Cry of the Curlew: The Frontier Series 1 (28 page)

Luke felt uneasy. He could see in the squatter’s expression that Kate’s calmly delivered threat had pushed him to a point where he was liable to forget the rifle levelled at him.

‘So long as I am alive,’ Donald replied as he leant in the saddle towards Kate, ‘I can make you a promise that will never happen, lassie.’

‘We can both agree on that point,’ she said softly. ‘Your years are numbered by the spirits of the people you slaughtered, for they will be avenged as certainly as the sun rises every day.’

Donald felt a superstitious chill in the hot still air of the midmorning and he shivered. It was not in the words that she uttered but in the cold grey of the eyes that locked with his. In their depth, he saw a fleeting glimpse of a spear with the distinctive long hardwood shaft that had taken the life of his son Angus.

Without replying, he wheeled away and his men followed reluctantly. They had been looking forward to killing the Yankee and taking his woman.

Donald Macintosh rode away knowing the Irish bushranger was not the only threat he faced from the Duffys. Like some ancient Celtic witch, the woman seemed to have a presence about her that was dangerous in ways that only a Gael could understand. ‘I should have killed her,’ he muttered as the distance between them increased and he knew with a certainty that they would meet again one day and in the meeting would be a final resolution.

Luke remained alert until he was satisfied that Macintosh and his shepherds were out of effective rifle range before he rode slowly over to Kate and reached out to take hold of her hand. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked gently.

She nodded and her words came as a whisper. ‘I thought they were going to shoot you, Luke.’

He shook his head and gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Better men have tried and failed. As a matter of fact, the whole bloody British army tried once.’

She felt reassured at his bravado and the colour slowly returned to her face.

‘I think we should take Mister Macintosh’s advice and leave,’ she said as she gave his hand a squeeze. She added with a wan smile, ‘I think somehow that you will always be there when I need you.’

He felt her hand close on his and he wished that what she had said could be true.

Two weary weeks later they rode into Rockhampton.

The confrontation with Donald Macintosh on Glen View had been a pivotal point in Kate’s life. She had expressed in words the sacred duty that had been passed to her from the old Aboriginal. But she was at a loss to how she was to achieve the seemingly impossible task. Had the old Aboriginal asked too much from her?

In Rockhampton, she surprised Luke with her present of the three horses that she had bought with the help of Judith and Solomon Cohen. He tried lamely to tell her that he could not accept the horses, but she insisted. She brushed aside his gratitude with explanations that he had earned them for all that he had done for her. Judith was quick to see the dark expression of sadness cloud the American’s face. It was obvious that the man was in love with the young woman, she mused, with some annoyance at the way Kate was apparently blind to his feelings. Kate O’Keefe, you are a stupid woman sometimes, she thought.

Kate was aware that Luke would leave one day. She could see his restlessness when he stopped off at the hotel where she worked as a barmaid. He would sit with the bushmen and talk of distant places in the northern colony and she understood his yearning to once again ride the vast open plains in search of gold. The same love of the harsh but beautiful plains had infected her.

For a while he worked at odd jobs for Solomon or worked at his old job of clearing timber, until he had enough money to outfit himself for a prospecting expedition. Whenever he could, he would spend time with Kate on her days off from the hotel and they would take a picnic hamper into the bush and sit under the shade of a tree, talking about everything and nothing, like courting lovers.

Although she accepted his leaving was inevitable, she had hoped that he might stay a little longer as she had grown used to him being in her life. But she was careful never to express any feeling for him other than friendship. It was not that she did not feel strongly for him, but she was still married, and wondered if her husband might return to her.

One day Judith told her that Luke was gone and that he had left at first light with the three horses. He’d left no details about where he was going or if he would ever return. Kate’s disappointment was evident when she turned on Judith and asked angrily, ‘Why did he not at least leave a message for me? I thought we were friends.’

‘Because Luke is in love with you, Kate,’ she remonstrated softly. ‘And he carries the pain that you do not feel the same way about him.’

Kate stared wide-eyed at Judith. How did he know how she felt about him when he had never asked her? she thought, in her stunned surprise at Luke’s sudden disappearance from her life. Deep down she was forced to admit to herself that she could not express her feelings for Luke. But she was not sure why. Was it that she had a need to protect her feelings? That love was the only emotion powerful enough to destroy her? She had once loved her husband and he had abandoned her. Whatever it was, she sensed that Luke Tracy held a power over her she could not afford to experience.

On a ridge overlooking Rockhampton, Luke reined in his horses.

He sat astride the mare Kate had given him and he gazed down on the town nestled on the banks of the Fitzroy River. Kate was somewhere down there, he thought. If only you knew how much I love you. But Kate had not seen his love for her and the pain of loving without that love returned had grown into an ache he knew he could no longer endure. There were too many reminders of her existence in his life around Rockhampton and he knew he must leave. Beyond the range was the seemingly endless horizon of the colony and somewhere beyond that horizon was the undiscovered gold strike that could give a man’s name immortality.

He knew in the months to come he would ride with the image of Kate O’Keefe sitting across from every camp fire he made. She would be sipping tea from an old enamel mug and laughing at his wry stories of the bush. With a deep sigh of regret for all that he had lost in the past, and for all that was not to be his in the future, he gave his mount a gentle kick to spur her forward as he tugged on the lead rope of the packhorses. Love was not something that could be destroyed by a bullet. His love for Kate hurt worse than a bayonet wound.

TWENTY-SIX

A
carriage drawn by matched greys rumbled down the finely crushed gravel driveway. It rattled along an avenue of trees standing naked against the drizzle of a wet Sydney afternoon and it came to a halt in front of the main entrance of the two-storeyed house.

Enid Macintosh alighted from the carriage unassisted. She was a woman who had grown accustomed to doing many things on her own and she preferred to dispense with trivial social niceties in favour of getting on with affairs. She issued crisp orders for the coachman to take the parcels piled in the carriage to her room.

She shivered as she moved from the cold wet day into the warm and dry interior of her house, while behind her struggled the coachman with an armful of parcels. A bountiful result of her shopping trip to the David Jones store in town.

There had been many things to buy for the arrival of spring. It was a time of social engagements as the city came out of the cold winter to celebrate the birth of life and the normally frugal woman indulged herself lavishly when it came to buying clothes to meet the round of dinner parties, picnics and balls.

The front door was opened by a pretty young dark-eyed maid wearing a spotless white pinafore.

‘Mister White is in the living room, ma’am,’ Betsy announced as she helped Enid remove her damp woollen cloak. ‘He arrived a short while ago.’

‘Thank you, Betsy,’ Enid replied. ‘Tell Mister White I will see him in a little while. Oh, and see if Mister White might like a sherry or port while he is waiting,’ she added as she removed her kidskin gloves from her hands.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Betsy answered dutifully as she took her mistress’s cloak away to dry it by the kitchen fire.

Enid was puzzled by the unexpected arrival of her nephew, as she thought he was still in Melbourne discussing future loans with the bankers for the expansion of their pastoral interests in Queensland. He had been gone four months and the protocol of requesting a visit to the Macintosh residence had been flouted by him on his return. Enid was mildly annoyed at his rather rude assumption that he could visit her without a formal invitation. To her, social etiquette existed to maintain the dignity of established conventions and deviation from etiquette bordered on anarchy. She went straight to her room to change from her damp clothes.

Enid entered the drawing room as her nephew stood warming himself in front of the huge open fireplace. He was watching the tiny flames flick from the red coals of the burning logs as he toyed with a glass of sweet sherry. He turned from his brooding silence to acknowledge her entry.

‘Hello, Aunt Enid,’ he said as she swept into the room. ‘I am sorry I did not have time to send around my card. But I have an idea you know why I am here.’

Enid guessed Penelope had told her brother the news. ‘I think I have a good idea what you want to discuss, Granville,’ she said imperiously. ‘You were going to be told . . . All in good time.’

Granville glared at her and struggled to find the words to express his fury for the ultimate betrayal. ‘She is ruined goods,’ he finally exploded. ‘She is carrying the child of that Irish bastard Duffy.’

‘No, I believe Mister Duffy was born in wedlock,’ Enid replied serenely as she sat on a sofa watching her nephew’s anger with some amusement. He needed to be kept off balance from time to time, she mused, and said calmly, ‘
His
child will be the bastard . . . And as for being “ruined goods” as you put it, no one will know except for the immediate family and Molly O’Rourke. I have told my friends that Fiona is visiting relatives at Goulburn.’

‘What happens when she arrives back in Sydney with the child? Or have you already thought about that?’ he asked unnecessarily as he knew his aunt would have considered all ramifications of an unwanted child to their interests.

‘I have. Fiona will not be coming back to Sydney with the child, as I have made arrangements with Molly to dispose of the baby,’ she replied as if she were talking about the disposal of an unwanted puppy.

Granville stared at his aunt with just a touch of respect and awe. She was most certainly a formidable woman! Ruthless and possibly even dangerous to anyone who might dare to attempt to thwart her ambitions.

‘By dispose,’ he said quietly, ‘I assume you mean the baby will be born dead.’

Enid displayed the slightest smile of contempt when she replied. ‘We do not all require the services of men like Mister Horton to achieve our ends,’ she said sweetly and Granville baulked at the mention of Jack Horton’s name. But he made no comment as he did not know how much his aunt knew. Or even how she knew at all! ‘Oh, it was not hard to realise what you had done when I read in the newspapers about Mister Duffy being wanted for murder,’ Enid continued serenely. ‘I supposed it had to be more than just a coincidence that you employed Mister Horton, especially when he has a reputation as a very violent and dangerous man.’

Granville swallowed his glass of sherry which had lost its pleasant taste. ‘What would you have done to rid us of Michael Duffy, dear Aunt?’ he asked with a bitter edge of sarcasm. ‘Request him not to see Fiona. Tell him he was not of a suitable pedigree, although that does not seem to have entered his mind when he put Fiona with child. What would you have done?’

‘Probably what you did,’ she replied frankly. ‘I have no intention of allowing my daughter to marry outside her station in life. Let alone to some grubby Irishman. As for the child, it will be suitably disposed of by Molly.’

She was so devilishly confident as she sat with her hands in her lap, Granville reflected. It was so strange that Fiona had not inherited her mother’s ruthless nature. Or had she?

‘Now I see why you chose November for the wedding,’ he said as he refilled his glass from the crystal decanter on a sideboard. ‘Fiona should be sufficiently recovered by then.’

‘That is part of the reason,’ Enid answered. ‘The other part is that November marks the death of Angus. And I think it is appropriate that his memory be celebrated with a new start in life for the family, with you and Fiona marrying. Mister Macintosh and I have decided that a passage to Europe is a fitting wedding present for you both and I am sure the tour will do Fiona good. An opportunity for you to have Christmas with your dear mother in England.’

He was pleasantly surprised at her generous wedding present and he responded graciously. ‘Thank you, Aunt Enid. It will be an honour having you as my mother-in-law,’ he said with just a faint touch of sarcasm, and he raised his glass as a toast to their future relationship.

‘Oh, there is one other thing I should mention,’ Enid said, ignoring her future son-in-law’s sarcasm and toast. ‘When your children are born they will be christened under the name Macintosh-White.’

Granville did not need to consider what his future mother-in-law had proposed, as he felt that the union of the two families in the next generation was a fitting gesture and besides,
he
would be controlling both sides of the family through his marriage to Fiona.

‘Oh, one more thing before you leave,’ she added, as if she had just thought of it, and he felt uneasy about the facetious edge that had crept into his aunt’s tone. ‘I want you to get rid of the gardener’s daughter from your house, as you will not need her services when you are married to my daughter. For that matter, get rid of the gardener. The stupid man does not know how to prune roses.’

Granville’s bottom lip dropped. The damned woman knew everything!

When Granville arrived at his home he was not surprised to see a strange carriage outside. It was not pretentious but bespoke moderate wealth. He was greeted by his old cook, whose talent was just as much for discretion and loyalty as it was for her culinary expertise.

‘Yer sister is entertainin’ a gen’leman friend,’ she said sarcastically as he shook off the outside cold. ‘I think she will be down from ’er room soon.’

Granville frowned and thanked her for the information then went directly to the library, where he poured himself a single malt scotch. He stood staring down at the footman and carriage waiting in the driveway below. He soon saw a well-dressed young gentleman come out of the house and climb into the carriage to be whisked away.

Granville swallowed the last remnants of the expensive scotch and left the library to go to his sister’s room. This time he knocked before daring to make his entrance. Penelope opened the door to him with a smile which quickly turned to a frown.

‘Your gentleman friend has left,’ Granville said as he appraised her wearing little else than a silk chemise. ‘As I suspect, your smile was for him and not me, dear sister.’

‘I did not expect you to return so soon from Aunt Enid’s,’ Penelope said as she turned and walked back into the bedroom. He felt the old lust as he watched the inviting sensual movement of her buttocks rising and falling under the short garment. ‘I expect that Enid has informed you of her plans for the wedding in November,’ she added as she sat down in a chair in front of a large mirror to brush her long golden tresses.

‘She has,’ he said as he plonked himself on her large bed, where the sheets were as dishevelled as her hair. ‘You have obviously satisfied your part of the bargain we agreed to.’

‘It was not easy,’ Penelope replied as the brush of sterling silver inlay swept the full length of her hair. ‘Fiona has a childish and romantic idea that Michael Duffy will return to her. I suspect that it has something to do with the condition she suffers,’ she added, as though pregnancy were a mind-altering disease.

Granville felt the ghost of an old fear return. While the damned Irishman lived, his hold on Fiona would never be certain. If only Horton had been successful. What if Duffy returned and was cleared of his supposed crime of murder? ‘But she has agreed to marry me,’ he said as part statement, part question.

‘You have nothing to fear,’ his sister replied, staring at his worried reflection in the mirror. ‘Fiona has always done what I wanted her to do in the past. She will give up her baby, marry you and bear your heirs, dear brother. And in time I’m sure you will find ways to help her forget her Irishman. Wealth has that effect on women. All else is simply icing on a cake.’

‘You are obviously not a romantic,’ he said lightly.

‘You should know,’ she retorted bitterly as she turned to him. ‘You made me what I am, Granville. I might have been like Fiona had you not taught me well in the ways of men. Or is it that I am truly like you in every way? That I have inherited the darkness that has always been in our side of the family, an unnatural desire that our wealth is able to buy . . . as you do the girl, Jennifer, to satisfy your physical needs? I suppose I shall never know who I am because you took that opportunity from me a long time ago.’

She wanted to pour out the venom of her feelings to the man she most loved – and hated – in the world, but she checked herself, knowing that any further outpouring of feelings might disclose her burning desire to hurt him as much as he had hurt her.

Instead, she turned back to the mirror and continued brushing her hair with long strokes, even though her hands trembled.

‘Don’t expect an apology from me,’ Granville said coldly, rising from the bed. ‘I do not apologise for what I take for my needs.’

She paused from brushing her hair. ‘No, we don’t apologise for what we take,’ she said with a bitter smile creasing her full lips. ‘We are Whites and destined to rule all that we see. But remember well, dear brother, no one knows you as I do. And in knowing you, I know the ghosts you live with. For that, I would feel great fear if I were you, because one day I might use them against you.’

‘I doubt that you would do that,’ he scoffed. ‘You might think you can frighten me but when it is all said and done you are still a mere woman at the mercy of your emotions. Like all other women, your pleasures are simple and your desires predictable. You need a strong man to provide you with the wealth to satisfy your mercenary needs, children to give you an identity and the never-ending social engagements to show off the pretty clothes you wear. No, there is nothing you could do to me, dear sister, that I could ever perceive as a threat, despite all that you might know about me.’ He shook his head and flashed her a smug smile as he left her alone in the bedroom to reflect on his self-assuredness.

Her first instinct was to hurl the hairbrush at his departing back. Instead she smiled grimly and returned to brushing her hair. She would not give him the satisfaction of an emotional display and she realised that her hands no longer trembled. Dear brother, if you only knew . . .

An icy flurry of sleet lashed the stone cottage at the end of the narrow gum tree lane. The cottage had a commanding view of the sweep of valleys below. Although it was small in comparison to the more grandiose Macintosh house overlooking the harbour in Sydney, it was large enough to accommodate four people plus three staff. For the moment, the isolated cottage high up in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney was being lashed with a late winter cold snap.

Fiona Macintosh sat in the cosy kitchen with a blanket over her knees and stared wistfully at the neatly written copperplate invitation in her lap. She sighed regretfully, and placed the invitation beside her other correspondence on the kitchen table.

‘Lady Manning is having a ball at Walleroy and I shan’t be able to attend,’ she said to Molly, who sat beside her knitting a woollen swaddling rug.

‘There will be other balls, Fiona,’ Molly replied maternally as she expertly manoeuvred the big needles. ‘It won’t be long before you will be the prettiest girl at all the spring balls.’

Fiona sighed again and put her hand to her swollen belly. The pregnancy had come as a shock. Oh, if only she had spoken to Penelope about ways to avoid such occurrences. But the baby was a fact of her life now and because of the pregnancy she had had a reason to initially decline Granville’s proposal of marriage.

It had been Penelope who had finally convinced her that under no circumstances could the raising of the illegitimate child of a man wanted for murder be a practicable option. And Molly had promised her that her baby would go to a good Christian family. Although Fiona did not fully trust Penelope, she knew she could trust Molly completely. If she promised that her child would be given to good people then she was to be believed, and so she had relented to Granville’s proposal.