The Widow of Ballarat

by Darry Fraser

  The ledgers man nodded at Finn. ‘That would require considerable starting capital,’ he cautioned.

  ‘I have my late father’s affairs to administer. There is an inheritance awaiting probate.’

  Mr Worrell dropped his gaze to the figures on his ledger. ‘Ah. Yes. I believe you are seeing my cousin to discuss your—options.’

  Finn continued, ignoring the small warning signalled by Mr Worrell’s comment. ‘A very exciting project. The port at Goolwa is in its infancy. Many opportunities there, I believe.’

  Matthew Worrell looked up. ‘Sounds promising,’ he said. ‘I might look at the place myself.’

  ‘I have only a halfway decent rum here, Finneas. I still can’t get a hold of any good whisky, either by illicit stills or otherwise. Seems there must be a gap in supply at present.’ The solicitor held out two cloudy, stout glasses, halfway filled with dark golden liquid.

  Finn laughed aloud as he took a glass. ‘As if you’d acquire anything from contraband, Joseph Campbell.’

  ‘It would be a gift from the gods if the stuff was worthy, contraband or not. It’s good to see you. How long have you been back?’

  ‘I landed mid October. Was just in time for Susie’s funeral. Too late for my father’s.’

  ‘My heartfelt condolences. You have come back to sorrowful times.’

  Finn inclined his head. His father’s death was not unexpected, but had come sooner than he thought it might. Susie’s death weighed heavily on him. He took a breath and eased himself into one of Joseph Campbell’s large and exquisitely crafted chairs. ‘Christ, Joseph. These chairs are going to last you into the next life.’

  ‘That is my intention. There is a fine timber craftsman and a fine upholsterer here. I have a new desk and a new chaise on order.’

  ‘A little luxurious? They’re enormous.’

  ‘One has to be comfortable.’ Joseph Campbell pulled out a heavy chair, spreading his hands over each of the arms as he took his seat. ‘For a man of my size, building a custom-fit is the only answer. And the leather is the finest I’ve seen.’ He slapped his hands on the arms. ‘But you haven’t come here to discuss the finer points of tanned cow hide and well-constructed bits of timber.’

  ‘Passes the time of day, especially with this fine rum in hand.’

  Mr Campbell mused over his glass. ‘Fine rum. Is that a contradiction somehow?’

  ‘Better than some I’ve tasted lately,’ Finn allowed. He felt a quick shudder in his arm again and glanced at his hand. He had written Joseph a letter, about—among other things—the tremors, and now the lawyer would perhaps see them for himself. He put his glass on the desk.

  ‘So, the affliction has not subsided?’ Joseph asked.

  Finn still stared at his hand, now steady. ‘Sometimes, I feel it has, a little, but the shakes still manage to surprise me. I have nightmares, but not often.’ He frowned and took up his drink again, frowning some more. ‘Thankfully not the sweats so much, either.’

  ‘Unfortunate thing.’ Joseph Campbell tapped his desk lightly while he seemed to gather his thoughts. ‘The mail is so slow now from England, from Europe, thanks to the war, that there’s been no real news for months. Everything we get is three months old.’

  Finn tested a fist, clenching and unclenching. It was steady. ‘There was an ill-fated charge by the Light Brigade in October just gone. The news of that event is not fully reported, even though my correspondent had heard directly.’

  ‘Think yourself lucky you got a discharge and found your way home. I don’t pertain to a man dying for a reason not of his own.’

  Finn let out a long breath. ‘War does no man any good. And you’re right. I’m for Queen and country, there’s no mistaking it, but that is one skirmish I was glad to be out of.’

  ‘Yet you took armed service, voluntarily.’

  Finn scoffed. ‘Barely a boy’s own adventure, at the time. In hindsight, visiting my cousins in England turned out to be a badly timed mistake. But after the death of my wife, it seemed a good idea. I would certainly not have gone had Louisa been alive.’ He rested the rum on the arm of the chair. ‘They were all primed up to fight for some cause, any cause, and they found one. I was stupid enough to think I could join up to look after them.’ Flicking a fingernail against the rum, his ducked his head. ‘Then it turned real. Too real. Russians, Turks, British, French. I saw enough death and maiming to last me a lifetime, and the real fighting hadn’t even begun.’ He held up his right hand. He flexed his fingers, moved his steady hand into the line of sight. ‘But I don’t understand the shakes. They got me posted home because I couldn’t hold a damn gun straight. It doesn’t just come upon me when I’m vexed, it’s any time. Could be anything—’

  ‘A fearful memory, or perceived danger, perhaps?’

  ‘But not necessarily one thing or another. Nor each time I come up against a challenge.’ Finn thought then of the bail-up on the morning after the stockade attack, and of the woman. He shrugged it aside. ‘To the army, I was a risk.’

  ‘They lose a lot of good men to that sort of risk, I would suspect.’

  Joseph was nothing if not dry in his humour. Finn let that comment be. It was more accurate than his friend would know. He checked that thought and looked again at the lawyer, his battered face and thickened knuckles. Or perhaps Joseph knows more of that than anyone.

  Finn said, ‘Those fools should never have been in charge of troops. They send more good men to their unnecessary deaths every engagement.’

  ‘And the fighting is for …?’

  ‘Started over religion. Moved into politics. Some say it’ll end on the Crimean Peninsula. Probably right. The Turks are mad for it, as are the Russians.’

  Campbell took a swallow of rum. ‘And your English cousins?’

  Finn lifted his shoulders. ‘When I was discharged, they were still fighting, and then were being deployed to a place called Gallipoli, a staging point between destinations. They could still be there, for all I know. No one here knows what’s happened at this point. Information is slow getting here because they deployed our mail steamships to carry troops back and forth to the Mediterranean for this war.’

  Joseph looked at his friend over thin spectacles. ‘By now, your cousins are probably sitting at home with their cigars and their port wine. It was a good thing you made it home when you did.’

  ‘All left to chance and to coincidence. These blasted tremors, the ship’s sailing schedule, the kindly weather … But still I was too late for my father, but more so for Susan.’

  Joseph Campbell let out a breath, his lips vibrating as it expelled. ‘Yes. Poor Susan. I fear she could not wait any longer.’

  Finn studied both hands now. The shakes were absent. His broad hands were lightly tanned, fingernails chipped here and there, but overall, the clean and callused fingers were steady. ‘I should never have left her with only our father here. He must have been already poorly.’

  ‘My good friend, you were not to know. No one knew.’ Joseph leaned back in his chair. ‘He didn’t seem unwell when you left. And Susan was already being courted by the devil himself, and nothing was going to stop him. And your father agreed to the match.’

  ‘I should never have left,’ Finn repeated. ‘Amberton was brutal.’

  ‘I know.’

  Finn heaved in a breath. ‘I imagine she thought it would be different for her.’ He looked up at his friend. ‘But that’s never so, is it? Does no one think to forewarn these women about men like him?’

  ‘People tell me that they mind their own business.’

  ‘I should have known better than to leave.’

  ‘And you would have done what? Forbade her to marry? As it turned out, your father made a—’ He stopped.

  ‘Yes, we should get to my father’s affairs. I admit, I have struggled to meet this moment, but after the events of the past six months, I need to move forward with some clarity. Put some of the past to rest.’

  Joseph nodded. ‘You will.’ He
tilted his big head. ‘But before we go back to your father, did you know that someone has put a stop to Amberton? You’ll be pleased of it, if you do know. Someone has made a widow of his second wife.’

  Finn turned to stare out the window. Clouds moved across the sky, a scant breeze nudging them along. There was no threat of more rain, not that it would have been a threat. It would be welcome … He stopped procrastinating. ‘I do know that’s he’s dead.’

  ‘Wouldn’t ease the pain, or the anger for you, I imagine. Susan had no one here to protect her from him. I know that weighs heavily on you.’ Joseph leaned across his desk and laced his ungainly hands. ‘The new widow at least has Amberton’s sister, Enid Wilshire. No doubt a help for her.’

  Finn did his best to appear disinterested. ‘No doubt. And the widow’s own family—where are they?’

  ‘Her family are not clients directly of mine, so I can tell you. Her father is an old tyrant, well known on the fields for being a conniving old sod. Sold her off, I’ve heard.’

  ‘Like a dowry thing? Obsolete, now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Still prevalent, when needs arrive. Not illegal,’ Joseph said, a glance at Finn before he leaned forward to refill his glass with a tot. He lifted the decanter in Finn’s direction. ‘I believe he was heard to say, “daughters need to be auctioned off”. Seems she had previously refused all his efforts at matchmaking.’ He replaced the decanter when Finn declined with a shake of his head.

  ‘And where is he?’

  Joseph caught Finn’s enquiring glance. ‘The widow’s father? Still on the fields, I hear. Last reported to me, he was bragging new-found wealth. He should beware bragging about money. It’s a common precedent to an early death.’

  Finn wondered why the man’s whereabouts were reported to Joseph. He wouldn’t ask; wasn’t his business however curious he was. Besides, it might pique the lawyer’s curiosity and he didn’t need that. He’d make his own way learning some more about the new widow, Mrs Amberton.

  That might be a stupid thing to pursue in the light of the other night. It would have to be carefully thought out. He had made a mistake by answering Nell’s invitation. How had the bushranger got himself this enmeshed?

  ‘You must hear a great many things,’ Finn deflected. ‘I’m sure that’s only one of the sorry stories of the Ballarat fields. For myself, I’m looking beyond.’ Then a tremor started. His left hand clamped the right. He glanced an apology at his friend. ‘A moment until it subsides, Joseph.’ He felt sweat trickle under his shirt. ‘I’m no good while it ails me.’

  Campbell stared a moment then said, ‘Let’s concentrate on the matter you need to attend, Finneas.’

  Finn held his elbow and hugged it to his body. Breath puffed out of him as he felt a band constrict over his chest.

  Joseph started to rise to his feet. ‘What can I do?’

  Finn lifted a hand to wave him away. ‘Nothing.’ His gaze travelled over the small bookshelf behind his friend, on which the sturdy tomes looked regal and scholarly. He checked the carpet under his feet, clean and, no doubt, of good quality. He looked at his boots, a little dusty. He rubbed one against the other leg to clean it off. Breath still puffed out, but the constriction was easing. ‘They say a legacy of war, not a physical one. A survivor’s sickness, perhaps.’

  The lawyer raised his brows.

  Finn grunted a laugh. ‘I see you thinking. If the wound is not physical, it must be that I’m weak in the mind. I can assure you, it’s not so.’ He inhaled deeply as the constriction finally receded. ‘I am determined to move forward from it.’

  Joseph took up his own rum again. ‘I cannot imagine it would stop you, nor what would cure you.’

  ‘They say nothing but time.’ Finn shrugged. ‘This bad business of the Eureka Lead. It decided me. Too much aggression and greed.’ He looked up, reached across for his rum. ‘If this ailment is to be with me for some time, I cannot abide unexplained noise. Gunshots, for instance, it seems now.’ Finn gazed into the deep swirl of molasses-coloured rum. ‘I had occasion to shoot a firearm recently, which hadn’t brought this on before—when I am doing the firing, that is. This time, however, tremors resulted.’ He flexed his right hand’s fingers. ‘Well, nearly got me killed. I couldn’t control it.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Were you at the stockade?’

  Shaking his head, Finn said, ‘Afterwards. My grip was so fumbling, I was nearly not able to defend myself.’

  ‘If you require legal—’

  Dismissing him with a shake of his head, Finn said, ‘Just something got out of control. Done with, now.’

  Joseph spread his hands. ‘Things have been out of control—if there ever was control.’ His mouth downturned. ‘You reported it?’ he asked, then scoffed. ‘Stupid question. I fear there’s few to report to. Thank God, you came out alive.’

  Indeed. Finn threw back a long swallow of rum, felt his eyes water. It was reasonable rum, but his tolerance was low. He set his glass down again. ‘My head was clear, but my hand … I need to find a gentler climate, so I’m looking much further afield. New frontiers, so to speak.’

  ‘Our colonies are certainly not short of new frontiers, but whether they are gentler is open for discussion.’

  ‘I have heard—and your cousin, Mr Worrell, was able to enlighten me—that new company laws are to be enacted soon.’

  Joseph nodded, and did a quick search amid the ledgers on his desk. ‘The emerging company law is quite interesting. I won’t have up-to-date information for some time—the slow ships.’ He uncovered a thick file, opened it and squinted at a sheet of paper on which he could see flowing handwriting with a crest above it. ‘Law Society edict of last year, warning us of changes. Why would it be of interest?’

  ‘I told Mr Worrell that I wanted to sell up and build paddle-steamers for the Murray. Take freight from Goolwa in South Australia to Swan Hill and back again. The country in both colonies looks set to open up so I want to be ready.’ He leaned forward. ‘There have been tentative interests already in Goolwa, where there’s a new port built, and I don’t want to miss out.’

  Joseph Campbell steepled his fingers, the oversized knuckles like knots in a tree trunk. He nodded slowly and pursed his lips before he said, ‘In the first instance, your present company structure would adequately suffice. We will eventually receive mail from England—if this war is ever to cease. For now, I’d say continue as you are.’

  Finn felt the tickle of a warning again at the words but ignored it, shaking his head. ‘I told Mr Worrell I need to realise some capital.’

  Joseph rested his hands on his desk. ‘You have adequate funds to continue your merchandise business, and no need of the bank’s backing. Stay a while. There is still much money to be made. You’ll have need of the sort of business you own.’

  Joseph’s lack of enthusiasm for the new venture struck Finn as odd. A tremor warned again, and he gripped his elbow. ‘I need to move quickly, to capitalise on opportunity. My father’s estate would assist the building of a couple of steamers, small ones to begin with.’

  Peering over his spectacles, Joseph said, ‘Which brings us, good friend, to our real business. Your father’s affairs.’ The gnarly fingers locked and unlocked. ‘It seems there was money exchanged for Susan’s hand in marriage.’

  ‘Christ. A dowry?’ Finn sat forward. ‘Worse than I knew—’

  ‘It wasn’t a dowry, not as we know it. It was a loan. But the recipient is dead, his estate all a fraud. If there were any funds to recoup, they have evaporated.’

  Fifteen

  Lewis Wilshire stepped into the foyer of the suite of offices. Inside, as the heavy door clicked shut behind him, the noise of the street was silenced.

  Bendigo was robust, its population enjoying civilisation brimming with commerce, merchants trading and building, and hardworking families. The goldfields were rich and rivalled the Ballarat fields.

  Carriages rolled up and down the streets, pedestrians rushed to their stores and s
hops. Talk was that Cobb and Co would soon be coming there from Melbourne. Churches and schools and entertainment halls were plentiful. The town was even changing its name, and ‘Sandhurst’ seemed to be favoured.

  Lewis, like others, preferred the original name ‘Bendigo’, but popular vote was not considered. It was a sturdy town. He wondered if Ballarat would ever become as strong as Bendigo, teetering as it did now on the brink of further unrest, and government-sanctioned murder. Until now, Ballarat had been quiet and orderly, and Bendigo the rowdy town.

  He gazed around. The short hallway, with its high ceiling, polished floors and architraves, had an almost reverent hush about it. In the eerie quiet, he turned to listen for Justice herself.

  Not here, he decided. Advice was dispensed here, not justice. He dispensed justice. He smiled to himself. What would Flora make of that sentiment? He could hear her derision. She would throw her black wavy hair—tied into an unruly plait—over her shoulder, and she’d stand, hands on hips, laughing at him.

  He loved her pluck. Could she still be the wife he needed? Was it even sensible to think like that? He shrugged inwardly. It would all be moot as soon as the will was read. He could do as he liked, and with whomever he chose.

  Pushing aside the memory of her, he looked about for a place to hang his hat. After shucking his coat, he hung both on the hook and rail along the wall alongside another coat and hat. Dusting himself down after the short walk from his hotel, he was ready for his meeting.

  A sign above a door on the left read ‘Appointments’. Lewis knocked, opened it and entered. He faced a stout man seated at the desk. His neatly clipped beard and droopy moustache were the same salt-and-pepper grey as his wavy head of hair.

  The man came to his feet. ‘Good afternoon. Mr Wilshire, is it?’ He extended a hand.

  Lewis took the proffered hand, the grip firm and short. ‘I am, sir.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Mr Bagley. Give me a moment to check I have all your details.’ He sat again. ‘Mr Campbell still has someone with him, and when he becomes free, I’ll inform him that you’ve arrived.’