Bolthole Valley was buzzing with rumours about the extraordinary petition the big landowners planned to present to Governor Gipps.
Jake fronted Feagan and wasted no time. ‘What’s the strength of this petition to the gov demanding he place our whole county under martial law? Is it a joke or what?’
Feagan drew himself up to his full height of five feet two inches. ‘A man never jokes about martial law.’
‘That’s bloody true,’ said Jake. ‘If Gipps caves in we’re in for another bloodbath.’
Jake marched out of the general store, leapt into the wagon and pushed Horatio to the limit in the cross-country drive to Ironbark.
It was a Friday. That meant the end of the working week for Keziah. No doubt on Sunday Daniel would leave Gideon Park at the crack of dawn to ride over for another reading of the banns. But with any luck Jake would find her alone today.
• • •
‘How’s life, mate?’ Leaning in the doorway of Keziah’s cottage, Jake sized up her mood. Today she appeared to be on a steady course, but he’d been wrong about her moods before.
A blue smock covered her dress as she bent over schoolbooks. He liked the way she had trouble controlling her hair. Half of it was piled on top of her head, half escaped in waves. Red ink stained the hand that held her quill.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked quietly. ‘Is it Gem?’
Jake wondered, Will the time ever come when Gem isn’t uppermost in her mind?
‘Gem’s safe as far as I know, but best you hear the news from me. Terence Ogden’s getting up a petition to the governor demanding he place us under martial law. Thomas Icely’s also pressuring the surveyor-general about his plans for the village of Carcoar near Bathurst and demanding protection from bushrangers. I reckon if Icely climbs on board we’re history.’
Keziah turned pale. Jake pressed on. ‘Martial law means a massive increase in mounted police and a resident magistrate. So bushrangers will be put on trial in our neck of the woods instead of being sent to Sydney Town, Bathurst, Berrima or wherever.’
‘If you mean string bolters up without a fair trial, say so,’ she said.
Jake was aware how martial law would affect Gem and the other poor bastards he called mates. Gem was still at large. Will Martens was busy adding to the legend of Jabber Jabber and had notched up so many daring escapes from custody it had become a joke.
‘Will Governor Gipps give in to this petition?’ Keziah asked.
‘You tell me,’ he said pointedly.
‘I’m not clairvoyant twenty-four hours a day,’ she said.
‘Martial law’s an extreme measure – and bloody expensive on the public purse. There’s a public rally in Bolthole tonight to debate it. Ogden and his cronies are behind it. I reckon it’s a good idea to know thy enemy. You girls fancy coming along for the ride?’
Keziah looked anxious. ‘Will they let you take Nerida inside?’
‘Just watch me!’ said Jake.
‘Do you see Ogden and Icely as the enemy?’ Keziah asked as she hurriedly washed Gabriel’s hands and face.
‘Ogden ain’t all bad. But he’s a bit hungry for power and he’s out to rival Icely’s empire. Icely’s built up ninety thousand acres with an army of free convict labour. He’s moved his family back to Sydney Town. He’s bright enough to know bushrangers see him as a prime target for assassination.’
Keziah tried to be fair to Icely. ‘You can’t blame a man for protecting his family.’
‘I don’t. But most big landholders won’t admit the root cause is the evils of the system. The Brits claim they’re gunna finish offloading convicts in this colony but they’ll still be transporting them to Van Diemen’s Land and other places. The poor buggers serving out their time are treated worse than dogs. Struth, don’t get me started, Kez, or I’ll end up in the Watch House again!’
‘No, you won’t! Remember you’ve got two women and children in your care tonight!’
Dressed and at the ready, Gabriel made a beeline for Jake.
‘Blow me down, Gabe! Look how big you’ve grown!’ Jake swept the boy onto his shoulders.
Dressed in her Sunday best, Keziah gave Jake that special look of hers that always made him feel uncomfortable. As if she trusted him to fix everything.
‘Does martial law mean we’ll have public hangings in the street again?’
‘Yeah, but that won’t change a ruddy thing. When it comes to knowing what goes on down here, the British government wouldn’t know its toffee nose from its ar—’ He hastily switched his intended word to ‘arm’ in deference to Gabriel.
He rose. ‘Let’s hope Gipps won’t buckle under. The last time we got lumbered with martial law was in Windradyne’s time. He was known by his whitefella name, Saturday. Don’t mention those names in front of Nerida as it hurts too much. Mention of any dead black’s name is taboo.’
Keziah nodded. ‘For my people too.’
Nerida was already seated in the wagon with Murphy scrubbed and serious sitting on her lap when Keziah climbed on board with Gabriel.
‘I’ll pin my hair up while we’re driving.’
Jake took one look at her hair blowing around her head like a soft cloud. ‘Don’t be silly. Makes you look halfway decent.’
He grinned as he ducked her swinging reticule.
When Keziah entered Bolthole Valley’s community hall she saw local settlers huddled in rows like black crows on a stockyard fence. Women aired their best hats and shawls. Men reflected every rung of the social ladder from formal suits to fustian work clothes. Their faces covered a range of hirsute fashion: beards, mutton-chop whiskers, moustaches.
Keziah noticed Jake was one of the minority among the younger men who was clean-shaven. Funny how he never goes unshaven these days.
She knew most people had come to push the law and order petition through and that some genuinely feared convict insurrection. For others the rally was a social event too good to miss. Excitement hovered in the air like heat haze.
Jake waited until the meeting began before he craftily manoeuvred her and Nerida into the back row by the door to avoid drawing attention to Nerida, whose face was hidden behind the wings of her bonnet. With the little boys seated on their laps, Keziah listened intently to the speakers’ rhetoric.
Terence Ogden’s forthright Cornish accent, upright bearing and dignified smoky beard marked him as a man for whom it was second nature to control people’s lives – free or bond. He made it clear he supported Icely’s arguments for increased protection from bushrangers then read out the signatures on his own petition and invited every man to make his mark. His speech met with spontaneous applause.
The next speaker had all the fire of a Baptist preacher. Every sentence was punctuated by agreement from the crowd. Keziah half expected ‘hallelujahs’.
‘Governor Gipps must listen to the voice of the people. Martial law is imperative to stop bushrangers from holding to ransom the community we gave our lifeblood to build. We urgently require more mounted police here. We must restore law and order in the farthest outpost of Her Majesty’s empire. Hunt down godless desperadoes. We need a resident magistrate empowered to send villains like One Eye, Jabber Jabber and that vagabond Gypsy Gem Smith to the gallows!’
Thunderous applause carried the vote. Keziah could barely control her rage. She longed to defend Gem, but she had to keep up her respectable veneer to protect Gabriel. She held the boy’s sleepy head against her breast and tried to confront her confusion. Unless a miracle occurred, before the full moon she would be legally bound to Daniel Browne. Was she being totally honest about her reasons for agreeing to the marriage? At first it had been to preserve the life she had built and to protect Gabriel from claims by the Morgan family. But what really tied her to life in Ironbark? By impersonating Saranna had she abandoned her own Romani standards? Or was it because for the first time in her life she enjoyed respect in the eyes of a gaujo community?
She longed to confide in some wise person before it was too late.
At the very moment that Keziah looked across the hall it was as if some invisible wheel controlling her life had slipped a cog. She was now on a very different path. Jake stood shoulder to the wall, his gaze fixed on Ogden and his ruling-class cohorts. The light from a wall bracket threw his features into relief. It was as if she was seeing Jake for the very first time. His profile revealed strength, humour and arrogance brushed with the sensitivity he tried to disguise. It was the head of a young prince on a medieval coin. She was struck by the thought. Jake is really quite handsome.
Confused by her sudden insight, she turned her attention to Gilbert Evans’s tirade about the depravity of all bushrangers. Keziah wanted to shout: Hypocrite! You preach from the pulpit on Sundays but we all know you own a brothel here in Bolthole Valley.
She remained silent, hating herself for her impotence. How many of these men had ordered their assigned men flogged for trivial reasons? How many averted their eyes from those forced to work their land with empty bellies? Hobson and Bloom were humane masters. But how many others here tonight were free of guilt?
Gilbert Evans’s voice was slippery. ‘There are traitors in our midst who give succour to bushrangers and help them escape. These men will refuse to sign our petition!’
Keziah looked across into Jake’s steel-grey eyes and read his message. He can’t swallow any more of this! Mi-duvel! Jake must not go to prison!
It was then Keziah found her courage. She jumped to her feet and challenged Gilbert Evans. ‘Show me a petition to outlaw the lash and I’ll gladly sign that! A humane system wouldn’t need martial law!’
Scores of faces turned to gape at her. Mrs Hill, one of the widows Keziah saw regularly in Feagan’s General Store, pointed a finger at Nerida. ‘That’s One Eye’s gin. What’s she doing here? Spying for him!’
Two men grabbed hold of Nerida. Gabriel slid to the floor as Keziah lunged forward to beat them off.
Jake yelled as he hurled his body into the fray. ‘Take your hands off those women, they’re with me!’
Burly men released Nerida, then swarmed to remove Jake from the scene. He seized the moment to cry, ‘Damn the system. End it now!’ An Irishman picked up the chant to be joined by a few brave voices. At the back of the hall fists were flying.
Somebody grabbed hold of the petition and flung it up in the air. Papers showered across the room to be trampled underfoot.
• • •
Driving home, Keziah saw that Jake’s shirt collar was torn, but he was light of heart enough to deliver his favourite version of The Wild Colonial Boy with all verses intact. Keziah was moved by the depth of feeling in his voice. She realised that everything Jake said and did was an odd filter for his strong, yet half-concealed, love of this land of his.
‘Not long ago,’ said Jake, ‘that song got people so riled they were banned from singing it in public houses.’ They both knew she knew this but he enjoyed saying it anyway.
‘Did it stop them?’ she asked.
‘Nah. They just drank more grog and sang louder.’
‘Was Bold Jack Donahoe a good man?’
Jake hedged his bets. ‘Many as thought so. He died game. Surrounded by a detachment of soldiers and traps in his final gunfight. He insulted them and swore at them to “come on and get me” before a trooper shot him dead. Twenty-six. My age. He was my hero as a boy. Didn’t worry my mam none, being Irish herself. Funny thing the power of a song.’
‘My father played music that made you weep or dance. Or fight to the death.’
Jake chewed this over for a minute. ‘You named the little Rom after him.’
She was surprised by his perception. ‘I never told you that!’
‘Didn’t have to.’
When they arrived at her cottage, Jake walked Nerida to her goondie with the sleeping Murphy slung over his shoulder. ‘Goodnight, Neri. Sorry about the ruckus.’
‘You a good man, Jake.’ She added with a straight face, ‘For a gubba.’
Jake grinned. ‘I’m the best of a bad lot of white men, right?’
After he had carried Gabriel off to bed, Keziah risked asking her question. ‘Jake, could you stay for a drink? I need your advice.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘All right by me but how would your fiancé handle that? You’ll be Mrs Browne in thirteen days. Don’t want to give Ironbark gossips fuel for their fires.’
• • •
By their second glass of wine Jake felt mellow but he could see Keziah was tense. She seldom drank wine. She didn’t really have the head for it. He had seen wine make her dance or cry, sometimes both at once.
He held his glass to the light and examined its delicate tracery. ‘For a woman who doesn’t much like a drop of the grape, you sure do things in style!’
‘My grandmother kept her best glasses for special occasions. I need to make a wise decision. Time is running out.’
He clinked his glass to hers and drank with appreciation. ‘If this is a sample of your wedding wine, I’ll be first in the door, last to leave.’
Keziah drank with such nervous haste Jake doubted she tasted it.
‘So what’s your problem, Kez?’ he prompted. ‘Can’t decide what to do with all that messy hair of yours on your big day, eh?’
Keziah’s tresses now fell in disarray around her shoulders. To Jake she didn’t look much like a schoolmistress. More like a very seductive mermaid. She drained her glass.
‘Slow down a bit,’ Jake warned. ‘When I drink too much I end up in a brawl.’
Keziah leaned forward confidentially. ‘The truth is I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided not to marry Daniel after all.’
Jake spluttered wine over his shirt. Checked to see if she was serious. She was.
He reached for the bottle. ‘On second thoughts, I think we’d better have another drop.’ He refilled their glasses then tried to arrange his thoughts.
‘Every bride since Eve gets cold feet before her wedding but the minute you see Daniel at the altar you’ll race up the aisle before he’s got a chance to change his mind.’
‘Stop! Listen to me, Jake. I don’t love Daniel. I never did!’
Jake tried to calm her. ‘Look, I reckon he really loves you – and you said yourself you’d made some kind of pact with him. God only knows you need a decent bloke to take care of you, Kez.’
Keziah fixed him with that violet-blue gaze that made him half wish he was free to be that bloke.
‘I agreed because marriage will strengthen my custody of Gabriel when Caleb Morgan returns to claim him.’
Jake had the feeling there was a whole heap more to the story, but Keziah gestured in the direction of Gabriel’s bedroom as if that should make everything clear.
‘I only wanted to make him happy. You understand?’
Jake felt taken aback. ‘Sure, but now the stable door’s open, you’d best get married.’
Keziah looked confused. ‘Don’t you understand? There’s another man I really want!’
Jake rolled his eyes to heaven. Does she mean Gem or Gabe’s father, Caleb Morgan? Or some other joker I haven’t stumbled on?
He patted her shoulder. ‘Hey, let’s be practical. Do you find Daniel attractive?’
‘Well, he’s not ugly!’
‘That’s bloody something! Does he treat you like a lady?’
‘Perfectly well in public, but—’
‘Is he kind to Gabriel?’
Keziah was losing patience. ‘Yes! Can’t you see why I’m so confused? I thought you were my mate but—’
‘I am your bloody mate. Who else would sit here listening to all this?’
Keziah was on her feet, her eyes pleading. ‘Jake. If you’re really my friend, please stay the night with me! I’m so nervous. It’s been nearly three years since I—’
Jake grabbed at straws. ‘So that’s it. All that talk tonight about assassinations and bushrangers put the wind up you. How about I sleep in my bluey on your veranda?’
‘No, Jake!’ Keziah was moving towards him. She was modestly covered from her throat to her ankles, but the wild disorder of her hair and the sensuality of her mouth gave her a wanton look that took Jake’s breath away.
He jumped to his feet, ready to make a getaway, but she blocked his escape. Her body pressed lightly against him as she traced his mouth with one finger.
‘Jake, before it’s too late. Please make love to me. Now.’
For a few delicious seconds Jake made no attempt to stop her as she gently rocked her hips against him. Her eyes closed as she rubbed her lips against his mouth – her own mouth ready and willing. He felt her body catch fire like no woman he’d ever touched.
‘Daniel?’ he managed to croak.
‘He won’t care. We made a pact. He doesn’t want what I can give you, Jake.’
There was a ‘click’ inside Jake’s head at that precise moment. He held her at arm’s length and spoke kindly. Or so he thought.
‘Just because I spend half my life in a brothel doesn’t mean I don’t have any standards left.’
No decent man took advantage of a woman whose head was turned by wine, but from her expression Jake wondered if his meaning had somehow been lost in translation.
Keziah took a step back and raised her chin as if she was fighting to regain control. Jake was struck by the fact there was a totally different Keziah standing before him. A little too much wine but very much the lady.
‘I asked for your honest opinion. You gave it. You’re quite right. I’ll marry Daniel as planned. I do hope you’re free to dance at our wedding.’
Keziah opened the front door for him. ‘Don’t forget your hat, Jake.’
He stumbled back to retrieve it, but tried one more tack at the door.
‘I want you to know, mate. It was a lovely offer – best I ever had.’
Too late. Her look reminded him of his mam that day he’d come home from school to find a Catholic priest telling her she was living in mortal sin with her Proddie de facto and six kids. Keziah’s voice was an echo of his mam’s that day – sweet, distant, unnaturally polite.
‘Kind of you to take us to the rally. Do you think martial law will be enforced?’
Jake was staggered. She sounded stone-cold sober but he realised she must be tired because she had to lean against the doorframe for support.
He threw his hands to the sky. ‘Martial law? How would I know, mate? I wouldn’t bet on a bloody thing tonight!’
• • •
Charging along the Sydney Road Jake found he couldn’t even look at the sky without seeing Keziah’s extraordinary violet-blue eyes watching him.
Why the bloody hell am I haunted by Kez’s words? She’s just my mate!
Jake didn’t believe in any of that ghost bulldust, but for days past he’d been wondering if it was possible a living woman could haunt a man. He told himself that the minute Kez was safely married off to Daniel his debt to her for saving his life would be paid in full. Kez would settle down and once again he’d be a free agent to hunt down Jenny’s mongrel.
When he picked up his mail from the post office in Goulburn there was a letter waiting for him that rocked Jake to the foundations of his life. Jenny.
He read it in a new public house across the road. He was cut to the quick by Jenny’s airy references to her jewels, pink marble bathroom and lady’s maid – luxuries he had failed to provide. At face value her letter was a friendly invitation to visit Pearl. But Jake knew his Jenny. Where was the trick? He re-read it and found it. No return address. His bolter wife could be anywhere on the Australian continent.
When his bitter laughter subsided Jake decided to head for Sydney Town to hire the services of an unusual, newly established American agency. He re-read the advertisement he’d torn from a newspaper. Under the banner of an American flag was the symbol of a spyglass. The head of the agency, Benjamin Rogers (late of New York City), claimed he guaranteed success. All enquiries conducted with utmost discretion. Cases included missing persons, illicit liaisons, fraudulent business dealings and unsolved murders.
‘What the hell, I’ll give your agency a go, Yankee.’
But as he headed north Jake heard Keziah’s urgent whisper echo in his head. ‘Jake, before it’s too late. Please make love to me. Now.’
Sydney Town or Ironbark? Jake knew it was no contest. He turned his horse south. ‘Full steam ahead, Horatio. Get us to the church on time. We’ve got a wedding to stop!’