Band of Gold Read Online Free PDF Page A

sheep and leaden skies.
    Rian snorted and woke himself, blinking and stretching. He checked his watch and groaned quietly. ‘God, not even halfway there.’
    ‘Bacchus Marsh can’t be far away, surely,’ Kitty said, with an edge of desperation. Travel by road was so tedious compared with the Katipo ’s speedy flight across the ocean waves, leaving mile upon mile in her wake.
    They lapsed into another long silence as the coach juddered and lurched along the muddy road. In the confined space Kitty awkwardly crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, remembering a long-ago warning from her mother that crossing your legs gave you bad veins.
    Then, without warning, a dreadful smell began to permeatethe interior of the coach. Pierre’s highly spiced bouillabaisse had a lot to answer for in the confines of the Katipo ’s mess-room, but this was appalling . Kitty looked accusingly at Rian, who made a don’t-look-at-me face. Then she glanced across at their travelling companions: Mrs Harcourt was studiously bent over her knitting while Mr Harcourt stared fixedly at a point just above Kitty’s head.
    Simon surreptitiously flapped the cover over his window.
    Then, ten minutes later, it happened again.
    Amber giggled.
    ‘Shush,’ Kitty reprimanded her, noting that Simon had slid so far down inside his coat that only his eyes were visible.
    Rian had his eyes closed, his face set in a very odd expression. Kitty couldn’t decide whether he was grimacing or trying not to laugh. She breathed through her mouth, but not too deeply—God only knew what they were inhaling.
    Almost immediately, another even more sulphurous wave assaulted them, and this time Mr Harcourt had the grace to mumble, ‘Beg pardon.’
    Amber erupted into laughter, closely followed by Rian, who quickly rolled up his window cover and exclaimed, ‘My God, man—have a heart!’
    Without a word Mrs Harcourt reached into her bag, withdrew a bottle of milky white liquid and handed it to her husband.
    Mr Harcourt took a generous swig, wiped his mouth and stifled a burp. ‘Thank you, my dear. Tripe and onions,’ he said, as though this excused his behaviour. It certainly explained it.
    Kitty allowed an interval of ten minutes to pass, then enquired politely, ‘Are you and Mrs Harcourt travelling all the way to Ballarat, Mr Harcourt?’
    Rian and Amber succumbed to a fresh outbreak of giggles; Kitty gave them a very pointed look.
    Ignoring them, Mrs Harcourt replied, ‘Just to Bacchus Marsh, mydear. We’re visiting my sister and her husband. They have a hotel there.’
    Kitty held in check a sigh of relief and, soon after, they reached Bacchus Marsh. But as the coach slowed, Mr Harcourt released one final nauseating, and very audible, manifestation of his intestinal complaint. The coach stopped and Amber hurled open the door and staggered off laughing hysterically, followed by a grinning Rian.
    Kitty glanced apologetically at the Harcourts and shook her head. It was Rian’s fault, the lack of respect and propriety their daughter frequently exhibited. And Pierre’s. And possibly Mick’s, as well. She wondered not for the first time whether Amber should be enrolled at some sort of girls’ school where she would learn manners and the sort of refinement befitting a young lady. But Kitty knew in her heart that she could never do that to her precious daughter, and knew, too, that Rian wanted Amber near him. As a result she could not help but be party to the crew’s escapades, not to mention their occasional smuggling operations. Rian justified this by insisting that, although Amber might not be able to play the piano, or plan a dinner party, she was learning how the world worked, and how to negotiate all the things that life would throw in her path, and Kitty had to agree. Amber could cook, though—Pierre had seen to that.
    After a very good hot meal at Flanagan’s Border Inn and a change of horses, and having bid a heartfelt farewell to Mr and Mrs Harcourt, Kitty,