Jewel In the North Read online

  TRICIA

  STRINGER

  Jewel in the

  NORTH

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  About Tricia Stringer

  Tricia Stringer is the bestselling author of the rural romances Queen of the Road, Right as Rain, Riverboat Point, Between the Vines, and A Chance of Stormy Weather and the historical sagas Heart of the Country and Dust on the Horizon, the first two books in the Flinders Ranges series.

  Queen of the Road won the Romance Writers of Australia Romantic Book of the Year award in 2013 and Riverboat Point and Between the Vines were shortlisted for the same award in 2015 and 2016 respectively.

  Tricia grew up on a farm in country South Australia and has spent most of her life in rural communities, as owner of a post office and bookshop, as a teacher and librarian, and now as a full-time writer. She now lives in the beautiful Copper Coast region with her husband Daryl. From here she travels and explores Australia’s diverse communities and landscapes, and shares this passion for the country and its people through her stories.

  For further information go to triciastringer.com or connect with Tricia on Facebook or Twitter @tricia_stringer

  Also by Tricia Stringer

  Queen of the Road

  Right as Rain

  Riverboat Point

  Between the Vines

  A Chance of Stormy Weather

  THE FLINDERS RANGES SERIES

  Heart of the Country

  Dust on the Horizon

  To my Tilbrook aunties,

  Barbara and Mary

  Contents

  About Tricia Stringer

  Also by Tricia Stringer

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Forty-four

  Forty-five

  Forty-six

  Forty-seven

  Forty-eight

  Forty-nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-one

  Fifty-two

  Fifty-three

  Fifty-four

  Fifty-five

  Fifty-six

  Fifty-seven

  Fifty-eight

  Fifty-nine

  Sixty

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  July 1894

  There was little comfort in the front room of the Hawker Hotel save the pitiful fire and the frothy ale. A winter storm raged outside. Inside the men huddled together as much for the warmth as due to the cramped conditions. Smoke from the fire mingled with the more cloying fumes of pipe tobacco, but the overpowering smell was of sheep. The men were mostly shepherds with their recent pay packet in their pockets, from which most of them would soon be parted. They were jammed in like sheep in a pen.

  For Clem the excitement of coming to town had dimmed. From his vantage point in the corner of the room he knew everyone except for two strangers. He’d noticed them as soon as they’d walked in; they were well dressed, more like city men. He could see they were buying drinks for the shepherds they spoke to. Clem had an uneasy feeling about them, especially the taller man who kept glancing around as if he were looking for someone. Right at that moment the man swivelled his head in Clem’s direction. Clem looked away and pressed against the wall.

  His friend, Albie, pushed a mug of ale towards him. “Here, drink this. Put a smile on your face.” He giggled. It was a silly sound coming from the wiry man who was older than Clem by ten years and had the stamina of several bigger fellows combined.

  “Thanks, Albie.” He stared into the froth. Clem had never been much of a drinker.

  Albie gave him a nudge. “Drink up.” Once more he gave the silly giggle. He’d already had a few more mugs of ale than Clem.

  Clem nodded his thanks and took a big mouthful of the brown liquid.

  “How much of this stuff you reckon we can drink with this money?” Albie patted his pocket, his face contorted in a huge grin.

  Clem couldn’t help but smile back. “More than you can hold in your belly.”

  He had already bought himself a warm jacket and some new boots before he came to the hotel but he was fairly sure Albie would spend his whole month’s pay there. “Remember you have to be back for work in two days. Old man Prosser will beat you if you’re late.”

  Albie grinned so hard his face was almost split in two by his big wide mouth. “He’s gotta catch me first.”

  Clem shook his head as his friend turned away and went back to a small group huddled by the fire. Albie had been employed by Prosser because of his speed and agility around sheep. His father had been a shepherd and Albie knew the hill country well. He was a sensible fellow when his belly wasn’t full of ale.

  The rain pounded heavily on the roof, causing a momentary pause in the conversation as everyone looked up. Then the talking resumed, but louder.

  More rain was welcome. The years since Clem had arrived in the district had been a time of plentiful rain but there were those who told tales of the terrible drought from several years before. Clem couldn’t imagine it when all he could see was long grass for the sheep and cattle. Trouble was the rabbits were in bountiful supply too and following them came the dingoes that not even the fences kept out. The only way to keep sheep safe was to have men watching them all the time.

  Clem glanced around at the faces in the room. Many of them wouldn’t have a job if it weren’t for the dingoes. It was certainly the only reason Albie had money in his pocket. Ellis Prosser was fussy about the men he employed. They were cattlemen, a close group who didn’t mix much with others. With the good seasons and the grass being so thick Prosser had taken on some sheep and he’d also had to take on some extra shepherds.

  A young Aboriginal woman slipped into the room carrying a tray with mugs of ale. He knew her name was Mary. He’d met her once or twice at the Bakers’ place where he’d worked for almost five years now. She was the daughter of one of their shepherds and was employed to look after the publican’s children but sometimes at night once they were in bed she worked in the bar too. Mary gave him a slight nod and moved among the men, handing out the ale, collecting the money and the empty mugs.

  Clem noticed the two strangers were closer now. He raised his eyes to the wooden ceiling as thunder rumbled overhead. The pounding on the roof grew louder. The outer door beside him crashed open and a man scuttled inside, bringing the wind and rain with him. The old fellow had to put his shoulder to the solid wooden door to close it.

  Clem leaned against the wall as once more the sound of voices fought with the noise of the storm. The smell of wet clothes, pipe tobacco and sheep fouled the air. He shouldn’t have come. He much preferred the hill country, even in the rain.

  A prickle tin
gled down his spine. He looked around. The outsiders were moving his way. They came to a stop either side of him. He straightened against the wall. The men were both of average height but one had red hair and mottled skin, while the other was a complete contrast — brown-haired, with skin that had darkened with the sun. He was the one whose piercing gaze had swept the room.

  “I am Mr Jones.” The dark-haired man held out his hand to Clem. “I am here with Mr Becker.”

  The redheaded man put his hand forward.

  “Clem.” Clem couldn’t help but stare at the fair hand that clamped his in a quick squeeze. The skin was so pale you could see the blue of his blood beneath. Had Jones said Baker? Maybe this man was somehow related to his employer, Joseph Baker.

  “We were told you work in the hill country to the east.” Jones continued to do the talking.

  Clem gave a slow nod and glanced beyond them, wondering who had pointed him out.

  Jones pulled a rock from his pocket and stretched it out on the flat of his hand. “Mr Becker is interested in rocks like this one.”

  Clem’s eyes widened and he leaned in for a closer look. It was like the rock his boss carried in a pouch as his good-luck charm. Clem had seen it once or twice and gathered it had been found somewhere on Baker’s land, but he didn’t know where.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve seen a rock like this.”

  Becker leaned closer, his intense gaze locked on Clem. “Can you show me where? I would make it worth your while.”

  Clem frowned. He had to concentrate to understand the man’s accent.

  “Mr Becker is from South Africa. A country a long way from here.” Jones glanced around then lifted the rock closer to Clem. “He wants more of this. He would pay you a lot of money to show us where you’ve seen a rock like this.”

  Clem swallowed. He’d spoken before he’d had time to think. He met Mary’s worried look as she peered between the two newcomers. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  Clem remembered the promise he’d made to tell no-one about the rock Joseph Baker had shown him one night after a few drinks around the campfire. He looked at his feet. “Long time ago.”

  “Near here?” Becker clutched the sleeve of Clem’s new jacket.

  Clem shrugged again.

  “Let us buy you a drink?” Jones smiled but Clem didn’t like the way his teeth glinted between his fat lips.

  “I’ve gotta go.”

  He slipped away; both men took a step to follow but he tugged the door open. A blast of cold wet air invaded the room. He stepped out and slammed the door shut on the two hungry faces. The night was miserably cold. He hunched his shoulders against the wind and rain and hurried away into the darkness, glad he’d escaped further questions and even more glad of his new coat.

  Back inside, Albie waited until Mary had left the room then he sidled up to the redheaded man with the funny accent.

  “I know where there’re more rocks like these.” The words tripped over his tongue in his excitement. He sniggered. He had never seen the rock his friends said Joseph Baker kept as his lucky charm but he’d heard it was a diamond. Albie wondered how many drinks he could buy with the money these men would pay him to show them the country out in the ranges at the back of Baker’s place. Perhaps he’d never go back to Prosser’s Run and the evil old man who wielded his whip so freely.

  One

  May 1895

  The pride that had filled Henry Wiltshire’s chest was wiped away in an instant. The day darkened around him. “The gall of the man,” he hissed. “How dare he?”

  “What’s wrong, Father?”

  Henry had forgotten his son was standing beside him. They’d been surveying the line of horses, carts and wagons wending their way along the track from Hawker. Overhead the afternoon sun was blocked by a thick cloudbank and light rain had fallen earlier in the day — but Henry had thought nothing could dampen his spirits today.

  “Joseph Baker has come, and brought his native wife. How dare he think he can mix with decent people?”

  Henry glowered in the direction of the man who provoked anger in him by his very presence. When he had first opened his business in Hawker many years earlier, Henry had thought Baker one of the well-to-do pastoralists he would do business with and whose family would be suitable friends. Then Henry had discovered Baker was a native lover. So much so that his second wife was a black woman. She was sitting beside him now. Henry studied the others in the back of the cart. It appeared some of the offspring from his first marriage were with him but, thankfully, of the younger mixed-breeds there was no sign.

  “Perhaps they’ll soon leave, Father. None of the decent folk here today will speak to them.”

  Henry tugged at his jacket and smiled down at his son. “You’re right, Charles. And we will not allow outcasts like Joseph Baker and his family to mar our day.” He drew in a breath and the air was fresh. The earlier sprinkle of rain had seen to that, although the large movement of people and animals stirred up some dust in spite of the damp. “Come, Charles, we have guests to greet.”

  Henry turned towards the front door of the Far North Creamery, soon to be declared open, built on a plateau several miles from town. The new building in front of him had been constructed from thick wooden beams, and had a cement floor and a gleaming tin roof — it was a testament to his foresight and business acumen.

  Both members for their electoral district of Newcastle were attending today’s official opening, along with Hawker councillors and as many people from the town and surrounding districts as wanted to come, which of course they all did. He swallowed his annoyance as he once again thought of Joseph Baker and his family. The Bakers had reclaimed the Smith’s Ridge property Henry had taken from them when their poor management had left them floundering. Not only that but Joseph blamed Henry for his first wife’s death. Today was a significant event for Hawker. Henry’s two partners in the venture were also there of course, but Henry was the lead figure, the businessman who had brought it all together. He did not want his fine image besmirched by the appearance of the Bakers.

  There were those who had thought him foolhardy to invest such a large amount of money in a venture to make cream in this district. His friend Ellis Prosser had been one, but had rested his case of late. There were many farmers in the Hundred of Arkaba who had dairy cows as a sideline and soon there would be more with the Warcowie country beyond the creamery being subdivided for mixed farming. The region had been blessed with many years of good rainfall, silencing the worry-mongers and lifting the shoulders of the district with enthusiasm. Henry could see the future development of the creamery expanding to include butter.

  “The ladies have the afternoon tea in hand, Henry.”

  He smiled at his wife as she arrived at his side.

  “Thank you for supervising, my dear.” He looked her up and down. Catherine fiddled with the exquisite lace at her collar. It was pale coffee in colour, a perfect complement to the rich chocolate of her dress. She no longer liked to come out to big social events but he was pleased to see she had done him proud today. His mother had sent up the silk dress, which was topped with a brocade jacket with matching lace at the cuffs. It was the latest fashion and no-one in Hawker would have seen anything like it. Of course after years of trying for another child Catherine’s body no longer boasted the lithe shape it had once but even with her broader waist he was proud: she was still a beautiful woman.

  He looked over her shoulder. “Where did Charles go? We must be ready.”

  “He slipped off as I approached.” Catherine gave Henry one of the indifferent looks she had taken to bestowing on him when it was just the two of them. “Don’t worry, Henry. He knows he must be here. I’m sure he won’t be long.”

  Henry studied her face, which was shaded by a broad-brimmed hat decorated with bunches of ribbon and tulle to take the appearance of flowers. No doubt something his mother had arranged from the milliner next door to her dress shop in North Adelaide. H
e wondered at his wife’s private moments of coolness towards him, and yet she remained dutiful no matter what. He could rely on her to manage the shop, entertain his guests — anything that was required of the wife of a man as important as Henry Wiltshire. And yet he had noticed a difference about her for some time now. Perhaps the loss of so many babies was taking its toll. He certainly rarely shared her bed any more. He wondered if she needed more of the tonic she was fond of.

  Now Catherine’s lips were set in a small smile as she gazed out at the people gathering in front of the podium. “It’s certainly a magnificent turnout.” She glanced up at the sky. “I do hope the rain holds off.”

  He was distracted from the grey sky by the arrival of a carriage drawn by no fewer than four sleek black horses. “The dignitaries are here.”

  Charles stepped around his mother’s wide skirts.

  “Good timing, Charles.”

  “I have been keeping a watch, Father.”

  Henry nodded his approval at his smartly dressed young son. Charles’s voice had deepened of late and he behaved in a dignified manner beyond his years. Not yet a man but well on his way. “Are we ready to show this town how lucky they are to have the Wiltshires as leading business people?”

  “Yes, Father.” Charles’s face lit with pride.

  Henry lifted his shoulders, offered his wife his arm and smiled. It was going to be a spectacular day in spite of the Bakers. Charles fell into step behind them and they moved forward together to greet the two men alighting from the carriage.

  Joseph eased his horses into a gap near some low trees. Carts, horses and wagons were dispersed in all directions. People had come from everywhere for the grand opening of the Far North Creamery. They had followed the crowd out from Hawker after spending two nights there. As was often their practice with trips to Hawker for business and supplies, their second wagon was now fully loaded and waiting at the first creek on the way home. After the opening today they would collect it and begin the journey back to Wildu Creek.

  The wagon had barely rolled to a stop when William jumped down and helped his two sisters to the ground. “Can we go ahead, Father?”