The Good Woman of Renmark

by Darry Fraser

  A couple of men swept past her on their way down to the boat. Maggie stepped aside, bumping another, who growled until he recognised her and grinned, tipping his hat.

  ‘Uh, sorry, Miss O’R—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, cutting him off.

  She turned her head, pretending to brush off her skirt. She knew him. Bert was a fellow who occasionally delivered goods from the store to Olivewood where she worked—the home of Charles and Ella Chaffey. He was stepping out with Lucy, one of the girls she’d befriended who worked there. Maggie’s cheeks burned and she stood aside, gazing away, hoping he’d forget he ever saw her here. When he passed, she looked back and could see men unloading great sacks of flour and sugar from the Goodnight, and others loading boxes of fruit in their place. An older gentleman stood on the shore, checking the stock against the inventory as it came off the boat. More men trudged up the slope to carts waiting to transport goods to the merchandise store.

  As she approached, Maggie felt her heart thud anew. The older man looked up, watched her a moment, tugged his hat in deference, then returned to his record sheet. She cleared her throat. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Are you in charge of this boat?’

  ‘I am, miss.’ Once again, he only looked briefly at her. He tugged his weathered hat again to shade his eyes from the sun. Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows frowned as he stared over his numbers. His short scraggly beard was streaked with tinges of carroty red. He called over his shoulder, ‘By my reckoning, Bill, we should have another six sacks of flour to come off.’

  ‘Right you are, Mr Finn.’

  He sidestepped her and began to head for the boat, his stride broken by a slight limp.

  Maggie followed. ‘I wonder if you would have passage downriver?’ she asked.

  Mr Finn turned at the water’s edge and started to answer her. Then he looked at her anew, faded brown eyes under a squint. ‘Have we met before, miss?’

  Taken aback, Maggie shook her head. ‘I don’t believe so.’

  He seemed to peer at her. ‘Well, I’ll be blowed if you don’t have the look of someone I know. Hmm.’ He nodded. ‘Indeed, you do.’

  Panic was rising. ‘Really? I don’t—’

  ‘Are you kin of the MacHenrys out of Swan Hill?’

  Ah. That was it. Her mother had written that her father’s twin Liam had a son near Swan Hill by the name of MacHenry. He was a new-found relative, and apparently the family resemblance was strong. ‘Um.’

  ‘At least, kin of Mr Dane MacHenry. You could be his sister.’ Mr Finn straightened up. ‘But then that’s impossible. Miss Elspeth is his only sister.’

  Maggie barely remembered if she’d known of an Elspeth. Not important right this minute. ‘Very odd, Mr Finn. But passage downriver, perhaps?’

  ‘Matter of fact, we’re about on our way to deliver this lot downriver to Morgan, got to get it to market in Adelaide. Testing the water, so to speak, for the new Raisin Trust here. We’ll go on from there.’

  Maggie had heard of the trust. Word had it that the government had put up a loan to save the Renmark area because the irrigation scheme had failed. The Mildura market was failing too, so fruit growers were drying their crops and finding markets elsewhere, or that was the hope.

  ‘In that case, might I buy passage?’ At his slight frown, she went on, hoping to forestall a question about why she was travelling on her own. ‘My job has ended and I’m looking to find work further on.’ Well, that was true, her job had abruptly ended. Now, haste was paramount.

  ‘You could, miss, certainly. Let me check the last of the stock off my boat here and I’ll attend directly.’ He tipped his hat once more and stepped onto the gangway.

  ‘Might I also come on board to sit in the shade?’ Maggie wasn’t bothered by the sun; she’d revelled in it as a child, much to the consternation of her parents—her mother in particular. Irish heritage meant their pale skin was not any defence against the fierce Australian climate, but Maggie had been born in the dirt, literally, and the open air and the blazing sunshine had never bothered her. Right now, she just wanted to be out of sight.

  ‘Of course, you might, but I don’t want you in the way.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to impose,’ she said sweetly. He seemed kindly enough, and today was not a day to kick up a fuss.

  ‘Just one minute—Bill, is that the last of it?’

  One of the three men who trudged up the hill under a couple of sacks turned as he neared the cart at the top of the bank. ‘That’s it, Mr Finn,’ Bill shouted back.

  Mr Finn held out his hand for her. ‘All right, then. Careful of your footing, it can be a mite slippery sometimes.’

  On board, Maggie looked around for somewhere to sit out of sight. But Mr Finn directed her under the shade at the stern, out of the sun, but not hidden from view.

  ‘Now, your name, miss,’ he said and flipped a page of his record sheet, ready to take her particulars. The pencil hovered, its graphite tip rounded with use.

  ‘Miss … Lorcan. Ellie Lorcan,’ Maggie said, and the blush burned her cheeks at the lie. Eleanor and Lorcan were her parents’ names.

  ‘Lorkin,’ Mr Finn said. ‘L-O-R-K-I-N, Miss Ellie,’ he recorded, and she didn’t correct him. ‘And you’re going to?’

  ‘I’ll pay for passage to Morgan.’

  Mr Finn’s brows rose. ‘Morgan, will ye? Who do you know there?’

  ‘There must be work there. It’s a busy rail town on the river.’

  He tilted his head. ‘It was, but there’s no policeman there now, and I’ve heard it said that bushrangers roam through the place, in and out of houses and the pub and the like on horseback. A wild town. Not the place for a young lady on her own.’

  Don’t make a fuss about that now. Maggie glanced around. There was no one on the banks besides the workers loading and unloading stock. A couple of men had stopped for a smoke, and Bert was nowhere to be seen. She wrung her hands over the handle of her bag. Dammit, dammit.

  ‘Ye’re not going to family?’ he said, squinting at her.

  ‘Family’s in … Melbourne.’ Again, the blush scorched over her face and neck. She was not afraid of speaking up, but of lying, she was mortified.

  Mr Finn appeared not to notice. ‘Melbourne, I see. Betwixt and between here, then. Ye could go upriver to Echuca, then take the rail to Melbourne.’

  Maggie frowned, but stayed silent.

  At her resistance, he said, ‘Or ye could go to, oh, let’s see … Murray Bridge. Perhaps a coach, or train from there. You’d have to go to Bendigo or Ballarat first.’

  Relieved, she tried not to sag against the wheelhouse at her back. ‘Murray Bridge it is, then.’

  ‘Right you are. There’s any number of good folk there, and plenty of work for an enterprising girl, I’m sure. Now, the fare.’ He glanced at her and back to his papers. ‘Let me see …’

  Maggie would have to excuse herself to retrieve the purse hidden under her clothing, but that wouldn’t be a problem in the next few minutes. Certainly it would help get her off the deck and out of the way of curious or searching eyes. She flicked a glance along the bank and saw nothing to alarm her, but it didn’t calm the rapid pounding of her heart. When she glanced back at Mr Finn, he was watching her.

  ‘How about one pound six shillings?’

  How much? She hadn’t given a thought to the cost of the fare. Well, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have it with her. And it was there to make her escape.

  Something of her consternation must have shown on her face for Mr Finn was looking at her like her father often did. A little concerned, a little thoughtful.

  ‘It’s been a while since we carried paying passengers downriver, miss.’ Mr Finn’s brows rose. ‘We don’t any longer, so I haven’t charged you full price. Trade has taken a downturn, you see, so we’re mostly just carrying freight off the boss’s place. But we can clear out a cabin, make it ready for you. Find some clean linens in the trunks.’

  Swallowing her worry, she said,
‘Yes, thank you. That would be fine.’

  ‘You just wait right here, and when the boys are finished we’ll get underway, get that cabin cleared out.’ He started to leave.

  Maggie sat upright. ‘Would you direct me to the cabin, Mr Finn?’ If she was in a cabin, especially if the door was on the other side of the boat, she could rest out of sight.

  ‘Well, the one I had in mind has all manner of boxes and beasties in it. If you can wait—’

  ‘I don’t mind starting to clear it. Helping.’ She stood up. ‘I am quite used to hard work, and I am a proficient cook, and housekeeper.’ Maggie heard herself rattling on as if her words were just going to keep tumbling out of her. At least she had those skills. She’d always intended to sustain herself using them.

  There was that kindly look again from Mr Finn. ‘Let me get the boys back on board. We have to get crackin’, have to pick up downriver. We’re a bit behind the schedule but they can lift out the heavy stuff for you after we head off. But certainly, go around the other side—’

  Maggie breathed gratitude.

  ‘—and you’ll see a door with a “D” on it. That’s the one.’

  She thanked him, crossed the small deck and turned down the side of the boat that faced the bank across the river. Safe from prying eyes, and thankful, she leaned against the wall, clutching her bag. Deep, steadying breaths filled her, and she waited. Slowly, the shivery chills that ran down her arms and tingled on her hands dissipated.

  A sudden cry welled in her throat and she slapped her hands over her mouth, holding on to the aching sob of it, leaving it stuck in her throat. For the moment, she was safe. The relief was bittersweet.

  She was a murderer, and on the run from the law.

  Captain Finn watched as she found her way to the cabin. He called across to his remaining crewman, Bentley. ‘Here, lad. Take this paper to old Barney Cutler, the fella who thinks he’s the wharf master.’ He scrawled on it: Miss Ellie Lorkin, passenger on Lady Goodnight, Cap R Finn. He dated it. ‘Ask him to record on his day sheet that this is who I took on board just now. He’ll take his ledgers up to the postmaster for proper recording.’

  It was just a precaution in case the forlorn young woman had family looking for her. He’d do his best to see her safe. Then he remembered fondly that he’d given refuge to another young woman a few years back, his boss’s wife Georgina, Mrs Dane MacHenry. Ah, the Lady Goodnight had her uses.

  Five

  Angus Boyd watched as his brother stomped towards his bicycle, pulled it away from the fence and rode off. Straddling his own bicycle, Angus stepped to the doorway of the shed. His brother’s lumbering great arse rolled on the undeserving seat, the small pedals just bearing up under the powerful push of his feet. Ludicrous bloody sight.

  The great dolt should just get back to the store and put in a good day’s work instead of trying to make out he was a rich man at leisure. The store represented what slight legacy their father had left to them when he died in Adelaide years ago, but it hadn’t come to much. It was a shop carrying small stock stuff, clothing and implements, a few swags, and tents. It had been especially hard to make a living lately, when business was dying all along the river, and his brother’s affliction becoming worse.

  Although Robert was the older brother, their father had entrusted Angus to keep a look out for him. The old man must have known that his first-born was not quite right in the head. When Robert married—great surprise—Angus hoped he’d have smartened himself up. Not so. Now, Angus had a debt-ridden store, a brother descending further into madness, and a family of leeches that was a millstone around his neck.

  Angus also suspected Robert was a murderer.

  He let go of the handlebars and gripped his elbows, arms across his chest. Ducking his head, in his mind’s eye he saw Maggie O’Rourke rush to help the woman under attack. Saw her flounder, then he’d watched in disbelief as she’d swung the pick-up rod at his brother’s head.

  Now he gnawed his lip. In that one moment, he thought he’d seen all his plans evaporate in the blue sunshine of the autumn morning. No, no, nooo, he’d yelled.

  Adeline, Adeline. Desolation as sharp and cold as a knife had slashed through him. He had to find out what happened to her, and if his brother had been killed, Angus would never know the truth. All these years waiting for a woman who would stay, and not run from the endless sneering derision of his sister-in-law, and he’d found Adeline. She’d stood up to her, and Myra had backed down with only that thin smile of hers and a gaze that slid away.

  He felt the guilt again now, remembering when Adeline had come to him. She’d blamed Robert, and Myra’s open contempt … So yes, at the moment when it looked like the O’Rourke woman had wrenched his vengeance from him, he’d wanted to punch her to the ground.

  At one time, Angus had thought she might have stepped out with him. He’d asked, but no, Maggie O’Rourke had been too good for the likes of him. Well, he’d fixed her. Nothing like a little mail-tampering from him, the postal clerk. After she’d returned the first two letters from her beau in Echuca, and refused Angus a second time, he’d easily stopped any more letters reaching her—he’d recognised the broad scrawl. When she’d started writing to this fella again, Angus had stopped them, too. Nicely burned in his fireplace. The bloke had finally stopped sending mail. Guess he’d figured, after receiving numerous Return to Sender Sam Taylor letters, he had better give up. Angus had let other letters from Echuca come through to her—that would have been suspicious otherwise.

  With Robert lying there earlier today, it looked as if she’d killed him. Angus hadn’t been able to grab any one of those feelings galloping through him. All he’d thought at the time was that Robert had been killed, and that his quest to find Adeline, to seek revenge for whatever Robert had done to her, was lost to him.

  He’d roared his anger, his furious frustration. But when both the women had fled, and Watson was yelling to him that his fallen brother was still alive, Angus had snapped back into himself. Now, sapped and stupefied, he looked out towards the main road and saw Robert still barrelling along on his bicycle, a man on a mission.

  But where was Adeline, his beautiful Adeline? Angus had met her in the post office, not long ago—she’d been a customer, such a sweet girl. They’d only been courting for a short time but he was keen to make her his wife. There weren’t so many single women—suitable ones, that is—in the town, and any good one was snapped up. Adeline didn’t have such a good job in the boarding house where she lived, but Angus would soon have had her out of that.

  She’d come to him one morning, only two months ago, to tell him. He’d been on a break from work in the middle of the day. With a tremor in her voice, she’d said, ‘Your own brother has approached me, and has improperly touched my person.’ Adeline had hidden her face in her handkerchief, a square of fine cotton, and on it, a blue flower—the result of her embroidered stiches. ‘I was fearful to resist him, but I did, and ran for my life as soon as I could. He has threatened me, followed me. I’ve told no one but you. I am so ashamed to speak it aloud. He is a monster, Angus.’ She’d stood there, wiping her eyes and waiting for his response.

  He’d stared wide-eyed, not comprehending at first, but then he’d recoiled. She wasn’t complaining about Myra. ‘My brother?’

  He’d been shocked—his brother had tried to harm even Adeline. He knew Robert was afflicted, but this was truly terrible. Angus had only stood there, dumbfounded, while Adeline, aghast to think she hadn’t been believed, had fled in tears.

  He’d had to return to work, promising himself he would visit her immediately after his shift, but he’d never seen the woman he loved again. She’d already gone. Her employers too had been mystified, along with the rest of the townsfolk.

  He spent days and days with worry, with disbelief that she’d just run off—like Robert had insinuated. Then Angus insisted on searching the river, the scrub, and the creek behind Olivewood. During the search, he’d needed a spare pair of boots.
The ones he wore were falling apart, and the shoe-smith from Mildura was weeks away. Robert had a second pair that would fit if Angus wore his new, thicker socks. When his scornful sister-in-law had gone to the stores, Angus had crawled under their bed to grab the boots. He’d found a woman’s handkerchief, folded neatly, a little dusty, caught in the springs. He reached for it. Not Adeline’s. Lying on his side to stare at it, he felt a loosened floorboard. Intrigued, he’d pried it open and found a small box. Inside, trinkets—a broach, a pair of earrings, not Adeline’s. To whom did they belong? What did that mean? Perhaps they belonged to Myra, but he couldn’t imagine it. She was a strong, brawny woman, intelligent and sharp-tongued when it pleased her. He’d never known her to have baubles and the like, but even so, why would she hide them? He’d returned the box and the floorboard. And when he thought more carefully, he put the handkerchief back where he’d found it.

  All he knew, as he stumbled out with the spare pair of boots, was that his brother had something to hide.

  Robert had scoffed when confronted. ‘Myra must have found the bits and bobs in the house when we took up the lease, and hidden them from the children. No need now, of course, they’ve grown up a bit. She’s probably forgotten the trinkets are there.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It seems this Adeline business has sent you mad, Angus. You’re seeing evil things in the most innocent. Remember, I searched the river and the scrub with you. Would I have done that if I’d committed a crime? Your chit has run off, probably with that lackey Donaldson. No wonder we found nothing of hers. You knew he was skulking around, and he’s gone too.’

  That was true. But Donaldson was never a worry to Angus, or to Adeline. Angus had protested the insinuation that Adeline had stooped to a man like Donaldson, someone who camped by the river. At his stuttering indignation, Robert waved him off, condescending. ‘Of course, of course, she would never have done that. But they are both missing from Renmark now, aren’t they, hmm?’

  Chewing through Robert’s explanation, Angus had nothing. What terrible things had happened that she couldn’t come back to him? He would wait. He would wait and not despair that he hadn’t yet got a confession from his brother. He would wait for the right time, for the very moment after he’d gleaned the information he needed, to exact a revenge. He had to, he owed it to Adeline.