Bendigo
Sunday 9 October
The train ride from Elmore was welcome; the hard days’ riding beforehand had sapped man and beast. As they rattled towards Bendigo, Raff had nodded off, snoring and stinking, sure it was a good deterrent if anyone thought to take a seat in his compartment.
Once arrived in Bendigo, the first thing he did was get to the Bartletts’ boarding house. Mrs Bartlett welcomed him back and, when he enquired, she agreed to wash his clothes. Cost him three shillings. Next, he had Bluey take up the comfortable stall at the back of the place he’d enjoyed on his previous stay.
It was mid afternoon before Raff could draw a bath for himself. By the time he sank into the tub the water was lukewarm, but it had never felt so good soaking his saddle-weary bones. He lathered, scrubbed off dirt, dust and dead insects. The dirty water cooled off rapidly and he stood to pour clean water from the pitcher over himself, rinsing. Towelled dry, he dressed in clean clothes from his saddlebags.
From the mirror, a gaunt, shadowed face with hollowed eyes stared back at him. The dense dark beard stubble made him look even more haunted, but—too bad. A shave would have to wait; he couldn’t be bothered. Snatching the latest newspapers from the pile nearby, he tucked them under an arm. Barefoot, he left the bathroom, carrying his boots back to the room.
No sooner had he stretched out on the bed, in the same room he’d occupied before, he was asleep, a newspaper draped over his chest. Last thing he remembered, his smile widening, were Evie’s knees, the dimple in her left one, as she tried to cover them with her dress after shooting at McCosker.
Evie. Eyes instantly open, he blinked. It was nearing dark outside; the only window in his room was without a curtain and stars had begun to scatter across the night sky.
Dammit, I meant to have a nap, not go unconscious for hours.
Evie. A dream, or thoughts of her had woken him. He swung his legs off the bed and groped for the matches and the candle. No idea of the time. He stood, padded to the window. No moon yet, but it was rising; there was a glow over the end of the street. A few houses dotted here and there had lights glowing. Maybe it was around eight in the evening.
He splashed his face with water from a bowl on the dresser, and rubbed vigorously, drying his hands through his hair. A plan had formed. Part of a plan. Evie’s friend Mrs Benton lived nearby and he’d intended knocking on her door to see if, by chance, Evie was staying with her. Now, he’d bypass Mrs Benton’s and go straight to Evie’s—just to check the place, not disturb her. Even a good friend wouldn’t visit a lady unannounced at night, much less a lone male friend … unless it was an emergency. There’s no emergency, Dolan. If there were lights, she’d be home, that’s all he needed to ascertain. If no lights, he’d track back and knock on the Bentons’ door. He figured Mr Benton would be home to speak to.
That would do him until morning. By his reckoning, he was half an hour from Evie’s house, if that.
He found a vantage point on her street that allowed him a clear view of the front of the house. Her little candles flickered, their light tiny beacons glowing through the thin curtains in the front room. So she was all right. She was safely home. He sighed in relief. He would return in the morning.
Shit, what’s that? A shadow. A figure moving stealthily from around the side of the house, stopping to swing slowly left to right, checking the surrounds.
Raff squinted. So, the bastard has made a move.
He pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning on, and made his way to the house.