Flight of the Eagle (54 page)

‘Sarah, I have always loved you,’ he choked. ‘But I was a fool and let my ambition cloud my feelings. I meant all that I said to you on the eve I rode out looking for Peter. What happened after that was beyond anything I could do to stop.’

The young woman's expression softened with her tears. ‘It does not matter anymore,’ she said bitterly. ‘You and I can never be … even if we wanted to.’

‘Why can't you and I be together?’ Gordon asked in his confusion. ‘I love you more than I have ever loved before.’

‘Because I am betrothed to another and will be married within the month,’ she sobbed as she broke away and ran to the house.

Stunned, Gordon watched her stumble away. To have killed Peter had been bad enough but to lose Sarah to another man felt worse. This was a living death for him.

Sarah did not bid Gordon farewell as he and his troop rode out of Balaclava. Instead she sat in her room and stared at the wood panelled wall. Why had life been so cruel as to allow her to see Gordon a month before she was to wed the young station manager from Penny Downs, the handsome, educated young Englishman Charles Harper esquire, who had wooed her and accepted her exotic beauty?

They had met when she had accompanied Adele Rankin on a trip to the property six months earlier. The courting had been gentle, his love declared and the bitter, sad memories of Gordon almost gone from her mind. But now Gordon had returned and she could see the love and pain in his eyes. What would it take to end the confusion she felt?

Gordon returned to Rockhampton with his prisoner. True to his word he drafted a letter of resignation and admitted to himself that he would miss the adventurous life of the Mounted Police. But he also consoled himself that the woman he had left behind at Balaclava Station was worth the sacrifice.

The ink was dry on the paper and Gordon marched smartly across the dusty parade ground to his commander's office. He stood outside the door and took a deep breath before knocking.

‘Enter,’ the voice boomed from within, and Gordon stepped inside to snap a salute to the seated officer. ‘Inspector James,’ Superintendent Stubbs frowned. ‘I was just about to send for you.’

Gordon felt a touch of uneasiness from the expression he read in the officer's face. Stubbs was unlike his compatriot in Townsville, Gales. Stubbs was an intense man in his late thirties with a face that never knew a smile. His frown was as close as Gordon could remember to the man ever changing expressions.

‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ he queried and Stubbs stood up. He was also a tall lean man who seemed to bow in the middle.

‘That man Calder you brought in yesterday,’ he asked. ‘Did he make any implications to you that he was going to make a formal complaint, that you shot down his companion when he surrendered to you?’

Now it was Gordon's turn to frown.

‘No, sir.’ But Gordon hesitated and remembered something he thought was of no consequence at the time and added, ‘He did babble something about me murdering his mate. But it was just nothing more than a malicious slur against me by a bitter man.’ Stubbs now had another expression on his face. This time it was akin to pain. He turned away from his junior officer and seemed deep in thought as Gordon stood stiffly with the letter of resignation in his hand.

‘Were there any witnesses to his accusation at the time?’ Stubbs asked, without turning to face Gordon.

‘The sergeant from Barcaldine was with me.’

‘Was the sergeant with you when you captured Calder, and this dead man, Heslop?’

‘The sergeant was with me when I took Calder, although he did not see Calder shoot Heslop.’ As Gordon answered the question he felt a sick knot of bile rising up in his throat. He had been a policeman long enough to know what the superior officer was alluding to. ‘I didn't kill Heslop, sir. Calder shot his own man, either by accident or deliberately.’

Stubbs turned and met Gordon's eyes directly. ‘You realise that a formal complaint of murder has been made against you by Calder, and that I will have to make a full investigation of the matter.’

‘Sir?’

‘I do not relish the task and have no doubts that the man is lying,’ Stubbs continued in a reassuring tone. ‘I have not known you for long, but what I have seen of your service to the Queen, I am sure you are a good police officer. I will require only that you remain at your post and that you do not leave the Rockhampton district until I complete my report on the matter.’

‘I was going to tender my resignation,’ Gordon said, holding the paper to the superintendent. ‘I was hoping to give my notice and return to Townsville.’

Stubbs eyed the offered paper. ‘I am afraid that if I accept your resignation at this stage, Inspector James,’ he said, without making any attempt to accept it, ‘it would appear that you were looking for a way out of this rather distasteful matter.’

Gordon withdrew his hand. He knew that his superior was right. ‘My reasons for resigning have nothing to do with Calder's accusations,’ he said. ‘My reasons were of a personal nature, sir.’

‘The reasons are irrelevant. What is relevant is that you must remain, until we satisfy a magistrate that you did not shoot down an unarmed man surrendering to you. Until then, you will remain a policeman.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Gordon dutifully replied. ‘Is there anything else, sir?’

‘No, Inspector,’ Stubbs said dismissing the young police officer. ‘Just keep your head low and do your job:

Gordon saluted and left the office. Why had Calder killed his own mate and accused him of the crime? The answer was simple. Because Calder wanted his company in hell, after he'd been duly hanged. Some men were prepared to sell their souls for revenge and Gordon was acutely aware that the matter could very easily go against him. If so, then Calder would have his company on the gallows.

FIFTY-SIX

A
lmost a quarter of a century had passed since Kate had set foot on the muddy banks of the Fitzroy River at Rockhampton. Much had changed in those intervening years. The town had lost its raw, frontier atmosphere and now had a feeling of staid conservatism. Banks, shops, schools, churches and even a hospital had been established in the town to cater for the families of the second wave of settlers who had followed in the wagon tracks of the first pioneers.

Gone were the ironbark slab hotels where thirsty shepherds came to drink and forget the fear and isolation their lonely occupations entailed. And gone also was the sight of the Kennedy Men, the tough, bearded young bushmen of the wild frontier, who had once ridden their horses recklessly down the dusty or muddy – depending on the time of year – streets of the settlement. Rockhampton was now a vital commercial town, catering to central Queensland's well-established cattle and sheep industry.

Kate noticed the changes with a mixture of nostalgia for things lost and pleasure for seeing the settlement turn into a town where young families could find a permanency in their lives, a way of life unlike her own tragic early years of loss and transition. Rockhampton held many memories for her. It was here that her first child was buried. It was in Rockhampton too that she had met the strong and gentle American prospector Luke Tracy. And it was here she had cemented a lifetime friendship with the Jewish storekeeper, Solomon Cohen and his wonderful wife, Judith.

Kate sat in the office of the man who had once been her lover. But he had betrayed her to the financial interests of the powerful squatter Sir Donald Macintosh. Hugh Darlington's office had changed very little – but Hugh Darlington had. Gone was the suavely handsome young lawyer and across the desk sat a fat, balding man, hardly recognisable to Kate as the man she had once known. His rising career in Queensland politics as a member of the colonial parliament along with the wealth he had accrued representing the interests of squatter clients had put a lot of good food on Hugh's table.

Kate also knew he had married and had five children. She could not help comparing him with Luke who had remained at the peak of physical condition to the end of their married lives. Seeing Hugh Darlington now she truly appreciated the choice she had made in marrying a man whose lean and hard body had taken her to the heights of sensual ecstasy countless times.

Hugh Darlington's continuing unabashed admiration of Kate was evident in the way he stared at her. Her slim waist and beautiful face had remained despite the years that had intervened in their respective lives. And her eyes still had the same magic appeal he first remembered.
Ah but that he had the time over again!

‘Kate, you haven't changed a bit,’ he said with a sigh.

She smiled. ‘And your charm is still there, Hugh,’ she replied diplomatically.

‘I'm just glad you haven't got a glass of champagne in your hand,’ he said with a grin. ‘If I remember rightly, you have a habit of spilling good champagne on people who upset you. When was that? ′74, ′75?

‘I think it was ′75,’ Kate answered as she recalled the incident.

It had been in an elegant restaurant in Cooktown during the Palmer River gold rush. French Charley's, the restaurant had been called, and she had just learned that the man she had thought was working in her legal interests was, in fact, working for her arch enemy Sir Donald Macintosh. The revelation had sparked her fiery temper and she had poured a flute of expensive champagne over him.

‘I'm sorry events turned out as they did,’ he said, with a touch of sadness in his voice. ‘I think my ambitions for power lost me something far more valuable.’

‘Time and lost opportunities go hand in hand, Hugh,’ she said softly. ‘But time is also a healer of old wounds.’

‘You are dangerous when you are nice, Kate,’ he said teasingly, the old Hugh Darlington still living in his words and the way he delivered them. ‘You must want something more than my company.’

She smiled at his perceptiveness. ‘I must admit, I made the appointment to see you for reasons other than idle curiosity,’ she replied. ‘I believe you are still the legal representative here for the Macintosh interests.’

‘I am,’ he answered. The Macintosh companies extended from central Queensland with Glen View to the coast at Mackay with its sugar plantations and meatworks. They also included coastal shipping which reached out to the Pacific islands. ‘And I have a pretty good idea that you have heard Glen View is on the market.’

‘Yes. As you're the solicitor for Mister Granville White, I thought that I might approach you and tender my offer to buy the property.’

‘Before you go any further and waste your time I should inform you that while he was alive Sir Donald made it very plain that no Duffy would ever own his property.’

‘Sir Donald is dead,’ she countered. ‘Surely business is business.’

‘Is it business for you to be buying Glen View, Kate?’ he cautioned. ‘Or is the purchase motivated by emotion for what the property means to you personally?’

‘It should not matter to the vendor the motivations of the purchaser,’ she answered, without addressing his question directly. ‘I would have thought any generous offer would be considered.’

The solicitor pursed his lips and steepled his fingers under his chin. The woman was right about business being business. Possibly the new owner of the property, Mister Granville White, may not hold the same prejudice as his deceased father-in-law. ‘I cannot promise anything, Kate. But I will raise the offer at the appropriate time with Mister White, but not as your representative, as you must appreciate.’

‘I fully understand. I can have my solicitors in Townsville draft an offer to be forwarded to you.’

‘Then I think we can dispense with any further discussion on the matter and use our time to talk about more pleasant subjects,’ he said as he relaxed and smiled.

Kate's unexpected reappearance in his life had brought with it a tension he had almost forgotten she could cause in him – a physical tension of heightened desire. Although he was a married man with a family, Hugh Darlington still retained his philandering ways and whenever he was in Brisbane attending parliamentary matters indulged himself in discreet dalliances with ladies willing to share his growing fame as a leading figure in colonial politics. He was a man tipped to be the future premier of the colony and power was an aphrodisiac women understood. But to Kate his power and wealth held little appeal. She was a woman who commanded an equal appeal when it came to power and wealth.

‘It just occurred to me, Kate, that you might not be aware of recent dramatic events concerning an incident at Barcaldine some weeks ago,’ Hugh said. ‘Your friend Emma James' son, Inspector Gordon James, is currently under suspicion of wilful murder.’

Kate's eyes widened in surprise at the news.
Gordon under suspicion of murder!
‘What are you talking about?’ she asked in a shocked voice. ‘What murder?’

‘It appears that he was involved in a rather violent attempted arrest of three men during the course of which two of the men were shot dead. The third has accused Inspector James of shooting down his unarmed partner in cold blood when the man attempted to surrender. Not that the man accusing the Inspector has much credibility in the opinion of most people. But since the publicity surrounding the Wheeler affair the Native Mounted troopers have made a lot of powerful enemies in the colonies. Not only down south but around here as well. A lot of well-intentioned, if misguided, people would like to see a conviction of any kind against an officer of the native police. It seems there has been some pressure to bring the young man before the courts.’

Kate knew of Frederick Wheeler. He had been an officer of the Native Mounted Police who the authorities had attempted to bring to justice for his barbaric crimes against not only the native tribes but also his own Aboriginal troopers. They had failed and Wheeler had disappeared as a free man.

‘Gordon James is a lot of despicable things,’ Kate said, ‘but I doubt that he is a murderer.’

‘I suspect that you are right,’ Hugh agreed, ‘knowing as much as I do about his courageous stand against the Kalkadoon last year at Cloncurry. And I also suspect that a coronial inquiry will find he has no case to answer. The matter will be seen for what it is: a grudge by a vexatious criminal against a fine young officer. Then the matter will be dropped.’