Ghosts Gold and the Watchmaker: Victorian Gothic: Travelling Towards the Present, #2

By E.M.G Wixley

In the heart of the rugged Australian outback, Mary finds solace in owning a bar, a refuge from the haunting memories of her past. But tranquillity is a luxury she can scarcely afford. As she strives to carve out a new existence in this unforgiving land, she discovers that the town's inhabitants are bound together by more than just their shared isolation—they're haunted by fear, battling to endure both the harsh environment and the demons within.

 

Mary's dreams of her distant homeland seem lost until a glimmer of hope emerges—a gold strike that promises fortune and freedom. Yet, as the town empties in pursuit of riches, Mary's sanctuary teeters on the brink of collapse. Her son, William, joins the feverish frenzy of the gold rush, leaving her alone to confront the threat of her business failing and the haunting spectres of her past.

 

Meanwhile, across the ocean in London, Johnny grapples with a revelation that shatters the fragile peace of his existence. The weight of a devastating family secret and the lingering grief of loss propels him into a quest for truth and redemption. In the gritty streets of the East End, he endeavours to build a sanctuary for the downtrodden, unwittingly drawing the attention of the city's elite.

 

As Mary and Johnny navigate the treacherous waters of their respective worlds, they are entangled in a web of deception, betrayal, and intrigue. In a landscape where ghosts of the past collide with future aspirations, who will emerge unscathed, and who will succumb to the darkness that lurks beneath the surface?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Wixley
• Release date: Mar 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223471653

E.M.G Wixley

Elizabeth Wixley was born in Hertfordshire in the United Kingdom but has moved many times during her childhood. She attended the Camberwell Art School and joined a design studio in Convent Garden. Moving to Bristol, some years later, she worked full time for the Local Education Authority supporting children suffering from emotional and behavioural difficulties, whilst ensuring that the transition into a mainstream school was done in a supportive and nurturing manner. Whilst providing children with a safe haven for learning, she raised two sons as a single parent while studying for a degree in education at the University of the West of England. Her love of fiction started at the age of six when Elizabeth’s grandmother died of cancer and to ensure that the rest of the family was safe, she would spend the nights roaming the house looking for the 'C' monster to make sure that he did not claim any more victims. One sunny bright day, her sister told her that fork lightning would come and strike her down after which she would spend her days hiding in the garage and when she heard that the sun was falling out of the sky, well needless to say, she very seldom ventured out. With trial and error, Elizabeth soon realized to fight her foes, she had to stare them straight in the eye, explore them and conqueror the inner demons in order to stand righteous. This helps fuel her love of horror and the many mysteries of the world. Creating a why and what if scenario that runs prominent in her fascinating fiction. Throughout Elizabeth’s life, creative arts have been her passion whether it is visiting galleries, painting or writing. She enjoys nothing more than sharing a compelling horror story with others and holding the sanity of her readers in the palm of her hand.

Book preview

Chapter One

Mary was at her wit's end. Leaning on the bar, she gazed at the mud and grit on the floor and listened to the winter rain lashing onto the boards outside. The bar, full of memories, was empty. Few people were left to pay the shilling required for her to communicate with their dead relatives, and nobody wanted to part with sixpence for her grog.

Previously, once William had resolved the issue of the nightly fights, her small bar had become prosperous, and people enjoyed passing their evenings with her magical entertainments, dancing and drinking to excess under the watchful eye of her young and willing enforcer. Now, her son had run off like all the others. She tore up the note he’d left her and allowed the paper to drift to the floor.

Surprisingly, Mary was unprepared for William’s abrupt desertion. She’d taken little notice of the flush of excitement in his cheeks and his imperishable enthusiasm as he relayed stories of recent gold strikes. It was only later she realised he’d talked of little else and that no other news was important enough to utter.

The whole remaining population of the town were equally gripped with the desire to plunge into rivers, mine the soil and rocks to plunder the land of all its wealth. At first, Mary had humoured William and then as he grew more restless, she cobbled together stories of woe and the disappointment of men travelling for miles and finding nothing, and of the suicides of those unable to handle the crippling emotions of shattered dreams. She also impressed on him how much he was needed as he was the only blacksmith in town since Ed had left. When convincing rumours came through of people amassing fortunes, the barriers evaporated, and every class or rank of men driven by the fevered desperation and burning desire for gold left the town. Only those who physically suffered and were too old or not suited to life in the goldfields remained.

An earthy smell caught in Mary’s nose as the door opened, and she shuddered in the damp air. Looking up, she saw Evelyn, a woman with crow-like features and a brittle countenance. Mary set her face in the permanent grimace she kept for all the members of the Christian Association.

Have you come to entice me to one of your religious tea meetings? Mary said, straightening and staring at the woman with calm disdain. Or perhaps you have come to persuade me to be a good woman, recognise men as my masters and follow meekly behind. To convince me that when my husband beats me, he is saving my soul from the fires. Mary had wanted to intimidate the woman with clever words until she turned crimson but failed. Evelyn’s complexion remained icy white, and her lips and eyes narrowed.

You can’t overwrite the truth and create your own story, the crow said with conviction. We have saved many who were straying and sending themselves hurtling towards damnation. The Bible says, ‘I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to use authority over the man: but to be in silence.’ Men are there to guide us to the right path. Do you choose hell over heaven?

I carry God and my home in my heart and wish to be bound by no person, Mary said, growing impatient at being detained. I believe in a loving God, she added and thought of the angel who’d come to take John, the demons of the other world and the poor souls stuck in between. None of it is as simple as you think and can’t be controlled by men out for their own gain.

We have a multitude of men and women attending our church and seeking salvation. They are coming from all the surrounding areas, Evelyn said smugly, approaching more daringly and growing in confidence with the sound of her voice and the backing of her assured beliefs. We have a more settled, peaceable town with the convicts and undesirables leaving to obey their selfish natures in search of the instant gratification of liquor, harlots and gold. The community feel it would be more suitable if you were to change your premises to accommodate a tea room, or it would be more profitable for you to become a storekeeper. We’re trying to develop a more English way of life where people take refuge in the arms of God and recognise their duty to their country and families.

We need to secure our future and prevent others from becoming vagabonds and nomads, deserting the fields and trades that build a community, and stopping irresponsibility. I’m sure you would agree a more settled town would be better for everyone. Miss Love, we must stick together to fight adversity. Evelyn smiled. To her, it was a saintly act to offer people with vague and vulnerable lives something more meaningful and substantial.

Mary viewed things from a different angle. She considered herself strong, full of potential and able to achieve any goal she set her mind to and resented the woman telling her what she needed. Evelyn was an irritation trying to endlessly suck the life out of her business and gnawing away at her spirit as everyone else had tried to do all her life.

Evelyn, we’re doing just fine, she said, glancing over at Sally, who hearing the commotion, had come down the stairs. If we need any help, I’m sure you will be the first person to hear of it, she said, glaring with steadfast eyes. We have much to do, so although I’m grateful for your visit, I would ask you to leave now.

But will you consider our proposal, the woman continued, looking as though she was unwilling to move. We wouldn’t want the committee to shut you down completely.

Mary stamped over the floorboards, took the woman by the arm and pushed her towards the door. Please don’t come back unless invited.

I’m just trying to help.

Go home and rest your fevered brain. Mary shoved the door shut. She must know William isn’t here or she wouldn’t have dared come round, Mary muttered and exchanging a glance with Sally saw the girl holding a distressed hand to her face.

William’s gone?

It would seem he’s run off to the goldfields like Ed.

You shouldn’t be so cruel to her, Sally said. Mary captured a hurt expression in the girl’s eyes. Her husband is a bully, and she has lost many children and wouldn’t have coped without the help and comfort from the church.

The girl’s deep-set, sharp blue eyes regarded Mary with fear and uncertainty. She had a fragile, gossamer appearance with her white hair, vanilla skin and pale dress. Mary approached Sally desperately, trying to suppress her throbbing rage and sense of urgency. Wanting to reassure her friend, she took the girl’s hand in hers and noticed Sally stiffening at her touch, which pierced her with a poignant pity. Poor Sally, she has suffered so much she can’t endure anyone stepping too close, she thought, reminding herself to be kind and omit the harshness from her voice. I have lost children, too, she said softly, releasing her grip and allowing the girl to step back. You as well, if I’m correct. Recovery is a long and hard process.

Sally looked to the floor in a half-apologetic and half-embarrassed manner. Despite the girl’s desire to do good, Mary didn’t have the luxury of time or the emotional space to dig into the cracks of another woman’s vulnerabilities and neediness; she had Sally, William and her survival to consider. There was little room for anyone else.

William’s leaving is more important than sympathy for a woman whose nonsense and rumourmongering are driving people away from the little business we have left, Mary blurted and fanned her face to disperse the stifling humidity, but the heat in her blood remained boiling at the thought of the betrayal. I must go at once and find him before he is lost to us forever.

I will come too, Sally replied in a whispery voice.

Over the years Mary had shifted things in her mind to suit her emotional needs and she didn’t want to confront any forms of restraint or be forced to evaluate the dangers of leaving her relative security. Deep inside her, there was a desire to keep moving. Everything in her being was now concentrated into a pinpoint of urgent action.

Sally, we’ve been through so much together, she said softly as she walked behind the bar and retrieved a box from under the counter. I need someone I can trust to stay behind and manage this place. She took out a roll of notes and held it out to Sally. Take this for your needs and tell any man he’s dead if he lays a single finger on you.

You can’t go alone, Sally responded distressed. It is dangerous out there with all the wild beasts and desperate nomads.

Sally, I take risks, Mary said, heading for the stairs. Please don’t fret, she added as the girl skulked at her heels like a puppy.

She cursed William as she hurriedly dressed pulling on leggings, brown breeches and buttoned up a matching tailored jacket with puffed sleeves. I will be back, she uttered when her task was completed. She took a revolver from the drawer and stuffed it under her belt. Perhaps he won’t have gone far, and I can catch up with him and bring him back.

Or I will receive news of your terrible death, Sally muttered with a rising panicked whine in her voice. The journey will take weeks. How will I manage? You should wait for Will’s return.

What if he doesn't? Mary said and, preoccupied with her plans for departure, bolted downstairs to the storage room, where she hoped to find panniers and a riding coat. She filled containers of water and crammed every available space with items of use. I must go to the store and get food for Bounty and matches, she said, sitting on a stool, pulling on long boots and tucking a knife in the top. Lastly, she placed her riding hat on top of her mop of black hair and tucked and pinned any stray strands. I will never be a decent and sensible woman, Sally. She laughed and rose. As touch was an intrusion, the two women stood face to face. With a calm gaze, Mary assessed Sally’s capabilities. In my absence, will she wither or bloom? Mary considered. She has no protection and no defence. She couldn’t even recognise an enemy when they came knocking. The women smiled warmly at each other.

I’m doing this on behalf of all mothers who have lost family and friends. There should be no hesitation in finding those we’re missing. There was a peculiar potency to the moment and Mary feared seeing the girl’s emotions spilling over. With her mind fixed on her goal, she pushed her shoulders back and walked purposely towards the door. Join the church if you want and turn this place into a tea room, she said without looking back. It will be safer for you that way.

Outside she listened to the rain pouring off the roof and plopping into the gutter. Mary took a deep breath stepped onto the mud choked road and waded through the slush towards the store.

Come back to me, Mary, Sally called from the porch.

Johnny: London

Chapter Two

Johnny recalled the words spouting from George’s mouth before he heard the bang. It was your mother who was all wrong. She was the destroyer of our lives. George turned the gun on himself and the bullet didn’t miss its aim. There was a crack and flash, and the most dreaded outcome became real. The commotion rang through the building, and the stagehand came running. He pushed into the room to face a streamer of smoke and George lying on the floor with the weapon in his hand.

What was more shocking than the man’s hideous death was Harmony’s reaction. On hearing the blast, she erupted back into the room and spontaneously transformed. Johnny remembered how her lips pressed together into a hard line, her eyes darkened, and her tiny hands formed into fists. You dare leave us in limbo, trapped between truth and lies, she said in a guttural voice as she pushed the stagehand out of the way, threw herself at her father's side and, in a demented burning fury, beat his chest. You can’t die and leave me without answers. Get up and explain what you mean, she snarled and spat with rage as she shook his shoulders and pulled at his clothes. With tears rushing from her eyes, she returned to battering his body.

Johnny avoided looking at the crater in George’s skull, and the brain matter splattered over the floor but worried the now collapsed weeping woman who was wiping bubbles of red froth from the dead man’s mouth would move her delicate fingers into the gunge. He wanted to stop her, comfort her, and pull her away from the hideous sight but remained motionless, tormented by the new information he’d received about his insecure beginnings. Mary is my mother. The unbelievable words reverberated continuously off the walls of his brain. His life of simplicity had become complex in the same instance and beyond what he could have imagined.

They’d both been cheated out of the whole truth. George had taken segments of secrets from the archives of his mind and thrown them out for them to glimpse, leaving them frozen unanswered at the moment of his death. He’d opened old wounds and, with deliberate cruelty, left them to bleed.

Harmony’s aunt Prudence appeared and cajoled the girl to her feet. Come on dear, she said with gentle firmness. We need to go. The Doctor is coming. Harmony shrugged the woman off and turned towards the door. Standing to the left of the exit was a long mirror on a stand. Once again, her hand curled into a fist and pounded her reflection. In one action she bent and picked up a shard of glass and held it to her wrist. Perhaps I should slash a new injury into the old just as my mother did. I just want one more day with him to get the truth.

No, stop! Her aunt said raising her hands. I will tell you everything. We will go somewhere quiet, and I will explain.

No now! Tell me now! Harmony demanded holding the sharp edge up against her skin.

Your mother, when young, was a wayward girl. She broke your father’s heart.

And?

Please, child, this isn’t the place, Prudence said, glancing around at the stunned audience. Come and I will explain.

Harmony dropped the glass, stood with her back to the wall, and pulled at her hair. Then, exhausted and drooping with misery, she allowed her aunt to take her by the arm. Submissively, they walked past Johnny not even raising an eye to acknowledge his presence. A few seconds later, as Johnny was bent over retrieving the golden strands of her hair which had floated to the floor, the aunt returned. Startled he rose. A blizzard of contempt whipped through Johnny as she turned and faced him eye to eye. I expect you had something to do with this, she sneered. Unbalancing a poor girl's mind. Don’t bother trying to get in touch. My niece is not available to your kind.

OUTSIDE THE SHOP, THE sun poured down on the dusty streets while inside darkness rained. Johnny watched a butterfly on the inside of the windowpane fluttering furiously as it tried to reach freedom.

What’s the matter, son? Johnny’s father inquired, peering at him through his new thick-lensed glasses. You seem deep in thought.

Nothing, Father, he uttered, shaking himself from his daydreaming. You look tired. Go home, and I’ll finish up here and lock the doors.

Johnny watched as his father moved his leaden body over to the coat stand. He took off his apron and put on his hat and then turned towards Johnny and his earnest eyes glinted for a moment. Thanks, son. You’re a good lad. Then his face fell back into its normal mournful and grief-stricken state. Since his mother’s death, their close bond had weakened. Two souls united in their loss but separated by the potency of their pain, grief and Johnny’s new knowledge of a family lie. The growing barriers were insurmountable, so both remained distant and uninvolved in each other’s lives. Emotions were too strong and were kept firmly concealed inside. Johnny had returned to the shop to help, and daily, they worked side by side but were careful not to allow anything upsetting to pass from their lips, leaving some days almost unmanageable.

Johnny had written to Harmony many times, but his words of encouragement and hope were left unanswered. His aunts and uncles visited frequently and all fussed over him and his father James. They brought food, cakes and friendly chatter but gave no sign they would be available to answer his more profound questions. Left in emotional isolation the child in him stirred and he longed to speak with his mother Fanny. He was sure she would have told him the truth however painful.

Johnny walked to the window, scooped the insect into his palm, being careful to hold it lightly, opened the door and allowed it to fly free. Then he turned the sign to closed and twisted the key in the latch. His plan that night was to search the loft to discover Mary’s part in his life and turn ignorance into enlightenment.

Letters

Chapter Three

When your mind is overcast , and things don’t seem right, Johnny thought, remembering his grandfather’s words as he climbed the stepladder to the loft. Ask questions and search for the root cause. Alexander had made him resilient, and he wasn’t afraid of taking a backward glance and digging up the past. He was prepared for his mind to fly over any information he could find on Mary without being emotionally engaged. His objective was to untangle the mess of information and smooth things out. Nothing would be acted upon he just wanted the story of his origins to be clear and to be able to embrace the truth.

Poking his head through the hatch he cast his eyes over the jumble of crates, boxes, piles of books and the detritus of his childhood. He sighed at the immensity of his daunting task and, placing the lamp in a secure position, knelt in the middle of the space.

Johnny rifled through the junk removing and disregarding anything which wasn’t relevant. Why has my father kept all these old merchant’s magazines? He thought. I’m trying to find information about the dead or missing not what shops people owned and where to purchase goods.  Leaning back on his haunches he glanced up and saw hanging from the rafters the costumes he and his mother had worn when playing the clown as they took a turn in front of an audience of their relations and friends. His mother had taken up the role of a hapless magician and he’d played her more able helper. Everyone had roared with