A gem of a problem, p.6
A Gem of a Problem, page 6
“Capt’n will be happier when he gets his boat back,” Willy said.
Perhaps that was what Fred Croaker had been referring to.
Chapter 7
At the Boatyard
The Lisette pulled into the bank below the Echuca wharf eight days after leaving Wirramilla, laden with the wool, hides and tallow they had collected on the way. They joined a string of boats waiting their turn at the long wharf, which was crowded with steamers and barges loading and unloading, the cranes clanking and straining, rail cars waiting to disgorge goods and carry the wool bales to Melbourne.
As soon as the plank was let down to the bank, Emma slipped out from her cabin intending to find a boarding house to stay for a few days while she went about her inquiries. She would take another boat back home when she was ready.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Daniel’s voice came from behind as she stepped onto the lower deck.
“I’m going ashore,” she replied, glancing back at him on the stairs above.
He sighed. He looked and sounded tired. He came down the remaining stairs to stand with her.
“Look, I’m sorry I said what I did, about us being fine until you came along. I’d hoped once Sam married, he might settle down a bit, be less impetuous. I just – I just don’t think you were the right one for him.”
“Well, thank you for your honesty, I’m sure.”
“Where are you going?” he asked again, ignoring the sarcasm.
“I’m going to find a place to stay for a few days.”
“There’s no need. You can stay on the Lisette and return with us. Your father will be expecting me to look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after Daniel, and I won’t be returning with you. I have work to do here.”
“Emma...” He put out a hand, palm face up. She drew a deep breath and let it out again. It was as much of an apology as she was going to get. They had coexisted before without argument and there was too much at stake now to continue with the antagonism.
“I would appreciate being able to see the Mary B if you would accompany me,” she said, trying to meet him partway. “But I will be staying, Daniel.”
He nodded. Whether that meant he agreed or not about her staying she didn’t know or care.
“We can go to the boatyard now if you want. I won’t be needed here for a while. It’ll take the rest of the day to clear those ahead of me in this queue. We can talk about you leaving later.”
Not that it would make any difference to her decision. Emma looked down at her travelling bag.
“I’d best leave this, then,” she said.
Daniel handed the bag to Willy who was nearby and told him to return it to her cabin. Mr. Shankton gave her a look she couldn’t define as they turned past the stokehold. Perhaps he’d been hoping to see the last of her.
Daniel handed her down the boarding plank then tucked her hand under his arm as they made their way up to the top of the bank. They reached the Esplanade and passed Shakell’s Bond Store, and the grain stores and shipping company offices. The street itself was lined with wagons and carts, some with cargo to ship off and others waiting to collect from the Bond Store. Foremost among the latter were the carriers for the hotels, of which Emma knew there were a large number in the town.
At Hopwood’s Hotel corner, they turned left into the High Street. The sweet smell of beer mingled with the sour smell of sweat, and the sound of voices assailed them through the open doorway of the saloon bar as they passed. On the street, they were greeted with shop fronts adorned with colourful hoardings advertising everything from ladies’ boots to nerve tonics, Bee Tea to Military Pickles. The street, muddy between the footpaths sheltered by the verandahs, was alive with buggies and horses. A newspaper seller’s cry reached them from the opposite corner.
Emma kept a lookout for a jeweller’s shop as they walked but when, after a mile or so, they turned left again back toward the river she still hadn’t seen one. They crossed the railway line, and the unmistakable sound of a sawmill reached their ears, the high-pitched whine of the steam-driven saw growing louder as they approached. Her mind turned with some trepidation to what lay ahead.
As the street dipped toward the river in what was still a largely bush area a half-timbered hull rose above them on the slip alive with activity. A boy carrying a bucket of hot rivets on a bed of glowing coals was passing among the workmen who were hammering the rivets into the three-inch thick redgum planks. Someone else was working an engine funneling steam along a plank bending it into place for the bow. Emma wondered, not for the first time, how a snag could penetrate such a construction.
Daniel led her down to the riverbank past a shed where she glimpsed the shadow of someone watching their progress from an unglazed window. Pulled up onto the bank was an upturned barge and next to it the battered form of the Mary B.
She lay on her side, a ragged hole in her hull, the stokehold a shattered mass of bent metal and splintered timbers, part of the upper deck missing above it. Paint had peeled and cracked, the wood dry and shrinking. The door of the cabin she and Sam had shared hung drunkenly on one hinge.
“Sam!”
“She's snagged. Get off. Now, Emma.”
He all but pushes her away. She wants to argue, tell him there is nothing he can do now, he must leave....
“Emma? I said I’m going up to have a look in the wheelhouse.”
She nodded, unable to speak, the memory too real. She knew now why Sam didn’t leave the steamer in time. The thing that had puzzled her these past months.
Daniel disappeared around the far side of the leaning boat, the upper deck more accessible there. She heard him scrambling on the timbers and then saw his head in the wheelhouse. She waited, knowing what he would find. He didn’t take long.
“Whatever was in there has gone,” he growled when he returned. “The shelf is open. Someone knew where to look, anyway.” He glanced back toward the shed.
“No, Sam must have taken it out. I remembered. He had a screwdriver in his hand. I saw it when I ran to the wheelhouse and he sent me off to get in the dinghy.”
“He did?”
Emma nodded. “That’s why he took so long to leave, Daniel. He was retrieving the packet from where he’d hidden it.”
His hand went to his head. “So where is it?”
His face loomed through a watery haze and she felt the tears on her face, as if her eyes were soundlessly leaking of their own accord.
He touched her cheek. “I’m sorry.” His voice was not entirely steady.
She brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand and stepped across to an upturned wooden box in the shade of a eucalypt. She sat down, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. Daniel followed and squatted beside her. She stared at the wrecked boat, her wrecked dreams. She remembered how Sam had looked that last time in the wheelhouse. As if he couldn’t believe something like this could happen to him.
“Where could it be?” she asked. A life had been paid for that necklace. Her stomach clenched as a bitter wave of anger at Major Barnaby swept over her.
“Perhaps he lost it in the river, after all,” Daniel said.
“Someone could dive for it?” she suggested, half hopeful.
“If it’s in the river it’s gone, buried in the mud.”
“Or swallowed by a Murray cod perhaps?” she suggested, biting down hysteria. “Perhaps we should go fishing.”
Daniel grunted. “Hargreaves should have had more sense.”
There he was, blaming someone else again. She imagined Sam would have made it impossible for the other captain to refuse. Especially as there’d been a rematch promised when the Mary B lost in their previous race at Echuca. But that had been under controlled conditions. Emma didn’t want to voice her next thought. That the packet had been buried with Sam. She waited for Daniel to suggest it.
“Hargreaves handled the burial, didn’t he?” he said at last.
“Yes.”
“If Sam was carrying anything, he would have found it, wouldn’t he?”
Emma nodded. “He did, but there was no packet among the items he left for me afterward.”
“Hargreaves wouldn’t have kept anything?”
They looked at one another and then both shook their heads at the suggestion. Captain Jeremiah Hargreaves was well known up and down the river. An American gentleman of about sixty, he was also an enthusiastic lay preacher whenever he could find an audience. His only weakness was his pride in the Invincible.
“He would have given Sam a decent burial at least,” Daniel said wryly. “With a very long sermon.”
Emma forced her thoughts back to that night at Merrim station. It had been dark when the Invincible arrived. Sam hadn’t been buried until the morning and she had been in no condition then to attend his interment or to see anyone.
“Perhaps he delivered it,” Emma said. “If there was an address.”
“What, to this jeweller it was supposed to be going to?”
“Yes.”
“All right. That makes sense. If Hargreaves found the packet on Sam,” Daniel mused.
“Surely the jeweller would have been the first place the Major checked before chasing me up about it,” Emma said, playing devil’s advocate.
“Perhaps he has, and the jeweller has denied receiving it.”
“That wouldn’t be very smart if we could show Hargreaves delivered it.”
“No. Whatever else, we need to find out if Sam had the packet on him when they pulled him out of the river. We need to talk to Hargreaves. We’ll ask at the wharf office, see where he is.”
“Everything all right, Capt’n?”
The man approaching them from the shed was stocky, muscles bulging. He spat a stream of tobacco off to one side and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before glancing at Emma. Daniel stood and introduced her.
“Mrs. Berry, my sister-in-law. This is John Knowles, owner of the boatyard.”
The man nodded. “Very sorry I was to hear about your husband, ma’am. This here river’s a dangerous place even for men.”
And no place for a woman he may as well have added, as she inclined her head in acknowledgement of his condolences.
“When are you going to get to the Mary B, Knowles?” Daniel asked. “I’m missing the whole season.”
Knowles shrugged. “This here boat we’re building for the Company, then that barge, then yours,” he ticked them off on his fingers. “I lost two good men to the goldfields this month. Darn fools.” He spat to the side again. “Soon as someone comes to town flashing a few nuggets off go a few more thinking they can get rich easy. No use telling ‘em they’ll work harder and longer in worse conditions and no guarantees of seeing so much as a glint.” He paused for breath. “Darn fools,” he repeated sourly.
“I’d appreciate if you could get to it as quick as possible.”
“Always do my best, Capt’n. Ma’am.” He nodded and turned back to the shed.
“For those who pay something under the table,” Daniel muttered.
“Why don’t you take her to someone else if Knowles is so slow?” Emma asked, as they walked back toward the slip.
“Not my choice. He got the job from the insurance company because his quote was the lowest. He’ll do it and do it well, but only when he has no better paying jobs on hand.”
“Should we pay something extra then, to get it done?”
“You’d have to talk to your father about that. I don’t have anything extra,” Daniel replied shortly, and Emma realized his grievance with her supposedly comfortable life continued to niggle.
They took a shorter route on the way back to the wharf, along the railway spur line that ran beside the river. Daniel went into the wharf office to make inquiries about the whereabouts of the Invincible. Boat captains were required to telegraph their arrival at every town with whatever information they had to impart, including river levels. They also received instructions and any other items of news that needed to be sent on to them. This procedure was especially required of McCulloch Company boats, the Company needing to be in constant contact with its fleet of vessels for efficient operation.
Modern communication was a wonderful thing Emma considered, taking in the bustling atmosphere as she waited. Her skin tingled at the thought of being part of that movement and purpose. She took a deep breath. The air at the wharf was redolent with the smell of smoke and oil, wool and men.
The Foxy Lady was moored in front of her, a boat she was familiar with. Mrs. Barnsdale, with her two small children, often accompanied her husband on the Foxy Lady. And there were women on the fishing vessels and hawking steamers that were family owned. Once the Mary B was back on the water, she would negotiate something with Daniel. If they didn’t find Lady Annabel’s necklace, she would be needed to offset the wage of another crew member. They would need every penny they could scramble together.
Daniel reappeared at her elbow. “The Invincible is on the Murrumbidgee, heading for Hay. She’s not due back for some time.”
“Did we pass them on the way up?”
“No. He must have made the Bidgee by the time we reached the junction. He’s passed through Balranald, so I’ve sent a telegraph to Maude. It will be relayed to Hay if it misses him there. We should have a reply in a day or two if he’s not held up somewhere in between.”
He showed her a copy of the telegraph.
Require news of items Sam had on his person. Daniel Berry.
“It’s going to generate some speculation, but that can’t be helped,” he said.
“No,” Emma said, as she handed the paper back to him, “but you aren’t likely to be here when the answer comes, are you?”
“They’ll send the reply on down river. I’ll probably get it at Euston, or even as early as Swan Hill.”
“Someone should be here to act on it,” she said. “Even when you receive it you still have to continue your run.”
“It would depend on the answer.”
“Which we won’t know until we receive it,” Emma pointed out patiently. “We need to cover all possibilities. I’ll stay until we get the answer.”
“You think I’m going to leave you here in Echuca on your own?”
“You’re not my keeper, Daniel. I’ll decide for myself what I do. I’m sure there’s a very respectable boarding house where I could take a room until we know what our next move is.”
Daniel cursed under his breath. “What will your father think when I turn up at Wirramilla without you?”
“Don’t turn up,” Emma snapped. “You didn’t have any trouble sailing by last time.” They glared at one another for a moment. Emma was the first to turn away. “I’m going back to the High Street to look for a jeweller’s shop.”
“I suppose I‘ll have to go with you. If this jeweller is part of the deal he could be dangerous. And lord knows what trouble you’ll get into.”
“Suit yourself.” If this were a truce, Emma didn’t care to know what open warfare would be like.
Chapter 8
Talking to the Jeweller
Back at Hopwood’s Hotel corner, Emma looked up and down High Street. There hadn’t been a jeweller’s shop along the section of street they'd already walked, and she couldn’t see anything promising in the opposite direction, so she decided to ask someone. She chose a millinery shop across the street and came out a few minutes later, holding a scrap of paper in her gloved hand.
“Did you notice the empty plot at the corner of Radcliffe Street?” she asked Daniel.
“Yes, looks as though there’s been a fire there. Not the jeweller, surely?”
“Hmm, about six weeks ago. Several shops were burnt to the ground. I’ve got directions to the jeweller’s home address.” She waved the paper she was holding. “A Mr. Thompson. He was the only jeweller in town. I think I should go alone, Daniel. I’m sure I’d get a more sympathetic hearing.”
“Not if we’re dealing with thieves and scoundrels, as you seem to suppose.”
Emma didn’t argue. She wasn’t as keen on wandering alone away from the relative safety of the busy centre when all was said and done. The directions took them east again along High Street, and after a few twists and turns, into Percy Street.
“Here,” said Emma, indicating a comfortable looking timber clad house with a large garden at number twelve.
Daniel opened the gate and she proceeded him up the path. The rose bushes lining it either side were heavy with blooms giving off their heady scent. She raised the brass knocker and rapped on the door. The neat maid who answered bade them wait in the hall while she conveyed their names. Emma admired the tasteful decoration, from the richly oiled redwood floorboards and regency stripe wallpaper to the highly polished brass lamps hanging at intervals down the long length of the hallway. There had been no expense spared in the decorating. Emma hoped none of this wealth came from the missing emeralds.
The maid reappeared, followed by a young woman of about seventeen. She was soft and rounded, dressed in a white gown trimmed with Honiton lace, with its classic flower and leaf design, and wearing white cotton gloves. Emma surmised she had probably been arranging flowers. She realised she was thinking like Mrs. Paschal, the detective from Hayward’s Revelations of a Lady Detective she had been reading recently. It might be an idea to channel that lady.
“I’m Clarice Thompson,” the girl introduced herself. “Please, come this way. Uncle Alex is in the garden.”
She led them through the drawing room and into a conservatory that projected onto a lawned area edged with shaded shrubberies and sunny flower beds. Lattice-patterned wallpaper, white cane furniture, and exotic palms in brass pots completed the picture.
“What an absolutely delightful room,” Emma exclaimed.
Clarice smiled her pleasure at the compliment. “Uncle Alex spends most of his time in here, when he isn’t out in the garden.” She opened the French doors. “Uncle, you have visitors,” she called.
