Going Home (20 page)

Smith, the Aborigine who had been employed to look after the two horses and tend the garden, had gone walkabout since Lucinda and Phoebe had left for England. He’d asked for his wages on the day they’d sailed and Boyle hadn’t seen him since. He had employed a young half-black in his place but he never seemed to be there when he wanted him. He wasn’t here now so he
tied the horse to a rail out of the heat and let himself into the house.

The blinds had been drawn against the sun and although the rooms were kept well polished and tidy by the maid, there was an emptiness which had settled since Lucinda had gone away. There were no flowers on the table and the fireplace was bare of decoration. There was no smell of cooking as he’d sacked the cook and told her he and Edwin would eat out, and on hearing this the young maid had declared that she would no longer live in, but would come in on a daily basis to do the washing and cleaning.

He walked back into the hall to ascend the stairs. He wouldn’t take a bath after all, he decided, for there wouldn’t be any hot water, and it was then that he noticed Edwin’s hat on the hatstand. So the young devil is at home, but surely not still in bed, it was almost four in the afternoon.

He looked up the stairs. His own bedroom door was half open as he had left it, but Edwin’s was firmly shut. He listened. Could he hear voices? He crept further upstairs. There was a low laugh. Edwin’s laugh. He hadn’t heard that in a long time. He was a most sombre young man as a rule. There it came again. He smiled. He’s got a wench in there. Young reprobate. So he takes after his father after all.

He climbed stiffly to the top of the stairs. Wonder who she is? A street girl perhaps? A nerve though if she is, bringing her here! Not
one of their crowd surely? The young people that Edwin and Phoebe mixed with were mostly decent, of good parents, though there were a few bad elements creeping in he’d noticed, like the Hawkins girl for one. He’d seen her one day on the arm of Edwin’s friend, Marius Nugent, Lord Nugent’s son, and had been wryly amused at the consternation that would ensue should Lord Nugent find out.

He remembered what Meg Hawkins had told him about her son and Phoebe, but he’d decided to disbelieve her. Phoebe would never choose someone like Ralph Hawkins, in spite of his money. Not with his background. He’d thrash her himself if she did.

He put his ear to the door and listened. They were having fun; he could hear the low laughter and soft murmuring. Young dog.

He turned the doorknob. It was locked so he hammered on the door. ‘Edwin! What’s going on in there?’

There was an immediate silence. ‘Come on!’ He grinned as he spoke. ‘I can hear you. You’ve got a girl in there.’

He heard a muffled laugh, then, ‘Just a minute, Father.’

He heard the creak of the bed and he waited expectantly. If it was a street girl then there would be no need to go out looking; that’s if Edwin would agree to share.

The door opened a crack and Edwin looked out. His hair was tousled and he was clad in a
silk dressing robe, not one that Boyle had seen before. ‘What do you want, Father?’

‘Want? I want to know who you’ve got in there.’ He peered over the top of Edwin’s head but could only see the bottom of the bed and the crumpled sheets.

‘It’s nothing to do with you who I’ve got in here.’ Edwin’s voice was low and tense, but under control.

‘Nothing to do with me?’ He was peeved. ‘This is my house. Of course it’s to do with me!’ He put his hand on the door but Edwin held it fast. ‘Come on, old fellow. Let’s take a look. Is it that young wench from the brothel? Is it a street woman?’

‘No. It is not. Do not insult me by such a suggestion.’ There was anger in Edwin’s voice. ‘Now please go away whilst I get dressed.’

Boyle gave a snigger. ‘I’m intrigued, Edwin. What a dark horse you are. You’ve been keeping some little filly hidden away for your sinful appetite, and I never guessed.’ He gave a sudden push on the door and it flew out of Edwin’s hand and banged against the wall.

His eyes were drawn to the bed; to the sheets which lay crumpled upon it and to the pile of clothing, shirt and trousers, which lay on the chair at the side of it, but his lascivious smile faded as he saw the fair-haired figure lying naked and unashamed on the bed.

His mouth dropped open; he felt his chest tighten and his breathing become rapid as all
his own lecherous thoughts disappeared. ‘Marius Nugent,’ he breathed, ‘but where’s the girl?’ He looked towards the small dressing room adjoining the bedroom, but the door was open and there was no-one in it.

‘Where’s the girl?’ he repeated, turning to Edwin. ‘Where’s the girl?’

‘There is no girl, Father.’ Edwin’s voice was low. His throat beneath the neck of his robe was flushed and he swallowed and licked his lips. ‘There’s only Marius.’

Boyle looked again to the bed. Marius sat up and drew a sheet over the lower half of his body. He raised a hand to Boyle as if in greeting.

‘What!’ Boyle’s voice was hoarse in condemnation. He looked at his son and saw that beneath his robe he was as naked as Marius Nugent was.

Edwin’s eyes held his and didn’t flinch. ‘It would be no good trying to explain to you, Father. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.’

Boyle found his voice and raised it. ‘You’re quite right I wouldn’t, you obscene, lecherous, debauched piece of dirt! You,’ he pointed to Marius. ‘Get out of my house and don’t ever let me see you here again.’ He felt sick. He’d been so proud of his son’s connections with the upper-class members of Sydney society. ‘What would your father say if he found out?’

Marius swung his legs onto the floor; his body was as fair as any girl’s. ‘I doubt if he would say anything,’ he replied in a lazy drawl. ‘He
wouldn’t want his own reputation to be damaged.’ He slipped on his white shirt, stepped into his trousers and buttoned them. ‘And neither, I suppose, would you.’

His manner just missed being insolent. He didn’t address Boyle as sir, as would have been fitting for a younger man in conversation with an elder, and yet he smiled quite graciously and appeared not at all put out at his and Edwin’s unfortunate discovery.

Edwin stared at his father. ‘I tried to tell you years ago that I wasn’t interested in females, and all of those descriptions of me which you have so aptly recited could so easily apply to you, Father. You have been visiting brothels and hotels of ill repute for as long as I can remember, how then can you say such things to me? I have only ever had one lover and that is Marius.’

‘Lover!’ Boyle heard his own voice raised in reprehension. ‘How can he be a lover? What you do is unclean. A crime. A sin!’

There was anger in Edwin’s voice, yet he made no answer to his father’s accusation and merely said, ‘Please leave my room, Father. I want to get dressed, then I’m leaving. I’m taking rooms elsewhere.’

‘What will your mother say when she finds out? She’ll be heartbroken.’ He saw the hesitation on Edwin’s face and continued ranting. ‘And Phoebe – think of the shame! How will she ever find a husband when she has a brother who takes part in such dissipated relationships?’

A ghost of a smile touched Edwin’s mouth. ‘Phoebe already knows about Marius and me, and whether she approves or not is immaterial to either of us; besides, Phoebe has other things more pressing on her mind. As for Mother – ’ again he hesitated. ‘When she eventually comes home
then
I’ll try to explain. In the meantime she won’t find out. Not unless
you
tell her.’

Edwin held open the door and Boyle backed out. He threw a look of loathing at Marius Nugent, who simply returned his gaze with his own steady stare and then turned his back.

Boyle staggered downstairs and headed for the brandy decanter. It was almost empty and he shook it to retrieve the last few drops. Dirty, filthy reprobates! How could they?

His first thought was to ride over to Lord Nugent’s house to discuss the situation, but it was on the other side of Sydney and he wasn’t sure what kind of welcome he would receive from a man he had never met. Would he believe his accusations about his son? Besides, he thought, both young men are adult and independent. What their fathers thought or said wouldn’t make a difference. What was important was that it was kept quiet.

But where was Edwin going? If he was sharing rooms with Marius then there might be talk. He must put a stop to that. He went back into the hall and bellowed up the stairs, ‘I want to talk to you, Edwin.’

The two young men appeared in the doorway and to Boyle’s horror, Marius gave Edwin a brief kiss on his cheek before running lightly downstairs. ‘It’s no use trying to persuade him to stay, Captain Boyle,’ he said as he passed him. ‘It’s all arranged. We’ve been planning for Edwin to move out for months.’

‘He can’t afford to keep himself, you know,’ Boyle barked. ‘He’s only a jumped-up clerk after all. He’s got no money of his own.’

Marius gave a slight smile. ‘But I have, Captain Boyle, so you need have no worries on that score. I can afford to keep Edwin in more comfort than he has had here.’

‘Get out!’ Boyle shouted. ‘Don’t show your pretty face here again or I’ll smash it so hard that even your mother wouldn’t recognize you.’

Marius nodded. ‘Good day, Captain. Try not to think too badly of us, it’s the way we are made.’

Boyle shuddered. He remembered some of the convicts who were sent out on the ships he’d sailed in during his early career. The men were often packed in so close together that some with unnatural tendencies, as he was wont to describe them, were sometimes found indulging in indecent acts. They were brought up on deck and lashed until their flesh was cut and bleeding, and Boyle remembered the physical excitement he had felt as he watched their tortured writhings.

‘I’m going, Father.’ Edwin stood in the doorway. He had a leather travelling bag in his hand. ‘I shall write to Mother and tell her I’m
moving out, but I shan’t say why. She can draw her own conclusions.’

‘Go then,’ his father bellowed, ‘and don’t expect that you can come crawling back, because you can’t. I’m finished with you. You make me want to retch!’

‘And you’ve sickened me for years,’ Edwin retaliated. ‘You’ve had no thought for my mother as you carried on in your dissolute ways. You might have brought God knows what home in the way of disease from the company you keep. I’ve been ashamed of you for as long as I can remember.’

Boyle felt his upper lip twitch as it sometimes did when he was angry. ‘Get out!’ he snarled.

Edwin opened the front door. The young Aborigine was sitting on the doorstep and he stepped around him and walked down the path to the road where there was a curricle waiting with Marius in the driving seat. As he climbed in, Boyle thought that no-one would ever guess; they looked just like two young men setting off to enjoy themselves at their club or going to meet young ladies in the park.

‘You want me to dig the garden, Captain?’ the boy asked. ‘Or make you nice dinner?’

Boyle looked down at him. He was shirtless and his hands and knees were covered in mud.

‘No.’ He closed the door on him and turned back into his empty house.

‘HARRIET!’ AMELIA BUSIED
herself about the fire, putting on another log, brushing the ash from the hearth and keeping her flushed face away from her companion.

‘Mmm?’ Harriet was bent over a piece of linen, carefully hemming the edges to make a handkerchief.

‘I wondered – what are your opinions on mixed marriages?’

‘Religion, you mean? Well, I’m not sure if they work. One of the doctrines has to dominate and if the other partner has strong feelings then there is bound to be a clash.’

Amelia straightened up. ‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ she said slowly. ‘Although religion would have to be considered. No, I meant race – culture.’

Harriet put her head up and stared at Amelia. ‘You mean Mr Mungo, don’t you?’ she breathed. ‘Oh, Amelia! Have you become fond of him?’

Amelia sat down, the flush which had touched
her cheeks starting to pale. ‘I – I think perhaps that I have,’ she conceded. ‘My feelings are certainly in confusion when he is near. And even when he is not,’ she added. ‘I have not felt this way about a man before.’

Harriet put down her sewing and folded her hands on her lap. ‘I’m not sure what to say. My first thoughts are that it is madness, that it would be totally wrong.’

‘Yes,’ Amelia agreed. ‘So are mine.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘Yet I feel so much emotion when he is near. Do you feel the same about your Mr Thacker?’

Harriet smiled. ‘I went through such a stage when I wanted only to be with him, but I know, we both know, that our marriage is impossible until such time as our fortunes change, and so our relationship has changed. Our feelings are the same for one another, but restrained.’

‘How sad for you both,’ Amelia was genuinely sorry for her friend, ‘that you must hold in your emotions.’

Harriet nodded. ‘But it is only finance that is holding us back, there are no other barriers, Amelia. There are no prejudices such as you would encounter if you should marry Mr Mungo.’

Amelia was startled. ‘There is no question – ’ she began. ‘I didn’t mean – I only wanted your opinion on the subject, to be discussed impartially.’

‘But the subject could not possibly be discussed impartially if the question should arise.’

‘Why no! But let us only discuss it objectively, in a detached open-minded manner, without bias.’ Amelia was becoming flustered. ‘That is all I ask.’

‘Very well.’ Harriet sat back and, putting her hands together, gently tapped her fingers as she pondered. ‘It would depend, I think, on the people involved. They would need to be exceptionally strong-minded in order to disregard the prejudices of others, for there is no doubt that there would be many who would find the idea abhorrent.

‘There would also be a clash of cultures, depending of course on where the people involved chose to live. For instance, here in England the couple would find themselves ostracized and barred from society, whilst in Australia or – Africa, or wherever the person came from,’ she added hastily, ‘then the white person would probably not be accepted by the other’s kin either.’