A Murder Unmentioned (28 page)

“In meetings with gentlemen from
Smith’s Weekly, The Herald
and
The Times
,” Kate replied. “Wil’s determined to keep Rowly’s arrest out of the papers for all our sakes.”

Edna nodded. By gentlemen, she presumed Kate meant the proprietors and editors of the Sydney papers, most of whom moved or aspired to move in the same social and business circles as Wilfred Sinclair.

“I’ll move Rowly’s paintings,” Clyde said suddenly. “He’s particular about that sort of thing. I can make sure they’re not damaged.”

“You’ll have to see to it tonight, Mr. Watson Jones—tomorrow’s Christmas Day, for pity’s sake! We’ll want to put the tree in here!”

“As you wish, Mr. Sinclair,” Clyde said tightly.

Kate was clearly distressed, whether by Rowland’s paintings or the tension was hard to tell. “We could always use the ballroom for the tree… Perhaps we should wait for Wil?”

“Wilfred has more than enough to worry about with getting Rowland out of prison,” Lucy said, leaving Arthur’s side to take Kate’s hand. “It’s up to us to make sure everything’s perfect when he gets back. If Rowland were here, I’m sure he would insist we put the tree in this room!”

And so it was decreed.

Mary Brown and the staff worked late into the night to ensure that Christmas at
Woodlands
was all that it should be. It had been many years since there had been children in the house at this time. The mansion was filled with the sweet aromas of baking, the grand staircase festooned with holly and ribbons, and every surface polished.

Edna helped Clyde move Rowland’s canvases and equipment up to his room. Whatever didn’t fit was moved into the rooms she and Clyde occupied. They worked silently, declining to join the family for dinner so that they could clear the drawing room as Arthur demanded. Neither said so out loud, but both felt strangely uncomfortable in the house which had been their home for years. It was not Arthur’s antagonism towards them, but the sense that Rowland was no longer the master of his own house.

22

SENT TO GAOL

WOMAN BREAKS BOND. SWEARS IN COURT

SYDNEY, Tuesday

Kate Leigh, or Barry, was sentenced to two years’ imprisonment today for having broken a bond to remain away from Sydney for five years.

When the woman was convicted on a charge of dishonesty in June, she was released on condition that she did not come within 200 miles of Sydney for five years. She stated that she proposed to live at Dubbo.

Sergeant Bowie informed His Honour that the woman had been seen in a motor car at Surry Hills.

Leigh told His Honour that she was ill, but admitted that she had not seen a doctor. She was led out of the court after the sentence had been passed, swearing loudly.

The Canberra Times, 1933

C
hristmas Day at Long Bay began with an ecumenical service in the prison chapel. Rowland studied the arched stained-glass windows and ornate woodwork, mildly surprised by the skill of the craftsmen. The chapel had been built by inmates during the War—perhaps there had been a significant number of criminal carpenters back then.

Milton stood beside him in the pew. The poet was technically Jewish, and more accurately, entirely godless, but he did enjoy a good hymn whatever the denomination. He sang with gusto and rather too much flair for a house of God, amending the lyrics now and then when his memory failed. During the sermon he strove to be attentive, but soon fell into a doze, shouting “Amen” whenever he was made to stir.

After the service, the inmates were marched around the courtyard for half an hour and returned to their cells.

The prison was busy that day with the coming and going of visitors. Mid morning, they were taken out again and assembled in a large hall for a concert organised by the Benevolent Society and performed by the inmates themselves. The residents of the Women’s Reformatory were brought in to ensure all seats were taken.

Kate Leigh, Darlinghurst’s sly grog queen, arrived in a broad-brimmed hat and silver fox fur, sitting in the front row like a dignitary rather than an inmate. Loud in style and voice, Leigh had amassed a considerable fortune supplying alcohol outside the restricted hours through sly grog shops all over the inner city.

As they waited for the performance to begin, she distributed gifts and cake to her numerous friends in the men’s prison. The guards left her alone, though the inmates were otherwise strictly segregated.

The concert opened with the not quite dulcet tones of Tony “The Canary” Vanzella, who it seemed was serving time for fraud. He tearfully dedicated his first aria to “Janice”, expressing the wistful hope that she had forgiven him, before launching into a rendition of
O Sole Mio
that, sadly, was recognisable only by the lyrics.

“The fraud was sayin’ ’e could sing!” Kate Leigh boomed. “It’s us ’e should be asking for forgiveness… Give ’im the ’ook!” She led her fellow prisoners in a chorus of jeering. The Canary sang on
regardless, bravely belting out notes with discordant passion until his tribute to Janice was complete.

After the reception that Vanzella received, a number of acts withdrew. The remainder were subject to Leigh’s brutal critique, every utterance of which was greeted with uproarious laughter and approbation.

As the stage was being prepared for a group act, she moved unfettered in the hall whilst officers with batons kept all the other convicts in line. In the row in which the remand prisoners were seated, Kate Leigh stopped to offer Yuletide succour to Frank Green, who was apparently an ally in her long-running public war against the gangster madam, Tilly Devine. The chair beside his was quickly vacated for her. It creaked and strained as she settled her considerable form upon it.

“There sat a jolly giant, glorious to see…” Milton whispered wickedly.

Rowland smiled. “I doubt Dickens had Kate Leigh in mind for the Spirit of Christmas Present,” he said, as they watched.

Leigh and Green both leaned forward and craned their necks to look towards Rowland.

Milton sighed. “Looks like Frank’s telling her that you stole his girl.”

The sly grog queen heaved herself up, and after wrapping a hand-knitted scarf around Green’s neck, pushed her way through the chairs to Rowland and Milton.

“As I live and breathe!” She looked the poet up and down. “I always knew you’d never ’mount to any good, Milton Isaacs. Your nan must be ’eartbroken! I must call on ’er and see if there’s anything I can do.”

Milton glowered at Leigh and she smiled triumphantly, exposing the generous gap between her yellowing front teeth.

She turned to Rowland, grinning coyly. “Well, well, I did always wonder what ’appened to the gents who fell into me vegetable
patch. Destroyed me silverbeet, you did, and not a ha’penny in compensation.”

Rowland nodded politely. “How do you do, Miss Leigh?” He and Wilfred had encountered Kate Leigh’s ire earlier that year when they fell off the roof of her sly groggery whilst escaping an unrelated band of villains. He’d discovered then that she’d known his late Uncle Rowland.

She beckoned him closer. “Just a word of advice, for old Sinkers’ sake. Men who mess with Nellie Cameron have a ’abit of dying ’fore their time.” She inhaled and smacked her lips as she looked into his blue eyes. “You smell real sweet for a bloke in ’ere. I can see why Nellie strayed, aside from ’er being an alley cat of course.” She cackled wickedly. “I could show you a Merry Christmas if you like.”

Rowland’s face was unreadable. Valliantly so. Kate Leigh had made a similar offer when last they’d met. He was no more inclined to accept.

Milton laughed. “He turned down Nellie Cameron. What makes you think he’d take on an ugly old crone like you?”

“For pity’s sake, Milt—” Rowland began, disconcerted by his friend’s lack of basic courtesy.

But Leigh did not pause, hissing like a bloated serpent. “He’s locked up now, there ain’t as much on offer ’ere,” she said, her voice lowering dangerously.

“He wouldn’t be that desperate on the gallows, Kate!” Milton snorted.

She lunged at him, slapping his face with an almighty blow before cuffing him around the ear. Guards hurtled down the row to prevent a riot as prisoners rose in both support and fear of Leigh.

Withers pulled Kate Leigh off, but it was Rowland and Milton he had taken from the hall. They might have objected but the concert was making them long for the relative silence of their cell.

Kate Leigh laughed, and curtseyed clumsily as they were led away. “Good on yer, Mr. Withers, sir.” She winked slyly at him. “There’s a token of my respect waiting for you at the desk.”

“Yes well, thank you. Now move along.”

“You gentlemen ’ave a lovely Christmas,” the sly grog queen shouted after Rowland and Milton. “Don’t you forget to thank the good Lord for Mr. Withers ’ere—a prince among guards—and when you get out, feel free to come see old Kate for a ’elping ’and and a bit o’ Christian comfort!”

The Long Bay crowd laughed and cheered, calling “God bless yer, Kate” and “Merry Christmas, luv.”

“Kate Leigh’s well known for
assisting with enquiries
,” Milton muttered as they were locked into the cell. “Clearly being a dobber has its advantages. You’d think she ran the place.”

They did not, however, languish in the cell for long before Withers opened the door. “Isaacs, Sinclair, you’ve got visitors!” he said, grinning.

Rowland and Milton were handcuffed for transfer to the entrance block visitation room. “And take that flaming book with you,” Withers warned. “The blokes in this place aren’t always honest.”

Edna and Clyde were waiting for them. The handcuffs were removed and they were left to visit, though Withers returned shortly thereafter to announce that the dinner which Wilfred arranged had arrived.

“You can eat here,” he said. “Best not to torture the other blokes in the block—the Long Bay kitchen does its best but… anyway, this way, your sister can stay.”

“Thank you, Mr. Withers,” Rowland said, a little surprised. Withers was unexpectedly considerate for a gaoler.

“Mrs. Withers is as pleased as punch with her Christmas
present,” the guard said quietly. “Said she was proud to have such a fine-looking gentleman on her mantle. Saintly she is!”

Into the windowless room was delivered a feast of cold turkey, ham, lobster and a dozen or so side dishes, as well as a pudding so soaked with brandy that it served as after-dinner drinks.

Considering that two of their party were presently incarcerated, they had a merry time indeed. It was in fact the first Christmas dinner they’d all shared together and, despite the fact that it was in Long Bay Prison, it was spent in good company.

“Wilfred said he’d visit this afternoon,” Clyde said. They had seen Rowland’s brother briefly that morning. “He’s sorry he can’t—”

“I didn’t expect him to miss Christmas morning and sitting down with his family, just to keep me company,” Rowland said. “I feel bad enough about you all having Christmas at Long Bay as it is. I expect my sister-in-law was disappointed you didn’t stay as well.”

Edna glanced at Clyde.

Rowland noticed. “What?”

“The atmosphere at
Woodlands
is a bit tense at the moment,” Clyde said carefully.

“I beg your pardon?”

Clyde informed Rowland about the clearing of his studio.

“And Arthur decided this?”

“I believe he thought he was protecting the women folk and children from your paintings.”

Rowland cursed. “Arthur can be a surprising prig.”

“Black sheep are not what they used to be,” Milton sighed.

“Who does he think he is?” Rowland shook his head. “And Wilfred allowed—”

“Wilfred wasn’t there, Rowly. I don’t suppose he would have stood for it. They bullied poor Kate into agreeing really. We didn’t want to upset her by making a fuss.”

“That was probably wise,” Rowland replied, “and kind. I’ll remind Arthur that
Woodlands
is my house when I get back. He can do whatever he wants at
Emoh Ruo
.”

Edna sighed. “I suspect he and Lucy have decided that they prefer
Woodlands
—” She gasped, pressing her lips together as she realised her slip.

“Lucy?” Rowland asked.

Clyde looked at the ceiling. “Lucy wanted to tell you herself, so act surprised when she does. She and Arthur are engaged.”

“Really? Good Lord!” He laughed. “I guess any Sinclair will do!”

Clyde folded his arms and rocked back in his chair. “Rowly, mate, I’d be careful of that Arthur if I were you.”

“Arthur? What do you mean?”

“I suspect he wants to replace you in more than just Lucy Bennett’s affections.”

Rowland smiled. “I feel rather like he’s taken a bullet for me, with respect to Lucy.”

“Well don’t be too grateful, mate. I don’t trust him.”