Where the Murray River Runs

by Darry Fraser

  Ard bent down to get a closer look. ‘You didn’t say who you are.’ He poked the heaving chest with his forefinger. ‘A mongrel yourself, perhaps, because there’s no resemblance to the fine ladies who live here. You’re not family.’ He poked again, harder this time. ‘Looks to me like you might have run into some heavy objects recently.’

  The man scrambled back beyond Ard’s long reach. Wheezing and clutching a shoulder, he managed to get into a squat. ‘They have something of mine.’ It was a teeth-bared snarl. Drops of blood oozed. ‘Property that belongs to me. I saw the door open—’

  ‘Stay there, where you are.’ Ard’s gaze swept back over the hallway. ‘Seems to me there’s not much here worth having now.’

  The man lifted his chin to the doorway just beyond where Ard squatted. ‘A bag of letters. In the parlour room there.’ He didn’t make another move, just stared malevolently.

  Ard took two steps into the parlour. The room was just as broken up as the hallway. Someone had gone on a frenzy, wild with rage it looked like, upending the few pieces of furniture, and smashing what was available to be smashed. He couldn’t see any bag in here.

  What’s that in the corner, untouched … A crib?

  Footfalls behind him. He heard the crack on his head before he felt it. Pain exploded in his ears—

  Ard’s nose woke up first. Smoke, acrid …

  Then his ears woke. Voices, some close to him, urging, urgent. Some further away, murmuring, angry, or crying.

  His eyes refused to wake up and he shook his head, tried to pry his lids open. Too exhausting. Vomit bounced into his throat and he lurched over and spewed onto the dusty earth under him. He rolled back, and groaned as his stomach pitched again.

  ‘… Not so, Constable …’ A low male voice filtered through. A hand touched Ard’s shoulder, and a cool wet cloth was applied to his forehead. ‘Lie still, lad.’ A soothing voice, muffled, an older man.

  Another muffled voice. ‘Mr Anderson, we have a witness who says otherwise.’ Gruff, no nonsense.

  ‘Constable—?’

  ‘Albert Griffin.’

  ‘Constable Griffin, your other witness just happens to be the man who perpetrated these crimes, the wrecking of Miss Sey-mour’s house, the bashing of this man here and the setting fire to the place.’

  ‘And you know that how, sir?’ Still gruff.

  ‘Because when I arrived here, this man was out cold on the floor inside and your other witness was limping from the place dragging a flaming tinder.’

  ‘We don’t know who wrecked the place.’ Gruff again.

  Ard thought his stomach had settled. He tried to sit up. His head clanged and oddly, he wished he’d drunk more of Sam’s grog. Upright, he put his hands to his head.

  ‘You’re O’Rourke’s son.’ The gruff voice had softened a little.

  Ard lifted his head and carefully opened his eyes. He squinted. ‘Ard.’ He nodded once at the policeman, who had a wide kerchief at his mouth.

  Grey smoke hung around Constable Griffin’s head like a cloud of doom. ‘I’m not happy, O’Rourke.’

  ‘Neither am I.’ Ard leaned to his side again and up came more bile.

  The policeman stepped back.

  ‘He might need a doctor, constable.’ All Ard saw were boots of fine leather, well kept but dusty.

  ‘And I need his side of the story.’ Griffin again.

  Ard slumped back onto the ground. ‘I got here some time in the morning to call on Miss Seymour.’

  ‘Which Miss Seymour?’

  Ard let his breath go. ‘Miss Linley.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’ Ard frowned, then focused on the man hunkered down beside him. The stranger with the boots.

  ‘I saw another man leave the place, torching as he went. I didn’t chase him, I decided to check the premises instead, and there you were.’ Anderson held his kerchief close to his mouth, but looked back over his shoulder across the street. ‘Glad I didn’t kill you dragging you out.’

  The constable bent low. ‘Are you sayin’, Mr Anderson, that you saw the man try to kill O’Rourke?’

  ‘He cracked him on the head with something and left him for dead in a burning building.’

  ‘You saw that?’

  ‘No. I just took one look at a man dragging a lit torch, at this man’s bleeding head, caught the flames around me and made an educated guess.’

  The police officer harrumphed. ‘Not good enough for a charge of attempted murder, I’m afraid.’

  Ard looked across the street. ‘Jesus.’ His voice was hoarse to his own ears. Some parts of the little wooden cottage still flamed, but mostly it was a smouldering wreck. A crack rent the air and the roof caved in. Firefighting men darted out of the way.

  ‘Went up too quick, lad,’ Griffin said, following Ard’s stare. ‘Lucky we got the water cart here before it caught the neighbouring houses.’

  Ard craned his neck to check the groups of people hugging each other on the other corner.

  Dizzy.

  The constable squatted beside him. ‘Mr Anderson said you was out cold when he went in. He reckons you weren’t the one who wrecked the place. But have you got someone to verify where you were early on?’

  Ard coughed and felt four different parts of him split. He held his head again. ‘Sam Taylor and I were at my orchard last night. We came back into town early, waiting for the telegraph office to open.’

  Griffin nodded. ‘That’ll do it if it stands.’

  ‘It will.’

  ‘I’ll get a hold of Sam Taylor. You’ll come to the station if you know what’s good for you. Hear me, young fella?’

  Ard nodded.

  James Anderson stood up. ‘Do you know who the little bastard is?’

  Griffin lifted his shoulders. ‘Could be a man named Wilkin, going by a neighbour’s description. Conniving shit of a man, by all accounts. Slippery, you know? Hard to pin down. And why he would want to want to burn down Miss Seymour’s house, I don’t know.’ He stabbed a forefinger at Ard. ‘Station, soon as you’re able.’

  Ard nodded again but his attention was on the name. Wilkin. Was it familiar?

  Griffin turned to Anderson. ‘From Melbourne, you say?’ He took a little notebook from inside his jacket and opened it, licked a stubby pencil and made some notes.

  ‘I’m here to look at a couple of properties for sale. I was on my way to an appointment when …’ James waved his hand towards the smoking cottage.

  ‘We’ll need your account too, Mr Anderson.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You right, lad?’ Griffin leaned over Ard.

  ‘Soon as my head stops swimming.’

  Griffin headed off towards his men and Ard looked up at Anderson. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘So you just walked past, saw the bastard, and marched in there to drag me out.’

  Anderson squatted alongside Ard. ‘You know him if you saw him again?’

  ‘I might.’ Ard tried to sit. The sickening rush in his guts subsided. ‘Can’t place him, though the name is familiar.’ He brought himself to his knees. ‘Better get to the police station.’

  Anderson stood and outstretched his arm. ‘Here.’ Together they got Ard to his feet. ‘That’s my carriage over there. Why don’t I drive you?’

  ‘I’d appreciate it.’

  Anderson ducked his shoulder under Ard’s arm. ‘Come on. I’ll make sure you get there in one piece. Name’s James Anderson, by the way.’

  ‘Ard O’Rourke.’

  ‘Interesting first name.’

  ‘Old Gaelic. Irish,’ he said.

  They hobbled to the carriage. Ard steadied himself and with a leg-up managed to seat himself comfortably enough. Anderson jumped up beside him, took the reins and turned the horse. As they drove by, Ard stared at the charred ruin. Thick plumes of grey smoke still poured off the place, billowing into the clear blue sky.

  Linley’s house, gone. And I’ve got no clue where she is.

  He sagged, lettin
g out a grunt as his head clanged some more.

  Anderson looked across at him. ‘With your friend’s statement, and mine, the bastard hasn’t got a leg to stand on. And I’ll get him, any which way.’

  Ard glanced at him. He felt heat coming off the man in waves, palpable and fierce. There was something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. ‘Griffin said you reckoned the fella wrecked the place. I got there after it was wrecked.’

  ‘Was just about to go in and get him when you came along.’ A sidelong glance, a wry note in the voice.

  ‘And you didn’t?’

  ‘Happened too quick.’

  ‘And you were just walking by?’ Ard pressed.

  ‘Good thing I was.’ Anderson stared ahead. ‘I’ll testify in all honesty, if it comes to that. But it might not.’ He clucked the reins and they sped up. ‘How well do you know Miss Linley Seymour?’

  The hairs on the back of Ard’s neck stood on end. ‘Why you asking me that?’

  ‘Ease up, man. I’m on your side.’ Anderson flicked the reins again and the horse stepped up the pace.

  Ard faltered but didn’t have a reason not to respond. ‘I’ve known Miss Linley since we were kids. But I’ve been away these last months, up South Australia, on the river. I … we … ’course, now we’re grown up, we don’t …’

  Anderson glanced over, frowning. ‘You courting her?’

  ‘Doubt she’ll let me.’ Ard heard the grumble in his voice. ‘Especially now.’

  ‘She’s a strong, brave girl, that one.’

  Ard shot a look at the other man. ‘And you know her how?’

  ‘The younger Miss Seymour, by watching her grow up since she was a baby. And I know the older Miss Seymour very well. Miss Linley is a lot like her aunt. You’d better be a very patient man if you are going to court her.’

  Ard blinked at that. His head felt fuzzy enough. ‘So you weren’t just walking on past the place.’

  James glanced at Ard. ‘I know you didn’t break in and go on a frenzy in there. It was done in the early evening last night. I know that for a fact. I also know it was Wilkin, for a fact.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And you and I need to have a watertight story about all of that.’

  Ard shielded his eyes from the sunlight. His head pounded and the motion of the carriage roiled up his guts again. He held on to it, belched quietly, relieving the pressure a little.

  ‘And where are the Seymour ladies, Mr Anderson?’

  ‘That I won’t tell you, Ard.’

  ‘Why not?’ The world tilted a little again.

  ‘Not until I get word that they’re safe and right where I know I can protect them.’ He stabbed a forefinger in the air. ‘I don’t want anybody knowing.’

  Ard’s stomach dipped again. ‘I have to speak to Linley.’ He thought of the letters.

  The letters! A panic gripped him. He flattened both hands on his chest until he felt the crinkle of the envelopes. His breathing steadied.

  ‘You all right?’ Anderson said.

  ‘I will be.’ Ard pressed his lips into a line and wished his throbbing head would just fall off. ‘You haven’t told me anything.’

  Anderson clicked the reins and took the next left into G Street. ‘I might, if I knew anything about you. But I don’t, so as we take our time getting to the station, why don’t you tell me why you were looking to speak to Miss Linley?’

  Ard closed his eyes. He was on his way to the police station to make a statement about what happened and why he was at the Misses Seymour’s house, driven by a man he didn’t know who knew Linley and Miss CeeCee well.

  Or so he said he did.

  Ard decided he didn’t have to say a damned thing.

  Gareth Wilkin watched the carriage pull out of sight and away from the smouldering house. His jaw still ached like a bastard where that bitch had clobbered him with the pan. His teeth hurt at the gums and he knew he’d lose a couple unless he could keep them rooted in his head.

  He slicked his lips with a sore tongue, raspy and split, hardly able to drum up enough spit for the job. Just drawing breath pained him where the pan had almost flattened his chest.

  The women had run, he knew, but he hadn’t seen them leave nor had he heard where they’d run. The smart-mouthed lad was the key. But he was built like a bare-knuckle boxer, that Ard O’Rourke. Oh yes, he well remembered the name from Mary’s confession … Ard O’Rourke, father of her bastard. Gareth hadn’t reckoned on him turning up to the Seymour place for a social call in the early morning.

  Chasing down Mary’s inheritance, too? Then you got no chance, boyo.

  Still, Gareth had crept back to the women’s house the night before to grab the kid. He was going to head for the police station, screaming that the baby was his, so therefore the inheritance was his. He’d forgotten about the birth registration, but that wouldn’t take much if he had the kid … But he didn’t have the kid.

  That brawny lad was the key. He’d come looking for one of the women, the younger no doubt, the one who had the kid. The older one was too feisty for any reasonable man to handle. The younger one, this Linley Seymour, was the one his whore of a wife had given her bastard to. Must find that lad. Give him the once over. Leave him for dead somewhere, no claim to be made.

  And then there was that stranger. That big redhead fella who caught him in the act with the torch. Scary thing. He never made a move. Just stood there. Looked like he was burning up, as well, looked fit to burst a seam before he went in for the lad.

  Why’d he just stand there lookin’ at me? The place was going up like a box of dry kindling.

  Gareth’s mouth pulled down at the edges. A rock plummeted in his gut.

  So he’d be sure to recognise me next time.

  Fifteen

  Echuca

  Linley looked out of the railway carriage. It rattled over grassy plains that stopped abruptly at dense scrub some hundreds of yards away. Dry. The land here was parched. Crackling. She imagined she could hear the snapping stalks of grass as the wind made by the train flattened them in its wake.

  The baby snuffled in her arms. She wondered if he was too hot, but a look at his serene sleeping face told her he was comfortable.

  She glanced at CeeCee. ‘Is it much longer to go, do you think?’

  CeeCee opened her eyes and took in the view. ‘Hard to know, but shouldn’t be too far now. We’ve been travelling a couple of hours.’ She peered into the distance. ‘I’d say that high tree line would be on the banks of the river.’

  The Murray. Linley’s heartbeat quickened. The Murray was excitement, still busy with riverboat trade, and farmers and …

  The railway, and the shearer’s strike. The drought. Another depression forecast.

  Her shoulders slumped and she caught CeeCee’s look. ‘I don’t suppose I could get my job back at the tea rooms.’

  CeeCee gave a bleak smile. ‘I asked James to tell Mrs Tilley that you had to leave quickly for Toby’s health. And you’re right. No more job at Mrs Tilley’s. We have left Bendigo behind, my dear.’

  ‘Oh.’

  CeeCee eased herself upright in the seat, flexed her shoulders and rubbed a hand across her neck. ‘I’m getting a bit stiff. But better than not being able to move at all.’ She reached across for the small bag on the seat beside her. The catch snapped open and she felt around the inside. Linley saw a small velvet-covered box emerge.

  CeeCee opened it with a quick flick of its lid. ‘Here.’ Her outstretched hand had two gold bands resting in its palm.

  ‘What on earth …?’

  CeeCee gave her hand a little shake. ‘The larger one is yours. Now slip it on your wedding finger.’

  Linley stared at her.

  ‘Come along. We are two ladies newly arrived and we have a baby with us. If we mean to live here we must have husbands who will support us.’

  Linley’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Well,’ CeeCee continued, her hand nearly under Linley’s nose. ‘I should say, I will have a hu
sband, but you, my poor unfortunate niece, have just lost yours to some dreadful disease and now you must rely on relatives to help. Especially with a young baby.’ CeeCee smiled sadly. ‘It would not have missed your notice, Linley, how badly women who have lost family are treated in this world.’

  Linley shook her head but reached across and took the larger ring. She slipped it on her wedding finger and the surge of a fierce blush heated her cheeks. ‘And have you chosen my married name for me?’

  ‘Oh, you can still be Seymour, if you like. But I will be Anderson.’

  Linley still stared open-mouthed. ‘Will James be visiting us here?’

  CeeCee nodded. ‘But he will have business in Melbourne to attend quite regularly. He has had to shift his dear wife to cleaner climes for her health and Echuca suits us both perfectly. Of course, it’s also very handy because his wife’s niece is in need of family and so they will be wonderful company for each other.’ CeeCee smiled brightly.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Linley looked down as a tiny fist found its way out of the blanket and beat softly at her chest. He couldn’t be hungry? No, he was dreaming, still asleep. His little features puckered, lips moving as if he were talking to someone.

  ‘What don’t you understand?’

  Was CeeCee just a little short with her? Linley looked at her aunt. ‘You and he have a house in Echuca.’

  ‘Yes. It houses women who’ve fallen on hard times. You do know we do that sort of work. But you and I, however, will eventually be purchasing a new house.’

  Linley frowned and stared down at the ring on her finger. ‘This has all happened very quickly.’

  CeeCee let out a long breath. ‘Not so quickly. We talked of buying another house as we expand …’ She sucked in a quick gulp.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I think the gate might have bruised or perhaps cracked a rib. I will check with a doctor when we settle.’

  ‘Aunty!’

  ‘Naught to do for a cracked rib or otherwise, Linley. It will wait.’ CeeCee shifted a little, grunting as she moved. ‘James found a small house which can easily be built on to. It has a large kitchen room already, and three rooms inside, so perhaps we can build a separate dwelling at the back with extra sleeping quarters, and build a small bath house as well.’