A Murder Unmentioned (35 page)

“I’m afraid, sir, that we haven’t been able to work that out.”

Rowland laughed. McNair, Wilfred’s permanent gardener, had a particular mumbling manner of speaking which seemed to render only the random profanity comprehensible. Wilfred was the only person who understood the man.

Wilfred stood. “I best go out with you. If you’ll wait here, I’ll fetch a raincoat.”

“Can I come too, Mr. Templeton?” Ernest asked, once his father had stepped inside.

Templeton squatted to speak with the boy face to face. “No, you’d best stop here in the dry like a good boy.” He ruffled Ernest’s hair. “When the rain stops, Vic and I will hang a swing for you in that elm tree, if you like.”

27

YASS RIVER RISING

The Yass River was running high at 6 p.m. last night, but had not reached dangerous proportions. However, very heavy rain commenced to fall shortly after 8 o’clock, and it was feared that a sudden rise was imminent.

Campers on the river bank have all shifted to higher ground, and it is thought that sufficient warning has been given to enable stock and property to be safeguarded.

The Canberra Times, 8 January 1934

I
t was quite late in the day when Milton arrived back at
Oaklea
. He was dripping, muddy and his green velvet jacket had clearly seen better days.

“Oh, Mr. Isaacs! What in heaven’s name are you doing out in this rain?” Mrs. Kendall exclaimed as she opened the door.

“I drew the short straw, I’m afraid.”

“Milt!” Edna joined the housekeeper in the vestibule. “Where have you been?”

“We got bogged,” Milton said, stopping on the verandah. He removed his sodden jacket, wringing the water from the sleeves and muttering. “Thought we’d wait for the rain to stop, but it doesn’t seem inclined to break any time soon.”

“For goodness’ sake, Mr. Isaacs, come in before you catch your death,” Mrs. Kendall ordered.

Milton paused to shake his head like a wet dog, before crossing the threshold. “Harry Simpson said I should tell Mr. Sinclair to send one of his Caterpillars for them.”

“Caterpillar?” Edna asked.

“It’s a tractor,” Rowland said from the hallway. “Good Lord, how long have you been stuck?”

“We gave up on the rain letting up an hour ago and they sent me for help.”

“I’ll drive out and get them,” Rowland said, grabbing his hat from the hallstand.

“I’m afraid we took your car, Rowly.”

“Oh.” The alarm was evident on Rowland’s face. “We’d better organise that Caterpillar and some tow chains then.”

The available Caterpillar was stored in the same shed on
Emoh Ruo
in which the
Rule Britannia
was housed. It was, as luck would have it, not far from where the yellow Mercedes had become hopelessly bogged.

Jack Templeton volunteered to undertake the rescue. Wilfred sent the gardener out to collect the tractor on horseback, to avoid bogging another car, dismissing out of hand any notion that Rowland accompany him.

“I’m sure Templeton can manage to pull that Fritz monstrosity out on his own,” he muttered.

Reluctantly Rowland conceded, giving Templeton instructions on where and how to attach the tow chain.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Sinclair,” Templeton said as he set off in the rain yet again. “I’ll be real gentle with her.”

Wilfred snorted. He’d never quite reconciled his brother’s insistence on keeping the German automobile. “Just let the man do his job,” he growled. “Templeton’s a good hand. I’m thinking about keeping him on once Miss Walling has finished up.”

“Won’t she need him?”

“Apparently he and the other one—Bates—are just filling in for one of her usual contractors. They asked me if I’d consider giving them jobs as gardeners. I don’t need two, but I’m inclined to take Templeton on.”

“What about McNair?” Rowland asked. He imagined the taciturn gardener might have something to say on the subject.

Wilfred sighed. “I’ll talk to him. He could doubtless use some more help about the place. These blasted gardens will take some upkeep and I’m afraid poor old McNair just wants to plant pumpkins.”

Rowland was waiting in the garage when Clyde brought in the Mercedes. Edna had come out to keep him company while Milton was recovering with a generous balloon of Wilfred’s finest brandy. Harry Simpson had, of course, been dropped off at his cottage and Templeton was returning the Caterpillar and picking up his horse.

Clyde chuckled as Rowland fussed over the mud-splattered automobile. “She’s fine, Rowly, just a bit wet.”

Rowland patted the grille. “She does seem to have survived the indignity of it all.”

“Perhaps you could draw her a hot bath!” Edna suggested, rolling her eyes. “It might calm her nerves.”

“I’m glad you came out to check on her, actually,” Clyde said as Rowland stood, satisfied his beloved car was none the worse for the experience. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“How did you fair with John Barrett?” Rowland asked.

Clyde recounted the conversation. “It got us thinking again that perhaps Charlie Hayden appearing out of the blue wasn’t just an inconvenient coincidence.”

“You believe someone paid him to come back?”

“It makes sense, Rowly. Harry and I went over it while we were waiting for help to arrive.”

“Harry believes there’s someone behind all this too?” Rowland asked.

Clyde nodded. “What’s more, Rowly, we don’t think you should dismiss the fact that someone shot at you. It may not have been an accident.”

Rowland leaned back on the bonnet of his car, his arms folded, and laughed ruefully. “That. No, it wasn’t an accident.”

“You know who shot Lenin?” Edna asked, aghast.

“As Clyde said, they were shooting at me—got Len by mistake. At first I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Wil was so adamant it was some near-sighted rabbit hunter. I worked it out eventually.”

“Not Wil?” Edna stepped back, appalled.

“No, of course not. Wil wouldn’t have missed, for one thing. It was Lucy Bennett.”

“Lucy Bennett shot at you?”

“I’m fairly sure. The colonel probably gave her a pistol to fend off Communists. She has a car, she knew I’d be walking back and she was rather vexed with me.”

“But why would Wilfred want to—”

“Lucy is his wife’s dearest friend. I expect Kate appealed to Wil on Lucy’s behalf.”

“And Wilfred… both of you… are willing to let it go at that?” Clyde joined Edna in her horror.

Rowland replied calmly. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, but it appears shooting a dog is not actually a crime in New South Wales. I don’t know that making a fuss would have achieved anything.”

“She tried to kill you!” It was hard to tell if Edna was angrier with Lucy Bennett or Rowland.

He grimaced. “Perhaps Miss Bennett just wished to let me know she was displeased. She was rather distraught.”

“Before or after she tried to shoot you?”

Rowland smiled apologetically. “I’m convinced she’s not dangerous. I expect Miss Bennett gave herself rather more of a shock than she did me.”

“So you said nothing?”

“All things considered, it seemed like letting it go was the decent thing to do. I only bring it up so you know it’s got nothing to do with the murders.”

Silence.

Then Clyde sighed heavily, and pointed sternly at Rowland. “You, mate,” he said, glancing sideways at Edna, “would be well advised to stop associating with women who shoot at you. The next one might not miss!”

The unrelenting rain ensured they were more or less confined to barracks for the next few days. It might not have been such an issue if the mix of guests at
Oaklea
were not so volatile. Arthur Sinclair made it clear that he believed his cousin Rowland’s friends had no business imposing on the family yet again. He was polite, but hostile nonetheless, expressing his antipathy within the bounds of civility.

Clyde ignored him, while Milton seemed to find it amusing. Only Edna, for whom he reserved his most obviously contemptuous barbs, faltered occasionally. Inevitably Rowland exploded.

He invited Arthur to step outside. The rain, of course, meant they only got as far as the verandah.

“You would do well to remember, Arthur, that you are as much a guest here as my friends!”

“You think so, do you, Cousin Rowland?” Arthur spat. “What the Sinclairs now have was built by my father as much as yours.”

“Mr. Watson Jones, Mr. Isaacs and Miss Higgins are here on my invitation and Kate’s. They are here to help me establish what happened the night Father was killed.”

“Don’t be bloody daft, Rowland! Anyone can see you’re being offered up for the greater good. You’re finally going to do your part for this family!”

“What?”

Arthur regarded him with a kind of derisive pity. “Wilfred has been speaking to doctors. I suspect he’s going to keep you out of prison by having you committed.”

“That’s preposterous!”

Arthur’s expression softened. He grabbed Rowland’s elbow and lowered his voice. “Look, Rowly, listen to me. Believe it or not, I am your friend, your ally. Twenty years ago, I was you—headstrong, irresponsible and moving with a bad crowd. I wouldn’t listen to anyone until it was too late.”

Rowland pulled away.

“Sinclair men have a common failing. We want to control our sons and brothers. Your father tried to do so, my father tried to do so and Wilfred is no different. If you don’t fall into line, believe me, Wilfred will do something drastic!”

“You’re an idiot, Arthur, and you don’t know Wil at all!”

Arthur’s smile was smug. “Wilfred and I have been working closely for months, Rowland. He’s come to confide in me, and I know how he feels about having to support his feckless wastrel of a brother and the Communist scum with whom he associates!”

“I’m not sure why you believe it’s any of your business, but Wilfred does not support me.”

“You’ll find he does, and all your friends. As for Miss Higgins—”

Rowland stopped him. “Is there any particular reason you’re trying to get me to beat the hell out of you, Arthur?” The question was not rhetorical. It seemed to Rowland that his cousin was intentionally trying to goad him.

“For pity’s sake, man, I’m trying to help you. Hasn’t it occurred to you that there’s a reason Wil’s keeping your gold-digging—”

Rowland grabbed Arthur, ready to make good his threat.

“Rowly!” Wilfred stepped out on to the verandah and regarded the confrontation incredulously. “What on earth is going on here? Every time I turn around you’re trying to thump Arthur. You’re a grown man, for God’s sake!”

For a fleeting moment Rowland thought about hitting his cousin anyway, but, in the end, he released him.

Arthur straightened his tie.

“Well?” Wilfred demanded.

Arthur cleared his throat and smoothed down his lapel. He sniffed. “You know, Wilfred, I think it might be best if I go to Sydney for a few days. Lucy will be pleased, I’m sure, and I can continue to do what I can for Rowland’s defence.”

Rowland caught himself before he responded in a manner quite ungracious.

Wilfred nodded. “Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I suspect we’re all getting a little short-tempered in the circumstances.”