NINE
Nine
The air was a little cooler at night now, as the months crept from summer to the beginning of autumn. Soon it would be boots and jacket weather, Lottie mused as they stopped outside the bar.
Damian looked around. ‘Where did you park?’
‘I walk to work. I just live up the top of the hill.’
‘I’ll walk you home.’
‘You don’t have to do that. Honestly, it’s just there.’ She pointed towards her little cottage at the end of the main street.
‘It’s also dark. I could use the exercise to stretch my legs. It was a long ride today. It’s no trouble.’
Lottie suspected he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and it would be nice to have the company. ‘Have you been to Banalla before?’
‘I passed through one time when I was on a trip out west, but that was a long time ago.’
‘It probably hasn’t changed,’ Lottie said, wryly.
‘I don’t remember it being so … vibrant and busy. You don’t see that in a lot of smaller towns anymore. It’s great.’
‘We’ve always had a strong community drive, but things really began picking up once we attracted new people to town.’
‘Like Cher,’ he pointed out with a smile.
Lottie smiled back. ‘Yes, and others.’
‘It’s not typical of small towns to really embrace new things, though, is it?’ he asked.
‘I guess not. I mean, I personally don’t like change. I guess that’s why I’m drawn to antiques and history, but I think it helps if people have a shared goal. In this case, it was about keeping Banalla’s heritage, but still embracing new opportunities. We’ve managed to find a balance between an eclectic mix of art and culture and the more traditional things. There’s a lot of compromising on both sides, but we make it work here.’
‘This festival is a great idea. The fact that Banalla has such an interesting connection to our early history, it’s worth trying to preserve that.’
‘It’s had its moments. At one stage, it looked like it might not happen. The town was divided on the idea of celebrating a criminal. It’s stirred up quite a lot of emotion.’
‘He certainly was colourful,’ Damian agreed. ‘And I can understand people wanting to look at the whole thing logically. In today’s terms, we wouldn’t have a statue in the main street of a criminal who robbed people at gunpoint or killed policemen, but I think we have to remember that it was a whole different political landscape back then. McNally had come from Ireland where he and his family and neighbours were impoverished, removed from their homes—many faced starvation, some were sent away and enslaved.’
Lottie nodded thoughtfully. ‘And they came here expecting better, and it was worse. It’s a bit hard to trust the government authorities when they’re doing nothing to protect you and yours.’
‘Yeah, there was major distrust of any kind of government or law enforcement. The rich were the enemy—even more so the rich English .’
‘People love to barrack for the little guy,’ Lottie said thoughtfully. ‘I think the majority of people from Banalla still consider it a fascinating part of our local history. That’s what I like to think. We’re celebrating our history, warts and all, more so than the man himself.’
‘That’s a good way to look at it.’
They walked in silence for a few steps before Lottie asked, ‘So, tell me, what’s so interesting about this missing woman you’re researching?’
The spark in his eyes sent a small shiver of awareness through her body, an unexpected but not unwelcome reaction.
‘You probably shouldn’t get me started or I’ll still be talking till the early hours of the morning.’
Not the worst idea in the world , she found herself thinking.
‘But if you insist,’ he said. ‘Her name was Lady Catherine Compton. I was actually originally looking into her husband, Alexander Compton.’
‘The gold-mine magnate who was killed in the coach robbery?’
‘Yes, I found a throwaway mention of his wife, and I kept thinking about her for some reason. There are records showing she arrived from England a few weeks before the robbery. Jack and his gang killed Compton, along with two guards and a number of troopers, but there was never any mention of a woman on board the coach, and no mention of a wife in the coroner’s inquest or the various newspaper stories about the funeral. In fact, it was noted that, for a prominent businessman, he had no relatives at all among the mourners. Catherine just vanished from the records.’
‘Vanished?’ Lottie frowned.
Damian stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘There’s a record of her being on board the Mary Elizabeth and arriving in Sydney, but nothing after that. Then the husband is killed and his newly built house and thriving business get sold off.’ Damian shook his head. ‘It’s sad, really. He built up his business here then returned to England to marry. When he came back, he wanted to finish building her a mansion before he sent for her. Only something went wrong and she never ended up even seeing it, let alone living in it, or starting their Australian dynasty.’
‘That is sad.’ All that time, waiting to start a life she’d never get to live.
‘Yeah. I mean, his story alone is fascinating. The second son of a lord, a family history that rose to wealth from royal favour back in Henry I’s reign, so he came from a very longstanding noble family. He decided to head to the Australian colonies to make his own way, since his older brother would be inheriting the family fortune, and moved up here when he heard about the gold rush. So he’s an interesting character to write about, only … I don’t like leaving things unfinished. For his life to end the way it did and with no idea as to what happened to his missing wife … I just can’t let it go, you know?’ he asked, looking over at her.
‘I can understand that,’ she replied. ‘Could she have decided she didn’t like it here and gone back to England?’
‘There’s no record of her being on any return voyage. Her family did send out a private investigator of sorts to make enquiries about her whereabouts after they were informed of Alexander’s death, but he apparently couldn’t find anything. It’s like she literally disappeared off the face of the earth.’
‘And you think there could be some kind of helpful information up here?’
‘Maybe. I’ve got piles and piles of research—copies of correspondence to go through, newspaper archives and I’m in the process of searching wider, through old records from her family and known associates. But I figured it couldn’t hurt to try looking about while I’m up here.’
‘Well, it all sounds really interesting,’ Lottie said, coming to a stop outside her little cottage. ‘This is my place.’
‘Wow. Nice.’
‘Yeah, I love it. Thanks for a lovely evening and walking me home,’ she added, suddenly feeling a little tongue-tied.
‘No worries. Thanks for letting me ramble on all evening about my work.’
‘It was really interesting. I’m keen to see what you turn up while you’re here.’
‘Well, if you’re still keen later, I can always use another set of eyes going through the research material.’
‘Really? That sounds amazing. I’d love to help.’
He chuckled, and she couldn’t help but stare at the gentle crinkle he always got around his eyes when he laughed. ‘It is, until your eyesight starts to go and your butt gets numb from sitting too long as you decipher old handwriting.’
‘Well, I look forward to it. I guess I’ll see you around. I’m usually always at the shop,’ she added then felt stupid. ‘I mean, if you needed to find me … for anything,’ she tacked on awkwardly. Stop talking, you fool.
‘I’ll see you soon, then. Night.’
She watched him turn away to retrace his steps back down the hill and found herself smiling. Some days could throw the most unexpected things in your path.
As she wandered into the cottage, Lottie found herself thinking about the mysterious missing wife of Alexander Compton. How did a woman like that disappear without a trace? She hoped Damian had something in all that research that would answer that question.