands of tin. Rom wasn't complaining. The place had become his temporary home, better than sleeping rough in the bush. He hurried down to the creek and plunged into it naked, gasping with the shock of icy water that had flowed down from the mountains. Using his shirt as a sponge, he rubbed the coal soot from his body then hastily washed his clothes in the creek.