Golden Hope (57 page)

Doc shrugged. ‘I'm counting on your help, Finch. I have reason to believe my own time in Hoffnung is running out. Twyman is out for my blood.'

Finch was aware of the anonymous poison pen notes circulating. ‘Surely it won't come to that, Doc. He's just a hot air balloon.'

‘He may well now have the ammunition he needs.'

‘And what of your sister?' Finch said, before he could prevent the question.

‘My fate, whatever it is, is Adelaide's fate.'

‘You know I'll help you both, Doc. Anyway I can. Just name it.'

‘Rom – or his spirit – is like a lost child tilting at windmills. I'm counting on you to keep Clytie occupied. She must know
nothing
of this.
She is still grieving the loss of her babe. How could she face the possibility that he may be alive – but that she could never reclaim him?'

‘Agreed. That would be unbearable cruelty.'

‘I beg you, Finch, keep Clytie's mind occupied. Until the three of us can bring this terrible business to a head.'

‘I give you my word, Doc.'

‘Good man.'

Doc clapped him on the shoulder as he took his leave. Not for the first time Finch noticed the man's smooth, clean fingernails, no doubt the immaculate, sensitive hands of a surgeon.

Finch's parting question was, ‘Does your sister know the truth?'

‘Adelaide is so enraged with Bracken, I'm afraid she'll take matters into her own hands – by fair means or foul.'

In the hours that followed Doc's departure, Finch remained deep in thought, exploring every aspect of the shocking revelation of Sister Bracken's concealment of her crime – and of his own role in protecting Clytie until that crime was proven beyond doubt.

If it's true that a ghost returns to right a wrong then I can believe The Eternal in his mercy has given Rom this last chance.

Unable to sleep, Finch sat by the campfire, toasting stale bread and drinking tea. That night a Full Moon bathed the bush in silver. For some reason his mind kept returning to the iron bars across Adelaide Hundey's window . . . and Doc's phrase, ‘by fair means or foul'.

‘The Lady' stood gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the open doors of the newly built garage. Finch had polished her chassis, engine and upholstery within an inch of her life. He had enjoyed every hour he had spent on it, as lovingly as a stableboy grooms a champion racehorse entered in the Melbourne Cup. The Lady was kept under lock and key to prevent possible sabotage.

Mrs Jantzen refused to countenance the existence of automobiles. She dismissed them as ‘fool contraptions that will never replace Victoria's wonderful railway system – the envy of the whole continent'.

Finch suspected she saw The Lady as her rival for her husband's affections – and in a way she was right.

The Lady had arrived after major birth pains. Finch, now Sonny's confidant, shared his fascination with the birth of the Automobile Age. Sonny had sworn him to the secret, unknown to his wife, that he had become the silent financial partner of a former boarding-school friend. They were racing neck and neck against the entrepreneur Harley Tarrant to produce the first all-Australian petrol motor vehicle for the local market, a design to suit rough Australian roads.

The Lady was one of only two models of their first prototype, delivered to Jantzen House in the dead of night on top of a bullock wagon – and had not been driven since her arrival. Petrol barrels were stored in the corner of the garage ready to refill the tank – if it ever had the chance to run at all in Noni's absence.

Finch was now determined to launch The Lady, not only for Sonny's pleasure but because he had promised to chauffeur Clytie to the Hobhouse fund-raising concert at Bitternbird – and he had not yet asked Sonny's permission to borrow his carriage.

Finch was counting on Sonny's agreement. He could never forget that despite Sonny's presence at his humiliating confession at the Diggers' Rest, the following day he had wasted no time in having a message delivered to Finch:

It is an open secret that I failed to be accepted as a volunteer in the V.M.R. If I had had your courage I would have gone to South Africa anyway and volunteered to become an ambulance driver or stretcher-bearer. To my mind these men are the bravest unsung heroes in any war. I am proud to have you working with me, Finch.

Your friend,

S. Jantzen.

Finch's scheduled meeting was to take place in half an hour and he had steeled himself for the likely outcome.

When the vehicle had reached her intended level of perfection, Finch looked wryly at his own appearance, the grease on his hands and forearms. No doubt there were streaks of it on his face too. He hurried to the back of the house where he had been designated the use of the servants' bathroom.

Scrubbing the grime from his arms, he looked up in surprise to see Mrs Jantzen observing him from the doorway.

‘You are a man of many parts, Finch. But in these uncertain times, perhaps it would be wise to seek other employment.'

Is this a threat or a warning? I understood I'm to take orders from no one but Sonny, not even his father.

‘Thank you for the advice, Ma'am.'

Still she remained in the doorway. ‘I understand you knew Roman Delaney well in South Africa.'

‘He saved my life. Rom claims I saved his. It's a moot point.'

‘Have
you
seen him since his return?'

Finch hesitated.
That sounds like she's also seen him. What the hell do I tell her? It's like walking on broken glass.

‘He's posted as Missing officially. But I think it would take more than a war to kill off Rom Delaney, don't you?'

‘Oh, I wouldn't know. We didn't mix socially, of course. He did labouring work for my father.'

Still she remained, watching him.

Finch prolonged the scrubbing of his fingernails, playing for time.

What game is she playing? I wouldn't trust her with a church Poor Box. Little Max is a dead ringer for Rom, not surprisingly. But does Sonny know this – or suspect it?

Finch decided it was time to put Noni Jantzen under pressure.

‘I trust you like the photographs I took of your son, Mrs Jantzen. I used to be a photographer's assistant before the war.'

‘Hmm, what a convenient memory you have, Finch. Lost one moment. Found the next.'

She had aimed at sarcasm but was thrown by Finch's change of subject.

‘Young Maximilian's certainly a handsome little fellow – a dead ringer for his father,' said Finch pleasantly despite the blatant stretch from the accepted truth.

She was quick to counter it. ‘My father had dark hair in his youth – my son takes after my side of the family.'

Finch adjusted his collar and tie. ‘Sister Bracken's sudden resignation is quite a mystery. She'll be sadly missed. But one woman's loss is another woman's gain, so the saying goes.'

He stared at her, daring her to falter.

‘Hoffnung is always inventing gossip. I was in Bitternbird yesterday. What exactly is your point, Finch?'

‘I overheard it in the Main Street. Sister Bracken was accused of unethical conduct.'

Noni turned instantly pale. ‘What are you talking about? What accusation?'

‘That she overstepped her role as head of the hospital. Played God. Hurt innocent people because she has refused to put things right.'

‘Idle town slander – more fool you to listen to it,' Noni snapped. ‘And I'll thank you not to worry my husband with your tittle tattle!'

‘Too late for that, Mrs Jantzen. We were both there – we had a ringside seat outside the Post Office when Sergeant Mangles was questioning her and Miss Hundey.'

Noni swayed slightly on her feet. ‘You're lying. Mr Jantzen said nothing of it to me.'

Sure of his ground, Finch pressed on. ‘No doubt he did not wish to bother you. He told me Sister Bracken was devoted to him. How she delivered little Maximilian around the same time Clytie Hart's son was born.'

She turned away but not quickly enough for Finch to miss the rapid blinking of her eyes.

‘I haven't the faintest idea to what you are eluding, Finch. But I strongly advise you not to involve yourself with Hoffnung gossip if you wish to remain working here.'

She picked up her skirt and in a rustle of silk hurried from the room.

He overheard her sharp orders to the child's nurse.

‘I have a meeting to attend, my welfare work. You may allow Master Maximilian a half-hour visit with his father but not a minute longer, Gertie. Do not allow the child to tire him. I shall return in time for dinner with Mr Jantzen.'

Finch watched her drive off in the sulky, her broad-brimmed hat covered with a veil to shield her face from the dust.

I don't know how much she knows or suspects, but I reckon things will soon come to a head.

•  •  •

Ushered into the sunroom where Sonny was stretched out on the daybed, immaculately dressed in his sporting gear, Finch was touched by Sonny's attempts to rise. But his boss was forced to sink back against the cushions.

‘Not one of my better days, Finch. But it's always good to see you. Forgive my appearance. I like to wear my cricket creams from time to time – to cheat the moths, and remind myself I was once considered the demon bowler of Hoffnung.' He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘My chief claim to fame.'

‘You underestimate yourself, Sir. You and Doc are the real leaders of this town – Councillor Twyman just likes to throw his weight around.'

‘Well, he won't have it all his way about the memorial, I can promise you that. The whole town has put money into it. It's not just Twyman's personal toy.'

Finch was aware Sonny had anonymously made a handsome donation.

Sonny's face assumed a look of boyish conspiracy. ‘Tell me, Finch, how is The Lady progressing? Is she ready for a test run soon, do you think?'

Finch felt free to drop the master–servant façade as Sonny had instructed him to do in private.

‘The Lady is indeed a real lady, Sonny. Perfect manners, elegant bearing yet she's like a champion thoroughbred – chafing at the bit to take you on whichever adventure takes your fancy. Just name the day.'

Sonny gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. ‘If only I could. I have no confidence in handling her.'

‘Forgive me if it sounds like boasting, but I
do
have confidence. I've studied all the literature, the manual, the plans. I know where every nut and bolt is fitted. If you will allow me to drive you – your chariot awaits you, Sonny.'

‘My wife would not approve. Noni is highly protective of my health.'

‘I saw her drive away a few minutes ago. She won't be back for some time.'

‘Perfect! We'll take The Lady for a spin right now!' He rang the bell. At the entrance of the nursemaid carrying Max in her arms, Sonny was in a high state of enthusiasm.

‘My son, you and I are going to make history!' He turned to the nurse girl. ‘No need to mention this little outing to Mrs Jantzen, Gertie. She worries too much about me as it is.'

Bearing his son on his back, Sonny led the way to the new garage where Finch flung open the doors and steered The Lady out into the sunlight. The two adventurers piled into the automobile, wearing goggles, driving caps and dustcoats.

‘You drive, I insist,' Sonny ordered, seating the baby on his lap.

‘Only to show you how simple it is. The Lady will make history – a first step into the Age of the Automobile. But she's child's play to handle. You must take a turn at the wheel, that's only fair.'

Finch sprang down to open the wide metal gate of the horse paddock where the grass was cropped as low as a rich carpet. Watched by servants lined up on the veranda, who had been sworn to secrecy but who applauded their progress, Finch drove the Jantzen father and baby son again and again around the perimeter of the paddock, down the centre of it, then in sweeping curves as if avoiding invisible obstacles.

All inhibitions blown to the wind, Sonny and Max cheered in delight and Finch could not wipe the smile from his own face. The last trace of the master–servant relationship had dissolved in the sheer happiness of their shared adventure.

Despite the triumph, Finch was ever on the lookout for signs of fatigue in his employer.

Sonny registered surprise when Finch stopped the car at the far end of the paddock.

‘This is where my role ends. It's your turn to drive The Lady home.'

Without waiting for Sonny's agreement, Finch took Max in his arms, sprang out of the car and ran to the other side.

‘Take the wheel. You can do it, Sonny. It's far easier than riding a horse – and you're a natural horseman.'

The car suddenly stalled – and all sound died with it.

‘Is she dead?' Sonny asked anxiously.

‘A temporary hiccup,' Finch assured him. He soon had the motor running again. ‘Let the Games Begin!'

His face suddenly transformed by concentration, Sonny drove his dream vehicle down the centre of the paddock towards the house. The servants were applauding wildly and Sonny was basking so much in the glory of the moment that Finch needed to prompt him.

‘Time to pull that lever, Sonny. That's the brake!'

They jerked to a halt with a small hop that a baby kangaroo might make. Sonny climbed down and gave a theatrical bow to acknowledge his servants' applause.

Gertie reclaimed Master Max and, smiling happily together, the men entered the house.

Sonny shook Finch's hand. ‘This is a day I shall always remember, thanks to you. Now there's one other important thing you can do for me. I want you to drive The Lady to Bitternbird and take Clytie Hart to that Hobhouse Benefit Concert.'