Bendigo
Lucille took the reins after David pulled to the curb. ‘I’ll just get a newspaper,’ he said, and lifted a hand to attract the paperboy. ‘Then we can go home and settle in by the fire.’ The late afternoon had grown cool, and the light breeze had freshened. Flipping a penny to the boy, David leaned out and grabbed the paper. He handed it to Lucille and took the reins again.
She checked the front page as they drove on. A couple of advertisements caught her eye. Dorman’s Chemist was touting ‘Pennyroyal Mixture for all female irregularities’. She tut-tutted, was way past believing the so-called benefits of Pennyroyal. What rubbish; it’s a nasty thing. Charlatans, all who dispense it. A Professor Garfield from Collins Street in Melbourne offered ‘LADIES’ his ‘triple power Female Pills’ to restore ‘regularity instantly’. She harrumphed, didn’t believe that the ‘regularity’ it purported had anything to do with one’s bowels. More likely it was supposed to restore a woman’s ‘regular’ monthlies. She felt sure young girls in trouble, or older ladies not wanting another child would flock to that ‘cure’. Most probably it was that damnable Pennyroyal cleverly disguised. Galbraith Chemist offered Nerve and Brain tonic—well, that might be worth a chance, if it didn’t involve imbibing an opium derivative, which it probably did.
Craig, Williamson Propriety Limited also had a huge space, drawing attention to its stock and merchandise. She sighed. This week it should have been her hats—Evie’s hats—occupying that advertisement space. Well, too bad for them and the ladies of Bendigo; those hats were off to Echuca and some very appreciative ladies there, no doubt.
Evie, I miss you already.
Turning the page and folding it over as their cart pushed against the breeze, the headline of a story on page four caught her eye. ‘Oh, Mr Kingsley,’ she said. ‘I think our journalist, Mr Fossey, has submitted an article.’ The paper jigging in her hand as their buggy rolled along, she smiled as she read aloud. ‘“Death of Fugitive, the Notorious and Fallen Ballarat Police Sergeant”.’ Skimming a little further, she gave a cry of surprise. ‘And the next story he’s written: “Sharp Acquittal by Magistrate”. Oh, I can’t wait to read that one.’
‘Good Lord, I hope they’re both juicy. Shall we read together at home over a cup of tea?’
‘Good idea,’ Lucille said, although she could barely drag her gaze from the lively words, and desperately wanted to read it aloud to him as they drove along. She couldn’t help it. After skimming a few lines, she said, ‘Mr Kingsley, I think you’re really going to enjoy this.’