The Silent Frontier (5 page)

‘Mr MacDonald, you have quite a considerable sum of money deposited with us for someone so young,’ he said, glancing up at John MacDonald. ‘I would strongly advise that you put your money to work.’

John took a deep breath and fiddled with the hat that lay in his lap. ‘I intend to do that, Mr Craven, and that is why I asked to see you personally.’

The manager, a man in his late forties, sat back in his comfortable swivel chair. ‘You are somewhat of a mystery man around Melbourne,’ Craven said, eyeing John with just a hint of suspicion. ‘May I ask how you suddenly came by such a large amount of money?’

‘I came by it honestly,’ John replied. ‘It was bestowed to me in a family legacy. My father was a miner who did well out of the Ballarat fields some years ago but he has since passed on, as has my mother, and now you are the custodian of my moderate wealth.’

‘Please forgive me, Mr MacDonald, I was not casting aspersions on how you came about your windfall,’ Craven hurried to say, lest he insult one of his recent best depositors. ‘I can assure you that our services will always be available to you when it comes time to invest your money.’

‘I feel confident that you will, Mr Craven,’ John replied. ‘I do have some ideas, but first I wish to purchase some real estate for a residence. I do not envisage spending a lot on a place to live at this stage.’

‘A wise idea,’ Craven replied with the faintest of smiles, relieved to know that this young man before him was not going to whittle away what he had in the bank in a foolish search for pleasure as was the habit of most young men his age.

The bank manager rose from his chair to indicate that the interview was over and thrust out his hand to John. John
accepted the gesture and was struck by how limp and clammy the older man’s grip was. They parted, John walking past the tellers to the busy street outside the bank and slipping on his hat. To passers-by his appearance was that of a successful young man of probable good breeding – and that was what John wanted people to think.

Losing his family that terrible day of the massacre had all happened in confusing circumstances; the killing of his father and brother by the red-coat guns and bayonets, Lachlan’s disappearance, and the forced separation of himself and Phoebe the day after the fall of the stockade. Confirmed orphans, Phoebe had been adopted by a good Christian family. But where they had taken her John had never known.

As for himself, he had been put in an orphanage in Van Diemen’s Land and eventually apprenticed to a printer in Hobart. It was there that he had slaved to improve his grasp of reading and writing as he worked diligently to master the trade of printing.

The young man who walked the broad streets of Melbourne had come a long way from the miner’s son working with his family in the dust of the goldfields at Ballarat. But he returned to his hotel with a dream. One day, the wealth that he intended to increase many times over would assist him in finding his lost brother and sister. As young as he had been at the time, he had sworn an oath to his dying brother that he would keep them all together. Now the ancient, clannish blood ran hot in his Scottish veins and John knew he would not rest until his promise had been fulfilled.

THREE

S
unday came bright and sunny and after a wash, Lachlan donned his best clean clothes. He stood outside the boarding house with Jimmy who was dressed in his best shirt and trousers, finished off with a red scarf wrapped around his neck. Jimmy had slicked his hair with copious quantities of grease – although a stubble of whiskers remained on his chin.

‘We are going to Hyde Park,’ Jimmy declared.

‘I thought you said that the Domain was the place to be,’ Lachlan countered.

‘Ah, but the regimental band will be playing at the Park and it will be your chance to see your opponent for the big fight,’ Jimmy declared. ‘I knows he goes there with one of his lasses of a Sunday to strut about like a flash man in front of his push.’

Lachlan shrugged. At least he would be away from the dust and heat of the building site and could relax and take in
what the sprawling town had to offer. Listening to a band from a British regiment stationed in Sydney would be a pleasant diversion.

However, Lachlan was pleasantly surprised to see that there was an abundance of young ladies parading with friends and family through the park. Ladies wearing dresses which cascaded to the ground and wide-brimmed hats and carrying parasols could be seen on the arms of stiff-backed young officers in the bright uniforms of Her Majesty’s regiments. Other young men wandered amongst the strolling crowds, their seemingly inherent disdain for the socially more advantaged ensuring they kept their distance from the higher classes. Lachlan felt just a little self-conscious of his working-class clothes, especially after receiving a nudge from Jimmy. ‘Yer seem to be getting a couple of looks,’ he said from the corner of his mouth. ‘Must notice that yer a country yokel. Ah! Over there,’ Jimmy suddenly exclaimed. ‘It’s O’Keefe himself.’

Lachlan glanced in the direction Jimmy had indicated and noticed a tall, well-built young man, not much older than himself, strolling with an adoring young lady on each arm through a small grove of shrubs. He was well dressed and had the air of a man confident in his abilities to command those around him.

Lachlan groaned inwardly. If this was the man that Jimmy had announced to all that he was to fight, then he was not feeling so confident. O’Keefe stood a head taller and was many pounds heavier than himself.

As if reading Lachlan’s mind, Jimmy commented, ‘He might look like a big bugger but he hasn’t had a good fight in months. He has been seeing Kate Duffy from the Erin Hotel lately and I hear he is a bit sweet on her. It has taken the edge off his fighting skills.’

Lachlan was surprised to hear that the man he appraised over the twenty paces between them was courting a young woman, when the two lasses hanging off his every word and gesture looked much more than passing friends. Duncan’s strict Presbyterian morality had rubbed very much off on Lachlan, and he immediately disapproved. ‘He’s got a longer reach than me,’ Lachlan said quietly.

‘Yer an unknown around here,’ Jimmy said as they stood gazing in O’Keefe’s direction. ‘Me and the boys at work are game to back you for a win against O’Keefe.’

Lachlan turned to his friend. ‘You have never seen me fight,’ he said in surprise. ‘How can you be so sure that I can take this O’Keefe?’

‘Just somethin’ about you,’ Jimmy said, scratching the tip of his chin reflectively. ‘It could be all that country air you soaked up in yer travels, but I reckon you could easily take O’Keefe in a bare-knuckle bout. It would mean good money. The publican at the Victory Hotel would put up a good purse and then there are all the side bets on the outcome. He’s not keen on O’Keefe. Doesn’t like Irishmen and would pay to see O’Keefe go down to a Scot.’

Lachlan turned to once again appraise his potential opponent. Lachlan loved the art of bare-knuckle fighting. It was hard to explain to himself why facing another man with fists raised and a howling crowd around you made the sport so good. Maybe it was just that; the pain inflicted was bearable when there was always the chance that you might win against the odds, and hearing the crowd howling for your blood certainly urged you towards a victorious outcome. Whatever it was, the more he stared at O’Keefe, the more he felt the need to face him growing in the pit of his stomach.

‘I’ll do it,’ he said quietly and felt Jimmy slap him on the back.

‘That’s my fighting Scot,’ Jimmy said with a grin. ‘Show that son of an Irish convict just what a Scot can do. Now it’s time to introduce ourselves.’

Jimmy led Lachlan over to O’Keefe, who glanced curiously at the two approaching men.

‘Mr O’Keefe,’ Jimmy said when they were within paces of the three. ‘How the devil are you this fine day?’

‘Well, Mr Graves,’ Kevin O’Keefe replied cautiously. ‘And who’s your friend?’

‘I’d like yer to meet the man who is going to put you on yer arse,’ Jimmy said with a cheeky grin. ‘Mr O’Keefe, meet Mr Lachlan MacDonald, undisputed champion of the Mudgee district and soon to be undisputed champion of the Redfern village – that is, as soon as he puts yer down.’

Kevin O’Keefe thrust out his hand to Lachlan and with an ironic smile replied, ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr MacDonald. Sadly, I must admit that I have never heard of you before.’

Lachlan was surprised at the lack of animosity in his future opponent’s voice but did not miss the facetiousness of his comment. The grip was hard – a test of strength met by Lachlan, whose own hands had hardened already with the tough work of handling bricks. They released their grip and eyed each other with slight smiles of mutual confidence.

‘I have to admit that I have never heard of you either,’ Lachlan said gallantly. ‘Jimmy tells me that you are the best around here.’

‘Not quite the best,’ Jimmy interjected. ‘Mr O’Keefe has yet to fight Michael Duffy from the Erin. Then, after you have put Mr O’Keefe down you get to do the same to Michael Duffy and all will know that you are the best around Sydney Town.’

Lachlan was embarrassed by Jimmy’s puffed-up boasting,
which he had not yet earned. He would ask Jimmy later why he had applied the non-existent tide of Mudgee district champion to him, when he had never fought in that pretty little town on the other side of the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney. Lachlan suspected that Jimmy did a fair share of hustling and wondered at his friend’s motives for being so keen for him to take on an obviously good fighter. However, his thoughts about fighting O’Keefe were distracted by the sight of a beautiful young lady sitting alone in an expensive carriage just beyond where they stood. Her face was framed by lustrous brown hair and her large, dark brown eyes appraised him with more than casual interest. He guessed the young lady to be in her late teens and was struck by her full-shaped lips and pale, unblemished skin.

‘Damn!’ O’Keefe suddenly swore and Lachlan could have sworn that the big man facing him had paled. ‘You have to do me a favour, Jimmy,’ he said, slightly nudging the girls on his arms away from him. ‘You and Lachlan have to pretend to be with Molly and Gertrude.’ Both Lachlan and Jimmy blinked in confusion. ‘Michael Duffy is here,’ O’Keefe continued, without going into detail.

Jimmy was first to move and stepped beside the older girl, Gertrude. Lachlan was left with the younger one he now knew as Molly. No sooner had they taken their places beside the two young ladies than O’Keefe stepped away to walk in the direction of a tall, broad-shouldered man in the company of a young woman with striking features.

‘That’s Michael Duffy’s sister with him, ‘Jimmy grinned, ‘Kate. She’s the one O’Keefe is courting.’

Lachlan glanced over and could see O’Keefe greeting the young man and woman warmly.

‘Well, ladies,’ Jimmy said, bowing gallantly at the waist and sweeping his hat off in an old-fashioned gesture, ‘as you
can gather, me and me friend Lachlan are your beaus for the day. May we presume to call you by your first names?’

‘As you wish,’ Gertrude answered in an annoyed tone that well and truly bespoke her annoyance of being parted from the arm of the charming Irishman.

Lachlan turned to Molly and saw the same displeasure in her expression.

‘May I also call you Molly?’ Lachlan asked politely, without presuming Jimmy spoke so forwardly for both of them.

‘You may not,’ Molly snapped petulantly. ‘I think my sister and I would rather be in the company of Chinamen than be seen with Jimmy Graves and his friends.’

‘How did you know my surname?’ Jimmy asked.

‘Mr O’Keefe saw you enter the park and warned my sister and myself of your reputation,’ she said with a snort of indignation. ‘I would presume that your friend may have much in common with you.’

Lachlan was stung by her comment. It was obvious that Jimmy was well known in certain social circles and Lachlan was beginning to think that those circles were less than reputable. Instead of defending his reputation, Lachlan remained silent.

‘I see Mr Bell and his family over there, Molly,’ Gertrude said. ‘Are you coming?’ Molly turned on her heel and joined her sister, leaving the two young men standing alone. But Lachlan was secretly pleased that the two young women had chosen to take leave of their company. While talking to Gertrude and Molly, Lachlan had noticed that the very beautiful young woman in the expensive carriage had continued watching him.

‘Excuse my dust,’ Jimmy said,’ but a Graves does not give up that easily.’ Lachlan watched him hurry off after the sisters who had snubbed them.

Lachlan did not know where the courage came from but impulsively he turned and walked towards the carriage, stopping at its side to glance up at its occupant, although now he could see that the lady was desperately pretending not to notice him.

‘Do you know,’ Lachlan blurted, ‘that you are the prettiest lady in the park.’

The young woman’s smile was slow and warm. ‘You are being very forward,’ she replied. ‘But thank you for your compliment – although I doubt it to be true.’

Lachlan felt awkward at his confession. Being tactful was not something he’d had the opportunity to learn from Duncan’s brusque interactions with others on the road.

‘I did not mean to be forward,’ Lachlan quickly countered. ‘It was just something I felt.’

‘Well, if that be so,’ the young woman said sweetly, ‘then I accept your compliment as more than an attempt at flattery.’

Lachlan shook his head in his exasperation. He was suddenly out of his depth. This young lady spoke with an intelligent voice far beyond his limited experience with members of the opposite sex.

‘I am not very good at this,’ Lachlan finally sighed, giving in to defeat at his awkwardness. ‘My name is Lachlan MacDonald and I am new to Sydney Town.’

‘Then I should introduce myself, Mr MacDonald. I am Miss Amanda Lightfoot. I noticed you in the company of Mr O’Keefe.’

Lachlan recognised her cultured tones and English accent; they marked her as a lady well born.

‘Do you know Mr O’Keefe?’ Lachlan asked, curious at her knowledge of the man reputed to be one of the best fighters in Sydney.

‘My brother, Captain Charles Lightfoot, is an avid
follower of the pugilistic scene in the colony,’ Amanda replied. ‘He once took me to witness a bout between Mr O’Keefe and a brute of a man from a visiting merchant ship. Mr O’Keefe soundly thrashed the man.’

Lachlan did not want to hear that and mumbled, ‘I am contracted to fight Kevin O’Keefe.’

‘You are going to fight Kevin O’Keefe!’ Amanda exclaimed ‘Do you think that wise when you do not know of his reputation?’

‘I was talked into the match,’ Lachlan said. ‘Jimmy thinks it is a quick way to earn some money.’

A worried expression creased Amanda’s pretty face. ‘You seem to me on first impressions to be a nice young man,’ she said. ‘You could be seriously hurt in a fight with Mr O’Keefe.’

‘It is a risk every fighter is aware of when they step into the ring with another fighter,’ Lachlan replied. ‘We will not know the outcome until the match is ended.’

‘What profession do you practise, Mr MacDonald?’ Amanda asked.

‘Profession? I do not have a profession,’ Lachlan said. ‘I am a working man who labours on building sites.’

‘I am surprised at that,’ Amanda said with a note of genuine surprise. ‘From the manner of your speech I would have thought you a man of letters, albeit a very young one.’

‘Now it is you who are being complimentary,’ Lachlan replied with a slow smile. ‘It is just that I love reading and was fortunate enough in my growing years to have a teacher who fiercely believed the way from one station in life to another was in learning from books – and speaking like a toff.’

‘You had a good teacher,’ Amanda said. ‘You could pass as a gentleman in Sydney were it not for the manner of your dress.’

‘Well, another compliment to you, Miss Lightfoot,’ Lachlan said warmly. ‘From your manner of speech and bearing I would have taken you for a lady of good breeding.’

Amanda burst into a short, soft laugh. ‘My father was a merchant from the north of England. But he was much wealthier than our neighbours with their ancestral titles. My pedigree has been bought – not inherited. Until my parents passed away I was considered a rebel by my family because I had a desire for learning not necessary for a woman from a privileged home. I have read many books on a great diversity of subjects and I also have a love for colonial literature and poetry. Have you read Mr Kendall and Mr Harpur’s poetry?’

‘I am afraid that I have not heard of them,’ Lachlan replied honestly.

‘If you have a love for poetry,’ Amanda said, ‘then I do recommend both men’s works. They have a beautiful way of putting into poetry the very nature of the Australian colonies. I think Mr Kendall’s book
Poems and Songs
is extraordinary and believe that one day he may be nominated as our first poet laureate to the Queen.’

‘Then, I shall endeavour to read Mr Kendall,’ Lachlan said. Without knowing it, he had been drawn into a world far away from the gruelling labour of the construction site and his loneliness in this new, crowded place.

‘Would it be forward of me to invite you to take a walk through the park?’ Lachlan asked, at the same time holding his breath and expecting rejection.