The Touch (17 page)

“No,” he said shortly.

“Too busy to meet the right girl, or does the life of a gay bachelor appeal more?”

“Neither. My wife is already picked out, but marriage is for the future, when I can build her a house like this. It’s limestone, Charles, but where on earth did you find the masons to finish and lay the blocks so professionally?” Alexander asked, changing the subject neatly.

“In Bathurst,” said Charles. “When the Government put the railway over the Blue Mountains, the zigzag down the western escarpment from Clarence had to be partially built on three high viaducts. They could quarry the sandstone fairly nearby, but the engineer, Whitton, could find no masons. He ended up importing them from Italy, which is why the viaducts and this house are built to metric measurement, not imperial.”

“I noticed the viaducts when I came up from Sydney—as perfect as if they’d been built by the Romans.”

“Quite so. After the job was done some of the masons chose to settle in Bathurst, where there’s enough work to keep them occupied. I opened a limestone quarry near the Abercrombie Caves, excavated my blocks, and hired the Italian masons to build this.”

“I shall do the same,” said Alexander.

Later the two men repaired to the study, Dewy to enjoy his port, Alexander to puff on a cigar. It was then that Alexander broached a touchy subject.

“It has not escaped me,” he began, “that there is a great deal of ill feeling in New South Wales against the Chinese. I gather also in Victoria and Queensland. How do you feel about the Chinese yourself, Charles?”

The elderly squatter shrugged. “I don’t hate the heathen Chinee, that much I can say. After all, I have very little to do with them. They congregate on the goldfields, though there are a few small Chinese-owned businesses in Bathurst—a restaurant, shops. From what I’ve seen, they’re quiet, decent, mind their own affairs and harm no one. Unfortunately their capacity for hard work irritates many white Australians, who would rather not work terribly hard for what they receive. Also, they don’t care to intermingle and they aren’t Christians. With the result that their temples are usually called joss houses—a term that hints at nefarious activities. And, of course, the final indignity is that they send money home to China. This is seen as sucking Australia’s wealth out of Australia.” He giggled, a delightful sound. “In my view, what’s sent home to China is a drop in the bucket compared to what gets sent home to England.”

Knowing that his own money resided in the Bank of England, Alexander shifted restlessly. Charles Dewy was clearly one of that emerging breed, the Australian patriot at odds with England. “My partner is Chinese,” he said, “and I will stick to him through thick and thin. When I was in China, I found that the Chinese share some qualities in common with the Scots—that capacity for hard work, and frugality. Where they beat the Scots hollow lies in their happy temperament—the Chinese laugh a lot. Och, but the Scots are dour, dour, dour!”

“You’re a cynic about your own people, Alexander.”

“I have good reason to be.”

“I HAVE A feeling, Connie,” said Charles to his wife as he vigorously brushed her long hair, “that Alexander Kinross is one of those extraordinary people who cannot put a foot wrong.”

Constance’s response was a shiver. “Oh, dear! Isn’t there a saying that goes ‘Take what you want, and pay for it’?”

“Never heard of that one. Do you mean that the more money he makes, the bigger the spiritual price he’ll be called on to pay?”

“Yes. Thank you, my darling, that’s enough,” she said, and turned from her dressing table to face him. “It isn’t that I dislike him—far from it. But I sense that he has many dark thoughts churning around in his mind. About personal matters. It’s in personal matters that he’ll go tumbling down, because he thinks that he can apply the same sort of logic to them as he does to his business enterprises.”

“You’re remembering that he said he’d picked a wife.”

“Exactly. An odd way to put it. As if he hasn’t bothered to consult her wishes.” She nibbled at a nail. “If he weren’t a rich man, that would solve itself, but rich men are greatly sought after as husbands.”

“Did you marry me for my money?” Charles asked, smiling.

“The entire district thinks so, but you know very well that I didn’t, you fraud.” Her eyes softened. “You were so jolly, so unruffled yet efficient. And I loved the way your whiskers tickled my thighs.”

Charles put down the brush. “Come to bed, Constance.”

A YEAR AFTER Alexander Kinross discovered placer gold on the Kinross River, he finally returned to Hill End and the Blue Room at Costevan’s.

Ruby greeted him coolly yet warmly: the kind of reception that said he was most welcome as an old friend, but that his chances of her climbing into the blue bed were—well, not good. Pride dictated her attitude; the truth was that she had hankered for him constantly, the more so because Sung and Lee were gone too. The natural attrition of disease, disillusionment and discontent meant that all five of the girls who had worked for Ruby a year ago had decamped, replaced by five new girls.

“I suppose I should say fresh faces, but they’re really the same old things the cat dragged in,” Ruby said a little wearily, pouring Alexander’s tea. “I’ve been in the game too long—when the bar’s busy I can’t remember which one is Paula and which one is Petronella. Petronella! I ask you! Sounds like something you rub on to discourage mosquitoes.”

“That’s citronella,” he said gently, fished in his jacket pocket and produced an envelope. “Here, this is your share of the proceeds thus far.”

“Jesus!” she exclaimed, staring at the bank draft. “What sort of percentage does ten thousand pounds represent?”

“One-tenth of my share. Sung has used part of his share to buy a three-twenty-acre selection on top of a hill four miles from town, where he’s building a pagoda city in miniature—all glazed ceramic tile and brick in wonderful colors, with curled eaves and tiered towers. He’s donated me a hundred coolies to build a dam wall out of mixed mullock and rock at the outlet of a valley that will make a perfect dam. When they’re done, they’ll go up on top of my mountain to divert a part of the untainted river into the dam. And after that, they’ll be part of an all-Chinese work force constructing my railroad. On white man’s wages, I add. Yes, Sung’s as happy as the Emperor of China.”

“Dear Sung!” She sighed. “That tells me why Sam Wong is looking so restless. I can do without Paula, Petronella and the others, but I can’t do without Sam or Chan Hoi. They’re both muttering about going home to China.”

“They’re rich men. Sung registered claims on their behalf, as any brother or cousin would,” said Alexander slyly, regarding her through half-closed eyes. “Kinross is one goldfield where the Chinese are in on the ground floor and are treated properly.”

“You know perfectly well, Alexander, that Sam isn’t any brother of Sung’s, nor Chan any cousin. They’re his—serfs—bondsmen—whatever the Chinese word is for freed slaves still under his authority.”

“Yes, of course I know. However, I can understand why Sung perpetuated that fiction. He’s a feudal lord from the north who clings to his dress and customs, and demands that his people do the same. The Chinese who’ve gone British have no love for him.”

“Perhaps so, but don’t get the idea that Sung has no sway over the Chinese who cut off their pigtails and put on starched shirts. The common enemy is the white man.” She took a cheroot from her gold case. “You haven’t done the Chinese any favors by going into partnership with them and treating them like white men.”

“I could trust them not to talk, which gave me six months’ headway,” Alexander said, flicking the bank draft. “The size of that is largely due to Sung’s hold over his people. The secret didn’t get out until I registered our claims.”

“And now you have a tent town of ten thousand.”

“Absolutely. But I’ve already taken measures to discipline that. It will be many years before Kinross is a beautiful town, but I’ve planned how it will look, subdivided my land with the right amount sequestered for town and state governments—and brought in six good policemen. They’re hand-picked, and know they can’t prey on the Chinese. I’ve also hired a health inspector whose only job for the moment is to make sure that the cesspits are dug where they won’t contaminate the groundwater. I want no typhoid epidemics carrying off Kinross’s residents. There’s a sort of a road to Bathurst—fit to take a Cobb & Co stage, at any rate—and another to Lithgow. Cabbages are selling for a pound each, carrots for a pound a pound, eggs for a shilling each, but that won’t last forever. The good thing is that we’re not in drought, and by the time we are, the dam will be full.”

The green eyes surveyed him with mingled exasperation and amusement; Ruby guffawed. “Alexander, you’re unique! Any other man would simply rape the place and get out, but not you. The mystery is why you called your town Kinross. Its rightful name is Alexandria.”

“You’ve been doing some reading.”

“I am now an expert on Alexander the Great.”

“Right on the corner of Kinross Street and Auric Street I’ve reserved a particularly enviable piece of land. It has a one-hundred-foot frontage on to both streets, and space behind for stables, sheds, a yard. It’s entered on the town plans as the Kinross Hotel, owner/licensee R. Costevan. I suggest that you build in brick.” His gaze grew stern. “And one other thing—leave your whores behind in Hill End.”

Her eyes blazed, she opened her mouth to roar, but Alexander got in first. “Shut up! Think, you prickly, pigheaded harridan, think! A woman doesn’t usually personally administer a hotel she owns, but it’s a respectable profession if the hotel is a bona fide business. A profession that won’t handicap Lee when he’s old enough to make his way in the world. What’s the point in pouring so much money into your son’s education if, when he’s trying to establish himself in his chosen field, his mother is the proprietress of a goldfields brothel? Ruby, I’m offering you a new start in a new town, and I want you to be a citizen in good standing there.” Came that wonderful, charming smile. “If you open a brothel in Kinross, one day you’ll be forced to leave. The Bible-bashers will accrue the power to drive shady ladies out, probably tarred and feathered. And I can’t imagine my life without you in it. After all, if I lose you, who will I have to listen to me when I rail against the way the Bible-bashers have appointed themselves the moral police of my town?”

She laughed, but sobered quickly. “To build the kind of hotel you’re talking about would cost me a third of what you’ve given me. I can’t do that. Here are half Lee’s school fees—and right at the very moment when I was seriously wondering how I would ever scrape the money together. Hawkins Hill production is down, and Hill End is dying along with it. A good many Hill Enders are either already in Kinross, or on their way. So I’ll be frank with you. First of all, thanks to them, my reputation will follow me. Secondly, I’m planning to go to Kinross myself very shortly, but to build in wattle-and-daub and put my girls to work at the only trade they know. I can see the sense in what you say, your majesty, but I can’t follow your orders. Next year you might be able to give me another dividend, but that will be the end of it. The placer will be exhausted.”

“Let’s go outside and say hello to my dear old mare,” he said, on his feet and holding out his hand.

HALF AN HOUR later a dazed Ruby went to her room to change into the dress she had hoarded against the day Alexander would return to see her—velvet the color of marmalade, stylish enough to be worn by a cabinet minister’s wife. Perfect for the lady mistress of the Kinross Hotel.

A reef. He said there was a reef on his land.

She studied herself in the mirror with complete detachment. No, I don’t look thirty-one. Twenty-five, more like. One of the advantages of an indoor life is a skin unravaged by the sun. Oh, those poor bitches hoeing their vegetable patches while their men are off at the diggings, unable to pay what Hee Poy or Ling Po charge for produce from their market gardens! A couple of toddlers hanging on to their skirts, another bun in the oven. Hands rougher than the hands of their men. I don’t know why any of them put up with it—I bloody wouldn’t. Love, I suppose. If it is love, then I will never love any man that much, from Sung to Alexander. Some of them used to be as lovely as I still am. Used to be.

Review your thirty-one years, Ruby!

I’m a shining example of the fact that sin does pay. If I’d let myself go like those women in their vegetable patches, neither of the men who have helped me would ever have noticed me. They say birth is an accident of fate—well, fate puts a hell of a lot more penniless women on the face of the earth than women whose backgrounds let them make comfortable marriages. Alexander says too that some women go to university, but their parents are rich enough to send them. Whereas the only place my mother ever sent me was to the pub for a jug of beer. I never knew my father, a ne’er-do-well named William Henry Morgan. Cattle thief and jailbird, the son of a convict. He already had a wife, so he couldn’t marry my mother, who came out a convict. She died of gangrene after she broke her leg falling-down drunk. My half sisters are drunks and whores, my louts of half brothers are in jail and branded recidivists.

So why did I survive? Where did I get the strength to get out, better myself?

My brother Monty raped me when I was eleven—probably a good thing. Once the flower is plucked, the battle is over. No bloodstain on the sheet the morning after the wedding night, so no hope of a respectable husband. Men with marriage on their minds like to be sure they got there first. I’ll bet that’s true of Alexander Kinross!

What I dreaded was syphilis. All my life it’s been around me, lurking. Monty didn’t have it when he took me, but a year later he was poxed. I didn’t wait. Once my flower was plucked, I ran off to Sydney and found myself a rich old man to keep me in style. He couldn’t get it up unless I sucked it—nothing a female enjoys, but a good way not to have babies. When he died, he left me five thousand pounds—oh, the fuss his family made over that! They’d see me in hell before I got a penny of it. But when I read out his letters to them and said I’d read them out in court, they decided not to contest. Paid up without another murmur. The sucking bit clinched things.