Sweet Wattle Creek, 1986
As soon as Ian stepped inside he was greeted by Smithy, who seemed to think this was his new best friend. Dillon was less friendly, propped against the kitchen bench and shooting us suspicious looks.
‘Who are Belle and Charlie, then?’ I demanded, unable to contain my anticipation any longer. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense.’
He looked up from attending to the dog, and smiled. He really did have nice eyes. ‘Miriam rang again. Last time I spoke to her I’d mentioned the two names, just in passing, and it didn’t occur to her until later. She said she was walking down New Bond Street looking in the shop windows when it clicked and she had to stop herself from jumping up and down. Charlie was the name of Eileen Nicholson’s only son.’
I similarly felt like jumping up and down. The dress, Eileen Nicholson, Charlie … they were all entwined. I was grinning. I couldn’t help it.
‘So the dress was made by Eileen for her future daughter-in-law? Belle must be Charlie’s wife. It was a present. This story just keeps getting better and better.’
Ian nodded, looking equally manic. ‘It’s going to be a huge drawcard for the Centenary.’
Dillon was looking at us, clearly puzzled. ‘You make it sound like a big deal.’
‘It is a big deal!’ Ian seemed to be hopping on one leg with elation. ‘Eileen Nicholson garments sell for a fortune and we have one. But not just any one. A wedding dress. And not just any wedding dress. One that was a present for her son’s wedding, one that meant something very personal to her.’
Dillon shrugged as if he still didn’t get it, but I could tell he was acting a part. His cool was slipping as Ian’s enthusiasm worked its magic on him.
‘What about Charlie?’ I interrupted. ‘Is he still alive? Or Belle? What about Belle?’
Some of Ian’s fervour faded and seeing it, mine did also. ‘Charlie died during the First World War.’
That sobered me.
‘So how did the dress come to be here? In Sweet Wattle Creek?’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘And Miriam doesn’t have anything on Belle. She’s going to check it out when she gets home. Speaking of home, she wants us to meet with her next week.’
‘In Melbourne?’
‘Yes.’
I looked at Dillon and he raised his eyebrows in the way that usually made me smile. As if he was a disapproving grandfather in a fourteen-year-old boy’s body.
‘Do you mind?’ I asked him. ‘You’ll have to go to Tim and Maureen’s,’ I added, knowing he’d enjoy being with Christy, and then felt guilty for using the girl as bait. Especially when I’d already decided I didn’t want them getting too close at this young age.
He heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘I suppose so,’ he said with resignation. ‘What about Smithy?’
‘Maybe he can go as well. I’m sure Tim wouldn’t mind but I don’t know about Maureen. You could take all his stuff with you and keep him quiet. Maybe you could offer to mind the baby for them while they go out for an hour or so?’
‘Yeah, I could do that, but you’ve forgotten something.’
‘What?’ Frantically, I tried to think what that might be.
‘BC. What happens to the cat?’
I threw up my hands.
Dillon only laughed. ‘Of course you should go. This sounds cool and you need to find out all you can about Charlie and Belle and what they have to do with Sweet Wattle Creek. It’ll make a really good story for the Herald, Mum.’
‘Yes, I agree,’ Ian said, giving my son a look of respect.
‘It’s a mystery,’ Dillon added, serious now, ‘and you have to solve it.’
He was right, of course he was, but I was so pleased he saw it that way. Sometimes I forgot he was growing up.
‘Want to stay for tea?’ Dillon asked Ian, to my surprise. ‘We have plenty of con carne, don’t we, Mum?’
I wouldn’t have asked, not without Dillon’s agreement, but the fact that he’d done so off his own bat seemed like a nice thing for him to do. ‘More than enough.’ Con carne wasn’t exactly the right meal for a hot evening like this, but a growing boy like Dillon could only have so much cold meat and salad before he began to protest.
Ian agreed to the offer without hesitation. Possibly he was lonely, I thought, as I helped Dillon serve. Although he was friendly enough, he didn’t seem to have made any close friends here. Apart from Nola. And living out near The Grand must be slightly daunting, that burnt-out shell to greet him every morning. Which reminded me …
‘I read some of those letters from Lyn Thomas to her husband. She mentioned The Grand in them, and Martha Bartholomew as the owner.’
‘Ah, yes, the Bartholomews. Early settlers. Intriguing family.’ His eyes had a faraway look in them I was beginning to recognise meant he was time travelling.
‘Intriguing how?’
‘Martha was the licensee of the hotel. There was a son but he left Sweet Wattle Creek before the parents died and Martha took over The Grand. A bit of a hothead. There was trouble with a girl. Anyway, it seems as if Martha was considered the more likely prospect in her parents’ estimation.’
‘In the letters Lyn talks about Michael Maxwell. And, by the way, there were also a couple of pages in there from Michael himself. And —’
‘Pilot in the Flying Corps,’ Ian interrupted, smiling proudly, as if I were a star pupil and he was impressed by my knowledge.
‘Michael was reported missing. Did he ever come back?’
‘I got the impression that some people would’ve been happier if he’d died on the Western Front. But yes, he came back. Injured. Perhaps not the same man who’d left. But so many of them were …’ He shot me a cagey look. ‘I was going to say scarred inside and out but that sounds trite.’
‘Although true.’
‘Lots of pilots found it difficult to get work after the First World War. There wasn’t that much demand, not in the beginning. It took a while for the rest of the country to realise the benefits of flying.’
Smithy gave a soft woof. The dog was sitting beside us, looking hopeful, but even Dillon didn’t think chili would go down well. But I did see him slip him a crumbled corn chip when he thought I wasn’t looking. Smithy had certainly landed on his feet.
‘You live out near that burnt-out place?’ Dillon had clearly been listening, in between eating huge quantities.
‘Yes, behind The Grand.’
‘It’s supposed to be haunted, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ Ian looked captivated, as if a ghost was simply something else to be researched. Perhaps it even deserved its own board in the RSL Hall. ‘No one told me that when I moved in.’
Dillon rolled his eyes. ‘Well they wouldn’t, would they? Some of the kids take dares to go there at night.’
I felt my face getting tight and anxious. ‘Not you I hope?’
‘Nah, that’s geek stuff,’ was Dillon’s scornful retort.
‘And who is this ghost supposed to be?’ Ian pondered aloud.
‘It’s a woman.’ Dillon said it as if nothing had ever scared him, not even Walter. ‘She stands at the window and stares out at you with crazy eyes. And her hair is on fire. She was murdered there a long time ago, but when it burned down her soul was disturbed. At least that’s what they say,’ he added carefully, in case we thought he knew too much for someone who was as disinterested as he was.
‘How did the fire start?’ I asked curiously.
Dillon shrugged.
‘Overturned lamp. That’s what I was told,’ Ian said. ‘Nineteen thirty something or other.’
‘Did everyone get out? Was Martha Bartholomew still there?’
‘Now that I don’t know.’
Once the meal was finished, Ian said he needed to get back. I walked him to the door and he called out a goodbye to Dillon and Smithy. It had been pleasant, his conversation stimulating, his presence non-threatening. Even Dillon had enjoyed it, though I knew I’d be hard-pressed to get him to admit it.
When Ian had gone I turned to Dillon. ‘Do you really not mind about me going to Melbourne? If you do, you only have to say and I won’t.’
He gave me a sideways look. ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I think it’s a good story, Mum, and you should write it. Anyway, the food’s better at Tim and Maureen’s.’
I laughed. I still felt uncomfortable about my decision—I might even change my mind—but for the first time in ages I had a chance to follow a dream. It seemed cowardly not to.
The knock on the door startled us both. Thinking it was Ian again, that he’d forgotten something, I opened it straightaway.
It wasn’t Ian, and in that moment between seeing the unfamiliar face and realising how vulnerable I was standing there, I felt my skin begin to crawl. But it was only an instant.
‘Josh. Mrs Davies’s nephew,’ he reminded me. ‘Sorry to barge in on you.’
Of course it was Josh. I recognised him now. He looked drawn and tired, but managed to pull a smile out of somewhere. ‘You’re the lady from the newspaper?’
‘Yes. Sophie Matheson. How is your aunt?’
‘Still unconscious. I came about the dog.’
Dillon had come up behind me and I caught his worried glance.
‘Ah, that’s okay. We don’t mind looking after him,’ I said hurriedly. ‘No trouble.’
Smithy had crept closer to Josh to sniff his outstretched hand, but the dog didn’t seem overly keen. He’d been happier to see Ian than he was to see Josh.
‘He’s my aunt’s dog really. Not a working dog at all. In fact, he’s pretty useless with the sheep—scared of them,’ he added with a derisive snort. ‘I wouldn’t have kept him but my aunt fell in love with him and that was that. I don’t think he’ll be happy being at Morwenstow without her. If you could keep him for now I’d be grateful.’
‘No trouble,’ Dillon repeated with emphasis.
I smiled.
Josh caught on and smiled, too. ‘I brought his bedding around last night.’ He held out a heavy-looking shopping bag. ‘Here’s some more of his stuff. And some food. He eats like a pig.’
So it wasn’t Ian sneaking to our door as I’d thought. I was glad now I’d forgotten to mention it. I took the bag and passed it to Dillon, who led Smithy away into the kitchen. He set the bag on the table and began to sort through it. I saw him toss Smithy a ball, which the dog took possession of like an old friend.
‘Do they think your aunt will … How long before she recovers?’
He grimaced. ‘I’m trying not to be negative, but the truth is they don’t hold out great hopes.’
‘The wedding dress your aunt gave to the Centenary committee. Do you know anything about it?’
He shrugged. ‘She gave me the box to give to them, that’s all I know. If she told me I wasn’t listening. Sometimes she goes on and I just tune out. Sorry.’
‘That’s okay. Have you ever heard of anyone in your family called Belle? I think the dress might have belonged to her, and no one seems to know who she is. We’ve discovered she was engaged to Charlie Nicholson.’
He shook his head. He’d begun to lose interest and I could see he wanted to get home. He probably had a lot to do without me waffling on about a wedding dress and people he’d never heard of. But I had one more request.
‘Will you ask your family for me? Someone might know. I’m sure your aunt would want us to have the full story, so that the dress can be displayed properly. I want to write about it, too. Do you think she’d mind?’
‘She’d like that,’ he said. ‘And I’ll ask for you. That’s about the best I can do.’
I wondered if I could ask myself. And yet it seemed ill-mannered to turn up at someone’s sick bed and begin interrogating people. I’d see what Ian thought, maybe he’d have enough front to do it. In fact, I was beginning to think this project had become an obsession for him—or maybe all of his projects did. Maybe there was nothing special about this one. For some reason I didn’t want to delve into why that idea made me feel a little depressed.
‘Thank you, Josh, that would be very kind. And I hope your aunt starts to recover soon.’
After he’d gone I closed the door and stood for a while, thinking. The letters were still stacked in the box on the sideboard and I knew I should read the rest of them, that there were clues in there, but also more mysteries. But I was tired and a night off sounded like a better idea.
‘Wanna watch The Flying Doctors?’ I asked Dillon.
He looked up from Smithy’s treasures. ‘Do I have to?’
‘Come on, you know you like it, really.’
Dillon heaved a deep sigh and moved towards the sofa, and smiling, I joined him.