Tiger Men (39 page)

Eileen was true to her promise regarding the girls’ education. When they were little, she had them privately tutored by Madame Elodie Beauchesne, widow of a French merchant and proprietress of the Beauchesne Preparatory School for Young Ladies in Boothman’s Terrace, Battery Point. Then in 1869, when they were thirteen, eleven and nine, she transferred them to Mount St Mary’s College, the new girls’ school that had been established just the previous year in the grounds of St Mary’s Cathedral in Harrington Street.

Mount St Mary’s offered exclusive and expensive education for the daughters of Hobart’s wealthier Catholics and Eileen wasted no time having her girls enrolled. But she also insisted they keep their regular Saturday morning attendance at Madame Beauchesne’s in order to continue their French lessons. She knew the value of fluent French among the upper classes. It was the stamp by which all young ladies were judged.

Following Colin’s birth Eileen had decided there would be no more children. She had fulfilled her duty in providing a son and four was quite enough. But even her well-practised methods of contraception were not infallible and when Colin was eight she gave birth to his younger brother, Bernard.

Bernard, like his siblings, was a physically beautiful child, but growing up in the shadow of a brother who was so well-established as his father’s favourite, young Bernie developed problems at an early age. He desperately competed for his father’s affection and approval, but invariably he failed. It wasn’t because Mick disliked him. Mick simply didn’t notice Bernie very much. Bernie didn’t have Col’s charisma. And as Col grew towards manhood his charisma grew with him. Just like his father, he could charm the wings off a butterfly, and just like Patrick Kelly, Mick’s pride knew no bounds. Bernie spent his childhood more or less invisible to his father and, sadly, to a certain extent also his mother. Eileen was not immune to Col’s charm either.

Fortunately for Bernie, he had his sisters. The girls adored their baby brother, particularly Shauna, who always came to his defence when Col accused little Bernie of being a sissy. Shauna, who worked as a part-time governess and tutor teaching French to the offspring of the rich, was sensitive to the feelings of children, particularly those of her little brother. ‘You’re full of shite, Col,’ she would say, and the others would take up the chant. The girls weren’t fooled by Col for a second, and why would they be? Colin O’Callaghan didn’t bother wasting his charms on his sisters.

‘If the lad grows up spineless it’ll be your fault, Shauna,’ he’d say. The battle was always on between Col and Shauna. ‘You’re turning him into a sissy, the lot of you.’

To give Col his due, he was actually trying to help his little brother. He’d grown up with three older sisters himself and he knew just how overwhelming the experience could be. Teasing Bernie about being a sissy was his way of issuing a warning. Sometimes he even gave the boy a lecture. ‘Don’t let yourself be mollycoddled, Bernie,’ he’d say. ‘You mustn’t allow yourself to be governed by women.’ Then he’d proffer that devilish grin of his. ‘At least not women who’re your sisters.’ Just turned eighteen, Col O’Callaghan’s only problem with girls was how to stop those he bedded falling hopelessly in love with him.

Bernie’s life was complicated. His sisters’ affection had become a double-edged sword. Much as he welcomed their love and much as he loved them in return, he did not want to be perceived as under their influence. He tried to distance himself from them and assert his own personality. He wanted to be like his brother. No, more than that, much more than that. He wanted to
be
his brother. He wanted his mother to laugh at his stories the way she laughed when Col told one of his tales; and above all he wanted his father to admire him the way he admired Col. But try as he might, when Col was around, Bernie remained somehow invisible.

Then, at twenty years of age, Col decided to leave home. He was not the first of the O’Callaghan offspring to fly the nest. Kathleen had two years previously married a man she’d met at the wedding of one of her old school friends, with whom she’d maintained close ties. Mick and Eileen had been thrilled, for Kevin was a banker and very well-to-do. They had not been thrilled, however, to discover that Kevin was based in Launceston. It wasn’t right, Eileen had said – what was the point of having a wealthy daughter who lived more than a hundred miles away? O’Callaghans stuck together.

‘I’m going to Sydney,’ Col announced to the family as they sat around the dinner table. The kitchen being too small, the living room had long served as both the dining area and the place where they generally gathered. The house, although crowded, was comfortable enough: the girls shared the second bedroom, and the boys the extra room that Mick had built out the back.

‘Sydney?’ Mick looked up from his lamb and potatoes. ‘You’re going to Sydney?’

‘To start with – after that, who knows?’ Col gave an expansive wave of his hand. ‘The world, Da. I intend to see the whole, wide world.’

‘That’s a fairly big place.’ Mick felt his heart sink. He knew already there was nothing he could say to dissuade the lad, and why should he? Col was only doing what he’d done himself, except he was doing it four years later in life. Mick had left home to see the world at the age of sixteen.

‘When do you intend to leave?’ Eileen, practical as always, got straight to the point.

‘I haven’t made my plans yet. I’ll enquire around the docks tomorrow and see what openings there might be. I intend to work my passage.’ Upon completing school, Col had not decided on any particular path in life and had become quite an accomplished jack-of-all-trades. ‘There’ll be no problem getting work,’ he said confidently.

‘You surely wouldn’t dream of leaving before your sister’s wedding?’ Eileen’s eyes dared him to even think of such a thing.

‘Not for a minute, Ma,’ Col smiled his reassurance. ‘As if I would let Mara down on her big day.’

‘Don’t go doing me any favours,’ Mara said with a shrug of indifference. ‘My heart won’t break if you’re not there.’

‘Of course it will.’ Col winked cheekily at his sister. ‘You know full well it won’t be the same without me.’

‘You’re full of shite, Col,’ Shauna said, but the response was automatic. There was no real enmity and, even as twelve-year-old Bernie darted nervous looks from one to another, expecting a fight to ensue, his three older siblings shared a smile. Bernie didn’t understand their volatile relationship. Perhaps he was simply too young; perhaps he would develop their strength as he grew. Or perhaps he really was the runt of the litter.

The event of Mara’s wedding was without doubt the most important date on the family’s calendar. Mara had done her parents proud in scoring as her husband-to-be none other than Archibald Dimbleby. She’d done so simply by shopping at Dimbleby’s Emporium in Murray Street, where she’d caught the eye of the eldest son and heir. Archibald had become instantly smitten and the courtship had been swift, for Mara, like all the O’Callaghan girls, was not only strikingly beautiful; she was clever. Well-educated and intelligent, she had acquired skills that had not been available to her mother; in addition she had the skills that only Eileen and
not
education could impart. Mara, like her sisters, knew how to snare a man. She knew how to tease and to fascinate, how to be innocent yet provocative and, although still a virgin, she knew, as Archibald Dimbleby was soon to discover, how to sexually excite beyond all expectations. She had also learnt, as had her sisters, how to avoid pregnancy, although in Mara’s case this would not be necessary as Archie was eager to produce an heir of his own in order to secure the next generation’s inheritance.

Despite the fact that the couple had not met through the customary social channels, Mara’s beauty and education had afforded her acceptance into the Dimbleby family, her fluent command of the French language having apparently sealed the bargain.

Charles Dimbleby had known his son’s choice of bride sprang from a shady background, to say the least, but he’d also known his son was besotted and that nothing would turn Archie from his chosen course of action. Anyway, who in this town hadn’t emanated from some shady past, Charles had thought philosophically; rattle any family closet in Hobart and there was bound to be the echo of bones. Besides, the girl spoke French like a native.

‘They believe I’ll be a godsend in Paris,’ Mara had told her mother with a laugh. ‘Archie normally has to hire a translator when he travels to Europe to deal with the French suppliers.’

Eileen had congratulated herself on her foresight.

The hurdle of religion had been overcome with surprising ease.

‘No matter, dear,’ she’d said when Mara had brought up the subject of Archibald’s Anglican faith,’ God will understand; He will not abandon you.’

Eileen O’Callaghan had always been malleable. Her whole life had been led along flexible lines, including her relationship with the Roman Catholic Church, which was just another example of hedging her bets on all sides. Better to be safe, because you never really knew. Eileen had her own relationship with God. Her God would not see a member of His flock starve rather than make a good match, and Mara’s match was undoubtedly one of the best.

Charles Dimbleby had recently handed over the reins of Dimbleby’s, grown to a chain of emporiums, to his sons Archibald and Vernon. Charles had single-handedly built the family business into the empire it was, his brother Gerald having died of syphilis-induced kidney failure at the age of thirty. There were Dimbleby stores in Melbourne, Sydney and Adelaide, but the grandest Dimbleby’s of all was without doubt the original emporium in Hobart. Mara O’Callaghan had certainly done well for herself.

‘She’s hit the jackpot,’ Mick boasted with pride, using a term common amongst his poker-playing friends. ‘She’s hit the jackpot all right, there’s no doubt about that.’

Col stayed for his sister’s wedding, which was indeed a splendid affair. Mara and Archie were married in St David’s Cathedral, after which the guests were transported in a convoy of fine carriages to Charles Dimbleby’s mansion, overlooking Sandy Bay, where a feast awaited them. Musicians were playing, champagne was flowing and the reception continued into the wee hours of the morning.

Three weeks later, Col left Hobart.

The night before his departure, he and his father took their glasses of ale outside and sat on the cottage’s single front doorstep. When the nights were mild the front doorstep had always been their favourite spot to escape the chaos of women, and although with Kathleen and Mara gone things were now quieter, they maintained the habit. Bernie would join them occasionally, saying little, knowing it wasn’t his place, but enjoying the male company nonetheless.

‘Not tonight, Bernie,’ Eileen said as she and Shauna collected the dishes from the table. ‘Leave them be.’

Bernie remained poised regretfully at the front door. It was his brother’s last night and he would like to have joined the men.

‘Bernie,’ Shauna said, ‘would you like to play draughts after we’ve done the washing up?’ Shauna always knew when Bernie felt left out.

‘Best of three?’

‘Aye. Best of three.’

‘All right.’ Bernie nodded happily. ‘I bags black.’

Outside, Mick was successfully managing to disguise his despondency, although his heart was heavy at the thought of losing his son. Life wouldn’t be the same without Col.

‘It’s a wonderful adventure you’re embarking upon, son,’ he said, with an enthusiasm he didn’t feel. ‘I wish I was your age and doing it all over again.’

‘That’s it exactly, Da,’ Col’s eyes gleamed with excitement, ‘I want to do everything you’ve done. Sydney’s only the start. I want to sail the high seas. I want to know what’s out there. I want to see all the parts of the world you’ve seen.’

His son’s face was clearly visible in the light of the gas lamp shining through the sitting-room window. Mick was looking at himself thirty years ago. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To the great big world that’s out there waiting for you, Col.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the world.’

‘To the world,’ Col responded, and they clinked.

Mick took a swig of his ale and looked into the night, trying to appear casual, trying not to sound desperate. ‘You’ll write home, won’t you? Your mother will want to know you’re safe.’ He turned to his son, with an air of happy camaraderie. ‘And I’ll want to hear all of your adventures – every single one of them, mind.’

‘I’ll write regular as clockwork, Da,’ Col said, ‘and I won’t hold back a thing. It’ll be like you’re with me, I can promise you that.’ There were times when Colin O’Callaghan even sounded like his father.

Life was very quiet with Col gone. A year later, when twenty-three-year-old Shauna moved out of the house, things became even quieter.

Eileen welcomed Shauna’s move, believing her youngest daughter to have found herself an excellent match, a match furthermore who lived most conveniently nearby. In Eileen’s opinion Shauna was extremely lucky, for the foolish girl had come very close to ruining her chances.

Shauna had accepted a position as tutor to two small children shortly after Col’s departure. The children’s father, a successful shipping agent with offices and a warehouse in Salamanca Place, was a widower in his forties whose wife had died two years previously. Shauna would report to Melvyn Billing’s home in Montpellier Retreat (only several blocks away) five times a week, where for three hours she would tutor his six-year-old son and eight-year-old daughter. Eileen O’Callaghan had considered the arrangement perfect and the outcome inevitable, and of course she had proved correct. Melvyn had quickly become enamoured of the flame-haired young beauty and six months later he was eager to marry her. Things couldn’t have been better, Eileen had thought, but Shauna had presented a most unexpected problem.

‘You don’t want to marry him? In God’s name, why?’

‘Mr Billing is a very nice man, but I don’t love him.’

‘Oh for goodness sake, Shauna,’ Eileen had been most impatient, ‘you can’t expect everything to happen at once. Marry the man and please him. Love will follow.’