The Promised Land. Mudrooroo

widow’s weeds. She had borrowed one of Lucy’s cool muslin creations, beneath which her body moved naturally as she had disdained the girl’s efforts to get her into stays, protesting that her rigid upright posture and firm figure did not call for such confinement.

      ‘Nor does yours,’ she had told her companion, but the decorous young wife felt that she could not appear without them in public.

      ‘It’s fun getting tied in,’ she mused, ‘and if they are tight enough, you’re always breathless.’ Lucy got her new friend to lace her up, using the operation for many a caress until Amelia warned that time was passing and they had to make an appearance in the drawing room.

      Now she tripped in on soft slippers, holding her companion’s arm. They stopped in the centre of the room, the cynosure of all eyes.

      ‘My, you look like sisters,’ exclaimed Sir George, pushing away the idea of gold to fasten his eyes on another gold – the locks of his wife in a heavy chignon. Then he switched his gaze to Mrs Fraser whose pale, almost white hair flowed freely to set off the delicacy of her features. He noticed that her face was somewhat flushed, her cheeks appearing like pink roses on a field of pure snow, and could not but think that she was a rare beauty; that is, until he met the coldness of her gaze and revised his opinion. Her eyes were the cold blue of sapphires, but reddened in the whites from some malady, which must be that which forbade her skin the touch of the sun. She was all pale hues and as cool as snowfields under a distant moon.

      ‘If not sisters, at least friends beyond the good, for already I love her,’ Lucy declared, dimpling prettily and giving a curtsy to the men, one slender white hand clasped around the alabaster arm of her companion. She appeared pale, though there seemed a radiance beneath the pallor that suggested she might blush at any time. The governor’s wife stared enviously from one to the other. Experience narrowed her eyes before she managed to uptilt the corners of her lips in a smile. Such things as she imagined were out of place in this godforsaken colony, though there had been that shriek of ecstasy. Even if that Amelia Fraser seemed about as passionate as an icicle, she had once been captured by savages and held at the mercy of their powerful lusts.

      ‘I thought I heard you scream,’ Sir George said to Lucy with a smile, speaking to hide the lapse of manners on the part of the governor as he pulled himself belatedly from his chair to greet the entrance of the women.

      ‘Oh, you know me and my little upsets. It was only Amelia’s – Mrs Fraser’s – dog. The silly thing sprang at me and put me in a panic. I thought it was about to attack, but it only gave me a good licking. Yuk, and it’s so difficult to get warm water here. I feel positively defiled.’

      ‘They got on famously,’ Amelia observed. ‘It is not often that my dog takes so readily to someone; but have no fear, I have brought him to heel.’

      ‘Oh, he’s a good doggy,’ Lucy pouted back. ‘Such a slobber he made over me.’

      ‘Please, come and sit by me,’ Rebecca broke in, jealous at how much attention the two fresh young women were receiving and wanting some of it for herself. ‘We do not stand on observance here and your costumes, though suitable to the climate, in other places would be too, too flippish for evening wear.’ And she shifted in her seat, calling attention to her own apparel which, if not de rigueur, was the correct attire for that time of day.

      Lucy giggled when she glanced at the governor’s lady. She turned to her companion and made a moue. She had not seen a dress so out of fashion, except on older ladies, and this again brought forth the giggle as she tugged on her new friend’s arm to take her to the two chairs which were close to Mrs Crawley. The lady indicated the near one for her and she obliged, wishing that the woman had not occupied the couch, for she and Amelia might have sat pressed together indeed like two sisters or – and Lucy raised a slight blush – like she and Mina used to do.

      ‘Now, my dear,’ Mrs Crawley said pleasantly and maliciously. ‘Relate to me the incidents not of your voyage but of the past season in London. I know that you are not acquainted with the highest society, but it is well reported in the newspapers. Do you know that we were intimates of Lord Steyne? And oh, the balls and receptions I used to attend.’ And so she went on and Lucy had to listen, though every now and again she managed to give Amelia’s arm a squeeze.

      With the ladies settled on their side of the room and engaged in conversation, the impatient Sir George returned to his new topic of interest.

      Governor Crawley stroked his chin, listened, stared at his glass, looked up at the ceiling, which was of hessian stretched across the rafters, sighed as he set his thoughts into motion and then his thoughts into words. ‘Dashed unlucky for the colony, if you ask me. Dashed unlucky, what with our small population. Just getting on our feet and all that. Didn’t think of gold when I sanctioned that expedition by Bailey. Look for good sheep and cattle country, not gold, I told him. That’s where the real wealth is, you know. Pastoralism. Get some good estates going. Mutton, beef, straight to India. Wool too. Leather. Excellent prospects, excellent, and trade for some coolies. Indentured labourers, just like slaves, but under contract –’

      ‘Yes, but about this discovery of gold,’ broke in Sir George, raising his voice to a squeal which irritated an answer from any listener it was directed at.

      ‘Ah yes, gold, more trouble than it’s worth. Bailey was to mount an expedition and make a track eastwards. Set up some depots for others to follow on. Survey and report on the prospects of the country. Did that, he did. Good man. Yes, dry as a bone. Couple of waterholes along the way. Dug them out. Dismal country. Natives, buck naked, pretty wretched too. God knows what they live on. Got him enough drays, carts to carry supplies to set up the depots. Provisions too. Well planned. No problems. Bit of forage about the water, not much though, and no game to speak of. Adventurous cuss, that Bailey. Shook his hand when he set out. Shook his hand when he came back. Grand sight, him going off. Stretching out like an army supply line. Less grand when he returned, though.’

      ‘And the gold, man?’ squealed Sir George.

      The governor ignored the ill-mannered intervention and continued on. ‘Well, it was him that found the dashed stuff. Rather, he came back with a lump of what I thought was copper ore. Just copper. Big hunk of stone. Used it for a door stop, thought nothing of it. When this fellow, forget his name, he came to see me on some business or other. Botheration, but he knew ores and rocks and suchlike things. He’s with me, drinking up the last of my brandy, when his eyes go to it. He picks it up, scrapes at it a little with a knife, then declares that it is gold. “Gold?” I ask and he replies, “Gold, and a good essay too.” And he wants to know where it was found and, like a confounded fool, I tell him. Too much work involved if it got out. Only realised that after and I got him to promise not to mention it. Word of a gentleman and all that. Well, there’s not many gentlemen about when there’s gold to be had. He went off after it, and not only that, but the whole town got wind of it and followed. Now the male population is out there. Only women and children left, sir. Only women and children. Even the shopkeepers are there, making more than a pretty penny. Dashed shame, and just when the colony was picking itself up too.’

      ‘Gold, gold,’ Sir George said, his voice dropping dramatically and his eyes shining with sudden greed. ‘Gold,’ he repeated in a whisper before recollecting himself. He puffed up as he assumed his official role. ‘Governor Crawley,’ he stated. ‘I’m afraid that this gives a different perspective to my mission. I had thought that the population of this colony would slowly increase and thus not upset the natives too much; but if gold has been discovered, this means that hordes of riffraff and rascals will descend upon them. Ruffians who will not hesitate to mistreat and take mean advantage of those poor wretches living in their desert fastnesses far from aid and succour. They must be protected, sir, and I am here on behalf of the government to see that they are protected.’

      ‘Hem, report wasn’t it? Just a report.’

      ‘It was and still is, Colonel Crawley, and to do that report properly, I must see for myself this ... this goldfield.’

      ‘That’s easier said than done, man. The dashed area is somewhat far from here. Hardship, sir, hardship.