The Castlemaine Murders (20 page)

‘I’ll just get my salts . . .’ Miss Eliza found her smelling salts and took such a deep sniff that the ammonia knocked her head back. ‘What colour do you think the helmet is?’

At a loss for a safe answer, the girls inspected the pictures again.

‘I think it’s meant to be white,’ said Jane. ‘It’s front on, Ruth, see, you can see the bars on the visor.’

‘How many bars?’ gasped Miss Eliza.

‘Five, I think. Miss Dot, what do you think?’ Ruth appealed for help.

‘Five, certainly,’ agreed Dot. ‘And plumes, very pretty.’

‘A helmet, argent, five bars, full face?’

‘That’s it,’ said Dot. ‘Miss Eliza, what’s wrong?’

‘The helmet signifies rank,’ explained Miss Eliza, who had paled to the colour of milk. ‘A duke or marquess has a silver helmet with five bars, full face. An earl, viscount or baron has silver with four bars, in profile.’

‘I never knew there was so much information in a coat of arms,’ marvelled Jane.

‘I think it’s meant to tell you a lot,’ said Ruth. ‘So that when you meet the person you know what rank they are and you don’t make a mistake in addressing them. So this belonged to a marquess or a duke, and he had a quartered shield with a star, a couple of chevrons and a snake, though I bet they didn’t call it a snake.’

‘A serpent coiled to strike, or,’ said Miss Eliza. ‘Oh, dear Lord. What shall I do?’

‘Tell us all about it, that’s what,’ said Dot. ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved—or maybe quartered. I’ll ask Mr B for some strong coffee and then you can tell us all about it.’

Dot did not need to ring the bell. There was a whisking noise and Mr Butler appeared with the coffee tray, setting it down on the table without disturbing a grain of the coloured coffee sugar pyramid.

‘I wish I knew how he did that,’ said Jane thoughtfully.

‘Miss Thomas says that only saints bilocate,’ Ruth reminded her sister.

‘She hasn’t met Mr Butler,’ Jane told her.

They were bantering to give Miss Eliza time to recover her nerve. For a moment Dot feared that she was about to start crying again, but Miss Eliza stiffened her upper lip, gulped a cup of scalding coffee and began to explain.

‘I told you about Lady Alice Harborough, whom I knew in London? She is a marquess’s daughter. Her family crest is two quarters a field sable with chevron argent, one quarter a field gules with a mullet of six points, or, and one quarter a field azure with a serpent, coiled to strike, or. The helmet is correct for her rank and the supporters are dolphins, like these here.’

Jane and Ruth inspected the odd, roly-poly animals and agreed that they were indeed what had been tattooed on the dead man’s arm.

‘What shall I tell her?’

‘Well, there isn’t a lot to tell so far,’ said Dot practically. ‘It’s so long ago. Did her grandad lose a gardener or someone, about seventy years ago?’

‘Not a gardener,’ said Eliza, taking more coffee. ‘An heir.’

In the fifteenth year of the reign of the glorious Emperor Lord of
the Dragon Throne Kwong Sui of the Ching Dynasty, Great Heat,
sixth month, third day.

To the illustrious and well-beloved nephew Sung Ma from his
uncle. It is my sad duty to tell you that your mother, our sister Tan,
is very ill and calling for you. The priests say that she will not last
long. Come and share our mourning. You have duties here and
your sister is distressed at your absence. She presented her husband

with a baby boy, born almost at New Year, and lacks only your
presence to be as happy as can be expected.
Heaven frowns on excess, nephew. You have found enough gold
and the Lin family have reported well of you. Come home, Sung
Ma. Your disgrace is forgotten. Your place is waiting for you and
I have begun negotiations for your wife.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

How can you pass such days of quiet and calm
When human life is sore beset with ills?

Su Tungpo, translated by Lin Yutang

Lin Chung had expected gales of laughter to greet his arrival at the farm in such an exotic costume, but only old Uncle Lin Tao reacted. The old man helped Lin out of the car, boggled a little, then nodded.

‘Very wise, cousin Chung. We hear that you need to talk to the ghosts, and in that garb, they will at least not spit at you. Come in, please, we are all awaiting your honoured arrival. We have heard that you are taking over from your honoured and revered grandmother, and we are eager to account to you for our work.’

This was, of course, not true. No one could be pleased at the sudden advent of a new boss, who might be more captious and difficult than the old lady herself. But it was courteous of the old man and Lin allowed himself to be conducted inside.

It was an old-fashioned Australian farmhouse with verandahs all around, but while Australians grew happy wanderer or potato vine, Chinese grew passionfruit, jasmine and grapes. The boards were newly painted, though not suspiciously new, the paths were swept and the house breathed cooking and jasmine flowers. The whole household of twenty-two was gathered in a large room with a table running its whole length.

Lin was introduced to a number of previously unknown cousins and second cousins, all of whom murmured polite greetings and some of whom were very pretty girls. Lin approved of pretty girls. He was conducted to a throne-like chair, carved from blackwood and undoubtedly an heirloom. A ceremonial cup of tea was brought to him by the old man. Acceptance of it meant that Lin Chung was now ruler of his family and this household.

He accepted it with some trepidation. Lin was not yet comfortable with the idea of being head of the family. But it was good, strong, Jasmine-flavoured tea. Power, he reflected, tasted sweet.

He would be shown the accounts and given a guided tour of the farm later. Now he would have to endure a banquet, and massive umbrage would be taken if he did not at least taste every dish. Lin family gossip was still busy with the Sin of Uncle Tan, a knockabout elderly uncle who spent most of his time as a drover and boundary rider. He had not only rejected several dishes with contumely, but had flung a piece of roasted pork with special Szechuan sauce—to his dog!

Poor old Uncle Tan, thought Lin as he was handed a pair of gold-tipped chopsticks. Not that it bothered Uncle overmuch. He had just belched politely, patted a few small heads, tipped his hat, and ridden off, his dog running behind him. A life which gained in attractiveness as the feast wore on and more and more superlative dishes were brought forth from the kitchen. The youngest beans, the crispest water chestnuts, the finest chickens, quail, turkey, duck, pork, something which tasted like beef, bean curd, fish, shellfish, yabby, crab, multitudinous fruits and combinations salted, pickled, stir-fried, marinated and cleverly enclosed in pastry of four separate types were spread forth.

Lin adopted a tactic which he had seen his grandmother use. He called forth the children and began to feed them tidbits. They opened their mouths like little birds and he found himself moved by their trust. He now understood Old Lady Lin’s uncharacteristic generosity. The children were small, well plaited and charmingly dressed little gluttons and they disposed of a heroic amount of food.

Just when even the stoutest little boy was beginning to flag and turn green, the soup arrived and the end of the meal was announced. The children flopped quietly into the garden and lay under bushes, breathing heavily. They were very happy. And their Cousin Lin, instead of the monster they had been expecting, had turned out to be a Very Good Cousin indeed.

Due to his grandmother’s cunning, Lin was still able to move as he was conducted around the holding. Water from the Campbells Creek provided for a string of fish ponds, in which golden carp swam lazily, on which lotus flowers floated, and near which water-loving plants flourished. The first tomatoes were ripening on the vine, along with pumpkins, melons and cucumbers. Lin nodded at a swathe of green salad vegetables growing alongside tilled rows of root vegetables. Several of the small children were installed to throw pebbles at intruding birds. Grapes ran eagerly along their wires. Soy beans flourished.

‘We make the best vinegar,’ observed Lin Tao. ‘Both red wine and all varieties of soy sauces and pickles. I have always thought that we should consider selling it on a broader market.’ He looked sidelong at Lin Chung. Old Lady Lin would never hear of this idea but he might as well test it on the young master and see if he had an open mind.

‘Where?’ asked Lin.

‘America,’ said Lin Tao. ‘Freight prices are lower now and we make a most superior product. If we could, say, send out samples to the best Chinese restaurants in San Francisco . . .’

‘Do so,’ said Lin. ‘And try Darwin and Broome. The expense will be trifling and if it succeeds we will have another market. If it does not succeed we have lost little. This is a most well-ordered and attractive farm, Cousin. I congratulate you.’

Lin Tao muttered his thanks, looking down modestly.

‘The stone fruit crop this year will be poor,’ he confessed. ‘And I fear that the codlin moth has got into the apples. This damp humid air encourages the insects. But we expect excellent results in the vine fruits and our flowers sell very well in Melbourne.’

‘Expect a suitable bonus,’ Lin told him. ‘Now tell me, Cousin, about the establishment of this farm. How long have we been here?’

Pausing only to draw the young master’s attention to an unusually beautiful cluster of wisteria against the dark, heavy drystone of the boundary wall, Lin Tao racked his brains for the farm’s history as told to him by his own grandfather. Who would have thought the new master would want to know about history? Old Lady Lin only wanted to know about profit.

‘I believe that it was about 1854, sir, when the goldfields were established. Our venerable ancestor purchased this land when the gold had been extracted, hoping to get enough water from the damaged bed of the Campbells Creek to nurture his vegetables for the summer, which here is very hot and dry, with north winds like a dragon’s breath. Our ancestor was patient. The Lins have always been good farmers. He watched the seasons for a whole year before he began planting. Then he began with the easiest crops—cabbages and spinach. They grew well. Then he tried potatoes, onions and carrots. Suitably manured, they also grew well and he began to sell them to the miners in Castlemaine. Since then, we have been here, altering our crops to suit the climate and the change of fashions. When bad seasons came we had water, when crops were damaged by insects we found suitable sprays, and when fire came we fought the fire and then rebuilt and replanted. Since the Lin family was arranging for the education of our children, fewer of us stayed on the land and we have had to employ some local labour. This has had . . . difficulties,’ said Lin Tao. Lin could imagine. ‘But some of the children come home, and mostly we are self-sufficient. Now, master, if you have seen enough, perhaps we could return to the house.’

‘Oh? Why?’ asked Lin idly, hoping that food would not be mentioned to him again for a long time.

‘Why, for the family council’s judgments,’ said Lin Tao. ‘It has been a year since anyone came from Melbourne.’

‘Of course,’ agreed Lin, panicking inwardly. Family council? Who held family councils any more? He wasn’t prepared for the weight of judgment to fall on his unworthy shoulders.

Then again, how bad could the sins of the Lin family be? It was unlikely to entail anything really scandalous, because such things would have been quietly dealt with by Uncle Tao and the formidable Great Aunt Wing. It was unlikely that any real problems would be left for the master’s judgment. Not telling things to the master which might upset him was the bedrock of the Chinese family system.

So Lin mounted his throne again in the large, scented room, having offered suitable incense to the ancestral tablets, and received a bundle of accounts for perusal. He read through them. Neat. Well kept. No sign of any peculation and the farm was making a modest profit, which was astounding considering the liberal way in which it supplied the Lin family restaurants with fresh produce. The fancy goldfish were doing well though the market for lotus flowers meant that few lotus seeds were being packaged for sale. Lin asked a couple of questions, listened to the answers, and marked the accounts with his personal seal. There was no betraying sigh of relief from Uncle Tao. The accounts were fine.

Then a few defaulters were brought for his judgment. Great Aunt Wing, a haggard woman who had personally delivered, fed, dosed, instructed and spanked most of those present, clipped a small boy over the back of the head as she drove him forward. The child knelt. It was the small stout boy and he was still too full of banquet to be really daunted.

‘Inattentive to his studies!’ Great Aunt Wing denounced. ‘Out every day watching birds!’

‘Who speaks for the boy?’ asked Lin, trying to remember the procedure.

Uncle Tao stepped forward. ‘Knows all the birds by their songs,’ he said. ‘The ducks follow him. Hatched out pheasants’ eggs under a broody hen, which everyone said could not be done. Looks after the quails. Just doesn’t like books,’ concluded Uncle Tao.