A Wicked Deception by Margaret Tanner

careful what you say, someone might be listening. The police are sure to have spies.” She shivered because his reckless ranting was not only frightening, but downright dangerous.
    They dismounted, and he put hobbles on his horse so it could graze. No such thing as a stable for this mount, a hardy stock horse, unused to pampering. Robbie had trained him well. He only needed to whistle and the horse would trot to his side.
    Robbie waved to several diggers. He was well known amongst them, being one of the greatest agitators for improving conditions on the goldfields. A young rebel prepared to die for his cause . Even though she loved him and admired his bravery, she feared for him.
    Uncle Alex was still out working when they arrived at the small, cramped tent. Waving away her arguments, Robbie dragged his father’s bed nearer to the living area, before fixing a rope across the end portion near his own bed. Flinging a blanket across the rope he effectively made a private, if primitive , room for her.
    “Am I to have your bed?”
    “Yes, I’ll sleep under the stars. I prefer it now the weather is warmer. I only need a couple of blankets.” He scrutinized her carefully. “You’ve lost weight, and your hair has gone all dull and listless.”
    He touched a wayward tendril with a warm, callused finger . His eyes, staring straight into hers, blazed brilliantly blue. Hot with passion.
    “I know it looks terrible, but there wasn’t time to brush it each night. After the first few days I collapsed into bed straight after dinner. Wonder if my aching back will ever be the same again.” She grimaced.
    “Settle yourself in and have a rest . I suppose I’d better go and help Father.” He kissed her on the mouth, not much more than a feather light touch of his lips, but every nerve ending tingled. When he stepped away she felt bereft, deprived of something special.
    Slipping off her gown, she lay down on the bed in her petticoats. Oh how good it felt being idle for a change. She would go home every second day to make pies and stews which could easily be heated up here.
    L aying quietly, letting her mind drift, the tension ebbed from her body. In the distance came the muted ring of a pick or shovel against rock. Raised voices filtered into her every now and again, but the goings on were beyond the confines of the tent.
    Calico bags covered the earthen floor. A hurricane lantern swung ever so slightly from the ceiling. She watched it unblinking, and lulled by the gentle movements drifted into sleep.
    “I tell you, we’ll have to do something soon.” An angry male voice woke her.
    “The diggers are getting desperate. You saw what happened at Bentley’s pub, the violence is going to get much worse.”
    “Burn the commissioner’s quarters to the ground,” threatened a different man.
    “Keep your voices down,” Robbie hissed. “My cousin is sleeping behind that blanket. We’ll take a vote.”
    Robbie must be holding some kind of meeting. The smell of pipe tobacco drifted into her.
    “We should get the diggers together again like we did at Bakery Hill on the eleventh, when we formed the Reform League. The authorities had their chance to change the management of the gold fields . Abolish the digger and storekeepers’ tax, but what happened? More bloody digger hunts, more persecution. If we want action, we should fight for our rights,” another impassioned voice declared.
    Melanie wanted to make her presence known, but felt too embarrassed about doing so now. Quietly she slipped into her gown, and letting her hair down, sat on the bed to give it a vigorous brushing. What she told Robbie had been the truth, she felt too exhausted after slaving in the laundry all day to bother with her appearance. His remarks hurt, as her hair had always been a great source of pride . She watched in the hand mirror as the bright mass of curls tumbled down her back and settled near her waist.
    Sounds of movement came from the front section of