Bridie's Fire (19 page)

Gilbert and Bridie trudged into the ring of bright campfires. Suddenly, there was a flurry of dust, and scampering across the clearing towards them was the dog they had fed earlier in the day. He stood up on his hind legs, doing a little dance. Gilbert dropped on one knee to pat him, laughing.

A man in a battered top hat with tufts of silver hair sticking out sauntered towards them, swinging a walking stick.

‘Hello, my lovelies, I see my Marmalade's taken to you.' He swung his cane and the dog leapt over it playfully. Then man and dog began a series of circus-like manoeuvres, the dog leaping and twisting as the man swished his cane in looping figures of eight. When he finished, the man caught Bridie's eye and winked, tipping the edge of his crumpled top hat. His plaid suit was flecked with mud and the colours in the fabric were dulled by a heavy layer of dust.

‘Why did you call the pup Marmalade?' asked Gilbert, scooping the dog into his arms and offering him back to the old man. ‘Isn't that a cat's name?'

‘Ahh, but he's the sweetest thing, especially in the morning, wakes me up and makes the day worth living through, that one does. Little Marmalade in the morning with a nice cup of tea and a piece of toast – there's not a better way to start the day.'

Gilbert laughed and then looked away when he realised Bridie was hanging back, frowning.

‘Aloysius Alphonse Jacobus,' said the man, taking his hat off and bowing.

‘I'm Gilbert De—'

But Bridie intervened. ‘Bert, that's my brother Bert, and I'm Billy Dare.'

‘Bert and Billy,' said Mister Jacobus. ‘Well, I can see you're a fine young gent, Gilbert,' he said, ignoring Bridie and smiling at Gilbert. ‘But what are you doing taking off to the goldfields? A fine lad like yourself, and from a good home, shouldn't be taking such risks.'

Jacobus turned to Bridie and eyed her with a calculating look, reaching out to tweak a lock of her black hair.

‘Now, young Paddy here, I can see why he's on the run.'

‘My name's not Paddy,' she said crossly, pushing the man's hand away from her.

‘Well, it's not Lord Alfred, either, I'll wager you that,' said Jacobus, grinning.

Bridie swallowed hard and looked across at Gilbert. They didn't look much alike. He was so tall and straight-limbed and handsome. His face had an open look about it, a look that showed he'd lived well and been much loved. He'd become dirty and more ordinary-looking in the last days of travelling, but his clear blue eyes and intelligent expression belied the dirt and grime. She wouldn't claim him as her brother again.

‘Why don't you come and join me and Marmalade by our campfire and tell me how you've found the road? I've got a pannikin of water on the boil to make ourselves a nice cup of tea. Would you young gents care to join me?'

‘Mister Jacobus,' Bridie began, ‘I don't reckon . . .'

‘You can call me Alf, most folks do.'

‘Mister Jacobus, we appreciate your hospitality but Bert and me, we'd planned to get closer to Ballarat before setting up camp today. We have to move along.'

‘What's the matter?' hissed Gilbert, leaning closer to her.

Bridie rolled her eyes and dragged him away.

‘Why can't we camp with him?' complained Gilbert.

‘I don't trust him,' said Bridie, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure they'd got well ahead of Jacobus and his dog.

‘You don't trust anyone, Bridie,' said Gilbert grumpily.

‘I trust you,' she said.

‘Then maybe you should trust my judgement too. I don't want to have to gather a lot of wet firewood and pitch camp in the mud. He seems nice enough to me, and he's got a good dry spot under that big gum tree.'

Bridie sighed. She loved the way Gilbert was so willing to like people. That was why the two of them were friends – he hadn't cared that she was just an Irish serving-girl. But there was something about the old man that made Bridie's thumbs prick. Reluctantly, she crossed the muddy clearing with Gilbert to join the old man squatting by his campfire.

‘We'd like to take you up on your offer, thank you kindly, sir,' said Gilbert, flashing his wide, white smile.

Gilbert tended Sugar first, taking off her saddle and rubbing the weary pony down with a small cloth and then covering her with a horse-blanket that he kept rolled tight in the saddlebag.

‘Fine-looking animal you have there, Bert,' said the old man, offering Gilbert a tin mug of tea.

‘She's the best pony a boy could wish for. We've come all the way from Melbourne and passed many a bigger, stronger horse, but Sugar hasn't faltered once.'

‘Aye, did ye see the big draughthorse caught in the mud a few miles back, sunk to his haunches. His owner shot him rather than leave him to die there.'

Gilbert and Bridie both shuddered. Bridie couldn't bear to think how Gilbert would cope if anything should happen to Sugar.

‘So what do your parents think of the pair of you, heading off to seek your fortunes?' asked Jacobus, his eyes flashing.

Bridie said nothing, scowling into the fire. ‘Well, you see, sir, Mr Jacobus, my brother Billy and I, we're orphans,' said Gilbert, folding his hands and smiling earnestly. ‘So there are no parents to worry about us. We've lost our parents and it's only each other that we've got for company now.' Bridie groaned inwardly at Gilbert's cheerful tone. He'd never make a good liar.

‘You two are no more brothers than I'm a blackfella.'

Bridie narrowed her eyes. ‘Looks can be deceiving, Mr Jacobus. You could have a black heart and Bert here could be my soul's own kin. There's no accounting for the mysteries of this world.'

Jacobus laughed and reached into his pocket for a small metal flask which he took a swig from. ‘That's the truth, my boy. That's surely the truth.'

‘And what were you before you came for the gold?' she asked, pointedly.

‘Ah, before I sought the sacred trail to El Dorado, I was both a thespian and a magician. But I still am a thespian, will always, in my black heart, be a thespian. Of late I have been plying my wizardly skills. Always a sure way to secure some coinage for the adventuring man.'

‘How do you do that?' asked Gilbert, leaning forward, his face lit by the campfire.

Jacobus leaned over, brushed his hand past Gilbert's ear and as if by magic withdrew a card, the Ace of Diamonds. He gave it to Gilbert. ‘A symbol of what lies ahead for you, my boy,' he said. Gilbert turned and grinned at Bridie. Then Jacobus leaned towards her and she flinched as his hand brushed past her face. He held up another card, a Queen of Spades. ‘I'm sorry, young Billy Dare, it seems you have the luck of the Irish.' And he cackled.

From the folds of his coat he produced a dog-eared deck of cards and did some tricks with them, fanning them out, selecting cards at will from the thick fold and making them appear and disappear. Then he brought out a small concertina and played a little tune. Marmalade came close to the fire then and rose up on his hind legs, dancing a spinning jig.

After the music finished, Gilbert tried to persuade Jacobus to show him how to do the card tricks.

‘I can't wait until I can pull that trick on Constance. She won't believe I can do it,' he whispered to Bridie.

Bridie drew further away from the circle of light, watching man and boy together. Marmalade came and sat by her, nuzzling her hand in the hope of a scrap, but she pushed the dog away. Finally, Jacobus grew tired of instructing Gilbert and made moves to settle for the night.

‘When you've struck your gold, you mustn't forget your old wayside chum, my lovelies,' said Mister Jacobus, shaking his blanket out and covering himself up. ‘Goodnight, boyos. Let's all of us dream of the treasures that lie ahead.'

Bridie could have sworn that he winked at her as he said it. She turned her back to the campfire and lay very still, listening to the gentle patter of the rain on the canopy of leaves above them.

27

Midnight

Gilbert's shout woke her. He was standing on the edge of the clearing, calling for Sugar, his voice sharp with desperation. The rain was still coming down in a light but steady fall. Bridie sat up and looked around. The campfire was a smouldering pile of ashes. She scrambled across the campsite to the place where Jacobus had slept the night before, and put her hand on the ground. It was long cold. Bridie knew, without even looking further, that the man was probably hours away, on the road to Ballarat.

‘How could he! How could he do that to us!' Gilbert shouted, his fists clenched, his face red with fury.

Bridie shrugged and resisted the urge to say, ‘I told you so.'

‘There's only one place he's gone to with Sugar, and it's the same place we're headed. We'll get her back, Gilbert.'

All around the clearing, the other goldseekers were breaking camp, loading their animals or barrows and heading down along the rutted track. Luckily, Bridie had unloaded all the food from Sugar's saddlebags and piled them up close to her beneath a square of canvas, but Gilbert had left Sugar's saddle beneath the tree that she had been tethered to, and the old wizard had taken it as well.

Wearily, Bridie and Gilbert set off, following the trail of a big dray. It was slow going, stumbling over the ruts and jostling for space with all the other goldseekers. When the sun broke through mid-morning, steam rose up from the forest all around them and from their backs as their shirts dried.

All the spark had gone out of Gilbert. He talked wildly about going back to Geelong to fetch the police to pursue Jacobus, about finding the old man's camp and murdering him in his sleep, and then he grew silent and tears welled at the corners of his eyes. Bridie felt guilty at having persuaded him to join her and especially for encouraging him to bring Sugar along. She was going to have to think up something fast to stop him sinking deeper into despair. The grief of losing Sugar was settling on him like a cairn of stones, crushing his spirit.

They walked in silence for a while. ‘You have to look at it like what happened to that hero of yours, Odysseus,' Bridie said, casting around for something to fire his imagination. ‘He had lots of things to try him. This is sent to try us. An evil sorcerer has crossed our path and stolen your steed. You can't turn back. You have to pursue him and set things to right and bring home the Golden Fleece. That's your story.'

‘That was Jason, not Odysseus. Anyway, I think I'd rather be like your hero in your story, like Cú Culainn, and just take the evil druid's head off. We should tell the troopers as soon as we get to the goldfields. We could have him arrested and then they'd hang him as a horse thief.'

‘But he's the evil sorcerer,' insisted Bridie. ‘We have to outwit him. The police can't help us. Besides, the police will make you go home and I'd probably be arrested for breaking my indenture.'

That night, they tagged behind a big dray that had overtaken them as the evening shadows grew long across the track. The driver glanced down at them as he steered past, his long gun across his lap. When the dray finally pulled in between a stand of tall gums, Bridie and Gilbert stopped too, camping a little distance away from the reassuring bulk of the dray and its passengers. Bridie didn't like the feel of the dark and brooding bush around them. She couldn't explain why, but as soon as Gilbert had fallen asleep, she stamped out their fire and dragged some fallen branches over their swags to disguise where they lay. Perhaps being robbed by Jacobus was making her uneasy, but it was more than that, something in the eerie stillness of the bush around them.

She woke with a start. It was still dark but she could hear the sound of horses and men's voices quite close to where she lay. In the faint starlight, she could just make out the outline of three men. They came so close that she could smell the heat from their horses and the sour scent of the men's sweat. Silhouetted against the night sky, she saw a long gun lying across the pommel of a rider's saddle. She knew the whole encampment was in danger. Leaving Gilbert where he lay, she moved stealthily through the darkness to where she'd seen the big driver of the dray crawl under his cart to sleep.

‘Mister, mister,' she said whispering hoarsely, close to the driver's ear. ‘Mister, there's bushrangers on the edge of the camp. Wake up, they'll kill you in your sleep. Wake up.' She shook his arm and the man sat up abruptly, hitting his head on the cart.

‘What the divil!' he said, rubbing his head.

‘You got your gun, mister?' asked Bridie. ‘'Cause I think it's time to use it.'

The man turned and looked out into the dark bush. ‘How many?' he asked as he groped to one side for his gun.

‘Three.'

It was awkward for the dray driver to load both the shotgun and his pistol beneath the cart. Bridie could smell the sharp tang of the gunpowder as he opened a little leather pouch. ‘What do you think they're waiting for?' asked Bridie, peering out into the darkness. Shadows flickered all along the edge of the campground but it could have been trees moving in the breeze.

‘Likely they're scouting the camp, figuring how they'll take us. But we'll take them first. Put the fear of God in them and send them back into the bush. Here, boy, hold this while I load up my pistol as well.' Bridie took the musket from him and felt the cool, hard weight of the barrel in her hands. ‘Now, boy, you'll needs be my right hand. No time to wake my mate George. You hands me the pistol soon as I've fired the musket. Follow me.'

The driver scrambled out from under the cart and quickly raised the musket to his shoulder, scanning the dark edge of the bush. Bridie could just make out the shadowy outline of a man on horseback, edging through the gums.

‘There,' she said, pointing.

The musket went off with a deafening roar. There was a loud curse and the bushranger appeared, his horse rearing up over the embers of the central campfire. Shouts came from all directions as other miners woke, and another gun went off. Something cut through the air near Bridie's head.