Cry of the Curlew: The Frontier Series 1 (46 page)

‘Your hat and cane, Mister White?’ Betsy asked with a curious expression on her pretty face. His brief moment of distress had obviously been noted by her when he had stumbled into the hallway to escape the witch in the drawing room.

‘Yes, Betsy, you can fetch them,’ he replied calmly as he regained control of himself. ‘And you can inform my coachman to bring the carriage to the front door. I will wait outside.’

Granville had his coachman take him back to the club, where he drank alone and pondered his meeting with his aunt. No matter how much he attempted to dissuade himself that the irrational fears she had conjured at the meeting had no substance, the drink did not drown them. Enid never made a threat without carrying it out, as he fully knew from past experience.

The Duffy bastard had to be dead if it was sent to a baby farm, he kept reassuring himself. And if he weren’t, what hope did Enid ever have of finding him anyway? Around 6 p.m. the dinner gong was struck for the residents, reminding Granville that he had an obligation to call on his sister at her house.

He hefted himself unsteadily from the big leather chair and weaved towards the main entrance, where he was met by the doorman who greeted him politely and went to fetch his carriage driver waiting outside.

When the carriage arrived at Penelope’s house, the driver gently prodded his employer awake. Irritably, Granville shook the sleep from his head and staggered to the front entrance. When he glanced at the well-kept hedges, he had a fleeting memory of his old gardener, Harris.

The door was opened by a maid Granville did not know. She was around sixteen years of age and rather pretty in a coarse sort of way. Probably a bit like the girls in his soon-to-be-acquired tenements at Glebe, he thought without a great deal of interest.

‘You mus’ be Mister White,’ the girl said impertinently. ‘Your sister said youse was to go straight up to her bedroom when youse got here.’

‘Did you say her bedroom?’ he mumbled as she held the door open for him to enter.

‘That’s what she said, Mister White,’ she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘You is to go straight to her bedroom where she is expectin’ youse.’

The invitation to his sister’s bedroom was highly unusual, considering the old threat to kill him if he ever dared enter that sacred domain again.

Granville pushed past her and steadied himself as he climbed the stairs. The copious quantity of alcohol he had imbibed at the club had made his legs feel like gelatine, so he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before preparing to enter the room.

He raised his hand to knock when he heard the sounds. He knew them well. They were the sounds of a woman in the throes of sexual ecstasy and he smiled to himself. In his alcohol-befuddled mind, he guessed that his sister had some perverse need for him to witness her in the act of enjoying the carnal embraces of another man and his hopes soared. Was it that she had missed his attentions when they had been young and now wanted him to join in her lust? He did not knock but eased the bedroom door open to step inside.

It took some moments for his eyes to adjust to the flickering light of the many candles placed around the room. Golden soft shadows danced around the two naked bodies writhing on the white silk sheets in an embrace that made them oblivious to everything except their mutual ecstasy.

Granville blinked, adjusting to the candlelight. He gaped at the two sets of well-rounded buttocks and he was confused as he tried to reconcile what he was seeing. He watched as his naked sister pulled herself up to prop herself against the brass bedhead, where she gripped the cornerposts. Her eyes were closed to near slits and the flickering candlelight caught her expression of sensual rapture with a golden glow while her ecstasy flowed like fire through the room to burn an absolute dawning comprehension in Granville’s horror-stricken mind.

His sister’s sexual partner slid down the sheets where her long raven hair flowed over Penelope’s legs spread lasciviously to receive her partner’s attentions.

Slowly Penelope’s eyes opened and turned to stare into his. The normally beautiful blue eyes were black and limpid pools of an evil akin to his own dark soul and were aware of his presence as they taunted him with the reality of the present.

Penelope arched her back and her hands came down to entwine her fingers in the long raven hair between her legs, forcing the head deeper into her as if that part of her body could swallow the beautiful creature giving her so much sensual pleasure. She moaned her pleasure and her legs slowly folded over Fiona to hold her in the embrace as if forever.

Granville felt the nausea rising in his throat and fought the urge to vomit up the afternoon’s alcohol and bitterness. He was barely aware that the name of his wife came to his lips as a strangled hiss as he backed away from the door.

He stumbled from the room and down the stairs to buckle and vomit his despair on the floor of the landing. And as he vomited, he realised that his sister had carefully planned for him to witness her power over him.

She had plotted a revenge so subtle that only a woman could have understood the implications it had to his self-esteem as a man. She had taken her cousin, his wife, from him with the very sexual forces he had so long ago brutally unleashed in his sister.

He now knew why his wife had made excuses to move to another room away from him. She had, in fact, moved to his sister’s bed.

For Granville White, the subtle strength of women would never again be dismissed as something of no consequence. Now the two people who most frightened him were both women: one Lady Enid Macintosh and the other his own sister.

Fiona had not been aware of her husband’s brief presence in the bedroom as her whole existence had narrowed to the erotic pleasure that Penelope’s body, with its soft curves and smooth flesh, provided for her.

So absorbed was she in drinking the sweetness of her cousin’s body that she was unaware of the tension that came as a momentary wave to flow through Penelope’s ecstatic pleasure. All that she was aware of was that that same forbidden pleasure was also her own. And she knew with each time they made love that she would always be a slave to the unimagined joys she had learnt in the arms of her beautiful cousin.

When they were both spent, Penelope held Fiona in her arms and they lay together in a deep and mutual embrace, caressing each other with lingering words of love.

Later in her own bed, Fiona could not be sure whether she had dreamed her cousin’s words, or if they were real. But it did not matter, as they were words she would always treasure when she had heard them drift to her on the golden glow of the flickering candles. ‘Granville will never hurt you again, my love. You and I will always be together, no matter who else is in our lives. I promise you that for always.’

When Fiona returned to her home she was confronted by her uncharacteristically distraught husband.

‘Have you no shame?’ he wailed as his wife stood defiantly in her bedroom. He stared at Fiona’s huge bed. ‘Have you . . .?’ he could not bring himself to ask and she laughed bitterly before replying, ‘That is no longer any business of yours.’ So he knew, she thought. How he knew, she did not care. ‘What is between Penelope and me is very special.’

‘It is unnatural. An abomination in the eyes of God,’ he exploded, gathering the bombastic remnants of his old self, and Fiona’s face flushed with rage.

But when she spoke it was in a clearly controlled voice. ‘Is making a twelve-year-old girl pregnant,’ she said, ‘then discarding her as if she were nothing but rubbish, less an abomination? Is your plan to buy the Glebe tenements from Sir George to be used for prostitution not an abomination?’ Fiona noticed the stricken expression on her husband’s face as she revealed all that Penelope had told her of his activities. ‘You need not ask me how I know all these things, and more, because it is not important. What is important for you to know is that I will live with you in this house. But you and I will never share the same bed again. We will be, as far as everyone is concerned, including my mother, a married couple. Oh, I will be a good wife for you, and a good mother to our daughters, but that is all. From now on, we live separate lives and I don’t have to warn you that any attempt to break those conditions will cause me to inform the relevant people of your secrets. Of how you are embezzling the family business to finance criminal activities. And of your peculiar desire for young girls. And your possible links to an unsavoury character by the name of Jack Horton. Yes, I know how you hired Mister Horton to kill Michael Duffy.’

Granville stared at the beautiful young woman who had once been so compliant to his every whim and desire. His self-esteem had taken a terrible mauling and this confrontation was the death blow to his power over her. He realised for the first time just how much his wife had inherited of her mother’s characteristics. She was strong like her mother and she had displayed a form of ruthlessness like her mother. It seemed only one person had power over Fiona and that was his hated sister. In the world of the Macintosh and White families, Penelope had emerged as an adversary to be reckoned with.

As he stared at his wife, he felt a surge of desire for her. But it was a desire for something he knew he could never have again and, without comment, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Fiona stood defiantly in the centre of the room watching him leave. When he slammed the door and she could hear his footsteps in the hallway, the uncontrollable trembling came to her. She broke down in tears and cursed herself for her weakness. It was then that she was suddenly aware of how much like her mother she really was. And in recognising how much she resembled her mother, she felt a terrible and despairing loss for the grief that the rift between them had caused.

Of all the people she most wanted to be close to now, it was that stern and ever-present entity in her life. ‘Mother,’ she whispered through her tears. ‘Oh, Mother.’ But her mother had taught her well. And one thing that she had been taught was pride. It was that very characteristic, she knew, that would forever keep them apart as bitter enemies.

FORTY-THREE

T
he hammering on his hotel room door snapped Luke from his sleep.

He rolled from the bed and was immediately on his feet, blinking away the last shreds of his stupor like a battered fighter in the corner of a boxing ring.

‘Luke, are you in there? It’s Solomon.’

He heard the voice call to him through the door. ‘Wait a moment, Sol,’ he answered groggily as he slipped on his trousers. Downstairs in the hotel, he could hear the rowdy sounds of men in the bar swilling down last drinks before closing time. He crossed the dark and sweltering room, opened the door warily and saw his friend standing in the dimly lit hallway.

‘You have to get out of Rockhampton, Luke,’ Solomon said as he pushed past him. ‘The traps are after you.’

‘Goddamn!’ Luke swore. ‘What in the hell for, Sol? Why do they want me?’

Solomon went across to the window and peered out cautiously as if expecting to find a lurking police officer on the other side.

‘They seem to know about you making an exchange of gold for money,’ he said, turning away from the window, ‘and they suspect me as well.’

‘Goddamn Darlington!’ Luke snarled. ‘The bastard must have gone to the traps after I saw him this afternoon.’

‘Mister Darlington . . . Kate’s solicitor . . . You went to see him . . . Why?’ Solomon queried as he could not think of any good reason for Luke to see Kate’s solicitor.

‘It doesn’t matter, Sol. What matters right now is that my going to see him might put you and Judith in a bad position if I stay around,’ Luke said as he quickly recovered his clothes and few personal possessions in the near darkness of the hotel room. ‘Tell me what happened. Have the traps spoken to you yet?’

Solomon placed himself by the door, which he held ajar to watch for anyone who might approach down the hallway.

‘A Constable Richards came down to the store and asked to talk to me,’ Solomon said. ‘He didn’t beat around the bush. He said that he had information that you and I had been involved in an unlawful gold transaction. He said that he wanted to know where you were staying and I naturally said I didn’t know. He got angry and started making threats, in front of Judith and Deborah, that he would lock me up when he caught you.’

Luke knew Solomon was very worried and he knew the little man’s fear was not for himself. He gripped his friend’s shoulder to reassure him.

‘The traps aren’t about to catch me, Sol,’ he said as he thrust his Colt into the belt of his trousers. ‘So he won’t be able to carry out his threat, I will be out of here before you reach the front door.’

‘I’m not frightened for myself,’ Solomon replied. ‘But I’m frightened for Judith and Deborah. Oi. This Constable Richards is a bad type. I hear he is not a straight policeman.’

‘My horse is at the back of the hotel,’ Luke said as he hoisted his saddle onto his shoulder along with his bed-roll and rifle. ‘It won’t take me long to hit the track south. By morning, I should be thirty miles from here.’

‘Where are you going? New South Wales?’ Solomon asked.

Luke shook his head and replied thoughtfully, ‘I think it is time I went home to see the sequoias, old partner. And it is better you know nothing else.’ He hesitated and Solomon could sense that his friend was struggling to say something important. Finally he continued, ‘Could you tell Katie I will be back again some day. Tell her I love her.’

‘I will. God go with you, Luke,’ Solomon said as he grasped Luke’s callused hand in both of his and then grabbed Luke in a short bearhug, patting him on the back. ‘Be careful, my friend.’

Luke slipped through the bedroom window and onto the verandah. He suspected that Solomon might have been followed by the police, who could be waiting in the hotel for him to come down.

Making his way cautiously, he came to the end of the hotel where there was a dark alley beside the building. Luke slung his saddle into the alley beside the hotel before climbing down a verandah post.

He had guessed that the police would expect him to come out the back way after Solomon had made his visit to warn him. A couple of drunken patrons leaving the hotel saw the American slide down to the street.

‘Can’t pay the bill, matey?’ one of them said with a laugh.

‘Something like that,’ Luke grinned back as he picked up his saddle and strolled as casually as possible down the laneway between the hotel and a butcher’s shop. The smell of sweltering meat was strong in his nostrils as he left the laneway and entered the backyard of the hotel, treading warily in the shadows cast by the building.

He was extremely aware that he was most vulnerable now if the traps had followed Solomon and he half expected to hear the police command him to ‘Stand in the Queen’s name!’ But no challenge came.

In the stables, he steadied his mare and threw the cloth over her back as she stood patiently waiting to be saddled. Poor work by the traps, Luke thought. They only had to follow Solomon to find me.

But Luke was wrong.

Constable Richards crouched in the shadows at the rear of the hotel where he was concealed by a dray and he observed the American saddle his horse. He smiled grimly to himself and was satisfied that the man he was watching was unaware of his presence.

Richards raised his revolver to take an aim on the American fugitive as Luke led his horse across the yard. But the policeman was frustrated by the lack of light as he followed the vague shapes of man and horse down the sights of his pistol until Luke stepped momentarily into a pool of light cast from a hotel window above the yard. The policeman had a clear shot and he knew that he could not miss, so close was the American to him.

Slowly Richards lowered his pistol.

Luke swung himself into the saddle and carefully picked his way into the alley beside the hotel. The constable smiled as the bushman rode cautiously out of the yard. Probably heading for Brisbane, he ventured as a guess. Or maybe even further south. It didn’t matter where he was going, so long as it was a long way from Rockhampton.

Constable Richards had earned his money. A large amount for such a simple job, he thought. Darlington must have a lot at stake to pay fifty quid. All he had to do now was report back to the solicitor and tell him that the American had left town.

By sunrise, Luke was twenty-five miles closer to California. And as he rode with the rising sun at his elbow he carried the memory of a single kiss and a love that could never be.

By the time he had reached the Brisbane River days later, Hugh Darlington had presented Kate with one thousand pounds to invest in her company. The young woman was overwhelmed by his magnanimous generosity and he made a point that he did not expect Kate to repay him until she was ready. He also added that no interest was required on the capital, as the money was a token of his love for her.

Solomon felt very uneasy lying to Kate and the young woman’s expression seemed to melt away, exposing the pain of confusion and despair for the feelings she could never reveal to the world, let alone herself, for the American. ‘He loves you very much, Kate,’ Solomon mumbled as he shifted uneasily in the cool shadows of his store.

Kate turned and stared at the rectangular patch of burning bright light that marked the doorway to the building. There were words that could be said but Kate bit back on her lip. It was obvious Solomon knew more than he was prepared to say about the mysterious and sudden disappearance of Luke. But to press him would only cause her friend more pain in divided loyalties.

Without a further word, she walked towards the rectangular patch of light and out onto the street. The American was gone from her life for good and it was probably meant to be. Men like Luke Tracy were not to be confined by the definitions of streets and houses. They were men born with a wild spirit that took them to the desolate places others called hell.

She fought back the tears as she walked towards her office. No, he was gone. And she had a business to run. There was a visit to Townsville scheduled and an inspection of the estates old Harry had left her in his will.

She lifted her chin and her steps took on a purpose as she continued to walk along the dusty street of the frontier town. Besides, she told herself, Luke was just a very good friend whom she held in particular esteem . . . nothing more. The thought echoed with an unconvincing ring in her heart.

Luke stood on the wharf gazing at the flotilla of small coastal steamers and sailing ships anchored in the channel of the muddy tidal river.

The remaining money from the gold transaction had purchased him a ticket for a sea voyage to San Francisco and he was going home to walk once again among the majestic sequoia trees and smell the heavy scent of pine. But he knew part of him would remember the pungent antiseptic scent of eucalyptus and be lost forever on the vast brigalow plains beyond Queensland’s frontier.

A coastal steamer with big paddlewheels, slime-streaked sides and a tall funnel blowing plumes of black smoke edged towards the wooden wharf. Luke watched the ship arriving from Sydney with little interest, as his thoughts were lonely in a way that made his world seem small. The one thing worth fighting and dying for in his life he would never have.

He sighed and watched the gangplanks rattle down the sides of the ship when it docked. And he watched, without seeing, the passengers disembark with their meagre luggage gripped tightly in their hands. Around him people waiting for friends and relatives surged forward to hug, cry, babble and laugh as they met their loved ones.

The American stood back and hefted his bed-roll and saddle onto his shoulders. The ship would soon be cleared for the round trip to Sydney when it had taken aboard coal for the boilers and rations for the passengers. As Luke had nowhere to stay in Brisbane, he decided to board the ship early.

When it appeared the last of the passengers had disembarked, he pulled his ticket from his trouser pocket and strode towards the gangplank. An old man, in company with a young and pretty girl nursing a baby, stood looking pathetically lost at the foot of the gangway.

Luke took little notice of them until he was close enough for the man to say, ‘Excuse me, sir, but do you know of any good lodgin’s in Brisbane Town?’

Luke broke his stride and dropped the saddle and bed-roll at his feet. A sudden whiff of lavender caught his attention and he realised that the young girl with the large strawberry birthmark on one side of her face must be wearing the perfumed water.

‘I’m sorry, pardner,’ he replied politely and his attention went to the young girl nursing the baby. She must be about twelve, he thought idly, and he guessed that the baby was her younger brother or sister as it lay asleep in a soiled swaddling cloth. ‘I don’t come from around these parts.’ Luke also noticed the signs of advanced consumption in the man. Its debilitating effects had aged him beyond his years.

‘Thank you anyway, sir,’ the man replied with a weak smile for the tall American’s courteous reply. ‘I suppose someone will know a place for me an’ my daughter that don’t cost too much.’

For some strange and inexplicable reason, Luke suddenly felt a surge of pity for the pathetic trio. He sensed that some terrible tragedy had caused them to uproot and travel north. Was it that he remembered his own young wife and daughter who had so tragically died in Brisbane of the fever many years earlier? Or was it that the scent of lavender water reminded him of Kate and her tragic trip to the colony of Queensland? For whatever reason, he found himself impulsively reaching into his pocket to retrieve the last of his pound notes, which he thrust towards the old man.

‘This will get you a decent place to stay until you get things sorted out,’ he said gruffly. ‘Call it a loan until I see you again.’

The man stared at the crumpled pound note in amazement. Then he glanced up into the eyes of the tall stranger, whom he guessed was a Yank from his accent.

‘I doan know what to say, sir,’ he choked. ‘I never know’d such generosity in all me life.’ Although Harris carried the money Granville White had given him for his silence, he was shrewd enough to know it would not go far in supporting his daughter and grandson. The one pound given to him by the Yank was a lot of money.

‘Nothin’ to say,’ Luke replied. ‘Just make sure you get a good place for your young ’uns for a while.’

The man took the proffered pound note and tears came to his rheumy eyes. ‘Me name’s Harris, sir . . . an this is me daughter, Jennifer. An’ this ’ere is her young ’un Willy,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘Mebbe one day I can do a good turn fer you.’

Luke nodded, but he doubted that he would ever see the trio again and excused himself so that he would not have to suffer a profusion of gratitude from the man with consumption. He hefted the saddle and bed-roll onto his shoulder and brushed past them to board the coastal steamer for Sydney.