A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

in the ground, no coffin or anything.’ He sounds disapproving.
    ‘So he
dug up the bodies
?’ Ruth can’t believe her ears.
    Danforth registers her tone and becomes more defensive. ‘He paid good money for them, I’m told. The Abos probably spent it on drink from what I’ve heard.’
    ‘And now the Elginists want the bones back?’
    Danforth’s face darkens further. ‘They don’t know what they want. Burial of their ancestors and all that tosh. I mean, these …’ He gestures towards the cardboard boxes stacked on the shelves. ‘These aren’t their ancestors. They’re just
bones
.’
    Ruth doesn’t know where to start. ‘But they’re human bones, human remains. They deserve a decent burial.’ She tries to think of an example that will mean something to Smith. ‘Look at Bishop Augustine. He’s your ancestor. You wouldn’t want his bones kept in a cardboard box. You’d want them treated with dignity and respect.’
    ‘But that’s different. He was a bishop.’
    ‘Well some of these people might be bishops or the equivalent. Holy men and women.’ Ruth pauses, aware that she’s hazy about Indigenous Australian religion. She thinks of Bob Woonunga.
My people believe that the world was created in the Dreamtime when the spirit ancestors roamed the Earth.
She doesn’t think that there is any point telling this to Danforth Smith.
    ‘So,’ she says briskly. ‘What do you want from me?’
    Danforth, too, seems relieved to have left the spirit world behind. ‘I want you to tell me if these bones really are human. I mean, they could be bloody dingo for all I know. The skulls are staying here, they’re important objects – especially the water carrier. But if the bones
are
human, I suppose these Elginist people can have them. They’re not doing much good here, after all.’
    ‘All right,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ll take a look at the bones.’
    ‘Righty ho.’ Danforth rubs his head, which he has just knocked against the doorpost. ‘Oh I almost forgot.’ In the corner of the room is a kind of wire cage. Danforth Smith takes out another key to unlock this. Inside is a metal box, rather like a large camera case. ‘Here are the skulls,’ he says. ‘Beautiful aren’t they?’
    Ruth, left alone with the bones, takes off her jacket, wipes her hands on her legs and takes a water bottle from her bag. ‘Why do young people carry these bottles everywhere?’ her mother always asks. ‘I don’t feel the need to gulp down water all the time.’ Maybe not Mum, thinks Ruth, but even you might feel like a drink in these circumstances. She drinks slowly, trying to concentrate. The heat is making her sleepy. Last night hadn’t been a good one. Kate, worn out after the excitement of the didgeridoo, went to sleep at half-past seven. But as Ruth was tiptoeing downstairs at eight she woke up again. And again at ten, at midnight, at half-past three. Today Ruth feels as if she is sleepwalking or seeing everything through thick glass. She puts the bottle back in her rucksack. She’d better get on with it. She has a lecture at twelve. Come to think of it, the heat can’t be doing the bones much good either. Like Bishop Augustine’s coffin, they should really be kept at an ambient temperature. She takes down a box from the nearest shelf. She peers into the nearest box. Bones are piled high inside, yellow-white, some of them with numbers and dates printed on them. At first glance, they are almost definitely human.
    She had planned to lay the bones out anatomically butsoon gives up. Danforth Smith’s great-grandfather (such a character) must simply have scooped up everything buried in the soil of the island salt mine. There are adult bones, children’s bones, animal bones, all mixed together in a ghastly colonial stew. There are also a few interesting stone tools, which Ruth puts aside to study later.
    What would Cathbad make of this? she wonders. Cathbad and his Elginist friends who want the bones reunited with Mother Earth. She decides to call him. She wants to hear his voice, to reassure herself that Cathbad, her friend, who has been so kind to her, could never have anything to do with letters that threatened to take a man’s life. A man who subsequently died. Besides, she tells herself, she wants to ask him about the ‘repatriation’ conference. It’s work, she tells herself, nothing to do with Max. So much has happened since she last saw Max, not least the birth of Kate, that she no longer knows how