The Widow’s Friend

The Adventures of Will Jones by Greg Barron

Will Jones had lived an active life, with few restraints on his roaming. Being stuck in Lake Cargelligo irked him. He bathed in the shallows, fished for yellowbelly and cod, and amused himself by roping some thick branches together to make a raft. Still, he was restless.

After three days of camping on the lake’s shore, he walked up to town, heading for the police station on Canada Street. On the way he passed a wagonette stacked with cages of laying hens for sale, and a boy selling newspapers. Will was polite enough, as he strolled, wishing a good morning to all he encountered.

The front door of the station was open, and when Will entered, he saw Constable Klein sitting at the table with a pile of correspondence, a pipe smouldering on a tray and a cup of tea near his right hand. There was also a vase holding six red roses, freshly picked, judging from the colour.

The sunlight slanting through the doorway and a single window made the smallpox scars on Klein’s neck stand out in livid relief, and his moustache looked pale blonde, like a clump of grass caught in a tree branch.

‘What in heck do you want?’ Klein asked. ‘I’m a busy man.’

Will stopped just short of the table. ‘No offence to you or this darn town, but I want to move on, and I want that note from Cyril Lowe that was addressed to me.’

Klein shook his head, very slowly, his eyes never leaving Will’s. ‘I told you before. Your mate is wanted for murder. That might well make you a conspirator.’ He sat up, his voice becoming a low growl. ‘So you need to stay in town like I told you. The sergeant’s been out for three days, following tracks and sightings. It’s only a matter of time before John Clarke comes back in chains.’

Will scoffed, ‘Oh, Clarkie didn’t murder anyone. But he’s timid of the law, and I doubt he’s keen on comin’ in. Your sergeant will need a lot of luck to find him.’

The constable picked up his cup of tea and took a long swig. ‘Go back to your camp, and stay there until I say otherwise.’

‘I guess that’s it then,’ sighed Will. Angry at the policeman, and at Clarkie for putting him in this situation, he turned and walked out the door, striding down the street purposefully. A few minutes later he stalked into the bar of Jackson’s Hotel, which was empty apart from four older men playing euchre at a table over against the wall, a long-bearded drunk asleep at a table, and a tabby cat stretched out on the floor.

Seeing Mary behind the bar, drying glasses with a bored expression on her face, Will pulled up a stool, took off his hat and placed it on the counter.

‘It’s quiet in here,’ he said.

‘Day shift at the mines don’t come off ‘til six, sweetheart. We’ll fill up again then. What’ll you have?’

‘Just an ale,’ Will said.

Mary poured a frosted pot, with white head spilling down the sides, and when she leaned forward to place it on the bar he got a whiff of her perfume. She stood back and crossed her arms over her chest, regarding him thoughtfully.

‘If I knew you better,’ she said, ‘I’d say that you don’t look too happy.’

‘No, blarst it. I’m not. Why don’t you have a drink with me? Might make me feel better.’

Mary glanced behind her. ‘The boss is out back, doin’ accounts, and might come through any time.’

Will shrugged, ‘I’ll keep an eye out. Come on, what’ll you have?’

A smile played at Mary’s lips, ‘Oh, why not. A pink gin’d help pass the time.’

Will took a shilling coin from his pocket and placed it on the bar. ‘Pay for them both out of that.’

Mary poured a generous nip of Plymouth gin into a glass and added a dash of bitters, giving the drink its pink appearance. Lifting the glass, she took an energetic sip, and sorted Will’s change from the till. ‘Now tell me, darlin’. What’s got under that collar of yours?’

‘That mongrel dog Constable Klein. He won’t let me leave town until they’ve got Clarkie in the jug. They want to make out like I was part of it – which I weren’t.’ 

‘Klein?’ spat Mary. ‘He’s a nasty piece of work and no mistake.’

‘That goes without saying,’ Will grinned. ‘A man of his occupation and all.’

‘Oh, Klein’s worse than usual,’ she said. ‘How about another drink to get your mind off him?’

‘Only if you’ll join me,’ Will said.

‘Just one more,’ she agreed.

Mary poured them both another drink, while the conversation rambled on. Will regaled her with stories from further out. He told her about a paddle steamer whose boiler had blown up like a bomb on the Darling, and the drunk shearer who had accidentally cut off his own finger with his shears. Then there was the yarn about the talking cockatoo that fingered the station cook who poisoned his boss.

In return, Mary knew much more about the goings-on of the world than he did. She told him how the governor of the colony of New South Wales, Lord Loftus, had dissolved parliament, triggering an election.

‘I s’pose I’ll have to vote,’ said Will. ‘Though buggered if I know who to vote for.’

‘You’ll work it out,’ Mary said. ‘Maybe read a newspaper or two.’

‘Maybe I will. Or I could just arsk you.’

‘If I’m still around,’ she smiled.

‘That’s true,’ agreed Will. ‘You might have been whisked away by that rich squatter – married in some fancy homestead – surrounded by servants.’

For a moment Mary’s face seemed to shine, but then she shook her head slowly. ‘You are a darlin’, but, to be honest, not even I believe that’s going to happen, anymore.’

Will said nothing, but for the first time he looked past the lipstick and rouge, to the almost-hidden lines around her eyes and lips, understanding that for some people, hiding the effects of the passing years was a matter of survival. Her eyes, in the daylight, were world weary, and he guessed that there was more to Mary’s story than simply a girl from Cardiff who’d headed west to find a husband.

She took another sip of her drink. ‘Most of the fellows with means around here are already married to their cousin’s best friend, and are more interested in a bit on the side than a wife.’

‘Must be darn idiots,’ said Will.

‘Let’s take your Constable Klein, for example. He’s a married man, got a wife and two kids in the residence behind the station, and he …’ she paused and looked up at the ceiling, as if looking for a sign from the almighty. ‘No, sorry. I shouldn’t tell you.’

‘What?’ said Will. ‘That’s like choppin’ a tree half-way through. You can’t do that.’

‘Alright, I’ll tell you. Well, Klein has been havin’ an affair of the heart with Mrs Edna Lowe for at least these last twelve month. Now that Cyril’s dead, he’s there darn near every night.’

Will almost spluttered out a mouthful of ale. ‘You mean he was carryin’ on with Cyril Lowe’s widow, even before the poor fella was drowned?’

‘That’s exactly what I mean. Before and after.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I like to walk, early in the day before there’s men around callin’ out at me and such. I seen him. More than once. Yesterday I wandered past Edna’s house, before sunrise, just as he was coming out the gate, an’ he held one finger to his lips, like he was telling me to keep mum about it.’

Will knew the value of good intelligence. This was solid gold. ‘Have you told anyone else this?’

‘Well, a few people know they’ve been having a … er, dalliance, but I haven’t told anyone, except you, that I seen him leaving her house.’

‘Jesus,’ Will breathed.

At that moment the boss came through from out the back. ‘Come on Mary,’ he snapped. ‘I can see empty glasses out there. Do you want those fellows to get parched on our watch?’

‘Oh sorry sir, I’m on my way now sir,’ she cried, and bustled out from behind the bar.

At that moment her superior saw the empty gin glass where she had been standing.

‘Have you been drinking on the job?’

‘No mate,’ said Will, answering for her. ‘That was mine, and darn refreshing it was, too.’

Mary winked as she came past him, carrying a stack of empty pots and glasses.

 ‘I’d better go,’ Will whispered. ‘Just one more thing though. Can you tell me where this Edna Lowe lives?’

 Mary looked to see if her boss was watching. He wasn’t, rather he was counting bottles along the top shelf, and marking them in a ledger. ‘I’m not even going to ask why you want to know that. Turn down Lorne Street, and it’s the first brick place on the second block.’

***

That evening Will boiled a lump of mutton, two potatoes and a handful of broad beans. When he was finished, he cleaned off his plate and cooking gear, then walked up to town and along Lorne Street.

Even in the darkness he had no trouble finding Edna Lowe’s house. It was exactly where Mary had described it. He found a vantage point on the other side of the road, sitting on the kerb, hidden from view by a gig that looked like it had been parked for months, the shafts resting on a pair of hardwood stumps.

Constable Klein arrived at about ten pm, carrying a red rose, wearing a comical outfit of knickerbockers and a checked jersey. He knocked on the front door. It opened and closed behind him.

Will continued to watch as a lantern was lit in one of the dark upstairs rooms, then, at length, went out. An hour later the front door opened and the constable emerged. There was no kiss at the door or long farewell; he simply marched out as if he had been to the barber.

In Will’s mind, the night visit was more than enough evidence of infidelity. The opportunity he had been given was obvious.

At nine the following morning, Will presented himself again at the police station. There was no one in the front room. The vase on the table now contained only five red roses. Will knew where the sixth had gone.

A round of melodic whistling could be heard from out the back, leading Will to believe that he would not be alone for long. He sat down, put his feet up on the table and helped himself to a pinch of the constable’s tobacco. A few minutes passed before the constable came in, wearing a white shirt, suspenders and police-issue trousers, still whistling.

He stopped mid-stride when he saw Will. He must have had a sense that he was at a disadvantage for he said nothing.

‘Top of the morning, Constable Klein,’ said Will.

‘I’ve no news for you, I’m afraid, if that’s what you’re after.’

‘I’m not after news,’ said Will. ‘I just wanted to say that I’m a little worried about you.’

‘How so?’

Will said, ‘I’m trying to imagine what people would think about a copper who’s investigating the death of a man, but every night he’s in the widow’s bed. At the same time, his poor wife no doubt, wonders where the hell he might be.’

‘Get out,’ said Klein from between his teeth.

‘It’s a motive for murder, aren’t it?’ said Will innocently. ‘Havin’ an affair of the heart with a woman and her husband gets pulled from the lake?’

The constable grabbed a revolver from the top of the bureau and pointed it at Will, thumbing back the hammer. ‘Or I could put a bullet in your chest and say you were an accessory to the murder of Cyril Lowe and were shot trying to escape custody.’

‘A messy alternative,’ said Will, holding his nerve. ‘And I’m not the only one who knows about you and Mr Lowe’s widow – just the most likely one to say anything about it.

The constable lowered the weapon, put it back where it had come from. ‘What do you want?’

‘Give me that slip of paper and let me ride out of here. You’ll never see me again.’

The constable stared for a long time, and Will could almost see his mind ticking over, sorting through the consequences of this or that course of action.

At length he opened the bureau drawer and took out the note. He put it on the desk in front of Will. ‘Now get the blazes out of here.’

Will stood up, folded the note and buttoned it into his shirt pocket. Then, on his way out, as an afterthought, he took the remaining five roses from the vase. At the door he turned and gave the trap a brief, sardonic smile.

He walked down to the hotel, and into the bar. A wiry young man was mopping out the bar area. The chairs were up on the table and the place smelled of carbolic soap.

‘Do you know where Mary is?’ Will asked.

‘No mate, her shift starts at noon.’

Will found her in a narrow alley out the back where empty ale barrels were stored. She was sitting on a step with a cat in her lap, stroking it.

She looked up at Will. ‘What’s this then?’

He held out the roses. ‘These are for you.’

Mary let the cat jump out of her lap, stood up and took the roses, holding them under her nose. ‘Why, thank you,’ she said.

‘I came to say goodbye,’ he said. ‘Klein gave me my marching orders.’

‘Oh, is that right?’

‘Yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll be goin’ then.’

Mary nodded, ‘I guess, if you have to.’

As he turned, she grabbed his hand, squeezed it, then let go. The act stunned Will for a moment. To hide his confusion he kept walking, and when he turned back she was still looking at him with a strange expression on her face.

Will paid his stabling fees with the hotel cashier then went out to get his horses.

Two hours later he was heading out of town on the eastern road, with a strange and hollow feeling in his gut.

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That’s the last chapter of Will Jones for a few months while I get some more work done on another novel. The plan is to gather all the Will Jones stories together into one volume called ‘The Adventures of Will Jones’ in 2027.

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© Greg Barron 2026

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