Another full moon rode the sky. Camped beside the Sydney Road, Jake hunched over his campfire re-reading the latest report from The American Investigations Agency to lift his spirits.
Although he had been initially disappointed there were still no clues as to little Pearl’s whereabouts, the Yankee’s letter did contain startling news about the conte’s fiscal empire:
The net closes. The conte is caught in a financial bind. Those canny New Zealanders have proved right cagey about investing in his get-rich schemes. The steamship he’d had converted from sail, the Contessa Giovanna, was found beached off the South Island, stripped of cargo, no trace of her crew. He’s suspected of fraud. My Auckland source reports that his behaviour is increasingly erratic – from lavish hospitality to enraged outbursts. They say he plans to return to New South Wales because ‘his lady’ is bored.
His lady is bored. Jake flinched at the phrase and steeled himself against the memory of Jenny’s body, her voice, her perfume. He reminded himself he held the trump card, the Yankee’s first extraordinary report. He kept this with him at all times, wrapped in oilskin to protect it from the weather, ready for the moment he came face to face with Jenny and forced her to reveal where Pearl was hidden. The conte’s days were numbered. Jake reminded himself of that favourite phrase of the Doc’s, that the British lose every battle – except the last! Jake vowed he would win his own last bloody battle even if, like Horatio Nelson, he died in the attempt.
On the brink of sleep Jake jerked awake. From his swag beneath the wagon he could see a pair of men’s boots outlined against the dying light of the campfire. His hand moved to his pistol, curling around the trigger.
A voice slurred by drink asked, ‘You asleep, Jake? I’ve a bottle that needs company.’
Jake crawled out from under the wagon to face the young lad who was now known as the legendary Jabber Jabber, the Gentleman Bushranger. It was good to see Will Martens alive and free.
Jake clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Jesus, how’d you manage to escape this time? Berrima’s new gaol is supposed to be foolproof. You’re giving the screws a bad name.’
By the light of the full moon Jake took in every detail. Will’s eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw covered in stubble, he swayed in his heeled riding boots and his coat was torn. Not the Gentleman Bushranger’s usual immaculate style. Even his bravado was a pale imitation of his usual cocksure demeanour.
‘There’s a trick to getting out of Berrima. Remind me to share it with you in case you ever find yourself in residence,’ Will offered. ‘First I need to discuss a bit of business. I’ve been on the lookout for you for days.’
Jake steered him toward the campfire, threw on another log to build it up and heated up the pot of leftover Irish stew.
‘Get this grub into you, mate.’
Will ate hungrily, washing it down with a pannikin of wine.
Jake waited for him to state his business. Meanwhile they talked horses, their favourite subject. Will jerked his head towards two horses half hidden in the bush.
‘My bay mare is the best horse I ever had. Makes me feel my short life wasn’t a total waste.’ He looked wistful. ‘You know something, mate? I never did get to kiss a girl.’
‘What’s all this short life rot? You’ll kiss a score of girls and live to be ninety-nine.’
Will shook his head sagely. ‘You know as well as I do how long your average bolter can expect to stay alive once he’s taken up arms. Six months. A year tops. I’m already on borrowed time.’
‘Bull. That’s just violent bushrangers. Everyone knows you’ve never fired a shot in anger. Those newspapers love writing about you. You’re a hero to the youngsters around Ironbark.’
Will was clearly preoccupied with death. ‘Did you hear the latest about The Finisher? Governor Gipps can’t sack him. There’s no one else in the colony low enough to take over the hangman’s job! People hate him so much he’s hiding in a cell in Woolloomooloo Stockade – only game enough to emerge to perform another public hanging.’ Will looked philosophical. ‘His next job could be me!’
Jake refilled his guest’s pannikin. Will was so drunk, what harm could another bottle do?
‘So what’s this mysterious business you came to discuss, eh?’
‘Not mine. Gem’s.’ Will pulled an envelope from his pocket and offered it to Jake. ‘He asked me to write this out on his behalf. It’s sort of his last will and testament.’
‘Jesus wept,’ said Jake. ‘This is all getting a bit morbid, ain’t it?’
Will raised his hand. ‘I gave Gem my solemn word I’d deliver it to you.’
Jake stalled. ‘How about you read it to me seeing as you wrote it?’
Will read by the firelight:
Dear Pal,
This will and testament is not strictly a legal document. From where I stand the law has never done right by me, so I’d be a hypocrite to rely on the law after I’m dead and buried. In my twenty-five years I’ve met two gaujos I can almost trust. The bearer of this letter is one, you are the other.
I am leaving two things in your care. Sarishan, who did us proud winning the silver cup. I know you’ll do right by him. Secondly I am bequeathing to you a thing of far less value to me but maybe not to you. My whore. You aren’t a Rom, but you’re the next best thing to it. Take care of the bitch. I know in my gut my days of freedom are numbered. You can have her when I’m dead – not a minute before!
You know who I am
Jake took a hearty swig from the wine bottle to stop his hand from shaking. Despite Gem’s denial his words were embedded with such tortured love for Keziah that Jake felt ashamed to compare it with his own obsessive revenge against Jenny. Gem had too much Romani pride to forgive his wife. Even now when faced with the imminent prospect of death, he could not refer to Keziah without insulting her. Jake realised that in another way Gem was a better man than he was. This will and testament was proof. Gem loved his woman enough to relinquish her to another man’s protection. Jake’s only solution to Jenny’s lover was murder.
Jake’s voice sounded tight when he asked where Sarishan was. Will gestured in the direction of the horses hidden in the darkness.
Jake nodded. ‘Tell Gem to rest easy. I’ll honour the terms of his will.’
Together they downed the bottle of wine. Then Will rose to his feet, swaying so much that a stiff breeze would have knocked him over.
‘Thanks for your hospitality, Jake. Got to get back to work!’
‘Jesus wept! You’re as full as a boot, Will. You’ll get your head blown off.’
Food, wine and a good yarn had restored Will’s confidence.
‘Not me. I lead a charmed life. I need a new coat and a fresh horse to spell my mare. So it’s time to bail up the next traveller.’
‘Over my dead body, you will!’
Words failed to restrain Will, so Jake gave him a neat clip to the jaw – just enough force to send a drunk to sleep. It had begun to drizzle, but didn’t look promising enough to break the drought. Jake stretched Will out beneath his wagon and hid his boots to slow down any drunken attempt to bolt during the night. Wrapped in Jake’s blanket, his face lit by the shaft of moonlight that fell between the wagon wheels, the young bushranger looked like the schoolboy life had intended him to be.
Jake stoked the fire then lay down to sleep. He woke to find Will’s head resting on his shoulder, crying the dry sobs of a dream.
Jake felt awkward having a bloke cuddled up to him, but he knew if he woke the lad from his bad dream, the fool would head for the road and very likely meet his death.
He gave a sigh of resignation. ‘It’s all right, mate. You’re safe now.’
Will’s sobs stopped as he clung to Jake in his sleep.
Jake looked into the face of the full moon that bathed his wagon and the surrounding bushland silver. The same moon where Keziah was adamant some female Gypsy spirit lived.
Funny girl, Kez. We’re as different as chalk and cheese. I believe in nothing. She believes in every bloody thing! She reckons sleeping in moonlight turns your hair white! I guess I’ll find out the truth of that in the morning.
As he drifted in and out of sleep Jake was alerted to the sound of horses close by. Horatio was restlessly pawing the ground, neighing to warn him of danger. Jake grabbed his pistol and crawled on his belly clear of the wagon, ready to take aim.
Will’s bay mare was where he had left him but Sarishan had broken away and stood in the open, outlined by moonlight.
Jake listened to the muffled sounds of two horses’ hooves until they died away. Had some horse thieves been foiled in the act thanks to Horatio’s warning? He knew it couldn’t have been the traps, otherwise they would have lumbered Jabber Jabber in his sleep. So why had the riders halted by his camp only to ride off again?
Jake decided to mount guard until dawn.
• • •
As Jake rode Horatio towards Keziah’s cottage with Sarishan beside him he went over in his mind the news from Sydney Town he’d hoped he would never hear. He stopped at Hobson’s homestead to register his presence as usual. Polly Doyle greeted him in her friendly fashion.
‘Daniel Browne’s gone to Ogden Park for a few weeks to paint horses,’ she said with amusement. ‘Don’t Terence Ogden like the colours God gave them at birth?’
Jake disguised his mixed feelings about Daniel’s absence. Normally he would have been pleased to find Keziah home alone. For once he wished he was thousands of miles away. Swan River. Timbuktu. Any bloody where.
His gut lurched at the sight of Keziah on the veranda watching his approach. The breeze whipped her skirt around her legs and her hair flew around her face. Even in her oldest dress she was bloody beautiful.
Jake saw the flash of fear in her eyes when she recognised the second horse.
‘That’s Sarishan, isn’t it! What’s wrong, Jake?’
His voice stuck in his throat. Where did he find the right words to begin?
But Keziah only had to look into his eyes to know. She held up her hands and backed away to block the words she could not bear to hear. The dead expression in her eyes made his job even tougher.
‘I wish it wasn’t me that has to do this to you, mate,’ he said, ‘but I reckon you’d rather hear it from me than read it in some rag of a newspaper.’
‘It’s Gem,’ she said in a voice that didn’t seem to belong to her. She sank down onto the bed, clutching her shawl and shivering with cold despite the heat from the log fire.
Jake tried to block any images in his mind on the off-chance she could see them.
‘Yeah, mate. I heard it straight from an eyewitness. Gem was sprung by the traps somewhere around Camden Park. The bastards wanted to avoid any uprising of public sympathy. So they transferred him to Cockatoo Island Gaol. They say Gem broke free and tried to swim across to the shore to Birch Grove Farm but—’
‘Gem’s a poor swimmer!’
‘He almost made it but the word is he drowned.’
Keziah struggled with the reality of Jake’s news. ‘You’re lying! Gem didn’t drown.’
Jake didn’t believe in any god but he prayed anyway. Jesus wept. Please don’t let her see what really happened.
But he knew it was too late. It was as if she looked inwards to the moment of Gem’s fight for life. Her voice was filled with horror.
‘I can see his face in the water. The shark fins, his blood staining the water red!’
Jake was shocked by the accuracy of her vision. She relayed to him details that came from the warder at Cockatoo who’d witnessed the escape. Jake was chilled by the expression in her eyes. She seemed on the verge of retreating into madness to escape the ghastly visions. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her.
‘Listen to me! That came after. Gem never knew! He never even saw the sharks! An eyewitness saw it all. Gem had already drowned. I swear to God, he died free like he wanted!’
It was the biggest lie of Jake’s life.
The wildness of Keziah’s grief stunned him. He allowed her to pummel him in hysteria.
‘It’s all right, Kez, let it all out!’ He lay beside her on the bed and held her in his arms. She clung to him like a life raft until, at last, she fell asleep, exhausted. He rocked her all through the night each time her body was racked by sobs.
No woman has ever loved me the way Keziah loved Gem.
He could never tell her the shocking truth of Gem’s death. He prayed that she would never hear the full story that came from that warder at Cockatoo Island. The bastard had boasted about how no felon’s corpse ever left the island. Because the warders fed the convicts’ bodies to the bloody sharks!
• • •
At dawn Jake lit a fire in the fuel stove and made Keziah a pot of tea.
She drank like an obedient child but Jake was worried by the way she looked through him as if he wasn’t there.
He hated the strange, unfamiliar quality in her voice as she repeated the words in a whisper, ‘I don’t want to live anymore.’
How the hell was he going to break through her terrible grief? At first he tried to reason with her using soothing words, which failed. Finally, he took a calculated risk.
‘Call yourself a mother, do you? You’re going to dump Gabriel just like Jenny ran out on me? Like your gaujo mam ran out on you? I didn’t reckon on you being a coward.’
Jake saw the glimmer of fire in her eyes. She remained silent for some time, but he sensed she was working things through. Finally she said the words he was desperate to hear.
‘You’re right. Gabriel will keep me alive.’
‘Too bloody right he will! That kid’s got more sense in his little finger than Gipps and the whole Brit government put together.’
He pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on. You’ve got a school full of kids to teach. But first things first, Gabe’s waiting for his breakfast. And me, I could eat a horse.’
‘You’d what?’
‘All right! I know how you Romanies worship horses. I promise you I’ll never eat a horse as long as I live. That make you happy?’
Gabriel clambered up on his stool in his nightshirt and looked expectantly at his empty bowl of porridge.
Red-eyed, Keziah automatically resumed her maternal role. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something, Gabriel? Wash your hands and face. And then?’
‘Thank The Del for my daily bread,’ he said, then ran barefoot to the pitcher to wash.
‘Nice boy you got there,’ said Jake. ‘His mother’s not too bad, either.’
Jake watched as she walked slowly out to the horse paddock. He sensed what she planned to do before she did it.
Keziah rubbed her face against Sarishan’s nose, talking to him in the Romani tongue. Jake couldn’t understand the words but he had no doubt about the message. Kez was sharing her love, her grief. Giving and taking deep comfort from Gem’s horse.
Keziah didn’t know it yet but Sarishan was only the first half of what Gem had willed to Jake. He knew this was no time to tell her the second half. Maybe he never would.