A Murder Unmentioned (20 page)

It was the following morning before Rowland finally emerged. He was still stiff and tender, and he was ravenous. Kate and the boys had not yet returned home—a precaution on the advice of her doctor who was concerned that, in her delicate condition, Kate would find the sight of the razed wing too distressing.

Lucy Bennett, however, was already back and determined to “muck in and help out”. Rowland wasn’t entirely certain what that entailed but it appeared to require an irritating level of positivity and good cheer.

Rowland was early to breakfast though he found his friends were already there, discussing the papers as they enjoyed eggs and bacon from the warming trays on the sideboard.

The Sydney newspapers as well as the local dailies reported the fire at one of the state’s grandest estates in lurid detail. And the rescue of Ernest Sinclair was written up in mortifying and vaguely inaccurate hyperbole.

“Six-year-old Ernest Sinclair was snatched from the jaws of a certain and grisly death by his uncle, Rowland Sinclair of
Woodlands House
, Woollahra in Sydney, who, with no regard for his own safety,
carried the boy through the flames and handed him to the waiting arms of his desperate mother, Mrs. Wilfred Sinclair, nee Baird, before collapsing from his injuries. Such acts of raw courage and self-sacrifice typify the bravery of the Sinclair family. Both Lt. Col. Wilfred Sinclair DSO and the late Lt. Aubrey Sinclair DSO were decorated during the Great War,” Edna read aloud.

“
The Tribune
’s obviously employing novelists,” Rowland muttered.

The Canberra Times
carried a picture of Mrs. Kendall with Canon Hall, a list of the eminent persons, including the Prince of Wales, who had been guests at
Oaklea
in the past, as well as embellished prose on the laudable valour of Rowland Sinclair.

“This one here says you leapt off the roof with Ernest in your arms,” Milton added, laughing. “Now would be a good time to stand for parliament, Rowly.”

Rowland poured himself a cup of coffee from the silver service on the sideboard.

Edna sipped her tea. “Well I think it’s quite lovely that the papers are saying nice things about Rowly for once.”

“What do they say about Clyde?” Rowland asked, trying to evade further embarrassment by offering up his friend.

“Nothing at all,” Milton said, flicking through his paper. “After all, he just saved the nanny and the younger son and did so in a manner that was somewhat conventional. You rescued the heir apparent by leaping off a burning building!”

Clyde smiled. “It all came out rather well then.”

Milton sighed. “Perhaps the
Worker
will give Clyde a mention.”

Arthur Sinclair cleared his throat, and walked into the dining room. “Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” he said, smiling broadly at Rowland.

“Good morning, Arthur,” Rowland responded curtly, still irritated with his cousin.

“I must say, Rowland, you and Mr. Watson Jones are champions—good men to have on hand. Why I expect the whole district is talking about the other night’s heroics.”

He filled his plate from the selection of dishes on the sideboard. “Hopefully it will go some way towards showing the police the kind of decent and upstanding man with whom they are dealing.” He winked at Rowland. “If I have my way, old boy, they’ll stop making scurrilous allegations and pin a medal on your chest!”

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Wil this morning?” Rowland asked, hoping to change the subject. He assumed Arthur was trying to smooth over their previous disagreement, albeit rather clumsily.

“He left earlier to fetch Kate and the children. I believe Aunt Libby will return with them. Don’t worry, old man, I’ve asked Mrs. Kendall to organise for the boys and their nanny to be housed somewhere in the main house or in one of the other wings.”

“That’s good of you,” Rowland said.

“Of course, the garden party will have to be cancelled. Aunt Libby will be disappointed. You know how she looked forward to it, but under the circumstances.”

“Garden party?” Edna asked.

“The annual
Oaklea
Boxing Day Garden Party in aid of the Red Cross, Miss Higgins,” Arthur said proudly, though he’d never actually attended the event. “It’s been a tradition here since poor Aubrey died.”

The reference reminded Rowland. “What’s become of Miss Walling’s gardens? Did they survive the fire?”

“For the most part,” Clyde replied. “Though by all accounts, we made a bit of a mess of the copper irrigation system. Still, those extra water lines and pumps she put in to establish the garden probably saved the house… not to mention you.”

“Good morning!” Lucy Bennett walked in, stopping dead still when she saw Rowland. There was a collective slide of chairs as the gentlemen stood.

Arthur hastened to pull out a chair for Lucy. But she did not move, continuing to stare at Rowland. Finally she stammered. “It’s… it’s wonderful to see you out of bed, Ro… Mr. Sinclair.”

“Thank you, Miss Bennett.”

“What you did was just… simply… so…” She didn’t finish, placing her hand over her mouth and turning away. “Excuse me,” she choked before hurrying out.

At first nobody moved. Then Edna stood. “Should I go after her?” She asked more because the men seemed at such a loss than because she thought she could offer any comfort.

“I think not!” Arthur snapped. “You have caused that dear lady enough heartache!”

“For God’s sake, Arthur!” Rowland said, exasperated.

Arthur pushed in his chair and stormed out of the room, presumably in pursuit of Lucy.

“What did he mean?” Edna asked, sincerely perplexed. “What on earth have I done to Lucy Bennett?”

Rowland returned to his breakfast. “Every family has at least one blasted fool. Arthur is ours.”

16

A MOAN ON MANNERS

Shortcomings of Australian Life

By MACGRUMPUS

… Without grace and in the disagreeable manner that comes natural to me, I should like to write about the shortcomings of the Australian people. Having been a pernickety old man ever since I was about 14 years of age, I am extremely well qualified to tell Australians what bad manners they have… The worst manners in the world are in England; the second-worst in Australia… But England’s bad manners arise from an offensive sense of superiority over lesser crawling things and a social system that makes most individuals snub those below them and fawn to those above. Australian bad manners come from sheer uncouthness. The poor brutes know no better…

Good Hearts; Crude Behaviour.

Australians are nice, solid chaps, with good hearts and all that sort of thing, but they are crude. To begin with they do not know how to behave; the Englishman does even if he doesn’t; the Frenchman improvises brilliantly. Having mastered the elementary rules of good conduct, namely that you walk on the side of the lady nearest the traffic (even if her deaf ear is on that side) and that you “dip yer lid to a sheila” if you know her and give her a glad eye if you don’t, the young Australian man goes no further with lessons in etiquette until the day before he wants to get married. Then he writes to a newspaper asking at what stage of the proceedings the bridegroom kisses the bridesmaids and whether you serve the nuts and raisins before the best man makes his speech. The young Australian girl takes no lessons in etiquette at all; she imitates a film star. Poor benighted beggars that we are, most of us grow up without knowing what to do when we are introduced, when to sit down or stand up, how to behave with aplomb when we have spilt coffee on a dress, how and when to apologise, whether to tuck the serviette under the chin or into the top of the pants, the correct position for the little finger in relation to a tea cup, or whether one should or should not show one’s operation scars to a guest…

The West Australian, 1938

R
owland fished a deformed and charred lead soldier out of the ashes. Its comrades-in-arms had melted and fused in the inferno.

“I wonder what started the fire?” Clyde toed the blackened remains.

“Nanny de Waring thinks it might have been the vaporiser,” Edna said, picking through the rubble. “Ewan had a cold you see, so she’d been burning it in the sunroom. She can’t remember if she turned it off correctly before they all went to bed. Poor girl was beside herself.”

“She told you all that?”

Edna nodded. “I found her here, yesterday, crying. She was afraid to go in and face Wilfred.”

“Good Lord, why?” Rowland asked.

“She was certain he’d have her charged or sacked or both, for setting fire to
Oaklea
.”

Rowland slipped the charred soldier into his pocket. “Did you tell her—”

“I’m afraid nothing I said seemed to give her any comfort at all,” Edna admitted. “Fortunately, those lovely gardeners passed by.”

“How exactly did the gardeners help?” Clyde was curious.

“Mr. Templeton said he’d heard of vaporisers malfunctioning before and they all agreed. Mr. Bates told a funny story about a
burning circus tent. They were really very kind.” Edna turned to Rowland concerned. “Wilfred wouldn’t sack Miss de Waring, would he?”

Rowland smiled. “No, I don’t think so.” Wilfred was gruff, but he was a fair employer.

“Mr. Sinclair!” Wilfred’s illustrious garden designer waved as she approached.

“Good morning, Miss Walling.”

“
Good
morning? Well you are an intrepid optimist! How splendid to see you up and about, Mr. Sinclair.” The garden designer shook his hand warmly. “The chaps and I were here helping to divert the irrigation pipes when the bay collapsed. Still don’t know how you managed to come out of it so well.”

“Thank you, Miss Walling… I say, did the fire ruin much of the new garden?”

“A lot of the groundcovers were trampled with so many people running about in the dark, but the structures have pretty well survived. Of course, we’ll have to relay the irrigation system, but she should be coming up roses, not to mention hellebores, hydrangeas and alyssum, in no time!”

“Good show,” Rowland said, laughing.

Jack Templeton came up behind them with a wheelbarrow. “How is Master Ernest, Mr. Sinclair?” he asked.

“I’m told he’s well, Mr. Templeton,” Rowland replied.

“Well, you tell him Jacko and Vic said hello.”

“You could probably do that yourself, Mr. Templeton,” Edna said, pointing to the dust cloud where the long oak-lined drive joined the main road. “I think that’s them now.”

Two Rolls Royces returned the absent Sinclairs to
Oaklea
, driving around to the front of the house from where the damage was not so evident.

Arthur Sinclair and Lucy Bennett stood ready to welcome them. Eager to avoid any unnecessary scenes, Rowland hung back, listening idly as Edna discussed plaster casting techniques with Walling and her crew.

Ernest jumped out of the car and tore around to see what had happened to his old bedroom. Rowland went after him, and found the boy standing at the edge of the destruction. Ernest kicked at the ash, wide-eyed. “Look at that! It’s gone!”

“It is,” Rowland agreed.

Silently Ernest reached up to take his uncle’s hand and they stood there for a while.

“Rowly!”

Rowland turned to his brother’s summons. Wilfred and Kate, it seemed, had also walked around to view the burned wing. They were talking to Rowland’s friends near the half-constructed stone and timber arbour. Kate had Clyde’s large calloused hand in both of hers as she spoke to him. His neck and ears were flushed pink and he shook his head as he attempted to deny any great part in the rescue of her children.

Rowland grinned. In his discomfort, Clyde had reverted to calling Kate “Ma’am” as if she were Queen Mary.

“You were all simply wonderful,” Kate said, including Edna and Milton in her gratitude. “It terrifies me to imagine what might have happened if you hadn’t been here.” She glanced at Ewan who was in his father’s arms. “This will be a very special Christmas, and if your families could possibly be persuaded to spare you, I hope you’ll stay and share it with us at
Oaklea
.”

Ernest ran to his mother, and she turned to notice Rowland.

“Hello Kate. How are you?”

Kate Sinclair gazed at her brother-in-law. Her eyes shone with barely contained tears. “Oh Rowly,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” She began to weep in earnest then.

Rowland looked to Wilfred in alarm.

Wilfred cleared his throat. “Katie, my dear, perhaps—”

Kate embraced Rowland. She composed herself a little. “We’re deeply, deeply grateful, Rowly. I’m so very sorry for how cross and utterly unreasonable I’ve been with you. It was unfair. And I want to say that you and all your interesting friends will always be welcome in our home.”

Rowland smiled faintly, quite sure Wilfred thought his wife was perhaps taking gratitude a step too far.

“If you hadn’t rescued Ernest I’m not sure I could have…” Kate disintegrated completely into tears again.