Falsely Accused, page 9
“You’re awake?” He brought over a mug of tea. “Drink this; I cooled it off with some cold water.”
She gulped the warm liquid down in a couple of swallows, and held the mug out for more.
“Not too much for a start or you’ll make yourself sick.”
When he went to take the cup away she grabbed at his arm. “Shane, my clothes.”
“I took them off and burned them. Fitzhugh left bruises all over your body. I cleaned you up as best I could, and Maryanne…” He stood up and turned his head away. “You, you don’t have to worry about having that pig’s bastard, either.”
Though her body ached all over, Maryanne realized her stomach pains came from a different source.
“I’ll give you my spare set of clothes. We’ll have something to eat before we go.”
“Don’t turn away from me please. It wasn’t my fault.”
He swung around, and as she stared into his pebble hard eyes she instinctively knew things would never be the same between them again. When he spoke, his voice held such savagery she wanted to die.
“I don’t know whether I can take Fitzhugh’s leavings.”
“Shane!” She doubled over with the pain of his brutality. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“I know, but, God, I can’t help how I feel; maybe later.”
“You don’t have to jeopardize yourself by helping me, give me some food, and point out the way to O’Rourke’s.”
“No, we’ll leave together, Maryanne, but Fitzhugh will pay. I swear by the Holy Mother. One day I’ll kill him.”
After dressing in a rough cotton smock and blue trousers, she made her way over to the fire.
“Freshly roasted lamb, eat your fill. We won’t be able to take any with us, in this heat it wouldn’t last more than a couple of hours.”
She didn’t feel hungry, but forced herself to swallow a few chunks. “Where will we go?” she asked watching his teeth ripping at a shank.
“Not O’Rourke’s, it’s the first place they’ll look for us. Besides, harboring escaped convicts is an offence, particularly if you’re an ex-convict like O’Rourke. We couldn’t put either him or Libby at risk.”
“I didn’t think.”
“We’ll have to find somewhere to lie low for a while, let them think we’re both dead.”
“How will we live?”
“Anyway, we can. Lots of rich English gentlemen travel along the Parramatta Road.”
“Become highwaymen?”
“They’re called bushrangers out here.”
“Robbing people, oh, Shane, we couldn’t.”
“Why not? We’ll probably hang if we’re caught anyway. Your hair is a dead giveaway we’ll have to cut it off.”
He moved in closer, taking her chin in one hand he tilted her head back. “That’s some black eye you’ve got.”
“I must look awful.”
“You are pretty battered.” He pulled the clip from her hair. It tumbled down over her shoulders and he ran his fingers through the fine strands.
“Pity we have to cut it,” he mused. “Still, it’s safer if you travel around as a man.”
“It will grow again. On the ship coming out, several women got their heads shaved.”
He pulled out a knife, grabbed a handful of hair and started hacking with an almost vicious determination, letting the silver tresses drop carelessly to the ground.
When he finished, she ran her fingers over her cropped head. It felt light, but not unpleasant.
“You’ll pass for a youth easily.” He callously relegated her hair to the flames. Without speaking they watched it fizzing and burning.
After dousing the fire with water, he scattered the sheep. “Take them days to round this lot up. These woollies are more valuable to Fitzhugh than us, should buy us a bit of time.”
He packed everything into a sack, slung it on the horse and beckoned her over. “Ever ridden before?”
“No.”
“We’ll have to ride double until I get you a mount.” He lifted her on the horse and swung up behind.
***
They rode for days, detouring often so as to avoid the Government Depots, and the soldiers guarding the chain gangs. Shane trapped small animals for them to eat, and on a couple of occasions they found some wild honey. On the outskirts of a settlement, he dismounted and swung Maryanne to the ground.
“I’m going to get us some supplies, wait here,” he instructed.
“But it’s so dark, I’m frightened. What if the soldiers come?”
“They won’t, just keep out of sight.”
After he departed, she sagged against a tree. For the first day or so of their flight, she had been so stiff and sore from Fitzhugh’s beating and riding, it had been agony to move; now, the bruises were fading. She had became more attuned to the horse’s motion, but oh, the weariness.
Shane spoke little, yet she sensed his brooding anger, fearfully watching as hatred slowly poisoned him. A sudden whistle caused her to jump.
“Is that you, Shane?”
“Hurry, I’ve got you a horse.” He helped her mount before vaulting into his own saddle.
“Thread your fingers through the mane and hang on, I’ll lead you until you get used to it.”
They galloped off into the darkness with Maryanne clinging on desperately.
“Crouch down,” he instructed, “we’re heading straight into the bush. I don’t want you getting knocked off by a branch.”
After a time, they came to a river. “We’ll take to the water for a while,” he decided.
“Why?”
“Hide our tracks, of course. Don’t women know anything?” He urged their horses on.
“There’s a lookout I want to make for. The mountains here are riddled with caves; take a whole army to flush us out.”
“How do you know?” The water came up to the horse’s belly, and her legs got wet.
“I met someone at the tavern.”
“What!”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, he can be trusted, he’s a ticket of leave man. Lost count of the number of lashes he’s had himself, but they flogged his brother to death at Port Arthur. No man forgets a thing like that.”
“How terrible.”
“He said there are good pickings on the road lately. We’ll continue downstream for a while longer until we find a place to make camp. It’s too dangerous trying to find our way to the top in the dark.”
They slept in their clothes, stretched out side by side on a blanket with another one covering them. The night was cold, but the warmth from Shane’s body kept Maryanne from freezing.
“Shane.” She ran her fingers across his cheek. “What’s going to become of us?”
“When we build up a stake we’ll leave here, go to Sydney and get passage on board a ship.
“Go back to England?”
“No, the Americas perhaps. We can make our fortunes over there; then we’ll go home to Ireland. You’d like Ireland.” He wrapped his arms around her. “So green and pretty. I’m from Dublin, but I’ve always wanted to live on one of those big estates, only most of them are owned by absentee Englishmen.”
***
Next morning, after a meal of hard tack washed down with water, they set off again. Shane decided it was too risky lighting a campfire.
Maryanne’s horse, a large roan beast, had pricked ears and restless eyes.
“I’ll ride him, he’s built to race. This,” he jabbed a finger towards his own mount, “is a working hack, easier for you to handle on your own.”
They set off with Shane leading. She followed with the horse’s reins grasped nervously in both hands. It was hard enough riding astride like a man, but in skirts and petticoats it would be a hundred times worse. As she bounced along, she wondered how long it would take to get used to riding. It was bone jarring, not really unpleasant, but she envied the ease at which Shane rode.
Jake would have looked truly magnificent on horseback. She closed her eyes to block out the pain of lost love.
The sky unfolded in front of them, an unending expanse of cobalt blue, and colorful birds darted through the trees. What a vivid, untamed colony. Would it ever be able to rid itself of the stench from the blood and suffering inflicted on its reluctant settlers?
They climbed steadily upward. When they finally paused, the vista spread out before them took her breath away.
“Oh, Shane, we can see for miles.”
“I know.” He grinned. “What chance has any redcoat got of surprising us up here?”
They tethered their horses, and while she rested her aching bones, Shane went exploring. He came back after a time and squatted down beside her.
“I’ve found a cave; we’ll set up camp there. Only thing, there’s no water close by so we’ll have to cart what we want.”
The cave, a deep hole gouged into a wall of rock, went back about ten feet. The front was quite open, strewn with white shiny stones, devoid of vegetation, but it commanded an uninterrupted view for miles. In the distance, snaking like a giant reptile through the wattle scrub, she saw a track.
“Only road out of Parramatta,” Shane said, coming to stand beside her. “Plenty of rich gentlemen just waiting for us to relieve them of their bulging purses, mail constables are pretty frequent, too.”
“We’re going to become common criminals.”
His mouth twisted. “They’ve driven us to it. Think of it. Fitzhugh has fifteen thousand sheep and gets over a hundred bales of fine wool from land he got for nothing, all because he’s English gentry.”
“Don’t get bitter.” She put her hand out to touch him, but he flinched away. “What happened wasn’t my fault.”
“I know. I can’t help how I feel, though.” He stepped back a pace. “The thought of touching you, after that, that bastard’s mounted you, makes me sick.”
The violence of his words throbbed on the air. Maryanne knew for certain now they had no real future together. Fitzhugh’s violation would always be a barrier between them. What would Jake have done? She tried to reassure herself he might have acted differently.
For their evening meal, they ate wallaby roasted in hot coals. It tasted delicious, so long as she didn’t dwell on the pretty, furry little creature hopping so innocently into Shane’s trap.
***
Several days passed before they started their outlaw career. They rode all over the area to familiarize themselves with the terrain, and Maryanne’s riding skills improved. Shane selected three different ambush points because they had easily accessible escape routes should anything go wrong. A mile in from the track, the scrub became an impenetrable wall to those unfamiliar with it.
“We’ll take the first person coming along,” he decided as they waited behind the trees.
How terrible; cold bloodedly waiting to ambush some innocent wayfarer, Maryanne thought as her heart galloped at breakneck speed. The blood rushing through her veins made her toes tingle.
A lone horseman came into view. “I’ll take him on my own,” Shane said with a grin. “You stay hidden here, I’ll holler if I need help.”
He pulled a spotted kerchief over his face, and with his hat pulled down tightly, only his eyes were visible.
“No.” She pushed away the pistol he held out.
“Yes, if this goes wrong and he gets the jump on me, you’ll need something.”
She took it and, for the first time ever, held a gun in her hand. How smooth and cold it felt beneath her shaking fingertips.
“Bail up,” the two words rang out clearly. The man raised his hands as Shane cocked his pistol.
“Throw your purse on the ground,” he ordered. “Come on, hurry up, or you’re a dead man.”
Their victim was gentry, from the double-breasted high collared velvet coat, to the fine linen stock around his throat.
“Please, don’t kill me,” he sniveled.
Maryanne watched fearfully as he dragged a fat purse out of one pocket and dropped it on the road.
“Right, be off,” Shane ordered. “Don’t turn around or else,” he threatened, waving the pistol.
The man spurred his horse into a gallop and raced off without a backward glance. When he disappeared from sight Shane dangled from the saddle and scooped up the purse. They escaped into the bush, and its thickness quickly hid them from the road.
“Easy,” he gloated when they got back to the cave and started counting their booty.
“We were lucky,” she said. His reckless laughter caused frightened chills to race up her spine.
For the next few months they were quite successful, so their pile of gold steadily mounted. Maryanne took no active part in the robberies, but remained close by in case something went wrong and Shane needed help.
His brash, over-confidence turned into a constant worry, and he started disappearing at night without saying where he went. Sometimes other men returned with him, and they looked such desperate types she was glad to be disguised as a man. The obscenities they used were revolting, and Shane was becoming nearly as bad.
“Like to warm my bed, pretty boy?” a particularly vicious oaf leered one night.
“No thank you, I’m with Shane.” She backed away.
“Even shares in everything, you promised, O’Brien.” The two other men agreed with their horrible friend
“Oh, all right,” Shane agreed.
Maryanne staggered with shock, as Shane snickered. “Probably give you a dose of the pox. I only keep him here to look after things when I’m away. Doesn’t make a bad wallaby stew, either.”
“Lola wouldn’t like it,” one of the others said. “That woman is jealous as hell.”
All of the men laughed, and Maryanne felt sickened because Shane sounded as crude as them. Did Lola work at the tavern he now frequented? No wonder he wouldn’t listen to her warnings about the danger of exposing himself so often.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m interested, she vowed, but I won’t be staying around here for much longer. I’m in prison even if there are no iron bars.
“The biggest robbery the colony has ever seen,” Shane gloated.
She edged a little closer then wished she hadn’t. They were planning to join up with another gang, and simultaneously rob Government House and Sydney’s largest bank, before making for the wharves and taking over a ship. Cold dread slithered along her spine.
“You’ll never get away with such madness, Shane, we’re doing all right here.”
“One last big job.” His eyes burned. “Darrington has planned it all down to the finest detail.”
“The black duke,” the oafish man said, picking at his teeth with a slim bladed knife, “is the smartest, deadliest bushranger in the colony. Got a price on his head. Lives with the natives and can trap and survive off the land like they do.”
“Has himself a black wife, too,” another snickered. “Not that I mind tasting a bit of dark flesh now and again if there’s nothing else available.”
Maryanne edged away. Did no decent man live in this evil place? The other men slept rolled up in their blankets by the fire, but she and Shane still shared the cave.
In all the months since their escape, he had never been able to mount her successfully. After a few failures, he gave up trying.
It had been months since their escape from Fitzhugh, surely it would be safe to seek out Libby and O’Rourke now, and enlist their aid.
She lay in their cave trying to work out a plan. Would she be able to do it without Shane, though? She would make one last plea to him before he recklessly committed himself to this latest folly. It couldn’t work, but what a daring plan, stealing a ship and getting out of this hell. Just the type of enterprise Jake would be capable of organizing.
A drunken oath from Shane, then she heard him floundering around in the dark.
“We have to talk, please, this plan is madness. Let’s go to O’Rourke’s.”
He came down beside her and dragged her into his arms. “Don’t want to talk,” he slurred, bruising her lips with savage kisses. He pulled frantically at her clothes squeezing and biting her breasts until she yelped with pain. As his frustration grew, he became rougher.
“Bitch, it’s your fault.” He slapped her face. “You’re frigid. I have no trouble with Lola.”
“Well, go to your whore.”
“I will.” He shoved her away. “She’ll be coming to the Americas with us, too.”
“I’m not going with you, Shane. You’ll end up on the gallows, all of you.”
“Go to hell,” he snarled before stumbling away.
The fire still burned, from the cave opening, she watched its redness flickering in the darkness, and somehow found it comforting. In the morning, she would leave and find Libby.
***
When Maryanne awoke, her jaw ached, all her teeth felt as if they had been loosened. She stood up slowly, searching the cave in the morning light. Except for her, it was completely empty. Shane had gone, taking everything with him.
Dashing outside, she almost cried with relief because he had at least left her a horse. The saddle lay on the ground and next to it sat a sack containing flour, sugar, tea and salt.
“At least I won’t starve on the journey, boy.” She patted the horse’s scraggy mane.
The fire had gone out, so without washing or eating Maryanne saddled up. She was a fairly accomplished rider by now, and the bush, she thought of it not as a brooding, frightening place, but as a haven from the authorities.
She rode across country for a time. The trees were decorated with golden balls of fluff that rained gently upon them as they brushed by, and the white daisies were ruthlessly trampled underfoot. She loved the savage beauty of this place. Several times on her exploratory forages she found clumps of wild orchids.
The sunny spring days were warm, the evenings still frosty. Winter had been a mild one according to Shane, but icy winds still roared through the mountains, even if little rain actually fell.
On passing an iron gang station, she forced herself to call out a casual greeting to the young soldier sitting on a log guarding several convicts. She scanned the faces of these poor manacled wretches, and didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry Jake was not one of them.
