Miles Off Course (10 page)

There was a clatter of chairs as they all rose and thanked their hostess. Clyde embraced his mother who spouted last minute advice over his broad shoulder.

“You work hard, keep your hands and mind clean. The good Lord hears even wicked thoughts, don’t be getting ideas above your station… and you remember that Sundays are for
God.”

“Oh, Clyde gives him Mondays and the occasional Thursday as well.” Milton chuckled.

Eliza inhaled sharply and glanced apprehensively at her brother.

Clyde ignored the poet and put a reassuring arm about his mother. “Don’t worry, Mum, I drop into St. Augustine’s regularly.”

Rowland smiled. Clyde had stepped out with Augustine Mitchell the previous year… though she was hardly a saint. Still, he had no intention of blowing his friend’s cover, they all
had their convenient subterfuges.

They dribbled out of the humble, shingle-roofed cottage and Clyde opened the Mercedes’ bonnet. The shoeless boys once again left their chores to join Jim in gaping and exclaiming at the
engine in a manner that quite endeared them to Rowland. He didn’t hurry them.

Mrs. Watson Jones was directing proceedings as Milton and Edna argued over how best to secure a crate of apples from the Joneses’ orchard to the running board.

“Rowly, come here a minute.” Clyde beckoned Rowland quietly whilst his mother was preoccupied. “Jim’s heard something about your Mr. Moran.”

Rowland looked expectantly at Clyde’s brother. “You know Moran?”

Jim shook his head. “Nah—never met him… only know what I heard. Peter Henson told me Clyde had been asking about Moran so I figured I’d let him know.”

“What did you hear?”

“Moran’s been meeting with Patrick O’Shea.”

“Who’s he?”

“He holds the snow lease next to yours, Mr. Sinclair. Has property around Tumbarumba.”

“Do you know why he’s meeting with Moran?”

“Not a clue… but men like Patrick O’Shea don’t often sit down with their own workers—let alone someone else’s.”

Rowland bit his lip thoughtfully. Moran was looking more and more dubious and yet there was no tangible accusation with which to confront the man. “Thanks, Jim. Would you keep your ear to
the ground? If you hear anything, just send word up to Caves House—I’ll reimburse the telegram.”

Jim grinned. “Sure, Mr. Sinclair, I’ll let ya know.”

A few further farewells, another box of apples and a jar of plum jam later, they pulled away from the cottage and turned the pointed grill of the Mercedes towards the High Country.

C
aves House sprawled into the side of the mountain, a grand vestige of Federation civility against the rugged country that loomed around it. The
limestone caves that attracted holidaymakers and honeymooners to the area were just a short stroll away, as were a myriad of mountain streams which offered the gentlemanly sport of fly-fishing to
the well-to-do occupants of the guesthouse.

Rowland noticed the Hudson truck, which had brought their extra baggage from Tumut, parked outside. He could see his own monogrammed trunk still strapped to the truck’s tray and wondered
why their belongings hadn’t been taken in and unpacked. It was just a fleeting thought. It would all be taken care of as soon as they checked in. He glanced at his watch: 11 o’clock.
They’d have time to get settled and take a leisurely lunch before making the short trip back up the main road to meet Moran at Rules Point.

The polished foyer of Caves House provided a welcome respite from the bracing chill outside. A generous open fire warmed the wood-panelled reception. Rowland and Clyde went to the counter whilst
Milton and Edna decided, despite the cold, to take a turn about the gardens.

Rowland introduced himself to the manager. “I believe we have a reservation.”

The manager was a diminutive man, and completely bald. The only hair on his head sat under his nose in a small square moustache. He fingered his collar nervously. “I am afraid, Mr.
Sinclair, sir, that we are… regrettably, completely booked out. We have tried to reach you…”

Rowland stared at the man blankly. “Do you mean to say you haven’t any rooms?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. We had expected one of our guests to leave today but he’s decided to stay on, with his entourage.”

“Well then,” Rowland said, “it is this other guest and his entourage, who have overstayed their reservations and are consequently without rooms.”

“I’m afraid that the senator is a regular patron, sir, and is accustomed to a certain indulgence.”

“Good Lord, man, isn’t there something you can do?”

“I’ve taken the liberty, sir, of making a reservation for you at the Rules Point Guesthouse. The proprietress, Mrs. Harris, advised that she had two rooms available.”

“
Rules Point
!”

“I can assure you, Mr. Sinclair, it’s a perfectly sanitary establishment, even if it doesn’t have the refinements that Caves House is able to offer its guests. I’m sure
you’ll be comfortable there until we are able to accommodate you.”

“Splendid… sanitary.” Rowland glared at the hapless manager until an eager cry diverted his attention.

“Rowly? It can’t be… Can it be Rowly Sinclair?”

Rowland and Clyde turned simultaneously.

A gentleman stood behind them. He wore a riding jacket and breeches with impeccably polished black boots—the ensemble was completed with a top hat and a silver-handled riding crop, wedged
under his armpit. His complexion was extraordinarily pale, though his face was flushed red.

For a moment Rowland frowned and then, finally, he responded. “Good Lord, Humphrey? Humphrey Abercrombie! What the blazes are you doing here?”

Abercrombie’s face broke joyously, and he hastily removed his glove to offer Rowland his hand. “I say, old man, what a delight, what an unexpected pleasure! You’re the last
chap I expected to see in this godforsaken place.”

Rowland shook Abercrombie’s hand, while the man effused, rushing to fully express his happiness at their reacquaintance.

Then Rowland remembered the formalities. “May I introduce my good friend, Mr. Clyde Watson Jones. Clyde, Mr. Humphrey Abercrombie.”

“It’s actually the Honourable Humphrey Abercrombie, should you wish to correspond with me,” the gentleman said, smiling diffidently.

Rowland blinked. “Humphrey and I were at school together.”

“Kings?” Clyde asked, offering Abercrombie his hand.

“Heavens no.” Abercrombie seemed aghast at the idea. “Rowly and I were chums at Pembroke House. Somewhat a family tradition, fine education of course.”

Clyde nodded. “Of course.”

“What brings you here, Humphrey?” Rowland asked.

“Mama thought it would be good for my constitution to get away from the city for a spot of fishing. We’d not long arrived in Sydney and with one thing and another…”
Abercrombie trailed off. “I say, Rowly, are you staying here too? I’ve just checked in myself, what a splendid coincidence.” The Englishman’s smile broadened further and he
nodded excitedly.

“I’m afraid not, Humphrey. It appears there are no rooms at the inn… this inn anyway.”

Abercrombie gasped. “Why that’s outrageous! I’ll have a word Rowly. Of all the colonial cheek!”

Rowland glanced uneasily at Clyde as Abercrombie prepared to berate the management. “Thank you, Humphrey, but I think we’re simply out of luck—can’t be helped.”

“But this is just preposterous. I won’t have my old chum treated in so off-hand a manner.”

The manager—present for the entire exchange—was clearly affronted. “I assure you, Mr. Sinclair, if there was anything I could do to—”

Rowland nodded. “I understand, Mr… Wilson,” he said, reading the name on the brass plate on the counter. “I’m sure Rules Point will be more than adequate. Thank
you for arranging it.”

“Royal’s Point? Well that sounds rather super. Perhaps I’ll check out and join you…” Abercrombie stuttered.

“Rules Point,” Rowland corrected. “I think you’ll find Caves House is a great deal better appointed. There’s no need for you to give up your rooms.”

Abercrombie seemed quite put out. “I say, Rowly, this cock-up is damned inconvenient. It would have been jolly to catch up and reminisce about the old days at Pembroke.” The
Englishman nodded emphatically as he spoke of the school.

Rowland shifted uncomfortably. This was awkward.

“You know, old man, I have an entire suite to myself. I’m sure you could have the second bedroom…”

“Thank you, Humphrey, but I think I’d better stay with my party for now.”

Abercrombie turned on the unfortunate manager. “I’ll have you know this is exceedingly unsatisfactory—just appalling! I shall be speaking to—”

“Rules Point is just a few miles up the way,” Rowland said hastily. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of opportunity to catch up. In fact why don’t you join us for
luncheon, Humphrey. I’m sure Mr. Wilson will be able to accommodate us in the dining room at least.”

“Of course, Mr. Sinclair,” Wilson said gratefully. “We are terribly sorry about this regrettable mix-up, sir, and I’m sure Caves House will have rooms for you in just a
few days.”

“So what do you say, Humphrey? Will you join us for lunch?”

“Oh I say, may I?” Abercrombie’s voice lifted with his face.

“Certainly, old man.” Rowland tried to sound more enthusiastic than he felt.

“Capital! That’s just splendid Rowly—we’ll have a jolly time… it’ll be just like the old days back at Pembroke!” He beamed enthusiastically. “The
shenanigans we got up to…”

Rowland’s face was controlled. He returned to the manager. “Mr. Wilson, would you be so kind as to arrange for our trunks to be taken up to Rules Point, whilst we are at
lunch.”

“Certainly, sir, and shall I arrange for your motor to be refuelled?”

“Yes, I suppose you’d better.”

“I say.” Abercrombie looked down at himself. “I’d better change if we’re sitting down for lunch. I’ll just be a few minutes… By George, it is quite
marvellous to see you again…”

And so they left Wilson and Abercrombie, and strolled towards the dining room. Milton and Edna had apparently determined that it was too cold to appreciate the gardens and were already seated.
Clyde called for drinks while Rowland explained both the change of accommodation and the imminent arrival of the Honourable Humphrey Abercrombie.

“He was certainly happy to see you, Rowly,” Clyde murmured. “Remarkably happy…”

Rowland laughed. “I suppose I should be offended that you find that so extraordinary, but Humphrey’s always been a bit keen.”

“He seems eager to relive your school days.”

Rowland frowned. “I can’t, for the life of me, see why—he had a terrible time of it.”

“Really?” Edna regarded him curiously. “Why?”

Rowland shrugged. “Poor fellow was prone to cry easily if I recall.” He winced as he remembered. “Making Humphrey cry became a bit of sport, I’m afraid.”

“You didn’t…” Edna started.

“No, we Colonials didn’t have the easiest time either.”

“That’s disgraceful!”

“It was a boarding school, Ed—they tend to be savage.”

“And so you and Mr. Abercrombie were friends?”

Rowland grimaced. “I suppose.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Not long after I first arrived at Pembroke, I came across a bunch of lads tossing something into one of the school ponds.” Rowland shook his head. “I thought it was a dog. Of
course I’ve always liked dogs and I was a bit of a hothead back then, so I picked out the biggest of them and belted him.”

Edna gasped putting her hand over her mouth in surprise. “And that was Mr Abercrombie?”

“Not quite… Humphrey was in the pond. It wasn’t a dog. There was a bit of fuss of course, and we were all hauled before the Headmaster. At some point I must have fished poor
Humphrey out of the pond.”

“So you saved him?” Edna smiled.

“The pond was only three feet deep, Ed.”

“But you rescued him nonetheless.” Edna seemed determined to cast Rowland as a hero.

“Humphrey seemed to think so. Stuck to me like wallpaper paste after that—I couldn’t get rid of him. Always seemed to need rescuing. In fact, there were times I wanted to throw
him back into that pond.”

“And now he’s joining us for lunch,” Milton said unhappily.

“Well, the poor chap seemed so disappointed we weren’t staying—it seemed the right thing to do.”

Milton snorted. “Yes, of course… courtesy.”

Edna beamed at Rowland. “What a gallant and noble way to begin an acquaintance.”

Rowland laughed. “I don’t know about gallant and noble, Ed—I really thought it was a dog. I haven’t seen old Humphrey in years and to tell you the truth I’d
forgotten all about him. I wonder what he’s doing here.”