The Haunting of Bushranger Inn by B. J. Conroy

Author:B. J. Conroy [Conroy, B. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Sandy showed Eleanor her room, which they had already checked out on the tour. Nate brought up the luggage from her car: two suitcases, a small black one and a large, battered brown one fastened with thick leather straps.

While Eleanor unpacked, Sandy prepared a tuna salad lunch. After they had eaten, they set off in the truck for the robbery site.

“What do I put in the satnav?” Nate said.

“Merrywether’s Noggin,” Sandy suggested.

He typed it in, and a route came up on the console.

“When did you realize you had a connection with the spirit world?” Sandy asked Eleanor. Nate gave a theatrical cough and then concentrated on driving.

“I was a midwife until I recently retired,” Eleanor said. “We’re dealing with the mystery of life and death but in an intensely pragmatic way. You start to see things, and you see them because you’re not looking. When you stare too hard at them, they disappear.”

“Do you have family?” Sandy asked.

“Nephews and nieces,” Eleanor said. “My partner had her career, and I had mine. We never wanted children.”

“How does she feel about your work?” Nate asked.

“Being a midwife?” Eleanor asked.

“The other,” Nate said.

“She does not believe in the spirit world,” Eleanor said, “and that’s fine, and it’s okay for you not to believe Nate.”

“I’m more worried about Sandy than myself,” Nate said.

The satnav directed them through Tilda and told them to take the turning to Mulberry. After a few minutes, it warned them that the turnoff for Merrywether’s Noggin was coming up, and a signpost confirmed this.

They turned off onto a dirt track, muddy from recent rain. A short time later, they arrived in an empty car park surrounded by a wooden fence.

A gate in the fence had a sign attached to it saying this was the way to Merrywether’s Noggin and warning people to stick to the path and close the gate behind them.

The three of them followed a path across a soggy field.

“This was a swamp back in the day,” Sandy said.

“Still is,” Nate said.

They reached a slope strewn with boulders. The huge gray rocks were islands in a sea of straggly, unkempt bushes. It was beginning to drizzle, and the place looked gloomy and unloved.

“The old road is still here,” Eleanor said. “I can feel the ruts beneath my feet, even though it’s overgrown.”

“Where is Merrywether’s Noggin?” Nate asked.

“My guess is it’s that one,” Sandy said, pointing to a boulder some 100 meters distant with white writing on it.

They followed the old coach road, Sandy and Eleanor supporting each other, arm in arm over the bumpy ground, while Nate strode ahead.

The road passed within ten meters of the boulder, a weathered lump twice the height of a man. From that distance, the writing was clear: ‘Merrywether’s Noggin, site of the gold robbery carried out by the Morgan gang, December 15, 1863.’

“Why Merrywether’s Noggin?” Eleanor asked.

“Noggin is slang for head,” Nate said.

“And Eustace Merrywether was the man in charge, whose decision it was to send the gold shipment by this route,” Sandy said.

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