Riddle Gully Secrets (15 page)

‘Look!' said Twig, squinting at the discarded earring. ‘That's just like –'

Dan jumped in ‘– you to be not very nice!' He caught his father's eye and gave a tiny shake of his head.

Pooky looked up sharply. ‘Did you hear that, Curly? Adorable here says I'm not very nice.'

Curly bent close to Dan and cracked his big hairy knuckles. ‘Any more lip, kid, and you're toast. You got that?'

Dan gulped and nodded, watching the crystal's rainbow dart and flash across the clearing.

‘I don't know why we bothered with this sorry business,' said Pooky, scouring through the treasure on her hands and knees. ‘Next time, Curly, we stick to city jobs. I
wouldn't wear a single bit of this junk. And I didn't even get to light up any jelly!'

‘That's no way to talk, Pooky-doll,' said Curly. He let go of Twig and squatted next to her. ‘Some of this old stuff's got antique value, hasn't it?' He picked up an engraved fob watch and attached it to a button on his hiking vest, stroking it admiringly. Two of the larger gold nuggets he weighed in his palm. ‘And these babies must be worth a bit.'

‘Maybe,' sighed Pooky. Absentmindedly she picked up the old envelope Pollo hadn't had time to rewrap. Feeling the lump of the ruby ring, she scrabbled inside, ignoring the letter and photograph. She sat back on her heels, her eyes alight. Tossing the envelope aside, she slid the ring onto her finger. She held her hand in front of her, entranced by the rosette of glittering precious stones.

A greedy smile flooded her face. ‘This one, Curly!' She tilted her hand this way and that. ‘This is what we came for! This one makes it all worthwhile.'

Curly put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘Pooky-doll, it's beautiful,' he croaked. He tipped her face up to his, one hand still clenching the nuggets. ‘Nearly as beautiful as you.' He waved his arms at the campsite and the forest surrounding it. ‘This
whole world is beautiful!' he shouted.

‘Oh, Curly! Can we go on a posh holiday? Can we go to Paris like we've always wanted?'

Curly nodded, his eyes twinkling with happy tears. ‘Sure, Pooky-doll. It can be a second honeymoon.'

‘Aren't you forgetting someone?'

Mayor Bullock's voice cut across the campsite. He stood at the trail leading from the firebreak, mopping his forehead with his yellow handkerchief. ‘I've always rather fancied going to Paris.'

Curly and Pooky scrambled from the tarpaulin and hovered behind the others.

Mayor Bullock clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. ‘So this is the booty, is it? He walked over, glancing at Pollo. ‘I see you've discovered my happy secret – my rightful inheritance.'

Curly's hand slid upwards to engulf the engraved fob watch. He slipped it inside his vest.

Pooky caught Curly's eye. She jerked her head at the mayor. With her finger in her mouth she made a popping sound.

‘How do we know for sure this stuff has anything to do with you?' said Pollo.

Mayor Bullock sighed. He shook his head at Pollo. ‘Have you got that wretched notepad on you, Miss di Nozi? I'll tell you a thing or two right here and now. It may save you from pestering me later.'

Pollo pulled her notepad and pencil from under her T-shirt. ‘I'm all ears,' she said.

Mayor Bullock gestured to Pooky and Curly. ‘These two, for what they're worth, are acting as my agents.' He waved his arms across the strongbox and its bounty. ‘This treasure – all of it – belongs to my family. Ergo, it belongs to me. I have correspondence from a legal establishment in Sydney to prove it. It's a long, complex story.'

Mayor Bullock folded his arms smugly. ‘Now, if you youngsters would be so kind as to return these items to the chest, I will bid you adieu and return to town.'

Mayor Bullock addressed Pooky. ‘I believe you are incapacitated by your ankle, Madam. You may ride with me in my sedan, which awaits at the end of the firebreak.' He screwed up his nose at Curly. ‘You can walk.'

Mayor Bullock took a humbug from his pocket and flipped it into his mouth.

‘Now just you wait one second, Mister Fancy-pants!'
snapped Pooky. ‘I'm not going anywhere without
him
.' She pointed at Curly, the ruby ring flashing on her finger.

‘No one's going anywhere!' squawked Pollo. ‘Not till I've sorted this out!' She looked at Mayor Bullock, her pencil poised. ‘What about the rest of your family? Your mum and your sister and your nephew? You remember Benson, don't you?'

‘My mother is frail. I am, in effect, the head of the Bullock family. Rest assured, other family members will be treated with due consideration.'

Pollo grunted. ‘So what exactly does this legal correspondence of yours say? What's this long story?'

‘Curly!' cried Pooky. ‘What are we waiting for? Let's get out of here!' She sent her husband a giant wink and patted her shirt pocket meaningfully.

Curly's hand rose hesitantly to the bulge in his hiking vest. ‘There's a lot of people here, Pooky. Besides, I wanna hear the story too.' He manoeuvred a log a little closer and sat down on it.

Pooky hissed through her teeth. She slumped onto the other end of the log.

Mayor Bullock, his audience enlarged, plumped himself up. ‘Alright then, if you all insist.' He checked his toupée and slid his humbug into his cheek. ‘Early in the new year, I received a communication from the
respected firm of solicitors, Quibble, Twaddle and Twit. It advised that in the course of digitising old records, the last will and testament of one Sarah Bullock, dated the 27th of February, 1880, had come to light. The will, for reasons unknown, had never been executed. The firm tracked me down, a direct descendent.

‘Dear Sarah, it seems, had left her modest fortune to her twin sons John and Fergus.'

‘John Bullock?' murmured Pollo. ‘Is that Jack Bullock? Diamond Jack?'

Mayor Bullock smiled smugly. ‘One and the same. My ancestor.' He puffed out his chest. ‘Most of Sarah's so-called assets are long gone. But her will makes a rather enticing reference to something of value being secreted in the vicinity of Riddle Gully. The information appeared to be of little use until I spotted a map in the Riddle Gully Second-hand Emporium. As you know, the establishment specialises in curios of local history. Fortunately I persuaded the proprietor to donate the map to our new Diamond Jack Experience Tourist Centre Museum, which is soon to open, as you know.'

‘Sherri gave you the treasure map?' said Pollo.

‘Not
me
, Miss di Nozi – the museum.' Mayor Bullock smirked. ‘I merely borrowed and copied it along the way.'

‘Well of all the sneaky …' Pollo whistled and shook her head.

‘Unfortunately, Diamond Jack and all of his gang, including his brother, met untimely deaths at the hands of troopers on the 1st of March, 1880 – the event now part of our town's folklore. The treasure remained buried – until now.'

Mayor Bullock dabbed his face with his hanky. ‘Enough dilly-dallying. It is becoming unpleasantly hot.' He waggled a finger at Ash. ‘You there, the sniffler – please pack up my inheritance without delay.'

The old envelope lay among the jewellery where Pooky had dropped it. Its edge lifted in a flurry of breeze. It caught Mayor Bullock's eye.

‘What's this?' He squatted with a wheeze and picked it up, the old photo falling to the tarpaulin. He unfolded the letter and parked himself on a milk crate to study it. ‘Curious,' he murmured.

‘What's it say?' said Curly, hunching forward.

Mayor Bullock cleared his throat. ‘My dear Jack,' he read. He beamed at Pollo. ‘That would be
Diamond
Jack to you, Miss Di Nozi.' He started over.

My dear Jack,

You and your brother Fergus have always been good sons to me, despite the talk that reaches me even here of your wild ways. But I write to you alone now, dear Jack, in the belief that you, of my two sons, have the set of mind to ignore silly superstition and find a useful purpose for the item I enclose.

‘Good grief!' Mayor Bullock screwed up his face. ‘This handwriting is atrocious.' He waved the pages in the air. ‘Miss Di Nozi – would you be so kind?'

Pollo took the letter eagerly. She squinted at the strange old writing and continued.

I enclose a ruby ring – very valuable, so I am told. Master Wentworth gave it to Mrs Wentworth, God rest her soul, on the day she had a terrible accident at the creek and departed this Earth in much fear and pain. The master has now passed the ring to me, his housekeeper long since, for to look at it brings him great sorrow, and he believes the ring a wretched curse.

‘Curses!' scoffed the mayor. ‘Only fools believe in curses!'

Pollo resumed.

Sadly I, too, believe the ring to be cursed, for I have always been prey to superstition. But I believe, too, that waste is a sin, so cannot throw it in the creek as my heart urges. I send the ring to you for safekeeping, dear Jack. I do not give it outright – its burden shall be mine while I live.

Bury it deep in the ground. When I am gone, fetch it and share with Fergus whatever fortune it can bring. Jack, I know a woman has taken your Bullock name and that, though you not be wed, you have an infant to provide for, God forgive. The ring may ease the poor child's upbringing. I mention him here, for as long as I remain a God-fearing woman, I cannot mention him again, as I pray you understand.

Pollo took a deep breath and looked around the circle. ‘A child out of wedlock! That would've made things interesting!'

‘What's she say next?' said Curly.

Mayor Bullock flapped his hand at Pollo. ‘Yes. Pray, continue, Miss di Nozi.'

Pollo read.

I enclose two copies of a photograph.

‘Well, she can't count,' Mayor Bullock interrupted. He waggled a finger at the photo on the tarp. ‘There's only one.'

Pollo shot the mayor a look and continued.

Mr Wentworth is very taken with the miracle of the camera. He had a photograph taken of the whole household and gave copies to us freely, such is his generous spirit. You will recognise me holding the sweet black spaniel, Cinders. One copy is for Fergus, for who knows when I will next see him?

I pray nightly, dear Jack, that you settle soon and become the honourable person I know you to be deep down. Be a pillar for your brother Fergus, for you are his touchstone and he is a gentle soul ill-fitted to this world. Go safely, my son.
Your loving mother, Sarah Bullock,
Astonwood
Dated this 16th Day of February in the Year of Our Lord 1880.

Curly wiped his eyes with the back of his broad hand. ‘What a sweet old lady.'

‘Quite,' said Mayor Bullock. He turned to Pollo. ‘So, Miss Di Nozi, you've got your front-page story now, eh? “History Rewards Beloved Town Patriarch”!' He popped another humbug into his mouth.

‘How about, “Riddle Gully Mayor Fiddles History: Claims Treasure That Isn't His”?'

‘Rather unwieldy for a headline, isn't it?' said the mayor, working the humbug around his tongue. Suddenly Pollo's meaning hit. ‘Hold your horses! What are you accusing me of now, young lady?'

‘Sarah's will left everything to her sons, didn't you say?' said Pollo. ‘Her will doesn't talk about grandchildren, I'll bet. Fergus wasn't married, and she
says in the letter she won't be mentioning Jack's child because it was born out of wedlock.'

Mayor Bullock sucked air through his teeth. ‘There is no specific provision for grandchildren, no. But the archaic morals of a long-gone age have no bearing today. The question of my forebears' legitimacy at birth is neither here nor there.'

‘No,' said Pollo. ‘But the question of who died when is. If Diamond Jack died before his mother – which he did at the shootout in 1880 – anything she had would go to her other son, wouldn't it? Fergus would get the lot!'

Mayor Bullock sighed impatiently. ‘Fergus died at the same time as his twin brother. The records clearly establish this.'

‘The records say Fergus
Bullock
disappeared and was presumed dead,' said Pollo.

‘Why say “Bullock” in that impertinent tone?' said the mayor. ‘Disappeared … died … what's the difference?'

‘Gee willakers!' said Dan. He sprang to his feet. ‘Plenty! There's plenty of difference!' He hurried into the tent. When he returned, he was carrying Twig's precious old biscuit tin.

He thumbed it open and pulled out a photograph.
He picked up the photo lying on the tarpaulin and held the two images side by side.

‘Hey, they
are
the same!' cried Twig. ‘I thought I must have been imagining it!'

‘It all fits,' said Dan. ‘This photo … the crystal earring from the strongbox that matches ours on our tent. We've always thought our ancestor was Fergus Smith, when his real name must have been Fergus Bullock – Diamond Jack's brother!' He looked at his father. ‘Sorry, Dad, but I think we're descended from the bushrangers who stole all these things.'