Bendigo
‘My dear, I brought a cup of tea.’
A fragrant waft of something floral reached him. David opened one eye and saw Lucille hovering close by. Before he knew it, a little moan had escaped. His back creaked. Lucille’s settee was comfortable to sit on, not so much to sleep on.
‘Delightful,’ he said. ‘Thank you and good morning.’ He sat up, swung his feet to the floor, the blankets still draped over him. He had a moment’s horror wondering if he’d snored the place down.
‘I do wish you’d taken the children’s room.’ Lucille sat across from him, holding a cup as well, a little frown of concern fluttering over her features.
Perhaps he had snored. Good Lord. Poor woman. She might think twice about marrying me. His fault, he had insisted on sleeping here. ‘This is the best place for me to be in case nefarious creatures sent by who-knows-who were to attempt a break-in,’ he’d said.
Staying the night at Lucille’s house was a wonderful idea, but he didn’t want the awful goings-on to mar the start of their new lives together. So, after skirting the idea of sleeping in her bed, he decided, with his dear lady’s blessing, that they would remain virtuous until they were wed. Then they’d laughed together—at themselves, David thought—but it was a good plan. ‘This mischief from Edwin Cooper will end soon and then we’ll be free to enjoy ourselves properly,’ he’d said.
For a few minutes, they chatted while they drank their tea. Then Lucille smiled and stood. ‘Eggs for breakfast?’
‘That sounds very good.’
She showed him where he could freshen up, shave if he wished. By the time he had made his way to the kitchen, breakfast awaited, hearty and hot.
‘You don’t want to let me get used to this treatment, Lucille,’ he said and patted his stomach.
‘Only for special occasions.’ Lucille eyed him. ‘I don’t think you need worry. You’re very trim.’ She dished up and joined him at the table. ‘What will you do today?’
The plate before him befit a king, piled high with eggs and bacon, and steam coming from thick slices of warm bread. ‘I just might venture down to the railway station and see if I can clap eyes on this Miss Thompson.’ He’d just taken a mouthful of egg slathered onto bread when he noticed she was staring at him.
‘I think, Mr Kingsley, that might be a job for the two of us,’ she said smartly.
He chewed and swallowed. ‘Of course. You’re absolutely right about that, Mrs Downing.’
They decided Lucille should be the one making enquiries.
The railway porter eyed them, first one then the other. ‘A Miss Thompson, you say?’ He was making a calculation, rocking on his heels, his broad waist straining his buttons. ‘Not the first to ask after ’er.’
‘Wasn’t that the name our daughter mentioned, dear?’ Lucille said to David.
‘Yes,’ he answered, taking a curious look around. ‘Our Jenny has become incapacitated, but she sent us and said we were to thank a lovely lady by the name of Miss Thompson. She met her here.’
The porter’s beady eyes popped. ‘Lovely? I think you might have the wrong Miss Thompson.’ His grin was a mouthful of cracked and missing teeth.
‘Oh, about so high,’ Lucille said, her hand at her head. ‘Brown hair and eyes?’ Fully aware she was describing more than half the population of young women in Bendigo, she kept a blank smile on her face. She noticed movement, a lithe figure in a gaudy pink outfit had darted across the platform. ‘Is that her there?’ Oh dear, where did she get that hat?
The porter turned for a swift look. David shrugged at Lucille while the man’s back was turned.
‘Aye, that’s her,’ the porter answered, looking at Lucille. ‘Though I doubt she’d know any lady.’ He frowned. ‘What’d she need to be thanked for?’
David piped up, ‘You know, my dear, I think this gentleman is quite right. Our Jenny wouldn’t have meant this Miss Thompson.’
Miss Thompson was smiling expectantly at another man on the platform and trying to strike up a conversation. The harried man couldn’t get away quick enough and didn’t know where to hide.
Lucille’s eyes widened. ‘Goodness, I agree. We’ll have to check—’
‘Course if there’s money involved, this Miss Thompson might be your girl.’ There was a leer. ‘Yairs, this Miss Thompson requires a fee for services,’ he said wide-eyed. ‘Does real well, I’m told.’
David took Lucille’s elbow, thunder on his face. ‘Thank you, but in that case, we are most definitely mistaken,’ he said stoutly and made an about-turn and marched them away.
Lucille walked briskly, trying to hold in her laughter. ‘Oh, Mr Kingsley, you can sound so very affronted.’
She tucked her arm in his and gave it a squeeze. ‘At least now we’re reasonably sure what she looks like. But what on earth would Edwin Cooper want with her?’ After a moment’s billowing silence, she tugged David’s arm. ‘I meant in broad daylight at the railway station, where he knew Evie would see him talking to her.’
He thought about it then said, ‘Maybe he was paying her for appearances, to set up a ploy of some sort.’ He smiled at Lucille, happy with his deduction. ‘That might be it.’ When they reached the concourse outside, David recognised a man pulling up in a buggy. No one could miss that streak of white in his hair. ‘Mr Barrett,’ he called.
Mr Barrett had alighted and was doffing his hat. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Kingsley.’
‘This is my friend, Mrs Downing. Lucille, Mr Bendigo Barrett, private investigator,’ David said. ‘Mrs Downing is the dear lady who employs Miss Emerson.’
Mr Barrett dipped his head towards Lucille. ‘Mrs Downing. Delighted.’
‘And we have news,’ David said dropping his voice. ‘We believe we’ve spotted the elusive Miss Thompson.’
‘She is just the person I was here to enquire about, Mr Kingsley. You might have saved me some work.’
‘Dressed in many shades of pink, Mr Barrett,’ Lucille said. ‘And wearing the most dreadful hat. You can’t miss her.’
Mr Barrett smiled at that. ‘Then if you’ll excuse me—’
‘And it seems she might charge a fee.’ David was wide-eyed.
‘Ah,’ Mr Barrett said. ‘I shall have to be clever then. Good day to you both.’
‘Er, you won’t need me, Mr Barrett?’ David asked.
A few seconds ticked by while Mr Barrett considered, then he said, ‘It might not work in our favour to be seen together.’
‘Quite right,’ David agreed. ‘Of course. Makes sense.’
Bendigo Barrett tipped his hat. ‘Good day.’ He headed for the station platform.
‘Goodness. He’s a handsome man,’ Lucille said, looping her arm in David’s. ‘But not nearly as handsome as my David.’ She smiled at him.
Chuckling at that, he squeezed her arm. ‘Come along, Mrs Downing,’ he said. ‘Let’s find that registrar and give him the hurry-ups for our marriage licence.’