'An absorbing view of a harsh slice of Australian history.'

Melbourne Herald Sun

'A broad, bold narrative, a stirring historical adventure-romance'.

Gold Coast Bulletin

THE LIGHT HORSEMAN'S DAUGHTER

by David Crookes

First Published in 1999 by Hodder Headline (Australia)

Republished Hodder Headline (Australia) in 2000

Republished again Hodder Headline (Australia) in 2000

This Smashwords ebook edition published in December 2010

by David Crookes

ISBN 978 0 9808252 3 7

Copyright © David Crookes 1999

CHAPTER ONE.

Daylight had not yet come to Yallambee but already the heat was stifling.

Emma McKenna lay wide awake in her bed, tormented by an all-consuming foreboding which had denied her a normal night’s sleep for almost a month. The hour before dawn was always the worst. It was then that the absolute blackness and stillness of the night cruelly played upon her senses and filled her heart with emptiness and despair.

She heard the floorboards creek on the veranda outside her bedroom and knew her father was taking up a pre-dawn vigil, watching for the intruders. He had told her that, like the enemy in Palestine, they would come out of the sun at first light when they were least expected. But unlike the Hun and the Turk, the respected foe at Jericho and Beersheba, the adversaries about to descend upon Yallambee were just spineless lackeys, sent to carry out their callous but lawful deeds at the bidding of the Victorian Mercantile and Pastoral Company.

Emma rose from her bed. Her nightdress, damp with perspiration, clung to her slim young body as she crossed the room to the window. With two fingers she drew back the white lace curtain just enough to see outside. The first traces of dawn were beginning to appear. Emma could see her father, sitting with his back toward her on the veranda, his tall lean frame slumped deep into his favorite cane chair.

She heard a soft padding sound, then saw Trip, her father’s old Kelpie, emerge from the shadows and lie down at his master’s feet. Beyond the veranda were the silhouettes of several of the homestead outbuildings. Beyond them, but not yet clearly visible, were gently rolling grasslands with scattered clumps of tall gums. The undulating meadows gradually rose up to a high ridge which formed the horizon about three miles to the east. Streaks of light, a prelude to the imminent sunrise, were already piercing the night sky above the ridge.

Soon the relentless summer sun of the Queensland outback would mercilessly burn the brown, drought-stricken face of Yallambee. Emma ran the open palm of her hand over her throat, catching a rivulet of perspiration before it ran down her nightdress. An icy chill passed through her body. Tears welled in her dark eyes at the thought of what lay ahead.

This property was all she knew. Nineteen years ago she had been born in this very room. Emma had watched the glory of the sun rise over Yallambee countless times, either from this window, or from the saddle on a dawn ride. But never before had she watched a sunrise with such apprehension. Suddenly she could restrain the tears no longer. As they streamed down her pretty face she prayed aloud:

‘Oh dear God. Please… please don’t let it all end now.’

The six thousand acres of Yallambee had been the home to the McKennas since Emma’s great grandfather and his family came to Queensland from New England as overlanders in the summer of 1865. Three generations of McKennas had been born on the property. And each had sent its young men to far-off battlefields to fight for Australia when its heritage and way of life had been threatened.

The first had gone to the Crimean war. Later, others went to the Boer war, then finally to the war to end all wars. The young McKennas had gone willingly and eagerly. Some never returned—their blood spilled and their short lives snuffed out prematurely in defense of Yallambee, their homeland, and what they believed in.

Emma ran her hands through her long black hair and anxiously bit her trembling lips. She wiped away her tears, then turned to look out of the window again.

The sun was beginning to peep over the ridge. A kookaburra mocked her from a nearby leopard gum, its loud laughing cackle the first sound to break the stillness of early morning. Now she could see the ribbon of road which led down from the ridge, the only way into the homestead.

Movements on the gently winding road has always signaled the impending arrival of visitors at Yallambee. Emma saw the flash of what looked to be the reflection of sun on metal at the top of the ridge. Someone was coming. Soon a long cloud of swirling dust moved down the road. Trip’s old ears pricked up as he heard hear the whine of the engines. Soon a motorcade of three vehicles became clearly visible ahead of the dust.

When the motorcars neared the fence surrounding the house, Emma’s father rose to his feet. Emma was startled to see he held his old .303 Enfield service rifle in his hands. The bedroom door behind her creaked and her mother, Kathleen, a petite, dark-eyed woman, with black hair prematurely streaked with grey, deftly propelled her wheelchair into the room, her useless legs hidden from view beneath a thick plaid blanket.

‘They’re here, Mother,’ Emma choked. ‘I was just coming to get you. They’re almost at the gate. And Daddy’s got his gun.’

‘I know, dear,’ Kathleen said gently. ‘I know.’

‘Mother, what can we do?’

‘Nothing, Emma. I’ve tried.’

‘Talk to him, Mother. Please talk to him.’

‘I’ve talked to him all night, my darling. It’s no good. He says he won’t just walk off Yallambee. He’s going to ask the regional manager of VMP for an extension. Kathleen paused as Bruce and Jack, Emma’s twelve year old twin brothers burst into the room. The boys were in their pajamas, both were crying unashamedly. ‘Don’t worry,’ Kathleen continued. She placed an arm around each of her sons. ‘Your father won’t use his rifle. He’s only carrying it to make sure he gets a hearing.’

Outside, the noisy throbbing of engines stopped abruptly. They heard a loud voice call out.

‘Captain McKenna.’

Kathleen and the boys moved to the bedroom window and Emma opened it wide. Her father stood just inside the gate, his back to the house. He cradled the rifle in one arm, its barrel pointing to the ground. Old Trip, barked once then stood at McKennas heel, ears cocked, head lowered, growling through bared teeth.

The loud voice belonged to an obese middle-aged man in a dark three-piece suit. He stood beside the open door of a chauffeur-driven Ford parked just outside the gate. Two more black motorcars with police markings pulled up behind the Ford. Two men dressed in business suits stepped out of the first car. Four uniformed policemen, three young constables and a burly middle-aged sergeant quickly got out of the second. All the policemen were armed with batons and holstered revolvers. All six men joined the fat man at the fence.

‘Captain McKenna,’ the fat man repeated loudly. ‘My name is Frank Peables. I have come here today to take possession of this property which has now legally passed into the hands of the Victorian Mercantile and Pastoral Company.’ Peables gestured to the men around him. ‘I am accompanied by court bailiffs who will ensure that all chattels included in the repossession order remain on the property and also by policemen who will enforce the eviction order against you should the need arise.’ Peables paused briefly then said solemnly: ‘Captain McKenna, I see you are carrying a firearm. I must ask you to lay it aside and leave this property peacefully. Otherwise, I will be obliged to ask these police officers to disarm you and force you off. Now, are you and your family prepared to leave?’

‘No, we are not,’ McKenna said defiantly.

Emma gasped in dismay as she saw the policemen nervously finger their weapons. Trip began to bark wildly and paw the ground.

Kathleen’s arms tightened around her sons.

‘I want to discuss an extension of time, Peables.’ McKenna said.

‘I won’t listen to anything you have to say while you have a gun in your hand, McKenna,’ Peables shouted back.

‘And will you listen if I lay it down?’

The burly police sergeant intervened. With baton in hand he stepped up to the gate.

‘Lay the gun down, McKenna,’ he ordered. ‘We’re coming in.’

When the sergeant kicked open the gate, Trip pounced. He was in full flight when the sergeant’s baton slammed hard into his head and knocked him to the ground. The Kelpie recovered quickly and renewed the attack only to drop to the ground again, shot through the head by one of the young constables. Then, for good measure, a second constable fired two more rounds into the old dog’s already lifeless body.

It all happened so quickly. McKenna was bewildered, stunned, and enraged all at the same time. In the heat of the moment he instinctively raised his rifle. The policemen’s response was immediate. An instant later, as his horrified family looked on, Captain Jack McKenna, veteran of the 2nd Brigade, Australian Light Horse, patriot, gentleman, loving husband and father of three, died penniless and dispossessed in a hail of gunfire.

It was January 21st, 1931.

CHAPTER TWO

Kathleen froze into shock even before the barrage of gunshots ended. She sat rigid, her eyes unblinking, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing, her white knuckles grasping the arms of the wheelchair, her mouth wide open with a look of horror and utter amazement on her face.

Emma stood absolutely still, wide-eyed in shock and disbelief, oblivious to the shrieks and screams of her young brothers. Outside, no one moved for what seemed an eternity. The men in the yard stood like statues, as if frozen to the spot as the reality of the grotesque situation and the terrible consequences of their actions sank in. Then the police sergeant and Peables began to move towards McKennas lifeless body.

‘Stay with mother,’ Emma shouted to the twins as she flew from the room. In a moment she was out of the house, racing across the yard in her night-dress to where her father lay. Tears streamed down her face as she ran. ‘Leave him alone,’ she screamed out at the top of her voice. ‘Keep your filthy hands off my father.’

The sergeant and Peables quickly stood back and everyone looked on as Emma fell to the ground and held her father tightly in her arms. For a long time she hugged him, crying uncontrollably, her eyes closed, her cheek to his.

When eventually her sobs began to subside she heard the sergeant say: ‘I’m so sorry, miss. I only wish circumstances hadn’t forced us to be here today. But my officers and I were only doing our job.’ The policeman paused for a few moments then added softly, but firmly, ‘Now, I’m afraid you and your family must leave this property, and according to the eviction notice it must be vacated today.’

Suddenly Emma’s tears gave way to unbridled rage.

‘You bastards,’ she shouted angrily. ‘You heartless, ruthless bastards. What kind of men are you? Have you no feelings, no compassion, no common decency? You have just killed my father. We will not leave until we have buried him here at Yallambee’.

The sergeant cast a sympathetic eye towards Peables. Emma saw the fat man quickly shake his head. Just for a moment her lips quivered in despair then her young face hardened into a mask of hatred.

The sergeant knelt down beside Emma. ‘I’m afraid that isn’t possible Miss,’ he said softly. ‘But I’ll make arrangements with the nearest undertaker, and under the circumstances, I’ll have a police vehicle take you and your family to alternative housing. You must have relatives on a nearby property, or perhaps in town?’

For a long time Emma said nothing. Then she said despondently, ‘We have only an aunt, Sergeant, my father’s sister. She lives on a property just outside Augathella. We have nowhere else to go. There are no McKenna men folk left now, except for my two young brothers. My father’s three brothers never returned to Yallambee from the war.’ She looked up at Peables, her anger rising again. ‘They died fighting for Australia and for people like you, Mr Peables, in places like Egypt and Palestine, and at Gallipoli in Turkey. My grandmother died in childbirth and my grandfather died of a broken heart. And all for what? So swine like you could hound and persecute us over a few pieces of silver.’

Emma rose to her feet and turned towards the house. She saw her brothers standing crying at the bedroom window. They stood each side of their mother who still sat motionless in her wheelchair. Emma trembled and wondered how she could summon the strength to face what lay ahead without her father.

*

The police car turned off the dirt road into Essex Downs. The family home of Patrick and Laura Coltrane lay just over fifty miles to the south of Yallambee, a few miles outside the township of Augathella. Like Yallambee, it was a pastoral property but much larger. Unlike Yallambee, it had an air of permanent prosperity, in spite of Australia being in the grip of an ever-worsening depression.

The fences, stockyards and outbuildings clustered around the homestead were all in immaculate condition. And the large homestead itself, built well before the turn of the century, was still as pristine as the day it was built. In stark contrast to the brown, drought-ravaged landscape surrounding it, the grand country home boasted colorful flower gardens and green lawns, irrigated with water bored especially for the purpose.

The McKenna family had been rare visitors to Essex Downs over the years. It held no good memories for Emma. For as long as she could remember there had always been deep animosity between her father and Patrick Coltrane. It was something which even her mother was unable to explain. Eight years had passed since the McKennas’ last visit. And that had only occurred because her father had thought Patrick Coltrane was away from the property at the time.

Emma had only been eleven years old then, but still old enough to sense, beneath the strained niceties of the brief visit, the ill-will between her father and her uncle Patrick, who was one of Queensland’s wealthiest pastoralists. Now, as two cattle dogs barked loudly and scampered around the car as it neared the house, Emma was despondent that Patrick Coltrane was the only person the McKennas could turn to in their desperate situation.

The front door of the house opened and her uncle and aunt stepped outside onto the veranda. They were followed by a slight young man in his early twenties wearing a striped shirt and baggy white flannels. Emma took the young man to be her cousin Elliot, who was now quite obviously grown up. She watched as he joined his parents on the veranda. Everyone was surprised by the unexpected arrival of a police car.

‘Better stay in the car while I talk to your kin for a moment, miss,’ said the sergeant. He swung open the car door and stepped out.

Emma sat in the back seat with her mother between her and her brother Bruce. Kathleen remained as she had since the shooting and all the way down from Yallambee, absolutely silent, her dark eyes vacantly staring out in front of her.

Emma glanced at Bruce. He tried to smile. His eyes were very red, but they were dry now, at least for the moment. Emma turned away quickly when his lips began to tremble. She reached for Jack in the front seat. He was the quieter of the twins. Normally he was just as rowdy and mischievous as Bruce, but sometimes he was given to quiet moodiness. He sat with his head in his hands, still sobbing intermittently. When he felt his sister’s touch, he drew away quickly and buried his face deeper into his hands.

Emma watched the policeman step up onto the veranda and begin to explain what had happened. She fought to suppress a new flood of tears when everyone turned toward the car in shock and amazement. Then suddenly, her Aunt Laura, a short plump woman, left the men on the veranda and ran toward the car, her arms outstretched and her round face wet with tears.

Emma opened the car door as Laura Coltrane approached. In a moment they were in each others arms, embracing tightly, consoling each other for the loss of a brother and a father. Then Aunt Laura leaned into the car and took her sister-in law’s hand gently in hers but there was no response from Kathleen.

Aunt Laura called out to her son on the veranda. ‘Elliot, tell Mary and Beth to come to the car, then get down here and help your Aunt Kathleen into her wheelchair.’ She turned back to the boys in the car. ‘Won’t you both come on up to the house?’ Aunt Laura smiled encouragingly through her tears. ‘Come on. Come and have some freshly baked biscuits and cool lemonade.’

Jack took his face out of his hands and slowly opened the door. Bruce stayed in the car, his arm gently supporting his mother. Elliot came down to the car. He glanced awkwardly at Emma. He tried to speak but found no words, then went to the back of the car and opened the boot. He reached in and lifted out a few suitcases and Kathleen’s wheelchair.

As he unfolded the contraption, two Aboriginal women came out of the house and hurried over to the car. One was old and quite frail with thinning hair and deeply wrinkled black skin. The other was a young girl about fifteen or sixteen years old, strong, healthy and well proportioned with skin several shades lighter than the older woman. Aunt Laura told them to carry the suitcases into the house.

Elliot and Bruce maneuvered Kathleen into her wheelchair and Elliot pushed it toward the house. When they reached the foot of the steps, the police sergeant and Patrick Coltrane broke off their conversation to help lift the chair up onto the veranda. Then everyone began to file into the house. Just before Emma crossed over the threshold, her uncle gently led her aside.

Coltrane was a big expansive man with a ruddy complexion and a thick shock of red hair already graying at the temples. Even in the bush and on such a hot day he wore a full suit of clothes and a buttoned-up waistcoat. He waited until everyone was inside then turned to Emma.

‘I’m sorry things have turned out this way, my dear. The sergeant has informed me of the whole situation and I’ve told him to have the undertaker contact us here about the funeral arrangements. I’ll send Elliot and some station hands to Yallambee to collect whatever furniture and other personal effects the bailiffs have allowed you to keep. Apparently everything else, including motor vehicles and livestock, must remain on the property. Do you understand that?’

Emma nodded her head but said nothing.

‘Emma,’ Coltrane wiped perspiration from his face with a large white handkerchief. ‘I will do what I can to help you, but we live in difficult times. Hard decisions will have to be made if any of us are to survive the Depression and this endless drought. With your father gone and your mother being in the condition she is, the responsibility for your family will rest largely on your shoulders. I suggest you see your father’s solicitor as soon as you feel up to it. He is in a position to advise you. In the meantime I can offer you all a roof over your heads and food enough to eat. However, I’m afraid with things being the way they are, I can’t offer your family any long-term guarantees.’

CHAPTER THREE

The view from the window of the conference room of Fairchild and Associates (Solicitors & Attorneys) was nothing short of breathtaking. Located on the fifth floor of an elegant sandstone building near Circular Quay, the large window presented a sweeping panorama of Sydney Harbor.

Fenton George Fairchild K.C., the law firm’s founding partner, stood alone at the window gazing thoughtfully out over the shimmering blue water. The gigantic twin iron arms of the yet-to-be completed Sydney Harbor Bridge, which for so long had been reaching out for each other like lovers from each side of the harbor, were now locked blissfully together awaiting the laying of the bridge deck. Over the years, watching the progress of the unique structure had become Fairchild’s passion.

The twin mahogany doors to the conference room opened and the firm’s partners quickly took their places at a large oblong table. When Fairchild heard the door behind him close, he turned from the window and took his place at the head of the table.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Fairchild he solemnly. ‘I appreciate you all coming at such short notice. I believe what I have to say this morning is of the utmost importance to all of us. As everyone is aware, the Depression is worsening every day. Unemployment has exceeded twenty-five percent since Australia’s loan accommodations have been suspended by the London banks, small businesses are going to the wall at an unprecedented rate and thousands of homeless people are living in shanty towns on the fringes of all our major cities. Unfortunately, all this just plays into the hands of the communists who will stop at nothing to gain a foothold in our country. Worse still, our politicians haven’t the faintest idea what to do about it. And Mr Lang, the state premier, has not only chosen to lay all the blame at the feet of the British bondholders who have financed the development of the Commonwealth since federation, but has also threatened to suspend all interest payments to them.’

Fairchild took a deep breath and gripped the lapels of his jacket.

‘Gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘I believe a solution to Australia’s problems has been found. I think yesterday, the fifteenth of March, will be recorded as a turning point in our nation’s history. Last night I attended a private meeting at the Imperial Services Club, convened by Lieutenant Colonel Eric Campbell DSO, who distinguished himself as an officer with the Australian Imperial Force, but more recently is well known to most of us as a fellow solicitor here in Sydney. At last night’s meeting, eight prominent citizens unanimously agreed to form a new paramilitary organization, to be known as the New Guard, dedicated to bringing this country back from the brink, either by peaceful means or by direct military action.’

A murmur of surprise ran through the men sitting at the table.

‘At that meeting,’ Fairchild continued, ‘I not only offered my personal support to Mr Campbell and the New Guard, but also pledged the sum of two thousand pounds on behalf of this firm. The money will to equip and train New Guard recruits.’ Fairchild clenched his fists and laid them on the table. He leaned forward. ‘Now gentlemen, do I have your unqualified support for that financial pledge?’

There was another murmur from the men around the table.

‘Two thousand pounds is a lot of money, Fenton,’ ventured one of the older partners.

‘Desperate times call for desperate measures, William,’ Fairchild replied quickly.

‘But how many men does your New Guard expect to recruit?’ the older partner asked.

‘As many as it takes.’ Fairchild stepped back to the window and waved an arm toward the harbor. ‘Gentlemen. Look at that bridge out there. It has been an enormous undertaking. It has taken years and a staggering amount of capital to build. When it is complete it will stand as a monument to the world, showing what Australians can do.’ Fairchild raised his hand and wagged an admonishing finger. ‘But a year from now, will there even be an Australia, at least as we know it, if the likes of Premier Lang disgrace us by not honoring our obligations as a state and as a nation? I think not gentlemen—not unless responsible citizens undertake an even bigger project than this magnificent bridge and unite behind the banner of the New Guard to build a, safe, secure Commonwealth of Australia, loyal to the British Empire.’

There was a brief silence. Then another partner spoke.

‘I think we would all agree with the aims of your New Guard, Fenton,’ the partner said. ‘But surely, with this armed intervention you spoke of, it could be very dangerous.’

‘Most of the men at last night’s meeting were ex-officers with the Australian Imperial Force,’ Fairchild replied. ‘They led our fighting men during the war. Such men are used to danger. They will form the vanguard of the New Guard. Our role is merely to provide funds to help the movement achieve its aims and to assist in finding people sympathetic to the cause.’

Fairchild’s eyes moved around the men seated at the table.

‘Mr Campbell asked if we could assist in gaining the support of any influential businessmen or ex-military personnel we may have among our clients. The more friends we have in high places, the easier the task of the New Guard will be. Mr Campbell also suggested we should move quickly to send some of our young professional people to visit the Riverina and New England areas, regions that are pressing for secession from the State of New South Wales. He believes it is important to gain support from the Sydney establishment for any anti-Lang forces, wherever they may be found.’

By midday, a resolution was passed pledging two thousand pounds to the New Guard Movement, with further funding possible later, depending on the accomplishments of the fledgling organization.

Several partners in the firm offered their co-operation in gaining support for the New Guard among some of their more influential clients. Many of the important names mentioned were residents of other states. Some were from Queensland. One of the Queenslanders was Patrick Coltrane, a wealthy pastoralist from Augathella.

CHAPTER FOUR

The McKennas stayed only one night in the big house at Essex Downs. Next day they moved into a vacant worker’s two bedroom cottage in a flat paddock just outside the main homestead compound. It was late afternoon before Mary and Beth had cleaned the cottage and the furniture Elliot had brought down from Yallambee was carried inside. Thankfully, the twins had been kept busy all day fetching and carrying, which gave them little time to brood.

Kathleen had still not spoken since the shooting and she showed no signs of recognizing her surroundings. But Emma was thankful of her mother’s lapse into a mute state of shock. It spared her the humiliation of coming to Essex Downs in such distasteful circumstances and having to endure Patrick Coltrane’s obvious aversion to the family’s presence there. Emma only wished there were relations on her mother’s side they could have turned to.

At the end of a long and difficult day, the McKennas were finally alone in their new spartan surroundings. The boys went to bed in a small room they were sharing just as soon as they had eaten sandwiches which Emma prepared as a makeshift evening meal. Later, Emma bathed Kathleen and prepared her for bed. Just as she was about to push the wheelchair into the bedroom, there was a knock on the cottage door. Emma opened it to find Laura and Mary, the older of the two Aboriginal domestics, standing outside on the small porch in the moonlight.

‘May we come in for a moment?’ Laura asked

‘Of course.’

Emma led her aunt and Mary through to the kitchen. Mary crossed the room and stood beside Kathleen’s wheelchair. She spoke a few words but Kathleen made no response.

‘I came over to tell you the doctor rang to say he’ll call tomorrow morning to see your mother,’ Laura said. ‘And Elliot said he’ll drive you into town early enough for you to see the solicitor before the funeral service tomorrow afternoon.’ Laura took Emma’s hand in hers. ‘Now Emma, I brought Mary over because I want her to help you as much as she can. She’ll come over for a while each day to clean house and help you with your mother.’

‘Thank you, Aunt Laura,’ Emma said. ‘But it’s really not necessary. The boys and I will be able to manage all right.’

‘No, I insist,’ Laura said quickly. ‘Just tell Mary what she needs to do and when to do it. After the doctor’s visit tomorrow, she can prepare your mother for the funeral. She’ll be riding into town with Patrick, myself, and the boys.’

Laura looked around the tiny room, from the cracked ceiling and insect-stained walls, to the large patches of worn-out linoleum on the floor. Her kind eyes moistened. ‘Oh God, Emma, this place is just terrible. You must know I had no part in moving you in here.’

‘It’s all right,’ Emma said reassuringly. ‘We’re very grateful.’

‘But I wanted you all to be with me. At a time like this you all need to be looked after properly. It’s the least your father would have expected of me.’.

‘Ahh…’ The sound came from the wheelchair. Emma and Laura turned to see Kathleen leaning toward Mary. Her mouth was moving slightly as if she was trying to speak. Mary reached out and took Kathleen’s hand in hers. Then Kathleen’s eyes closed and her head slowly rested on her shoulder as sleep overtook her.

*

The doctor from Augathella called just after nine the next morning. His diagnosis was that Kathleen was taking an unusually long time to come out of shock and that such a reaction was uncommon but certainly not unheard of. He ordered that she be allowed to get as much rest as possible and said he would call again in a few days.

Elliot came to the cottage a few minutes after the doctor left to take Emma into town. They rode into Auguthella in his father’s Buick roadster. Emma wore a navy-blue cotton dress with a small black armband, but a touch of rouge gave color to her cheeks. She carried a brown leather wallet with her which her father had always used to hold important papers.

‘Father said I should go in to old Braithewaite’s office with you,’ Elliot said on the way into town. ‘He thinks I should be there to see if anything can be salvaged out of Yallambee. He said some things could easily slip by an old country solicitor.’ When Emma made no comment, Elliot changed the subject. ‘You know, I’ll soon have finished my studies at agricultural college. Father says a man needs a sound education these days to run a large property successfully.’

Emma turned to Elliot. ‘My father always said to succeed you have to get a little dirt on your hands.’ She turned away and stared out at the road ahead. ‘And besides, no amount of education can make it rain.’

Elliot laughed. ‘I suppose that’s true. But I’ll soon be running my own property, perhaps even Essex Downs if Father succeeds in getting into politics.’ Elliot took his eyes briefly off the road to look at Emma. ‘Anyway, do you want me to talk with old Braithewaite or not?’

Emma shook her head quickly. ‘No, thank you, Elliot. Your father has already made it perfectly clear to me that I have to take responsibility for the McKenna family now. And the sooner I get started, the better.’

*

Gerald Braithewaite ran a one-solicitor law practice in an old building on the main street of town. It consisted of two rooms. One was his private office and the other, which faced onto the street, was a general office occupied by two clerks. Both rose to their feet as Emma entered. The younger of the two knocked on Braithewaite’s door and announced her arrival.

Braithewaite was a short rotund man in his sixties. He had grey hair, clear blue eyes and a friendly face. He rose, walked quickly around his desk and took both Emma’s hands in his.

‘My dear, I was so sorry to hear about your father,’ he said with sincerity as he showed Emma to a chair across the desk from his own. ‘Tell me, how is your mother?’

‘In a severe state of shock, I’m afraid, Mr Braithewaite.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ Braithewaite’s face showed his concern. ‘And your brothers?’

‘We’re all trying to cope as best we can.’

When Emma was seated, Braithewaite opened his office door and asked for tea and cakes to be brought in.

‘I must admit, it’s a surprise to see you so grown up, Emma. It’s been so long since I visited Yallambee. I don’t think I would have recognized you on the street.’

‘I’m afraid a lot of people did as we drove into town.’

Braithewaite sighed. ‘News travels fast in the bush, particularly bad news. I’m sure people don’t mean to stare.’

Emma took a deep breath. ‘Mr Braithewaite, you were one of my father’s few real friends. I know your son served with him in the Light Horse in Palestine, and like my three uncles, he never returned. Now we have lost everything, including father, I must know exactly how the family stands if I am to plan for the future. I know I can count on you to be perfectly frank with me. Just what can we salvage out of all this?’

There was a soft tap on the door and a clerk pushed a tea trolley into the office. When he withdrew, Braithewaite poured tea for Emma and himself.

‘I’m afraid it’s unlikely there will be anything left over when your father’s assets have been fully realized by the mortgagee, my dear. The accrued interest on the various loans is really quite enormous. In fact, it’s quite likely VMP won’t recover the full amount owing to them.’

Emma was stunned. ‘But Yallambee is worth a fortune! Father couldn’t possibly have owed that much money.’

‘I’m afraid he did Emma. It’s been building up ever since the war.’ Braithewaite took a sip of tea. ‘Your grandfather couldn’t run Yallambee alone. It was a mistake to allow all four boys to join the Light Horse. Men had to be hired to take their places. That’s when the borrowing started. It continued when your father came home alone. Your mother did what she could. She worked her fingers to the bone. There wasn’t a job she couldn’t do, from keeping the station accounts to riding days on end on a cattle muster. That’s what led to the fall from her horse and obliged you to leave school to look after her.’

‘It was no sacrifice, Mr Braithewaite,’ Emma said quickly. ‘And Father tried everything he could to get mother walking again.’

‘I know, my dear. But all the expensive medical specialists called in over the years only added to the debt against Yallambee. Then the Depression came. It was the last straw. For many families on the land, times are just as tough as they are for the thousands of destitute people in the cities. The bush is hurting.’ Braithewaite shook his head. ‘I’m afraid your father was just one of many financially troubled landowners. In my opinion, your eviction by VMP was meant to send a clear signal to the man on the land of the dire consequences of defaulting on their loans.’

‘What happens next?’ Emma asked. ‘All we have in the world is about thirty pounds in cash and we’re overdrawn at the bank. What more can they do to us, Mr Braithewaite?’

‘They’ll move quickly to sell Yallambee and all chattels over which they have a charge. Under the terms of the mortgage, that means everything except basic personal effects. The vultures will gather soon to attend the sale. Those with cash in these troubled times will be looking to buy whatever they can at a fraction of its real value.’

‘What about the horses?’

‘They’ll sell them to the highest bidder, like everything else.’

‘But they’re mainly just old walers raised for service with the Light Horse years ago. Father said he owed them a final resting place. Now, I suppose they’ll go to the glue factory.’

Braithewaite drained his tea cup. ‘I’m sure they will, Emma. But at the moment, I’m more concerned about what is going to happen to you and the family. There’s no money for the boys to return to boarding school and no money for the proper care of your mother.’ The old lawyer sighed. ‘Look, over the next few days I’ll make inquiries into some of the relief organizations which may be able to help. I just wish I’d been able to do more to help your father save Yallambee. I must say toward the end, when the writing was on the wall, I thought your Uncle Patrick would have come through and helped him.’

Emma flinched. ‘Father wouldn’t have gone cap in hand to Patrick Coltrane if he had been the last man on the face of this earth, Mr Braithewaite.’

Braithewaite shrugged.

‘Did Uncle Patrick know Father was in trouble?’

‘I’m afraid everyone did. It’s hard to hide that sort of thing.’

Braithewaite stared into his teacup, avoiding Emma eyes.

‘My God, Father didn’t approach him, did he?’

‘Yes, he did, Emma. He told me it was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.’

‘And Uncle Patrick turned him down?’

‘I’m afraid so, Emma. I’m afraid so.’

*

At mid-afternoon, after a short funeral service, a small crowd gathered in the Augathella cemetery to witness Jack McKenna's body laid to rest. Emma recognized most of the mourners. Some were neighbors from homesteads around Yallambee. Circumstances made them more acquaintances than friends, a legacy of the huge distances that separated people and properties in the vastness of the Queensland outback. Others were local shopkeepers, tradesmen and suppliers who had dealt with her father over the years.

There were only a few people at the graveside that Emma had never seen before. She noticed in particular a tall, thin man with long, white hair. He wore a black patch over his right eye, held in place by a thin elastic strap. Despite the white hair the man didn’t look old. Emma took him to be about her father’s age. He didn’t appear to know anyone, and he stood alone, off to one side, holding a broad-brimmed stockman’s hat in two big, calloused hands. He towered a full head and shoulders above everyone else and his angular face had the texture of old leather. Emma thought he looked uncomfortable and out of place, in a clean, but old-fashioned suit that was one or two sizes too small for him.

Just as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, the tall man pulled a small linen bag from his jacket pocket. Emma watched as he sprinkled the contents of the bag down over the coffin. It looked like dry dusty soil. Just for a moment, a single pale-blue eye held hers and the strange man’s lips parted in an almost indiscernible smile. A second later he turned abruptly and walked away.

Watching him as he left, Emma wondered who he might be. She noticed the hem of his too-small jacket was gathered on something protruding from a back trouser pocket. The sun flashed brightly on the object.

It was a mouth organ.

CHAPTER FIVE

Almost fifty miles to the south of the Queensland-New South Wales border, the New England Highway was little more than a winding dusty track as the old stock-truck neared the small town of Tenterfield.

The tall man at the wheel wore a patch over one eye. He reached forward and turned on the headlights as twilight gave way to darkness. At the click of the switch, an old Collie bitch lying on the seat beside him lazily opened her eyes. Minutes later the truck rounded yet another bend in the road and the twinkling lights of Tenterfield came into view.

The driver drove slowly along the town’s main street, checking the buildings on each side with his good eye. Some distance down the street, he saw a number of cars and farm vehicles parked outside the town’s social hall. He brought the truck to a halt at the side of the road as close to the hall as he could get, then stepped out, leaving the dog with her head hanging dolefully out of the open window.

The man entered the hall, which was brightly lit, almost filled to overflowing and very noisy. Men stood in small groups pressed closely together, a mixture of local farmers and townsfolk. Some had their wives with them and there was a sprinkling of children. On the stage at one end of the hall, several officials and organizers stood under a large banner, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the evening’s speakers. The sign above them read:

SELF-GOVERNMENT FOR A NEW STATE OF NEW ENGLAND

The tall man’s eye raked through the crowd. Everyone in the hall was engaged in spirited conversation. He saw a familiar face among a group of farmers on the other side of the hall. When he made his way toward them, one of the farmers, a stocky man with a crimson face recognized him.

‘God Almighty,’ the red-faced man called out loudly. ‘If it isn’t Harmony Jones. What in hell are you doing here?’

The tall man held his hat close to his chest as he squeezed his way through the crowd. The men in the group made room for the newcomer and the farmer introduced him. ‘Gents, this is Sergeant Bill Jones, late of the Australian Light Horse. I had the pleasure of serving with him in Palestine during the war. But over there we called him Harmony.’

‘How’s that then?’ one of the men in the group asked.

‘Harmony always had a mouth organ in his pocket. He used to play all the old tunes around the campfire at night. Reminded the boys of home. Often made a lot of the younger soldiers cry.’

‘And the enemy?’ the same man asked.

‘Hell.’ The farmer laughed. ‘The snipers never fired on our campfires. We used to hear shots, but we reckoned it was the Huns and Turks shooting themselves rather than listen to the whine of Harmony’s mouth organ.’

Harmony grinned shyly, displaying long narrow teeth, set in blotchy receding gums. He reached out and took the farmer’s hand in a firm grip.

‘Mike Parry, it’s good to see you after all these years. I just drove down from Queensland. I stopped in at the farm earlier. Your wife said I would find you here. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.’

At that moment the lights flashed on and off several times. The din in the hall began to abate and a loud voice boomed out from the stage.

‘My fellow New Englanders…’

The hall fell silent and the speaker continued: ‘My fellow New Englanders. My name is Earle Page, leader of the Federal Country Party. Lately, I have addressed meetings like this from Maitland in the south, right up to the Queensland border. Everyone I have spoken to knows we have to find better ways of governing ourselves. We must move toward simplicity in government and we must move toward government that has fair representation for the man on the land.’

There was a roar of approval from the partisan crowd.

‘Rural industries, ‘ Page continued, ‘contribute ninety-six percent of our nation’s exports. We in New England, like rural people everywhere, create the nation’s wealth. Accordingly, we must have the right to rule ourselves within the Commonwealth as a free and independent state. Since Premier Lang has chosen to renege on New South Wales’ share of Australia’s commitments to the British banks, we must create that new state now, and form a smaller, lower-taxing, more efficient, and more honorable government.’

Another roar went up from the crowd.

‘It is my pleasure to announce,’ Page went on as the roar subsided, ‘that we have been supported in our cause by a new national organization, dedicated like ourselves, to a return to the tried and true Anglo-Saxon traditions of thrift, fairness and justice for all. This organization is called the New Guard Movement and is represented here tonight by Mr Stephen Fairchild of the Sydney law firm of Fairchild & Associates.’

Page beckoned toward a fair-haired young man seated behind him on the stage. The young man stood up briefly and the crowd clapped politely.

‘In addition to the support of the New Guard,’ Page continued,’ Fairchild and Associates have offered their services to assist in the drawing up of a New England state constitution which will be submitted to Canberra for approval very soon.’

‘At what cost, Mr Page?’ a dissenter in the crowd called out. ‘If there is a need for lawyers, let’s use our own country solicitors from New England, not city shysters who’ll bleed us dry.’

‘May I explain…’ Stephen Fairchild rose to his feet and stood beside Page. ‘My father’s law firm has assured Mr Page that our assistance will be given at no cost whatsoever to the New England Movement. Our only interest in the matter is to help in any way possible, the advancement of causes which, like the New Guard, are committed to seeing Mr Lang ousted from power.’

‘Lawyers rarely have any interests other than their own, Mr Fairchild,’ the heckler persisted. ‘How do you feel personally about Lang’s proposal to suspend all interest payments to London?’

Fairchild responded without hesitation. ‘As Mr Robert Menzies, a prominent Melbourne lawyer put it recently, ‘I would rather see every Australian citizen starve to death than see us renege on our debts.’

‘Coming from a couple of lawyers who’ve never gone to bed hungry, that doesn’t mean much to me,’ the heckler taunted, and a ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.

Stephen Fairchild returned to his seat with a look of chagrin on his face and Earle Page continued with his address.

*

After the meeting, Harmony and Mike Parry adjourned to the public bar in the hotel beside the hall. Harmony looked for a place to sit while Mike Parry pushed his way through the crowd to the bar. After a few minutes he returned with a pint of beer in each hand and sat down.

Parry took a generous swallow from his glass then laid it down on the table.

‘How long has it been Harmony, eight, nine years?’

‘Closer to eleven I reckon, mate.’

‘Still jackerooing up there in Queensland?’

‘No mate, gave the cattle stations away years ago, left all that to the younger blokes.’

‘So what do you do for a crust now?’

‘Got a little house on sixty acres, a few miles north of Goondiwindi. It’s not much but it’s paid off. I do a little buying and selling, horses mainly, and a little kangaroo shooting. It’s a living.’

Parry took another long swallow of beer.

‘What brings you to Tenterfield, Harmony?’

‘Captain McKenna.’

Parry smiled. ‘How is he?’

‘He’s dead, mate.’

The smile evaporated from Parry’s face.

‘The Captain dead. What happened?’

‘Victorian Mercantile foreclosed on Yallambee. He wouldn’t get off the place. The police shot him down outside his own front door, right in front of his wife and family.’

‘God Almighty!’ Parry looked stunned. ‘How could it happen?’

‘He got too far in debt. And he lost a lot of friends when he came home from the war with only you, me and Lieutenant Parsons left of his squadron. A lot people in the district blamed him for the loss of their kin. You know how it was in the Light Horse. It was brigades of bushmen. An officer knew most of the men under his command. They came from the same district as he did. He owned the station they worked on, or he was their cocky, or their local solicitor or dentist. The chain of command was never broken for a Light Horseman, it was the same as when he was a civilian.’ Harmony paused for a moment, then asked, ‘Where the hell is Parsons these days anyway?’

‘Old Snakeoil.’ Parry’s lips stretched into a wry grin. ‘The silver-tongued bastard. He talked a widow over in Inverell into marrying him. Her husband was a publican. Died a few years back. Snakeoil runs the pub now.’

Harmony grinned and shook his head.

‘Is he still on the grog?’

‘Yes. But half the time you’d never pick it.’

The grin lingered on Harmony’s face. ‘Snakeoil running a pub. That’s a bit like putting a sex maniac in charge of a brothel, isn’t it? Anyway as I was saying, it seems a lot of people blamed the Captain for the loss of their loved ones. He took it hard. He’d call into my place once in a while when he was passing through Goondiwindi, just to talk.. He told me his father took on a lot of debt during the war, just to keep the place running. The Captain blamed himself for that, for leaving the old man alone on Yallambee. And things just got worse. His father died, his wife became a cripple, and there’s a drought up in that country that just won’t end. And now he’s dead, and his wife and daughter and two young boys are living on charity from Patrick Coltrane.’

‘And that wouldn’t come easy.’ Mike Parry grimaced. ‘I know there was no love lost between the Captain and Patrick Coltrane.’ The farmer stared into what was left of his beer. ‘When did it all happen, Harmony?’

‘A little over a month ago. I was at a horse sale in Toowoomba when I heard about it. I got to Augathella in time for the funeral. I saw the Captain’s daughter, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old with the troubles of the world on her shoulders. I don’t think the family’s got a brass razoo between them.’

‘Is that why you’re here, Harmony? I know how you feel about the Captain. You’d have lost more than your eye in the desert if it weren’t for him. And Snakeoil and me would never have made it back without him.’ Mike Parry rubbed his chin. ‘I reckon I could spare a few pounds, but only a few. I don’t need to tell you how bloody tough things are these days.’

‘I didn’t come to ask for money, Mike. If the family’s half as proud as the Captain, they wouldn’t take it anyway. No, they’ll be sending the auctioneers to Yallambee pretty quick-smart to sell up the place. I’d just like to see the bastards don’t let everything go for a song.’

‘You’re not thinking of trying to bid the prices up are you, Harmony?’

‘Hell, no. That’s too dangerous. We could get caught with something we don’t have the money to pay for. I thought maybe the three of us…’

‘The three of us?’

‘Yes. You, me and Snakeoil. I thought we could say something on the Captain’s behalf, you know, try and shame the buyers into paying fair prices.’

‘Say something to them? What could we say?’

‘Maybe something about the old days, something about the Captain and the Light Horse and what we all fought for. The lieutenant would know what to say, they don’t call him Snakeoil for nothing. There’s nothing he likes better than standing up and flapping his face in front of a crowd.’

Mike Parry looked unconvinced. ‘But people these days don’t care about all that, you know, the war and everything, especially those who weren’t there. And those that were are trying hard to forget it. It’s all history, Harmony. These days people have got other things to worry about.’

‘But we’ve got to do something,’ Harmony persisted. ‘We owe the Captain that much. From what I hear there won’t be a penny left over for the McKennas if he sold up at fire-sale prices. God only knows what will happen to them then. They’ve got no family left except the Coltranes.’

Parry picked up the empty glasses and went to the bar for more beer. When he came back he sat down and said, ‘All right Harmony, I’ll get in touch with Snakeoil. If he agrees, then we’ve got a goer. When do you think they’ll hold the sale?’

‘Don’t have a date yet, but it’ll be soon.’ Harmony raised his beer high. ‘To the Captain and the 3rd Brigade. Let’s try and do them both proud.’

Parry touched Harmony’s glass with his own and said:

‘We’ve got nothing to lose I suppose, providing Snakeoil stays reasonably sober’.

CHAPTER SIX

March gave way to April. The first days of autumn brought some respite from the heat on Essex Downs but no sign of a break in the drought. By taking one day at a time, and never for one minute accepting their situation as in any way permanent, Emma somehow managed to cope with her family’s changed circumstances.

Kathleen had still not spoken a word since the shooting and she appeared to have no interest or comprehension of what was going on, or what was being said around her. She just spent the long days sitting in a still silence in the shade of the cottage porch.

Mary came to the cottage every morning for an hour or so to help Emma with her mother and often she would drop by for a short while in the afternoon. It was only during Mary’s afternoon visits that Emma saw any hope of her mother’s condition improving. Mary would spend the time sitting out on the porch carrying on a one-sided conversation, trying patiently to stimulate a response from Kathleen. Emma could see no reason for the old Aboriginal woman’s compassion for her mother but she was grateful for it.

The twins, unable to return to boarding school in Toowoomba, were now taking lessons from the station manager’s wife with the children of station workers in a shed which served as a schoolhouse. At first the boys were reluctant to even enter the humble school. But after they got to know the other pupils, Emma could tell they looked forward to going.

Emma tried to keep her hands and mind as active as she could. Over the weeks she had cleaned, scrubbed and polished everything in and about the little cottage until it shone. Any other time she had was spent sewing and dressmaking, although the craft she had discovered and enjoyed so much after she left school to look after her mother, was now severely curtailed due to lack of material.

Her father was never far from her mind. Sometimes when she was alone and feeling down, she would open her father’s brown wallet where she kept her favorite photograph of him. It was taken just before he left for the war. He sat astride a young waler, confident and assured, proudly wearing a full dress uniform, that Emma had brought with her from Yallambee.

From time to time, Laura would call to see if Emma needed anything in addition to the food and essentials she sent over with Beth, the young Aboriginal girl. Her aunt’s visits were more frequent when Patrick Coltrane was away from the property. When he was away overnight, as he often was, Laura would plead with Emma to bring the family over to the house for their meals. Emma always politely refused and Laura knew why. Both women preferred to make no mention of Patrick Coltrane at all.

Elliot also called by the cottage more when his father was away. At first Emma thought he was just trying to be helpful and considerate. But she soon realized he had more on his mind. Often his hands had unnecessarily touched her lingered on her body, until she had gently but firmly pushed them away.

As each day passed Emma prayed that the impending sale at Yallambee would result in even a small surplus of money, at least enough for them to step from the shadow of Patrick Coltrane’s charity and their strained existence at Essex Downs.

*

The twins had just left for school one morning and Emma was about to look in on Kathleen, when Beth arrived at the door carrying a hamper of clean linen. When Beth lowered the hamper onto the kitchen table, Emma could see the young girl’s pretty dark face was puffed and swollen with a cut above one eye.

‘Good heavens Beth, what happened? Emma asked.

‘It’s nothing, Miss Emma.’

Emma took her arm. ‘What happened Beth?’ she insisted. ‘You’ve been beaten haven’t you? Did one of the station boys do this?’

Beth nodded her head.

‘Have you told Mrs Coltrane who did it?’

Beth shook her head.

‘Tell me who it was,’ Emma said. ‘The boy has to be punished. Mr Coltrane is away but I’ll speak to Mister Elliot and have him deal with this.’

Beth remained silent. Emma could see she was afraid.

There was a knock on the cottage door. Emma opened it to find Elliot standing on the porch.

‘Good morning, Emma,’ Elliot said cheerfully. ‘I‘ve got a message from old Braithewaite. He wants to see you as soon as possible. I’ll be happy to drive you into town.’

‘Thank you,’ Emma said. ‘Oh and Elliot,’ she added quickly, ‘I’m glad you’re here. Will you come through to the kitchen please?’

Elliot grinned and stepped inside. He followed Emma through to the kitchen. When he saw Beth his smile disappeared.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked sharply.

‘Just bringing clean linen, Mister Elliot, that’s all.’

‘Then empty your basket and get out,’ Elliot snapped.

‘But Elliot, look at her,’ Emma said. ‘She’s been beaten. I was hoping you…’

‘What has she been telling you, Emma?’

‘Well nothing much. I was just asking her who was responsible. I was going to ask you to punish whoever did it.’

‘Go on Beth, do as you’re told.’ Elliot cocked his head in the direction of the door. ‘Get out’

Beth emptied the basket and hurried out.

‘Do you let that sort of thing go on here, Elliot?’ Emma said angrily. ‘She’s just a young girl. You must do something.’

‘You don’t understand Emma. We don’t interfere in the blacks’ affairs.’ Elliot placed an arm around her shoulders. Emma moved away quickly. ‘You see, the niggers look after their own,’ Elliot continued. ‘Sometimes the young girls sent here from the mission, get interfered with by some of the old black hands. If it happens, we let the other blacks’ mete out any punishment. That’s the way it’s always been at Essex Downs.’

‘We never kept camp blacks at Yallambee,’ Emma said. ‘We had a few Aboriginal stockmen now and then and we paid them proper wages. We never had generations of Aboriginals born on the property and totally dependent on us.’

‘If you had, Emma, you would know these things are best left to the blacks to handle themselves.’

‘But Beth is a half-caste. She entitled to white law.’

‘Not until she’s sixteen, she isn’t.’ Elliot shrugged. Well, anyway, when would you like to go and see old Braithewaite?’

Emma sighed. ‘As soon as possible, please. Perhaps this afternoon?’

*

Gerald Braithwaite was in conversation with one of his clerks in the front office when he saw Elliot pull up at the kerb outside the window.

‘Show Miss McKenna into my office,’ Braithewaite told the clerk. ‘And send some tea and biscuits as soon as you can.’

‘What is it, Mr Braithewaite?’ Emma asked as soon as she sat down. ‘Is there any good news?’

‘There are some new developments we need to discuss, Emma,’ Braithewaite said. He untied a length of string holding a dog-eared cardboard folder together and drew out a sheaf of papers. ‘Some are helpful, but I’m afraid some of them are not.’ His eyes scanned over the first of the documents. ‘I have here a memorandum of fees from the solicitors acting for VMP. It lists the amount due them under the mortgage including accrued interest and costs incurred in the foreclosure proceedings. I’m afraid it adds up to a very considerable sum. ’

‘How considerable?’ Emma asked quickly.

‘Just less than eleven thousand pounds.’

‘But that can’t be. There must be some mistake.’

‘Oh, it’s all listed here Emma. We have the right to have it scrutinized by an independent party of course, but under the circumstances…’

‘But under the circumstances they know we are in no position to do that,’ Emma said bitterly. ‘What other debts will be deducted from the sale proceeds?’

‘Just the usual fees of the auctioneers,’ Braithewaite replied.

‘And anything left over will come to us?’

‘I’m afraid not, Emma.’ Braithewaite took another batch of papers from the cardboard folder. ‘I have here a large number of claims against your father’s estate, ranging from unpaid rates and taxes to bills from the local fuel agent and many other creditors, including the undertaker.’

Emma sighed. ‘I’ve been hoping and praying there would be some money left over for us to start a new life somewhere.’

‘I did say from the beginning that would be very unlikely, Emma,’ Braithewaite said. ‘The only thing that we can hope for is a drought-breaking rain which might drive up the prices paid on the day of the sale.’

‘When is it?’

‘April the fifteenth.’

There was a tap on the door and a clerk wheeled in the tea trolley. As Braithewaite poured the brew he said: ‘When you were here last, I said I would make enquiries into relief organizations which may be able to help you. I’ve had two positive replies to the letters I sent out explaining your family’s position. If the worst comes to the worst, I take it you won’t want to stay at Essex Downs.’

‘Heavens, no,’ Emma said. ‘I don’t want us to be beholden to Patrick Coltrane for a second longer than is absolutely necessary. You know what kind of a man he is. I can’t understand how Aunt Laura could ever have married him.’

Braithewaite shrugged. ‘Oh, he was considered quite a catch when she did, Emma. He came from a wealthy, well-established family. Your Aunt Laura was considered to be very lucky.’

‘Not by the McKenna family.’ Emma countered. ‘My father told me he threatened not to go to the wedding.’

‘The feud between your father and Patrick Coltrane goes back a long way. There’s always been something between the two of them, something buried so deep in the past it may never come to light, especially now that your father is dead.’

‘It’s probably just as well.’ Emma sipped her tea, then laid down the cup. ‘Now, about these positive replies to your letters…’

‘Yes, well, first the twins. There’s a Roman Catholic order called the Brothers of the Apostles which is dedicated to the social, religious, and educational rehabilitation of boys who are orphaned, abandoned, or whose families, for one reason or another can no longer provide for them. Acceptance of the boys is based on need and the severity of their circumstances. But the brothers have offered places for both Bruce and Jack.’

Emma looked horrified. ‘But it’s an orphanage! I could never send the boys to an orphanage, Mr Braithewaite. You must know my mother was raised in one in Brisbane. By all accounts it was a good one and I never heard her speak badly of it, but those places are for children without any family. The boys have got their mother and they’ve got me.’

‘But how can you provide for them?’

When Emma said nothing, Braithewaite continued: ‘The brothers have a large mixed farm near Goombungee, just north of Toowoomba. It is practically self-sufficient. They grow most of their food and have a large commercial dairy herd. Many of the brothers are qualified teachers. The boys spend half their time working on the farm and the balance getting a sound education in the classrooms. Apart from the farm work, it wouldn’t be too different from their old boarding school. I’m told the accommodations are good and that the camaraderie between the young boys at the farm is excellent. You really should take advantage of this opportunity.’

‘When must I make a decision, Mr Braithewaite?’

‘As soon as possible. These days there are far more applications than places available.’

‘Can it wait until after the sale?’

‘I suppose so. But don’t delay a day longer. Now,’ Braithwaite paused, searching for the right words, ‘have you given any thought to your mother’s future well-being, now she is more dependent on you than ever?’

‘I think about it all the time.’ Emma said despondently. ‘But I just keep hoping against hope that we’ll have some money after the sale.’

‘I spoke with the doctor yesterday,’ Braithewaite said cautiously. ‘He says he has never seen anyone stay in shock so long. He said your mother might never speak again and she could deteriorate further; even her mind might be affected. He has told you all this, hasn’t he, my dear?’

‘Yes.’ Emma said. ‘And I can’t tell you how much it distresses me.’

Braithewaite rubbed his chin for a moment. ‘Emma, please understand that as a friend I want to help as much as I can. At my time of life, I think perhaps I can see a little more clearly than you the absolute importance of making the right decisions now. However hard these decisions might be, you must consider the long term. For the next few years, at least until the boys are older, you are the only one who can provide any tangible help at all for your mother. But you can’t even do that if you are looking after her twenty-four hours a day.’

‘What are you trying to tell me, Mr Braithewaite?’ Emma looked confused.

‘I’ve made enquiries into the possibility of having your mother cared for. That would allow you to perhaps find a position of some kind which, if only as a domestic, would give you some sort of a life of your own and provide some income to contribute to the cost of your mother’s care. With no income you couldn’t care for her at all anyway and she’d have to be placed in an institution. I’ve been inside some of those places, my dear. Many of them are no more than prisons. That’s why I wrote to the Mary Wells Society.’

A look of apprehension spread over Emma’s face.

Before she could say anything, Braithewaite said: ‘It’s an international welfare organization which operates homes for underprivileged children and the incapacitated aged in many countries. It’s the society which operates the home your mother grew up in. Over the years your mother and father contributed generously to the Mary Wells Society. It was a way of showing their appreciation for the support the society gave your mother in her formative years. I told them of your mother’s changed circumstances. Like all welfare organizations these days their facilities are strained to the limit, but they’ve managed to find a place for her in their Armidale establishment in northern New South Wales. Please consider accepting it, Emma.’

Emma sat silent for a long time. Eventually she said: ‘You are a good man, Mr Braithewaite. My father was fortunate to have you as a friend. You have made me see that since he died I haven’t faced up to the fact that we are destitute as a family, and I have no qualifications for employment except as a domestic or perhaps a seamstress. I made the mistake of making belief that everything wasn’t really lost, that the privileged life we led before this awful nightmare began wasn’t really over, that somehow there would be money left for us to start a new life somewhere together.’

Emma rose to her feet. ‘It is not a mistake I will make again, Mr Braithewaite. Would you please be kind enough to notify the Brothers of the Apostles and also the Mary Wells Society that we accept and deeply appreciate their generous offers of assistance.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Emma lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Kathleen lay sound asleep beside her, flat on her back, her small still body taking up little space in the bed. It was the day before the sale at Yallambee. All night long Emma had wrestled with the heartache of the decisions she had made in Gordon Braithewaite’s office. What troubled her most was that she had not yet found the strength to tell the boys about Hope Farm.

When it started to get light, Emma got up and went to the boys’ room. She stood beside the bed for a long time trying to sum up courage to wake them. In the half-light the startling sameness of their faces gave no hint of the differences in their temperaments that she knew so well. .

She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Bruce… Jack.’ Emma repeated their names several times until they stirred and opened their eyes.

Jack looked up at her, saying nothing. Bruce turned and lay on his side, propped up on one elbow. ‘What is it Emma?’

As gently as she could, Emma began to tell the boys about the farm at Goombungee. Almost immediately, Jack began to cry and buried his face in his pillow. Bruce remained propped upon his elbow, his head cradled in his hand.

‘Will you and Mum be staying here until she’s well again? he asked when Emma had finished.

‘Yes…’ Emma said cautiously. ‘Well, for the time being anyway,’

‘When do we have to go?’

‘In a week or two when all the arrangements have been finalized.’

‘You will come and see us often, won’t you, Emma?’

‘Of course I will.’

Later, only Bruce joined Emma in the kitchen for breakfast. Jack moodily chose to remain in his room until it was time to wash and go to the school. Mary arrived at the cottage just as the boys were leaving and Jack looked so upset that Emma decided to walk with them. As they neared the schoolhouse they heard a high-pitched whine in the distance. Gradually the whine grew louder. Soon it became a screaming roar. Suddenly a bright yellow biplane roared by directly over their heads.

The aircraft flew low over the flat paddock between the cottage and the schoolhouse. Then it climbed steeply into the bright morning sunshine and swung away in a wide arc. A look of awe and delight lingered on the twins' faces as they entered the little schoolhouse. Emma was glad the unexpected aerial show had brought them a diversion from the prospect of Hope Farm.

When Emma walked back to the cottage she heard the aircraft returning. She looked up to see the plane was gradually descending and realized it was coming in to land in the paddock. Soon it was no more than two hundred yards away, just a few feet off the ground and heading straight for her. When it touched down it bounced down the paddock in a swirling cloud of dust and came to rest so close to her its varnished wooden propeller was just a few yards away. Then the engine stopped and the pilot hoisted himself out of the cockpit and jumped down to the ground with a small travel case in his hand.

He made a brief visual check of the aircraft then walked over to Emma. As he approached, he took off his goggles and leather flying helmet and unwrapped a white silk scarf from around his neck. He was tall, slender and fair-haired. Soon he was close enough for Emma to see his pale blue eyes. He grinned and held out his hand.

‘Good morning.’ He shook her hand very gently. ‘I do hope I didn’t frighten you. My name is Stephen Fairchild.’

For a moment Emma was taken aback by his startling good looks. ‘Good morning,’ she said ‘I’m Emma McKenna.’

The young man’s grin turned to a frown. ‘Oh dear, I thought I was on the Coltrane place, Essex Downs.’

‘Oh, but you are ,’ Emma said quickly. ‘I’m Patrick Coltrane’s niece. I’m staying here for a little while. Let me show you to the house.’

As they walked from the paddock, Aunt Laura came out of the house and hurried towards them. When she reached them, Emma said, ‘This is Stephen Fairchild, Mr Fairchild, this is my aunt, Mrs Laura Coltrane.’

‘Welcome to Essex Downs, Mr Fairchild. I’m sorry you and my niece had to introduce yourselves. My husband expected you later in the day. He’s travelling home from business in Brisbane and my son has driven to Charleville to meet the train.’ Laura smiled generously. ‘My husband said you would be staying with us for a day or two.’

‘Yes, I’d like to if it isn’t too inconvenient. I have a great deal to discuss with your husband.’

When they neared the house Laura turned to Emma. ‘While I show Mr Fairchild to his room, dear, would you ask Beth to make morning tea. You’ll join us, of course?’

When Emma hesitated, Laura said, ‘But we insist.’ She turned to Stephen.’ Don’t we, Mr Fairchild?’

While Laura took Stephen upstairs, Emma went through the house to the kitchen. She found Beth cleaning the ashes from the grate of the wood-burning stove. Her face had all but healed. Beth and Mary were the only Aboriginals who lived at the homestead. They lived in a small shed at the back of the house. The rest of the station Aboriginals lived in a cluster of bark huts at a camp beside a creek almost a mile away.

Emma wondered if whoever had abused Beth had been punished She was about to ask when she heard Patrick Coltrane enter the front door of the house, his loud booming voice in conversation with Elliot. Emma quickly asked Beth to make tea as Laura had asked but decided not to stay herself and slipped out the kitchen door.

*

The boys were late coming home for their sandwiches at midday, having spent a good deal of time looking at the yellow biplane in the paddock. Emma was glad the aircraft and not the farm at Goombungee dominated the lunchtime conversation.

Mary didn’t call by that afternoon. Emma realized the old woman would have a lot to do over at the main house with the Coltranes entertaining a house guest. Around mid-afternoon Emma was washing clothes in a tub in the kitchen when Aunt Laura dropped in.

‘Mr Fairchild wondered where you got to this morning, my dear,’ Aunt Laura said. ‘He seemed disappointed you didn’t join us.’

Emma fed a shirt into an old mangle beside the kitchen sink and turned the handle with both hands. ‘I’m sorry Aunt Laura, but…’

‘I understand,’ Aunt Laura said quickly. ’I didn’t expect Patrick home quite so soon myself. He’s been talking with Mr Fairchild in the study all day. He seems like such a nice young man. He’s a solicitor you know, a partner in one of Sydney’s largest law firms. You know, Emma, I’m sure he was quite taken with you.’

Emma laughed, ‘And I’m sure he has lots of girls waiting for him in Sydney.’

‘They may have to wait for quite some time. He said he’ll be in Queensland for several weeks. It seems he’s drumming up support for an organization which fears the entire country is going to wrack and ruin. It must be very important work. I must say it all seems very exciting, flying around in that airplane of his.’

Emma fed another shirt into the mangle. ‘Yes, I suppose it must be.’

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t spare Mary this afternoon,’ Laura apologized. ‘She’s busy helping me prepare a special dinner for tonight. That’s why I came over. I want you to join us.’

Emma sighed.

‘Please, don’t say no,’ Emma. ‘Say you’ll come. Living with your uncle can be difficult. I rarely get the chance to entertain at Essex Downs, especially someone like Stephen Fairchild. I do want it to be an evening to remember. Do come, Emma. Do it for me. I’ll send Mary over to look after your mother.’

Under normal circumstances Emma would have jumped at the chance to sit at the same table as Stephen Fairchild. But it was Patrick Coltrane’s table. Emma was about to refuse when she realized it was Laura’s table too, and her aunt had shown the McKenna’s nothing but kindness since they had come to Essex Downs. And although she had said nothing yet about their plans to leave the property, Emma knew she must tell Laura very soon. With the sale at Yallambee taking place the next day there might not be another opportunity to make her aunt happy.

Emma looked up from the mangle and said: ‘I’d love to come, Aunt Laura. I’ll try and find something decent to wear. But first there’s something I must tell you about Mother and the twins.’

*

Laura decided not to run the risk of a failure at the dinner table by trying to prepare any fancy foods she suspected her guest ate in Sydney restaurants. Instead, she decided to serve a good wholesome country dinner. The meal would start with soup made from fresh garden vegetables, followed by home grown Essex Downs roast beef with all the trimmings. Afterwards she would serve fruit with fresh cream and tasty cheeses and crackers.

Patrick Coltrane sat at one end of the long dining room table. Laura sat at the other end with Elliot and Stephen on one side and Emma opposite them on the other. Coltrane and Elliot wore dinner jackets and Laura’s plump figure was compressed into a once-perfect-fitting pale yellow chiffon dress.

Emma looked less grand, but radiant, in a plain but stylish white dress she had made herself. It had an oval neckline, long wide sleeves, and was brought to life by a bright red sash around her waist. Stephen wore a smart grey lounge suit which somehow must have fitted into his flying bag.

With Mary at the cottage looking after Kathleen and the twins, the serving of the meal was left solely to Beth. She wore a navy-blue linen smock with a starched white collar and cuffs and a white apron drawn tightly around her, which clearly defined the fullness of her youthful figure.

From the moment Emma sat down at the table, she was conscious of Stephen’s eyes on her from across the table. She tried to avoid them, pretending to be hanging on to every word of small talk the Coltranes were making. It was only when Stephen was busy answering a barrage of Laura’s questions about the current social and cultural events in Sydney that Emma had the chance to appraise him.

She liked his fair hair and pale blue eyes. His skin had a soft white quality not often seen in the bush. He spoke quietly and confidently in a clear refined voice which Emma thought more suited to gentle conversations in elegant Sydney drawing rooms than a remote property in the rough and ready Queensland outback. Emma couldn’t remember ever meeting a man with such charm and assurance before.

More than once Stephen turned his eyes to Emma as he spoke and smiled. Each time she returned the smile then looked away. Emma could see the exchanges were not lost on Laura who sat beaming at the end of the table. And she knew too, by the surprised and sometimes sour look on Elliot’s face as he drank more and more red wine, that he too, had sensed the chemistry between her and the young lawyer from Sydney.

Occasionally during the course of the evening, Stephen asked Emma questions about herself or her opinions on trivial matters. But at no time did he ask her anything about her family, or the reason for her stay at Essex Downs. Emma suspected he must already know and he didn’t broach the subject to avoid embarrassing her. She wished she had met this man in more favorable circumstances.

It was only after dinner, when Beth served tea and coffee and Patrick Coltrane produced a decanter of fine aged port and a box of cigars, that the conversation turned to the purpose of Stephen’s visit to Essex Downs.

‘It’s a fine thing you and the New Guard are doing, young man,’ Coltrane expounded. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke. ‘The conservative forces around the country must be rallied. God Almighty knows, someone has to alert the capital and credit providers of this country to the very real dangers facing Australia today. I agree with you entirely. We must be on guard, and if necessary support a call to arms to prevent the overthrow of democracy. We must save ourselves from the lame and ineffective governments of Prime Minister Scullin in Canberra and Bolsheviks like John Lang in New South Wales.’

‘Exactly, Mr Coltrane,’ Stephen said without elaborating. He took a sip of port.

Emma thought Stephen looked reluctant to be drawn into a lengthy discussion. Laura appeared to be resigned to its inevitability. Elliot, already a little tipsy from the wine, but now quaffing port, had no interest at all in the topic of conversation and seemed more interested in watching the movements of Beth’s well-rounded body as she cleared away the last of the dishes on the table.

‘If the federal and state governments can’t see the lunacy of pandering to the unemployed,’ Coltrane persisted, ‘most of whom find themselves in that position because they have lived far too high on the hog and for far too long, then it’s time for responsible citizens who have created security and wealth through hard work and thrift, to lead the battle against the workers revolution that will surely come if no strong leadership is forthcoming.’

‘Quite right, Mr Coltrane,’ Stephen said dutifully. ‘I hear you’re interested in representing Queensland in the Senate. This country needs more men of your caliber in the federal arena.’

Stephen took another quick glance at Emma.

Emma smiled back.

Laura’s face registered her approval. ‘Perhaps we should take our tea into the drawing room, Emma,’ she suggested. ‘I fear these men are going to set about solving the problems of the world over their port.’

Emma and Aunt Laura moved to the drawing room and sat beside each other on a comfortable sofa. When Beth brought in tea, Laura praised her for serving dinner so well by herself and told her she could go to her quarters for some well-earned rest.

‘I’m so glad you came, Emma,’ Laura said when Beth left the room. ‘And everything did turn out well didn’t it? I mean. I’m sure Mr Fairchild enjoyed it, aren't you?’

‘I’m quite sure he did, Aunt Laura.’

‘And you?’

‘It was lovely. Thank you for inviting me.’

After chatting for a few minutes, Emma stood up and said she must be going.

‘All good things come to an end,’ Laura said. ‘I’ll get Elliot to walk you home.’

‘It’s really not necessary,’ Emma protested. But Laura insisted and they returned to the dining room to find Coltrane and Stephen engrossed in conversation. There was no sign of Elliot.

‘Where’s Elliot?’ Laura asked.

‘Elliot said he was going outside for some air,’ Coltrane said irritably, annoyed at the intrusion into the men’s conversation.

‘But I want him to walk Emma home.’

‘Perhaps I could?’ Stephen volunteered.

‘Emma is quite capable of walking over to the cottage by herself.’ Coltrane said curtly. 'Besides it’s a lovely bright night.’

For a moment Emma hoped Stephen might insist and prevail over Coltrane’s rudeness. But he didn’t, and after an awkward moment he resumed talking with Coltrane.

‘I’ll walk you over, dear,’ Laura said as they left the room.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Emma said. ‘It’s just a few minutes walk. I’ll go out the back door in the kitchen. It’s quicker that way.’

As Coltrane had said it was a clear night and the property was bathed in moonlight when Emma stepped outside. When she passed the servants shed at the end of the pathway she thought she heard a stifled cry. She stopped and listened. After a few moments she heard what sounded like the slap of flesh on flesh. She moved to the side of the shed and crouched below its only window. She listened again. She heard another slap and a muted cry.

The small window above her was at shoulder height and it was open. Emma’s eyes were becoming used to the moonlight. Ever so slowly she raised herself up until she could see inside the shed. In the dim light she saw Beth standing against the opposite wall of the shed. She was naked. Elliot stood in his shirtsleeves in front of her, his back to Emma, his thin white hands roughly kneading Beth’s big brown breasts. Beth’s cheeks were wet with tears and her eyes were tightly closed.

Emma watched as Elliot slipped his braces from his shoulders and pushed his trousers down around his ankles then roughly forced Beth’s legs apart. She didn’t know whether to scream out loud or run away. Instead she did neither. She just stood riveted to the spot, feeling a mixture of anger, hatred and fear all at the same time as she watched Elliot force Beth to submit.

Emma turned and ran all the way to the cottage. She was startled to find Mary sitting out on the porch in the moonlight. She sank down into a chair beside the old woman and buried her head in her hands.

‘Oh Mary,’ she said despondently. ‘I just saw Mr Elliot rape Beth. I feel so ashamed. I just hid out of sight and watched. I didn’t do anything to try and stop him’

Mary reached out and patted Emma’s shoulder. ‘You did right, Miss Emma,’ she said gently. ‘There’s nothing you could have done anyway. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. Never has been.’

Emma looked up in astonishment. ‘You mean it’s happened before? It’s not the first time?’

‘Oh. no,’ Mary said. ‘And it won’t be the last. It’s always been that way on Essex Downs. The one good thing is, it’s nowhere near as bad as it used to be in the old days. There were no roads to speak of then, no motor cars, no wireless or telephones. For white men it was really remote out here. It was hard for the stations to get workers. A lot of squatters made sure there were Aboriginal girls available for their white workers so they wouldn’t just quit and move on. The Coltranes always kept the girls penned up like cattle behind a chicken wire and barbed wire fence down by the creek. The white men used to call it the "poke-pen".’

Emma took her head out of her hands. ‘Good God, Mary,’ she gasped. ‘That’s disgusting. ‘How long ago was that?’

‘It ended about thirty years ago. Some white folk complained to the Aboriginal Protector, important people, people the Protector had to listen to. You know, white people with the churches. The Protector brought policemen out from Brisbane and released all the girls in the pen and took them away to reservations. Took all their babies too, some of them were almost white. After that, the same thing still went on, but there were no poke-pens anymore.’

‘Only the whites complained,' Emma said incredulously. ‘What about the blacks?’

Mary shook her head. ‘You’re so young, Miss Emma, you don’t understand. In those days if a blackfella made trouble, the master would tell the Aboriginal Protector the blackfella had been stealing or pestering white women or something like that and he’d be sent to the bad-nigger settlement on Fraser Island without even a hearing or a trial. Once a blackfella was sent to that awful place, he was never seen or heard of again.’

Emma looked at Mary’s kind old wrinkled face. ‘You were never penned up like that were you, Mary?’

‘No, Miss Emma,’ Mary said as she got up to leave. ‘I was one of the lucky ones. I was too ugly.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Emma was up early the next morning. Just after seven o’clock she saw Stephen from a window in the cottage. He was dressed in his flying leathers and walking, bag in hand, toward the airplane in the paddock. He was flanked by Patrick and Laura Coltrane. There was no sign of Elliot.

The dawn had been late in coming. For the first time in months, a few grey scattered clouds hinted at a change in the weather. The twins joined Emma at the window, then they all went out onto the porch to watch the plane take off. Emma saw Stephen glance toward the cottage. He said something to the Coltranes and headed toward Emma and the twins.

‘If your sister will let you, you can come down to the paddock to watch me take off,’ Stephen said to the boys when he reached the cottage.

Emma smiled and nodded. The boys raced away.

‘I did so want to walk you home last night, Emma,’ Stephen said.

Emma smiled. ‘I would have liked that too, Stephen.’

There was a short silence. He shrugged. ‘Perhaps another time. I might be here again before too long.’

‘I might not be here, Stephen.’ Emma said. ‘We’ll be leaving Essex Downs soon.’

‘How soon?’

‘A week or two. I’m not sure. You see, there’s a sale at Yallambee today. That’s where…’

‘I know, Emma.’ Stephen broke in. ‘Your aunt told me. I can’t say how sorry I am.’

‘Thank you, Stephen.’

He turned to leave, then hesitated and reached into a pocket in his jacket. He held out his hand. ‘Here Emma… my card. Please keep it. If you’re ever in Sydney, or if there’s anything I can ever do for you, promise me you’ll contact me.’

‘I will, Stephen.’ Emma took the card. ‘I really will.’

*

Mary came over to the cottage just after the plane had taken off. Gerald Braithwaite arrived in his car a few minutes later.

‘Are you really sure you want to go to Yallambee?’ Braithewaite asked as he held the car door open for Emma. ‘You know, you really don’t have to go.’

‘Neither do you,’ Emma said as she got in the front seat. ‘Victorian Mercantile’s solicitors are obliged by law to send you all the details concerning the sale, you said so yourself.’

‘I’m only going because I owe it to your father to see with my own eyes that the regulations and procedures governing forced sales are fully complied with.’

‘Oh, my word, Mr Braithewaite,’ Emma said with feigned surprise. ‘Are you implying VMP and their agents can’t been trusted?’

Braithewaite smiled wryly and closed the car door behind her.

During the drive north, the isolated grey clouds that came with the dawn began to close in, at times blocking out the sun. As the car neared Yallambee, Braithewaite said, ‘You know Emma, it just could rain today.’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ Emma said resignedly. ‘Now it’s too late to do the McKenna family any good.’

*

The auction was scheduled to start at ten o’clock sharp but it was a few minutes after that when Braithewaite’s car reached the top of the ridge overlooking Yallambee. As they drove down the dusty road to the homestead, memories of Emma’s girlhood came rushing back to her. She felt her eyes moisten and a lump came to her throat. Even now, she still found it hard to come to grips with the fact that Yallambee was no longer her home.

The yard area was congested, so Braithewaite pulled up beside a stock truck parked on a rise some distance away. Emma was surprised to see a man in army khakis leading an old waler down a ramp at the rear of the vehicle. Two other men standing near the truck had their backs to her. At the bottom of the ramp the man with the horse took a long swallow from a hip flask.

Emma and Braithewaite walked down off the rise toward a crowd gathered around a wagon from which the auctioneer was about to conduct the sale. As they approached, an auctioneer’s assistant pushed a sale catalogue into Emma’s hand. ‘We’ll be starting soon, miss,’ he said with a wink. ‘Don’t be afraid to bid up. The mortgagor’s loss is your gain.’

Emma ignored him and looked around her. The lump came back to her throat. Everything she had ever known in her life was neatly arranged for sale. Larger items, like motor vehicles, farm implements and machinery were lined up in rows in the yard. A large number of cattle and sheep and a few old walers had been herded into several nearby holding yards.

She looked toward the house. The front door was wide open. A sign invited all and sundry to come inside and look around. The veranda was strewn with hundreds of household items for sale. Each had a bright yellow tag with a lot number. Even from where she stood, Emma recognized things familiar since childhood. She looked away.

Emma turned her attention back to the crowd around the wagon. She saw no one she knew. Not even anyone from neighboring properties. She had steeled herself earlier to face any sticky-beak neighbors, determined to look them squarely in the eye. But there weren’t any to be seen. Just a lot of strangers and opportunists picking over what was left of her childhood.

‘The vultures are out in force today, Emma,’ Braithewaite said quietly. ‘I see no graziers or farmers, just bargain hunters, buyers for the abattoirs, livestock dealers, second-hand merchants and perhaps a few cashed-up land speculators. They’re all looking to buy cheap and sell dear, especially the speculators who know they’ll double or treble their money in time.’

Suddenly the loud voice of the auctioneer carried across the yard. ‘Your attention please. Under instructions from the mortgagee, we shall offer for sale here today all land and appurtenances, livestock, equipment and all miscellaneous chattels belonging to the late Jack McKenna. I shall now read the terms and conditions of the sale, after which we will commence with…’

‘One moment please.’

Another loud voice interrupted the auctioneer. It came from the direction of the rise where Braithewaite had parked his car. The crowd turned their heads. A lone horseman was riding down slowly from the rise. He was mounted on the waler Emma had seen earlier. The rider held a rifle in one hand, the butt resting on his thigh, the barrel pointing into the air.

There was a loud murmur from the crowd. All eyes were riveted on the horseman as he drew closer. Two men accompanied him on foot. One was short and stocky and had the leisurely gait of a farmer. The other was tall with flowing white hair and a patch covering his right eye. Emma recognized him as the stranger she had seen at her father’s funeral.

The horseman was dressed in full military uniform. He wore a slouch hat with a chinstrap, and a sewn-in plume—a patch of emu hide with a cluster of feathers still attached to it. He looked to be in his early forties with a slim build and a handsome, but blotchy red face. An army kerchief was tied loosely around his throat with the ends tucked in beneath his tunic and he wore jodhpurs, high riding boots and spurs. A bandoleer was strung around his chest and a sheathed bayonet hung from the belt around his middle. The uniform was unmistakably the uniform of the Australian Light Horse.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ the auctioneer shouted.

The advancing rider didn’t reply. When he reached the crowd it parted to allow him and his companions through. When he reached the wagon he swung his mount to face the crowd.

‘I am Lieutenant Charles Parson, retired,’ he called out in a deep cultured voice ‘And these gentlemen,’ he gestured with his free hand to his companions on the ground, ‘are Sergeant William Jones and Corporal Michael Parry. Each of us had the honor of serving overseas in the Great War with the Australian Light Horse in a squadron commanded by the late Captain Jack McKenna, the dispossessed owner of this property.’

Another loud murmur ran through the crowd. Emma and Braithewaite turned to each other in surprise.

‘And we are here today,’ Snakeoil continued, ‘to say a few words on behalf of Captain McKenna who, as some of you may be aware, was shot to death at this place, his honorable and decent life brutally snuffed out long before his time.’ Snakeoil’s loud voice rose with the fervor of an impassioned evangelist. ‘And his death was not at the hands of the Huns or the Turks on some foreign battlefield, but at the hands of his own countrymen who, in their ungodly pursuit of the filthy lucre, that awful root of all evil, watched this gallant soldier’s blood pump from his veins onto the very dirt on which you are now standing.’

There was another rumble of consternation from the crowd. Some of the onlookers even glanced down at the ground around them, as if expecting to see some bloody evidence of Snakeoil’s impassioned revelation.

The crowd fell silent again.

Snakeoil seized the moment.

‘Ladies and gentlemen. Captain McKenna was a courageous man, a true patriot, a third generation Australian who swiftly answered his country’s call in her hour of need. In the Great War, Captain Jack McKenna carried Australia’s banner proudly to North Africa. He and his comrades in the Light Horse fought fiercely in those distant, war-torn lands to ensure the well-being of Australia and the families they left behind. Many young men died in pursuit of that noble cause, including Jack McKenna’s three brothers.’

Snakeoil paused for a few moments. His eyes raked through the crowd.

‘Now,’ his voice rose again. ‘Are there any among you who would seek to profit from the death of such a man? Are there any among you who would deny what remains of the McKenna family a fair price for their property and the worldly goods that Jack McKenna’s murderers are offering up for sale today?’

The crowd remained silent.

‘Well, is there?’ Snakeoil shouted. He rose to his full height in the stirrups, his service .303 rifle in his hand.

Several people began to drift away towards their parked vehicles.

Snakeoil lowered himself back into the saddle. As he did, he swayed unsteadily from side to side. His imbalance didn’t go unnoticed by Gerald Braithewaite. He turned to Emma. ‘Good God,’ he said in amazement. ‘The man’s drunk as a lord.’

Engines coughed to life in many of the parked vehicles and several of them began to pull away.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, please don’t leave.’ the auctioneer pleaded, trying to stem the exodus.

‘Let the vultures go,’ Snakeoil roared. ‘There will be no bones picked here today.’ He reached into his tunic with his free hand and pulled out a hip flask and raised it to his mouth. He wrenched the stopper out with his teeth and took a long swallow.

Now that it was obvious the armed horseman was drunk and quite likely dangerous, everyone dispersed and the auctioneer scrambled down from the wagon. Only Emma and Braithewaite remained where they were as Harmony and Mike Parry moved to get a grip on the waler’s bridle. One of the departing vehicles backfired loudly, startling the old horse into rearing up. As Snakeoil tumbled, his old .303 hit the ground before him and the loud crack of the gunshot rang out.

The sound accelerated the exodus from Yallambee and sent the auctioneer and his assistants scurrying into the house seeking cover. In minutes, the auction site was all but deserted. The only sign of the crowd which had filled the yard earlier was a mile-long dust cloud hanging over the road leading up to the ridge.

Mike Parry eventually grabbed the waler’s bridle and led him towards the truck parked on the rise. Snakeoil, his moment of oratory glory over, lurched along behind the old waler, drunk and disheveled, his immaculate uniform now soiled with dirt and stained with spilt whiskey.

Harmony walked over to Emma and Braithewaite. With his eye lowered and clutching his hat in front of him he said softly: ‘I’m Harmony Jones, miss. My friends and I were just trying to help. In the war, your father was our friend as well as our commanding officer. We all looked up to him, especially the lieutenant.’ Harmony raised his head. ‘Forgive him if you can, miss. Snakeoil, I mean the lieutenant, never touched a drop in the Light Horse, not even in the thick of the fighting and the killing and the bloody futility of it all. The grog came later, when he came home and tried to forget.’

‘There’s nothing to forgive, Mr Jones,’ Emma said. ‘I know now why you were at my father’s funeral. But may I ask you…’ Emma paused and covered her mouth as swirling dust from an unexpected wind gust enveloped them. Above them, the sun had vanished behind a black leaden sky. ‘May I ask you,’ Emma continued as the dust subsided, ‘what was it you sprinkled over my father’s coffin that day?’

‘It was a part of this place, miss. It was a bag of dirt from Yallambee. The captain took it to the war with him. He gave it to me one night before he led us on a raid near Gaza. He said he had a bad feeling and should he fall, I was to see to it that that soil entered his grave ahead of any foreign dirt. He said that way he could be buried on Yallambee.’

Emma said. ‘Fortunately, his premonition was wrong, Mr Jones.’

‘Not entirely, miss. Most of our squadron was annihilated on that raid, including the son of Mr Braithewaite here. There were only a few survivors besides the Captain, Lieutenant Parsons, Mike Parry and me. I lost my eye and was separated from the others when they sent me to a field hospital. I kept that little bag of dirt with me ever since.’

Another wind gust raised the dust again Now the air was markedly cooler.

‘They wouldn’t let me bury him here you know, Mr Jones. So your bag of dirt did serve its purpose. It was my father’s link with his home. Yallambee is an Aboriginal word for dwell or stay. My great grandfather gave this place that name when he stopped his wagon here after overlanding from New England.’

A large single raindrop plopped onto the brim of the hat in Harmony’s hands, staining the dry felt. More big raindrops began to fall. As they intensified, they made a muffled, slapping sound as they pounded into the parched earth. Soon it was raining hard.

Half an hour later, as Braithewaite and Emma drove back to Augathella, it was hard to see the road ahead through the deluge.

CHAPTER NINE

The heavy rain continued for almost a week, inundating south-east Queensland. The run-off surged down deep dry gullies and parched riverbeds, overflowing creeks and filling billabongs. But eventually the rain eased, and the sun came out again and the cracked, crusty face of the outback took on a new complexion.

Bright green shoots of lush new grass pushed their way upward through soft, pliable ground, where only days before, parched roots lay exposed to the blazing sun, grazed down below the surface by ravenous livestock during the long drought. Long vanished fauna, suddenly reappeared as if by magic and the sight and sounds of wildlife returned to the bush.

The rains were hailed as God’s answer to the prayers of the Queensland outback. But ironically, they only added to the misery of the hungry and homeless families, huddled under windswept, rain-lashed tents in the camps of the unemployed in public parks around Brisbane, the state’s capital.

Always fearful of communists inciting civil disorder, the authorities kept the camps under close police surveillance and only issued sustenance rations to single men once at any given location, thereby ensuring the most dangerous troublemakers were always kept on the move. Many residents of homes near the camps complained they were unsanitary eyesores, harboring dole bludgers and dangerous deadbeats and demanded they be closed.

The police preferred to control the situation by having several smaller camps rather than a huge concentration of unemployed people in any one place. But the newly formed Queensland Unemployment Workers Movement called for a single large facility providing better conditions and adhering to strict health regulations. They proposed it be set up on a large tract of picturesque, but isolated land, high up on Mount Cootha overlooking the city. The union felt so strongly about their proposal that Bill Travis, a well know champion of the unemployed in Sydney was asked to come up to Brisbane to canvass support for it.

*

A passenger train shuddered to a halt at the South Brisbane Station. The doors of the carriages swung open and weary travelers, many of whom had endured a long, slow ride and several train changes since leaving Sydney two days earlier, stepped out onto the platform.

Bill Travis, a tall, lean young man in his late twenties was one of the last to alight. He wore a well-worn suit and carried an old, brown suitcase. As he made for the platform exit he favored his right leg, the price he would pay for the rest of his life for defying authority.

In early 1929, at the start of the Depression, coal miners in New South Wales’ Hunter Valley were locked out for refusing to take pay cuts. Bill found himself on the dole—eight shillings a week instead of the basic wage of over four pounds. The collieries remained closed and the miners lived in poverty for a almost a year. Then the government announced it would re-open the mines using non-union labor. The unionists were goaded into action.

The worst demonstration was at the Rothbury colliery. Bill Travis was in the first wave of nearly ten thousand unionists who converged on the mine, trying to stop non-unionists from working. Things got out of hand. At first the police rained batons down on the heads of the unionists. The miners started throwing stones. The police retaliated by opening fire with their revolvers. One miner was shot dead and scores of others were wounded. Bill Travis was shot in the leg.

Although the miners lost the battle at Rothbury and went back to work for less pay and worked fewer hours, Bill became a martyr. Suddenly the working-class and the unemployed had a hero, a symbol of hope. His picture was in all the newspapers, lying on the ground holding his bleeding leg with a policeman standing over him, gun in hand.

Since then, blacklisted by the collieries and forced to live on the dole, Bill committed himself to the causes of the poor. But his ability to unite and incite the unemployed angered the authorities who, bereft of ideas to combat the Depression and fearful of a total breakdown in law and order, branded him a seditious communist and subjected him to constant harassment.

In 1930, Bill travelled to Perth to help organize a march of unemployed people on Canberra. The Western Australian government, in a rare display of bureaucratic nous, got rid of the problem by providing the marchers with free, one-way railway passes to the town of Norseman on the edge of the Nullarbor Plain. Stuck out in the desert in sweltering heat, hundreds of miles from anywhere, the noble but hopelessly under-financed cause quickly withered and died. Bill was determined to be more wary in Brisbane.

Bill handed his ticket to an inspector at a small window above the turnstile in the ticket office. When he passed through into the main station hall, a scruffy barefoot youth ran over to him.

‘Mr Travis?

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Tim Bennett. My father’s George Bennett of the Unemployed Worker Movement. He was coming to meet the train but the police raided the camps at dawn this morning looking for you. Dad said the coppers are going to arrest you, sling you in jail and throw away the key. He said you must get out of Queensland right away.’ The boy looked anxiously over his shoulder. ‘Go quickly, Mr Travis. I think I may have been followed.’

Suddenly the big doors leading out onto Roma Street burst open and uniformed policemen poured into the station hall. But before they had a chance to scrutinize all the travelers inside, Tim Bennett casually ambled off, whistling as he went. And Bill quickly turned around and hurried back to the train platforms, deftly ducking down under the turnstile as he passed by the ticket inspector’s window. Minutes later, he slipped unnoticed onto an outbound train just as it was pulling away.

*

Emma was glad when at last the weather cleared. Any more rain would have made the roads in the district impassable and played havoc with the rural rail schedules.

The night before she was to take the boys to Hope Farm, she stayed up until midnight mending tears, sewing on buttons and darning socks. At dawn the next morning the boys put on their old boarding school uniforms, then sat down to a good breakfast while Emma made sandwiches for the long day ahead.

Kathleen woke earlier than usual; she seemed to realize that something unusual was going on. When the boys kissed their mother goodbye at her bedside, Kathleen’s eyes welled with tears. She raised her hand and gently touched each boy on the cheek. It was the only emotion Kathleen had shown since the shooting.

Gerald Braithewaite had insisted he drive them to the Charleville railway station. Emma accepted, glad not to impose on the Coltranes any more than necessary. When Braithewaite arrived just after dawn, only Laura came out of the house to see Emma and the boys off.

On the way to the station, Braithewaite said: ‘Victorian Mercantile have notified me that an offer was made to purchase Yallambee, lock, stock and barrel on the afternoon of the sale.’

Emma was taken completely by surprise.

‘But that’s wonderful, Mr Braithewaite. Was it a good offer?’

‘I’m afraid it was considerably less than the amount owing to them, Emma.’

Emma’s joy was short lived. ‘But they didn’t accept it, did they? I mean, what with the rain and everything.’

‘I’m afraid they did. As I said, it was a comprehensive offer for land, equipment, livestock and virtually everything else. They accepted it immediately.’

‘Do you know who the buyer is?’

‘Apparently some sort of an investment company. I’ve never heard of them before.’

They drove on in silence. At the station in Charleville, Braithewaite went to buy their tickets while the boys took their bags out of the car. When he returned he gave Emma the tickets and said, ‘I’ll be here to pick you up the day after tomorrow.’

Emma opened her purse and took out some money.

Braithewaite waved a hand. ‘Let me pay for them.’

‘No, Mr Braithwaite. I still have almost thirty pounds. I’ve worked it all out carefully. I have enough money to take the boys to Hope Farm and to take Mother to Armidale.’

Braithewaite sighed. ‘And after that?’

‘I’ll take one day at a time,’ Emma said pressing the money into the old man’s hand.

A shrill whistle cut the stillness of the morning. Down the track, beyond the end of the platform, the train was approaching.

*

Emma knew Toowoomba well. Like her brothers, she had gone to boarding school there before her mother’s riding accident. But she never dreamt she would ever spend a night in The Sundowner, a grubby old hotel across the street from the railway station. Emma had decided to stay there because it would be cheap and the bus to Goombungee stopped outside the front door.

The publican, a short, fat man in a sweat-stained vest, came out from behind the noisy public bar when Emma rang the bell in the foyer. He looked surprised to see two boys wearing the uniform of Toowoomba’s most exclusive boy’s school and a well-dressed young woman standing at the reception desk.

‘I’d like a room, please, for the three of us tonight, and just for myself tomorrow night.’

The publican grinned. ‘This is some kind of a joke, is it, miss?

‘Not at all. We need accommodation and we don’t have a lot of money.’

‘The cheapest room is three shillings and sixpence,’ the publican said skeptically. ‘It’s right above the public bar and it’s noisy. And its only got a small double bed so you’ll need a cot. That’ll cost another shilling.’

‘We won’t need the cot. One of us will sleep on the floor,’ Emma said. She took seven shillings from her purse and put the money down on the desk.

The publican scooped up the coins. As Emma signed the register, a tipsy patron lurched out of the bar and demanded the bartender return to draw more beer. The publican took a key from a hook on the wall and gave it to Emma. ‘Room 106, miss,’ he called out as he hurried away. ‘And be sure to bolt the door after you.’

The room was dingy and smelled badly. A naked light bulb hung from a high ceiling over a tiny washstand. A sign on the inside of the door said water could be fetched from the lavatory at the end of the landing. One small window overlooked the street at the front of the pub and the noise from the bar reverberated up through worn linoleum on the floor.

The boys sat down glumly on the old iron bed. Emma unwrapped the last of the sandwiches, but no one was hungry. She opened the suitcases, took out the boys’ pajamas and tossed them onto the bed. ‘You two sleep there,’ she said. ‘I’ll sleep on the floor.’

Bruce and Jack chose to leave their clothes on and soon fell asleep in spite of the noise from the bar. Emma lay wide awake for hours on the floor on a dirty blanket she had taken off the bed. Eventually the bar closed and the last of the hotel patrons spilled out onto the street below the window and shuffled off into the night.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. Emma opened it cautiously. The publican stood outside. He was holding a folded cot in his hands.

‘Here, miss,’ he said gruffly. ‘My wife sent me up with this. She said you were to have it and I wasn’t to charge you anything.’

*

They were woken the next morning by steam engines noisily shunting goods carriages in the rail yards adjacent to the station.. It was a clear, fine morning. At seven, the Goombungee bus arrived at The Sundowner exactly on schedule.

As soon as it pulled away Emma opened a brown paper bag containing their breakfast, a bottle of milk and fresh oranges she had bought at a corner shop near the hotel. Later, she took two clean white handkerchiefs from her bag and spread them out on her lap. She carefully put five two-shilling pieces in each hankie, folded them in at the corners, tied them, and gave the boys one each, with strict instructions to use the money only in an emergency.

‘This is it, miss,’ the bus driver called out when he stopped at an iron gate at the entrance to Hope Farm. Beside the gate was a wooden platform covered with milk churns. 'The farm itself is a mile or so down the driveway. The brothers never meet the bus. They expect everyone to find their own way in.’

Emma and the boys climbed out and stood, bags in hand, at the side of the narrow dirt road and watched the bus pull away. Already the sun was hot. Bruce swung open the gate and they started off down a wheel-rutted track leading into the property. It wound lazily through meadows and ploughed fields interspersed with patches of tall gums.

After half an hour, they topped a rise in the trail and saw Hope Farm nestled in a valley below them. It was much bigger than Emma had expected. The farmyard covered several acres and was enclosed by a post and rail fence. Inside the compound was a dairy and milking sheds, poultry houses, rows of pig pens, two big barns and several granaries and storage sheds. Emma thought how neat and organized everything looked.

Beyond the farmyard compound, on higher ground, stood a huge two-story red brick residence surrounded by a brick wall. Off to one side, a small lake shimmered in the morning sun. When Emma and the boys approached, a big lad wearing a grey shirt, grey shorts and black leather boots came out of the compound to greet them.

‘Hello,’ the youth said cheerfully. ‘I’m Strickland. You must be the McKennas. Brother Lucas told me to look out for you and take you up to the residence.’ He took a bag in each hand then turned and led the way.

They followed Strickland through the compound. It was a hive of activity. There were young boys everywhere, some working alone and some working in groups. All seemed to be working hard at their various chores and everyone wore the same grey uniform as Strickland. Emma noticed the boys were supervised by men wearing ankle-length brown cassocks and broad-brimmed hats. She took them to be Brothers of the Apostles.

At the residence, Strickland pulled hard on a chain hanging in the entranceway. A bell rang deep inside the building. After a few moments, a thin, middle-aged man in a brown cassock appeared at the doorway.

‘You may go now.’ The thin man dismissed Strickland without looking at him and the big youth turned on his heel and left. The man in the cassock bowed his head slightly toward Emma. ‘Good morning. I am Brother Lucas.’

‘Good morning. I’m Emma McKenna, and these are my brothers Bruce and Jack.’

Brother Lucas smiled benignly. ‘Please come in. I’ll take you to Brother Benjamin, our administrator.’

Emma and the boys fell in behind Brother Lucas and walked across a huge hall. Emma glanced around her. Tapestries depicting biblical scenes and other religious paraphernalia hung from the walls. A wide wooden staircase with a high banister led upstairs. Emma was impressed with the grandeur of it all. Beyond the hall, they followed Brother Lucas to an office at the end of a long corridor. He tapped softly on the door.

‘Enter,’ a voice called out from inside.

Brother Benjamin sat behind a cluttered desk. His round fleshy face beamed happily when Brother Lucas introduced him to Emma and the boys. He gestured to a long sofa against the office wall and they all sat down. Brother Lucas remained standing off to one side while Brother Benjamin rummaged amongst a pile of papers on his desk. He picked some letters from the pile and ran his eyes over them for a few moments.

‘Ah yes, Miss McKenna,’ Brother Benjamin said at last. ‘Mr Braithewaite in Augathella, detailed the unfortunate events which led up to the position your family finds itself in. May I just say, we at Hope Farm are happy to be able to assist in your time of need. No doubt Mr Braithewaite has made you aware of the total commitment of the Brothers of the Apostles to the building of sound minds and bodies of young men who, because of no fault of their own, find themselves deprived of an education and a normal family environment.’

‘Yes he has, Brother Benjamin,’ Emma said. ‘And we are very grateful to you.’

Brother Benjamin smiled. ‘Now, before you sign the boys over into our care, let me tell you something about what we provide here at Hope Farm and also the undertakings that we require from you in return. Over the years we have developed a self-sufficient and commercially viable agricultural operation. We believe fulfillment in life can only be achieved by adhering to a strict code of discipline, sacrifice, and unswerving faith in God.’ Brother Benjamin smiled again. ‘Now, the undertakings we require in return, Miss McKenna, are that the boys observe all the house rules and carry their fair share of the workload. We also require your acceptance that as long as they are here at Hope Farm, the Brothers of the Apostles have complete discretion in all matters relating to them.’

Emma glanced confidently at Bruce and Jack. ‘You can be sure my brothers will work hard and follow all the rules.’

‘Very well.’ Brother Benjamin reached into a desk drawer and took out a thick leather-bound journal. He held up a fountain pen. ‘If you’ll just sign here, Miss McKenna.’

‘Perhaps you would care for some tea while Brother Lucas takes the boys and their things upstairs?’ Brother Benjamin tugged on a bell tassel beside his desk as Emma signed her name in the book. ‘They are to share a dorm with other boys, including young Strickland, who I take it you have already met. He has been assigned to take your brothers under his wing until they are settled in.’

‘That’s very kind,’ Emma said

‘And they will be issued with uniforms straight away. We feel uniforms have a leveling effect amongst the boys. For that reason we ask that they do not retain any personal possessions which may advantage them in some way over the other boys. Do they have anything like that with them?’

Emma shook her head. ‘No. They have no wrist watches or fountain pens or anything like that.’

When the boys left with Brother Lucas, a lad of about thirteen entered the office carrying a tea tray. Over tea and buttered scones, Brother Benjamin told Emma more of the workings of Hope Farm.

‘We have around seventy-five boys here ranging in age from eight to almost sixteen,’ he explained. ‘And there are usually a dozen or so brothers at Hope Farm. There are three in permanent residence, myself, Brother Lucas and Brother Josef. The others are sent here for a year or two to assist us and gain experience. My function is to oversee the overall operation of the farm and the general welfare of the boys in our charge. Brother Lucas serves as my administrative assistant and Brother Josef is our farm manager.’

‘I noticed it was a boy who brought in the tea,’ Emma said. ‘Do they assist the ladies on your domestic staff?’

‘Oh, there are no ladies at Hope Farm, Miss McKenna.’

Emma looked surprised. ‘But who does the cooking and the cleaning?’

‘As I said earlier, we are entirely self-sufficient. The boys and the brothers attend to everything, from milking the cows and feeding the fowl, to the cooking, the cleaning, and even the laundry.’

‘It must be difficult for them without someone to darn, sew, or iron clothes.’

‘Sacrifices are character-building, Miss McKenna. Because of that, there are no motor vehicles at Hope Farm either. Our farm implements and wagons are all horse-drawn. And perhaps you may have noticed we have no electricity or telephone connected.’ Brother Benjamin smiled again. ‘But life here does have its compensations. All the boys have one afternoon a week off when they can do whatever they wish. They can read, play games, or just do nothing at all. And you may have noticed our little lake outside. It makes an excellent swimming hole during the hot summer days’

When Brother Lucas returned to the office with Bruce and Jack they were both wearing the grey uniform of Hope Farm.

‘I thought I would take the boys over to Brother Josef at the farm,’ Brother Lucas said, a thin hand on each boy’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps Miss McKenna may like to say goodbye to them now?’

Emma looked at her brothers. In their uniforms it was difficult for even her to tell them apart. But characteristically, Jack was close to tears while Bruce was trying hard to look brave and unconcerned. Emma crossed the room and hugged them both tightly. She held Bruce just briefly, but Jack held on longer, and for a moment Emma felt his warm tears on her cheek. A second later they were gone.

*

The afternoon bus passed by Hope Farm just after one o’clock, shortly after a truck from the dairy in Toowoomba picked up the milk. Emma accepted a ride on the horse-drawn wagon which hauled the milk churns up to the gate each day. As the wagon passed one of the larger farm buildings she caught a glimpse of Bruce and Jack inside it. But when she strained to see, the door of the building closed, blocking them from view.

Emma decided to look around the shops in Toowoomba rather than spending any more time than she had to in the grubby hotel room. She walked the length of the main street twice before going back to The Sundowner. She met the publican’s wife on the stairs, carrying down bed linen.

‘Hello luv,’ said the woman with a friendly smile. ‘I was just going down to make a nice cup of tea. My husband always likes a cuppa before the late afternoon rush in the public bar. Come and join us if you like.’

Emma sat down on a stool in the kitchen while the publican’s wife made tea and buttered slices of currant bread. After a few moments, her husband came in, tousled-haired from an afternoon nap.

He looked surprised to see Emma, then he looked around the kitchen.

‘Where’s the lads then?’ he asked.

‘The young lady took them over to Hope Farm this morning,’ the publican’s wife said.

‘You mean the farm run by the brothers out near Goombungee?’

‘Yes.’ Emma said.

The publican’s eyes narrowed. ‘And you’re leaving them out there?’

‘Yes. I’m catching the morning train back to Charleville tomorrow.’

The publican and his wife exchanged a knowing glance. As Emma reached for a slice of buttered currant bread she didn’t see the apprehension on their faces.

CHAPTER TEN

Patrick Coltrane rose early and in rare good humor. Usually he ate breakfast with his wife and son at eight o’clock after bathing and shaving and, regardless of the temperature, dressing in a full suit of clothes. But this morning when he entered the dining room he found Beth only just beginning to lay the table. Sounds from the kitchen told him Laura and Mary were still preparing breakfast so he decided to take some air outside on the veranda.

It was a fine, sunny morning and with moisture still lingering in the air after the rains, the views from the veranda were exceptionally clear. Coltrane looked out over gently rolling pastures stretching in every direction to the distant horizons. How good the station looked, he thought, especially now, after the long drought had broken and the parched landscape had been transformed into a lush green land of milk and honey. It was indeed a property to be proud of.

The first Coltranes had come to the Warrego district as free settlers nearly a hundred years earlier. It was a harsh inhospitable land then, as large as the British Isles and uninhabited except for tribes of nomadic blacks. It was a wild, rugged country where only the strong and the doggedly determined could even hope to build a future. The Coltranes had brought sheep and cattle with them, and gradually, despite the hardships, the isolation, and sometimes hostile blacks, they claimed and tamed their own piece of the vast Warrego.

Patrick Coltrane knew his heritage had been hard-won. The Essex Downs he inherited had been carved out of the wilderness by the indomitable spirit of his forebears, resourceful and stubborn Anglo-Saxon squatters who refused to let anything stand in their way. And, with labor always scarce in the bush, they had largely done it alone.

In the early days, some squatters brought in laborers from Hong Kong and southern China to tend their flocks and herds. But the labor shortage was only one of many problems. Over time, the introduction of livestock to the Warrego caused the disappearance of the natural ground roots and traditional wildlife on which the nomadic blacks were entirely dependent. Eventually, when their search for food became all but impossible, the Aborigines began killing sheep and cattle and even the Chinese shepherds in order to survive.

The Coltranes responded to the slaughter by poisoning water holes used by the blacks and hunting down and shooting every Aboriginal man, woman and child they could find. When the blacks became too elusive for them, the Coltranes called in the dreaded Native Mounted Police, sadistic killers trained by the colonial government to track down and exterminate their own kind.

The few blacks that survived the genocide of the frontier days eventually became tame and utterly dependent on the squatters. Few white men regarded them as good station hands. White settlers believed they were the last of a prehistoric race which faced certain extinction. Since enactment of the Queensland Aboriginal Protection Act in 1897, most blacks were sent to reservations or missions. But with labor still scarce, many squatters kept Aborigines on their properties and fed and clothed them in return for such work as they felt they were capable of performing.

Coltrane watched a column of smoke rising up into the morning sky. It was coming from the Aboriginal camp beside the creek. His jaw tightened. Soon, he’d get rid of the blacks that remained on Essex Downs. He’d always disliked having them around anyway, especially the half-castes. They were the worst kind, almost white on the outside but still black as coal on the inside. The old belief that the Aboriginal race was doomed had proven wrong and Coltrane believed it was the white man’s own fault.

He thought that the worst mistake the early bush pioneers had made was allowing white station hands to breed with the blacks. It was the reason why do-gooders like Jack McKenna’s father had petitioned the authorities to have the Aboriginal Protector take young half-caste women and their near-white sucklings off Essex Downs in the old days. That petition had caused such an outcry that it had cost Coltrane’s father a certain seat in the Queensland government when the colony joined the new federation of Australian states in 1901. Even years later the whole affair had come back to haunt him with a shame and loathing for which he could never forgive the McKenna family.

Coltrane pondered the situation of the blacks on his station. They would have to go before long. Fortunately, he reasoned, things were changing in the outback and the Aborigines on Essex Downs had outlived their usefulness. With machinery now taking over so much manual work, and with improvements in transportation and communications, more white workers were becoming available in the bush.

The old ways were making way for the new. In 1922, soon after Cobb & Co stopped building stagecoaches in Charleville, a transportation company of a different kind was founded in the town calling itself Queensland and Northern Territory Aerial Services. A lot of the locals had laughed at the time but now Qantas aircraft, in spite of the Depression, were a common sight in the skies all over the country. A new era lay ahead for Queensland and Australia. And Coltrane knew that steady hands were needed at the helm in the nation’s capital, particularly during the current precarious state of Australia’s economic affairs.

Coltrane believed passionately that two of the strong hands in Canberra should be his own. He had lobbied long and hard for nomination as a Queensland senator. Now at last, he believed his time had come.

*

‘Breakfast is ready, sir,’

Beth’s soft voice drew Coltrane from his thoughts and he quickly entered the house. Laura and Elliot were already seated when he took his place at the breakfast table.

‘Good morning,’ Coltrane said cheerfully. He paused, waiting until Beth had finished pouring his tea. ‘I was in Charleville yesterday attending to some important matters. As a result, I have a couple of announcements to make. The first concerns myself and the second concerns Elliot.’

Laura looked uninterested and continued buttering her toast. Elliot, suddenly attentive, looked up from his bacon and eggs.

‘It seems the financial support I pledged to the New Guard Movement has already begun to bear fruit,’ Coltrane said. He sipped his tea and smiled. ‘I told young Stephen Fairchild that in return for my assistance, I would expect a few words endorsing my nomination for a senate seat to be whispered into the right ears in Brisbane. As a man with direct connections to the upper echelons of the conservative establishment in this country, I knew he would be listened to. It seems he is a man of action. Yesterday I had lunch with our state member. He told me Fairchild had already made representations in Brisbane on my behalf and that I can expect a positive statement from the premier’s office very soon.’

‘That’s very nice for you, Patrick,’ Laura said dutifully.

‘That’s wonderful, Father,’ Elliot said without much enthusiasm. ‘Now what is it that concerns me?’

‘I’ve bought another property. I think the time has come for you to assume some responsibility, to start running your own operation.’

Elliot’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘How big is it?’ he asked.

‘Eight thousand acres.’

‘Where is it?’ Laura asked.

‘About fifty miles north.’

‘What’s it called?’ asked Elliot.

Coltrane glanced apprehensively at Laura. ‘It’s called Yallambee, ’ he said flatly.

Laura sprang to her feet and angrily threw her napkin down onto the table. ‘That’s despicable, Patrick. You’ve planned this all along, haven’t you? You’ve planned it since the day Jack came here begging for help and you turned him down.’

Elliot’s grin turned into a look of amazement. He had never seen his mother so angry before.

But the outburst was short-lived. ‘You could have helped him, Patrick,’ Laura said quietly. Her eyes moistened. ‘You could have done it for me. Yallambee was my home once, you know.’

‘You know damn well why I turned him down,’ Coltrane snapped.

‘Just once,’ Laura said bitterly, ‘you could have put your hatred for my family aside.’

Coltrane was unmoved. ‘I did once, Laura. And if you remember, it was because of you. When we were married, I held out the olive branch to the McKennas. I was prepared to let bygones be bygones, to bury the differences of the past. But how did Jack McKenna thank me for it? I’ll tell you how…’

‘No, Patrick,’ Laura broke in quickly, ‘please, not in front of Elliot.’

‘Why not, he’s all grown up now. Besides, he has a right to know.’

Elliot looked mystified. ‘Know what?’ he asked. His eyes darted from to his father to his mother and back again. ‘What did Uncle Jack do?’

Coltrane looked Elliot directly in the eye and said disdainfully, ‘He married a nigger.’

There was a long silence while Elliot took in what his father said.

‘You mean Aunt Kathleen’s a bloody gin ?’ Stunned, Elliot turned to his mother. ‘How can that be?’

Laura sank back down in her chair, her eyes lowered, saying nothing..

Coltrane said, ‘When Jack Mckenna got married, the only thing anyone knew about Kathleen was that she was an orphan from Brisbane. She told us she was raised at the Mary Wells Home. My father knew they used to send a lot of half-caste babies there in the old days. He made inquiries through people he knew in the government. Sure enough, it turned out she was one of them.’ Coltrane shook his head. ‘God Almighty, she could even have been born here on Essex Downs.’

Elliot’s eyed widened After a moment he said. ‘Then that means Emma and the twins…’

‘Yes.’ Coltrane said bitterly. ‘They’re all niggers.’

Elliot’s face turned pale. ‘Who else knows?’

‘No one outside this room, now.’ Coltrane replied. ‘Those that did before are all dead. Even Kathleen herself doesn’t know. The Mary Wells Society made sure orphans were never told where they came from, especially the half-castes.’

‘But Uncle Jack must have known.’

‘Of course he did, the bastard. It was the McKennas and the do-gooders who had the niggers sent to the Mary Wells Home in the first place, and they all donated time and money to the cause for years and years afterwards. That’s when he met her.’

Elliot turned to Laura. ‘Did you know, Mother?’

‘No. I was married to your father for years before your Uncle Jack and Aunt Kathleen were married.’ Laura said. She rose from the table and walked to the door. Before she slammed it hard behind her she said: ‘And I’m sorry my brother has made you and your father feel so ashamed. I only hope you both feel better now that you’ve managed to take his family home and drive his destitute children and crippled widow away from our door.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The train to Charleville didn’t leave Toowoomba until 7.30 am, but Emma had already vacated her room at The Sundowner and was pacing up and down the platform at seven o’clock. And for the first time since leaving Yallambee, she found herself entirely alone with her thoughts, temporarily free of the everyday responsibilities of the twins and her mother.

Her family’s well-being weighed heavily on her mind. It was hard to believe that in just two months their lives had been turned completely upside down. But she knew things could be worse. At least the boys were fortunate to be at Hope Farm, and it was a blessing that Kathleen would soon be settled with the Mary Wells Society in Armidale.

Her thoughts turned to her father and inexplicably he seemed suddenly very close to her. Then the moment was gone as a shrill whistle pierced the silence of the morning and a steam engine hissed past, bringing her train into the station.

Emma entered the first empty compartment. While lifting her bag onto the luggage rack above the seat she noticed a discarded newspaper. She took it down and settled into a seat beside the window. After a few moments, the compartment door opened and a woman with two very young girls came in and sat down in the seat opposite her.

When the train pulled out of the station and gathered speed, the clickety-clack rhythm of the carriage wheels on the track delighted the youngsters, who stood with their faces pressed against the window watching the outskirts of town give way to farmland. When the girls settled down again beside their mother, the compartment door opened again and a young man entered. He swung an old suitcase up onto the luggage rack, then sat down just inside the door and began to read a magazine.

Emma took him to be in his mid-twenties. He had brown hair, dark eyes and a sanguine manner that reminded her of a much older Bruce. But by the look of his pale face and the soft hands holding the magazine, Emma could see he wasn’t from the bush. Although clean and tidy, his clothes were threadbare, and his shoes were down-at-heel.

Suddenly the young man looked up from his magazine and caught Emma appraising him. He smiled shyly. Emma quickly looked away and unfolded the newspaper in her lap.

The headlines told her that Premier Lang had ordered the New South Wales treasury not to pay interest payments that were falling due to British bondholders. Emma turned the page. A smaller headline announced the merger of General Motors of the U.S.A. and Holden’s Motor Body Builders to form General Motors-Holden’s Ltd. She thumbed through the remaining pages with little interest. But an item on the editorial page immediately caught her eye.

BRISBANE WELCOMES NEW GUARD EMISSARY

Beneath the headline was a photograph of a group of prominent Queensland politicians and businessmen standing beside a small aircraft at Eagle Farm Airport. At the centre of the group, wearing flying leathers and smiling broadly, was Stephen Fairchild. The brief article that followed reported widespread acceptance of the New Guard Movement and a flood of financial support for it.

‘Have your tickets ready, please.’

Emma and the mother of the girls produced tickets. The young man in the threadbare suit moved his magazine closer to his face.

There were two grey-haired ticket inspectors. One entered the compartment and punched the tickets while the other remained outside in the corridor. The young man with the magazine continued reading.

‘All right, son,’ the inspector tapped the magazine. ‘Your ticket, please.’

The young man began to search his pockets. ‘It must be here somewhere, I��’

‘Come on, son.’ The inspector took the passenger’s arm. ‘We know you don’t have a ticket. We saw you slip onto the train in Toowoomba. Hid in the lavatory until we got under way, did you?’

The young man gave up the pretence of looking for a ticket. He glanced at Emma and smiled self-consciously. Then he reached up for his suitcase and stepped outside where the inspector in the corridor none to gently bundled him away.

‘Sorry, ladies,’ the first inspector said. ‘It’s the times you know. Too many young unemployed chaps roaming around the countryside looking for work and handouts. It’s a real problem for the railways. They usually jump the goods trains. But now and again we get someone like this bloke who thinks he’s too good to join the swaggies in a goods wagon.’

‘What happens to him now?’ Emma asked.

The inspector shrugged. ‘Oh, we could charge him under the Vagrancy Act. It carries a fine of twenty pounds plus the payment of the proper fare. But you can’t get blood from a stone. We’ll telegraph Brisbane from the next station and ask what they want us to do. When they decide they’ll wire ahead before we get to Charleville.’

The inspector closed the compartment door behind him. Emma stared out the window at the passing countryside. She thought of the hopelessness facing the young man and the thousands like him wandering the country looking for work that didn’t exist and with nowhere to call home. Suddenly her family’s situation didn’t seem quite so bad. At least Bruce and Jack had a roof over their heads and good wholesome food to eat.

*

Bruce and Jack had seen Emma leave Hope Farm on the milk wagon. When Brother Lucas turned them over to Brother Josef, the farm manager had put them to work with Strickland mucking out the milking shed.

The sight of Emma leaving had brought a flood of new tears to Jack, while Bruce showed no outward sign of the anguish he felt at the breaking up of the family. The brothers’ emotions were not shared by Strickland. When he saw them stop work while when the milk wagon passed, he quickly closed the milking-shed door.

‘There’ll be no dinner for you or me until all the shit is out on the dung heap and fresh straw is in the gutters ready for the afternoon milking,’ Strickland said sharply. ‘That’s the rules of the morning muck-out.’ The big youth squatted down on a milking stool and grinned, enjoying his authority. He made a fist of his right hand and shook it menacingly. ‘And guess what you get if you make me miss my dinner?’

Neither Bruce nor Jack knew if Strickland was joking or not. But neither wanted to find out, so they quickly got back to work and didn’t let up until the job was finished. When the boys walked up to the residence for dinner, Strickland explained some more of the rules at Hope Farm.

‘This morning you entered the residence through the front door. You will never do that again. Brother Lucas only lets the boys do that once, to make a good impression on whoever brings them here. From now on you’ll go in through the back door and with your boots off. And at the end of the day you’ll shower in the ablutions shed outside the back door and change into clean clothes. At six o’clock Brother Lucas has a fifteen-minute service in the chapel. If you’re late, you get no tea. After tea, you can use the common room off the main hall until seven-thirty to read, play drafts or chess, or just sit around and talk. After that it’s up to bed with all oil lamps to be out by eight o’clock.’

When the three reached the ablution shed there were lots of boys milling around. Beside the shed was a long row of outdoor lavatories. ‘Those are the only dunnies you are allowed to use,’ Strickland said. ‘There are inside lavatories but they’re only for the brothers. Don’t even think of using them, even at night, when you’re really bursting to go.’

The boys washed up at deep galvanized sinks using coarse carbolic soap. Just as they finished, a loud bell sounded and a swarm of barefoot youngsters surged into the residence. The twins followed the flow down a corridor into a large dining room.

About sixty boys took their places at a number of linoleum-covered tables. On each table there was a pitcher of water and a cluster of white enamel mugs. At one end of the dining room was a long serving table. It was covered with pots of hot food, baskets of bread rolls and stacks of plates and cutlery boxes. Behind the table, several boys rostered on kitchen duty were ready to serve the food. At the other end of the room, on a slightly elevated section of floor, was a head-table where a handful of brothers were seated.

Everyone remained standing until Brother Lucas had said grace, then each boy picked up a plate and utensils, and formed a long line at the serving table. Two more boys on kitchen duty waited on the brothers at the head table.

The meal consisted of a single ladle of meat and vegetable stew and a bread roll washed down with a mug of warmish water. When the boys were finishing their meal, Brother Lucas rose to his feet and rapped his knuckles on the table. The dining room fell silent immediately.

‘Today we welcome two new boys to Hope Farm.’ Brother Lucas announced. He looked across to where Bruce and Jack were seated and wagged the palms of his outstretched hands upwards. ‘Boys… stand up, please.’

Bruce and Jack shyly rose to their feet, conscious of every eye in the room on them.

‘These young gentlemen are the McKenna brothers.’ Brother Lucas said. ‘Now, it’s not often we get two lads here by the same name. In the past, it has never presented a problem to our strict rule of using surnames only. We just added Christian name initials on duty rosters. However, this is the first time we have had identical twins at Hope Farm. So I must think of some way to tell them apart. In the meantime we’ll just muddle along as best we can.’ Brother Lucas smiled a tight smile and waved a dismissive hand. ‘That will be all.’

After the meal, the boys rostered on work duty returned to the fields and once again Brother Josef left the twins under Strickland’s supervision, sending them out to a ploughed field with forks to spread manure hauled out by wagon from the farmyard.

‘This job is always given to the new boys,’ Strickland said. ‘It’s how the pecking order works at Hope Farm.’ He grinned. ‘If you’re lucky you’ll be at it for a long time.’

The work was hard and tiring. Strickland seemed to enjoy the twins’ discomfort and, relishing his position of supervisor, went to great pains to demonstrate exactly how the mundane task was to be performed. Then he lay down in the shade of a clump of gums at the edge of the field and watched. As the afternoon wore on Bruce and Jack became exhausted from the heat and unfamiliar exertion. Blisters quickly developed on their hands. Late in the afternoon they were relieved when a messenger came from the residence and told Strickland they were to report to Brother Lucas immediately.

When the boys entered Brother Lucas’ office, he rose from his desk and paced the floor behind it, the palms of his hands on his cassocked hips. After a few moments he stopped pacing and turned to face them with his arms folded tightly in front of him.

‘Well, I take it Strickland has familiarized you with the house rules and that you are getting the lay of the land?’

‘Yes,’ Bruce said quietly. Jack just nodded his head.

‘Good. Now, there are just a few more things. Your uniforms have been marked with your names, your old school uniforms have been disposed of, and your dormitory beds have been made up. In future you will make them yourselves each morning and change your sheets with clean ones provided each week. Your clean clothes and also any personal odds and ends you may have are to be kept in cupboards beside your beds.’ Brother Lucas resumed pacing the floor. ‘Now, as Brother Benjamin said this morning, no one is permitted to retain any valuables which are not conducive to equality prevailing among all the boys here. I know your sister said you had nothing like that but if you can think of anything, please tell me now.’

‘We have ten shillings wrapped up in a handkerchief,’ Jack volunteered.

Brother Lucas looked surprised. ‘A very large sum for twelve-year-old boys. You will have to turn it over to me of course.’ After Jack’s admission, Brother Lucas turned his eyes to Bruce. ‘Now is that between you, or do you both have ten shillings?’

Bruce didn’t answer Brother Lucas immediately. He thought of Emma’s instructions telling him to only part with the money in an emergency and said, ‘No, Brother Lucas, we have just ten shillings between us.’ Not wanting to elaborate on the lie, he added quickly, ‘We’ll go and fetch it if you like.’

Brother Lucas’ face began to shake with rage. ‘That will not be necessary young man.’ Suddenly he crossed the room and grabbing Bruce’s shirt collar, read the name tag sewn into it. ‘No, Bruce McKenna, that will not be necessary.’ Brother Lucas returned to his desk and opened a drawer and took out the two knotted handkerchiefs Emma had given the boys on the bus. ‘As you can see, I already have not one, but two handkerchiefs containing ten shillings. You see, I make a point of checking all baggage that comes onto Hope Farm. Not only do I find some most unusual things, but the practice also allows me to sometimes learn a great deal of the character of some of our new arrivals.’

‘Jack McKenna, you may go to your dorm’. Brother Lucas strode to the door and opened it. ‘Your brother will be along shortly.’

Jack left the room with downcast eyes. Brother Lucas closed the door behind him, then walked over to a cupboard and took out a bamboo cane. He turned to Bruce. His thin hands grasped each end of the cane and bowed it several times.

‘There are no secrets here, young man,’ Brother Lucas scolded. ‘Even your dirty underwear is washed by your peers. You must understand that Hope Farm can only succeed in an atmosphere of absolute trust and honesty. They are qualities you have not brought with you, so it seems I must instill them in you. Take down your shorts and underpants and touch your toes.’

Bruce’s eyes widened in fear but he made no move to comply.

‘Take down yours short and underpants and touch your toes.’

Bruce slowly lowered the garments to his ankles and touched his toes with his fingertips. He closed his eyes. The first vicious swing of the bamboo made him gasp. It stung his soft white buttocks and almost sent him toppling over on his head. As soon as he steadied himself the cane hissed through the air again. The excruciating pain again took away his breath and made his eyes smart. Brother Lucas swung the cane relentlessly, again and again and again. It was only when Bruce screamed out and broke into loud choking sobs that the onslaught ended.

At tea time, Bruce ate little. And what little he did eat, he ate standing up, unable to endure any weight on his swollen welted buttocks. But the worst degradation had come earlier, at the start of the meal, when Brother Lucas had called him up to the elevated head table and placed a red elastic armband around his right shirt sleeve and announced to all:

‘Now, boys, I mentioned to you all earlier today that I would find a way to differentiate between the McKenna twins. Well, this afternoon I found a way. I discovered that these brothers are in fact quite different. I can tell you now that Jack McKenna is a forthright and honest young man. However, I must tell you that his brother is not.’ Brother Lucas raised his arm and pointed an accusing finger at Bruce. ‘I must tell you that this boy, Bruce McKenna, is a liar. And so you may know him for what he is, he will wear this red armband until I am satisfied he has mended his ways. In the meantime, his punishment shall be silence. Until further notice, all boys are forbidden to speak to him for any reason whatsoever.’

*

Emma’s train arrived in Charleville late in the afternoon after stopping at every small whistle stop along the line. At the station, Emma noticed several uniformed policemen on the platform. For a moment her heart raced as memories of the last day at Yallambee filled her mind. Then she saw Gerald Braithwaite was there to meet her as he had promised. He stood talking with an older policemen who seemed to be in charge.

When Emma stepped onto the platform, Braithewaite hurried over to her. ‘Did everything go all right, Emma?’ he asked. ‘Did the boys get settled in?’

‘Yes. Hope Farm looks like a very nice place. I’m sure the twins will be happy there. The Brothers of the Apostles seem to be very dedicated.’

Braithewaite took her bag and they walked toward the gate at the end of the platform. As they neared the guard’s van at the end of the train, the door opened and the young man in the threadbare suit stepped out. Immediately he was surrounded by policemen, and two of the biggest grabbed him and held him tightly by the arms. Emma and Braithewaite were no more than ten feet away. Just for a moment the young man’s eyes held Emma’s. He gave her the same self-conscious smile he had given her on the train. Then the two policemen pushed him toward a waiting car. As they all walked away, Emma noticed the young man walked with a limp.

Safely, in the car, Braithewaite said. ‘I talked to the police sergeant while we were waiting for the train. It seems that man was Bill Travis. You may have of heard of him. He’s a well- known communist from Sydney. They tried to detain him in Brisbane but he got away.’

‘A communist?’ Emma looked surprised. ‘He looked like any other young man down on his luck to me, nothing at all like the monsters that the newspapers always make out communists to be. So what will happen now they’ve caught him?’

‘Oh, I suppose they’ll question him here in Charleville, then send him back to New South Wales.’ For a while they drove on in silence, then Braithewaite said, ‘And speaking of New South Wales, I’ve looked into the train schedules to Armidale. What with connection delays and the train changes because of the different interstate rail systems, travelling that distance with an invalid seems all but impossible. I must insist I drive you and your mother down there.’

‘But you can’t,’ Emma protested. ‘It’s hundreds of miles. And besides, you’ve done so much for us already. We’ll manage somehow on the train’

‘I’ve also spoken with the doctor, Emma,’ Braithewaite said firmly. ‘He says he simply won’t allow it. He says if your mother has to travel, it must be by private motorcar, otherwise she is to remain at Essex Downs.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

When Gordon Braithewaite arrived at Essex Downs to take Kathleen and Emma to Armidale, Patrick and Elliot Coltrane were nowhere to be seen. Laura tried to apologize, saying they had ridden off at dawn to join a cattle muster but her eyes couldn’t conceal the lie. Emma hugged Laura and thanked her. A moment later the car pulled away.

They arrived in Armidale on the New England plateau late the next day after staying overnight at a country hotel. Armidale, situated just east of the Great Dividing Range, was smaller than Emma had expected. But as they drove through the streets, she sensed an air of quality and permanence not often found in outback settlements.

The Mary Wells Home was a large two-story brick building. A sign at the entrance read:

WELCOME TO CRESTVIEW

The property was surrounded by well-kept lawns and flower gardens. When the car pulled up outside the main entrance, the travelers were greeted by a softly spoken, grey-haired woman who introduced herself as Miss Erin Potts, the housemother at Crestview. Kathleen was exhausted after the long journey. Emma and Braithwaite quickly transferred her into her wheelchair and took her inside.

‘We are so pleased to have your mother here with us, Miss McKenna,’ Miss Potts said as everyone got acquainted over tea and scones in a bright airy parlor. ‘We have received her full medical reports from Augathella and of course, we are aware of the support the Society has received in the past from the McKenna family. You can be assured your mother will receive the very best of care here.’

‘I’m so grateful,’ Emma said. She sat on a divan with Kathleen’s wheelchair beside her. ‘And I intend to find work just as soon as I can so I can help with the cost of her care.’

‘Any kind of paid work is difficult to come by these days, my dear,’ Miss Potts said. ‘But if you do get a job, any financial contribution would certainly be appreciated. Crestview operates almost entirely on charitable donations and the selfless work of volunteers. Somehow we are managing to meet our financial commitments, but I don’t know for how long we can continue to do so. This awful depression has severely curtailed our usual donations.’

‘Well…’ Braithewaite downed the last of his tea and stood up. ‘I really must be going.’

‘You’re not staying the night in Armidale?’ Erin Potts asked.

‘Oh, no.’ Braithewaite waved a hand. ‘I’d best make a start towards Queensland, unless Emma would like me to stay until she finds accommodation.’

‘Don’t worry about Miss McKenna,’ Miss Potts said quickly. ‘She can stay with us here at Crestview tonight and see her mother settled in.’

‘I’ll say goodbye then.’ Braithwaite turned to leave.

Emma rose quickly and went to him. She took his hands in hers.

‘How can I ever thank you, Mr Braithewaite? You have been so kind to us. I just don’t know how we could have managed without you.’ Emma leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the cheek.

Braithewaite was clearly moved. ‘It was the least I could do, Emma. I only wish I could have done more.’ He smiled a tight smile and walked toward the door.

‘Thank you so much, Gordon.’

Braithewaite stopped in his tracks.

The voice behind him was Kathleen’s.

Everyone was taken totally by surprise. Braithewaite spun round. All eyes were on the wheelchair.

Kathleen was smiling. ‘Thank you so much, Gordon,’ she said again.

*

Stephen Fairchild felt exhilarated. It was a fine clear April morning. The engine of his yellow Curtis biplane throbbed evenly, never missing a beat. Six thousand feet below him, the orderly agricultural patchwork of the Darling Downs landscape lay drenched in sunlight. He grinned and savored the moment. His mission to Queensland was over and he was doing what he enjoyed most—flying. And best of all he was on his way home.

The last few weeks had been tiring. His father had suggested he take a few days off after his extended trip to New England and Queensland. Stephen had jumped at the chance and had planned to spend the time playing tennis and sailing with his fiancé Eleanor. He’d already phoned her and told her to expect him. But suddenly that morning, he surprised himself by impulsively deciding to fly west from Brisbane instead of directly south.

For some reason he knew he just had to see the sad, dark-haired girl again, the girl who had been constantly on his mind since he had left Essex Downs, even though she warned him she might not be there if he were to visit again.

Stephen routinely glanced at the instrument panel. He would need to refuel somewhere before landing at Essex Downs and he had been told aviation fuel was available at a small airstrip at Roma. He eased the stick forward and prepared to land.

*

For the first time since leaving Yallambee, Emma awoke with hope in her heart. She had spent the night in a cot, wheeled in beside Kathleen’s bed, in a comfortable ground floor room her mother was to share with two other residents. After hearing her mother speak again, Emma had wanted to talk more, but after Braithewaite left, the Crestview staff had put Kathleen to bed where she had immediately fallen into a deep sleep.

Emma got up very quietly, careful not to disturb her mother or the other women in the room. After washing and dressing, she ate a light breakfast in a small room off the kitchen. Just as she was finishing Miss Potts came in and handed Emma a sheet of paper

‘I thought this might help you, my dear. It’s a list of places you might try for work. Sometimes the shops in town have part-time positions. You told me last night you were good at dressmaking. Some of the places on the list are clothing and drapery shops. I thought that might be helpful. I’ve also marked down a couple of boarding houses.’

Emma enjoyed the short walk into the centre of town. It was a lovely morning, with a touch of autumn in the air. Her mother’s positive signs of recovery had lifted her spirits and she felt optimistic. Her confidence was boosted by a smart, two-piece cotton suit she had made herself at Yallambee from a pattern cut out of a ladies’ magazine.

Armidale had been established as a town since 1849. It had grown into a thriving commercial centre over the years. Its clean and tidy streets were lined with well stocked shops and farm supply houses. It was still early and most of the traders were only just opening their premises. Only the odd shop here and there was boarded up and abandoned, stark reminders that even outback New South Wales was not untouched by the Depression.

Emma called in at the first shop on Miss Potts’ list. The man behind the counter said there was no work. By mid-morning Emma’s optimism began to fade, by midday it had all but evaporated. When she’d called on every name on her list she just went from door to door canvassing the hotels, cafes and milk bars. No one had work of any kind available.

Around two o’clock in the afternoon Emma decided to call it a day. She still had to arrange lodgings somewhere and to pick up her bags from Crestview. She took out Miss Potts’ list from her pocket again and stopped a passer-by for directions to the first of the two boarding houses marked on it.

The sign in the window read:

MRS NADIN’S RESIDENCE FOR YOUNG LADIES

The old white house was large and had a neat and tidy garden. After a long day of trudging around the town Emma’s feet felt like lead when she stepped up onto the veranda. She rang the door bell. An elderly overweight woman with straight grey hair drawn back into a tight bun opened the door

‘Can I help you, miss? I’m Mrs Nadin.’

‘I’m Emma McKenna. Miss Potts at Crestview said I might be able to get lodgings here.’

‘I do have a room available.’ the big woman said. ‘Please come in.’

Emma followed Mrs Nadin through the house. It was spotlessly clean with old but comfortable furnishings. The vacant room was upstairs, a small but pleasant bed-sitting room overlooking the front garden. A cool breeze wafted through the open window. Emma knew it would suit her well.

‘It’s fifteen shillings a week including full board if you’re interested, Miss McKenna.’ The landlady said. ‘With two weeks payable in advance.’

‘Very well, Mrs Nadin. I’d like to take it.’

‘I always require references before my young ladies move in.’

‘I’m from Queensland,’ Emma said. ‘I have no references with me.’

Mrs Nadin pondered the situation for a few moments then said ‘I suppose if Miss Potts sent you, that’s recommendation enough.’

Emma smiled. ‘Then it’s settled? I’ll go and get my luggage from Crestview.’

Mrs Nadin wasn’t yet ready to commit herself. ‘How long do you expect to be in Armidale?’ she asked.

‘Indefinitely. My mother is an invalid. I expect she will be at Crestview a long time.’

‘And your father?’

‘My father died a few months ago.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Mrs Nadin said. ‘It must be difficult for you. Crestview is only for those needing charity. Do you have work here in Armidale?’

‘Not yet, but I am looking.’

‘With no job, how will you pay for board and room?’

‘I have money enough for now. I can pay a month in advance if you wish.’

‘What kind of work are you trained for?‘ Mrs Nadin asked

‘I’m quite willing to do anything. But I’m best at dressmaking. I made this.’ Emma ran her hands over her suit.

Mrs Nadin moved a step closer. ‘I must say it looks quite smart and well made. A friend in my prayer group has a small business which makes school uniforms. As you would know, the bishops of both the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches established dioceses in Armidale long ago and there are several fine boarding schools here. It’s possible she may be able to help you. Would you like me to enquire?’

‘Oh, please.’ Emma said thankfully

‘Very well, Miss McKenna, you may have the room and I will speak to Mrs Shapiro. Now, the other girls staying here are trainees at the Armidale teachers’ college. I have a very strict rule about young men. None are allowed inside the house. Any callers must remain outside on the veranda, and all my girls must be in the house by nine at night, ten on Saturdays.’

*

‘Mrs Nadin can be quite short with people at times,’ Miss Potts said when Emma returned to Crestview to get her things. ‘And she’s a little rough around the edges, but beneath it all she’s a good Christian woman. I’m sure you will be happy there my dear.’

Before returning to the boarding house, Emma spent some time with Kathleen. She looked cheerful and well rested. Emma pushed her wheelchair out into the flower garden at the front of the building and sat down on a wooden garden bench. She took her mother’s hand in hers.

‘You really gave us all a start yesterday, Mother, suddenly talking right out of the blue. Isn’t it strange your mind just suddenly opened up like that?’

‘It didn’t happen so suddenly, my darling,’ Kathleen said quietly. ‘I’ve been getting better all the time. But as long as we were all at Essex Downs, I preferred to live in my own silent world. I wanted to shut that awful place out of my mind. I no longer wanted to live in a world without your father and the happiness we all shared at Yallambee’.

Emma squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘What was it that turned Uncle Patrick against us?’

‘I don’t know. Your father never told me and I never pressed him. It was something that started decades ago so it didn’t matter to me. My life only really started when I married your father. I had no roots before that. I never knew who I was. But when I married Jack McKenna, his family became my family. Then we had our own family and Yallambee. It was like a dream. When it disappeared, I died inside. But yesterday, when we reached New England, I felt a sense of belonging again. This is where the McKennas came from in the old days.’ Kathleen smiled. ‘Perhaps we can make a new start here.’

‘I hope so, Mother,’ Emma said. ‘I really hope so,’

*

Mrs Nadin served the evening meal at 6.30 pm. Emma enjoyed the first home-cooked meal in a long time which she hadn’t had to prepare herself, while she got acquainted with the other boarders.

After the meal, the girls went to their rooms to study and Emma went upstairs and unpacked. Later, she wrote a quick line to the twins at Hope Farm, giving them her address and also the wonderful news about their mother. When she had finished it was still early but she went straight to bed and fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Early the next morning Emma went out looking for work again. By midday she was exhausted and returned to the boarding house to rest her feet. With the other girls eating lunch at the teachers’ college, Emma found Mrs Nadin alone in the kitchen. Emma told her of the fruitless morning.

‘I have some good news,’ Mrs Nadin said, as she set the kitchen table for two. ‘I spoke with Mrs Shapiro. You are to go and see her this afternoon. She says she has several new orders and could use a good seamstress, but first you’ll have to show her what you can do.’

‘Emma’s face lit up. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Nadin.’

‘Thank me when you’ve got the job, young lady,’ the landlady cautioned. ‘Now sit down and eat your lunch.’

*

Mrs Shapiro’s clothing business was housed in an area specially laid out for the purpose, beneath her large home a few minutes walk from Mrs Nadin’s boarding house. Half a dozen seamstresses sat at sewing machines set up at individual tables around a central large cutting table.

The work area was surrounded by rows of shelving with bolts of cloth and countless boxes of buttons, buckles, ribbons, threads, and fasteners of every description. And there were rows of finished garments hanging on wooden racks ready to be dispatched. None of the women at the tables looked up from their work when Mrs Shapiro, a slim middle-aged woman, showed Emma around.

‘Mrs Nadin told me she’s seen some of your work, Emma,’ Mrs Shapiro said. ‘She said it looked very good. But you will appreciate that in a commercial enterprise, your work must not only be very good but you must also be able to perform it quickly and efficiently. If I’m to employ you, you must be able to demonstrate that you can do that.’

Mrs Shapiro tapped one of the seamstresses on the shoulder and asked her to get up and let Emma take her place at her sewing machine for a few minutes. Emma was glad to see the machine was a standard black and gold Singer, similar to the model she had used at Yallambee. Emma continued on with the work of sewing a simple schoolgirl’s frock quickly and easily. When the garment was finished, Mrs Shapiro moved Emma to another table where boys’ shirts were being made. Emma worked the machine for several minutes and again faultlessly demonstrated her skills.

When Emma stood up, Mrs Shapiro took Emma to one side. ‘I’m willing to take you on a trial basis, Emma,’ she said. ‘I expect hard work, but I am a fair Christian woman. I pay on a piecework basis. That is so much per garment made, depending on the particular order we are filling. The harder you work the more you are paid. You can start in a few days, just as soon as a new material shipment arrives from Sydney.’

Emma was so pleased, she hurried to Mrs Nadin’s to share the good news. Rushing up the boarding house steps, she didn’t notice the man in flying leathers standing off to one side.

‘Hello, Emma.’

The voice was familiar. She turned her head. Stephen Fairchild stood smiling at her from the end of the veranda.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bruce found his silent world intolerable. No one had spoken to him since his first day at Hope Farm, other than Brother Josef giving him orders or a hasty whisper from Jack when he thought no one was watching. Completely ignored by everyone else, he spent his long days alone in the fields in utter despair and despondency.

Brother Lucas kept the twins apart as much as he could. They were not allowed to sit together at mealtimes and Bruce was continually rostered on field work while Jack spent his days in the classroom. Even Strickland, the tormentor, never risked Brother Lucas’ wrath by breaking the awful silence. The boys still slept in the same dormitory, but they were not allowed to be there together without Strickland being present to insure there was no talking.

Bruce sat morosely in the dining room, eating little of his evening meal. It was at mealtimes that the loneliness was the worst. Sitting dejected and alienated, surrounded by his peers all noisily communicating with everyone but him, he felt invisible, imprisoned in a bad dream from which he couldn’t wake, like a ghost from another world mournfully looking in on the living. The only recognition of his existence was an occasional rueful glance from Jack from across the room or a stern vindictive stare from Brother Lucas at the head table.

Each night after the evening meal Brother Lucas handed out mail. He would call out the names of the recipients and the boys would go to the head table and collect their letters. Tonight, like every night, Bruce desperately hoped for a letter from his sister. He had already written to her telling her what was happening at Hope Farm, but the letter was still under his mattress awaiting an address to send it to. Brother Lucas called out the last name. Once again there was no word from Emma.

Bruce went directly to the dormitory after leaving the dining room, preferring the private sanctuary of his bed to humiliating solitude in the common room. He undressed quickly, got into bed and pulled the covers up over his head.

Downstairs, Jack sat by himself in the common room as he did every night until Strickland allowed him to go upstairs. He had an open book in his lap but hadn’t read a word. He just sat brooding moodily on his brother’s fate. He wished he had the courage to try and do something. Suddenly, he decided he would. Slamming the book shut he stood up and walked from the room.

His burst of bravado all but evaporated when he reached Brother Lucas’ office and he nearly turned around and went back to the common room. But he thought of Bruce, took a deep breath and knocked on Brother Lucas’ door.

‘Come in.’

Jack entered the room cautiously. Brother Lucas was sitting at his desk, writing. When he looked up he seemed surprised to see Jack.

‘Well, Jack. What is it?’

‘Brother Lucas, I…’ Jack felt his face flush. He wanted to turn and run.

‘Yes, Jack,’ Brother Lucas’ tone became conciliatory, even friendly.

Brother Lucas’ amiable manner made Jack less nervous. ‘It’s about Bruce.’ he said. ‘Please, don’t punish him anymore. He didn’t really mean to lie. It’s just that our sister told us not to part with the money unless there was an emergency. He…’ Tears suddenly welled in Jack’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks. In moments, he was crying uncontrollably.

Brother Lucas quickly crossed the room and closed the office door. Jack stood staring down at the floor. He was trembling, desperately trying to stem the flood of tears. He felt thin bony hands on his shoulders then his face was drawn into the blackness of Brother Lucas’ cassock.

`There, there, my son. Don’t cry.’ Brother Lucas ran a comforting hand through Jack’s hair. Jack was reminded of his father and happier times. His crying turned to loud choking sobs. When his sobbing eased, Brother Lucas led him to a small sofa and they sat down. Brother Lucas drew Jack close to him and held him there. He gently wiped a tear from the boy’s cheek with the back of his hand.

‘You must understand, Jack, what I did was done for the good of everyone. It really is true that sometimes one has to be cruel to be kind. Without honesty and discipline, we can’t all live here together as one large happy, trusting family. And it is my responsibility to see to it that we do that. You must believe me when I say it hurt me more than Bruce when I was forced to discipline him. Can you believe that Jack?’

Jack slowly raised his head. The tears had stopped now, but his heavy breathing was interrupted intermittently by loud hiccups. He looked confused and very vulnerable as he tried hard to comprehend what Brother Lucas had said.

Brother Lucas pursed his lips into a tight smile. He patted Jack’s knee. ‘Perhaps now we’ve had this little chat, Jack we can become friends. If we were friends it would be easier for me to make things better for your brother and to bring him back into the fold. Would you like that?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Jack said, grateful for the direction his visit to Brother Lucas was taking.

‘Very well then, ’ Brother Lucas patted Jack’s knee again. This time the hand lingered. After a moment it slid upwards and his bony fingers gently caressed Jack’s inner thigh. ‘Shall we be friends then?’

Jack froze. No one had ever touched him like that before. He was confused and afraid and didn’t know what to do. He wanted to get up off the sofa, or at least put some space between himself and Brother Lucas. But he did neither. He just smiled a short uncertain smile and said:

All right, Brother Lucas.’

*

Emma assumed Stephen had come to Armidale to attend a meeting of the New England Movement which she had seen posted all over town. When Stephen told her that the only reason he had come was to see her, she was thrilled.

‘But how did you know where I was? she asked incredulously.

‘I asked the Coltrane’s.’

‘You were at Essex Downs?’

‘Yes. I stayed there overnight. They said you and your mother were in Armidale. I called in at Crestview and Miss Potts said you were here.’

That night they ate dinner by candlelight in the Victoria Hotel where Stephen had taken a room. They sat across from each other at a small table for two. Emma wore her simple white dress with the red sash. Emma thought how handsome he looked in the same lounge suit he’d worn at dinner at Essex Downs. He looked suave, confident and self-assured. Emma knew Stephen drew glances from other women in the room and she knew he pretended not to notice.

After the meal they drank coffee and made easy conversation, oblivious to the other diners around them. Suddenly they noticed the time and had to run all the way to get back to Mrs Nadin’s before her nine o’clock curfew.

The next morning they went together to Crestview to visit Kathleen. She was delighted with Emma’s news of her job at Mrs Shapiro’s. When Emma introduced Stephen, Kathleen was pleasant and polite but seemed reserved, unclear and confused about Stephen’s connection with the Coltranes.

Emma and Stephen spent the rest of the day sightseeing. They visited Armidale’s historic cathedrals. Later they took a special bus to see the grandeur of Woolomombi Falls, twenty- five miles east of the town They took a picnic hamper with them especially prepared by the chef at the Victoria Hotel.

On the way back to town, Stephen told Emma he was flying to Port Macquarie the next day to visit an uncle and aunt who had a seaside home there. He asked her if she would like to go with him. She scoffed at the suggestion and told him racy Sydney girls might do things like that but not well-bred girls from the bush. Stephen had laughed but persisted, insisting the coast was little more than an hour away by plane.

That night they dined at the same candlelit table in the dining room of the hotel and he asked again. This time she agreed to go. But only if he was absolutely sure that the visit wouldn’t inconvenience his relatives in any way.

*

The noise was almost deafening. But at last Emma’s heart had stopped trying to burst out of her chest.

She still really couldn’t believe it was all happening. But here she was, high in the sky and apart from the nerve-wracking noise of the engine and the humming of the wind in the wing-stays, she was having the time of her life. It was mid-morning and the sun shone brightly in a clear sky. Far below, the mountains and deep green valleys of the Great Dividing Range lay basking in its warmth.

The weather began to deteriorate as they neared the coast and it became markedly cooler in the cockpit of the biplane. Emma was glad of the hopelessly oversized flying jacket and breeches Stephen had insisted she wear in addition to the mandatory leather helmet and goggles. Suddenly a loud noise above the roar of the aircraft’s engine startled Emma. It was Stephen banging with his fist on the fuselage of the plane to attract her attention. He pointed ahead and lowered the nose of the aircraft a little.

Emma saw the ocean and gasped. How beautiful it looked from the air, gleaming and shimmering in the sun. And nestled beside it lay the lovely town of Port Macquarie. Emma found it hard to imagine such a beautiful place could have been the site of an infamous penal settlement just a century before. Then Stephen pointed to the south and Emma saw black clouds were rolling in over the horizon.

The tone of the engine changed abruptly when Stephen eased back the throttle and began their descent. Soon the airplane was very close to the ground approaching a dirt airstrip on the edge of the town. Emma’s heart was in her mouth. As the ground came rushing up at them she took a firm grip on each side of the cockpit, closed her eyes and waited.

The impact was softer than she expected. Then suddenly they were safely taxiing toward a hangar at the edge of the airfield. Several men came out of the hangar and enthusiastically gathered around the state-of-the-art American Curtiss aircraft even before it had come to a complete stop.

Stephen cut the engine, jumped from the cockpit and helped Emma to the ground. He walked around the aircraft making a quick routine check, then made arrangements for the plane to be refueled and looked after while it was at the airfield.

It was raining when Stephen and Emma arrived by taxi at a large two-story house perched high on a hill overlooking the ocean. Below the house, big surf crashed onto the beach of a wide horseshoe-shaped bay close to the mouth of the Hastings River and the little town’s boat haven.

When Stephen rang the bell, the front door was opened by an elderly uniformed housekeeper. She smiled happily when she recognized Stephen and swung the door open wide.

‘Oh, Mister Stephen. Come in. Oh, this is such a lovely surprise.’

‘Hello Mrs B,’ Stephen said cheerfully as they stepped inside the house. ‘This is my friend Emma McKenna from Armidale.’

‘Welcome to Port Macquarie Miss McKenna,’ Mrs Bennett said. She turned to Stephen. ‘I’m afraid your uncle and aunt went to Sydney yesterday, Stephen. Your uncle said he had business which may keep him there for several days and Mrs Fairchild decided to go with him. They will be sorry to have missed you. How long will you be here?’

‘Just for a few hours, Mrs B.’

The housekeeper seemed disappointed. ‘Oh what a pity. There’s always so much for young people to do at Port Macquarie. But from the look of it outside we may be in for a change in the weather. You two go on into the sunroom and I’ll bring you in a nice pot of tea.’

‘Don’t you go to any trouble now, Mrs B,’ Stephen said sternly.

‘It’s no trouble, Mister Stephen.’ Mrs Bennett gave Stephen a motherly smile.

Emma smiled. As soon as they were alone she said, ‘I can see Mrs B likes you Stephen. How long has she been here?’

‘As long as I can remember,’ Stephen said as he led the way through the house to the sun room.’

‘Do you come here often?’

‘Not too much anymore. I used to come a lot during school holidays when I was a child, then later when I was at university. I’ve always liked my uncle Leonard. Over the years, we’ve had a special sort of relationship. I suppose he’s what you’d call a self-made man. My father carried on the family tradition and chose to be a lawyer. Uncle Leonard became successful the hard way. He left school early, started his first business at eighteen and worked like hell. It’s a pity you won’t be able to meet him; I know you’d like him.’

The sunroom was huge and filled with comfortable cane furniture. Two large fans hung from the high ceiling. Wide French doors led out onto a long veranda. Stephen led Emma through them. From the veranda the views were stunning.

‘It’s all so beautiful here, Stephen,’ Emma said. ‘What does your uncle do?’

‘He’s semi-retired now, but he still has business interests and holds directorships on the boards of several companies. This place used to be a holiday home when he and my aunt lived in Sydney but now they live here most of the year.’

Emma walked to the edge of the veranda and stood looking out to sea. Stephen followed her and put his arms around her. She turned around and he kissed her gently. He hadn’t kissed her before. She’d wondered when he would. She cradled his head in her hands. He drew her even closer to him and they kissed again.

‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you Emma,’ he whispered, ‘I just had to go back to Essex Downs.’ His lips were just an inch from her ear. ‘Did you think of me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Often?’

‘Yes.’

*

The weather closed in quickly as the infamous New South Wales southerly buster swept northward. By mid-afternoon it was plain they would not be able to return to Armidale. Stephen phoned the airfield to arrange for the plane to be put inside the hangar. Emma telephoned Crestview and asked Miss Potts to tell her mother and to try and get word to Mrs Nadin that they were grounded in Port Macquarie.

That night Emma lay luxuriating in the huge guestroom bed. She was very tired but reluctant to sleep. It had been such a wonderful day. Outside in the darkness, the surf relentlessly pounded the beach under rainy skies. A strong wind hissed through the tall palms outside her window.

It was almost midnight. An hour earlier she had returned drenched and windswept from a walk on the beach with Stephen. She could have walked with him forever, but the storm allowed them only a few minutes before they were soaked and had to return to the house. When they came in from the beach, arms wrapped around each other, Mrs B made them hot cocoa.

There were six bedrooms in the house. Four faced out over the ocean. All had French doors leading out onto a long single balcony. Mrs Bennett had prepared front rooms for both Emma and Stephen at opposite ends of the house. Emma smiled to herself and wondered whether the distance between herself and Stephen was just by chance or was a result of Mrs Bennett’s prudence.

Sleep was finally overtaking her when she thought she heard a soft tapping on her bedroom door above the howl of the wind and the roar of the surf. She lay still and listened and heard it again. She got up quickly and opened the door just an inch or two. Stephen stood outside. She opened the door wider and took his hand. He had come to her just as she had expected.

Not a word passed between them while Stephen gently unbuttoned Emma’s nightdress and let it fall to the floor. Then he took off his own clothes and a moment later they lay together, bodies entwined, eagerly but gently exploring each other. Emma felt the tide rising within her. She had never gone this far before. She knew she shouldn’t go any further, but already the tide that engulfed her was sweeping her away. And when Stephen’s body demanded she give her all, she gave it willingly.

*

The weather improved the next morning but not enough to allow them to fly. They walked into town and Emma bought a warm jumper. They ate lunch at a small seafood restaurant then walked along the beach in the wind and the rain. The skies began to clear just as the light began to fade in the late afternoon. After dinner they walked along the beach again under the stars.

Emma knew she would never forget those two magical rainy days in Port Macquarie. The next day she would return to the reality of Mrs Nadin’s boarding house and the day after that, begin work as a piecework seamstress, while Stephen would return to his work and his privileged life in Sydney.

He came to her again that night. After they had made love, they lay in each others arms listening to the roar of the surf and talking in soft tones.

‘I wish this could go on forever, Emma.’ Stephen said. ‘If only you could live in Sydney.’

‘You know that’s impossible,’ Emma’s finger traced a path around his mouth. ‘I have responsibilities.’

‘It must be very difficult for you, Emma.’

‘Oh, I’m sure the worst is over now. At least my family’s settled and I have a job.’ After a moment she said, ‘Besides, if I lived in Sydney, what would you do with all those society girls?’

Stephen said nothing. For a moment he seemed thoughtful.

‘Is there someone special, Stephen?’

He kissed her cheek. ‘There’s no one like you Emma.’

‘Will you be coming to New England again?’ she asked. ‘You know, on this separation business.’

‘I don’t really know.’

‘And what about this New Guard Movement? I saw your picture in the paper a little while ago. Is it really that important?’

‘The establishment in Sydney seems to think so.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes, I do. The whole country’s in a mess. The state and federal governments haven’t got a clue what to do. There could be a revolution. Someone’s got to do something. I think I can do my bit in the New Guard.’

She pressed her finger into his chin. ‘You know what I think, Stephen Fairchild? I think you just like flying around the countryside in that plane of yours.’

He smiled.

‘But I don’t blame you,’ Emma said. ‘I think flying is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life.’

Stephen smiled again, ‘That’s what your cousin Elliot said.’

Emma’s mood changed at the mention of Elliot.

‘Has he been up in your plane?’

‘I took him up when I was at Essex Downs looking for you. We went up to Yallambee.’

‘To Yallambee.’ Emma sat bolt upright in the bed. ‘You took Elliot to Yallambee. What on earth was he doing there?’

‘He said he wanted to look over the place before he moved up there.’

Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Moves up there,’ she said incredulously, her voice shaking with anger. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

Stephen looked surprised. ‘He’s going up there soon to manage the place. He told me his father had bought Yallambee. I thought you knew.’

*

During the time Bill Travis was left to languish in jail while Brisbane authorities tried to decide what to do with him, the elderly sergeant in charge of the Charleville police station and his wife had come to like the amiable young New South Welshman. The sergeant’s wife had just brought the prisoner his dinner tray one day, when two plain clothes officers arrived from Brisbane. To her dismay, and in spite of her husband’s objections, the detectives didn’t allow Bill to eat his meal before they began a lengthy interrogation.

It was three hours before they’d finished asking questions and taking notes. Then Travis was bundled into a police car and driven to the Queensland-New South Wales border. Just outside the small township of Barringun, he was released into the blackness of the night to find his own way back to Sydney. But not before he was beaten, left bleeding beside the road and told of the severe consequences awaiting him if he ever returned to Queensland.

PART TWO

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Through the winter of 1931, the heartbreak, pain and suffering of the Great Depression deepened. With over thirty percent of the work force unemployed and with the number of their dependants well over a million, the statistics were figures that could no longer be ignored by the authorities. The camps and shanty towns housing the unemployed in Australia’s major cities were bursting at the seams, except in Queensland, where the state government directed the Brisbane City Council to close the camps down permanently in retaliation to agitation from the Unemployed Worker’s Union.

For many Australians, the only shelter from the elements were tents and tarpaulins, and their only sustenance was government ration coupons which they exchanged for a limited range of foodstuffs. Before receiving anything at all, the unemployed were required to complete numerous forms and declarations to prove their total destitution. Single men continued to be forced to wander the length and breadth of the country to collect rations valued at just seven shillings a week.

In the past, all levels of government had been able to ease unemployment in difficult economic times by resorting to the tried and true remedy of expanding public works. But now, with the state treasuries empty and the British banks cancelling all loan facilities to Australia, massive public works programs were no longer an option.

For the first time since federation, other than in the dark days of the war, the mood of a huge percentage of the population was ugly. All over the nation, from Perth to Sydney, hundreds of thousands of disadvantaged Australians were protesting in any way they could. Many chose to take part in marches through city streets. Most marches were ruled illegal by the authorities and often the demonstrators were broken up by baton-wielding police.

Through inaction and suppression, the state and federal governments had painted themselves into a corner and were facing the real possibility of a total breakdown in law and order. On one hand, the authorities were threatened by revolution from the unemployed, egged on by communists; and on the other, they were in danger of being overthrown by extreme right wing groups, the most powerful being the New Guard Movement.

Something had to be done. The New South Wales premier had already put forward his solution, dubbed the Lang Plan. In addition to the suspension of overseas loan interest payments, it called for a reduction of interest rates and reduced government spending. The only outcome of this proposal was the circulation of rumors that the government was about to seize savings held in the State Government Bank to put their own finances in order, rumors which led to a run on the bank which forced it to close its doors.

Later, at a hastily convened meeting in Melbourne of the state and federal governments, another plan of action to solve the nation’s woes was hammered out and finally agreed upon. The strategy, called the Premiers’ Plan, did nothing for the unemployed, called for increased taxation and lower wages for those lucky enough to have a job, and for a reduction in pensions for the aged. All were moves guaranteed to add fuel to an already roaring fire of discontent.

Few politicians were willing to openly endorse the New Guard Movement’s solution to the nation’s problems. But tens of thousands of reasonably well-off Australians were only marginally affected by the Depression until the Premiers’ Plan was adopted. In the absence of competent leadership from the government, they saw the New Guard Movement as the only light at the end of a long dark tunnel and they flocked to join the fledgling private army.

Although the training of New Guard members in public was officially outlawed, New Guard recruits were seen openly drilling on the streets of Sydney, on school playing fields and in public parks as well as on roadways and private paddocks in country areas. Many recruits were armed with private weapons, many more with firearms stolen in daring New Guard raids on government armories. Private firearm licenses more than doubled in New South Wales shortly after the New Guard was formed. Lieutenant Colonel Eric Campbell, the leader of the movement, carried a licensed automatic pistol with him at all times.

The New Guard was highly organized because of the large number of ex-army personnel in its upper ranks. Recruits were assigned to localities or divisions, each comprising two hundred and fifty men. Recruits came from all walks of life. All were ordered to pass on to their commanders, all information, regardless of how trivial it might seem, concerning the enemy living in their neighborhoods. The enemy was defined as trade unionists, socialists, communist sympathizers or anyone talking down, or acting against the aims and ideals of the New Guard Movement.

Many New Guard members were public servants, which gave the private army a direct pipeline into government at all levels. These bureaucrats provided advance information on government plans as well as sensitive, secret information and intelligence, such as the location of the army’s gun and ammunition stockpiles and the government’s wireless system.

Not content with land forces alone, and plans to transform cars into tanks armed with machine guns for street fighting, the New Guard pressed the private vessels and aircraft of its members into service as waterborne and airborne units. The sight of private motor yachts and launches performing maneuvers on Sydney Harbor became commonplace, as did air patrols in the sky above it.

With Lieutenant Colonel Campbell claiming the famous aviator Charles Kingsford-Smith as a New Guard member, interest in the air unit was particularly high. But as ownership of an aircraft was a prerequisite to admission, participation was restricted to just a handful of pilots. Photographs of three or four flyers who met the entry requirements appeared in most of the Sydney newspapers. All were glowingly described as dashing national heroes.

One of the young men whose photograph appeared in the papers was Stephen Fairchild, an up and coming young Sydney solicitor.

*

Lieutenant Colonel Campbell never missed an opportunity to advance the cause of the New Guard or to condemn the policies of Premier Lang. Riding the crest of the phenomenal wave of recruitment, Campbell called a mass meeting at Sydney Town Hall on July 22nd, 1931.

Campbell, a tall, balding man with a moustache, flanked by a number of his lieutenants, delivered a populist speech to a crowd of almost three thousand, calling for lower taxation, opposition to any form of unemployment benefits, and the ruthless stamping out of all communist activities. When he had finished, the crowd sang For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow. Next morning, a headline in The Sydney Daily Telegraph read:

THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE SHOOK THE TOWN HALL LAST NIGHT.

But not everyone clapped. At the back of the hall, a young man stood ashen-faced as the applause continued unabated. His shoes were down-at-heel and over his old threadbare suit he wore a Scullin’s Army coat, the name given to Australian Army greatcoats, dyed black and issued to the poor by Prime Minister Scullin’s government.

Bill Travis had still not completely recovered from the savage beating at the hands of the Queensland police, but the incident had only strengthened his resolve to continue his fight against what he saw as callous indifference and injustice by apathetic authorities. Now, seeing the popularity of the New Guard Bill knew the legions of unemployed battlers had yet another enemy. In the past, apart from hopelessness, degradation and the common view that they themselves were responsible for their plight, the main adversary of the unemployed had always been the police.

The police were called upon to enforce the draconian measure taken by inept authorities to suppress dissent, a task often taken on by the police with brutal relish. In addition, the police in New South Wales had been given the awesome additional power of administering the dole. Now, as the raucous support for the New Guard reverberated around the town hall, Bill shuddered at the thought of the unemployed having to fight on yet another front.

A group of watchful policemen stood nearby, several young constables and two grey-haired sergeants. Bill took heart from the fact the policemen weren’t clapping either. One of the sergeants who knew Bill well and considered him not only an agitator, but also a champion of the poor, looked over and grimaced. Bill looked back and shook his head.

Bill knew that contrary to some public opinion, the police were not automatic allies of the New Guard. Already the Police Commissioner, who had been accused of allowing his officers to turn a blind eye when the New Guard had stolen guns and ammunition from armories around Sydney, had publicly warned Campbell that his police force was the only legitimate upholder of the law and intrusions into its authority would not be tolerated.

As the thunderous applause began to abate, Bill turned up the collar of his Scullin’s Army coat and stepped out of the town hall and began walking back to his digs in Redfern, his limp exacerbated by the coldness of the winter night.

*

Stephen stood alone at his office window. The glass was streaked with wind-driven rain. A winter storm had lashed the city since early morning. It was now late afternoon and below him, the traffic on Pitt Street was slowed by the atrocious weather. On the crowded footpaths on either side of the street, drenched pedestrians were scurrying toward Circular Quay to board ferries to their homes on the north shore and other areas of the harbor at the end of the day.

Normally, the daily exodus from the city centre was orderly. Tonight, the wild weather made it chaotic. The stormy winds and the swarming sea of humanity in the street below only added to the excitement that had been building in Stephen all day.

In a few hours he would join a team from the City Division of the New Guard to participate in his first real paramilitary action and he was eagerly looking forward to it. He didn’t much enjoy being a solicitor. Attending to the problems and grievances of clients held little interest for him. But years earlier he had followed his father’s wishes, as always, when his career path had been laid out for him. And there had been compensations. His father had allowed him to pursue his passion for flying and had even been persuaded to buy him an aircraft.

Stephen turned from the window. A half-written letter to Emma lay on his desk. He looked at his watch. There wasn’t time to finish it now. Better still, he would try and get away and fly up to New England. He desperately wanted to see her again. After tomorrow he could see her with a clear conscience. Earlier that morning he had phoned his fiancé, Eleanor Bowes-Scott and arranged to meet her the next day. Over lunch at the Carlton Hotel he would tell her as gently as possible that their engagement was off.

When he returned from Queensland, he had told Eleanor that he was unsure of their relationship and suggested they should stop seeing each other for a while. But she had dismissed the idea saying, in her usual assertive manner, that his concerns were just the usual jitters of a nervous bridegroom-to-be. And Stephen hadn’t mentioned his reluctance to continue his engagement to Eleanor to his father. He knew it would anger him. Fenton Fairchild represented the prominent Bowes-Scott family in legal matters and he had first introduced Stephen to Eleanor when he’d taken it upon himself to play matchmaker.

Stephen moved away from the window and took his raincoat from the coat rack by the office door. The rain seemed to have eased a little when he stepped outside the building and joined the crowds heading for the ferries at Circular Quay.

*

The small armory at the rifle range on the military reserve west of Botany Bay was securely fenced off from the public and usually left unmanned between dusk and dawn. But with the increasing number of New Guard raids on armories around Sydney, the military decided to protect their inventory by placing armed guards on duty twenty-four hours a day at all military installations, regardless of size.

A young army private and a corporal sat playing cards and drinking beer in dim light at a small desk inside the armory. The building was little more than a large steel shed with a single room, a lavatory partitioned off at one end. There were no windows at all except a small one in the lavatory designed for ventilation. Around the walls were tiers of gun racks holding .303 service rifles. The weapons were secured by lengths of chain threaded through the trigger rings of each rifle. Beneath the gun racks were wooden crates containing ammunition, hand grenades and detonators.

Rain was hammering down so hard on the corrugated iron roof of the shed that the two soldiers barely heard the tinkling of glass when the lavatory window was broken. The corporal laid down his gin rummy hand and raised a silencing finger to his lips. He cocked his ear and listened for several seconds but heard nothing more. Then he relaxed, opened another bottle of beer and said to the private: ‘Better go and check the window in the lav mate. I think the bloody wind may have blown it in.’

The private got up from his chair. He was about to lay his cards down on the table, then thought better of it and chose to take them with him to the lavatory.

‘Don’t you trust, me. mate?’ The corporal grinned and took a long swallow of beer.

When the lavatory door swung open and the light went on, it was hard to tell who was more surprised, the private or Stephen, who had just squirmed his way into the room ahead of another New Guardsman who was just lowering himself down from the window. Stephen and the second guardsman, an ex-regular army officer carrying a service revolver, wore army fatigues and khaki balaclavas over their faces. The soldier froze.

It was their uniforms that caused the private to hesitate, thinking perhaps the intruders might be soldiers sent to test the security of the armory, and for a moment he was fearful of being caught playing cards and drinking on duty. But the reality of the situation became clear when the officer’s fist came up hard under his jaw. The playing cards flew from his hand and he swayed on his feet. As he fell, he lurched forward, and pulling Stephen’s balaclava off. For a moment he saw Stephen’s features clearly, before the officer’s knee came up into his face and everything went black.

When the private crashed noisily onto the floor, the corporal grabbed a loaded .303 and rushed down to the lavatory, the rifle raised defensively to his shoulder. The moment he appeared in the doorway of the little room, the New Guard officer fired just one well-aimed shot from his pistol. It hit the corporal in the centre of his forehead, killing him instantly.

‘What a shambles.’ the New Guard officer shouted angrily. He sat beside Stephen in the back seat of a black Ford as it roared off through the rain, its license plates obscured by masking tape. ‘What a bloody cock-up.’

‘I thought the damn place was supposed to be unattended,’ the driver of the car shouted. He nervously checked that the lights in the rear view mirror to make sure they belonged to the truck they had brought with them to haul away the spoils of the now fruitless raid. ‘So much for our blokes in intelligence.’

Stephen sat white-faced, heart thumping, hands shaking, as the horror of what happened in the lavatory sank in. He turned to the officer beside him.

‘My God, sir, you didn’t have to kill him, did you?’

‘You mean we don’t you Fairchild?’ the officer replied stiffly. ‘Of course we had to. It was him or us. This isn’t a game you know. It’s war. When your life’s in danger you shoot first or you’re dead.’

For a moment Stephen thought he was going to be sick. When the nausea passed he took a deep breath and asked: ‘What happens now, Sir?’

‘Nothing.’

‘But a man’s dead, sir.’

‘I know.’

‘But we can’t just do nothing.’

‘Yes, we can. We have to.’

‘Have to do what, sir?’

‘We have to keep our bloody traps shut and get on with the job, that’s what. I told you Fairchild, this is war.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Eleanor Bowes-Scott pushed the bedcovers aside at 10.00 am to begin preparing for her luncheon appointment with Stephen at the Carlton Hotel. She lived in her parents’ sprawling mansion in prestigious Vaucluse overlooking Sydney Harbor, a short distance from the Fairchild residence.

Eleanor lived a privileged life, part of a family whose commercial dynasty was almost unmatched in Sydney. She had her great-grandfather to thank in no small way for the commodious lifestyle she enjoyed. It was Harry Scott who started the small trading company which, over the generations, grew into one of the largest and most diversified in New South Wales.

Her great-grandfather’s first view of the land on which the family mansion now stood had been from the deck of a sailing ship as it passed though Sydney Heads. Harry Scott was one of three hundred and eighteen convicts aboard the vessel, transported to the colony of New South Wales to serve out sentences imposed by a London magistrate. After serving out his time on a free settler’s property near Maitland, he returned to Sydney to make a fresh start, taking Daphne Bowes, the pretty but capricious daughter of the local Methodist minister with him.

After a year of hanging around the docks, buying, selling, and sometimes stealing contraband smuggled in by sailors, Harry had enough capital to start a legitimate business. Their first child was born the day after he opened a small shop in the Rocks district. It was then Harry decided he and Daphne should marry, and in keeping with their elevation into the local business community, it seemed fitting to bestow the hyphenated name of Bowes-Scott on both their new-born son and the new business.

The elegant Carlton Hotel was located just three doors down from the big Bowes-Scott department store in the centre of the city. Stephen, immaculate in a dark grey business suit, sat anxiously nursing a double whiskey in one of its gracious restaurants. He rose quickly when he saw the maître d’ leading Eleanor to his small table for two beside a window overlooking Castlereagh Street.

Eleanor looked lovely and, as always, totally in charge. She was tall, dark-eyed with short black hair and a pale complexion. She walked across the crowded room, smiling, confident and self-assured in a stylish dress, cleverly designed to provide just a hint of her well-rounded figure beneath it. A number of people recognized her and she acknowledged their presence with a small, almost regal wave.

Her smile disappeared when she reached the table and saw Stephen’s face. He looked gaunt and drawn and there was a furtive look in his eyes. Eleanor knew immediately something was wrong. When she was seated, the maître d’ withdrew and she reached across the table and took Stephen’s hand in both of hers. It felt hot and clammy.

‘My darling,’ she began loudly, then lowered her voice as she noticed an elderly couple at the next table looking on, ‘You look terrible. What on earth is wrong?’

Stephen drew a deep breath. ‘Oh, nothing really, Eleanor.’ He tried to free his hand from hers but she just squeezed it tighter. ‘It’s just that I didn’t sleep well last night. In fact I didn’t sleep at all.’

‘My poor darling.’ Eleanor purred compassionately. She frowned, then whispered softly, ‘Is it about us, Stephen? I do hope your not having silly second thoughts about our marriage again?’

‘Well, yes, Eleanor. You see…’

A waiter arrived at the table with menus. Stephen was relieved when Eleanor released his hand to take one.

The waiter bowed his head slightly

‘An appetizer, Madam?’

Eleanor’s eyes quickly scanned the menu.

‘Perhaps the smoked oysters.’

‘And you, sir?’

‘No, nothing to eat just yet.’ Stephen studied the glass in his hand for a moment. ‘But bring me another whiskey, please.’

The waiter turned and walked away. It was then Stephen noticed the maître d’ was glancing at him from his little lectern at the entrance to the restaurant. In between glances he was talking intently with two insistent-looking men. The maître d’ appeared flustered and agitated. The two men didn’t look like the restaurant’s usual well-heeled clientele. One was wearing an ill-fitting suit and the other, a middle-aged overweight man, wore a light raincoat which he made no move to take off. Stephen felt his face flush and his heart started to thump when the maître d’ began to lead the men towards his table.

Eleanor was startled to see the apprehension on Stephen’s face. She had never seen him so tense before.

The maître d’ reached the table a couple of steps ahead of the two men. He leaned over discreetly and said softly. ‘These gentlemen would like a word with you, Mr Fairchild. I’m sorry but I…’

‘Stephen Fairchild?’ The man in the raincoat broke in, in a loud authoritative voice .

‘Yes.’

‘I am Inspector Proudfoot of the New South Wales police.’ The policeman continued to speak loudly with no effort to minimize any embarrassment his intrusion might cause. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to accompany us to the station.’

The elderly couple at the next table looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Diners at other nearby tables turned their heads. Eleanor was outraged by the policeman’s lack of courtesy.

Stephen rose to his feet. ‘May I ask what this is all about?’

The Inspector grinned knowingly. ‘I think you know well what it’s all about, Mr Fairchild.’ He reached out and took Stephen’s arm none too gently. ‘Come along then.’

Proudfoot’s arrogance infuriated Stephen. ‘I’m a solicitor, Inspector.’ he said angrily and pulled his sleeve from the inspector’s grasp. ‘I am well aware of what is required of me and I will co-operate with you. But I will not allow you to intimidate me.’

Proudfoot feigned surprise, and for a moment it seemed as if he would retreat from his belligerent attitude. But then he grinned again, and said sarcastically, ‘Oh, we know very well who you are, Mr Fairchild. We only asked you to accompany us to the station so you could avoid the embarrassment of being interviewed here in a public place’

Now Eleanor rose to her feet. ‘It seems to me, Inspector,’ she said loudly, ‘that embarrassing Mr Fairchild is your prime purpose here today.’

Now all eyes in the restaurant were on Proudfoot. His face turned crimson. He turned to Eleanor, eyes bulging.

‘And who might you be, Miss?’

‘I’m Eleanor Bowes-Scott.’

The policeman let the name Bowes-Scott sink in. He recognized it and knew there would be few people in the restaurant who did not. Now acutely embarrassed, he looked around awkwardly, first at the maître d’, then at the other policeman in the ill-fitting suit, and lastly at the sea of faces staring at him from around the room. But Proudfoot was determined not to be put down. After a moment he said, ‘Well, Miss Bowes-Scott, I would have thought you of all people would have preferred this matter to be discussed in private.’

‘Look, Inspector, can we discuss this outside?’ Stephen asked, trying to end the impasse.

The inspector gave Eleanor a triumphant I-told-you-so look.

Now it was Eleanor who would not be snubbed.

‘Are you arresting my fiancé, Inspector Proudfoot?’

Proudfoot looked exasperated. ‘No, Miss Bowes-Scott. But I will if I have to.’

‘For what?’ Eleanor snapped, then added sarcastically, ‘Now you’ve managed to get everyone’s attention, you might as well tell us all.’

Now all eyes were on Proudfoot. His face turned a deeper shade of crimson. He felt out of place in this fancy restaurant surrounded by Sydney’s elite, trading insults with a smart alec socialite. He had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure there would be no mention of the killing at the armory in the newspapers, at least until after the private’s identification of Stephen Fairchild had been checked out. It was only because of the potential political consequences of hasty police action, that the son of Fenton Fairchild, one of Sydney’s most prominent solicitors, had not been picked up and carted off to the watch-house in the middle of the night like any ordinary citizen.

But the police inspector was sure he was on firm ground. The private had identified Stephen Fairchild from photographs of New Guard pilots he had seen recently in the newspapers. Proudfoot knew he didn’t have to tread lightly if he didn’t want to.

‘All right Miss Bowes-Scott,’ he said, directing his words more toward the onlookers than Eleanor. ‘There was a serious offence committed last night and we have a witness who claims Mr Fairchild here was involved. If he cannot satisfactorily explain his movements last night, I shall arrest him here and now.’ Proudfoot turned to Stephen. ‘Well, Mr Fairchild?’

Stephen was thinking on his feet. He had come directly from his house to the Carlton Hotel. The police hadn’t been to the house and the only person who knew where he was lunching was his secretary. If the police had been to the office to check his whereabouts the night before with his father, Fenton Fairchild would have said nothing before talking to his son. Stephen was sure all Proudfoot had at the moment was at best, the private’s word against his.

‘I went to bed very early last night,’ Stephen said, hoping he sounded convincing. ‘I didn’t feel well.’

Proudfoot smirked. ‘And I suppose you have someone absolutely beyond reproach who can vouch for that, Mr Fairchild?’

‘Of course he has.’ Eleanor said quickly.

‘And who would that be, Miss Bowes-Scott?’ Proudfoot said patronizingly, sensing he was close to the kill.

‘Why me, of course, Inspector Proudfoot,’ Eleanor said loudly. Then to everyone’s surprise she added, ‘Mr Fairchild spent the entire night with me. In my bed.’

*

‘I shall act as your counsel in this matter, Stephen, if it becomes necessary. It’s impossible for you to represent yourself. A lawyer who acts for himself has a fool for a client,’ Fenton Fairchild said, repeating the time-honored adage after Stephen had finished relating the shocking events of the night before.

Stephen, his father and Eleanor sat at the conference room table. Stephen and Eleanor had hurried from the Carlton Hotel to the chambers of Fairchild & Associates immediately after Stephen had agreed to be interviewed by Inspector Proudfoot at the law firm’s premises later in the afternoon, after he’d taken legal advice.

Fenton Fairchild rubbed his jaw thoughtfully for a few moments then walked over to the window overlooking the harbor. He stood staring out at the construction activity on the harbor bridge as he pondered the situation. Eventually he turned around to face Stephen and Eleanor.

‘When I pledged our support to the New Guard, I had no idea it could lead to something like this. I had hoped all that would be required of us was money, that the dirty work, albeit necessary, would be left to others. However, it is a good cause and what’s done is done. If we’re in for a penny, we must be in for a pound.’

Fairchild came back to the table and sat down. He took Eleanor’s hand gently in his. ‘What you did at the hotel was very courageous, my dear. And it was also very astute. Stephen could well be charged with murder, or at the very least as an accomplice. Thanks to you, I don’t think it will come to a trial, but if it did, without you providing a credible alibi for Stephen, it would be very difficult for me to put up a strong defense. ’

Eleanor smiled modestly. ‘It’s the least I can do for my future husband, Mr Fairchild.’ She reached out and took Stephen’s hand with her free hand, then squeezed the hands of both father and son. ‘After all, family has to stick together.’

Fairchild looked from Eleanor to Stephen who sat with his eyes downcast, looking grim and vulnerable. The older Fairchild’s blue eyes moistened. He turned back to Eleanor. ‘Thank you so much, my dear. You know, you could well have saved my son’s life.’

Stephen raised his head and looked into Eleanor’s eyes. He saw a trace of triumph in them and knew then what the price of his freedom would be.

*

There was no holding back the Sydney press the next day. Seeing the initial withholding by the police of any inkling of the sensational armory murder as a denial of their readers basic right to be informed, they all carried the story in banner headlines. One of the senior reporters of Sydney’s largest newspaper had had the good fortune to be lunching at the Carlton Hotel with a prominent state politician when Inspector Proudfoot had caused such a scene in the restaurant.

In a front page article the reporter expressed, not only his newspaper’s outrage at being kept in the dark by the police, but also what he saw as ‘the overbearing and totally unacceptable behavior by one of the force’s senior officers who, supposedly in the normal course of investigations, had harassed innocent, law-abiding citizens in a public place.’

The lengthy article took the freedom of the press to its very limits. The reporter named Inspector Edward Proudfoot several times, describing him as a rude and insensitive policeman caught out barking up the wrong tree. But he declined to name Stephen Fairchild, a partner in one of Sydney’s most powerful law firms, and in deference to the huge Bowes-Scott department store chain, which was one of his paper’s largest advertisers, he chose only to identity Eleanor as ‘a refined and lovely young lady brought to the very verge of tears by an incompetent and insensitive oaf.’

*

It was a little over three months since Emma had started work at Mrs Shapiro’s. Although she found sewing school uniforms relatively simple and sometimes rather boring, she worked hard, grateful for the opportunity she had been given.

Mrs Shapiro was more than pleased with Emma’s work and had told her she had a permanent job for as long as she wanted it. Emma was delighted to be making nearly three pounds a week on a piecework basis. When there was extra work, she worked longer hours in the evenings and on Saturdays, but Mrs Shapiro being a devout Christian woman, never allowed anyone to work on Sundays or religious holidays.

Emma gave half of whatever money was left over each week, after paying for Mrs Nadin’s room and board, to Miss Potts at Crestview. The balance she carefully saved in her father’s brown wallet tucked safely under her mattress, adding to the almost fifteen pounds she had left when she arrived in Armidale. Emma lived for the day when she could afford to rent a small cottage where she and her mother and brothers could be together.

She visited her mother as often as possible, a few times during the week and always on Saturdays and Sundays. Each time Emma saw Kathleen she seemed to be improving, and taking an interest in everything and everyone around her. Sometimes they would sit together in Crestview’s lovely garden while Emma wrote to the twins.

As Kathleen’s condition improved, she began adding a few lines herself at the end of the letters, usually asking her sons to write more often. There had only been two letters from Hope Farm. Both had been written by Jack and seemed rather short and not very newsy. Emma told Kathleen it was probably because the twins were too busy enjoying themselves.

Emma found herself looking forward more and more to Stephen’s letters. She thought of him constantly. Their few days in Port Macquarie together had been the most wonderful time in her life. He had written every few days until just recently. But now it had been nearly two weeks since she had heard from him. In his last letter he had said he would fly up to New England when he could. Emma hoped it would be soon.

Emma was always the first to leave Mrs Nadin’s in the morning. The girls attending the teacher’s college left a full hour later. Her early start allowed her to get ready for work before the girls’ mad rush started for the bathroom and the lavatory.

This morning, Emma woke early. She opened her eyes slowly then swung her feet onto the floor. The sudden movement made her head swim. Then she retched. She pulled on her dressing gown and hurried to the bathroom down the landing. She barely made it before she threw up. She had felt sick in the morning a few times before but hadn’t given it a second thought. Then, to her horror, she realized that she had also missed her period.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Bruce had no idea why the nightmare he had been living suddenly ended. But one morning at breakfast, Brother Lucas removed the red armband and announced that in future the McKenna twins would be identified by their Christian names sewn onto their shirts. He also told Bruce that he was permitted to the take the free afternoon off each week and could swim in the water hole if he wished, privileges that had been withdrawn as part of his punishment.

Two days later, Brother Lucas gave the twins their first letter from Emma. They were pleased to hear of the improvement in their mother’s health and Bruce was glad he at last had an address to send his letter to Emma, telling her about his treatment at Hope Farm. But as time went by and more pleasant letters were received from Emma and his mother, Bruce couldn’t understand why they made no mention of his letter at all.

Bruce began to get along better with Strickland. Occasionally they would exchange a few words. Strickland, it turned out, was not only one of the biggest of the boys at Hope Farm but, at fifteen was one of the oldest. And Bruce came to realize that his tough attitude was just a thin veneer, covering up the loneliness and despondency shared by every boy at Hope Farm. Only rarely would Strickland allow himself to open up, afraid his outer shield would be penetrated, leaving his real personality exposed and his status among the boys diminished.

Bruce became convinced his first letter to Emma and a second must have gone astray in the mail. One evening he went up to the dormitory as soon as the evening meal was over to write another. Soon after he started writing, Strickland entered the room and just stood staring at Bruce as he lay on his bed, pencil and paper in hand.

Bruce looked up. ‘What is it?’

‘You’re just wasting your time, mate,’ Strickland said as he began taking off his clothes.

‘Why’s that?’ Bruce asked.

‘Your sister won’t get that letter.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘None of your letters ever get off the farm.’

Bruce put down the pencil. ‘What are you saying, Strickland?’

‘Don’t talk so loud,’ Strickland cautioned. He laid the last of his clothes on the chair beside his bed and climbed in. ‘I’m saying no letters go off this farm unless Brother Lucas allows them to. He censors them all.’

Bruce looked horrified. ‘How do you know?’ he whispered.

‘I just know.’

‘But he can’t read every single letter that’s written here.’

‘Why not? There’s not many to read. Most of the boys have no one to write to anyway.’

‘But how do you know for certain he reads any of them?’ Bruce insisted.

‘Lads who’ve been caught writing bad letters told me after they’d been beaten or been put in the hole.’

Bruce’s eyes widened. ‘Hole, what hole?’

‘It’s an old dry well, a couple of hundred yards from the ablutions shed. It’s cold and damp and black as coal down there. Brother Lucas says the darkness drives the evil out of troublemakers. Some say boys have died from pneumonia after being in the hole.’

Bruce looked afraid. For a long time he looked down sadly at the letter in his hand. When he looked up there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. ‘Then my letters haven’t been read, because I haven’t been punished.’

Strickland stared up into the ceiling. ‘You bloody little fool,’ Strickland whispered angrily. ‘You don’t even know half of what’s going on here. I’ll tell you why you haven’t been punished and I’ll tell you why your armband came off. Jack’s become one of the chosen.’

Bruce looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean, one of the chosen ?’

‘It’s what the boys say here when one of the brothers takes a shine to someone. Brother Lucas has taken a shine to Jack. That’s why he’s going easy on you.’

Bruce said nothing as he took in what Strickland had said. After a few moments he said: ‘I wonder why Brother Lucas likes Jack so much. But if what you say is true, I suppose at least I’ve something to be thankful for. ’

‘You’re stupid’. Strickland shook his head. ‘You don’t know what I mean, do you? You don’t know anything at all. Didn’t you learn anything out there in the bush on your cattle station or whatever it was? Don’t you know about queers?’

Bruce felt his face flush as a mixture of revulsion and panic rose in him. He knew about queers. That’s what they had called the boy at school in Toowoomba who’d been expelled because he liked boys instead of girls, the one who’d been caught in the toilet with another boy with all their clothes off.

‘You mean the brothers are queers?’ Bruce said in amazement.

‘Not all of them,’ Strickland said solemnly. ‘Probably just a few. Trouble is no one knows for certain which ones. Those that are, threaten the boys with the hole if they tell anyone.’

‘How do you know Brother Lucas is one of them?’

‘Because when I first came here after my mother died, he took a shine to me.’ Strickland spoke very quietly. ‘When he started touching me, I kicked and punched him. He put me in the hole. I was there for three days. When he let me out, he started messing about again and so I hit him again. I didn’t care about the hole. It was better than doing what he wanted me to do.’

‘And, did he send you back?’

‘No. He took a shine to someone else. He’s like that. His favorites come and go. He just told me in future I had to do everything else he asked me. Because I’m bigger than most of the boys he made me a sort of prefect. He said he needed someone to keep an eye on the others, someone they were scared of, someone who’d make sure they followed the rules.’

‘And you’re sure Jack is Brother Lucas’ favorite now, and he’s making Jack do things for him?’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure of it,’ Strickland said. ‘But remember, whatever Jack’s doing, he’s doing it for you. He’s doing it to keep you out of trouble. Otherwise he would have told you what was going on.’

*

Emma kept her secret to herself for months. She told no one, not even her mother, preferring not to shatter her dream of a new beginning in New England. And she wanted to tell Stephen face to face when he came to New England. But Stephen never came. And soon after he stopped writing, so did Emma.

Summer came to New England. By continually wearing loose fitting frocks Emma was still able to conceal her swelling breasts and belly. Somehow she was able to get through the long days at Mrs Shapiro’s, surrounded by cheerful work mates who remained unaware of her condition or the burden she carried in her mind.

But in her bed at night, the old enemy returned, the long black empty hours before dawn, And they cruelly tormented her, just as they had done in the long nights toward the end at Yallambee.

*

The cream of Sydney’s social register witnessed the marriage of Eleanor Muriel Bowes-Scott to Stephen Clarence Fairchild in St Mary’s Cathedral, on a sunny morning in October At the end of the service the bride and groom walked back down the long aisle under the admiring eyes of hundreds of wedding guests who filled every pew in the grand old building.

For Eleanor, radiant in an exquisite wedding dress with an usually long train, the marriage ceremony was the culmination of her every girlhood dream. It also gave her new status among her peers by snaring one of Sydney’s most eligible bachelors. She smiled through tears of joy as she glided smoothly down the aisle, here and there acknowledging a friend or relative in the crowd.

Stephen looked immaculate in a grey morning-suit. With Eleanor on one arm and his topper tucked neatly into the other, he looked more reserved and subdued than his bride. The day had not brought Stephen the same joy and satisfaction. What it did bring though, as his father had so succinctly put it the night before, was the certainty of a life free from the nagging possibility that one day a murder charge might be laid against him.

After the service, a lavish reception was held at the Carlton Hotel in Castlereagh Street. As the wedding guests left St Mary’s in scores of chauffeur-driven motorcars, few of them gave a second glance to a large and noisy crowd gathered in the Domain, a large area of parkland just across the street from the cathedral.

*

The huge crowd in the Domain, was made up mainly of trade unionists preparing for a legal march. The remainder were members of the Unemployed Workers Union, come to hear their advocate, Bill Travis, speak and to join in the march. Many of the unemployed men had their wives and children with them. The mood was jubilant. Everyone seemed to be sharing a new feeling of hope for the future.

Days earlier, the socialist government of Prime Minister Scullin had met its day of reckoning. The adoption and implementation of the savage cost-cutting Premiers’ Plan, finally brought its downfall when federal socialist supporters of Jack Lang voted with the opposition on a motion of no-confidence. Although Scullin managed to survive the vote itself, circumstances forced him to call a double dissolution of the House of Representatives and the Senate.

The trade union movement saw the federal government’s demise as an opportunity to draw public support for the repudiation of the ten per cent wage cut imposed on all unionists by the Scullin government. And the Lang government, seeing its opposition to the Premiers’ Plan vindicated, and wishing to be seen as responsive to the wishes of workers, temporarily relaxed the ban on street marches. Trade unionists were allowed to march, providing they did so peacefully. And to ensure they did, Lang ordered a large contingent of police to be present.

‘The routing of the weak and impotent Scullin Government is just a small step in the right direction.’ Bill Travis spoke from atop a flat deck truck to an attentive audience of shabbily dressed battlers. The truck, carrying officials of the Unemployed Workers Union and festooned with slogans, was later to join the procession when it moved off towards the inner city.

‘But it is an important step,’ Bill continued. ‘We must continue to stand together. United we stand, divided we fall. We must insist on our right to be employed. Without jobs, we have no purchasing power. Without purchasing power, we have no respect. Without respect we have no pride or even self-respect. Today we have an opportunity to demand publicly the right to work. All I ask is that your demands be made peacefully.’

Bill had become a persuasive and convincing speaker, no mean achievement for an ex-coal miner with little education. His words brought a long and loud round of applause. He was about to continue when someone hopped up onto the truck and had a word in his ear.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen.’ Bill announced when the man jumped back to the ground. ‘I’ve just been told the march will be starting shortly. So will you all take your positions behind this vehicle? Our union will bring up the rear behind all the trade unions as they proceed out of the Domain on Prince Albert Road.’

Bill jumped down from the truck and joined the exuberant crowd. Everyone was in high spirits, for once legally able to march off down the streets of Sydney, holding aloft signs and banners protesting the plight of the hungry and homeless, and all believing it could, and would, make a difference. For the children it was like a family outing, a special day in the park in a happy carnival atmosphere. Excitement filled the air as the thousands of marchers took up their positions.

Gradually, the long procession began to leave the Domain under the watchful eyes of the police, many of them mounted on horseback. As the Unemployed Workers Union awaited their turn to join the march, a police sergeant walked over to where Bill stood. It was the same elderly sergeant Bill had seen at the New Guard meeting at the Sydney Town Hall earlier in the year.

‘How are you, Bill?’ The sergeant asked.

Bill turned to the policeman. ‘I’m fine, Sergeant Lockwood. Everything okay? No trouble I hope.’

‘Oh, no trouble…. yet. But I thought I’d just tell you that you and your people have been getting a lot of interest from the New Guard today.

‘The New Guard?’ Bill looked surprised.

The sergeant shook his head and grinned. ‘I think there’s as many guardsmen here today as coppers. They hang around trying to look like just anyone else in the park, but I can pick them out a mile away. They’ve had their pencils and paper out a lot today, and I’ve seen some of them taking snapshots. Just thought I’d let you know.’

As Sergeant Lockwood walked away, a senior mounted police officer rode over and reined in beside him. ‘Sergeant,’ he announced loudly. ‘You must tell these people that they can’t fall in behind the trade unionists. The permit to march allows for members of recognized trade unions only. We’ve been told no one else is allowed to march.’

There was no need for the sergeant to tell the crowd, the closest of the marchers heard the mounted policeman’s instruction clearly and the mood of the crowd soon became hostile.

‘Told by who?’ shouted someone in the crowd.

‘By the Premier’s office,’ the mounted officer replied haughtily. The word came from Mr Lang himself.’

‘But why?’ the same voice called out.

The officer raised himself up in his stirrups. His voice carried across the park. ‘The Premier’s office says this is a lawful march for trade union members only. Marching by unemployed people is an unlawful demonstration against the state government. Any unemployed persons who attempt to march will be arrested. You must all disband and go home, now.’

A roar of indignation went up from the unemployed and their families. The procession was moving out of the Domain and the last of the trade unionists were moving off. It was now or never for the unemployed. But it was too late to quell the eager enthusiasm and soaring spirits which had been building all morning. The truck driver seized the initiative and slipped the vehicle into gear. As it rolled forward, the marchers closed ranks behind it with their banners raised high, cheering at the tops of their voices.

‘Do your duty, sergeant,’ the mounted policeman shouted. He spurred his horse. ‘I’ll get reinforcements.’

‘God almighty, Bill,’ the sergeant shouted. ‘For Christ’s sake try and stop them. You know what will happen.’

Bill knew what would happen only too well. He jumped onto the running board of the truck and pleaded with the driver to stop. When the driver ignored him, he jumped to the ground and ran beside the vehicle imploring the leaders of the Unemployed Workers Union to call off joining the march. But like everyone, they were caught up in the euphoria of the moment and just held out their hands to Bill, urging him to jump up onto the truck and ride with them.

Bill was still limping along beside the truck when the first wave of mounted policemen charged. They encircled the slow-moving vehicle and smashed the windows of the cab with their batons. When the driver jumped out, his face cut and streaming with blood, he was batoned to the ground unconscious. When he fell, officials on the back of the truck leapt from it and ran for their lives. A second wave of mounted policemen eagerly pursued them. The runners were no match for the horses and their riders cruelly toyed with their quarry, allowing them to run almost to the edge the of park before eventually bludgeoning them to the ground.

The carnival mood suddenly changed to a stunned, angry silence. Most of the unemployed were now standing still, too afraid to move, and they watched in horror as the few who continued to march were cut down by baton-wielding policemen. They stood helpless and grim-faced, many with protective arms around their wives and children as they witnessed the age-old phenomenon of man’s inhumanity to man.

Bill stood off to one side near Sergeant Lockwood with a small group of people he had persuaded not to join the march. They were people he knew, neighbors from the inner suburb of Redfern where he lived. Like all the onlookers, Bill was barely able to contain his rage. But he knew from experience the utter futility of trying to resist and he hoped the seething emotions in the crowd wouldn’t boil over and explode into a full-blown riot.

At that moment, the driver of the truck came to and groggily staggered to his feet. Without moving his horse, one of the mounted policemen leaned down in the saddle and knocked the driver back to the ground with a forceful baton blow to the face.

Pushed to the brink, the crowd groaned and swayed forward in protest. Bill knew the situation was at flash point. With horror he saw a neighbor, Molly Gallimore, lower her placard and lunge at the mounted policeman. The long timber pole struck the officer in the face with such force that he was almost knocked from his horse. As he swayed in the saddle with blood gushing from a deep gash in his cheek, a dozen or more marchers who were unable to contain their anger any longer, surged forward, pulled the policeman off his mount and laid into him with their fists.

In seconds there was pandemonium. The mounted policemen spurred their horses into the crowd. The big tight-reined thoroughbreds, frothing and snorting at the bit, cut wide swaths through the unemployed, knocking men, women and children to the ground like nine pins in a skittle alley.

When at last the confrontation subsided, many arrests were made. One of those arrested as a matter of course was Bill Travis. He was released later, but only after an intense interrogation during which he was able to convince the police that he didn’t know the identity of the woman who had struck the officer with the placard, and who had somehow managed to vanish into thin air during the mêlée.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Emma was able to keep her secret well into December, but an exploratory touch of her mother’s hand over the front of her loose dress confirmed Kathleen’s suspicions.

‘It was the weekend you went to Port Macquarie with Stephen Fairchild, wasn’t it?’ Kathleen asked softly, with no trace of anger or disappointment in her voice.

Emma nodded her head. They were sitting close together outside in the sunshine at Crestview. For the first time since discovering she was pregnant, Emma allowed herself to cry. She let the tears flow freely down her cheeks, soft comforting tears of release as the weight of the burden she had carried alone for so long was lifted from her.

‘Does he know, Emma?’ Kathleen asked when the moment was right.

‘No, Mother.’

‘Have you seen or heard from him lately?’ Kathleen gently ran a hand through Emma’s hair.

‘No. And I won’t use the baby to bring him to me.’

Neither spoke for a long time.

‘Oh, Mother,’ Emma said eventually, ‘ I’ve let you and the twins down so badly. We had such a good chance to make a fresh start and I’ve ruined it all for everyone.’

‘You must not blame yourself, my darling,’ Kathleen said soothingly. ‘We’ll manage. We will make it through. We have the only thing that is important. The four of us still have each other.’ Kathleen smiled a tiny smile. ‘And soon we’ll be five.’

‘But what will people say?’ Emma said. ‘What about Mrs Nadin? What about my job at Mrs Shapiro’s? What will we do for money?’

‘Now don’t you worry about that, Emma,’ Kathleen said. ‘I think you’ll find things won’t be as bad as you think. Everyone seems so nice and kind in Armidale. I’m sure they’ll be very understanding.’

*

‘I’m afraid under the circumstances you must leave immediately.’ Mrs Nadin said bluntly when Emma broke the news. ‘My girls attending the teachers college will all be going home for Christmas holidays very soon. If they tell their parents that my residence for young ladies has turned into a home for unwed mothers, none of them will be allowed to return. You do understand, don’t you?’

‘I am paid in advance for a week yet, Mrs Nadin,’ Emma said coolly. ‘In the meantime, I shall make other arrangements for accommodation. And I’m sorry if my unborn child and I should cause you any embarrassment or loss of revenue.’ Without waiting for a response from the landlady, Emma closed the door firmly behind her and left the house.

When Emma told Mrs Shapiro, she was stunned by her employer’s self-righteousness and the venom of her personal assault on her morals.

‘You have sinned, Emma,’ Mrs Shapiro said. She spoke in a high shrill voice which escaped none of the eager ears of the operators sitting at their sewing machines. ‘You are irresponsible, inconsiderate and ungrateful and you have behaved like a bitch on heat. If you have no common decency or self-respect there is no place for you here. I am a God-fearing woman. When Mrs Nadin told me of your predicament, I helped you in the true Christian spirit of compassion, goodwill and trust. Now you have betrayed that trust, and in the worst possible way.’

The humiliation Emma felt at the start of Mrs Shapiro’s tirade quickly changed to anger. But when she opened her mouth to speak, Mrs Shapiro turned abruptly and walked away. Without looking back she called out:

‘Whatever is owing to you, Emma, I shall send it around to Mrs Nadin’s later today. Now I’d be grateful if you would leave these premises and never come back.’

Emma went straight to Crestview from Mrs Shapiro’s. It was a bright summer morning. As she slowly walked through the pleasant tree-lined streets of Armidale, her anger turned to despair as she pondered the future. But now everything was out in the open, she found she was thinking clearly in spite of the morning’s unpalatable events.

With almost forty pounds in the brown leather wallet under her mattress, her concerns were not for the immediate future. There was more than enough money to last until well after the baby was born. What frightened her was what might happen when the money eventually ran out. The thought of giving her baby up never crossed her mind. She clung to the hope that if the worst came to the worst, Stephen would appear and somehow everything would be all right.

Suddenly nauseous, Emma stopped and steadied herself against a tree. The baby moved inside her. She breathed deeply, waiting in the shade until the feeling passed. The baby moved again and Emma gently massaged her stomach as if to reassure it she was there and all was well.

But Emma knew all wasn’t well and her anger began to rise again. This time she was angry with herself. Perhaps Mrs Shapiro was right, she thought. Perhaps she was irresponsible. At the very least she was naive to think her baby wouldn’t be taken away from her. Of course it could. And it would be if she had no means to support it.

Once again she hadn’t faced up to facts. She had refused to face reality, trusting that things would somehow turn out alright. Just like when she thought there would be money left over for a fresh start after the sale at Yallambee. Emma’s mind went back to the day in Gordon Braithewaite’s office when she said that she would never make that mistake again.

As she continued on towards Crestview everything became clear to her. She had no right to risk her baby’s security on whether or not she had a job, or whether or not Stephen might suddenly appear. And whatever the reason for his absence, he still had a right to know the child existed. And she had no right to let her pride prevent her from telling him at the expense of the child’s well-being.

By the time she walked up the steps at the entranceway to Crestview, her mind was firmly made up. She had decided that under no circumstances would she leave her baby’s future to chance. He or she deserved more than that. She would go to Sydney and tell Stephen she was expecting his child. And she would leave immediately.

*

The long journey from Armidale was tiring but pleasant and at times there had been other passengers to talk to. But now, with light rain falling from a dull, whitish-grey sky as the train eased slowly through Sydney’s inner suburbs towards Central Station, Emma suddenly felt very alone.

It was early afternoon on the last Friday before Christmas. Emma sat in a grubby compartment, peering through a rain-streaked window at the tiny cluttered backyards of Newtown and the depressing grey railway yards of Eveleigh. So far, she had seen nothing of the bright, radiant city displayed on picture postcards and in glossy magazines. She leaned back in her seat, dejected and lonely, and watched the blemished face of Sydney pass by.

Emma picked up her handbag from the seat beside her and took out a slip of paper Erin Potts had given her. She read the address on it. Miss Potts had said the hostel for girls on Castlereagh Street was run by a religious mission and had long provided good and reasonably priced accommodation for young ladies arriving in Sydney from the country.

A short time later the train jerked to a standstill at Central Station. Emma stepped out onto the platform, suitcase in hand. The huge station was teeming with people. Emma pushed her way through the crowds towards the exit and the Eddy Avenue tram stop for the short ride to the hostel.

Inside the old building, Emma mentioned Miss Potts’ name to a friendly woman who seemed to be in charge. The graying matron smiled warmly and introduced herself as Lil.

‘How long will you be staying with us?’ she asked as she showed Emma into a spotlessly clean little room which rented for three shilling a night or ten shillings per week.

‘Oh, I’m not really sure yet,’ Emma said.

‘Girls are allowed to stay here until they have found work if they are job hunting, but only up to a maximum of three weeks in any event,’ Lil said. She glanced at Emma’s stomach and smiled. ‘But I don’t suppose you’ll be looking for work, will you?’

‘No, I’ve just come to Sydney to visit.’

Lil turned to leave. ‘After you’ve freshened up, you may want to come downstairs for a while. If you’re peckish, we have a nice little cafe where you can get a good hot meal for a shilling. And you’ll find plenty of company here if you want it. There are always lots of girls coming and going all the time, most of them very nice young ladies. But always be sure to lock your room when you go out.

After Lil had gone, Emma lay down on the bed staring up at the ceiling. On the train, she had worked out exactly how she would handle things when she arrived. She would bathe, then put on the special pale blue dress she had made, then take a taxi to Stephen’s law firm in Pitt Street. It had all seemed quite sensible then. Now, on a rainy afternoon in Sydney, and with Stephen so close at hand, her well-thought-out plans somehow seemed ridiculous. She decided it would be better to telephone him first.

Emma got up from the bed, opened her suitcase and put on the blue dress. Then she opened her father’s brown leather wallet containing her money and the few important papers she possessed. Amongst the papers she found the business card Stephen had given her the morning he had left Essex Downs. She put the card into her pocket and pushed the wallet deep under the mattress of the bed.

The light rain had stopped when Emma walked down to the telephone kiosk on the corner of Castlereagh Street. Moments later, her mouth went dry when a businesslike voice announced:

‘Fairchild and Associates.’

‘May I speak to Mr Stephen Fairchild?’

‘I’m sorry,’ the switch-board operator said. ‘All the firm’s partners are away until after the holiday season. Would you like to leave a message?’

‘No thank you,’ Emma replied, then added quickly, ‘this is a personal call, perhaps you could give me Mr Fairchild’s telephone number at home.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that,’ the voice said. ‘I have very strict instructions not to give it out under any circumstances.

*

Prospect House, the Fairchild family’s large Mediterranean-style home on Vaucluse Bay commanded a stunning view of Sydney Harbor. On the last Saturday before Christmas, the Fairchild’s always held a garden party at their beautiful home in what was invariably perfect summer weather. What started out many years earlier as a friendly festive season gathering of a few well-heeled neighbors had, over time, developed into an almost who’s who of the Sydney professional and commercial establishment.

Over the years it had become a tradition for Leonard Fairchild and his wife to journey from Port Macquarie to Sydney, not only for the garden-party, but also to spend the entire festive season with his younger brother and his family. The holiday was an annual event Leonard looked forward to. The sojourn gave him an opportunity to mix informally with his contemporaries in the business world and also allowed Leonard and his wife, who had a childless marriage, to spend Christmas in a family atmosphere.

It was now mid-morning and a steady stream of guests were arriving at Prospect House. They were received by a maid at the front door, then led through the house to the terrace overlooking the harbor. There they were greeted by Mrs Fairchild with morning tea. Later in the day, in keeping with custom, a seafood buffet would be served by caterers from nearby Rose Bay.

It was usual for the ladies to remain chatting on the terrace sipping tea and gossiping, while their husbands, normally rather aloof and reserved men, would gradually wander off across the lawn like errant schoolboys to join a crowd standing around a table at the water’s edge. It was here Fenton Fairchild dispensed his celebrated and potent Christmas punch and his friends would set aside their professional roles and laugh and joke in the spirit of Christmas.

One of the most vocal men in the crowd was William Bowes-Scott, the short, overweight chairman of Bowes-Scott department stores. As the laughter died down after he had delivered yet another of his ribald jokes, Bowes-Scott put an arm over Leonard’s shoulder.

‘How are your retail interests performing, Leonard?’ he asked.

‘As well as can be expected, I suppose, in these tough times, William,’ Fairchild replied. ‘There’s no money at the bottom end of the trade with so much unemployment and the lack of confidence among consumers, but sales in higher-priced merchandise is holding up quite well.’

‘It’s about the same with us,’ Bowes-Scott said. He took a fresh glass of punch from Fenton Fairchild who was standing within reach. ‘Makes it all the more important that the stock at the upper end of the market is of the finest quality. These days, even people with money still won’t waste it on inferior merchandise. We only bring in the very best from our European suppliers.’

‘Speaking of Europe, ’ Leonard said, anxious not to let his holiday mood be dampened by the state of the economy, ‘where are your lovely daughter and my lucky nephew now?’

‘Oh, the honeymooners will have left London for the continent by now, I expect. They’re spending Christmas in Rome, as a guest of my friend, Vittorio Conti.’

Leonard’s face registered a blank expression.

‘You know, Leonard,’ Bowes-Scott took a large swallow of punch, ‘Conti—Italy’s largest clothing manufacturer. He’s one of our best suppliers. Our stores are full of his stuff. Very influential man in Europe, has the ear of Benito Mussolini, you know.’

‘Oh, that Conti,’ Leonard said and tried hard to look suitably impressed.

Bowes-Scott took a sip of punch and moved on, making his rounds. Leonard stepped to his brother’s side ready to assist with the strong demand for punch.

A maid came out of the house and hurried across the lawn. She whispered in Fenton Fairchild’s ear. The lawyer listened as he replenished an empty glass. For a moment he looked puzzled, then he said: ‘No, no Jane, quite impossible. I can’t see anyone now. Besides, I don’t know any young lady named McKenna.’

‘But sir, you did ask me to let you know about anyone enquiring after Mr Stephen,’ the maid persisted.

‘Yes, of course, Jane. You did right. But I’m afraid I can’t see anyone now.’

Fairchild clearly recalled the instructions he had issued to his household and office staff immediately after the armory incident. He had wanted to be aware of any interest in Stephen by the police or anyone else. But now he assumed the whole armory affair was in the past.

Leonard, who had heard the brief exchange hurried after the maid as she walked back to the house. The name McKenna had rung a bell. Wasn’t it the name of the girl Stephen had taken to Port Macquarie when he and his wife had been away earlier in the year? Surely this was the young lady his housekeeper had said was so nice, and whom she suspected, Stephen was in love with.

Leonard’s relationship with Stephen had always been more like two close friends rather than an uncle and nephew. He knew Stephen would never have taken a girl to Port Macquarie if she hadn’t been special to him. No one had been more surprised than Leonard when Stephen had so suddenly married Eleanor. At the wedding, Leonard had sensed something was wrong, but for once Stephen hadn’t confided in him.

The maid had almost reached the house when Leonard caught up with her.

‘Jane. This young lady. Did she tell you her Christian name?’

‘She said it was Emma, sir.’

Leonard’s eyes widened just a little. ‘And where is she now?’

‘I asked her to wait in Mr Fairchild’s study, sir. I was just going to tell her no one is able to see her.’

‘It’s all right, Jane,’ Leonard said. ‘I’ll go to the study and tell her.’

Emma turned her eyes away from the garden party outside on the lawn. It was then she saw the framed photograph at the end of the big desk in the study. It was a wedding photograph. When she took a closer look her heart almost stopped. The man beside the elegant bride in the photograph was Stephen.

Emma was still looking at the photograph when the study door behind her opened. She turned her head. A tall elderly man stood in the doorway. He smiled warmly.

‘Good morning, Miss McKenna. I am Leonard Fairchild, Stephen’s uncle. We haven’t met, but you were once a guest at my home in Port Macquarie.’ Leonard crossed the room to Emma, his hand outstretched. ‘I’m so pleased to have the pleasure of meeting you now. But I’m afraid Stephen is overseas.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know, Mr Fairchild,’ Emma said curtly, conscious of his eyes on her swollen stomach. ‘And I can assure you, I would not have dreamt of visiting your home in Port Macquarie had I known Stephen was a married man.’ She glanced once again at the photograph. ‘And I realize now, of course, that Stephen must have known you and your wife were away at the time.’

Without another word Emma walked briskly out of the study. For a few moments Leonard was lost for words. Emma was almost out of the house before he hurried after her.

‘Please, Miss McKenna. Please wait…’

But Emma didn’t look back. She hurried out to her waiting cab and climbed inside, leaving Leonard standing on the steps watching the green and white taxi drive away.

Emma said nothing to the taxi driver all the way back to the hostel. He tried making conversation once or twice but soon gave up. She just stared out of the side window, her eyes seeing nothing, as once again she was forced to ponder her future.

When the taxi stopped in Castlereagh Street, the driver said the round trip fare was nineteen shillings. Emma was staggered at the amount. She opened her purse and gave the driver the pound note she had taken earlier from the wallet under the mattress, then hurried inside the hostel without waiting for change.

As she climbed the stairs to her little room, Emma wondered if anything else in her life could possibly go wrong. When she reached her door she was shocked to find it was wide open. With her heart pounding, she rushed to the bed and groped around under the mattress. When she felt nothing, she tore it right off the bed.

But the brown leather wallet containing everything she had in the world was gone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Emma found Lil in the hostel cafe taking afternoon tea.

‘Nothing like this has happened here in a long time, my dear,’ Lil said sympathetically when Emma told her what had happened. ‘Was everything you had in the wallet?’

‘Everything but three shillings,’ Emma said grimly.

‘What will you do now, my dear? Go back to Armidale straight way?’

‘There’s nothing for me there,’ Emma replied sadly. ‘I got the sack from my job because the child I’m carrying is illegitimate. I came to Sydney to see the baby’s father.’

‘And?’

‘It turned out that he’s married.’

‘The bastard. What did he say?’

‘Nothing. I didn’t see him. He’s overseas.’

Lil reached across the table and took Emma’s hand. ‘I think under the circumstances, you’ll have to go back to Armidale,’ she said gently.

‘I only bought a one-way railway ticket’.

‘Perhaps, Erin Potts can help.’

‘She’s already helping enough looking after my mother,’ Emma said despondently. ‘I can’t ask anything more’.

‘But what will you do?’

‘If I must ask for charity, I’ll go to the authorities.’

‘They won’t help. There’s no susso for single girls, just single men, and they have to travel the countryside to get it.’

‘But I’ll tell them my money was stolen. Surely they’ll do something.’

‘They won’t do much, Emma,’ Lil said. ‘You don’t even live in Sydney. The best you could hope for is a railway warrant to get you back to Armidale.’

‘I won’t go,’ Emma said flatly. ‘I just won’t go.’

‘I’m afraid they’ll make you, dear.’

‘No one can make me do anything, not any more,’ Emma said. She spoke very calmly, staring into the table top. Some of the anxiety had gone from her eyes. ‘Over the past year, the more I’ve tried, the harder things have become. The world is a cruel place, Lil. It’s not a place I want to live in anymore, and it’s no world to bring a little baby into.’

‘What are you saying?’ Lil asked warily. She had seen the same look of resigned desperation on the faces of disillusioned country girls before, after their hopes and dreams of life in the big city had crashed around them. ‘You’re not thinking of doing anything silly are you?’

Emma smiled bravely. ‘Don’t you worry about me, Lil.’

‘How can I not worry, with you talking like that.’ Lil stood up. ‘Look. Go on up to your room and lie down for a while. I’ll come up later. Let me make a few enquiries. I can’t promise anything, but perhaps the hostel may be able to help in some way.’

*

Since the day of the violent confrontation in the Domain, Molly Gallimore had been lying low. The story of the riot, and photographs of the mounted policeman with his face covered in blood had made the front pages of the newspapers. She knew every policeman in Sydney would be looking for what the one reporter described as: ‘a vindictive, grey-haired female communist.’

Molly was something of a local identity in Redfern. Since the death of her husband nearly two years earlier, she had lived alone, her two sons having fallen on a blood-stained beach at Gallipoli in 1915. Now, with no one but herself to care for, and with so much poverty and heartbreak around her, she devoted herself to the community and its disadvantaged people. She lived in a two-bedroom worker’s cottage in a neglected terrace, just a stone’s throw from Redfern Park. It was one of the few cottages in the terrace that was occupied, most of the others having stood empty since their tenants had lost their jobs and been evicted for non-payment of rent. But Molly had been more fortunate. The letting agents, who managed the properties for a Melbourne landlord, let her live rent free in return for keeping an eye on empty dwellings and doing light maintenance work.

With the terrace cottages becoming more run-down every day, there were few prospective tenants among the people in Redfern. The unemployed would have been happy to live in them, given the chance. But the Melbourne landlord’s instructions were clear. Since the unemployed in New South Wales were given no government rent allowance as they were in Victoria, no unemployed persons were allowed to move in under any circumstances

The first eviction in Molly’s street had happened in 1930 when almost everyone in Redfern was losing their jobs. When court bailiffs came to evict an unemployed man and his family late one blustery afternoon and began piling furniture out on the footpath in the rain, Molly’s husband had intervened. Along with several other neighbors, Frank Gallimore demanded the bailiffs allow the family to remain in the house overnight, out of the rain.

When the bailiffs ignored them, Frank and three other men started carrying the furniture back into the house. One of the bailiffs promptly left, returning with a sergeant and two constables from the Redfern Police Station who ordered the men to stop interfering and go home. When they refused the police drew their batons. All the men except Frank Gallimore backed off. After a short scuffle and a few nasty blows to the head, Frank was arrested for obstructing court bailiffs.

The next morning Frank was arraigned and ordered to appear in court again at a later date for trial. He was reluctantly released by the police sergeant on three pounds bail put up in a hasty whip-around by his neighbors. When the case was eventually heard, the police prosecutor said he was appalled by Frank’s contempt of the due process of law. He called on the magistrate to make an example of him and impose a sentence harsh enough to deter others who would seek to obstruct officers of the court in the discharge of their duties.

The magistrate concurred and fined Frank twenty pounds, allowed him thirty days to pay, or in default, six months imprisonment. But with only two day’s work a week at a local shoe factory, barely enough to cover the rent and essentials, twenty pounds might as well have been twenty thousand. When the thirty days were up Frank reported to the police to do his time only to be told the was no room in the prisons, but that when space became available, officers would be sent around to his house to collect him.

At first Frank imagined he had won some sort of reprieve, but the sergeant was quick to point out that interest would be added to the amount of the fine until it was paid or until he went to prison. For weeks, Frank lived in fear of the police arriving at any time of the day or night, constantly worried about what would happen to Molly when he was in jail.

The final straw came when the shoe factory finally closed its doors for ever. Frank walked home to find Molly just leaving to buy a few groceries from the corner shop. He told her about the shoe factory closing and asked for a shilling to go to the pub. Molly was hesitant about wasting a shilling on drink, but Frank looked so despondent, and knowing he was close to breaking point she gave it to him. When she came home from the shop she found Frank hadn’t gone to the pub at all. He’d put the shilling in the gas meter, put his head in the oven and turned on the gas.

*

Molly was sitting contemplating her second Christmas without Frank when there was a knock on the cottage door. Wary of unexpected visitors since the incident in the Domain, she crept to the window and drew back the curtain just enough to see outside. She smiled when she saw Bill Travis and hurried to open the door.

‘Merry Christmas, Molly,’ Bill said cheerfully, handing her a box of groceries. ‘I was just down at the District Mission. It seems Father O’Brien had a telephone call from the hostel on Castlereagh Street. There’s a girl down there needs help. They said she’s been through a lot and they’re worried she may do something foolish. Father O’Brien asked me to see if you can put her up for a few days until she sorts things out.’

Molly grinned. ‘But he knew I would, didn’t he? That’s why he sent the groceries.’

*

Fenton and Leonard Fairchild sat, brandy in hand, each side of the desk in the study at Prospect House. The last of the garden party guests had left minutes earlier and Leonard had wasted no time in steering his brother into the study and closing the door firmly behind them.

‘Good God, I don’t believe it.’ Fenton said. ‘Stephen never said a word to me about this girl.’

‘Sometimes, Fenton, you can be a hard man to talk to.’

Fenton ignored the remark. ‘But you say you didn’t know anything about all this either. Knowing how close you and Stephen are, I’m surprised he didn’t confide in you.’

‘Oh come on, Fenton. I knew all about the girl and Stephen. Mrs Bennett told me. What I didn’t know was that she became pregnant. And I’m sure Stephen doesn’t know it either. He wouldn’t just walk away from a responsibility like that.’

‘Of course he wouldn’t. But has it occurred to you that the child may not be Stephen’s at all? These days there are a lot of young women who try to profit by claiming their illegitimate children are fathered by men from wealthy families’

‘With the young lady who was here today, that wouldn’t cross my mind in a million years, Fenton. And if you’d met her, it wouldn’t cross yours either. Why don’t you stop thinking like a lawyer and think like a father for once? I tell you, she and Stephen were lovers. And anyway, if she’d come looking for money, why didn’t she ask?’

Fenton sipped his brandy and pondered the situation. After a few moments he said, ‘If what your saying is true, Leonard, I can see now why Stephen was so reluctant to marry Eleanor.’

‘Then why did he?’

‘He had no choice.’ The white-haired lawyer looked his brother in the eye. ‘Leonard, I’m going to tell you something that you must promise to keep to yourself. It’s something I haven’t even told Stephen’s mother. It’s something that could cost Stephen his life.’

Leonard listened in amazement as Fenton told him the story of the abortive raid in the armory and of Eleanor’s alibi for Stephen

‘My God,’ Leonard said, when his brother had finished. ‘I knew at the wedding that something was wrong, but I never dreamt it could be anything as bad as that.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I think we had better start praying to God Almighty that Emma McKenna is the kind of young woman I think she is. You can imagine the field day the papers would have if she were to file a paternity suit against Stephen. I wonder how long Eleanor would stick by her story then.’

Fenton held his head in his hands. ‘Oh hell, Leonard. I’ve handled all this so badly. To think I refused to see her. I turned her away from this house when I had the chance to come to some sort of an accommodation.’

‘Some sort of accommodation,’ Leonard rolled his eyes. ‘You bloody fool, you’re talking like a lawyer again. She came here to see Stephen, not to sue him. Though after the reception she got, I wouldn’t blame her if she did. And if she doesn’t, her family may insist on it. Stephen told Mrs Bennett he met her on her uncle’s property in Queensland where she was staying temporarily after her father’s death. What’s more, he said her uncle is a client of your firm.’

‘A client of the firm?’ Fenton Fairchild looked thunderstruck. ‘What’s his name?

‘Patrick Coltrane. Stephen went to see him seeking support for the New Guard Movement.’

‘Patrick Coltrane.’ Fenton Fairchild’s face paled. ‘I don’t know him well. I’ve only met him a couple of times. One of the other partners handles his legal affairs in this state, mainly land matters, I think. Apparently he’s a very powerful man.’ Fenton stood up quickly and began pacing the room. After a few moments he sat down again and said grimly: ‘Leonard, we’ve got to do something. We have to talk to the girl. Did she say where she is staying in Sydney?

‘No, she didn’t.’

‘Then we must find out somehow, and quickly, before this whole thing blows up in our faces.’

*

The blistering midday heat at Essex Downs was tempered by a welcome breeze blowing from the east. Inside the homestead, the temperature was made bearable only by opening up all the doors and windows and allowing the breeze to waft through unobstructed.

‘It has been an exceptionally good year, Frank,’ Patrick Coltrane said. He was seated at the long dining room table preparing to begin lunch. ‘And I cannot deny that you and your company have largely contributed to that fact.’

Frank Peables, the regional manager of Victorian Mercantile and Pastoral Company of Melbourne, sat at the table with Coltrane on a rare visit to Essex Downs. In spite of the breeze the obese man was sweating profusely as Laura and Mary laid the last of the food on the table then withdrew from the room to leave the men to their business.

‘Please be assured, Mr Coltrane, that your association with VMP, has assisted us greatly to achieve profitability in most difficult times. It is an association my principals would like to see continue in the new year. With that in mind, I’ve brought with me a list of rural properties which will be coming available shortly, and once again we would like to give you the first chance to pick up any that may interest you.’

‘Excellent, Frank. And next year’s business will be conducted on the usual terms, I take it?’

‘Yes, as long as you invest the bulk of your capital with VMP and encourage other investors to do the same, we’ll continue to advise you of properties on which foreclosure is imminent. It makes no difference to us how much equity the debtors have in their holdings as long we can recover our mortgage advances. Our reward is having non-performing loans converted into sound new business. As usual, we’ll finance your purchases at a concessional interest rate with no payments for twelve months to allow you time to resell.’

Coltrane chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of beef. When he had swallowed he said, ‘Very well. I’ll look at the list over Christmas and be in contact with you early in the new year.’

Peebles smiled. ‘Excellent, Mr Coltrane. But a word of advice, if I may. My principals have asked me to tell you that the opportunities may not last forever. They feel, like most lenders, that governments across Australia will soon accede to the demands of primary producers and impose debt moratoriums providing protection against foreclosure.

Coltrane filled Peebles’ glass with red wine, then his own. ‘So what you’re saying is, make the best of a good thing while we can.’

Peebles smiled knowingly and wiped the sweat from his face with a large white handkerchief. ‘Tell me, Mr Coltrane, did you realize a good profit on that property you bought off us north of here, the one called Yallambee?’

’No, I still have it. My son Elliot is up there running it.’

‘But surely, you could have made a small fortune if you’d sold it, particularly after the rains.’

‘Oh, I could have. But I chose to keep it for personal reasons. My wife’s family used to own it.’

‘Your wife was related to Captain Jack McKenna?’

‘He was her brother.’

Peebles looked flabbergasted. ‘But one word from you and we’d have held off, at least we’d have granted him an extension. He wanted one you know.’

‘I know.’ Coltrane stared into his wine glass.

Peebles wiped the sweat from his face again.

‘You must have wanted him off the place pretty bad, Mr Coltrane?’

‘I did.’ Coltrane took more wine. ‘As I said, I had personal reasons.’

*

It was mid-afternoon when Peebles left Essex Downs. As he drove away, Coltrane stood on the veranda for a few moments watching the trail of dust behind the visitor’s car. Inside the house, Laura and a young aboriginal girl who had replaced Beth when Elliot insisted she go to Yallambee, were busy hanging Christmas decorations around the house.

When Coltrane came back inside the hall telephone was ringing. He took the earphone off its cradle and stood up close to the mouthpiece.

‘Essex Downs.’

‘Mr Patrick Coltrane?’

‘Speaking.’

‘It’s the Augathella telephone exchange. I have a trunk call from a Mr Fenton Fairchild in Sydney. Hold the line please, I’ll connect you.’

Coltrane frowned and waited.

‘Mr Coltrane?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Fenton Fairchild.’

‘Fairchild, this is a surprise.’ Coltrane cleared his throat noisily. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m calling about a relative of yours, Miss Emma McKenna. It seems she’s visiting Sydney and dropped by to see Stephen. Unfortunately, he’s overseas on his honeymoon and I was unable to see her at the time. I was wondering if you knew where she is staying in Sydney, so we may contact her and thank her for calling and to wish her the compliments of the season.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you, Fairchild. We don’t see much of the McKennas here. We’re not close, you know. In fact, Emma’s last visit here was probably the first in ten years and I expect it will be at least as long before we see her again.’

‘Oh, well,’ Fairchild said, with no trace of disappointment in his voice. ‘I thought I’d just make a courtesy call. Thank you, Patrick, and Merry Christmas.’

Fenton Fairchild laid the telephone receiver back in its cradle.

‘Well?’ Leonard looked expectantly across the study desk. ‘What did you find out?’

‘Coltrane says he has no idea where she is and from what he said I don’t think he cares.’ Fairchild swallowed the last of his brandy. ‘At least that’s one worry less to contend with, but we still have to try and locate Emma McKenna somehow.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Emma spent the afternoon lying on her bed with the curtains drawn, shutting out the world outside. In the half-light she stared vacantly up at the ceiling until eventually evening came and shrouded her despondency in darkness.

When Lil went up to Emma’s room she took a tray with tea and sandwiches with her. Unwilling to be drawn from the sanctuary of her darkened room, Emma was reluctant to answer the knock on her door. But when Lil knocked again, this time more urgently, she switched on the light and opened the door. Over hot tea and egg and lettuce sandwiches, Lil told Emma of the offer of help from Father O’Brien at the District Mission in Redfern.

The next morning, after a good breakfast, Emma stood suitcase in hand at the hostel office. She thanked Lil for her kindness and minutes later she boarded a tram for Redfern. As it approached the suburb, Emma saw the awful legacy of the Depression on one of Sydney’s worst-hit areas. Shabbily dressed, despondent-looking men, with sallow, unsmiling faces stood in idle conversation on street corners. Some looked up as the tram rattled by. Emma saw the hopelessness on their faces and the despair in their eyes.

Beyond the street corners, ragged youngsters played children’s games in side streets littered with rubbish. And here and there, tired-looking women with drawn, haggard faces, some holding babies to their breasts, stood talking to neighbors in the doorways of dirty, run-down terrace cottages.

It was just a short walk from the tram stop to the District Mission. The old brick building was crammed with people. Many were seated on rows of wooden benches outside the canteen. Many were old, all were plainly poor. Emma felt conspicuous in the smart pale blue dress she had worn to the Fairchild home the day before. On the far side of the hall was a high counter. Behind it, an elderly woman stood penning entries into a ledger. Emma walked over to her.

‘I’m Emma McKenna. I’d like to see Father O’Brien, please.’

The woman smiled and said. ‘Oh yes, Miss McKenna. I’m afraid Father O’Brien is holding a church service at the moment but he told us to expect you. If you’ll just wait a moment, someone will be here to help you just as soon as the next sitting goes into the canteen.’

Emma thanked the woman and put her suitcase down. After a few minutes the canteen door opened. A crowd of people surged out and the smell of stew wafted across the hall. Beyond the open door Emma could see dishes being cleared from the tables and volunteer workers preparing to feed another sitting.

A young man appeared at the doorway and Emma watched as he began to admit people from the benches into the canteen. As they filed past him, the man looked over to where Emma stood and the woman behind the counter beckoned him to come over. Emma noticed he walked with a limp. When he reached the counter, he smiled and held out his hand. Emma recognized him immediately as the sanguine man with no ticket on the Charleville train.

‘Miss McKenna. I’m Bill Travis. Father O’Brien asked me to take you over to Mrs Gallimore’s house where he’s arranged accommodation for you. As he gently shook Emma’s hand his eyes narrowed. ‘Haven’t we met before?

‘Yes.’ Emma replied. ‘On a train in Queensland.’

*

Molly welcomed Emma and Bill warmly into her modest home. The cottage was sparsely furnished and in need of repair, but it was spotlessly clean. Molly showed Emma through to the second bedroom and apologized for it being so small. She hoped Emma would be comfortable and asked her to make herself at home. Emma took to Molly Gallimore immediately.

‘Well, I’d better be going,’ Bill said after carrying Emma’s bag through to the bedroom.

‘I’m just making tea,’ Molly said. ‘Won’t you stay for a cup?’

‘No, thanks.’ Bill smiled. ‘Got to get back to the mission. I’m organizing the Christmas party for the children of the unemployed for Father O’Brien.’

Molly and Emma sat at the kitchen table over tea and scones. What started as guarded small talk between two complete strangers from different worlds, drawn together only by the common thread of poverty, turned into a lengthy and emotional outpouring. Emma and Molly unashamedly confided in each other as they recounted the events which had shaped their shattered lives.

‘After everything that’s happened to you, Emma, it’s a wonder that you’ve been able to keep your sanity.’ Molly said. ‘It must have been so hard for you.’

‘No worse than it’s been for you, by the sound of it, Molly.’ Emma picked up a worn tea- towel and began drying the dishes as Molly laid them on the draining board.

‘But it’s different for working-class people,’ Molly said. ‘None of us here in Redfern ever had much, even in the best of times. It must be much worse when you’ve had some of the good things in life, then suddenly lose it all. The best we could ever hope for was a job so we could pay rent, buy food and have a fag and a bottle of beer with our friends.’

‘I suppose that’s all anyone really needs, Molly.’

‘But it’s all too big an ask these days, Emma. There’s no one out there listening anyway. Everybody’s too busy blaming everyone else for the mess everything’s in.’

‘From what I’ve seen today,’ Emma said. ‘it’s the people with the least who are giving the most.’

‘Things aren’t always as they seem, Emma. For everyone who’s out there trying to give his neighbor a helping hand, there’s someone else who thinks people are getting something for nothing. There’s plenty of anonymous letter writers who can’t wait to dob in anyone who earns an extra shilling and doesn’t report it to the relief officer, or someone they think is trying to double-dip on the dole.’

‘How do you get by, Molly?’

‘Well, I told you, I’ve got no rent to pay. And I get eight shillings a week susso in food coupons. And once in a while if I pester them enough, I get a clothes parcel.’

‘How can you afford to help other people? ’

‘I do what I can at the mission. Father O’Brien sees to it that I don’t want for too much. Most of us try to help each other in Redfern.’

‘I’d like to do something,’ Emma said as she dried the last of the dishes. ‘If there’s a sewing machine at the mission, perhaps I could use that, or if not, I can sew by hand. I’d feel better if I was helping in some way.’

‘I’ll ask around,’ Molly said. ‘There’s quite a few women in Redfern who do a little sewing at home. They make things for the clothing stores, in secret mind you. They’re only paid a pittance for their trouble, but they can’t ask for more. If they complain, the stores dob them in and the dole is cut off.’

Emma sighed. ‘It all seems so unfair. Why is it people are so unkind to each other?’

Molly wiped down the draining board with a dry cloth. ‘That’s a mystery we won’t solve this afternoon, young lady, so you’d better unpack your things and have a nice lie down. You should be getting all the rest you can.’

Emma went into the bedroom. She put her few things away in an old dresser then lay down on the bed. Beyond the bedroom door she heard the muffled sounds of Molly going about her chores in the cottage. Suddenly she felt very safe and secure.

*

The silver-grey Bentley looked out of place beside the gaudy green and white taxis scattered around the Shamrock Taxi Company’s yard in Kings Cross. Leonard Fairchild looked out of place too, as he stood in the firm’s grubby dispatch office, trying amid incessant incoming telephone calls to have a word with the lone dispatcher.

‘When was that again, sir?’ the dispatcher said when he found a moment between calls.

‘It was just yesterday,’ Leonard said for the third time, ‘the young lady left Prospect House in Vaucluse some time around midday yesterday.’

‘And you want to know where she was going?’

‘Please.’

‘How do you know it was one of our taxis, mate?’

‘Yours are the only green and white taxis in Sydney.’

‘And you live at this house in Vaucluse, do you, sir?’

‘Yes.’ Leonard said, failing to grasp the significance of the question.

‘And were you the one that paid our driver, sir?’

‘Well no…’

‘You do realize, don’t you, sir’ the dispatcher said solemnly, ‘that I can’t give out any information if you weren’t the hirer of the vehicle?’ We have to protect the privacy of our customers.’

A telephone rang, then another. The dispatcher put one to each ear.

Leonard sighed and drew his wallet from his jacket pocket. He took out two one pound notes and held one in each hand, close to the dispatchers face.

‘One moment, please.’ The dispatcher spoke into both mouthpieces at the same time then quickly laid them down. He went to a cupboard and took out a cardboard box marked DRIVER’S DAY SHEETS and rummaged around inside. After a few moments he pulled out a sheet of paper and looked over it. ‘Here we are, sir.’ The dispatcher snapped the two pound notes from Leonard’s fingers. ‘Your young lady went to the girls’ hostel on Castlereagh Street. Merry Christmas, sir.’

‘I’m afraid Miss McKenna left the hostel earlier today, Mr Fairchild.’

‘Could you tell me where she went, madam?’

‘I’m not at liberty to give you any information, sir.’

From the look on Lil’s face and her curt manner, Leonard knew that the information he required would not be as easily forthcoming as it had been at the Shamrock Taxi yard.

‘But madam, I was speaking with Miss McKenna just yesterday when she visited my brother’s home in Vaucluse. It really is most important that I speak with her again. Please, do you know where she went’

‘I do, but I can’t tell you.’ Lil’s expression became even more defensive. ‘When Emma returned here yesterday, she was very distressed. And then there was an incident at the hostel that only made matters worse. We were so concerned for Emma’s well-being and state of mind that we made arrangements for her to spend a few days with friends.’

Leonard looked surprised. ‘She has friends here in Sydney?’

‘She thought she had, Mr Fairchild.’ The look Lil gave Leonard cut like a knife.

‘I’m so sorry, Madam,’ Leonard lowered his eyes. ‘I deeply regret what happened yesterday. I too, am concerned for Miss McKenna’s well-being and only wish to see her to make amends. Will you help me, please?’

‘All I can do Mr Fairchild, is to let Emma know that you wish to see her. If you care to call in again tomorrow, I may be able to tell you something then.’

*

Bill called by Molly’s cottage again the morning after Emma arrived. He was out canvassing support for the children’s party to be held on Christmas Day in Redfern Park. While Molly put on a pot of tea, Bill and Emma sat down at the kitchen table. He told her most households in the neighborhood were bringing food and home-made gifts to help make the party a success.

Emma was surprised how seriously Bill took his responsibility for the party. He had a small notebook in his shirt pocket in which he estimated how many people were coming and what was being pledged from each household. He said that by keeping track of everything he hoped to avoid the possibility of any youngster going home hungry or without a Christmas present. Emma offered to sew up a rag doll and Bill duly noted it down.

‘Emma’s been telling me she wants to do something to help while she’s here, Bill, ‘ Molly said over tea. ‘She’s a good seamstress, I can tell by her clothes. She was asking if there’s a sewing machine at the mission she can use. If not, she’s willing to sew by hand.’

‘Father O’Brien will be glad to hear that,’ Bill said. ‘The mission collects heaps of old clothes for distribution. There are always things needing repairs, alterations or making over into something else. Trouble is, there’s never enough help, the women who know how to sew are usually making things for the sweatshops.’

‘Well,’ Emma said, happily, ‘perhaps I can help.’

Father O’Brien was a small man with a big heart. Charged with the awesome responsibility of trying to maintain the faith in such a poverty-stricken parish, the elderly cleric gave himself the added burden of coordinating most of the assistance programs at the District Mission When Bill and Emma went to a tiny back room in the mission which served as his office, he was busy with a hundred and one things. But he took the time to talk to Emma.

He said there was only one old sewing machine at the mission and always an extraordinary amount of work on hand. He told Emma he would be pleased to accept any help she might care to give. Just as Emma was leaving, the telephone rang. Father O’Brien picked it up

‘Father O’Brien.’

The priest held the phone to his ear for some time without saying anything. As he listened, he looked apprehensively across the table at Emma. ‘Just hold on a moment,’ he said and lowered the phone, placing a hand over the mouthpiece.

‘Emma, it’s Lil at the hostel. Apparently a Mr Leonard Fairchild was asking after you yesterday. He’s there again now. He says he wants to meet with you if you’ll let him. Lil hasn’t told him where you are, of course. Would you like to see him?’

Taken completely by surprise, Emma was lost for words.

‘Remember you are among friends here, my dear,’ Father O’Brien said quietly. ‘You don’t have to see or talk to anyone if you don’t want to. But Lil does say Mr Fairchild seemed very sincere.’ The priest shrugged his small shoulders. ‘Sometimes it’s best to talk over differences Emma, if there’s any room left for discussion. What shall I tell Lil?’

‘I won’t go anywhere to see Mr Fairchild, Father O’Brien,’ Emma said. ‘But if he would like to come here to Redfern to see me, then I’ll meet with him.’

CHAPTER TWENTY

Emma met Leonard Fairchild in Redfern Park the next day. When she arrived a few minutes before midday, he was already waiting for her. He sat in the shade of a tree, on a low wall surrounding the entire park with a newspaper spread out over his knees. When he saw her approaching he stood up quickly and folded it up.

‘Miss McKenna, thank you for coming. Would you care for some tea? Perhaps we could go somewhere…’

‘I prefer to stay here, Mr Fairchild.’ Emma said. She sat down on the wall. ‘You must have gone to some trouble to find me. Just what is it you want?’

Leonard hesitated, as if unsure what to say. He sat down on the wall an arm’s length from Emma. ‘First of all, let me say how sorry Stephen’s father and I am that…’

‘Are you here to apologize for Stephen?’

‘Well, in a way, yes. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. Oh...' Leonard reached into his coat pocket and took out Emma’s wallet and handed it to her. ‘Lil at the hostel asked me to give this to you. Apparently the cleaners found it in a rubbish bin. It’s empty, I’m afraid.’

Emma opened the wallet. Her father’s photograph was still inside She smiled faintly. ‘Oh, it’s far from empty, Mr Fairchild. Thank you so much for bringing it.’

‘Miss McKenna,’ Leonard said cautiously, ‘After you agreed to see me, Lil told me how bad your situation really is.’ Leonard looked around him at the ragged children playing in the litter-strewn park. ‘With the baby so close, you can’t go on living in this wretched place. We thought perhaps you would allow our family to help you financially.’

Emma sprang to her feet. ‘So you thought you could give me a few pounds and send me back where I came from, Mr Fairchild, is that it? I suppose you…’ Emma swayed on her feet. Getting up so quickly had made her dizzy. Leonard took her by the arms and steadied her as she sat back down.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the spell to pass. When she felt better she opened her eyes and said angrily: ‘How dare you come here and offer me money! How can you put a price on an illegitimate child or think Stephen’s deceit can be paid for with money, like a loaf of bread or a pound of butter. No, Mr Fairchild, those things are paid for in an entirely different currency. And my unborn child and I have already paid the price.’

Leonard lowered his head. When he looked up he said: ‘Oh, Miss McKenna, how could we have been so clumsy? First, my brother and now me. Please, forgive me.’

Emma stood up again, more slowly this time. ‘I’ll be going now. And this really isn’t a wretched place, Mr Fairchild. I’ve seen more love and compassion here in Redfern in the last few days than I’ve seen anywhere in the last twelve months.’

She began to walk away. Leonard hurried after her.

He touched her arm. ‘Please, Miss McKenna, don’t go.’

‘There’s nothing more to say, Mr Fairchild.’

She drew her arm away and continued walking. Leonard fell in beside her.

‘But there is, Miss McKenna. There’s something I must tell you even if it puts Stephen’s life at risk.’

Emma stopped in her tracks. Leonard had her undivided attention.

‘Stephen married for reasons quite unrelated to love,‘ Leonard said. ‘He loves you, Miss McKenna. It would devastate him if he knew you were pregnant with his child and living like this. But if he did know, I’m sure it would end his marriage, and if that happened, he could lose his life.’

‘What on earth are you saying? Emma asked.

Leonard took her by the arm and led her back to the wall. When they were seated, Emma listened in amazement as Leonard told her the story of the New Guard raid on the armory, just as his brother had told him, omitting nothing.

‘When my brother told me all this, I had to promise him I would tell no one,’ Leonard continued after Emma had taken in what he had already said. ‘But I’ve told you because you have a right to know what happened. Stephen and I are very close, and like his father I only want what is best for him. I hope that by breaking my word to Fenton, I haven’t put Stephen at risk.’

‘How long has Stephen been married?’ Emma asked after a few moments

‘Just a few weeks.’

‘What kind of a woman is she?’

Leonard shrugged. ‘Oh, Eleanor is young, attractive, and comes from a prominent Sydney family. Of course, she’ll never make Stephen happy, but as long as he’s married to her, I think he’ll be safe.’

‘Then, that’s all that matters,’ Emma said quickly. ‘And you can rest assured I would never do anything to hurt him. His secret is safe with me.’

Leonard looked relieved. ‘That’s the gamble I took when I told you all this. My brother was afraid you may instigate a paternity suit and Eleanor would turn the wolves loose on Stephen.’

‘And that’s why he sent you here, to offer me money?’

‘That was Fenton’s reason, yes,’ Leonard said. ‘But it wasn’t mine. I wanted to offer you help for a different reason.’

Emma eyed Leonard skeptically. ‘And what reason is that?’

‘I want you to let me provide security for you and the child. I want you to let me assume the responsibilities that Stephen would have been proud and honored to accept under normal circumstances. I am sure that if he knew about the child, nothing could keep him from you, not even a murder charge. Oh, don’t you see the position I’m in? If Stephen ever learned about your situation and knew that I did nothing, he would never forgive me.’

Emma flinched. ‘Is it just yourself your concerned about, Mr Fairchild?’

‘Of course not, my dear. I’m concerned much more about Stephen, yourself and the child. You must allow me to help you.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Then I’ll have to tell Stephen about the child when he returns to Australia. At least my conscience would be clear. I would tell him the truth, whatever the consequences. That’s better than living in fear that somehow he’d find out later and shut me out of his life forever.’

Emma looked Leonard in the eye. ‘Are you saying that if I refuse your money, whatever happens to Stephen in the future will be on my head?

Leonard’s eyes held Emma’s.

‘Yes I am.’

*

Emma sat alone at Molly’s kitchen table sewing yellow button eyes on the rag doll she had made for the children’s party. It was Christmas eve. At any moment she expected Bill, or one of his helpers to call by.

As she sewed, her thoughts were of Bruce and Jack, and she was grateful they were spending Christmas well fed, sheltered, and in the company of so many other youngsters. She wondered if the parcel containing sweets and a tin of biscuits she had posted to them from Armidale had arrived yet. Her thoughts turned to Kathleen and she hoped her mother wouldn’t read too much into the telegram she had sent, saying she hadn’t seen Stephen but that she was staying in Sydney and would write a long letter soon.

There was a loud knock on the cottage door. Emma bit off the thread of the last yellow button and hurried to answer it. The well-dressed man who stood outside was a stranger. In his hands he held a leather briefcase. Behind him, a taxi stood waiting at the kerb.

‘Miss Emma McKenna?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Hopwood. I represent the New South Wales Imperial Bank. I have with me documentation regarding a financial matter you recently discussed with our client Mr Leonard Fairchild. May I come in, please?’

‘Why yes…’ Emma led the way through to the kitchen table. The young man sat down, opened his briefcase and took out a manila folder. The folder contained a single sheet of paper and what looked to be a small blue notebook.

‘Now, Miss McKenna.’ Hopwood passed the little blue notebook to Emma, ‘This is your bank passbook in which you will notice there is an existing balance of three hundred pounds. Funds may be drawn upon by yourself at any time upon presentation of this book at any of our branches. In addition to the present balance, the sum of thirty five pounds per month will be deposited into your account on the first day of each month commencing in January. Have you any questions?’

Emma looked at the book for a moment. ‘No, ‘I don’t think so, Mr Hopwood.’

‘Very well.’ Hopwood passed the single sheet of paper to Emma. We require only a sample of your signature, Miss McKenna.’ Hopwood indicated a spot on the paper with his finger. ‘Now, if you’ll just sign here on the dotted line and again in the passbook, I’ll be on my way.’

When Emma had signed in both places, Hopwood put the folder back in his briefcase and got up to leave. The whole thing had taken no more than a minute.

‘Is that it?’ Emma said, as he walked toward the door. ‘Is there nothing more to sign, nothing more to do?’

‘No, that’s all that’s required, Miss McKenna.’ Hopwood paused when he reached the door. ‘Although I must say it’s unusual. As a rule, the bank requires a lot more documentation, and normally you would have to come into the bank to complete the arrangements personally. But Mr Fairchild has friends in high places and he insisted we dispense with the usual rigmarole.’

*

On Christmas morning, Bill and his volunteers were up at the crack of dawn preparing for the arrival of the children at Redfern Park. It promised to be a bright sunny day. A large Christmas tree was set up in the centre of the park with all the presents were heaped beneath it. Each gift was wrapped and tied with a ribbon, and each had a small label attached, noting what was inside and the gender and approximate age of the most suitable recipient.

Emma and Molly arrived with a ginger cake just before nine, when the first of the families began to converge on the park. Each family brought whatever food they could. Some brought freshly baked cakes, scones, and meat pies. Others brought a bottle of lemonade, biscuits, or a few sandwiches wrapped in newspaper. Several brought only an apple, a pear or an orange. And some brought nothing at all, swallowing their pride and coming because of Bill’s insistence that their children share in the spirit of Christmas with everyone else.

As the families arrived, all the food was laid out on tables and covered with newspapers to protect it from the heat, flies, and impatient little fingers until it was time for it to be served. By ten o’clock, the entire park was a sea of happy, smiling faces. Then Bill appeared at the Christmas tree dressed as Father Christmas, complete with a long white beard. When he asked all the children through a loudhailer to form a line and receive their presents, a loud cheer went up from the crowd.

After the gifts were distributed, everyone was asked to step up and help themselves to something to eat, then watch the youngsters compete for prizes in three-legged races, spoon races and other children’s games. Emma and Molly were sitting on the low wall delighting in the happiness of the children when Emma felt a stab of pain in her stomach. After a moment it went away and she thought no more of it. But half an hour later the pain returned with an intensity that made her gasp.

Molly turned to Emma in alarm. ‘What is it, dear?’

For a moment Emma couldn’t speak, then once again the pain passed just as quickly as it came. She sighed with relief and said, ‘I think my baby wants to join in all the fun, Molly.’

From time to time, Bill would stop and say a few words to Molly and Emma as he made his rounds, making sure everything was going to plan and everyone was enjoying themselves. It was while he was talking with them that he noticed four burly young men ambling along beside the park wall. All were too well-dressed to be locals. As first they appeared to be taking an interest in the children’s activities, but as they drew closer Bill realized they were taking a keener interest in the spectators.

When the men were no more than five yards away, they stopped, and Bill realized too late what was happening. Two of them lunged at Molly and grabbed her by the arms, while another jumped up on the wall wildly waving his arms. Down the street, two slow-moving motorcars accelerated and raced up to the scene of the commotion. Even before the vehicles had come to a stop their doors swung open and uniformed policemen poured out onto the street.

‘What’s going on here?’ Bill shouted, as the two civilians holding Molly pushed her into the arms of the policemen.

The sergeant in charge grinned at Bill in his Father Christmas suit. ‘And who might you be?’

One of the civilians tore the long white beard from Bill’s face. ‘Well, if it isn’t Bill Travis,’ he said in feigned surprise. He grinned at the sergeant. ‘We knew if we kept him under surveillance long enough he’d lead us to the woman.’

‘Well, Mr Travis,’ the sergeant said. ‘In answer to your question, this woman is being arrested for assault causing grievous bodily harm to a mounted policeman during the execution of his duties in the Domain last month.’ The sergeant spoke loudly, more for the benefit of the large crowd that had gathered than Bill’s. ‘And we can thank our friends in the New Guard here for this excellent piece of detective work.’

‘Where are you taking her?’ Bill demanded.

‘To the lock-up at Darlinghurst. You can take her any clothes and things she might need there. She’ll be there until she’s arraigned the day after Boxing Day.’

The sergeant nodded to the constables holding Molly and they bundled her toward one of the waiting cars. The old woman was bewildered. Tears streamed down her face.

‘Molly.’ Bill shouted. ‘Say nothing to them. Nothing at all, understand. I’ll…’

Bill didn’t get to finish what he was saying. His head suddenly seemed to explode. Then everything went black when, king hit by one of the New Guardsmen, Father Christmas dropped to the ground like a stone.

The moment Bill fell, Emma took charge and called for a bowl of water and some handkerchiefs. She was still lying on the grass bedside him, sponging the blood away from a badly split upper lip when he came to after about five minutes.

It was another minute or two before he fully regained his senses. Then some of his friends helped him and Emma up, and arm in arm, they made their way back to Molly’s cottage. Several times as they walked, Emma’s stomach pains came and went. At the cottage, Emma put Molly’s toothbrush and some clean underwear in a brown paper bag. When she gave the bag to Bill she winced as once again the pain returned.

‘Is it the baby?’ Bill asked through his swollen lips. ‘Is it contractions?’

‘Don’t be so silly. It’s far too soon. I’m not due for a month yet.’

Bill tucked the brown paper bag under his arm. ‘Look Emma, it’s about a five-mile walk to Darlinghurst, there and back, but I’ll be as quick as I can. Shall I get someone to come and stay with you until I get back?’

‘No, it’s not necessary, Bill.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course, I’m sure.’ Emma said quickly. ‘It’s you we have to worry about. Look at you. Your face is a mess. You should be lying down, not traipsing around all over Sydney. Have someone else go instead.’

‘I have to go. I’ve got to try and see Molly and tell her to deny everything. It’s her only chance. There’s already almost a dozen men convicted of assaulting that mounted policeman, and they’re in prison for only doing what any decent man would have done to that bastard. There’s just no justice in hunting Molly down. It’s just plain vindictiveness.’

Emma became increasingly uncomfortable after Bill left. It was unbearably hot in the cottage. She found the coolest and most comfortable place to sit was on the steps on the back porch where occasionally a breeze wafted through. She sat with her legs outstretched and her back to the door frame. Later in the afternoon, her stomach pains became more frequent and regular. Emma realized her baby might be coming. An hour later when she felt the warmth of her broken water flood over her thighs, she knew for certain.

She tried to remain calm. From very early childhood at Yallambee she had been familiar with what lay ahead. She had seen the birth of calves and other animals hundreds of times, and she knew the process would take its own course. She knew too, that a first birth always took longer and was more painful than subsequent deliveries. A pang of fear surged through her when she thought of the possibility of her child being a breech baby, and of still being alone when it came.

Emma grasped the door frame in both hands and awkwardly hauled herself to her feet. She walked back into the kitchen, filled a glass of water at the sink and drank it all. She looked at Molly’s old alarm clock. Bill had been gone for five hours. She went to the front door and opened it. The street outside was empty. Soon it would be dark. The closest occupied house was four doors down. Emma thought of going to it for help. But the tenants were all men so she decided against it.

She returned to the back porch. When darkness came, the night was surprisingly quiet. Only a few rooms in nearby terraces showed dim candlelight; electric light was a luxury rarely used in Redfern. Suddenly she felt terribly alone. It remained oppressively hot as the evening wore on. The contractions intensified. Still there was no sign of Bill.

Emma struggled to her feet again. The contractions were now less than five minutes apart. She went to the sink and drank more water, then rummaged around in the kitchen drawers until she found a pair of scissors. Then she padded to the bedroom and took a blanket, a sheet and a pillow off the bed. She laid the blanket on the floor of the porch and the pillow against the door frame. Then she took her clothes off, wrapped the sheet around her, and sat down again on the back step with the scissors and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long. Soon the contractions were very close together and each one seemed to last forever. The baby was coming. With each contraction Emma pushed hard against the door frame and bore down with all her might. At first, it seemed that no matter how hard she tried, nothing seemed to be happening. But the contractions continued relentlessly. Then, although she couldn’t see it, she felt the baby was gradually moving into the birth canal.

Between each contraction, Emma breathed in rapid gasping pants, desperately trying to summon the strength and the will to press against the door frame yet again when the next contraction came. When it did, she strained every muscle in her body, and grunting and groaning, pushed down as hard as she could.

Then everything came to a stop and no matter what Emma did, the baby would not move. The fear of a breech baby returned and she began to panic. Somehow, she managed to raise herself up enough to reach down to find out. To her joy she felt the baby’s head with the tips of her fingers and knew it was in the normal position. The discovery gave her the will to work even harder and after three or four more excruciating minutes, her baby slid past the pubic bone which had been impeding its progress and slipped from her onto the blanket on the floor.

Relief, joy and exhilaration swept through her, and although utterly exhausted, she somehow found the strength to reach forward and pick up her limp baby, clean the mucous from its mouth and slap its bottom soundly. After the first healthy scream split the stillness of the night, Emma cut the umbilical cord with the scissors.

It was almost midnight when Bill returned to the cottage. He found Emma lying on the kitchen floor in the darkness, the bed sheet wrapped around her and her son at her breast.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Italy in late December was much colder than Stephen and Eleanor had expected. When their Imperial Airways flight arrived in Rome from London a few days before Christmas, the temperature was a chilly thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit.

They were met at the airport by Enrico Conti, the son of Eleanor’s father’s friend, Vittorio Conti, a major supplier of Italian fashion to the Bowes-Scott department stores. Enrico was a olive-skinned young man in his early twenties. Eleanor had met him just once before when he accompanied his father on a visit to Australia. Enrico welcomed the honeymooners warmly, embracing Eleanor tightly and kissing her on both cheeks, then vigorously shaking Stephen’s hand.

‘You are a lucky man, Stephen,’ Enrico said, in almost perfect English. ‘Your lovely bride stole my heart the moment I met her in your beautiful city of Sydney.’ He grinned then shrugged his shoulders with a wide upwards sweep of his arms. ‘But…’

Stephen was surprised by the Italian’s familiarity, but judging by Eleanor’s smile, it was plain she saw Enrico’s remark as delightful continental charm. They waited while Enrico summoned a porter, then followed him outside to his car, a dark green Lagonda tourer. Enrico opened the rear door and Eleanor and Stephen climbed in. When the porter had loaded the couple’s luggage Enrico took the wheel and drove towards the hills northeast of the city.

The ancestral home of the Conti family was near the town of Tivoli, about twenty miles outside Rome. Along the way, Enrico showed Stephen and Eleanor the sights and spoke of the rich local culture, driving with one hand on the wheel and waving at the particular subject of his attention with the other.

Enrico explained that his father’s house was one of several built on a hillside with wide sweeping views of the Aniene River, close to where the waterway cascaded down into a deep gorge which the river itself had formed over the ages. Enrico went on to say there had been large villas on the hillside since the days of Imperial Rome when Tivoli had been known as Tibur, and Hercules had been the local hero. He also promised to show them the nearby remains of Emperor Hadrian’s imperial residence which, he said, were still in remarkable condition after nearly two thousand years.

Eleanor was enthralled with the beauty and history of the region and hung on Enrico’s every word. But Stephen listened to what Enrico had to say with little more than passing interest and as the Lagonda neared Tivoli, thoughts of Emma once again preoccupied his mind. Eventually he was drawn back into the conversation when the subject was changed to aviation.

‘In Mr Bowes-Scott’s last letter to my father, he mentioned you were an aviator, Stephen. Is that so?’

‘Yes, indeed I am.’

‘I am also a flyer,’ Enrico grinned mischievously at Stephen through the rear view mirror. ‘Apart from the ladies, flying is what I enjoy the most. Perhaps you will allow me to show you the beauty of this region from the air while you are staying here with us.’

Stephen was delighted. He smiled enthusiastically into the rear view mirror. ‘That would be wonderful Enrico. Tell me, what type of airplane do you have?’

‘I fly a 1918 Fokker D7. I call her Hercules, after the patron of Tibur.’

Stephen looked impressed. ‘They say the D7 was one of the best fighter planes ever built. Some even say if it had been built in the early years of the war it could well have influenced the outcome.’

‘I think perhaps that is true,’ Enrico said. ‘The Royal Flying Corps held the D7’s in such high regard, that the treaty of Versailles demanded the Germans surrender all the planes that remained at the end of the war. I bought mine privately from an Englishman a few years ago. But there are several still in service with the Swiss and Belgium air forces’.

‘I’ve heard they’re easy to fly,’ Stephen said.

‘For a well-trained pilot, I suppose that is true. Have you had any military flying experience Stephen?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

Eleanor saw her chance to join the conversation, and said: ‘Stephen does a little flying with a private air force in Sydney.’

Enrico laughed loudly. ‘You have a private air force in Australia? I think you pull my leg, Eleanor.’

‘I belong to the air wing of a paramilitary organization called the New Guard,’ Stephen said. ‘It was formed earlier this year to combat the threat of communism in our country.’

Enrico suddenly looked very serious. ‘I had not heard. We get little news of Australia in Europe. But I suppose your leaders are afraid, like ours, of communism gaining a foothold. Mr Mussolini has moved quickly to make sure it cannot happen in Italy. He has banned all other political parties, trade unions and strikes and given business leaders a free hand with the economy. Mr Mussolini has made many concessions to industrialists who provide employment, to enable them to compete better and employ more workers in their factories. The result is that wages in Italy are now almost half of what they were just three years ago, but many more people have jobs’. Enrico laughed out loud again, ‘And, Mr Mussolini even got our trains to run on time.’

Eleanor and Stephen joined in his laughter. When it subsided Stephen said: ‘I’ve heard our New Guard commander, Lieutenant Colonel Campbell speak of Mr Mussolini. He holds him in very high regard. I’m sure they both think along the same lines.’

The green Lagonda swung off the narrow country road into a long driveway. At the end of it, drenched in sunlight, stood the Conti family home, a large majestic villa nestled against the hillside.

As they approached the house, Enrico said: ‘What Benito Mussolini has built here in Italy through fascism is becoming the envy of the world. And fascism is spreading to many other countries, like Germany, Spain and Japan. Even in England and France there are strong fascist movements. Yes, what we have here in Italy is good. It is worth fighting for. And if it is ever threatened, I will be one of the first to take up arms.’

*

Bill was standing beside Emma when she woke. On the other side of the bed her baby lay peacefully in a cot. The curtain was drawn across the small bedroom window but Emma could see it was light outside. From the kitchen, she heard soft voices speaking in hushed tones. She looked from the cot to Bill and smiled.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said gently. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you. They just let me in for a moment so I could see you both.’

‘They?’

‘Iris and Joan. They live at the end of the street. When I found you last night I asked them to help. They came over and we brought you in here. Later on, they brought the cot. I just wish I’d asked them to come over before I went to the lock-up.’

Emma raised her hand slightly. Bill took it in his. Emma heard the hushed voices in the kitchen again, then heard the front door to the cottage open and close. A moment later a stout middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway.

‘Hello Emma, I’m Iris. My word, it’s a beautiful baby you have.’ She turned to Bill. ‘Joan has just gone to work, but she’ll be back later.’ Iris smiled at Emma. ‘Between the two of us we’re going to take very good care of you, so don’t you worry about a thing, my dear.’

Iris walked over to the cot and picked up the baby. She laid it in the bed beside Emma.

Bill said, ‘Well, I’d better be going …’

‘Tell me what happened at the police station before you go, Bill, ’ Emma said as she cradled her baby in her arms.

‘When I asked to see Molly they told me to wait. I was still waiting at nine o’clock when the shift changed. Then they told me I would have to ask the night sergeant. As luck would have it, I knew him. It was Sergeant Lockwood; he was there that day in the Domain. He’s a regular bloke. He doesn’t have the mean streak a lot of coppers have. He let me see Molly for a few minutes.’

‘How was she, Bill?’

‘Quite good, really. Old Molly’s made of pretty stern stuff. Seems all the time I was waiting to see her they were busy pressuring her to sign a statement admitting everything. But she said she wouldn’t say anything until she had taken legal advice. They just laughed at her and said no one in Redfern ever had a solicitor.

‘What happens now?’

‘I told Molly to plead not guilty at the arraignment. Father O’Brien and I are going round the neighborhood today to try and raise some bail money. We ….’

Suddenly the baby started to cry.

‘You best be going, Bill,’ Iris said. ‘This young man knows it’s feeding time.’

*

The day after Boxing Day, the usual crowd of post-holiday petty felons paraded before the magistrate at Darlinghurst. There were the drunks, a couple of Kings Cross prostitutes, and two persons charged with assault—one a bar-room brawler and the other, Molly Gallimore.

Molly’s case was heard last. When her name was called, a police constable led her into the court from an anteroom. By now the courtroom was almost empty. Only Bill and Father O’Brien remained on the public benches. Their presence brought a nervous smile to Molly’s face as she shuffled into the dock.

A policeman read the charge. The magistrate repeated it to Molly and then asked her how she wished to plead. Molly pleaded not guilty and the magistrate set down a trial date for February. At that point Father O’Brien asked to address the court and requested that Molly be allowed to return to Redfern in his charge until the trial.

The magistrate had no objections but the police prosecutor reminded him of the seriousness of the charge and demanded that Molly be held in custody, or at least if bail were granted, it should be set at a substantial figure. The magistrate set bail at ten pounds, just five shillings less than the amount Bill and Father O’Brien had collected from the neighbors in Redfern.

By midday Molly was at home in her cottage.

Molly took over caring for Emma just as soon as she came home. But Iris and Joan still dropped in regularly to see if they could help in any way. And everyone was delighted when Emma announced that she had decided to name her son Christopher, because he was born on Christmas Day.

Emma got to know Iris and Joan well. Iris was a widow and Joan was single. Iris said they managed to keep up the rent on their cottage by sewing clothes part-time in a small sweatshop in nearby Botany Road. Joan, being single, couldn’t get the dole but Iris got eight shillings a week, and together with the small amount they earned in the sweatshop they managed to keep their heads above water. Iris said she hated to think what would happen if she ever got dobbed in for not declaring what she made at the sweatshop.

After a few days, Emma was up and about. A steady stream of callers, mostly people Emma had never met, brought baby clothes, rattles, and all types of odds and ends for Christopher. Everything was second-hand, and many of the clothes were very old, but Emma was overwhelmed by the generosity of people who had so little to give, yet found such joy in giving.

Bill called by whenever he could. Although he was always busy at the mission, or helping the local anti-eviction committee, or the Unemployed Workers Union, or some other battlers’ cause, he still found the time to drop by and say hello. He seemed to delight in seeing Christopher, and Emma found herself looking forward more and more to his visits.

One afternoon, Bill dropped by to tell Molly that Father O’Brien was trying, through the clergy, to find a solicitor in one of the neighboring dioceses willing to donate his services and defend her at her trial. Molly was delighted at the news. Just as Bill was leaving, there was a knock at the cottage door.

When Molly opened the door a man in a business suit stood outside. Without a word he barged straight past Molly into the cottage. Bill blocked the man’s progress at the kitchen door. Emma held Christopher tightly in her arms.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Bill demanded.

‘I’ll tell you who the hell I am,’ the man replied angrily. ‘I’m the rental agent in charge of this property. And the police have just brought it to my attention that Mrs Gallimore is going to jail shortly. I’m here to check on the condition of this house and to tell her to have it vacated by midday tomorrow.’ The real estate agent smirked. ‘Or do you think I should tell my client that we use criminals as caretakers of properties in our charge.’

Tears welled in Molly’s eyes.

The agent looked at Bill and Emma and the baby things around cottage. ‘Just how many squatters have you got in here, Mrs Gallimore? You know its against all the rules.’ He turned to leave. ‘All right, as I said, tomorrow at midday, everyone out, or I’ll have the police drag you out.’

Bill hurried to the front door and blocked the agent’s way again. He grabbed him by the lapels and said: ‘There are laws to protect people from bastards like you. You know damn well, first you’ve got to give a tenant two weeks notice to quit and then you’ve got to get an order from the court to evict them.’

The agent sneered. ‘So we’ve got a bush lawyer here, have we? Well, let me tell you something, mate. This woman isn’t a tenant. We’ve never charged her a penny in rent and we have no written agreement with her Out of the goodness of our hearts we told her she could stay here until we told her differently. Well, now I know she’s a criminal, I’m telling her differently. And as of this moment, she’s nothing but a bloody squatter.’

Bill knew the agent was right. He loosened his grip on the man’s jacket and moved out of his way.

‘I wish to rent this property.’

It was Emma who spoke.

The agent turned around with a smile on his face.

‘It’s eighteen shillings a week, and two weeks in advance.’

‘All right. Draw up the paper.’

The agent’s smile grew into a grin. You’ve got the two weeks deposit have you?’

‘Yes.’

The agent looked surprised ‘And a job?’

‘No, I don’t have a job.’

‘Sorry, the owners won’t rent to anybody who’s unemployed. They never keep up the rent.’

‘Then I’ll give you three months in advance.’

The grin faded from the agent’s face. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Of course I am. Just give me an hour to go to the bank for the money, then come back here with the papers.’

The agent looked undecided for a moment, but unwilling to risk losing a rare rental commission in Redfern, he took a pencil and paper from his pocket. ‘If you’ll just give me your full name, for the agreement that is.’

‘Emma McKenna.’

‘Thank you, Emma. I’ll be back in an hour.’ The agent touched the brim of his hat with his fingers and hurried away.

‘Oh, Mr…?’ Emma called out after him.

The agent turned around. ‘Was there something else, Emma?’

‘Yes,’ Emma snapped. ‘In future, it’s Miss McKenna to you.’

Bill closed the door behind the agent. He and Molly turned to Emma in amazement.

‘Something happened the other day,’ Emma said. ‘You might say I came into a windfall. I promised myself it would never be used for anything but Christopher’s welfare. But this community only survives at all because of people helping each other, and I want to do my part. And now Christopher and I have to start a new life somewhere, I want us to be amongst friends. I can’t think of any better place for us than here in Redfern.’

*

For Bruce, Christmas Day at Hope Farm was the unhappiest time of his life. There was no trace of the joy and happiness he had always felt at Yallambee during the festive season. The only respite from everyday life at Hope Farm was that all farm work and classroom sessions were temporarily replaced with prayer meetings and services in the chapel.

There had been a slight variation of the usual food on Christmas Day, which included turkey and plum pudding. But the highlight for Bruce and Jack had been the arrival of the tin of sweets and biscuits from Armidale. Strickland told Bruce that Brother Lucas normally withheld any treats sent to Hope Farm, or at least made sure they were divided equally among boys of his choosing. But Brother Lucas gave the whole tin to Jack and told him to do whatever he wanted to with its contents.

Bruce knew well why Brother Lucas relaxed his own rules for Jack, but he preferred not to think about it. He had tried to talk to Jack several times after Strickland had told him what was going on. But Jack had become so distraught each time, that Bruce hadn’t broached the subject since, hoping as Strickland had said, that sooner or later, Brother Lucas would leave Jack alone in favor of someone else.

As time passed, Bruce noticed Jack become more and more withdrawn. He knew his brother had come to accept his lot and conformed to the passive, obedient and disciplined life the Brothers demanded of everyone. Bruce saw also that Jack had come to hate himself, brooding constantly in a guilt-ridden isolated world of his own, a world he was too ashamed of to even share with his own brother.

For that, Bruce hated Brother Lucas with all his heart, and his hatred only strengthened his resolve to find a way for himself and Jack to run away and leave Hope Farm far behind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The arrival of a brand new year and the security of tenure provided by Emma’s changed circumstances brought an atmosphere of hope and happiness to Molly’s cottage. Emma felt well after the birth of the baby and she was anxious to get on with her life. The joy Christopher brought her only added to her sense of well-being.

Molly’s happiness at having Emma and Christopher with her was only dampened by the uncertainty of her forthcoming trial. But a constant stream of visitors coming to the cottage left her little time to dwell on it. The new year even brought Bill a new sense of hope, with the swearing in of Prime Minister Joseph Lyons’ new government in Canberra in early January.

Father O’Brien found a solicitor who agreed to defend Molly. Dan Rankin, an earnest and compassionate young man, came to the cottage frequently. He spent hours talking to Molly, trying to formulate a defense to an almost indefensible situation, and he spoke at length to Bill who was to be a witness at the trial. Emma became friendly with Iris and Joan. They all spent long hours at Molly’s kitchen table drinking tea and answering Emma’s endless questions about the operation of the sweatshop where they worked.

Emma wanted to know everything that went on. She asked about the types of garments they made, how long it took to make them and the quantities produced. She wanted to know who the sweatshop’s customers were, and the prices paid for goods supplied. When the seamstresses asked Emma why she wanted so much information, Emma just smiled and said she would let them know soon enough.

*

On the day of Molly’s trial the courtroom was packed.

The public benches were almost entirely filled with unemployed battlers from Redfern who had been in the Domain on the day of the riot. They talked noisily amongst themselves as they waited for the trial to begin. The few remaining seats were taken up by newspaper reporters and senior police officers, all anxious to see justice done.

Emma had left the baby in Iris’s care. She sat with Father O’Brien in the courtroom, directly behind a long table where Molly and Dan Rankin were seated, beside the police prosecutor and his assistant. Outside the courtroom Bill paced up and down, waiting to be called as a witness. From time to time, Molly turned her head to Emma and tried to smile. Emma thought she suddenly seemed very old and vulnerable.

‘All rise.’

The court bailiff’s command heralded the entry of a grey-haired, black-robed magistrate into the courtroom and the hubbub on the public benches ended immediately. When the magistrate was seated, the charge was read out and the magistrate asked how Molly wished to plead. Her solicitor entered a plea of not guilty and the prosecutor called his first witness.

This was the mounted policeman who Molly had attacked in the Domain. He walked stiffly to the witness stand, took the oath and stated his name and occupation. The prosecutor asked him to tell the court in his own words exactly what had happened on the day in question.

The policeman gave a lengthy account of the riot with particular emphasis on his need to subdue the driver of the truck, as well as the severe facial wounds he suffered from the placard pole attack and the beating at the hands of over a dozen rioters. He also identified Molly as being the woman who struck him with the pole.

‘Now, in your opinion, Constable,’ the prosecutor asked when the policeman had finished, ‘was there any police provocation for the defendant’s vicious attack upon you?’

‘Absolutely none...'

There was a loud murmur of dissent from the battlers on the public benches. The magistrate cast a reprimanding eye around the courtroom. ‘If there are more outbursts,’ he said solemnly, ‘I shall instruct the bailiff to clear the courtroom.’

The prosecutor asked his question again.

‘There was absolutely no provocation at all,’ the policeman replied. ‘As God is my witness.’

There was a much more subdued groan from the public benches. The magistrate waved an admonishing finger but said nothing. Father O’Brien looked at Emma in dismay. Extreme provocation was the only real defense Molly had.

‘Thank you, Constable. I have no more questions.’

Dan Rankin rose to his feet. ‘Constable, will you tell the court exactly what you were doing at the time Mrs Gallimore was alleged to have to have attacked you with a placard pole?’

‘I was restraining a particularly dangerous demonstrator.’

‘You mean the driver of the truck?

‘Yes.’

‘With baton blows to his head?’

‘ I had no choice.’

‘A little heavy-handed wouldn’t you say, Constable? A troop of mounted policemen against a single unarmed man.’

‘I had to subdue him alone. As I stated earlier, the rest of my troop were defending themselves against hundreds of rioters all over the Domain.’

‘And you say it was while you were restraining this man that you were attacked by the defendant?’

‘Yes. Mrs Gallimore took advantage of the fact that I was already busy trying to defend myself. Her attack came right out of the blue and totally without warning.’

A look of confusion spread over Rankin’s face. ‘You say it happened while you were busy subduing a particularly dangerous demonstrator. And yet, during this struggle, and the simultaneous attack by over a dozen assailants in which you were dragged from your horse and suffered serious facial wounds, you were still able to clearly see who was at the end of a very long placard pole?’

The mounted policeman didn’t answer immediately, knowing he had been drawn into an elaborate web he himself had fabricated. After a moment he said: ‘I wasn’t the only one to identify her.’

‘But you said the rest of your troop was scattered all over the Domain.’

‘Several civilians identified her. Also there was a police sergeant on foot who was standing very close to Mrs Gallimore.’

’Oh, and who were these civilians? Were they unemployed marchers?’ The solicitor turned and faced the public benches. ‘Or perhaps, they are among those attending these proceedings here today.’

Immediately there were angry denials from the Redfern battlers on the benches. Once again they were silenced by the magistrate’s admonishing finger Then the finger was wagged at the solicitor. ‘You will direct your questions only to the witness, Mr Rankin.’

‘Then who were these civilians, Constable?’ the solicitor persisted. ‘Were they members of the New Guard?’

The constable stared down at his feet. When he looked up he said quietly, ‘Yes, I believe they were New Guardsmen.’

‘And are they to be called as witnesses here today?’ Before the policeman could answer Rankin said: ‘I think not, Constable. I think not. Everyone knows the New Guard is an illegal organization and many of its members are presently under investigation by the police for various illegal acts, such as theft of government property, breech of national security and even murder. I’m sure the prosecution wouldn’t subpoena such men and expect their testimony to be given any credence.’ The solicitor turned toward the magistrate and bowed his head slightly. ‘I have no more questions for this witness, Your Worship.’

‘Call Sergeant Frederick Lockwood.’

The court bailiff opened the courtroom door again and Sergeant Lockwood took the stand. When questioned by the prosecutor he told the court he had been on duty the day of the riot in the Domain and that he had seen the mounted policeman attacked by a woman carrying a placard and by several marchers.

‘And is the defendant the same woman you saw attack the mounted policeman, Sergeant?’ the prosecutor asked.

Sergeant Lockwood looked at Molly long and hard.

‘Well, Sergeant,’ the prosecutor said impatiently. ‘Is this the woman?’

The sergeant didn’t answer. He looked troubled, as if reluctant to do what he must do. Emma wondered if he were torn between doing his duty or yielding to the demands of his conscience. There wasn’t a sound in the packed courtroom. Everyone was waiting for the sergeant to speak.

The magistrate intervened. ‘Sergeant Lockwood. ‘Please, answer the question.’

‘I can’t be sure if this is the same woman, Your Worship.’ The sergeant said at last. ‘I just can’t be sure.’

Molly’s solicitor saw his chance and seized it.

‘Your Worship, if Sergeant Lockwood, who was standing very close to my client and under no threat at all from the marchers, cannot identify Mrs Gallimore, how can the constable who, by his own admission, was busy subduing the truck driver and simultaneously being set upon by a dozen or more rioters? Your Worship, I ask that this case be dismissed.’

The magistrate turned to the prosecutor. ‘These civilian witnesses that you mentioned earlier. Are there any of them present today?’

The prosecutor glanced over to the senior police officers seated behind him. The most senior officer shook his head.

‘No, we have no more witnesses, Your Worship.’

‘Case dismissed.’ The magistrate rose to his feet. ‘Mrs Gallimore, you are free to go.’

*

For Stephen, the visit to the Conti home at Tivoli was the highlight of a less than idyllic honeymoon. True to his word, Enrico showed Stephen the splendor of Rome, and a wide area of countryside surrounding it, from the cockpit of his Word War 1 Fokker D7. And to Stephen’s delight, Enrico allowed him to take the controls of the aircraft on many of the occasions they flew together.

Because of their love of flying and similar political views, Enrico and Stephen enjoyed each other’s company, both in the air and on the ground. They spent so much time together that Eleanor felt neglected and threatened to cut short their visit to Italy if she couldn’t be the centre of her husband’s attention on her own honeymoon.

Stephen and Enrico made a point of being more considerate towards Eleanor for the rest of the visit. The newlyweds were due to fly to Port Said the following week anyway, where they would join the P & O steamer Mooltan bound for Australia. At the airport in Rome the two young aviators vowed not to let their new-found friendship end there.

*

The news of Molly’s victory swept like wildfire and the cottage couldn’t hold the large throng of well-wishers that came by to see her. They spilled onto the pavement in front of the terrace and out into the tiny backyard. Everyone was overjoyed that a neighborhood battler had fought back and won; some even suggested that perhaps there was some justice after all.

By early evening the crowd had dispersed and only Bill, Iris and Joan remained at the cottage. Just after dark, when Emma had fed Christopher and put him down to sleep, Bill said he’d better be getting along. Emma walked outside with him.

‘It was a good day, Emma,’ Bill said. ‘It not often there’s something to celebrate in Redfern.’

Emma took his hand. ‘It’s all thanks to you and Father O’Brien, Bill.’

‘And Sergeant Lockwood. I just hope they don’t make it too hard on him’

‘But what can they do?’

Bill shrugged. ‘From now on, he’ll be given the most unpleasant duties they can find and on the worst possible shifts. Coppers aren’t expected to let the side down. His mates will close ranks against him.’

‘But at least he can live with himself,’ Emma said. ‘He did what he felt he really had to do.’

Bill drew Emma close to him. ‘And what about you, Emma. What is it you feel you have to do.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Iris and Joan were telling me about your interest in how the sweatshops work. And Molly said she’s looked after Christopher several times while you went into town looking around the department stores. What is it your planning to do, Emma?’

‘I’ve been thinking about starting to make clothes. I didn’t want to say anything to anyone until I was sure about it.’

‘And are you sure now?’

‘Yes, I am. I’ve worked it all out. I’ve checked and rechecked my figures. Iris and Joan say they make a dozen boy’s shirt a day between them and get paid two shillings. Then the sweatshop charges five shillings a dozen to a contractor who’s getting ten shilling a dozen from the department stores for all he can supply. The same thing happens with women’s blouses, men’s and women’s underwear, suits of clothes, and just about everything else.’

Bill shook his head. ‘I know how it all works. It’s just bloody exploitation by the department stores. The more they buy from the sweatshops the less work the unionized shops get. It forces them to cut wages and sack more workers. The rag trade is a dirty business these days, Emma. You’d do well to stay out of it.’

‘But I could provide jobs and better wages to people like Iris and Joan. And I want to get my family together again under one roof. I can do that if I can get a business off the ground.’ Emma sighed. ‘You know Bill, I haven’t even written to my brothers saying I’m in Sydney, let alone tell them I’ve had a baby.’

‘How can you pay higher wages, make enough money to support your family, and still compete with the sweatshops?’ Bill asked skeptically.

‘By getting rid of the middleman and dealing with the stores direct, for a start. And not all the department stores sell on price only. Some of them like to offer better quality merchandise. After all, there’s more money at the higher end of the market these days.’

‘But then you’ll have to supply your own materials and create your own designs.’

Emma smiled. ‘And that’s exactly what I intend to do, eventually.’

‘It seems to me it would all take a lot of money,’ Bill said. ‘This windfall you’ve had, would it be enough?’

‘I think so.’

‘I suppose it came from Christopher’s father?’

‘Yes it did… indirectly.’

Bill took Emma’s hands in his. ‘I’ve made it a point not to ask you about him. I always thought you’d tell me in your own time. Tell me, Emma. Does he still mean anything to you?’

‘I still feel for him, Bill, if that’s what you mean. But nothing can come of it. I suppose you’ve heard he’s a married man?’

‘Yes, Father O’Brien told me when you first came to the mission. He said you came to Sydney to see the father of the baby. But he named no names.’

‘He couldn’t, I’ve haven’t told anyone who Christopher’s father is.’

‘And I’ll never ask.’ Bill drew Emma closer. ‘But you must know how I feel about you.’

Emma put a hand on Bill’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. ‘Yes, I think I do Bill, and I’m glad you do. But the way things are I’m just not ready to …’

‘I understand, Emma,’ Bill said. ’And I’ll wait as long as I have to.’ He took her hand from his shoulder and kissed it. Then he grinned and said: ‘But in the meantime, let’s take Christopher down to the Botanic Gardens on Sunday to see the Harbor Bridge. It’s all but finished now, you know.’

*

Bill and Emma took a packed lunch with them to the Botanic Gardens. Bill walked around the park like a proud father, pushing Christopher in a little fold-up pram they brought with them from Redfern on the tram. They were just about to call it a day, when they saw an ocean liner steaming into the harbor and decided to stay long enough to watch it pass under the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

Soon they could see the liner’s markings clearly. She was the P & O steamer Mooltan, at the end of her outward voyage from England via Port Said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Emma had worked out her plans for her dressmaking business down to the last detail. She had decided to call her company Sydney Styles. With almost three hundred pounds in her bank account, financing the venture was not the most immediate problem. And with Iris and Joan ready to assist, even to the extent of using their cottage as a workshop, experienced help and premises were not a problem either.

To get Sydney Styles off the ground, Emma knew that she needed orders and all the necessary equipment to fill them. She had carefully itemized the basic equipment requirements, but decided against laying out the money until she was sure she could bring in work. Like Mrs Shapiro in Armidale, she needed ongoing orders from satisfied customers, and because there was no room in her plans for middlemen, the work had to come directly from clothing retailers. Emma planned to accomplish that by offering higher quality garments at a slightly lower price.

Emma knew that to eliminate the middlemen, her business would need to be seen by the clothing stores as a legitimate and reliable supplier to the trade. To create the illusion, Emma ordered business cards for Sydney Styles printed in black ink on white card. Under her name the title 'Manageress' was printed, and below it, the types of work undertaken. Molly's address appeared at the bottom of the card, giving the impression that Sydney Styles operated from commercial premises.

Even before the ink had dried on the cards, Emma donned her beige suit and, brimming with optimism, walked the streets of Sydney looking for business. After two weeks of persistently calling on large and small clothing retailers, all she had to show for her trouble was growing disillusionment and well-worn shoes. Emma hadn't foreseen how difficult it would be to see the store owners and managers. Only a few retailers would take the time to see a garment maker they'd never heard of and even fewer when they realized it was represented by a young woman. And the ones Emma did manage to see expressed no interest at all in changing from their current suppliers.

'You need to be buying, not selling, if you want to get anyone's attention in the stores these days, Emma,' Molly said philosophically, as she stood at the kitchen sink one night. 'They just don't want to know you unless you've got money to spend.'

Molly's words kept Emma awake in her bed for a long time that night. Perhaps there was a better way of getting people to listen to her. Gradually a plan formed in her mind. It was only when the plan became crystal clear that she finally fell asleep. The next morning Emma got off the tram at Castlereagh Street outside the main entrance to Bowes-Scott department store. It was her first call of the day and with her father's leather wallet in hand, she walked purposely through the main entrance and up to the second floor to a large display of Singer sewing machines.

A smiling shop assistant approached her. 'May I help you, madam?'

'Yes, I would like to speak to the manager of this department.' Emma handed the assistant her card.

The assistant looked at the card and smiled apologetically. 'I'm afraid that won't be possible, madam. He really is very busy.'

'Oh, how unfortunate.' Emma feigned disappointment. 'I had hoped to purchase a number of sewing machines this morning.'

The sales assistant took a renewed interest in Emma. 'Perhaps I can help.'

'Are you authorized to arrange a special price for a large order?' Emma asked.

The assistant hesitated. 'Well... no.'

'Then I'll have to slip over to the David Jones store across the street.'

'Oh please wait,' the assistant said. "I'll just take your card to my superior. 'Perhaps he can spare a moment.'

The assistant hurried away. She reappeared almost immediately with an officious-looking little man in a pinstriped suit. 'I'm the manager of this department,' the little man said. 'My assistant tells me you wish to purchase a number of sewing machines.'

'Yes,' Emma said, 'providing we can arrive at a suitable price and reciprocal trade arrangements.'

The department manager looked confused. He glanced down at Emma's card in his hand. 'But Miss McKenna, if your business manufactures garments commercially, surely you would purchase your machines from a wholesaler? The wholesale price would be considerably less than any price we could give you.'

'I am aware of that,' Emma said. 'But sewing machine wholesalers are not in the business of retail clothing, so consequently they are unable to offer the reciprocal trade I mentioned a moment ago.'

The manager still looked confused. 'What exactly do you have in mind, madam?'

'I am ready to pay cash today for six of your best table sewing machines, complete with all the latest attachments and all necessary ancillary equipment. And I am prepared to pay a higher price than I would pay at the wholesalers, providing I receive a reciprocal order from your clothing department. Emma opened her brown leather wallet and drew out a sheet of paper. 'I have taken the liberty of drawing up a pricelist for the manufacture of the standard range of men's shirts and ladies' blouses presently on sale in your stores around the city.'

The department manager took the list from Emma and ran his eyes over it. He shook his head slowly. 'Really, this is most unusual. I'm afraid only our store manager, Mr Postlewaite, could authorize such an arrangement.'

'May I speak with him then?' Emma asked

'I'll see if he is available, Miss McKenna,' the manager said unenthusiastically. He walked away and Emma was beginning to wonder if he was ever coming back when he finally returned with a grey-haired man who introduced himself as Mr Postlewaite, the store manager.

'Our department manager has explained your proposal to me, Miss McKenna,' Postlewaite said congenially. 'He advises me that you wish to make a cash purchase valued at close to two hundred pounds. It is an order we would be very happy to fill. In turn, we are prepared take a provisional order for making standard Bowes-Scott ladies blouses with you at your quoted price, subject only to delivery arrangements and our minimum quality standards.

Emma tried hard to conceal her joy. 'A provisional order, Mr Postlewaite. In what quantity?'

'Shall we say a hundred dozen, Miss McKenna, at nine shillings a dozen.'

*

Stephen and Eleanor made their home in Kirribilli on the north shore of Sydney Harbor, in an old sprawling two storey house which was a wedding gift from Eleanor’s father. Eleanor said it would be ideal for them, far enough away to avoid unannounced visits from family living on the south shore, but with the advantage of the city being so accessible as soon as the harbor bridge was opened. Their Kirribilli address also had the prestige of being within walking distance of the Australian Prime Minister’s official Sydney residence.

Interior decorators had restored all of the eleven rooms in the charming old residence to their original splendor. And just days before the couple returned, each room had been filled with elegant furniture, hand-picked by Eleanor from the Bowes-Scott flagship department store on Castlereagh Street.

The morning after they arrived home, Stephen left Eleanor discussing the rearrangement of furniture and household requirements with their housekeeper and caught the ferry to Circular Quay, anxious to report back to his law office just as soon as he could.

Shortly after five o’clock, Stephen left his office to attend a meeting of the New Guard at a disused warehouse in nearby Wooloomooloo.

When he arrived, he was taken by the officer who led the aborted armory raid to a back room where Captain Francis De Groot, the Zone Commander, was conferring with a handful of other officers.

Francis Edward De Groot was a slight, balding antique dealer in his mid-fifties. Of Irish-Dutch extraction, he had served in the British Army during the Great War and migrated to Australia in 1920. A dedicated New Guardsman, fierce anti-Bolshevik, and avowed foe of Premier Lang, De Groot specialized in leading New Guardsmen in violent skirmishes with communists at political rallies around the city.

‘It's good to see you,’ De Groot said when Stephen entered the room. ‘I understand you visited Italy on your honeymoon. You have been fortunate to experience Mr Mussolini’s new Italy first hand.’

Stephen saluted. ‘It was an eye-opener, Commander. What has been accomplished in Italy in such a short time is to be applauded.’

‘With men such as yourself, dedicated to the eradication of communism and good, time-honored Anglo-Saxon virtues, there’s no reason why the New Guard cannot effect similar changes here in Australia,’ De Groot said. He smiled generously and gestured with a wave of his hand to the men assembled in the small room. ‘That is why you have been selected to serve with these gentlemen on my special operations team.’

*

Emma's euphoria over her success at the Bowes-Scott department store was soon clouded by a nagging worry that she might not be able to deliver the goods on time. But Bill somehow managed to quickly cram all the equipment she had bought into Joan and Iris's cottage. When everything was set up and ready to go, there was hardly room to move.

Another worry was that a condition of the provisional order called for the first ten dozen blouses to be sent into the store for quality inspection before any work commenced on the balance. Emma knew if any of the garments failed the test, she could be left with a house full of expensive equipment and no work, so she paid particular attention to every detail of manufacture to ensure the end product was of the highest standard.

When the ten dozen blouses were finished, Emma delivered them personally, then went home to await Postlewaite's comments after the blouses had been inspected by the clothing department manager.

'The quality of the work you have put into these blouses is some of the best we have ever seen in this store, Miss McKenna,' Postlewaite said, when Emma called back the next day. 'Please deliver the balance of the order just as soon as possible. In the meantime, if your prices remain unchanged, I will arrange for regular monthly orders to be placed with you.

*

Despite the mountain of work which now faced Sydney Styles, Emma, Bill and Christopher joined the huge throng of excited revelers flocking into the city on Saturday, March 19, for the official opening of the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Bill insisted they board an early train to get a bird's eye view of the proceedings.

They were standing behind a barricade very close to the ceremonial ribbon when the time neared for Premier Lang and his official party to commence the opening ceremony. Only specially invited state and civic officials, senior police officers, newspaper reporters and a Movietone News team stood any closer.

A military band struck 'God Save the King' and the crowds on the bridge sang loudly. As the strains of the anthem faded, the clatter of hooves signaled the approach of Governor-General Sir Isaac Issacs and the official party, escorted by a contingent of the Australian Light Horse in their distinctive uniforms. Memories of her father filled Emma's mind.

Behind the Light Horse troop came a single rider who didn't appear to be part of the official escort. He was a slight, middle-aged man in a military uniform and had a sabre hanging at his side. But the uniform was not a Light Horse uniform and Emma though that the horse he rode looked more like a racehorse than a waler.

On the roadway behind the rider, six young men in civilian clothes walked in single file beside the barricades restraining the crowds. Emma took them to be plain-clothes policemen. When the last man walked by Emma, she thought he looked familiar, although she couldn't see his face. He was no more than six feet away when he turned his head towards her. Emma thought her heart would stop when she saw his face. It was Stephen.

At that moment the lone rider yelled out and digging his spurs into his mount, charged past the Governor-General's escort, swinging the sabre wildly above his head. To the astonishment of everyone, and to the outrage of Premier Lang and the official party, Captain Francis de Groot of the New Guard slashed through the ceremonial ribbon with his sabre and declared the Sydney Harbor Bridge open in the name of the respectable and decent people of New South Wales.

Pandemonium broke out. Several policemen charged de Groot and, after a short struggle, pulled him from the saddle and arrested him. When six New Guard bodyguards, who like de Groot, had somehow passed themselves off as part of officialdom, ran to their captain's aid, they too were promptly arrested and taken to Darlinghurst police station.

When de Groot and his New Guardsmen were brought in, one of the policemen on duty was Inspector Edward Proudfoot. As de Groot was loudly defending his patriotic actions and calling them a victory for the anti-Lang forces, Proudfoot was more interested in one of the captain's accomplices.

'You, Fairchild,' he shouted angrily when he recognized Stephen. Proudfoot grabbed Stephen's neck in a huge hand and bundled him into an anteroom. When he'd slammed the door shut behind him, Proudfoot swung a vicious backhand across Stephen's face. 'You don't just bloody learn, do you? You'd think after the last episode, a smart-alec, silver-tailed solicitor like you would drop the New Guard ratbags like hot potatoes.' Proudfoot grabbed Stephen's lapels and drew his face close to his own. 'But you're stupid, Fairchild. You'll get off this one with a small fine and you'll keep on being a troublemaker. I know your kind. But mark my words. I'll get you, you bastard. I don't care how long it takes. I'll get you.'

*

A few days after the opening of the Sydney Harbor Bridge, Molly hurried over to Iris and Joan's cottage with a telegram for Emma. Emma quickly stopped work and opened it. Her heart sank when she read the terse message inside.

REGRET CESSATION OF FUNDING FORCES CLOSURE OF CRESTVIEW STOP YOUR MOTHER TO BE RETURNED TO QUEENSLAND IN SEVEN DAYS AND INSTITUTIONALIZED UNLESS OTHER ARRANGEMENTS MADE STOP SIGNED ENID POTTS

Emma arrived in Armidale by train two days later. When her taxi pulled up in front of Crestview, people were milling around everywhere. She hurried up the driveway and found Miss Potts standing in the front doorway, watching workmen carrying furniture and all kinds of household items outside and loading them into waiting vehicles.

'I came as quickly as I could, Miss Potts,' Emma said. 'What on earth is going on?'

Enid Potts gestured towards the workmen. 'I'm afraid some of our creditors have seen fit to send these gentlemen to take what they can to minimize their losses, Emma.'

'But the Mary Wells Society is a charity, Miss Potts, surely they can't...'

'Oh, but they can Emma. We are a private organization and they have court orders. It's just the times we live in. It wouldn't surprise me if they started taking out beds before we can empty them.' Enid Potts took Emma's hand and squeezed it. 'It's good to see you Emma. I'm so sorry things have turned out this way. Come, let me take you to your mother.'

Kathleen smiled bravely from her wheelchair when Emma entered her room. Emma thought how well her mother looked under the circumstances. They embraced each other tightly.

'My darling,' Kathleen said when they drew apart, 'you mustn't worry about me. The New South Wales authorities are arranging to send me back to Queensland. Apparently I'm their responsibility. I'm sure I'll be well looked after.'

'You won't be going to any sanatorium, Mother,' Emma said quickly. 'Gerald Braithwaite told me most of those places are no better than prisons. You're coming to Sydney with me. We're going to live together again. You, Christopher and me.'

For a moment Kathleen looked overjoyed at the prospect. But then she frowned. 'But how can we? How is it possible?'

Emma smiled reassuringly. 'Things have taken a turn for the better. I have so much to tell you, Mother. I was going to surprise you in a couple of months and come and get you. Now with Crestview closing, we'll just do it a little sooner.'

Miss Potts smiled apprehensively. 'Are you sure, Emma? Please don't try and take on more than you can handle. If you can't look after your mother properly and afford medical attention for her when it's necessary, things could be worse for her in the end.'

'It's all right, Miss Potts,' Emma said. 'Really it is. I have friends in Sydney, wonderful friends. And I've started a little business and have regular money coming in, so I'll be able to have a doctor call on Mother regularly.' Emma turned to Kathleen. 'And that's not all, Mother. Soon we'll be able to bring the twins to Sydney too.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Bruce read the new work roster on the notice board. It had been some time since he had been assigned the dirty job of mucking out the milking shed, but now he eagerly awaited the task. When he saw he was listed for dairy duties, he knew his chance had come.

He had worked out his escape plan carefully and decided he would make his move alone. He wouldn’t tell anyone, not even Strickland or Jack. It was better that way. If he were caught and brought back, he knew it would mean the hole. By going alone, only he would have to suffer the consequences. And if he made it to Augathella, Mr Braithewaite would soon get Jack out of the clutches of Brother Lucas. Bruce had ruled out any idea of trying to reach Armidale; it was just too far away.

On the first day in the milking shed, Bruce was careful to go about his tasks as if it were just any normal day. He had long been familiar with the routine. First the cows were brought into the milking shed stalls, where they were tethered and fed their ration of grain. Then the milking started and the milk was put into ten gallon churns which, later in the morning, were taken up to the main gate by horse-drawn wagon to be picked up by the milk truck from the dairy in Toowoomba.

Just before midday Bruce and a helper loaded the churns onto the dray. Then Bruce told the helper to start mucking out while he secured the churns on the wagon. Discreetly, he left a small empty space among the churns near the back of the dray. When the load was secure, Bruce told Brother Josef the milk was ready to go and went to help muck out. A few minutes later, when one of the brothers drove the wagon past the milking shed door, Bruce calmly laid down his shovel and ambled outside.

He casually looked around in every direction as the wagon rumbled by. He saw no one. Everyone on work duty was either inside farmyard buildings or out in the fields. Taking a deep breath, he ran after the wagon and hopped up on the back. In seconds he was out of sight, crouched with his knees tucked up under his chin in the small space he had left between the milk churns

Bruce’s heart pounded all the way up the track to the front gate. When he heard the driver call out to the team to stop, he was afraid that his absence had been discovered and someone had come after the milk wagon to search it. But then he heard a gate creaking and a few moments later the wagon started to move again, and he knew they had reached the road. Silently he slipped off the back of the wagon and into a ditch beside the road.

He watched from behind a clump of wattles while the driver jockeyed the dray into position beside the milk platform. He didn’t stir until all the churns had been rolled off and the wagon had travelled a good way back down the track to the farm. Then he jumped up and ran for his life towards Toowoomba.

Bruce ran and ran, his heart still pounding in his chest. After about ten minutes he saw a vehicle approaching in a cloud of dust. He quickly dropped down into the ditch and waited for it to pass. As soon as the car had roared by, he started running again. He was still running hard when he heard a loud horn blow behind him. Startled, he looked back over his shoulder. There was a truck behind him. Bruce wondered how it had got so close without him hearing it. But it was too late now to dive into the ditch and hide, so he just kept running.

The truck slowed right down and kept pace beside Bruce. It was the milk truck from the Toowoomba dairy. The driver wound down the window. He was a big, unshaven man in a dirty white vest. He grinned down at Bruce.

‘You planning on running all the way to wherever you’re going, son? Or do you want a lift?’

Bruce grinned nervously. ‘I’d like a lift, please.’

The driver stopped the truck and Bruce got in the cab. As the truck pulled away, the driver appraised his passenger. ‘Those clothes you’re wearing. That’s Hope Farm gear, isn’t it?’

Bruce’s spirits sank.

The driver grinned again. ‘Running away, aren’t you, son?’

Suddenly afraid, Bruce tried to think of something to say. Before he could do so, the driver said, ‘Good on you. From what I hear, that place is little more than a bloody slave camp. Reckon it should be called No Hope Farm.’ The big driver laughed heartily. ‘I can take you as far as Toowoomba.’

‘Can you drop me off at the railway station?’

‘Consider it done.’

The milk truck stopped directly across the street from the Sundowner Hotel. Bruce climbed out, the driver sounded his horn and a moment later Bruce was alone again. He walked into the station and casually strolled down the platform, trying to see where he might gain access to the adjacent sidings. All he needed was a west-bound goods train.

Bruce soon saw there was no access to the sidings from inside the station without being spotted. He went back outside and walked the length of a high brick wall beside the freight yard, trying to find a place to climb over it. Eventually he found a tree with a strong limb which overhung the wall but knew he would have to wait until dark before he could climb it unseen.

He hung around the tree for a long time waiting for the sun to go down. When at last it began to get dark, Bruce started to shin up the tree. Suddenly he froze as a big hand grabbed him by the collar.

‘Better not try it.’

Bruce tried to break free and run, but the big hand held him firmly in its grip.

‘Take it easy, lad. Take it easy. No one’s going to hurt you.’

Bruce looked at his captor. The face seemed familiar.

‘There’s a rail inspector been watching you from the public bar,’ the publican from the Sundowner said. ‘He said he was coming over to catch you in the act. Seems a lot of the swaggies use this tree as a leg-up into the siding yard. But I came over first. I remember you from when you and your brother and sister stayed at the hotel last year.’ The publican raised his eyebrows. ‘Run away from the brothers at Goombungee, have you?’

Bruce nodded.

‘Better come over to the pub, have a feed and tell us all about it.’

Bruce told his story at the kitchen table. While he talked, the publican’s wife made him a stack of sandwiches and gave him a tall glass of milk. When he’d finished, the publican said, ‘I’ll just go and talk to some of the blokes in the bar and see if anyone’s heading up Augathella way.’

The publican returned with a smile on his face. ‘Well, looks like you’re in luck. There’s a brewery truck heading up to Augathella on the beer run first thing tomorrow morning. It stops at most of the pubs along the way, but with any luck you should be there before dark.’

*

Not since the visit of Stephen Fairchild almost a year before had there been such a special guest at Essex Downs. But the elderly man engaged in earnest conversation behind closed doors with Patrick Coltrane was infinitely more important and powerful.

‘With Prime Minister Joe Lyons at the helm of the new United Australia Party in Canberra, we are witnessing the dawn of a new era of government. It will champion everything that conservatives everywhere hold so dear. That is why Queensland needs strong and forceful representation in the Senate, not only to back up Mr Lyons, but also to ensure Queensland plays a role in charting the course that lies ahead. We are facing a critical time in our history. It is not a time for us to send a jobs for the boys senator to Canberra. That is why we would like you to accept our nomination.’

For a moment Coltrane said nothing, savoring the triumph. He looked across at the little man in the huge armchair. How unpretentious he was. Coltrane had admired Royston Silver all his life. To the man on the street, he was just another small town country doctor. But to those who knew him, or to those who aspired to high office, he was a king-maker.

‘I would be honored to accept, Royston.’ Coltrane’s voice took on a rare tone of humility. ‘I can assure you, it is a decision you will not regret.’

‘Oh, I am sure of that, Patrick. And you may well find yourself in Canberra sooner than you think. Although Scullin’s defeat and the calling of a double dissolution took us by surprise and left us no time to make any changes to our Senate representatives, we are expecting a vacancy soon. When it occurs, you will be on your way to the nation’s capital.

Coltrane beamed. ‘I will work hard for Queensland to warrant the confidence you have placed in me.’

‘Queensland needs strong voices like yours in Canberra,’ Silver said. ‘People who will come down hard on the communists and those who thumb their noses at authority. We expect Mr Lyons to remove Jack Lang and his Bolshevik sympathizers within a few months. We also have it on good authority that he will outlaw the communist party and use the White Australia policy to keep foreign agitators from our shores. We need to support him in these matters. We must also press him to adopt our call for sterilization of half-caste Aborigines as a means of eliminating that inferior race. We know we can count on you in that regard, Patrick.’

‘Indeed you can,’ Coltrane said solemnly. He rose to his feet. ‘This calls for a celebration. May I get you a drink?’

‘Perhaps a small whisky.’

As Coltrane poured two generous measures, Silver said, ‘There are just a few other assurances we require from you, Patrick, before your endorsement is confirmed officially.’

‘And what would they be?’ Coltrane clinked his glass against Silver’s. Both men sipped and swallowed.

‘You must be prepared to spend a great deal of time in the Australian Capital Territory,’ Silver said almost apologetically. ‘Canberra is a barren, windswept hole but it might be quite tolerable if they ever finish building it. And it’s a miserably cold, brain-addling place in winter, which might account for some of the extraordinary decisions that men in power have made there. And you will also have to put aside some of your private commitments. In the past there have been too many senators absent when important bills have come before the Upper House. That is something we simply cannot tolerate when our country is in crisis.’

‘I understand perfectly, Royston. I will make the necessary arrangements. My son, Elliot, now runs the old McKenna property north of here. I shall also have him oversee the station manager here at Essex Downs which will allow me to devote all my time to the Senate. As it happens Elliot is coming down here tomorrow, so we will work out the new arrangements then.’

‘Excellent.’ Silver swirled the whisky around in his glass. ‘Just one more thing. You don’t need me to tell you that politics can be a dirty game. More than one fine man has been brought down by mud-slingers airing dirty linen. So if there are any dark skeletons in your cupboards, which can’t survive scrutiny in the light of day, please tell me now.’

Coltrane downed his whiskey and poured himself another. He took a long swallow. ‘I’ve done nothing in my life to be ashamed of. There are those, I know, who would like nothing more than to destroy me. After all, there would be few men in my position who have not made enemies along the way. But there is nothing anyone can pin on me that would compromise me as a senator.’

‘Good. Now, to change the subject. I wonder if I may ask your personal advice on a financial matter?’

‘Of course.’

‘In these times it can be difficult to make sound investments with so many once strong companies in trouble. So I have decided to liquidate the major portion of my stocks and bonds portfolio. Very shortly I shall have a very large amount of cash to invest. Your reputation as a successful land speculator is well known. If I were to invest in land, what would you suggest?’

Coltrane stared thoughtfully into his glass. ‘These days the key to successful land speculation is knowledge, inside knowledge. It’s not enough to just place your funds somewhere and hope for the best. With inside knowledge, one can follow the time honored buy cheap and sell dear formula. For some time I’ve invested heavily in land offered to me by VMP under favored conditions. In return for investing large sums, I am privy to information before it becomes public knowledge. I have had a long and special relationship with the company’s general manager, Frank Peables. I would be happy to introduce you to him. Under the circumstances, it’s the very least I can do.’

‘I would appreciate that, Patrick.’ Royston Silver smiled politely. ‘I really would.’

*

Laura was disappointed when Royston Silver told her he was unable to stay for dinner at Essex Downs. But she was glad his visit had put her husband in such a good humor.

Coltrane continued drinking after Silver left. By dinnertime he had consumed more than half a bottle of Scotch. By the time the meal was over, he was well into his second bottle of claret. It was then the dogs started barking outside the house. Above all the commotion, Coltrane heard the rumbling of a motor vehicle, then bright headlights shone in the yard outside. He walked unsteadily to the front door and opened it wide.

A truck loaded with beer barrels stood in the yard. Its driver, unwilling to get out of the cab and test the friendliness of the barking dogs, leaned out of the window and shouted, ‘Mr Coltrane?’

‘Yes.’ Coltrane stood in the doorway, hands grasping the door frame to steady himself.

‘I drove your nephew up from Toowoomba.’

The driver’s voice was loud enough for Laura to hear inside the house. She rose quickly, brushed past her husband and hurried across the yard to the truck. When Bruce climbed out of the cab, she embraced him tightly.

‘I ran away from Hope Farm, Aunt Laura,’ Bruce said hesitantly.’ I wasn’t going to come here, but when I went to Mr Braithewaite’s office, his clerk told me he was sick in hospital in Charleville, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back.’

‘You did right to come here, Bruce.’ Laura looked up at the driver. ‘Do we owe you anything?’

The driver grinned and slipped the truck into gear. ‘Nothing at all, missus. I’m just glad the lad’s got somewhere to come to.’

Laura walked into the house, her arm around Bruce. Coltrane eyed him suspiciously.

‘Hello, Uncle Patrick.’

Coltrane said nothing.

‘We were just eating, Bruce, Laura said. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘No, not really,’ Bruce replied softly. ‘We ate things along the way.’

‘Come on, you should have something.’ Laura led the way into the dining room.

Bruce sat down at the table. Laura put some food on a plate and laid it in front of him. Coltrane returned to the table and topped up his glass with claret.

‘Perhaps you’d better tell us what has happened, Bruce,’ Laura said gently.

Bruce began to tell his story, but tears welled in his eyes and he ran from the room. Laura followed him out to the kitchen and put her arms around him.

‘Let’s go upstairs, Bruce. Just you and I. If you don’t want to talk about it just now, that’s all right. You can get a good night’s sleep and we can talk in the morning. But you may feel better if you get it off your chest now.’

It was over an hour before Laura came back downstairs. Coltrane was still sitting at the table drinking. She went to him and stood beside his chair.

‘Things are bad for Bruce and Jack at Hope Farm, Patrick. With Braithewaite away in hospital, we’ll have to do something. I’ll have to contact Emma as soon as I can.’

‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ Coltrane snarled angrily. He banged his fist down hard on the table. His eyes were bleary now, his face flushed from alcohol. ‘We’re not getting involved with the McKennas again. Their problems are not our problems. That boy is going back to Hope Farm first thing tomorrow morning. Is that clear?’

*

No one at Hope Farm had noticed Bruce’s disappearance right away. It was only later on in the afternoon, when Brother Josef had come to inspect the milking shed in readiness for the evening milking, that the alarm was raised and a search for him was mounted.

Every boy on the farm, directed by Brother Lucas and Brother Josef had combed every inch of the property, every farm building, even the residence itself. It was dark before the search had been finally called off. Later, at evening prayers, an angry Brother Lucas announced that the deceitful and ungrateful Bruce McKenna had once again shown his true colors and shamed every boy on the farm by shirking his responsibilities and running away.

Jack had listened to Brother Lucas in stunned silence. Later on, when the dining room hummed with urgent, low-toned conversations about the runaway, Jack mulled Bruce’s disappearance over and over in his mind, wondering how his brother could just run away without even saying a word.

He was sure it meant only one thing. His humiliating and loathsome relationship with Brother Lucas had opened a chasm so wide between him and his brother that it could never be bridged. Jack’s despondency worsened when he thought of how the burden of guilt and self-disgust he felt had always prevented him from talking to Bruce about Brother Lucas. And his feelings of remorse and despair only deepened when he thought of what Bruce might say to their mother and Emma if he were lucky enough to make it to Armidale.

As usual, Brother Lucas rose from his chair to hand out mail at the end of the evening meal. Before he dismissed the boys, he told Jack to come with him to his office.

‘Now, I intend to get to the bottom of all this,’ Brother Lucas said when he and Jack were alone. ‘You will be well advised to tell me whatever you know about Bruce. I will not accept that he said nothing to you about what he was planning.’

Jack stood saying nothing, staring down at the office floor.

‘I’m very disappointed with you, Jack,’ Brother Lucas glowered. ‘I see you need some encouragement.’ He went to the cupboard and took out his bamboo cane. He swished it through the air. ‘Perhaps this will jog your memory.’

‘But I don’t know anything,’ Jack protested. ‘Bruce said nothing to me about running away.’

‘Lower your shorts and underpants, Jack. I will not accept that for an answer.’

‘But it’s the truth.’

Brother Lucas was unswayed. ‘I said, lower your shorts and underpants.’

Jack slowly complied.

‘Now, bend over. This is your last chance.’

As Jack bent over, he realized to his surprise that he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t care if he got a caning. It wasn’t going to hurt. Bruce was gone forever. That’s what hurt. Nothing else mattered.

Brother Lucas swung the cane. Jack’s buttocks tightened when he heard it hiss through the air.

‘Well?’ Brother Lucas shouted after the blow landed.

‘Bruce said nothing to me about running away, Brother Lucas,’ Jack said calmly. ‘So there’s nothing you can beat out of me.’ Quite unafraid, Jack waited for the sting of the cane again. But it didn’t come. Instead, Jack felt Brother Lucas’s clammy hands grasp his buttocks.

‘There’s no reason for me to beat you, Jack,’ Brother Lucas said softly. ‘You and I have always been special friends.’

Real fear gripped Jack when he realized once again what Brother Lucas wanted. He tried desperately to straighten up. But the grip on his buttocks tightened and Brother Lucas leaned on him heavily, pushing him up hard against the wall. When Brother Lucas began to gasp in short rapid pants, hastily hoisting his cassock up around his waist, Jack suddenly rammed his elbow backwards as hard as he could into the brother's groin.

Brother Lucas shrieked in pain. As he released his grip and doubled up, Jack quickly pulled up his clothing and ran to the door. He quickly unlocked it and fled down the corridor, across the hall and out the main entrance into the night. Outside, he ran stumbling and falling in the moonlight towards the wall surrounding the residence. When he reached it, he stopped and looked back. Three or four lanterns swaying in the darkness told him the brothers were already in pursuit.

Jack scrambled over the wall and ran down to the swimming hole beyond it. When he reached the water, he decided he would run no further. There was nothing left for him to run for. The waterhole glittered and sparkled in the moonlight. It was as tranquil as a millpond. Soon Jack saw the lanterns again. They were outside the wall now and coming towards him.

When the lanterns were so close that he could hear the voices of the brothers carrying them, Jack slipped into the still water. He made barely a ripple as he kept walking, deeper and deeper into the swimming hole. Gradually the water swallowed him up like a warm velvet blanket, and he was gently and peacefully freed from all his guilt and anguish.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Elliot Coltrane stirred from a sound sleep as a shaft of sunlight streaming through a narrow gap in his bedroom curtains fell directly onto his face. He sleepily walked over to the window and threw the curtains open wide, then stood naked, looking out over the rolling meadows.

Elliot took pride in what he had accomplished at Yallambee. In less than a year, the breaking of the drought and an open checkbook had allowed him to turn the old, run-down McKenna place into a first-class pastoral property. He had brought with him some of the best cattle and sheep breeding stock Essex Downs had produced over the years, as well as a few of his father’s best station hands and three domestic blacks.

When Elliot had told Joe and Jessie, an old Aboriginal couple who had lived on Essex Downs all their lives, that they were to move up to Yallambee with Beth, they had been reluctant to go. But with their only other option being banishment to an Aboriginal reserve, they agreed soon enough. Elliot had singled them out because Jessie was a fine cook, an essential requirement on a remote property dependent on its station hands, and Joe, although almost useless as a stockman, had a natural knack for fixing things and was a jack of all trades.

As soon as he arrived at Yallambee, Elliot brought in tradesmen to work on the homestead and all the outbuildings. Gradually they were restored to the pristine condition they had not seen since Jack McKenna and his brothers went off to the Great War. In one short year Elliot had impressed the stamp of the prosperous Coltrane family upon it.

Elliot turned his gaze to the outbuildings beyond the homestead compound. Old Joe was already loading a wagon with fence posts and wire. And from the cookhouse, the sweet aroma of Jessie’s steak and eggs wafted in through his open bedroom window on a rare early morning breeze. As he watched, the cookhouse door opened and Elliot saw Beth come outside and hurry towards the house with his breakfast tray.

As Beth drew closer, the breeze pressed her thin cotton dress tightly against her, clearly defining the fullness of her breasts and the contours of her body. Elliot’s own body responded with an arousal so urgent it surprised him. He stepped back from the window and reached for his clothes.

He looked at Beth again as he buckled his belt. She was almost at the door now, the breeze still pressed her dress to her as tight as a second skin. She seemed more rounded than ever, especially her belly. An unwanted thought ran through Elliot’s mind. Surely she couldn’t be, he thought. After all, he hadn’t touched her in months, and only two or three times since she’d been living with Joe and Jessie at Yallambee.

Elliot walked through the house to the kitchen. When he sat down at the table, Beth put a plate of steak and eggs in front of him and poured him tea.

‘You haven’t forgotten you said I could go with you to visit my mob next time you went to Essex Downs, have you Mr Elliot?’ Beth asked apprehensively.

‘You seem to forget; it’s Mr Coltrane now, Beth,’ Elliot said sharply.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Coltrane. But you promised I could go this time, remember. It’s been a year since I’ve seen Mary and everyone.’

Elliot sipped his tea, saying nothing.

‘You did promise, Mr Coltrane,’ Beth persisted

‘Be ready in half an hour,’ Elliot said irritably. I’m taking some rams back to Essex Downs in the truck. You can ride in the back with them.’

*

It was late morning when Elliot arrived at Essex Downs. He parked the truck in the yard and made straight for the house, leaving a couple of station hands to see to the unloading of the sheep. As soon as he was gone, Beth wandered off in search of Mary.

Beth found the old woman in her shed behind the big house. Mary’s old eyes lit up with joy when the young girl came in. The two women rushed to each other and embraced tightly. After a few moments Mary gently pushed Beth back and held her at arm’s length. She smiled happily.

‘Let me look at you, girl. Tell me, how’s old Jessie and Joe been treating you.’

‘Good, Mary, good.’

‘They must be, you’re putting on weight.’ Mary’s happy smile faded when her eyes rested on Beth’s stomach. ‘And Mr Elliot, how’s he treating you?’

Beth’s pretty face tightened. Suddenly she burst into tears. ‘He’s still doing it, Mary. Not often, but enough to knock me up.’

‘Only takes once. I’m surprised it didn’t happen before.’ Mary’s old, wrinkled face hardened. She sucked in air over smooth, toothless gums. ‘You sure you’ve been with no one else?’

‘No one, Mary. Honest. Some of the station hands have tried. But when they pester me I just say I’ll tell Mr Elliot and they leave me alone quick smart.’

‘Mr Elliot don’t know yet, does he?’

‘No.’

‘I thought not. Or he’d have had you drinking mentholated spirits or would’ve sent you back to the mission by now.’ Mary ran her hands over Beth’s belly. She shook her head again. ‘But I reckon it won’t be long before he does know. In a few weeks even Blind Freddie will be able to see you’re going to drop one.’

‘That’s why I had to come and tell you.’ A new surge of tears flooded Beth’s eyes. ‘When Mr Elliot finds out, he’ll send me back to the mission, and me and my baby won’t ever be allowed to leave it. You know as well as I do, an unmarried half-caste, house gin loses everything when she gets knocked up. Oh, Mary, what can I do?’

‘You got to get off Yallambee. Even if Mr Elliot tried to blame one of the station hands for your baby and let you stay there, he be sure to swing its head into a tree just as soon as it’s born, like they did in the old days.’ Mary took Beth by the hand. ‘Come on, let’s go down to the camp.’

‘What for?’

‘Some of them down there know people that’s got work in places like Charleville and Roma. Someone will be able to help. ’

‘But I couldn’t get work while I’m carrying a baby, Mary.’

‘But you could afterwards. You’re over sixteen, Beth. As long as Coltranes don’t know about the baby, you got the same freedom of movement as any half-caste Aborigine.. You’re a good housemaid and you can cook. And, lucky for you, you got more white in you than black. What you need is a place to stay until you’ve had the baby.’

Even though only fifty miles separated Essex Downs from Yallambee, Patrick Coltrane greeted Elliot like a long lost son. Elliot shook hands with his father, then kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. When he looked into her eyes, he could see she had been crying.

‘Great news,’ Coltrane said loudly, defusing the moment. ‘You are looking at the soon-to-be-appointed Senator Patrick Coltrane.’

‘That’s wonderful, Father.’ Elliot grinned. ‘I’m so pleased for you.’

‘Laura, Elliot and I have much to discuss.’ Coltrane steered his son towards the living room. ‘Please bring us some tea and see we aren’t disturbed.’

‘Mother’s upset,’ Elliot said as soon as they were behind closed doors. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Young Bruce McKenna turned up here last night. He ran away from that farm he went to, little bugger. I had the station manager take him back to Goombungee first thing this morning. Little ingrate. There are lots of homeless children who’d give their eye teeth for the opportunity to be well fed, well clothed and educated, all for free.’ Coltrane waved Elliot to a chair. ‘Your mother didn’t want to send him back. She’ll get over it soon. You know how women are.’

Coltrane and Elliot spent most of the afternoon together. Coltrane told Elliot he would have to take over the management and decision making at Essex Downs as well as at Yallambee. It was a development which pleased Elliot immensely.

Coltrane put his arm around Elliot’s shoulders. ‘The burden of responsibility will be the making of you, my son. All you need now is a wife.’ Coltrane grinned. ‘Not just one who spreads her legs and raises your children, but one with connections. Before I go to Canberra, I shall be making the rounds in Brisbane, meeting a lot of important people. You should come with me. It will be an opportunity for you to meet some young ladies of quality. And you must come with me to Royston Silver’s home at Roma. I’ve been invited there to advise him on some land investments. He has a daughter around your age, a real beauty, I’m told, and single.’

It was late in the afternoon when Elliot prepared to leave. When he walked to the truck with his parents he saw no sign of Beth.

‘Beth suddenly took sick,’ Laura said. ‘She went to see the blacks down at the creek earlier on. Mary said she must have eaten something that was off, or picked something up. Several of the blacks have been sick lately. Mary said it only lasts a few days. We’ll send her up to Yallambee as soon as she’s better.’

‘But she’s got work to do,’ Elliot snapped. ‘Better go and fetch her.’

‘Oh no. She’s got diarrhea and she’s throwing up every few minutes.’

‘She’ll be all right in the back of the truck.’

‘But she’s down at the camp. She should stay there until she’s over whatever she’s got.’

‘Your mother’s right, Elliot,’ Coltrane interjected. ‘You don’t want her going back to Yallambee and giving Joe and Jessie the trots.’

*

The moment Bruce arrived back at Hope Farm, Brother Lucas took him to Brother Benjamin and demanded he be sent to the hole. Brother Benjamin concurred, pointing out that Bruce’s irresponsible behavior must be dealt with severely because it had led to Jack running away also.

Alone in the pitch-black confines of the abandoned well, with its damp, seeping brick walls and hordes of biting insects, Bruce lost track of time completely. For the first two days in the cramped, stinking prison, the door of the small wellhouse far above him had been left slightly ajar, allowing just enough daylight in for him to discern the difference between day and night. But on the third day there had been no light at all, not even when the bucket containing his daily ration of bread and water was lowered down to him.

Bruce had no idea how many days he had been in the hole. At first his mind had been occupied in the endless blackness by his burning hatred for his Uncle Patrick. But gradually the fury gave way to emptiness and despair. Initially he tried hard to be brave and not to cry. Later he discovered tears refused to come anyway and his eyes remained stubbornly dry. Only thoughts of Jack having also managed to escape gave Bruce hope and the will to survive.

*

In addition to water stored in catchment tanks, Hope Farm relied heavily on water from the small lake beside the residence. To keep the supply of gravity-fed water flowing freely from the lake down a crude wooden aqueduct, it often became necessary to clear away accumulated leaves, reeds and other debris from an iron grid filter at its mouth. Six days after Jack’s disappearance the flow of water from the lake had slowed to a trickle and Brother Josef told Strickland to go and unclog the grid. He ran up to the lake, stripped down to his underpants and waded into the neck-high water.

A minute later he was horrified to see Jack’s bloated, bluish-grey face staring at him from amongst the rubbish blocking the grid.

When Bother Josef reported the grisly find, Brother Lucas told him not to let Strickland out of his sight, nor to let him speak with anyone until further notice. He then organized for Jack was buried at dusk that evening in a hastily made casket of hardwood planks. Only four people attended the funeral. Brother Benjamin and Brother Lucas looked on as Brother Josef and Strickland dug a deep grave beside a flower garden in the residence grounds. Brother Benjamin prayed for Jack’s soul, then the small coffin was lowered into the ground. After another short prayer, Strickland and Brother Josef were left to fill the grave. As soon as the job was completed, Brother Josef told Strickland to report to Brother Lucas.

‘I believe you have become the epitome of all that the Brothers of the Apostles have ever aspired to achieve at Home Farm.’ Brother Lucas sat solemnly behind his desk. He looked Strickland directly in the eye. ‘Over the years, apart from a few misunderstandings, for which I accept partial responsibility, you have matured into a strong, healthy young man, in body and in mind. Because of that, Brother Benjamin and I feel sure that for the good of Hope Farm you will keep today’s unfortunate incident to yourself.’

Unsure of the reason for Brother Lucas’s rare praise, and just what it was he was alluding to, Strickland said, ‘You mean you want to keep Jack McKenna’s drowning a secret, Brother Lucas?’

‘Oh, it’s no secret.’ Brother Lucas got up from his chair and began pacing the room. ‘Brother James took a pony and trap to town and notified the authorities soon after you found the body. The doctor and a police sergeant came back here with him early this afternoon. It was they who insisted on immediate interment because of the deteriorating state of the body.’ Brother Lucas returned to his chair. ‘No, what I’m saying is that, for the good of Hope Farm, we must keep the incident to ourselves. No good purpose can be served by allowing the irresponsible actions of one boy to disrupt the lives of the rest of the boys here who adhere to the rules and are striving to make something of themselves.’

‘But what about his brother?’

Brother Lucas frowned. ‘That wretch is entirely responsible for Jack’s death. He started all the trouble by running away. He was fortunate his relatives knew what was best for him and sent him back here. After he has had a little more time alone I believe he will come to realize that also. And when he’s ready to return to the fold, it will be better if he too believes Jack just ran away. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Strickland?’

*

Deeply troubled and unable to sleep, Strickland lay staring up into the darkness above his bed. He had assured Brother Lucas he would say nothing to anyone about Jack. But that was only to buy time until he had a chance to sort things out in his mind. All through the long night he had wrestled with his conscience, haunted by thoughts of Jack lying beneath the loose earth in the flower garden and of Bruce huddled alone in the darkness of the hole.

He knew that awful dungeon only too well, with its dampness, its insects and the stench of excrement. It was the blackness he had hated most. That’s why he’d left the wellhouse door open a little when he had gone with Brother Lucas to lower Bruce’s ration bucket into the hole. But Brother Lucas had noticed what he’d done and since then he had closed the door tightly himself.

When a faint glimmer of light signaled the approach of dawn, Strickland’s mind was made up. He too would make a run for it. If he starved to death on the outside, it really didn’t matter. Nothing could be worse than living at Hope Farm under the cruel shadow of the Brothers of the Apostles. He would go soon. And he would take Bruce with him.

*

A few days after Elliot’s visit to Essex Downs, Patrick Coltrane announced he was driving into Charleville. It was a trip he made frequently and almost always alone, so he was surprised when his wife decided to go with him.

‘I’ll be busy all day, Laura,’ Coltrane said brusquely as he got behind the wheel of his car. I have a lot of business matters to attend to, so you’ll be on your own all day.’

‘I understand, Patrick,’ Laura said quietly. ‘I have plenty of shopping to do. There are so many things you can’t buy in Augathella these days.’

Coltrane gave Laura a sideways glance. She was still being standoffish over his decision to send Bruce back to Hope Farm. Perhaps a good day’s shopping would put her in better humor. Coltrane shrugged, started the engine and slipped the Buick into gear. An hour and a half later he parked his car on Charleville’s main street in front of the Imperial Hotel, where Laura knew he would spend a large part of the day drinking.

‘I’ll look for the car when I’m finished shopping, Patrick,’ Laura said as she got out. ‘Leave it open. I’ll just get in and wait for you.’

Laura stood looking in a shop window until Coltrane entered the hotel, then she turned and walked down the main street. She quickened her pace when she neared the Charleville hospital. At the reception desk, she asked if she could see Gerald Braithewaite. After a short wait a doctor in a white smock with a stethoscope around his neck appeared. When he saw Laura, he looked confused.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the doctor said. ‘I was expecting someone else. I was told there was a gentleman coming to see Mr Braithewaite today. We weren’t aware he had any family.’

‘Oh, I’m not family.’ Laura began.

‘Then I’m afraid I can’t let you see him, madam. Mr Braithewaite is really very ill.’

Laura would not be put off.

‘As I was saying,’ she continued, ‘I’m not family. But Mr Braithewaite’s son served in the Great War with my brothers. He has been a good friend over the years. I would appreciate seeing him, if only for a few moments.’

The doctor fingered the stethoscope around his neck for a moment. ‘Oh, very well. But only a few minutes.’

Laura followed a nurse to a small room occupied by two old men. One lay unconscious, with his mouth hanging wide open. The other was propped up in his bed by several large pillows. He was emaciated, almost bald, and had blotchy skin stretched tightly over a gaunt, bony face. Thinking she was in the wrong room, Laura turned to leave. As she did the old man weakly raised a thin, bony arm in recognition. Laura gasped when she realized the frail old man was Gerald Braithewaite.

She moved quickly to the side of the bed. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Braithewaite. I only heard of your illness recently.’

Braithewaite tried to smile. ‘It’s cancer, Mrs Coltrane,’ he mouthed. ‘It’s taken my body, but for the moment my mind is intact. Please tell me, how are Emma and the twins?’

Laura was about to speak, when the doctor entered the room. There was another man with him, an elderly man.

‘This is the visitor we were expecting, madam,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s Mr Braithewaite’s senior clerk from Augathella. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if they were left alone.’

‘No, no,’ Braithewaite interrupted in a hoarse whisper. ‘Please. I would like Mrs Coltrane to remain.’

*

An old Chevrolet stock truck called at Essex Downs every fortnight to haul cattle to the abattoir at Roma about a hundred miles away. It was owned and driven by a half-cast Aborigine called Jacko. Jacko could easily have passed for white if he’d ever chosen to wash and shave and wear a shirt and shoes.

Usually after the truck was loaded with livestock, Jacko would roll a cigarette and chat with some of the Aborigines he knew before heading off for Roma. Today was no exception. As soon as the last of the cattle was on board and the tailgates slammed shut, a crowd gathered around him. When the white foreman who had directed the loading of the cattle walked away, he didn’t see money change hands between one of the blacks and Jacko. And he didn’t see Beth slip into the cab of the truck and quickly pull a blanket over herself.

The next day Laura asked Mary if Beth was well enough to return to Yallambee.

‘She seemed to be getting better,’ Mary replied, ‘but early this morning someone from the camp told me they saw her just wander off into the bush. I think maybe she’s gone walkabout.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Summer gradually gave way to more temperate autumn days in Goondiwindi. It was the time of year Harmony Jones liked best. In the old days, when the cooler weather came, he used to head up into the vast, open country to the north-west to shoot kangaroo, often for months on end. But it was a hard life and the rewards were small, so when he had begun to feel the effects of his advancing years he had given it away. But now, with the Depression persisting and no money in horse trading, Harmony was once again preparing to board up his home and head north to shoot kangaroo.

He was sitting in the shade of his front porch cleaning his Light Horse issue .303 Enfield when the Goondiwindi town taxi pulled up in his yard. Harmony stopped cleaning the rifle and cradled it in his huge hands. He watched warily as an elderly man dressed in a suit and tie climbed out of the car with a briefcase in his hand.

‘Mr Jones?’

Harmony nodded but said nothing. He didn’t much like callers who arrived in motorcars and wore suits. Those that had come in the past were either selling something, or turned out to be undesirables like bill collectors or tax inspectors.

The visitor told the taxi driver to wait, then stepped up onto the porch and held out his hand. ‘Mr Jones, my name is Cecil Larkin. Until recently, I was head clerk at Mr Gerald Braithewaite’s law practice in Augathella.’

Harmony laid down the rifle. He rose to his feet and shook the visitor’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Larkin. What brings you to Goondiwindi?’

‘I’m on my way to live in Wagga Wagga. I have a daughter there. You see, Mr Braithewaite’s practice is closed now. He died a few days ago.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Harmony said. ‘I knew his son well. I served with him in the Light Horse during the war, under the command of Captain Jack McKenna.’

‘Yes, so I understand. As a matter of fact, it’s because of the McKenna family that I’ve come here today.’ Larkin undid the straps of his briefcase. ‘Mr Jones, the day before Mr Braithewaite died I visited him in hospital. He also had another visitor that day, Mrs Laura Coltrane, Captain McKenna’s sister. She had some distressing news about the captain’s sons and wanted Mr Braithewaite to act on it.’

Harmony rubbed his jaw. ‘Didn’t they go to some religious farm at Goombungee?’

‘Yes, a place called Hope Farm, and apparently they were badly abused there in more ways than one. One of the boys ran away and managed to reach Essex Downs but Patrick Coltrane turned him away and had him escorted back.’

Harmony shook his head. ‘That doesn’t surprise me, Mr Larkin.’

‘Mr Braithewaite was terribly upset,’ Larkin continued. ‘You see, he recommended the boys be sent to Hope Farm in the first place. And of course, when Mrs Coltrane came to him there was nothing he could do. He said that even if he were a well man, taking legal action against a religious order with strong financial backing would be extremely difficult. And in the meantime the abuse was quite likely to continue.’

‘What can be done then, Mr Larkin?’

Larkin reached into his briefcase and pulled out an envelope. ‘That day at the hospital, after Mrs Coltrane left, Mr Braithewaite instructed me to write down everything that happened at Hope Farm, exactly as young Bruce McKenna told it to Mrs Coltrane. He asked me to give all the information to you, Mr Jones.’ Larkin handed the envelope to Harmony. ‘Mr Braithewaite said you would know what to do.’

*

Harmony left for Hope Farm in his stock truck the next morning.

Along the way, with his collie on the seat beside him and a waler tethered in the back of the truck, he had plenty of time to think. He knew if he were to snatch the McKenna boys from the clutches of the Brothers of the Apostles, he would need to plan the operation in military fashion. By the time he neared his destination he had decided on a plan of action.

When he reached Hope Farm, Harmony swung open the gate and boldly drove onto the property to reconnoiter the situation. Posing as the horse trader he was, he spoke to Brother Josef, asking if the farm had horses for sale or a need to buy any. When told there were no requirements, Harmony remained chatting with Brother Josef.

He showed a keen interest in the farm and said that as a man of the land himself, he could see just how well Brother Josef managed it. This seemed to soften up the stoic German and he willingly answered most of the visitor’s questions. Later, Harmony gathered more information when he stopped at a field on the way off the property and talked to some boys on work duty. From the intelligence he gleaned, Harmony decided the best time to strike would be around midnight.

*

Strickland’s roommates had been asleep for hours when the big youth slipped out of the dormitory just before midnight. A pillowcase tucked inside his shirt contained the essentials he considered necessary to make good his escape: scraps of food from the dining room, a candle and matches from the chapel and clean clothes for Bruce. Strickland’s only worry was whether, when the time came, he would have the strength to winch Bruce up from the bottom of the well alone.

With his boots hanging by the laces around his neck, Strickland silently felt his way along the darkened corridors and down the staircase. At the foot of the staircase he stopped and listened. Then, confident the coast was clear, he continued on towards the back door. Scarcely daring to breath he eased back the bolts from their keepers. Seconds later, he was out in the cool night air, running in the moonlight towards the well.

*

The time had come. Harmony tipped the tea dregs from his tin-cup and put away his mouth organ. The truck was parked under a clump of gums about half a mile from the entrance to Hope Farm. His waler stood beneath one of the trees, saddled up and ready. Harmony reached into the truck and took out a long hardwood axe handle and cautioned his dog to stay put and stand guard. Then, thankful for the full moon, and axe handle in hand, he swung himself up into the saddle.

Harmony reached the residence soon after midnight. He dismounted and tied the waler to a tree in a small copse near the rear of the building. He’d learned earlier from the youngsters on work duty that all the boys slept in the upstairs dormitories. He’d been tempted to ask exactly where the McKenna boys slept, but hadn’t, fearing someone might mention his interest to the brothers. However Brother Josef had obliged by telling him the farm’s administrative offices were housed in the east wing, on the ground floor, as were the brothers’ private living quarters.

On the way from Goondiwindi, Harmony had mulled over in his mind what Bruce had told Laura about a certain Brother Lucas who was largely responsible for the twins’ abuse. Once he was inside the residence, Harmony decided, his first task would be to pay Brother Lucas a visit. He reckoned he owed Captain McKenna that much.

Harmony gripped the axe handle firmly in his hand and made for the back door. To his surprise he found it wide open. He took a torch from his pocket, switched it on and stepped inside. As he crept down the long corridor in the east wing, he flashed the torch on to read the names on the doors of the living quarters. The nameplate on the last door read

BROTHER LUCAS.

Harmony tapped softly on the door. There was no answer. He tapped again. After a moment he heard a movement inside the room and a slit of light appeared under the door.

‘Who’s there?’ a barely audible voice whispered from inside.

‘Brother Josef,’ Harmony said in a low muffled tone, trying to effect the German’s strong accent. ‘Please, I must see you, Brother Lucas.’

Harmony’s deception worked. He heard a key turn in the lock and the door opened just a few inches. But it was wide enough for Harmony’s huge hand to grab Brother Lucas by the throat in a tight choking hold. Unable to utter a sound, and held in the vice-like grip of a huge one-eyed man, Brother Lucas’ terror-struck eyes bulged in their sockets.

Harmony pushed open the door. A small nightlight flickered on a bedside dresser. He looked around the room. He saw the milky-white form of a naked boy of about twelve or thirteen lying asleep on Brother Lucas’ bed. Harmony’s iron grip around Brother Lucas’ throat tightened even more. ‘You disgusting, slimy bastard,’ he whispered angrily. ‘Come with me.’

Harmony closed the door on the sleeping boy and forced Brother Lucas, clad only in a nightshirt, down to the end of the corridor and into the main hall. At the foot of the staircase leading to the dormitories, Harmony shone the torch into Brother Lucas’ terrified eyes and eased the grip on his throat.

Allowed to breathe again, Brother Lucas fought for air.

‘Take me to the McKenna boys,’ Harmony demanded.

The mention of the McKenna boys seemed to bring even more fear to Brother Lucas’ eyes.

‘Well, where are they?’ Harmony insisted.

‘They ran away,’ Brother Lucas gasped.

Harmony’s left hand tightened around the thin throat again and he formed a big fist around the torch in his right, then slammed it hard into the side of Brother Lucas’ head.

‘Only one ran away, you bastard,’ Harmony hissed. ‘And he was brought back. Now, lead me to those boys before I beat you to death.’

Brother Lucas’ whole body was shaking with fear. ‘I’ll take you to Bruce Mckenna,’ he said in a choking voice. But his brother is not here. You must believe me when I say they both ran away. It is the truth.’

‘And where’s Bruce?’

‘He’s outside.’

‘Where, outside?’

Brother Lucas seemed too afraid to answer. Harmony bunched his fist again

‘In an old well at the back of the residence,’ Brother Lucas blurted out before the blow landed. ‘We’ll need a lantern.’

Brother Lucas led the way. Harmony followed behind, torch in one hand, the axe handle in the other. At the back door Harmony watched as Brother Lucas’ trembling hands lit an oil lamp then he followed him out across the residence grounds in the moonlight.

It was hard to tell who was most surprised when they opened the well-house door. Brother Lucas was stunned to see Strickland standing in candlelight clutching the winch handle at the wellhead. Strickland, wide-eyed with shock at being caught trying vainly to haul Bruce the last few feet up out of the well, almost let go of the handle sending him in free fall back to the bottom. Harmony immediately grasped Strickland’s predicament. Dropping the axe handle, he rushed to the winch and brought Bruce, filthy, wet, and foul-smelling, up into the well-house.

Harmony held Bruce in his arms and looked at him in amazement. ‘My God!’ he gasped angrily. ‘What in hell have they done to you, son?’

Bruce squinted up at the big man, unable to see him clearly after being so long in total blackness.

‘Don’t be afraid, son, ‘ Harmony said. ‘I was friend of your father’s. I’ve come to take you to your mother and sister. He looked from Bruce to Strickland. ‘Do either of you boys know where Jack is?’

‘I told you he’s not here,’ Brother Lucas said before anyone had a chance to speak. ‘He ran away. Strickland knows that. Tell him Strickland.’

With his own escape plan failed, Strickland was unsure what to do or say. Even though Bruce was out of the hole and leaving Hope Farm, his rescuer might well leave him behind to face Brother Lucas’ wrath.

Harmony put a hand on Strickland’s shoulder and said gently, ‘I can see what you were trying to do here and I’ll take you off this place with Bruce if that’s what you want. So don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. Did Jack really run off?’

‘He may have tried,’ Strickland said. ‘But he drowned in the lake. I found his body myself.’

Harmony turned his eyes quickly to Brother Lucas. Brother Lucas turned and fled out the door. In an instant Harmony was in pursuit, axe handle in hand. Outside the well-house door he let it fly. The hardwood missile flew end over end through the air and found its mark with deadly accuracy.

There was a loud crack as it struck Brother Lucas hard in the head, dropping him to the ground as if he were pole-axed. Then, beside himself with anger, and unaware of the terrible blow the axe handle had exacted, Harmony bounded over to Brother Lucas. With one hand he lifted him bodily up off the ground and with the other pounded him relentlessly with a barrage of blows to the face and head. It was only when his fury had abated that Harmony let Brother Lucas’ limp body drop back down to the ground.

*

Harmony pondered his situation as he anxiously drove southward. He never thought that he’d only have one of Captain McKenna’s sons with him when he left Hope Farm, and he hadn’t expected to be taking a complete stranger along. He had no idea what he would do with Strickland. But what troubled Harmony most was that what he had seen and heard at Hope Farm had made him lose all control. He had never beaten a man so badly before in his life. For all he knew, Brother Lucas might be dead.

Harmony geared down part way up a steep grade. When he reached the crest he saw the first streaks of dawn above a far ridge to the east. Soon he would be in New South Wales, but it was still a long drive to Armidale to reunite Bruce with his family. Harmony knew there was no way he could make it that far without sleep and decided to stop at Mike Parry’s farm outside Tenterfield. A wry smile flickered over Harmony’s face when he thought of their aborted attempt to drive up prices at Yallambee the year before.

He glanced at Bruce in the seat beside him. Even after all he’d been through, sleep still eluded him. Eyes wide open, he silently grieved for his brother. Harmony turned his eyes back to the road and wondered if Strickland and the dog were finding any sleep on the horse blankets in the back of the truck with the waler.

It was late morning when Harmony pulled into Mike Parry’s farmyard. The stocky red-faced farmer was carrying hay from a stack in the farmyard to the milking-shed when Harmony climbed out of the cab. When he recognized the visitor Mike dumped the hay off his back and hurried over to the truck. The old friends shook hands, then Harmony took Mike to one side to talk.

After a few minutes they walked back to the truck. Mike led the boys into the house while Harmony took care of the animals When Harmony entered the house, Mike’s wife, a plump woman with a smiling face, was already stacking food in front of the boys at the kitchen table. While the boys ate, Harmony and the Parry drank tea outside on the veranda.

‘You’d all better try and get some rest Harmony,’ Mike said. ‘And tomorrow, why don’t you leave young Strickland here while you go down to Armidale? When you get back we’ll all have had some time to think. Maybe between us, there’s something we can do for the boy.’

‘You’re sure it’s no trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble.’

Harmony turned to the farmer’s wife. ‘You’re sure, Alice?’

Alice shrugged. ‘Since our second girl left home, we’ve got nothing but empty bedrooms.‘

*

Bruce and Harmony arrived in Armidale well rested. Bruce could barely wait to see his mother when the truck pulled up outside Crestview. But his heart sank when he saw the FOR SALE sign at the front gate. Beyond the sign, overgrown grass, deteriorating flower gardens, and broken window panes left no doubt the building was abandoned.

Harmony took a pencil from his pocket and jotted down the name of the agent on the sign. Within minutes they were in his office on the main street of town.

‘I’m afraid Crestview fell into the hands of the liquidators,’ the real estate agent said. ‘It happened so suddenly it took the town completely by surprise. Apparently, many of the Mary Wells Homes throughout the country have ceased to operate and the few that remain open are fighting for their lives.’

‘What happened to all the folk living at Crestview?’ Harmony asked.

‘The next of kin were notified and arrangements made for them prior to the closure,’ the agent replied. ‘Old Miss Potts, the administrator, saw to that before she was recalled to England by the Mary Wells Society. She told me a few residents were taken in by relatives, but most became wards of the State of New South Wales or their state of origin. The lady you are trying to locate. Do you know where she was born?’

‘Queensland,’ Harmony said.

‘Then she was probably sent back there. The New South Wales government refuses to accept responsibility for anybody from interstate. Funny, we had someone in here recently enquiring about a Crestview lady from Queensland. He was hoping to locate her daughter who used to work here in town.’ The agent rubbed his jaw. ‘Can’t recall the name, though’

‘Was it, McKenna?’ Harmony asked.

‘That’s it!’ the agent said quickly. ‘That’s the name. Must have been a legal matter of some sort. The young fellow said he was a lawyer from Sydney.’

*

Emma rented a furnished four-bedroom house in Waterloo, just off Botany Road, as soon as she returned to Sydney. It was close to Redfern and had a small but easily accessible garden which Emma knew Kathleen would enjoy. The largest bedroom in the house was earmarked for Bruce and Jack and Emma wrote to them telling them all the news and saying that she would come and get them soon. Molly agreed to move in to help look after Kathleen, and Emma arranged for a general practitioner recommended by Father O’Brien to call by regularly.

Doctor Longbothom was a kindly, middle-aged family doctor who had trained for several years at Guy’s Hospital in London. He took a special interest in Kathleen because during his years in London he had taken post graduate studies in spinal-chord paralysis.

By working long hours, Sydney Styles managed to make a sizeable weekly shipment to the Bowes-Scott department store. Emma called in personally to deliver invoices and pick up payments to meet wages and ongoing expenses. Usually, she received additional orders on the days she called. It seemed Bowes-Scott customers appreciated the superior quality of Sydney Styles garments and the store was always anxious to buy more. So far, Emma had been able to keep up by hiring more help which Father O’Brien sent over from the Central Mission. But only so many people could work in Iris and Joan’s little cottage. Emma knew, if the business was to grow, larger premises would soon be needed.

Little by little, Emma was returning the money she had taken to start the business from the bank account funded by Leonard Fairchild. She had no intention of ever using the account again for any purpose other than Christopher’s welfare, and only then if she were unable to provide for him herself. Since seeing Stephen at the opening of the harbor bridge, Emma realized that time and circumstances had not diminished her feelings for him. And often, as she worked on the sewing machines or when she lay awake in her bed at night, she wondered if Stephen had seen the beautiful baby in her arms.

As time went by with no mail from the twins Emma and Kathleen became more and more concerned. They had expected the boys to write straight back; but then when they didn't, they thought that perhaps they were just waiting for Emma to come and get them. This posed another problem. It would be difficult to take time from the business to go to Queensland. Emma decided to send them railway tickets to Sydney just as soon as she could put aside enough money of her own. After all the boys were old enough to travel by themselves.

By the time Emma had put money aside, there was still no word from the twins. Unable to telephone because there was no phone at Hope Farm, she wrote again, this time direct to Brother Benjamin. In her letter she expressed her gratitude to the brothers for the time the boys had spent in their care and enclosed a post office money order for railway tickets and travelling expenses for the twins’ journey to Sydney. She also asked Brother Benjamin to notify her of the boys travel arrangements as soon as possible.

After two weeks with no word from Brother Benjamin or the twins, Emma sent a telegram to Hope Farm asking for the travel details to be telegraphed to her. When three more days passed with no reply to her telegram, Emma boarded a train for Queensland.

*

‘Ran away? They both ran away ?’ Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘To where?’

‘We have absolutely no idea.’ Benjamin sat piously behind his big desk. He eyed Emma reproachfully, hands on his chest, his thick fingers interlocked.

‘When did it happen?’

‘Some weeks ago now’

‘But why didn’t you let me know?’

Brother Benjamin opened a drawer in his desk. He took out two envelopes and held one up for Emma to see. ‘We sent this letter to your mother’s address in Armidale and it was returned. Apparently the Mary Wells Home has been closed down.’ He held up the second letter. ‘And this one, sent by yourself to your brothers and postmarked Sydney, arrived just after they absconded.’

‘My God, if they didn’t receive that letter they have no idea where their mother and I are.’ Emma sighed despondently.

Brother Benjamin shrugged his shoulders..

‘Why didn’t you answer my letter to you enclosing the money order for train tickets, Brother Benjamin?’ Emma demanded.

Brother Benjamin took another envelope from the desk drawer, opened it and took out the money order. He passed it to Emma. ‘I didn’t answer because I thought the boys might be with you in Sydney,’ Brother Benjamin said gravely. ‘I thought you might have mailed it just to put us off the scent.’

‘What on earth are you talking about, Emma said incredulously. ‘What do you mean, put you off the scent?’

Brother Benjamin stared at Emma intently across the desk. After a few moments he said. ‘Perhaps our suspicions were unfounded. Miss McKenna. After all if you were harboring the boys in Sydney, it would be unlikely you would journey all the way up to Queensland to perpetuate a lie. So I must assume that your presence here today means you know nothing of the serious trouble your brothers are in.’

‘Harboring the boys? Serious trouble?’ Emma was now totally confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The night your brothers ran away they were accompanied by another boy named Strickland.’ Brother Benjamin sighed. ‘I’m afraid he was one of our few failures here at Hope Farm. Anyway, Brother Lucas must have seen the three of them as they were running away and tried to dissuade them. But Strickland and your brothers responded by beating him within an inch of his life. He’s never regained consciousness. At this very moment Brother Lucas is still lying in a coma, clinging to life by the slimmest of threads. I don’t need to tell you of the implications if Brother Lucas doesn’t pull through.’

‘My brothers would never do anything like that,’ Emma said defiantly.

‘In the hands of an incorrigible lout like Strickland, they could be coerced into doing anything,’ Brother Lucas said quickly. ‘Not only is he an habitual troublemaker, but he is also a chronic liar. If he is apprehended by the authorities, there’ll be no telling what wild stories he’ll concoct to try and avoid going to prison.’

‘Prison?’ Emma’s hand went to her mouth.

‘Miss McKenna,’ Brother Benjamin’s tone became a little more conciliatory. ‘You must realize that is where they’ll all end up sooner or later. Strickland has no family to go to, your brothers don’t know where you are. So they’ll just keep running. By now they’ll already have become accomplished thieves, stealing on a daily basis just in order to survive. Eventually they’ll be caught. And when they are, they won’t mention Hope Farm to anyone because of what they did to Brother Lucas. Under the circumstances, I think it’s most likely we’ll never know when and where they are caught.’

‘My brothers are not common thieves,’ Emma said angrily and rose up to leave. ‘I’m sure they’ll have a good explanation for everything that’s happened and I intend to ask them very soon. There is only one place they can possibly be.’

Brother Benjamin’s eyebrows rose. ‘Oh, and where would that be?’

‘At their uncle’s property near Augathella. I shall go there directly and get to the bottom of all this.’

‘I would advise you to save yourself the time and expense,’ Brother Benjamin said as Emma opened his office door. ‘Your brother, Bruce, ran away once before and turned up on his uncle’s doorstep. But Mr Coltrane did the responsible thing and returned him here. No, Miss McKenna, I think Essex Downs would be the last place your brothers would try to hide.’

*

Emma telephoned Essex Downs from Toowoomba. To her relief, Laura answered the phone. To her dismay, Laura said that she had seen nothing of the twins but confirmed that Bruce had run away before and his uncle had sent him back to Hope Farm.

‘After that, I don’t think the twins will come within a hundred miles of here,’ Laura said.

Emma could tell her aunt was on the verge of tears. ‘Oh Emma, Bruce told me such horrible things about Hope Farm. After Patrick sent him back there, I went to see Gordon Braithewaite to get him to help. But I was too late. Gordon was on his deathbed. He died a few hours after I spoke to him.’

PART THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

When the silence of the late afternoon was shattered by gunfire, the large mob of kangaroos bolted. They had paid little attention to the waler, which had gradually edged closer and closer until it was too late. And when the magazine of the .303 Enfield was spent, four of the biggest lay dead in the dust of the Warrego country. Harmony had taught Bruce well. The ways of the bush were becoming second nature to him. He holstered the rifle, slid down from the saddle, unsheathed his knife and started skinning the animals.

It was his third season shooting kangaroo in the Warrego. It was a vast, empty and sometimes inhospitable place, but Bruce had come to enjoy the peace and solitude of its desolate landscape as much as Harmony. During the time together a close bond had been forged between them, built on respect and interdependence. And it was strengthened by a friendship which spanned the difference in their ages as if it didn’t even exist.

Bruce was seventeen now and the outdoor life had seen him grow tall, strong and healthy. Somehow the passage of time had proven to be an effective balm for the inner wounds he had suffered at the loss of Jack and the disappearance of his mother and Emma. With no information available from the defunct Mary Wells Society, all enquiries about his mother had to be made to the authorities.

The waiting had been the worst part. Waiting for the bureaucrats in Queensland to answer Harmony’s numerous enquiries as to whether Kathleen McKenna was listed as a ward of the state, and then, when finally being notified she was not, going vainly through the same process with the authorities in New South Wales. Bruce just hoped and prayed his mother and Emma were somewhere safely together and that one day he’d find them.

Bruce hurried to skin the last kangaroo and get back to camp. It would be dark soon. By now, he knew Harmony would be sitting waiting for him with a hot meal cooked over an open fire and the wail of his mouth organ scaring away the creatures of night. Soon they would be heading back to Goondiwindi, after months away. Perhaps there would be some news of his family when they got back this time. Perhaps the Parrys at Tenterfield had heard something. As Strickland, who had been working for the Parrys ever since Harmony took him off Hope Farm always said, ‘you never know your luck, mate.’

*

In 1933-34, Australia showed signs of emerging from the worst of the Depression. By 1935 the light at the end of the tunnel began to flicker a little brighter although unemployment was still crippling the nation and the majority of Australians were still living below the poverty line.

But through it all the Redfern clothes-making firm of Sydney Styles managed to go from strength to strength. Emma achieved this by making first class merchandise at affordable prices and selling it direct to aggressive retailers determined to maintain their market share in the face of declining customer numbers.

Emma’s work had became her obsession since the disappearance of her brothers. It was a tragedy for which she held Patrick Coltrane entirely responsible. Turning his back on Bruce when he desperately needed help was an unforgivable act, which Emma tried to push from her mind because she found it so upsetting She vowed her family would never again be helpless victims of circumstance. Building a successful business was all that mattered to her now.

Over time, more and more Bowes-Scott stores placed orders with Sydney Styles which increased the strain on production and working capital. It was now almost two years since the business had moved from Iris and Joan’s cottage into larger premises. It had been Molly who suggested Emma look at the old shoe factory where her husband had worked and which had been boarded up since it failed years earlier.

The premises were much larger than Emma had really needed at the time, but its purpose-built layout and Redfern location were well suited to the needs of Sydney Styles. When the estate agent had offered six months’ free rental if a three year-lease was signed, Emma had jumped at it. After the move, the business grew rapidly. In two years the workforce rose to over fifty people. And Emma made sure that everyone—seamstresses, cutters, maintenance people, night watchman and all and sundry came from the ranks of Redfern’s unemployed.

Even her indispensable grey-haired bookkeeper, Neale Lawrence, dubbed Neale the Nib, because of his insistence on meticulous accounting procedures and the penning of all ledgers in black Indian ink, had come from the ranks of the unemployed. Once the chief accountant of a large Sydney food wholesaler, Neale the Nib had been sacked for giving away spoiled groceries to Father O’Brien at the Central Mission instead of sending them to the Redfern tip.

In spite of ever-increasing business, Sydney Styles always suffered from a chronic shortage of working capital. Many employees helped out by waiting for their wages until the money came in to pay them. Emma knew if her business was to survive it must be properly financed. But during the height of the Depression, even the government-owned Commonwealth Bank threatened to dishonor government checks if politicians programs were deemed inappropriate by the board. The possibility of small businesses being granted loans were slim; and if the owner of a small business happened to be a woman they were nil.

Neale the Nib saw a way to overcome the cash flow problem. He proposed that Emma agree to supply Sydney Styles products exclusively to Bowes-Scott department stores chain in return for cash-on-delivery of goods supplied, and for cash advances to be made available during manufacture if the value of work in process exceeded a certain figure. The arrangement worked well and Sydney Styles continued to grow. But in late 1934, with demand still rising steadily for every item in the entire range, it became obvious that Sydney Styles needed to be retooled with the latest in modern equipment.

In mid-1935, Emma committed the bulk of the firm’s retained earnings as a down-payment on a huge purchase of new equipment with the balance left owing, payable in monthly installments. When the new machinery was up and running, production rose dramatically and operating costs plummeted. According to Neale the Nib’s carefully penned ledgers, the upswing in profits was such that Emma began to think her dream of lasting financial independence might really come true.

*

When Joseph Lyons became Prime Minister in early 1932, he moved swiftly to avert what he saw as the prime causes of social unrest in the country and the possibility of a communist-led revolution. No sooner had the congenial ‘Honest Joe’ taken office than he introduced harsh repressive measures aimed at breaking the back of ‘the communist menace’. He also made generous concessions to business and kept high tariffs in place to ensure that whatever money was spent by consumers remained in Australia.

One of Lyons first acts did was to rid New South Wales of what he considered its worst threat. Since Premier Lang’s continued default on interest payments to London, forced the Commonwealth to pay them, Lyons used federal powers to take over the revenues of New South Wales. Lang fought back, but unwittingly played into Lyons’ hands, by ordering his civil servants not to pay any money to the Commonwealth. The governor of New South Wales saw Lang’s action as illegal and, under pressure from Lyons sacked him. The dismissal took place barely a month after Lang’s embarrassment at the hands of the New Guard at the opening of the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

The besieged state governments quickly fell into line with Lyons’ policies. They banned all street gatherings, demonstrations, and public meetings, and supported him later when the importation of seditious materials and publications was forbidden. Postage of local leftist publications was forbidden, pressure was exerted on building owners not to allow communist assemblies in meeting halls and employers were urged to sack employees with communist leanings. There were many prosecutions backing up Lyons’ anti-communist policies, but most convictions appealed to the High Court were quashed.

The New Guard hailed the sacking of Lang and the bold anti-subversive policies of the Lyons government as the welcome dawn of a new era for Australia, and his anti-communist measures were applauded by many politicians of all persuasions. But no one threw support behind them more enthusiastically, or more vocally, than Patrick Coltrane, the powerful and opinionated senator from Queensland.

Another passionate cause of Senator Coltrane’s was a uniform federal Aboriginal policy, similar to Queensland’s 1934 Amendments Act, in order to halt the further deterioration of the white race. The Queensland Act took away the half-castes right to vote and their previously held-exemptions from the 1897 Aboriginal Protection Act, which subjected all full-blooded Aborigines to absolute governmental control. In addition, the new Act gave the state government total control over individuals in mixed-race marriages, stripping them of voting and other long-held social rights regardless of their color.

The 1934 act came under fire in Queensland, with many claiming that white men married to black women could lose all control over their lives. It was argued by Brisbane’s Courier Mail that, under the Act, white men could be taken from their homes at any time, and be carted off to Aboriginal settlements at the whim of the bureaucracy.

Coltrane stubbornly argued that the Act should be adopted nationwide. He told the Senate that as a white Australian, he backed the view of William Gall, Queensland’s Undersecretary to the Home Office, that the degradation of the white race caused by inter-racial sexual activity must be stopped at all costs. If necessary, to use the Undersecretary’s own words, ‘Government’s sooner or later, will seriously have to consider the question of sterilization, because inferior races will have to go.’

*

Bill Travis’ small flicker of hope when Joe Lyons became prime minister was soon extinguished. As a known agitator and protester, he became a natural target for authorities bent on adhering zealously to the federal government’s hard line on communists.

Bill was frequently harassed and arrested for organizing anti-eviction committee meetings, addressing meetings of the Unemployed Workers Union, and leading marches seeking increased food and clothing allowances for unemployed families. As a long-time adversary of the New Guard, he was subjected to surveillance by its members; but as time went by, Bill was heartened to see that support for the movement began to wane.

In spite of middle and extreme right-wing support, the Lyons government was unable to prevent a growing community concern at what was seen as a trend toward fascism in Australia. In 1933, an organization calling itself the Australian Anti-Fascist League was formed. It was a communist initiative but had strong support from left wing politicians and many civic and religious groups.

The organization gained momentum in 1934 when Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini announced the fascist states of Germany and Italy had formed an alliance. It was then that Bill was asked to play an active part in the league, by helping to organize the movement’s inaugural Peace Congress, which several prominent international anti-fascists had been invited to address.

When the government moved to thwart the Peace Congress by denying entry into Australia of high profile anti-fascist delegates, Bill and the movement challenged the government in the courts. The government responded by falling back on a section in the 1901 Immigration Act, passed under the White Australia Policy, which provided for entry to be denied to any person failing a language test in any European language.

By carefully choosing the languages in the test, the Immigration Department were certain of success. An American delegate was given a language test in German, a Czech was tested in Gaelic and an Englishman in Italian. All three failed the test, were imprisoned and later deported.

Bill’s new involvement as an active anti-fascist was duly noted by the police in his already substantial file. And he knew it was just a matter of time before he became the target of the ever growing local fascisti, whose organized acts of anti-communist thuggery were largely condoned by the government.

The only constant thing in Bill’s life was his love for Emma and Christopher. He visited the house in Waterloo frequently. The time spent there brought the only sunshine into the bleak grayness of a life he had dedicated to helping others. He enjoyed an almost father-and-son relationship with Christopher, but his feelings for Emma remained one-sided. But he refused to give up hope. After all, on the day Molly’s assault charge was thrown out of court, he had told Emma that he would wait for her as long as it took. And he would.

*

Stephen scaled down his activity in the New Guard after his arrest on the Sydney Harbor Bridge. One reason was his father’s concern that Inspector Proudfoot would doggedly keep pursuing him if he didn’t. Another reason was Eleanor’s insistence that the whole affair, which resulted in a well-publicized court appearance and a small fine, had embarrassed her beyond words. To appease them both, Stephen resigned from his New Guard special operation team and limited his activities to Sunday morning patrols over Sydney Harbor.

As it happened, although Captain De Groot’s daring act drew international attention to the New Guard when it was shown on Movietone cinema newsreels around the world, the event marked the zenith of the movement, and its subsequent decline was accelerated by the government’s nation-wide crackdown on communists and subversives.

Eleanor was glad when Stephen seemed to take more interest in practicing law. But the real reason he spent longer hours in chambers was because the house in Kirribilli had become his prison, with Eleanor and his childless, loveless marriage, his jailers. Constant thoughts of Emma and the child he had seen in her arms on the Harbor Bridge, drove him to Armidale, only to find the Mary Wells Home abandoned and Emma long since departed from Mrs Nadin’s boarding house.

Because of his concern for Emma and the child, which he knew could well be his own, Stephen exhausted all avenues searching for her whereabouts, even unsuccessfully engaging an investigation agent normally used by his law firm to locate fugitives from justice.

The only person Stephen confided in was his Uncle Leonard. And although Stephen suspected his father might have told him the real reason for his marriage to Eleanor, his uncle never admitted it. Leonard just listened to everything Stephen had to say and told him not to worry, because from what he and Mrs Bennett had told him of Emma, she certainly seemed like the kind of young woman well able to look after herself in any situation.

*

Elliot wanted Victoria Silver from the first moment he saw her, even enough to marry her if he had to. They met at her father’s country residence in Roma when Patrick Coltrane fulfilled his promise to introduce Royston Silver to Frank Peebles to discuss his interest in land speculation.

Victoria was pretty enough in her own way, but hardly the beauty Patrick Coltrane had described, and was the complete opposite of her father, the quiet, unassuming powerbroker. During dinner she talked incessantly in strong opinionated terms on just about every subject that came up. But it was not her conversational skills or her intelligence that attracted Elliot. What drew Elliot to her like a magnet was the fullness of her breasts, the roundness of her firm young body, and the hungry look in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

After the meal was over, Victoria’s mother had suggested the young couple take tea outside on the veranda in the moonlight, leaving Patrick and Royston and Frank Peables to discuss their business over port and cigars. Victoria used the opportunity to flirt unashamedly with Elliot. He responded eagerly and she let him kiss and caress her, but only allowed his hands to roam just enough to make sure the visit wouldn’t be his last. Elliot did come back, and each time he did, Victoria encouraged him more and more, but always stopped short of yielding to him completely.

No one was more pleased than Patrick Coltrane and Royston Silver when the marriage of Elliot and Victoria, during winter of 1933, bonded together two of rural Queensland’s most prominent families. Coltrane saw the union as the key to even greater political and social heights for the Coltrane family. Silver saw it as the cementing of a lucrative business association with Coltrane and VMP in land speculation which had already yielded him enormous profits which he happily reinvested with the company.

When Elliot carried Victoria over the threshold of their Brisbane hotel bridal suite he took her straight to the bedroom, anxious not to be denied the pleasures of her body a second longer. With his marital dues paid, there was no need for soft words or gentle persuasion. Without a word passing between them, Elliot quickly stripped her, then took off his own clothing and entered her urgently, taking her again and again until he could take her no more.

That he showed her no trace of love or tenderness in their coupling, just rough, selfish self-gratification was of no consequence to Victoria because she didn’t love him either. After all, theirs was an equitable arrangement. He had paid the price to get what he wanted. And so had she. She was now married to the heir of one of the wealthiest men in the state and was also mistress of a much-admired property.

As soon as Victoria Coltrane took up residence at Yallambee, she engaged two young white girls from a Catholic orphanage in Toowoomba as domestics. And with Elliot in mind she choose two of the most homely unfortunates in the entire institution to minimize the risk of any dalliance at the remote property.

The moment she settled in, Victoria began a massive refurbishment of the old homestead. Determined to make Yallambee the envy of all her friends, Victoria spared no expense in completely redecorating the house and purchasing an entire household of new furniture, curtains, floor coverings and bathroom accessories from the catalogues of the finest suppliers in Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane.

When everything was finally completed exactly to her liking, Victoria discovered to her dismay, that she was to share her gracious home with a unexpected stranger. In the autumn of 1935 she reluctantly gave birth to Royston Elliot Coltrane.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Australian Anti-Fascist League was outraged when on October 3, 1935, without any formal declaration of war, Italy invaded Abyssinia. But it was not surprised, as the act was seen as only the first of many imminent assaults on sovereign states by the newly aligned axis powers of Italy and Germany.

The national conference of the league was to be held in Sydney three months later and once again Bill was given responsibility for overseas delegates. Because of the heavy-handed actions of the Immigration Department at previous conferences, Bill had arranged for some delegates to be cleared for entry prior to their arrival in Australia. But because of Italy’s aggression in North Africa, the Commonwealth government perceived the forthcoming conference as a dangerous platform for leftist diehards to extol the virtues of communism and cancelled most clearances already given to international delegates.

The Anti-Fascist League saw the cancellations as yet another infringement of free speech in Australia, at a time when the country should have been uniting against the threat of fascism in Europe. Some overseas delegates announced they would still journey to Australia and again contest their denial of entry in the High Court. Bill prepared for the inevitability of the delegates being subjected to the language test again.

The invasion of Abyssinia and the angry public statements of the anti-fascist delegates criticizing freedom of speech in Australia received wide newspaper coverage in Sydney and Melbourne. The league was delighted with so much unexpected free publicity for its cause. It kept the fires of controversy burning by sending an avalanche of 'letters to the editor' to all the metropolitan newspapers and having soap-box orators condemn the menace of fascism in the free-speech sanctuary of Sydney’s Hyde Park.

As the conference drew near, the battle lines were drawn. Many League supporters were intimidated and some were bashed by the local fascisti, while the police were accused of turning a blind eye. Even soap-box speakers in Hyde Park were heckled and threatened with bashings if they refused to move on. There were calls for the authorities to ban the forthcoming conference, but this only caused more furor in the newspapers.

Bill only hoped it wouldn’t all end in violence.

*

Soon after the British India Steam Navigation Company’s freighter Dilwara tied up at a Pyrmont wharf in Sydney Harbor, the vessel’s second engineer slipped ashore. Before he passed through the gate at the wharf security shed he asked the guard where the closest public telephone was. The guard pointed to a telephone kiosk at the end of the street; the engineer hurried down to it and made several calls. The last was to the Shamrock Taxi Company. After waiting on the street corner for five or ten minutes a green and white cab pulled up and the engineer asked the driver to take him to Kings Cross.

*

Bill laid the telephone receiver back in its cradle. He had been beside the phone at the Anti-Fascist League’s headquarters, a small house in Surrey Hills, since the Dilwara had been spotted entering Sydney Harbor earlier in the day. He had been apprehensive about the arrival of the vessel since the league had been notified that Jo Wojek, a delegate to the Sydney anti-fascist conference, had been denied entry to Australia.

Since the fascist incursion into Abyssinia, which he saw as only a preliminary foray before the full-scale invasion of his native Poland, Wojek had became more determined than ever to alert people in all western democracies of the threat of all-out war in Europe. He felt so strongly on the issue that he was prepared to enter Australia illegally and face deportation, even imprisonment, if he had to.

Wojek had heard he was to be denied entry into Australia when his P & O liner Orontes, en route to Australia, had docked in Bombay. He had then paid a large sum of money to the British India engineer to take him aboard the Sydney-bound Dilwara, as a stowaway. Because of Wojek’s unshakeable commitment to the cause, Bill had reluctantly agreed to become a party to his plans.

Bill glanced at a clock on the wall. It was 6.00 pm. The engineer said he had given Wojek a fake seaman’s identification card which he would use at exactly 9.00 pm to get him past the guard’s shed at the entrance to the wharf. After that, the engineer said, Wojek was on his own.

At 8.55 pm, Bill sat in the front seat of an old delivery van in the dim glow of a street lamp just outside the wharf gate. Exactly five minutes later he saw a tall figure emerge from the shadow of the Dilwara and walk briskly across the dock to the gate. The guard in the shed looked up from his newspaper just long enough to wave the seaman through.

Bill glanced up and down the dark street anxiously. It was empty. He started the engine of the van and drove over to the man and pulled up beside him. The tall man stooped down and put his head in the passenger side window.

‘Mr Travis.’

‘Yes.’

‘I am Wojek.’

‘Get in.’

Wojek was a much younger man than Bill had expected, with strong features and a wide easy grin. The Pole opened the door, threw a small suitcase into the rear of the vehicle and climbed in.

Bill held out his hand. ‘Welcome to Australia. May I apologize for the attitude of the Immigration Department, Mr Wojek.’

‘There is no need, Mr Travis,’ Wojek said in broken English. ‘The department is merely doing its job. Our job is to try to get their masters to realize that we are not subversive activists to be feared, just… how would you say… just mates… wanting to halt an evil ideology that one day might destroy the freedoms we enjoy in our countries ’

Bill drove away, checking the rear-view mirror as he went. At the end of the street he checked it again. He thought he saw a shadow on the roadway behind him, perhaps a vehicle with no lights. He quickly swung left and drove through the huge Pyrmont wool sheds heading for Surrey Hills. He checked the mirror again and saw the lights of a car behind. It was a big black saloon, not the type of vehicle generally seen after dark in the dock area.

‘Is everything all right?’ Wojek asked nervously. ‘Are we being followed?’

‘I don’t know. That car could belong to anybody, I suppose. But I thought I noticed it travelling without lights a little way back.’

‘How far are we going?

‘Not far.’ Bill checked the mirror again. ‘Perhaps a mile and a half.’

As they left the dock area behind and drew closer to the city the traffic increased. Several times Bill looked again for the black saloon but saw no sign of it. He began to relax.

‘We have prepared a room for you at our headquarters, Mr Wojek. We thought if we were to run into any trouble it would be the last place the authorities would look for you.’

Wojek laughed wryly. ‘It’s ironic that we need to hide from our friends and our countrymen now, in order to try and safeguard their freedom in the future.’

They drove on in silence, leaving the Haymarket behind and crossing over Elizabeth Street into Surrey Hills. Minutes later, Bill turned into the dimly lit street where the League’s headquarters were located. There was little traffic now and it was only by chance that he noticed another black saloon, similar to the one he had seen earlier, pull out slowly from a side street with no lights on.

Bill slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator. ‘There on to us, Mr Wojek. That’s two unlit vehicles in less than two miles.’ He looked in the rear-view mirror. The sedan was behind him, still with no lights showing. But as the speed of the van increased, the head lamps of the car came on, as it too was forced to accelerate or get left behind. Then, Bill was shocked to see the heads lamps of a second car light up behind it.

Bills heart was thumping as he roared past the safe house with the two vehicles in hot pursuit. Wide-eyed and white-knuckled, Wojek braced himself between the dashboard and the door as, tires screeching, and swaying wildly, the van raced through the neighborhood.

Bill’s pursuers doggedly kept him in sight and he realized he could never outrun them. By now every available police vehicle for miles around would be cordoning off the district. His only hope was to lose them long enough to dump the van and for Wojek and himself to hide somewhere. But where?

Suddenly they were in Waterloo, just off Botany Road. Emma’s house was very close. Bill tried to put the thought out of his head. He looked behind him. For the first time since Surrey Hills there was no sign of the black saloons. This could be his only chance. At the next intersection he spun the wheel hard into Emma’s street and drove to within fifty yards of the house. Then he braked hard, drove the van onto a vacant block of land and yelled at Wojek to grab his suitcase and run.

Bill’s limp slowed their progress but they still reached Emma’s house quickly. He saw the hall light was on through a small window above the door. With the coast still clear he dashed up to the porch and rang the bell. Emma opened the door almost immediately, on her way upstairs to bed. Bill pulled Wojek into the house behind him, closed the door and switched off the light.

Half an hour later Bill and Wojek were sitting at the kitchen table calming their frayed nerves with brandy, when a loud crash sent reverberations through the entire house. The stout lock on the front door was no match for the squad of six burly policemen who set their combined weight against it. When Bill and Wojek sought to escape through a back door off the kitchen, they ran straight into the arms of half a dozen more officers.

Bill’s thick police file had lead his pursuers to Emma’s house. He and Jo Wojek were taken to police headquarters and questioned into the early hours of the morning. Wojek was charged with illegal entry and Bill with being an accomplice to the fact. They were interviewed separately by senior police in the presence of Immigration officials and Commonwealth Investigation Bureau officers. Afterwards, they were taken to Long Bay Jail to be held incommunicado under special provisions of the National Security Act.

The officer in charge told Emma she was only spared arrest because of her invalid mother and small child. But he instructed her to make herself available for questioning at any time and ordered her to report to police headquarters every second day until further notice to confirm her whereabouts. And he cautioned her that if, during the course of their investigations, it came to light that she had been a party to Wojek’s illegal entry she would be charged with harboring an illegal alien.

The Wojek arrest made the front pages of the Sydney newspapers and controversy flared again. The local fascisti called for severe penalties for foreign agitators like Wojek and the banning of the Australian Anti-Fascist League, while more moderate Australians called for a fair go for everyone concerned. As public opinion swung behind the moderates, newspaper editorials supported the public’s demands for fair play, forcing the authorities to allow the league’s solicitors access to the prisoners held at Long Bay.

One individual who wasn’t complaining about a lack of fair play was the double-dipping second engineer of the Dilwara. When his vessel left Sydney, he had an extra hundred and fifty Australian pounds tucked in his wallet, the price paid by the Immigration Department for dobbing in Wojek.

*

The shrill factory whistle marking the end of a three-hour overtime period jolted Emma from her thoughts. Beyond her office window overlooking the factory floor, she watched as the three long rows of machine operators shut down their machines and prepared to leave for the day.

It was 8.30 pm, the time Emma usually left to go home. The large table in front of her, which served as her desk, drawing board, new design layout table and many other purposes was cluttered with untouched work. She looked into the small office adjoining hers. As always, Neale the Nib sat pen in hand, working through a mountain of paperwork. Emma got up and walked through to the bookkeeper’s office.

‘You look tired, Emma.’ Neale the Nib took off his glasses and ran a hand through his white hair. ‘Why don’t you go home?’

‘For all I’ve done today, Neale, I might as well have not come in at all,’ Emma sighed. ‘It’s this business with Bill and the police. I just can’t seem to concentrate.’

The lights on the factory floor suddenly went out as the last of the workers left the building. ‘Are you coming, Emma?’ The voice belonged to Iris. She stood waiting at the darkened factory door.

‘No, you go on, Iris,’ Emma called out. ‘There’s a few things I have to do here yet.’

Iris closed the door behind her. Neale the Nib shook his head. ‘You don’t have to stay, you know, Emma.’

Emma walked back into her office and fiddled around with things on her desk for a few minutes. Then, unable to concentrate she took her coat and handbag down from their hook .

Suddenly the factory door opened again. Emma looked towards it, expecting to see Iris come back for something, or the night watchman making his rounds. But it was neither, and Emma and Neale the Nib looked on in amazement as a dozen or more masked men dashed into the building. Some held torches in their hands. All carried sledgehammers, iron-bars or five gallon drums.

Amazement turned to horror as they helplessly looked on while the masked men systematically worked their way down the rows of recently installed new equipment, wielding their iron bars and sledgehammers in calculated, carefully aimed blows designed to render every piece of equipment useless. Others set about smashing cutting tables, work benches, shelving, trolleys and hand tools, while those carrying five gallon drums poured chemicals on the large stocks of materials rendering it worthless.

Neale the Nib rushed out onto the factory floor waving his arms above his head and shouting in protest. One of the saboteurs quickly turned around and lashed out with an iron bar. There was a loud crack when the forceful blow broke the bookkeeper’s kneecap.

Emma stood frozen to the spot while the destruction continued until there was nothing of value left unbroken in the factory. Then, as quickly as it began, the raid was over and the masked men disappeared into the night, leaving behind them absolute devastation and Neale the Nib groaning in agony on the factory floor.

*

Emma was up all night. After getting Neale the Nib to hospital by ambulance and going to tell Iris and Joan what had happened, it was the early hours of the morning before she got to the police station to give a detailed account of the raid. A young man in a creased suit sitting on a hard wooden bench was the only other civilian in the station when she went inside.

After listening to Emma's complaint, the desk sergeant said. ‘That’s the sort of thing you must expect, miss, if you associate with Communists,’ The sergeant was the same dour officer Emma had been instructed to report to every second day at police headquarters.

‘What do you mean by that remark, Sergeant?’ Emma asked angrily.

The young man in the crumpled suit looked up from the bench in surprise.

‘Exactly what I said.’ The sergeant raised his voice above Emma’s. ‘Wojek’s a communist who’s broken the law by illegally entering Australia to preach Bolshevik subversion. I’d say the local fascisti took an interest in you and paid your business a visit. They’d think any factory run by Bill Travis’ girlfriend is bound to be full of commo’s. And so would I.’

Emma lost her temper. ‘I don’t care what you think, Sergeant,’ she snapped. ‘I just want to know what you’re going to do about it, and when?’

‘Look here, young lady.’ The sergeant closed the complaint book on the counter shut with a loud slap. ‘Don’t you get snotty with me.’

The young man got up from the bench and hurried over to Emma.

‘Is there a problem, miss?’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m the police reporter for the Sydney Chronicle. I couldn’t help overhearing you and the sergeant. Do you think your premises were vandalized by fascists?’

‘The sergeant here seems to think so. And he seems to think I employ nothing but subversives. As a citizen, an employer and a taxpayer I object to that.’

‘Don’t you think the police are doing the job the taxpayers have a right to expect? ‘

‘No, I do not.’

‘Then as a member of the free press, I think the public has a right to know about it.’ The young reporter hurried back to the bench and took a box camera from a black leather bag. He quickly raised it to his eye and the flashbulb exploded in brilliant light.

Still fuming over her treatment by the police, Emma headed straight back to Sydney Styles. She found Joan and Iris sitting despondently at the table in her office.

‘Where is everybody?’ Emma asked.

‘We sent everyone home,’ Iris said. ‘There’s nothing anyone could do—everything’s buggered.’

‘I phoned the insurance people like you told me, Emma,’ Joan said.

‘And?’

‘They said we’re not covered.’

Emma was stunned. ‘But surely you told them exactly what happened, didn’t you?’

‘That’s the problem. They said the policy clearly states that malicious damage isn’t covered. They said since the start of the Depression there’s been too many sabotage claims from business’s owners looking for an easy way out.’

‘The bastards! The rotten bastards!’ Emma slumped down in her chair.

‘What will we do?’ Iris asked after a few moments. ‘We can’t produce anything and the insurance won’t cover new equipment and we haven’t even paid off the gear that’s been ruined.’

Emma sat silently staring into the table for a long time. Then she stood up and said: ‘Listen. We’ve got a factory to run here. We’ve got commitments to keep and we’ve got bills to pay. We didn’t come this far together just to be beaten by a bunch of mindless damn fascists. Now, get some of our workers back and have them start cleaning up the mess. And get our equipment suppliers down here right away. Tell them I want firm prices for the repair and or the replacement of everything by later on this afternoon.’ Emma made for the door. ‘I’m going home now to see my family, change my clothes and have something to eat. And while I’m doing that, I’ll try and work out how we’ll get the money to pay for it all.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Emma arrived at the Redfern branch of the New South Wales Imperial Bank in the early afternoon.

‘I’m afraid it’s quite impossible for you to see the manager today, Miss McKenna,’ the assistant manager said from behind the high grill on the counter. ‘Mr Wilkins really is a very busy man. Perhaps, I might be able to help?’

Emma sighed in exasperation. ‘No, I don’t think so. You see, my factory was vandalized last night. I must see the manager today to arrange a loan for new equipment.’

‘Oh, yes. Your Miss McKenna, from the clothing place. We heard about that. I don’t think the bank would be able help you in any way.’

‘I’m not interested in what you think.’ Emma said angrily. ‘I came here to see the manager and I’ll not leave until I do.’

Suddenly the harsh reality of the factory raid and its consequences hit home, and overcome with exhaustion, frustration and desperation, Emma stormed over to the door of the manager’s office and pounded on it with both fists. The office door was opened immediately by an aloof-looking elderly man, clearly annoyed that the calm, hushed atmosphere of his bank had been so noisily shattered. Without waiting to be asked Emma brushed past him into the office.

‘I must see you, Mr Wilkins.’ Emma said. ‘I’m afraid this can’t wait…’

The assistant manager trotted in behind Emma. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Wilkins, I told her she couldn’t see you today.’

Wilkins eyed Emma warily. ‘And who, may I ask, are you?’

‘It’s Miss Mckenna,’ the assistant manager said before Emma could reply. ‘She’s from that factory that was ransacked last night. She wants to borrow money for new equipment.’

‘I see…’ Wilkins chose to go through the motions rather than risk another noisy outburst from Emma. He dismissed his assistant with a wave of his hand and gestured toward a chair. ‘Well, since you’re here, Miss McKenna, you may as well sit down.’ Wilkins sat down behind his desk. ‘Now, your business has never had any loan accommodations with the bank has it?

‘No, Mr Wilkins.’

‘Have you brought with you up to the minute, detailed financial statements.’

‘No, Mr Wilkins.’

‘And what security are you able to offer the bank? Have you any land titles, fixed term deposits, or any blue-chip stocks and bonds?’

‘No, Mr Wilkins.’

‘Then I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do’. Wilkins rose to feet. ‘Good-day, Miss McKenna.’

‘But I have large and profitable regular monthly contracts from Bowes-Scott department stores,’ Emma said quickly. ‘And I employ a lot of people, some of whom are customers of this bank. And the reason I have no loans is because I have run my business well enough not to require any. Surely that is worth something?’

‘To you, perhaps, Miss McKenna. But certainly not to the bank. We require ironclad security. Has your business no cash reserves?’

‘Not enough to purchase new equipment outright.’

‘Have you no personal assets?’

Emma thought of the Fairchild account, as she had several times during the day. Suddenly it occurred to her that perhaps she could use the account as leverage with Wilkins without actually committing the money. At least it was worth a try.

‘I do have a substantial sum in a private account, Mr Wilkins.’

The bankers eyebrows rose. ‘With which bank?’

‘This bank, at the main branch. It’s funded by a family endowment,’ Emma said, trying not to be too specific. ‘I prefer not to use it for the equipment of course, but its existence does prove I have a sizeable and ongoing private income. It also shows that I’m frugal and reliable. I haven’t touched the account in years.’

‘How much money is in the account?’

‘A little over fifteen hundred pounds.’

The banker’s eyes widened. ‘A very substantial sum, Miss McKenna.’ Wilkins’ mood became more accommodating. ‘Perhaps we might be able to work something out. You would, of course, have to use the account as security for any loan advances.’

‘I’m not prepared to do that, Mr Wilkins. Are you sure there is no other way?’

Wilkins stared thoughtfully into space. ‘I would have to speak to the main branch to verify what you’ve told me, Miss McKenna,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Perhaps if you contacted me tomorrow…’

‘Very well,’ Emma stood up to leave. As soon as she left the room, Wilkins picked up the telephone and asked the operator to connect him with the main branch..

‘New South Wales Imperial Bank, Pitt Street.’

‘Yes, it’s Wilkins, manager at Redfern. May I speak with the accountant?’

‘One moment.’

Wilkins waited for several minutes before a voice came on the line.

‘Branch accountant speaking, Mr Wilkins. May I help you?’

‘Yes. I’d like some information on an account you hold in the name of Emma McKenna.

‘Just a moment, please.’

Wilkins settled down for another long wait but the accountant came back on the line almost immediately. ‘What name was that again, Mr Wilkins?’

‘Emma Mckenna.’

‘I have to refer this call to Mr Hopwood, the state manager. Please hold the line.’

Wilkins sat bolt upright at the mention of the state manager’s name and unnecessarily adjusted his necktie.

‘Hopwood speaking. What do you want to know about Emma McKenna, Wilkins?’

‘She was just here discussing a loan, Sir. I just wanted to verify her main branch account. I’m so sorry to disturb you, sir, I had no idea that you …’

‘Never mind that, Wilkins. How much money does she want?’

Around two thousand pounds for factory equipment, sir.’

‘Then lend it to her.’

‘What about security, sir.’

‘Just have her sign a promissory note.’

‘But, sir, is that all? This really is most unusual. I…’

Wilkins looked alarmed when the state manager’s voice suddenly boomed loudly in his ear. ‘Don’t try and tell me how things are done, you bloody fool. Just give Miss McKenna the money.’

Emma was delighted when Wilkins unexpectedly arrived at Sydney Styles the next morning to personally deliver the good news. Installation of the new equipment started immediately and within three weeks production was back to normal. By running an extra shift, deliveries were soon back on schedule.

When Neale the Nib’s plaster cast was finally removed from his leg, the only reminder of the fascisti raid on the factory was the extra night watchmen Emma had engaged to make sure it could never happen again.

*

It had been weeks since Stephen’s workload had allowed him to take a day off. Although the partners at chambers were encouraged to take time off to avoid becoming stale at their jobs, Fenton Fairchild preferred his solicitors to spend the time relaxing and socializing at their gentlemen’s clubs where it was likely new business could be generated. But for Stephen, any free time meant only one thing—flying time.

Stephen came downstairs in his dressing gown to take breakfast on the terrace overlooking the harbor. It was a glorious March morning and the first cooler days of autumn had finally arrived. He found Eleanor already at the table, dressed in tennis whites and taking tea and marmalade toast. When Stephen sat down opposite her, she rang a bell on the table and the maid appeared with fresh toast and the morning paper.

Stephen picked up the paper and glanced over the headlines as the maid poured tea.

Eleanor cradled her teacup in both hands, eyeing Stephen over the rim. ‘You’re not dressed. Aren’t you going to chambers this morning?’

‘No. I’m going to the plane later. It’s having it’s regular hundred-hour service today.’

‘Do you need to be there?’

Stephen put the newspaper down. ‘No, Eleanor. But I want to be.’

‘Seems like a waste of a lovely day. Why don’t you come to the club and play tennis with me, or at least join the crowd there for luncheon?’

Stephen shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. As soon as the plane is serviced, I want to take her up for spin.’

Eleanor sighed. ‘I do hope you’ll grow out of your little toy soon, Stephen. When the New Guard lost interest in its pretend army and air force, I did hope you’d sell the damn thing and become a little more responsible’

Stephen ignored the remark and picked up the newspaper again.

The main headline again demanded that Prime Minister Lyons set up a Royal Commission into the Australian banking system with a view to making financial institutions more accountable. A smaller news item stated that the Polish activist Jo Wojek and Bill Travis, an official of the Anti-Fascist Movement, were to be sentenced that morning on immigration charges.

Stephen was about to turn the page when the maid brought a tray with the morning mail. Eleanor thumbed through the letters and passed one to Stephen. It had European airmail markings. Stephen grinned. He always looked forward to Enrico Conti’s letters from Rome but he was surprised to notice the envelope was postmarked, Berlin. When he’d read the letter he let out a whistle.

Eleanor looked up from her mail. ’What is it, Stephen?’

‘Enrico’s in Germany. He’s training with a volunteer air force squadron there.’

Eleanor laughed out loud. ‘That’s ridiculous. I can’t see Enrico accepting the discipline, even less air force pay.’

‘Oh, I don’t think it’s the regular air force. It seems more like a squadron of highly paid adventurers. He says when the training’s over they could be going anywhere. It must be all very hush-hush. Enrico can’t name the squadron or its location, and its only address is a private box number in Berlin in the name of a Max Winkler.’

‘It sounds very juvenile to me, Stephen. Just like the air unit of the New Guard. A place where grown men can behave like schoolboys and pretend to be heroes.’ Eleanor got up from the table. ‘Like the New Guard, you can be sure Enrico’s playboy squadron won’t last long.’

‘But it is attached to the German Air Force, the Luftwaffe.’

Eleanor got up from the table. ‘New Guard, Luftwaffe. What’s the difference. Really, Stephen, its about time people like you and Enrico grew up.’

Eleanor’s superior attitude had always aggravated Stephen. After years of marriage it had become unbearable. He watched her walk across the terrace to the house, immaculately groomed as always, her tennis whites carefully designed to bring out the best of her tall, full figure. It was times like this, when she belittled him that he hated her the most and despised the circumstances that kept him a prisoner in an empty, meaningless marriage.

He couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love and he didn’t care. As he watched her swaying hips disappear into the house, he wondered if she slept with any of the well-off, gin-sipping loafers at the tennis club. He shrugged. If she did, good luck to her. He didn’t care about that either.

*

Emma sat in the back row of the courthouse in Macquarie Street. Most of the other seats were taken by newspaper reporters, Anti-Fascist League supporters, or their right-wing adversaries. At an earlier hearing Bill and Wojek had pleaded guilty to the charges laid against them. Now all that remained was for the magistrate to pronounce sentence.

They were led into the dock from a small anteroom immediately after the magistrate entered the courtroom. Bill’s eyes roamed the room searching for Emma. He grinned bravely when he saw her. She smiled reassuringly.

The magistrate read the sentences without even looking at the men in the dock.

‘Joseph Wojek. I hereby sentence you to the time you have already served in custody at Long Bay Jail, to which you are to be returned pending arrangements for your immediate deportation to Poland. William Martin Travis you are sentenced to six months imprisonment in addition to the time already spent in custody.’ The magistrate rose to his feet. ‘This court is dismissed.’

When the anteroom door closed Emma hurried from the courtroom. It was only a few minutes walk to the Bowes-Scott department store on Castlereagh street where she had planned to make a regular call. As she passed Hyde Park she noticed there was a large crowd around the usual soapbox orators.

One of voices was loud enough to carry above all the others and even above the noise of the passing traffic. It was rich, eloquent and impassioned. There was something about it that demanded attention. Emma joined the attentive crowd which was hanging onto the orator’s every word.

‘Oh, let me tell you, my friends. Germany’s invasion of the Rhineland today means that we are looking down the barrel of a another war with that belligerent nation.’ Emma squirmed through the crowd trying to get a closer look at the speaker. ‘Adolf Hitler has thumbed his nose at Britain and the rest of world by breaking the conditions of the Versailles treaty. It must be seen by all Australians as a clear signal that English speaking people everywhere must once again prepare for the inevitability of war against the Hun.’

Emma worked her way through to the front of the crowd. Now she could see the speaker clearly. He was in his mid-forties with a handsome, reddish blotchy face. Emma recognized him at once. He had gained weight since she saw him last and he was wearing civilian clothes. But the speaker was the same Lieutenant Charles Snakeoil Parsons she had seen the day of the sale at Yallambee.

After a few more minutes of Snakeoil’s fiery anti-fascist rhetoric, a group of young men pushed through the crowd and told him to move on. At first he refused, but when one of the fascisti threatened him with a baton, Snakeoil decided that compliance was preferable to a beating and he disappeared swiftly into the crowds of pedestrians on Elizabeth Street.

Emma hurried after him. Snakeoil moved quickly and had travelled half a block before she caught up with him. She touched his arm.

‘Mr Parsons? Excuse me, Mr Parsons.’

Snakeoil stopped and turned to Emma. ‘Do I know you, miss?’

‘I’m Emma McKenna. I saw you at Yallambee after the death of my father, Captain McKenna.’

Snakeoil’s eyes widened. ‘My dear, Miss McKenna.’ He suddenly frowned. ‘I’m afraid an apology for my behavior that day is long overdue. Words cannot say how…’

‘Please,’ Emma said, ‘There’s no need. I’m just so pleased to see an old friend of my father. Perhaps we could talk over some tea? There’s a nice little cafe beside the Bowes-Scott store on Castlereagh Street.’

Snakeoil took Emma by the arm and led her under a shop awning, out of the stream of pedestrians on the pavement. ‘Miss McKenna,’ he said gravely, ‘when did you see your brother Bruce last?’

‘It’s been almost five years since I’ve seen my brothers,’ Emma said softly.

‘I saw Harmony just a little over a year ago,’ Snakeoil said cautiously. He drew a deep breath. ‘Perhaps, we should go to this cafe of yours and have a chat.’

*

Molly and Kathleen were having tea and a light lunch when Emma came home. The moment she walked into the kitchen they could see she was distressed. Kathleen promptly gave Christopher the permission he had been seeking all morning to go and play with the children next door.

Over a fresh pot of tea Emma told them what had happened at the courthouse, of her chance meeting with Lieutenant Parsons, and his bitter-sweet news of the twins. For a long time the three women sat in silence. Molly’s heart went out to Emma and Kathleen. She looked on in dismay as tears rolled freely down Kathleen’s cheeks. Emma didn’t cry. She had already shed her tears in the cafe and on the tram coming home.

At last, Emma broke the silence. ‘I shall leave for Goondiwindi tomorrow and bring Bruce home where he belongs, Mother,’

‘It’s been five years, my darling,’ Kathleen said gently. ‘That’s a large part of his life. Don’t expect to find the same boy we left in Queensland. He’s a young man now, and a bushman by the sound of it. He might only want to come to Sydney to visit us, then return to Queensland to live with Harmony Jones. He owes that man a large debt of gratitude. And so do we.’

*

A light aircraft traced lazy circles in the clear blue sky above the airfield at Mascot. The Tiger Moth was so high in the sky that the drone of its engine was barely audible on the ground. After making a few circuits, the Moth would go into a steep dive and perform a series of aerobatics before climbing again and repeating the exercise. Stephen stood outside a hangar shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun as he watched the little plane.

When he saw the aircraft start it’s descent in to land, Stephen walked back inside the hanger. At the far end of the building he saw the government-licensed mechanic was still working on his biplane’s mandatory hundred-hour service. He glanced at his watch and knew it was unlikely the work would be completed in time for him to take the plane up that afternoon. But he decided to hang around the airfield just a little longer and wandered over to the canteen in the hangar.

Stephen bought a mug of tea and a bar of chocolate and sat down at a table strewn with old magazines and newspapers. He was rummaging around looking for something to read when his heart skipped a beat. There on the table, from an old tea-stained copy of the Sydney Chronicle, he saw Emma’s face staring up at him.

He snatched the newspaper from the table and quickly scanned the article below the photograph. It gave an account of the raid on Sydney Styles’ Redfern factory and the indifference of the police in investigating the incident. The moment he’d finished the article, Stephen hurried out of the canteen with the newspaper in his hand. As soon as he was outside the door he broke into a run and he kept running until he reached his Aston Martin in the car park. He leapt behind the wheel in a single bound.

It was less than four miles to Sydney Styles. Neale the Nib said Miss McKenna had telephoned earlier to say she would be away for a few days. When Stephen told him that he was an old friend of the family, the old bookkeeper was skeptical, but eventually told Stephen that he could probably find Emma at home.

When Stephen reached the house in Waterloo, he was checking the number on the door with the address Neale the Nib had scribbled down, when a young boy about four or five years old scrambled over the garden fence from the property next door.

Any doubt Stephen might have had about being at the wrong house vanished the moment the boy looked up at him. But for the passage of time, the boy’s face might well have been his own.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Emma was upstairs packing when Molly tapped softly on the bedroom door.

‘There’s a gentleman downstairs asking to see you, Emma.’

‘Who is it, Molly?’ Emma sighed and laid another blouse in the open suitcase on the bed. ‘I really don’t want to talk to anyone today.’

‘He says his name is Stephen Fairchild.’

Emma caught her breath. For a long time she stood perfectly still. When, at last, she went to the door and opened it, Molly was standing patiently on the landing.

‘What shall I tell him, Emma?’

‘Show him into the lounge room please, Molly. Tell him I’ll be down shortly. And would you make sure that Mr Fairchild and I are not disturbed.’

‘It’s all right, Christopher is with your mother in the garden.’ For a moment there was an awkward silence. Over the years Emma had entrusted every innermost secret to Molly, except one. Molly took Emma’s hand in hers and squeezed it. ‘It’s all right, I know,’ she said gently. ‘There’s no need to say anything. The young man is the image of Christopher.’

Emma slipped into the lounge room and closed the door gently behind her. Stephen stood in the centre of the room with his back toward her. He turned around quickly when he heard the door latch.

Their eyes appraised each other.

Emma had often wondered how it would be if they were ever to meet again. She had always imagined a confident encounter in pleasant surroundings with an easy exchange of conversation. Now, the reality was she was tired and drained after a long emotional day, and Stephen looked ill-at-ease and absurdly out of place in shirtsleeves, jodhpurs and flying boots. For a moment, neither of them could think of a single thing to say.

Stephen held up the newspaper and broke the silence. ‘I saw your photograph in the paper. I had to come.’

‘Why come now, Stephen?’ Emma was determined to keep her voice steady. ‘You’re a married man? Why didn’t you come to Armidale when you were single?’

‘I’ll explain everything, if you’ll give me the chance.’

‘There’s nothing to explain,’ Emma said indifferently. ‘What happened five years ago is history. We went our separate ways. Now, you have your life and I have mine.’

‘I still love you, Emma.’ He moved to within an arm’s length. ‘I’ve always loved you.’

Emma wanted him to hold her. She was sure if she moved an inch towards him he would.

‘I’ve searched for you ever since that day on the harbor bridge. Will you let me explain?’

Emma felt her defenses crumbling. She summoned all her strength. ‘There’s no need to explain anything, Stephen. We’re two different people now. We can’t go back in time as if nothing has happened. There’s nothing between us anymore.’

‘But there is. There’s Christopher.’ Stephen reached out and took Emma in his arms. She made no attempt to draw away. ‘He told me his name. I thought he must be mine that day on the bridge. When I saw him today on the porch outside, I knew for certain.’

Suddenly they were clinging to each other, holding each other as tightly as they could and kissing. Eventually, Emma drew away and she took his hand in hers and led him to the sofa. They sat down hand in hand.

‘Before you explain anything,’ Emma said. ‘I should tell you that I think I already know much of what you want to say. Your uncle Leonard told me a long time ago about the circumstances of your marriage.’

‘Uncle Leonard…’

Emma gently placed a finger over his mouth ‘I first met your uncle at your father’s home in Vaucluse. I went there to see you when I was pregnant. You were away on your honeymoon.’

‘Oh, Emma…’

She pressed her finger against his lips again.

‘Later, your uncle told me about the New Guard incident. It’s a secret I’ve shared with no one, not even my mother. Your uncle told me what could happen to you if your marriage were ever put at risk. I promised him I would never do anything to harm you. Now you must promise me that you will do nothing to harm yourself. If you do, you could tear all our lives apart. You must leave things as they are, for everyone’s sake. You must promise me you won’t complicate things. Especially now, when my family is going through hell.’

After a moment Stephen said: ‘It seems there’s little left for me to explain. And I do promise not to complicate your lives. You must know, I would never do anything to hurt you or Christopher. But I must know what has been happening over the years while everyone’s been so busy protecting me. Who’s been protecting you, and our son? And what is it that your family is going through? Surely there must be some way I can help.’

Christopher had already eaten and Molly had long since tucked him into his bed when Emma and Stephen emerged from the lounge room. They found Kathleen and Molly having dinner in the dining room.

‘We waited as long as we could, dear,’ Molly said. ‘But everything was beginning to get cold.’ She started to get up from the table. ‘Will Mr Fairchild be staying for dinner?’

‘Oh, no thank you, ’ Stephen said. He turned to Kathleen. It has been a pleasure to see you again, Mrs McKenna. I’m so sorry to have come at such a bad time.’

‘Stephen has offered to take me to Goondiwindi in his airplane first thing tomorrow, Mother,’ Emma announced. ‘Under the circumstances, I think it’s a good idea.’

The look on Kathleen’s face told Emma her mother didn’t share her view.

‘Mother, you realize the sooner I get there, the sooner I can bring Bruce home. I’ll be there in a matter of hours instead of days. Stephen will return to Sydney alone after we land at Goondiwindi. Bruce and I will come home on the train.’

*

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when Stephen parked the Aston Martin beside the airfield hangar. With no room for a suitcase in the little biplane, Emma just brought a small canvas bag containing the bare essentials she would need for the journey and her father’s brown leather wallet.

Inside the hangar, Stephen gave Emma a pair of baggy overalls, a leather helmet and goggles, then left her to change while he went to file his flight plan. He was still going over flight details in the office when she joined him a few minutes later. She laid down her canvas bag and her wallet beside Stephen’s gear on the office counter and sat down to wait.

Emma was immersed in thoughts of Bruce and their reunion when Stephen grabbed the bags off the counter and announced they were ready to take-off. Emma’s excitement rose when they walked out to the aircraft and Stephen went through his pre-flight checks. Minutes later she felt sheer exhilaration when the little aircraft raced down the runway, lifted off and climbed up over Botany Bay in a wide arc to the north.

*

Eleanor looked across the breakfast table at Stephen’s empty chair. Once again her anger rose at his thoughtlessness. She had planned the social affair to the last detail. Now, she would have to entertain the long list of guests herself, just because Stephen had allowed an out-of-town legal matter to take precedence over her dinner party.

The maid brought the tray with the morning mail then went back inside the house. Eleanor flicked through it irritably. Nothing of importance except a couple of last-minute acceptances to the party. She fingered the morning paper restlessly, hearing the telephone ring inside the house. After a few moments the maid reappeared on the terrace.

‘Who was on the telephone, Mildred?’

‘He didn’t say, Mrs Fairchild. It was just a man from the airport where Mr Fairchild keeps his airplane.’

‘And?’

‘He said that Mr Fairchild’s passenger left a wallet at the office in the hangar.’

Eleanor looked puzzled. Stephen had said nothing of taking the plane. She had assumed he would be driving to his all-important out-of-town business.’

‘Did he say who the wallet belongs to?’

‘No, Mrs Fairchild. At first he thought it was yours. But when I told him you were here at the house, he said he had just assumed the young lady with Mr Fairchild was his wife.’

*

After briefly landing twice during the long flight northward, fuel was once again running low when the Curtis neared the small airstrip at Goondiwindi. By now it was mid-afternoon and the flying conditions had deteriorated. Cloud, which had started as just thin white wisps over New England had gradually developed into ominous dark thunderheads.

Emma was thankful when Stephen set the aircraft down on the parched brown paddock and taxied up to a lone hangar at the edge of the field. When Stephen helped her down from the cramped cockpit Emma was so stiff she had to coax her limbs into allowing her to stand erect before trying to walk.

Stephen took their bags from the plane and they walked into the hangar where he made arrangements for the aircraft to be refueled and stored inside overnight. It was when he was looking for transport from the airfield that Emma noticed her leather wallet was missing.

‘I must have left it at Mascot,’ Stephen said as they stood waiting for the Goondiwindi town taxi. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of money with me and your wallet will be there waiting when I get back.’

A thunderhead burst just as the taxi arrived and Emma and Stephen were glad to clamber into the back seat out of the rain. The driver was a scruffy unshaven old man but he was cheerful enough.

‘Come far today, have you?’

‘Sydney,’ Stephen said.

The driver whistled. ‘Long way to travel in one day. But thanks for bringing the rain with you. Now, where can I take you?’

‘Do you know where Harmony Jones’ place is?’ Emma asked.

The driver grinned. ‘Everybody knows where Harmony lives. You a friend of his?’

‘He’s an old friend of my father’s. They served together in the Light Horse.’

The driver turned his head just enough to see Emma. ‘Seems everybody did. Bruce McKenna, the young bloke that lives with Harmony told me his father served with him in the war.’

‘Bruce is my brother.’

The driver shrugged. ‘I never heard him mention he had a sister.’

No one spoke again for several minutes. Then the driver said: ‘This is the first year in a long time those two haven’t gone roo shooting up in the Warrego.’

‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘That’s what Harmony’s friend, Mr Parson’s told me in Sydney.’

The rain had eased when the taxi reached the entrance to Harmony’s property. The gate across the track leading in was closed.

‘Looks like there’s no one here,’ the taxi-driver said. ‘This gate’s always open when there’s someone home.’

Emma’s heart sank. She turned to Stephen. ‘Mr Parsons said they never leave the place for long these days.’

‘They’re probably just in town,’ the driver said. ‘Or off somewhere, picking up or delivering horses. Anyway, Harmony always leaves a message if he goes off the place.’ The old man got out of the taxi and walked over to an old milk churn beside the gate which served as a mail box. He pulled out a piece of paper and read it. ‘Says here they’ve gone to Moree, be back before lunch tomorrow.’

*

The Palace Hotel was a grand old building facing onto the main street of Goondiwindi. It had two stories, each surrounded by a wide veranda and a steeply sloped red iron roof. Stephen took the two best adjacent rooms that were available.

Emma was disappointed at the delay in seeing Bruce. But as she lay soaking in a hot bath listening to the rain hammering on the hotel roof she was glad for the chance to relax and get a good night’s sleep before seeing him the next day.

‘If this rain keeps up you won’t be able to take off in the morning, will you?’’ Emma asked later as they ate dinner in the hotel dining room.

‘It’s hard to tell,’ Stephen said. ‘The runway itself seems hard enough. If the rain stops soon and skies clear during the night I should be able to get away. But I want to be with you when you see your brother. Before I leave, I need to know that you’ve found him all right. What you told me last night about Hope Farm and Patrick Coltrane was awful. Sometimes things like that can leave scars for life.’

He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of you worrying about anything anymore, Emma. Heaven knows, you’ve suffered enough. You’ve carried so much on your shoulders alone, and for so long. Now, I want you to let me share the load.’

‘Stephen, you promised last night not to complicate things.’

‘And I won’t. But I’ll always need to know you’re happy and not wanting for anything.’

‘Mother and I have always managed to keep the wolf from the door. Bruce will be home with us soon, and I’ve managed to build up a good business which will look after us all. We can’t ask for much more.’

‘About this account Uncle Leonard set up.’ Stephen took his hand from hers and offered her wine. Emma declined and he filled his own glass. ‘You will allow me to increase the amount?’

‘Why? I don’t need it. Every penny that’s been deposited is still sitting there in the bank, plus interest.’

‘But you promise to use it if there’s anything Christopher ever needs.’

‘Yes.’

Stephen took a sip of wine and stared thoughtfully into the glass. After a moment he said, ‘Emma, I know I have no right to ask. But has there been anyone else?’

‘Yes, there has.’ Emma saw Stephen’s jaw tighten. ‘And he’s a wonderful man. He’s always worked with the poor, the unemployed and the underprivileged. He helped me cope emotionally when I’d hit rock bottom, when I was homeless, unmarried, and pregnant. He never offered me any material things. He never could. He’s never had a brass razoo to his name. But over the years he was always there when I needed someone, helping in any way he could. He was there the night Christopher was born on a back porch in Redfern, and he was a father to him when I was too busy working to be a proper mother. He’s what the authorities call a troublemaker. And yesterday I saw him sent to jail for standing up for what he believes in.’ A slight waver had crept into Emma’s voice. ‘I only wish that I could love him the way I know he loves me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But that would make life too easy, wouldn’t it?’

*

Emma lay awake in her bed. The rain eased sometime after midnight and soon after stopped completely. The silence that followed seemed more deafening than the rain pounding on the roof.

When she came upstairs with Stephen after dinner, they had stood outside on the veranda and talked, even though they were both dog-tired. When she said she must say goodnight and go to bed, they were suddenly in each others arms and kissing. But before the inevitable could happen, Emma quickly went to her room and Stephen went to his.

Emma expected to sleep the moment her head touched the pillow. But her mind wouldn’t allow it. She thought of Bruce and how their meeting would be the next day. And she thought of Jack and wondered how much time it would take to fill the void in her heart. Then she thought of Patrick Coltrane and of how one man could inflict such pain on her family. And she wondered if Stephen, like her, couldn’t find sleep, and whether he would come to her during the night. It was when she was thinking of Stephen, and hoping he would come, that at last she fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The rain had cleared by morning. After an early breakfast Emma and Stephen took the town taxi to Harmony’s sixty acres. When they arrived, the gate across the track leading in was still closed. But Stephen paid the driver and when the car drove off, Emma took his hand and they picked their way down through the puddles to the house, where they sat on the veranda to wait.

A little over an hour later a stock truck turned into the property. Emma and Stephen stood up and watched it drive up to the house. When it stopped in the yard two men stepped out of the cab. Both were tall and lean and wore broad-brimmed hats. One wore a patch over his right eye. Emma’s heart sank when she saw no sign of a young boy.

‘Can I help you, miss?’ The man with the patch asked. ‘I’m Harmony Jones.’

‘Mr Jones,’ Emma said quickly. ‘I’m Emma McKenna. Don’t you remember me? I…’

‘Emma…?’

It was the second man who spoke. His face slowly broke into a wide grin as he took off his broad-brimmed hat, tossed it aside and bounded towards her. Emma’s face was a picture of sheer delight and amazement as she recognized her brother and marveled at how much he had grown.

Bruce reached Emma in a few giant strides and he flung his big arms round her, lifting her off her feet and swinging her high in the air.

‘Oh, Emma,’ he cried out ecstatically, ‘I’d just about given up all hope of ever seeing you again.’

*

The runway at the airfield was elevated just enough to ensure it drained well and Stephen took off shortly before midday into a clear blue sky. Seeing Emma so happy had lifted his spirits and he would have liked to have stayed at the one-eyed horse trader’s farm a little longer to share her joy. But when Emma’s elation turned to outrage as Bruce’s story unfolded, he and Harmony had left brother and sister alone to share their family’s personal grief.

Outside on the veranda, Harmony told Stephen of how he had come to hear of the twins’ plight from Braithewaite’s clerk and of how he’d taken the law into his own hands and taken Bruce and Strickland off Hope Farm. He had also told Stephen of his haunting fear that he might have killed Brother Lucas in the process.

Stephen looked down at the vast landscape beneath him. How peaceful and tranquil it all looked from high in the air. He pondered how the radiant face of the land belied any trace of the complex and troublesome lives of the people who lived in its shadows. He turned his eyes to the pristine brightness of the wide blue sky above him and wished he could remain aloft forever.

He was not looking forward to returning to Sydney and was glad his late departure from Goondiwindi prevented him from arriving there in daylight. Because of that, he had decided earlier to put down in Port Macquarie and spend the night at his uncle Leonard’s home.

*

Harmony cooked corned beef and cabbage for the evening meal.

‘It was a chance in a million seeing Snakeoil in Sydney,’ he said afterwards as he sat around the kitchen table sharing a pot of tea with Emma and Bruce.

‘Hearing him you mean,’ Emma said, smiling. ‘Who could mistake that voice?’

Harmony shook his head. ‘Snakeoil only goes to Sydney once a year when his hotel wine and spirit wholesaler pays his way down there. And I doubt he ever misses the opportunity to flap his face in front of a crowd in Hyde Park.’

Emma laid her hand over Harmony’s. ‘I’m just so grateful for everything, Mr Jones…’

‘It’s Harmony, Emma,’ Harmony said sternly. ‘How many times do I have to tell you. And besides, I only did what your father would have expected of me. The ones to thank are your Aunt Laura and Gerald Braithewaite.’

‘I only wish I could thank Mr Braithewaite,’ Emma said sadly, ‘but I’ll telephone Aunt Laura before we leave for Sydney and thank her.’

‘You better hope Uncle Patrick doesn’t answer the phone,’ Bruce said quickly. ‘And be careful. Don’t breathe a word about this place. You never know. The police may still be looking for Harmony and me.’

‘I hear your uncle spends most of his time in Canberra these days, Emma,’ Harmony said. ‘I suppose you’ve read in the newspapers how important he’s made himself down there. He’s got a lot of support around the country on account of his communist and Aborigine bashing.’ Harmony drained his tea cup. ‘Some folk say he’ll finish up in Joe Lyons’ cabinet.’

‘Heaven forbid,’ Emma said. She poured more tea. ‘Now, let’s not talk about Patrick Coltrane. He’s someone I would just as soon forget.’

*

Stephen landed in Port Macquarie just before sunset. By the time he had seen to the plane and reached Leonard’s house it was dark. Mrs Bennett’s face beamed when she answered the front door bell and found Stephen standing outside.

‘Oh, Mr Stephen. What a lovely surprise.’

Stephen grinned and kissed the elderly housekeeper on the cheek.. ‘Hello Mrs B. Am I in time for dinner?’

‘Stephen, how nice to see you.’ Leonard Fairchild appeared in the hallway from an adjoining room. He looked tanned and relaxed in an open-necked shirt and white cotton slacks. ‘Your aunt is visiting friends in Coffs Harbor and I was just about to sit down to dinner alone. Now I have an excuse to open some decent wine.’

‘You really should have let us know you were coming,’ Leonard said as they entered the dining room. ‘It would give Mrs B a chance to prepare your room and fuss over you with some fancy cooking. How long will you be staying?’

‘Just until the morning.’

‘Oh dear, young people these days never seem to have time to relax and enjoy themselves,’ Leonard said as they sat down. ‘Now, is there any special reason for your visit?’

‘I want to talk to you about Emma McKenna.’

‘Emma McKenna?’ Leonard paused, as if testing his memory. ‘What about her?’

‘There’s no need to pretend, Uncle Leonard. I know about the child and I know about the bank account.’

Leonard looked Stephen square in the eye.

‘How?’

‘She’s become a successful businesswoman in Sydney. I saw her picture in a newspaper and went to see her,’

‘She’s a remarkable woman, Stephen.’ Leonard poured wine. ‘Have you talked to your father about this?’

‘You know I can’t talk to him. That’s why I came here to see you.’

Leonard smiled. ‘Now you’ve seen her again, how do you feel about her?’

‘I still love her.’

‘And how does she feel?’

‘I’m sure she feels the same way.’

Leonard’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re not going to do anything silly are you, Stephen? That New Guard thing still hangs over your head. Eleanor is your only insurance policy, so don’t do anything to get her offside. Nothing would please that policeman Proudfoot more than to get some concrete evidence against you. Don’t go upsetting the applecart.’

Stephen sighed. ‘Emma made me promise the very same thing. But it’s all so damned hard. I’ve seen my son, you know. He’s the splitting image of me. And I want so much to be near him and Emma.’

‘But you can’t. You know that.’

‘Emma’s had such a terrible time. That bastard Patrick Coltrane, not only got the McKenna’s property for a song, but she holds him responsible for the death of one of her brothers. I just don’t want her to have to face everything alone as she’s always had to in the past.’

‘As I said before, Stephen,’ Leonard said somberly. ‘Emma is a remarkable woman. And somehow she’s always managed to look after herself and her family since she went to Sydney. But she hasn’t always been alone. You should know that. I’ve always stood ready to assist her if she ever needed help.’

‘I told you I know about the bank account.’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean other help.’

‘Has she ever needed any?’

‘Just once, and surprisingly, only just recently. She needed money for new equipment at her factory. She went to her bank. As you know I’m a director of the Imperial Bank and I’ve always left standing instructions for Emma’s needs to be looked after. It seems the manager of her branch is new and was never told to refer any matters relating to Emma to the main branch. But for some reason he did anyway and we were able to help her.’

‘I appreciate everything you’ve done, Uncle Leonard, ‘Stephen said sincerely. ‘For Emma and for me. I’m so glad it’s all in the open now and we can talk about it.’

‘It’s just as well you came when you did, Stephen. In a couple days I’ll be off to Canberra for several weeks—maybe months.’

‘Oh, what’s happening?’

‘I’ve been appointed to the Royal Commission into banking. It seems the government wants the banks and all financial institutions to be more accountable regarding disclosure of profits, financial statements, and internal monetary procedures. The commission is to delve into the affairs of the entire industry with a view to identifying ineffective procedures and improper practices. We also have to formulate a strict set of rules by which all the players will have to abide, or face being shut down by the Commonwealth Bank.’

‘It all sounds pretty boring to me, Uncle Leonard.’

Leonard laughed. ‘But it gives us old fogies something to do while you young blokes fly around the country enjoying yourselves in aero planes.’

*

Emma had accepted money from Stephen to cover expenses for the return journey to Sydney on condition he take the same amount from her wallet when he reached Mascot.

She had used some of the money to buy Bruce new shoes and a suit of clothes. Now, as they stood with Harmony waiting for the train at the Goondiwindi station, Emma couldn’t help but feel proud of the tall, tanned and erect young man who stood beside her. And she was amazed by how much he looked like their father.

Emma left the men on the platform and went inside the station to the public telephone.

‘I’d like the Coltrane residence at Augathella, please,’ she told the operator

There was a short silence while the operator searched for the number. ‘Is that on Essex Downs, Madam ?’

‘Yes, it is.’

When Emma heard a distant ringing tone she stepped closer to the wooden box and put her mouth up to the speaker. She breathed a sigh of relief when a female voice answered at the other end.

‘Coltrane residence.’ The voice was slow and deliberate.

Emma knew at once it was Mary.

‘This is Goondiwindi calling,’ the operator said. ‘I have a call from Emma McKenna. Hold the line please.’

Emma dropped the coins the operator required into the telephone.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, Miss Emma, it’s so good to hear your voice .’

‘How are you, Mary?’

‘I’m good, Miss Emma.’

‘And Beth?’

There was short pause. ‘Beth’s not here anymore, Miss Emma. Now wait on while I get Mrs Coltrane.’

Emma waited a few moments then heard Laura’s familiar voice. ‘Emma, is it really you? How are you?

‘I’m well. Aunt Laura.’

‘Where are you living now. Is your mother with you?’

‘Yes. She lives with me in Sydney.’

‘Is that where you are now?’

‘No. I’m in Queensland at a railway station near the New South Wales border,’ Emma said, not wanting to be too specific. ‘I just called to thank you for going to see Gordon Braithewaite when you did. It turned out that he did manage to ask someone to go to Hope Farm for the twins before he died ’

‘Oh, Emma, that’s marvelous. I’ve been worried for so long not hearing anything at all. I do wish you’d let me know before.’

‘I couldn’t. I never knew about it myself, until now. I’ve only just met up with Bruce after all these years. It’s all a bit complicated but I’ll explain it all to you some day.’

‘How is Bruce?’

‘He’s fine. He’s so tall I hardly recognized him.’

‘And Jack?’

Emma took a deep breath. ‘Jack’s dead, Aunt Laura.’

Emma heard Laura gasp and there was a short silence. ‘What happened?’ Laura asked after a few moments. ‘When did it happen?’

‘We don’t really know for certain what happened. But he drowned around the time you saw Bruce at Essex Downs.’

‘Oh, Emma…’ Laura started to sob. ‘I’m so sorry. I blame Patrick for all this. He never lifted a finger to help you after your father died. He just doesn’t care about family, not even his own. Now he’s in politics he’s never home. He’s away for weeks and weeks on end. And with Elliot gone, I’m just so lonely all the time. I…’

A loud whistle sounded as the train pulled into the station.

‘I’ll have to go Aunt Laura. And thanks again…’

‘Emma, please keep in touch. Where can I write to you?’

Emma hesitated for a moment then quickly gave Laura her address in Sydney. But before she hung up the receiver she said:

‘For Bruce’s sake Aunt Laura, you must promise me never to give our address to anyone.’

*

A strong offshore breeze had whipped up the usually calm waters of Botany Bay as Stephen brought his biplane in to land at Mascot. The first drops of rain from the threatening grey clouds overhead began to fall as he taxied toward the hanger. A storm was brewing and he was glad to be safely on the ground before it unleashed its fury.

As soon as Stephen tended to the airplane he hurried over to the office in the hanger. A young man got up from a paper-strewn desk and came over to the counter.

‘Welcome home, Mr Fairchild. Just got in before the blow, eh?’

Stephen grinned. ‘Yes... and Harry, I left a wallet on the counter here before I took off the other day. Have you got it?’

‘No worries, Mr Fairchild. We phoned your house soon after you left. Mrs Fairchild came and picked it up herself.’

Stephen headed grimly for his car. The sky outside the hanger was almost black now and it was raining heavily. He slipped behind the wheel of his Aston Martin and braced himself for a bigger storm at Kirribilli.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

‘You bastard!’

Eleanor’s tirade began before Stephen had even closed the front door behind him. ‘How dare you humiliate me like this.’ She stood in the hall at the foot of the stairs, dark eyes blazing, her hands on her hips.’

The housemaid polishing the floor at the end of the hall on her hands and knees, glanced fearfully at Stephen, then got up and scurried off to another room.

‘Humiliate you, Eleanor.’ Stephen replied softly, trying to defuse the situation. ‘In what way?’ He couldn’t remember ever seeing Eleanor so angry and knew her rage must have been building since the morning he left.

‘You know damn well what I mean,’ Eleanor shouted at the top of her voice. ‘It’s no use pretending, Stephen. I know all about the McKenna woman. It was all in the wallet. Her name, her address, the name of the grotty little clothing firm she runs. There was even a business card of yours in it which must have been years old. Don’t you think you had better tell me how long its been going on?’

Stephen said nothing. He quickly crossed the hall and brushed past her, heading upstairs to change his clothes. She hurried up the stairs behind him.

‘I know where the two of you have been. They gave me the details of your flight plan at Mascot when I was there. And Goondiwindi is a small town. It wasn’t hard to find out where the two of you stayed.’

Stephen remained silent, But Eleanor refused to be ignored.

‘No wonder we never make love. All the extra hours you were supposedly working at chambers were really spent with that common slut from Waterloo, weren’t they?

Stephen stopped on the landing and turned around. When he had arrived home all he had wanted was to stay calm and avoid an ugly scene. Now it was all he could do to contain his own rage.

‘Don’t you dare call her a slut’ he snapped angrily. ‘She has more quality and breeding in her little finger than you’ll ever have in your entire body.’

Eleanor stepped up onto the landing beside Stephen. She was seething with fury. She stood with her face just inches from his, nostrils flaring, her lips drawn tightly over her teeth. Stephen saw no hurt in her eyes, only hate.

‘So you don’t even deny it,’ Eleanor hissed. ‘You’re pathetic, Stephen. You’re defending the little harlot. Next, I suppose, you’ll tell me you’re in love with her.’

‘I am.’

His candor brought on a new wave of rage. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Eleanor shrieked. ‘I don’t care that you sleep with her, but…’

‘I don’t sleep with her.’

‘Don’t take me for a fool, Stephen. I knew there had to be someone.’

‘I could say the same for you.’

‘And you’d be right. There has been. And more than one. But I’ve always been discreet. And I’ve never been stupid enough to want anything more than sex.’

Exasperated, Stephen turned and walked down the landing to the bedroom. Eleanor followed him inside and slammed the door behind her.

‘Don’t you dare just walk away from me, Stephen Fairchild.’

‘What is it you want from me, Eleanor,’ Stephen demanded. ‘You knew I didn’t love you when we married. Now you tell me you’ve slept with half of Sydney. Why the pretence? Why carry on the charade?’

‘Our marriage is no charade, Stephen.’ She spoke more calmly now, trying hard to suppress her anger. ‘Our marriage is part and parcel of my social position in Sydney and I won’t allow your affair with such a woman to jeopardize it.’

‘What do you mean by "such a woman"?'

‘You know very well what I mean. I’ve made enquiries about her. It couldn’t be worse. It seems she has an illegitimate child and she’s been in the newspapers because of her involvement with communists and subversives. The clothing business she runs only employs riffraff and misfits from the slums, and worst of all she somehow manages to do business with Daddy’s department stores. How could you become involved with such a woman, Stephen? What if it all came to light?’

Stephen ignored the question. He took a suit of clothes off the rack in the wardrobe and tossed it on the bed, then opened a dresser drawer and took out a clean shirt and underwear.

‘Where is the wallet now?’ he asked.

‘I sent it to her house in Waterloo by taxi.’

‘With everything in it?’

‘Yes. So there’s no need for you to go there again, is there? You do understand your little affair is now over, Stephen. You will never see this woman again, otherwise…’

‘Otherwise, what, Eleanor?’

Stephen began undressing to take a shower.

Eleanor opened the bedroom door to leave.

‘I think you know exactly what I mean, Stephen. You will play by my rules or you must accept the consequences.’

*

Soon after Laura had spoken with Emma on the telephone, Patrick Coltrane arrived home at Essex Downs unexpectedly after an absence of several weeks. When he entered the house he kissed Laura dutifully on the cheek then went straight upstairs to change.

‘We’ve been invited to Royston Silver’s home in Roma.’ Coltrane said as he climbed the staircase. ‘There’ll be some very important state and federal members of parliament there and I have it on good authority he’ll be unofficially announcing my appointment to the cabinet.’

‘But that’s wonderful for you, ’ Laura said without much enthusiasm.

‘There’ll be a lot of people there whose support I’m going to need in the months and years ahead,’ Coltrane called out from the landing. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you had your hair done and ordered some new clothes in the latest styles. It really is most important that we make a good impression.’

*

The train journey from Goondiwindi took nearly three days. Kathleen’s eyes welled with tears of joy when Bruce and Emma arrived home. Emma and Molly watched happily as Bruce rushed to his mother and knelt down beside her wheelchair to embrace her.

‘You look the image of your father the day I married him,’ Kathleen said when they drew apart. ‘He would have been so proud of you.’

Bruce remained on his knees. ‘You’re looking well too, Mother.’ He gently patted the blanket covering her legs. ‘Emma was telling me how lucky you are to have a good doctor so close at hand. It must make things so much easier for you.’

‘There’s not much Dr Longbothom can do for me, Bruce,’ Kathleen said skeptically. She looked up at Molly and smiled. ‘It’s Mrs Gallimore here that makes things easier for me.’

Molly shrugged off Kathleen’s praise. ‘I just do what the doctor tells me to do. I only wish I could do more.’

‘Has anyone been able to help at all?’ Bruce asked. ’Doctors seem to be coming up with new things all the time, even out in the bush.’

‘Dr Longbothom has been telling us about a Harley Street surgeon he knew when he worked at Guy’s Hospital in London,’ Emma said. ‘Apparently he’s been having some success treating patients with spinal chord injuries. Who knows? A cure may be just around the corner.’

‘Well, let’s all hope so,’ Molly said. ‘But while we’re waiting, I’ll go and make a nice pot of tea and butter some fresh scones.’

As Molly left the room she beckoned to Emma to follow her out to the kitchen.

‘Mr Lawrence called by early this morning,’ Molly said as she took a tray of hot scones from the oven. ‘He looked very worried. He said there were some problems down at the factory and for you to go there just as soon as you could. Oh, and yes, a taxi brought your wallet over to the house a couple of days ago. It seems you left it at the airfield in Mascot.’

Emma arrived at Sydney Styles within the hour. She found Neale the Nib pacing the floor in his office. The frown on his face changed to a fleeting smile when he looked up and saw her.

‘Thank heaven’s you’re here, Emma.’

‘What is it, Neale?’

‘This came yesterday.’ The bookkeeper went to his desk and picked up a telegram. He handed it to Emma. She froze when she read the message.

EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY STOP NO FURTHER SHIPMENTS OF GOODS FROM

SYDNEY STYLES WILL BE ACCEPTED STOP ALL ORDERS CANCELED UNTIL

FURTHER NOTICE STOP POSTLEWAITE MANAGER BOWES-SCOTT STORES

‘But why?’ Unable to believe what she was reading, Emma read the telegram again. ‘Have you contacted Postlewaite to find out what this is all about?’

Neale the Nib shook his head. ‘I’ve tried to reach him on the telephone. But they won’t put my calls through.’

Emma anxiously looked through the office window. All the machines were running and their operators were busy at their stations. Neale the Nib read her thoughts.

‘I thought it best to keep production running Emma, at least until we know what’s going on If we can’t deliver to Bowes-Scott we’ll still need stock to sell to new customers anyway.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I made a bad mistake when I suggested we supply Bowes-Scott exclusively, Emma. No one should ever put all their eggs in one basket.’

‘But we had no choice at the time, Neale.’ Emma put the telegram in her handbag. ‘I’ll go into town and see old Postlewaite. I’m sure we’ll be able to sort things out.’

An hour later, Postlewaite looked embarrassed when Emma walked straight into his office unannounced and laid the telegram down on his desk.

‘Mr Postlewaite, I think you owe me an explanation. Since you won’t speak with my accountant, I’ve come to hear it from you personally.’

‘I’m so sorry, Emma. In all my years with Bowes-Scott I’ve never been put in a situation like this before.’

‘What is the situation, Mr Postlewaite? Why have you terminated our standing orders?’

‘I was only following instructions.’

‘Whose instructions?’ Emma could see Postlewaite was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

‘I’m afraid they came from the very highest level.’

‘You mean from Mr Bowes-Scott.’

‘No, not directly. Mr Bowes-Scott is away on his yacht for a few days and can’t be reached. But I shall have him confirm his daughter’s instructions before they become final.’

‘His daughter’s instructions?’ Emma looked mystified.

‘Yes. I did say in the telegram that the orders were cancelled until further notice. I hope you understand the position I’ve been put in. Eleanor, is a very forceful and persuasive person. In her father’s absence, I could hardly ignore her directions.’

‘Eleanor…’ Emma eyebrows rose. ‘Is that Eleanor Bowes-Scott?’

‘It used to be. But when she married she became Eleanor Fairchild.’

*

Stephen found it much more difficult to keep his promise to Emma than it had been to give it. As each day went by he found it harder to concentrate on his work and easier to justify a reason to see her in spite of Eleanor’s threat of the consequences if he did.

It was late morning and Stephen stood in his office staring down at the street below. His eyes turned from the window to a stack of files on his desk that he had come in early to work on. Realizing he had spent the entire morning thinking of Emma, he moved to the desk and sat down. He opened the file at the top of the heap and began sifting through it but soon lost his concentration.

He knew Emma would have been back in Sydney for a couple of days by now. And Bruce would be getting to know his family again, including one member he’d never seen before. A lump came to Stephen’s throat when he thought of Christopher. He swallowed and gathered up the loose papers on the desk and put them back in the file. Five minutes later he was at the wheel of his car heading for Waterloo.

*

‘There’s a Mr Stephen Fairchild here to see you, Miss McKenna.’

Emma looked up in amazement when the girl from the front office made the announcement.

‘Very well,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Show him in please.’

Neale the Nib looked up in surprise from his books in the adjacent office. ‘Is that the Mr Fairchild, Emma?’

‘Yes, it is. Neale, would you mind if…?’

Neale the Nib laid his pen down, got up from his desk and made for the door. ‘I was just going out onto the factory floor to count some stock anyway,’

‘Stephen… you promised,’ Emma said coolly when he was shown into her office and the door was closed behind him.

‘I’m sorry, Emma. I just had to see you. I wanted to know you were back safely and that everything was alright. I wanted to…’

‘Well everything isn’t all right, Stephen,’ Emma said angrily. ‘You told your wife about us didn’t you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then why would she have all our contracts with Bowes-Scott cancelled?’

Stephen gasped. ‘She did what?’

‘We’ve always supplied Bowes-Scott exclusively. Now you’ve put my livelihood and the livelihood of everyone who works here in jeopardy. Unless we can find new customers, and soon, this business is finished.’ Emma reached for her handbag. ‘Since you’re here. I’ll give you the money you gave me in Goondiwindi. Thank you for sending my wallet to me.’

‘I didn’t send it.’ Stephen was trembling with rage. ‘The boys in the hangar assumed you were my wife and phoned the house to say it was in safekeeping. Eleanor went down there and got it. Of course, there were things in it which identified you.’ He began pacing the floor. ‘My God, Emma, I didn’t think she would be this vindictive.’

Emma looked alarmed ‘She hasn’t done anything else has she? I mean…’

‘No, just threatened to if I ever saw you again.’

‘Then why are you here?.’ Emma went to the office door and opened it. ‘You must go now Stephen. Please, go.’

*

Stephen’s anger subsided as he drove back into the city and he began to make plans. First, he went to his bank and spent an hour with the manager making a number of changes to his financial arrangements. Afterwards he went back to his office, hastily wrote some brief letters, then carefully drew up several legal documents. He called a clerk into his office, had the documents witnessed, then went back to the bank and locked them safely in his safety deposit box. Then he drove home. The maid told him Eleanor had left earlier in the afternoon to play tennis at her club. Stephen went upstairs, quickly packed two suitcases, carried them downstairs to the car and drove away.

It was after four o’clock when Stephen found Eleanor sipping pink gin in the members’ lounge of her tennis club in North Sydney. The good-looking young man in whites sitting with her found an immediate reason to leave the room the moment Stephen walked in.

‘Do you know what you’ve done, Eleanor?’ Stephen said, his voice loud enough to be heard at nearby tables.

Eleanor’s face flushed. ‘What on earth are you talking about, Stephen? And please keep your voice down.’

‘I’m talking about Sydney Styles’ contracts with Bowes-Scott,’ Stephen said without changing his tone. ‘Your vindictiveness could close that factory down.’

Not everyone in the room was looking at Eleanor but she knew every ear was tuned in.

‘You should have thought of that before you had your little fling, darling,’ she rasped in a barely audible voice. She got up quickly and walked toward the door.

Stephen followed her as she hurried across the lounge. When she didn’t stop after he called her name in the foyer he gripped her tightly by both arms, forcing her to stand still.

‘Stephen, your hurting me,’ she hissed through her teeth. Eleanor looked around the foyer self-consciously. ‘What on earth is the matter with you? Have you been drinking? Now, let go of me and leave me alone.’

‘I’ll leave you alone alright, ’ Stephen said forcefully. ‘I’m leaving you forever.’

‘Are you going to leave me for your little slut and her illegitimate brat?’ she taunted. Her lips curled into a cruel smile. ‘I think not, Stephen. You’re just petulant at the moment. Did she come crying to you, poor thing? I hope you had the strength to tell her it was all over.’

‘It’s not all over, Eleanor. But it is all over between us. We’re finished as of this moment.’ Stephen relaxed his grip on her arms. Before he walked away he said: ‘And that illegitimate brat you mentioned is my son.’

*

One thing Eleanor had learned in her years of marriage to Stephen was that, like most good lawyers he never made important decisions without thinking them through. And once his mind was made up on something there was little chance of him changing it.

But that night as she sat alone at the dinner table, drinking glass after glass of red wine without even touching her food, she still desperately hoped, in spite of everything, that Stephen’s motorcar might pull up into the driveway.’

At nine o’clock she hadn’t moved from the table, there was still no sign of Stephen and her conciliatory mood had gradually changed to one of righteous self-pity. By ten o’clock her mood changed again as she paced the drawing room floor in an alcohol-inflamed rage, bent on inflicting as much pain and suffering on Stephen as she possibly could. Then, around midnight, when she was so drunk she could hardly stand, she telephoned the police.

‘Detective Inspector Proudfoot, please.’

‘I think he’s already gone, Madam,’ the police operator replied, then added quickly. ‘Oh, hold on, I’ll catch him. He’s just going out the door now.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Everyone in the house was asleep when the front door bell rang persistently around 5.00 am. Molly and Emma emerged from their rooms onto the landing at the same time and hurried downstairs together. When they opened the door they found two men standing on the porch outside. One was a tall and well dressed and the other was an overweight graying man of about fifty.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Proudfoot of the New South Wales Police,’ the older man announced loudly. He waved some papers in the air in front of him. ‘I have here a warrant for the arrest of Stephen Fairchild. I have reason to believe he may be on these premises.’

Suddenly, Emma was wide awake. ‘There is no one here by that name,’ she said quickly.

‘Then you won’t mind us taking a look around. You are Emma McKenna, I take it?’ Proudfoot waved the papers again. ‘I do have a search warrant, Miss McKenna and I should warn you it is an offence to attempt to harbor a fugitive.’

‘I’ve told you there is nobody here by that name, Inspector.’ Emma opened the front door wide. ‘But if you insist on searching my house, then do so.’

*

A distant voice woke Eleanor from a fitful sleep just before midday. She opened her eyes slowly, her head pounding from too much wine. For a few moments she was unable to think clearly. Then she groaned as she remembered her actions of the night before.

‘Your father is downstairs,’ Mrs Fairchild. ‘He says he must speak with you immediately.’

Eleanor focused her bleary eyes on her maid standing beside the bed.

‘What shall I tell him, Mrs Fairchild?’

Eleanor swung her long legs over the side of the bed. ‘Tell him I’ll be down soon.’

William Bowes-Scott paced briskly up and down the drawing room. His immaculately tailored Italian suit flattered his short overweight frame. When Eleanor entered the room, one look at her father’s flushed face told her his visit was not going to be a pleasant one.

Bowes-Scott stopped pacing the floor. ‘What have you done, Eleanor? I go away for a few days and all hell breaks loose. Fenton phoned me early this morning. The police have been at his house looking for Stephen. They had a warrant for his arrest in connection with a New Guard matter from years ago. Apparently a senior police officer said you had given him new information. My God, Eleanor, Fenton was fit to be tied. He said he’ll sue. Why have you been so damn stupid?’

‘Because Stephen’s been having an affair, Daddy,’ Eleanor said petulantly.

‘So what? Lots of people have affairs. That doesn’t mean you go raking up muck from the past and involving the police.’

‘But he refused to stop seeing her.’ Eleanor said defensively. ‘And she’s nothing but a slut with an illegitimate child which Stephen had the gall to admit was his. Oh, Daddy, he made me so angry. It’s so humiliating. What would happen if it all came out in the open?’

‘Why would it? Stephen’s married to you. Why would he tell anyone? But thanks to you, everyone will know everything soon enough.’ Bowes-Scott walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff whiskey. He took a long swallow.

Eleanor walked over and stood beside her father. ‘Daddy,’ she said softly, seeking atonement. ‘I’m so sorry. But when Stephen told me he was leaving me yesterday, I just wanted to punish him. And punish her.’

‘Punish her?’ Bowes Scott poured more whiskey. ‘What else have you done, Eleanor?’

‘It’s all so embarrassing, Daddy. This woman of Stephen’s does business with Bowes-Scott stores. Or at least she used to, until I told Postlewaite to cancel her contracts.’

‘So that’s what this Sydney Styles thing is all about. Postlewaite telephoned me this morning. I told him to resume trading with that firm immediately. Their lines have always been profitable for us. Damn it, Eleanor, profits feed us, clothe us, and pay our taxes. Profits pay for expensive wedding presents like this house. It’s of no consequence who we deal with as long as we make money. I would happily trade with the devil himself if I could turn a profit.’

Eleanor pouted. ‘Even at the expense of my feelings and humiliation in front of my friends?’

‘Your feelings do not dictate how I run my business, Eleanor.’ Bowes-Scott snapped. ‘And we won’t have many friends that matter left after what you done to Stephen. It took my father and grandfather over half a century to lift our family out of the gutter and have us accepted into Sydney’s old money establishment. But now, it’s only taken you a couple days to have us turfed out on our ear. People of quality close ranks quickly when one of their own is betrayed.’

Bowes-Scott turned and walked stiffly from the room. Eleanor hurried after him.

‘Has Stephen been arrested yet?’ she asked as her father crossed the hall.

‘Not yet,’ Bowes-Scott said without looking back. ‘It seems he’s disappeared into thin air.’

As it happened, Stephen really was in thin air. He was thousands of feet above the Arafura Sea, off the northern coast of Australia aboard a Qantas/Imperial Airways flight bound for Singapore and London on the recently established Australia-England air trunk route.

*

Patrick Coltrane and Laura left Essex Downs on a crisp but sunny Saturday morning to spend the weekend as house guests of Royston and Hanna Silver. By early afternoon they had driven the hundred or so miles to Roma and when they arrived at the Silver’s rambling home on the edge of town it was already a hive of activity.

After the couple had been shown to their room Coltrane was quick to join a group of gentlemen already imbibing at a bar in a marquee set up in the garden. Laura joined a group of ladies helping Mrs Silver prepare for the afternoon garden party.

‘What a pity Elliot and Victoria are not coming today, Laura,’ Hanna Silver said when the two women found a moment to chat. ‘I was so hoping we would get the chance to see them both, and our grandson.’

‘I was too, Hanna ,’ Laura said sadly. ‘I haven’t seen them for ages. I do think they should try a little harder to spend more time with their parents, particularly with Royston and Patrick away so much.’

Hanna Silver smiled resignedly.’ But it’s important work our husbands do, Laura. We have to make allowances. Heaven knows the public don’t realize the sacrifices our country’s leaders have to make.’

Outside in the marquee Coltrane and Silver had managed to separate themselves from the crowd at the bar to have a private chat together over a cold beer.

‘Peebles at Victorian Mercantile still looking after you all right, Royston?’

‘My word, yes. I’ve never made such handsome returns on investments in my life.’ Silver put an arm around Coltrane’s shoulder. ‘Can’t thank you enough for that, Patrick.’

Coltrane took a long swallow of beer. ‘My pleasure, Royston, my pleasure.’

‘One good turn deserves another.’ Silver smiled knowingly. ‘I have something to announce later on that I think you’re going to like.’

Coltrane returned the smile. He’s done it, he thought. A place in Lyons’ cabinet. The old bugger has really done it.

Silver made the expected announcement in the marquee later in the afternoon. As the applause died down following the news that he and other powerbrokers had successfully persuaded Prime Minister Lyons to appoint Coltrane to federal cabinet, Silver stunned everyone with another announcement.

‘My friends and fellow Queenslanders. I see the appointment of Senator Coltrane not only as an improvement of our state’s abysmal representation in federal cabinet and the national decision making process, but also as an opportunity to prepare a strong and capable Queenslander for the highest office in the land—that of Prime Minister of Australia.’

A murmur ran through guests in the marquee. Royston Silver smiled at Coltrane and beckoned him to come and stand beside him. Coltrane obliged, grinning from ear to ear.

‘I can tell you now,’ Silver continued, ‘that I have support at the highest level for Senator Coltrane to run for that office should Prime Minister Lyons health not allow him to continue on after next year’s general election.

The partisan crowd clapped enthusiastically. Silver turned to Coltrane.

‘Senator Coltrane will of course, according to tradition, have to vacate his Senate seat and win a seat in the House of Representatives prior to becoming a prime ministerial candidate. The party will of course offer him a safe seat. All that is required now is for Senator Coltrane to accept our proposal.’

*

Laura went to bed soon after the first guests began to disperse to their homes or to hotel rooms in the town. Coltrane remained celebrating with Silver and a hard core of drinkers until very late.

Before going to bed Laura and Hanna Silver had arranged to go to mass together early the next morning. The church in town was within easy walking distance and they set off to worship on foot, well before either of their husbands were up and about.

After the service, the congregation stood about chatting in small groups outside the church. It was while Hanna was engaged in conversation with a group of friends that Laura saw a barefoot half-caste Aboriginal woman walking down the other side of the street with a young boy in tow. Laura couldn’t see her face because she was too far away. But there was something about the way the Aboriginal carried herself which reminded her of Beth. Laura looked again. The woman was much heavier than Beth had ever been at Essex Downs. But Laura was sure it was her.

She turned quickly to Hanna Silver. ‘I’m going down the street for a moment, Hanna. I think I just saw someone I know. You go on ahead if I’m not back in just a few minutes.’

Hanna Silver nodded her head without missing a word of the conversation she was engaged in. Laura hurried off down the street. By now Beth and the child were nearly a hundred yards away. Laura walked as fast as she could but they seemed to be gaining on her. She tried to go faster but her Sunday-best outfit was just not made for running.

Laura was tempted to call out Beth’s name but she was too far away. Soon Beth and the child were out of the pleasant residential area where the church was located. After a few minutes they turned into a lane lined with commercial buildings and a few run-down shacks near the town’s abattoir. Laura saw Beth open the door of one of the shacks and go inside.

An old stock-truck smelling of manure was parked outside the shack. It bore the marking, ROMA ABATTOIR. A thin mangy dog lying on the doorstep paid no attention when Laura knocked on the door.

‘Get the bloody door, Beth,’ a loud voice inside the hovel called out.

Moments later the door half-opened. A gagging stench wafted outside, a mixture of stale beer, body odor and cigarette smoke. And standing just inside the doorway was Beth. A little boy clung to her, his face obscured by her skirt. Laura looked at Beth in amazement.

Her face was no longer pretty. It was fat, blemished and puffy. Her two front teeth were missing and there were bloody blotches in the whites of her eyes. She wore a filthy ragged dress and beneath it her once well-rounded figure had bloated into gross obesity.

Beth looked at Laura in utter disbelief.

‘Mrs Coltrane,’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing here.’ She put a protective hand around the child and pushed his face further into her skirt.

Before Laura could reply the loud voice called out again. ‘Beth, you bitch, where are the bloody fags?’

‘On top of the stove, Jacko.’

‘Oh, Beth, ‘Laura said softly. ‘Was it so bad for you at Yallambee? Is this what you ran away for?’

‘No, but it’s all I got, Mrs Coltrane.’ Beth’s voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I couldn’t stay on at Yallambee. And I never knew when I came to Roma I’d finish up being used and abused by Jacko.’

‘Who the hell’s here?’

Suddenly the door was kicked wide open. And there was Jacko, the half-caste Aboriginal cattle haulier, clad only in filthy underwear, a bottle of beer in one hand and a lighted cigarette in the other. He was swaying on his feet, so drunk he could hardly stand. He took a long swallow of beer, then squinted at Laura, trying to focus his hazy bloodshot eyes. They sprung wide open the instant he recognized her.

‘Bloody hell. You’re the Coltrane woman from Essex Downs.’ Jacko took another swig of beer and drew hard on the cigarette. Suddenly he looked afraid. ‘I done nothin’ wrong, Missus. Beth told me she was free to leave your place. Said she had a half-caste exemption permit. Hell, I didn’t even know she was havin’ a kid.’

The blood drained from Laura’s face. ‘You were pregnant when you left Yallambee, Beth?’

Beth lowered her eyes.

Laura looked down at the boy. His face was still pressed tight against Beth’s belly. She reached out and gently took him by the shoulder. The boy turned his head and looked up at her. When Laura saw his face and his familiar, unmistakable features she almost fainted.

*

‘I have spoken with Mr Bowes-Scott himself, Mr Lawrence. My instructions are to apologize for any inconvenience and to ask you to resume shipments to our stores as soon as you possibly can.’

Neale the Nib could hardly believe his ears.

‘Thank you, Mr Postlewaite. I’ll advise Miss McKenna just as soon as she comes in.’ He put the telephone receiver back in it’s cradle and let out a whoop.

He broke the good news to Emma when she came in from canvassing for new accounts. Her response was more restrained.

‘That’s wonderful, Neale,’ she said as she walked through into her own office. ‘But this whole affair has left a bad taste in my mouth. In future we’ll no longer restrict ourselves to supplying Bowes-Scott exclusively.’

Emma sat down at her desk and wondered what had caused the change of heart at Bowes-Scott. But having heard no more from Stephen or the police, she was more concerned at what might have happened to him. Her thoughts were still on Stephen an hour later when the telephone rang.

‘Sydney Styles,’ Emma answered the call herself.

‘May I speak with Miss McKenna, please.’

‘Speaking.’

‘Oh, Miss Mckenna, it’s Leonard Fairchild. I was wondering if I could meet with you.’

‘For what reason, Mr Fairchild?’ Is Stephen all right?’

‘I’d rather not talk on the telephone. Can we meet somewhere ?’

‘Yes. Where we met last time. I can be there in half an hour.’

*

‘Europe?’ Emma was stunned. ‘Stephen’s gone to Europe?’

Emma sat beside Leonard on the low wall surrounding Redfern Park.

‘He telephoned me just minutes before he left,’ Leonard said. ‘He didn’t say anything about leaving the country. Just that his situation had become impossible and that he would have to go away for a time. He asked me to go to his office and tell his father, and also to pick up the key to his bank safety deposit box and collect some documents. Some of them concern you, my dear, that’s why I telephoned you.’

Leonard reached into his coat pocket and drew out a large brown envelope.

‘When did you see Stephen last, Mr Fairchild?’ Emma asked as Leonard opened the envelope.

‘Quite recently,’ Leonard replied. ‘He stayed overnight at Port Macquarie on his way home from Goondiwindi. We had a long chat about everything. I was so sorry to hear about your brother. It seems Patrick Coltrane has a lot to answer for.’

Emma was surprised Stephen had discussed Hope Farm with his uncle but made no comment. Instead she said, ‘Stephen told you, of course, that he knows everything—about our child, and the money, and what brought on all this trouble.’

‘Oh, yes. All except Eleanor finding out about you both. He told me that on the phone from the airport.’

Leonard took some papers out of the brown envelope.

‘Miss McKenna, I have here…’

‘Please call me, Emma. I think Stephen would prefer it.’ .

Leonard smiled. ‘And I think he would like you to call me, Leonard. Now, Emma, I have here a power of attorney executed by Stephen. He has requested that during his absence I look after his affairs. And he has also given me signing authority on his bank accounts and instructed me to set up a substantial trust account for Christopher and to transfer more funds to the original account I set up for you so long ago.’ He has also made you and Christopher beneficiaries of his life insurance policies. And …’

‘But none of this is necessary, Leonard.’

Leonard shrugged. ‘I’m only doing what Stephen has asked me to do, Emma. Please think of me as your friend. And as a friend, please let me know if there is anything I can do for you at any time. I shall be away in Canberra and elsewhere for some time, but I have asked my wife and Mrs B to let you know where I can be contacted at all times.’

Leonard took a small white envelope from the papers in his hand. It was sealed and had Emma’s name written on the front. Leonard handed the letter to Emma and rose to leave.

Emma waited until she was at home alone in her room before she opened Stephen’s letter.

Dear Emma,

By now you will have spoken to Uncle Leonard. I know how independent you

are, but if you can accept and allow what I have asked him to do it will give me

so much peace of mind.

I hope you don’t think my running away is cowardly. But after finding you

again, and seeing Christopher, I knew I couldn’t trust myself to keep my promise

to stay out of your lives. And I realized I could never go on living the lie of my

marriage to Eleanor, even if it meant going to prison.

I hope what I have done will turn out for the best. Because whatever is best for

you and Christopher, will always be best for me.

All my love,

Stephen

PART FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Emma saw Bill regularly during the winter of 1936, somehow managing to take time out from her long exhausting days at the factory. On each visit she noticed a growing despondency and resentment of his incarceration at a time when his worst fears were unfolding in the world outside the prison walls.

The news from Europe was all bad. In May, the conquest of Abyssinia was completed by Italian fascist forces. In July, there were political assassinations in Spain, swiftly followed by a military revolt. Rebel army officers led by General Franco, the commander of the Spanish Colonial Army in North Africa, staged bloody uprisings in Morocco and Spain against the socialist Republican Government and airlifted the entire North African army to Spain.

When they landed, hardened Spanish Foreign Legionnaire’s were ordered by the rebel generals to execute communists, socialists and trade unionists leaders. When the insurgents were defeated by government forces in Madrid and Barcelona, Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini sent the rebels massive shipments of arms and munitions and the massacre of everyone who stood in their way began in earnest.

Bill and his friends in the Anti-Fascist League knew that the curtain had been drawn on a bloody conflagration which might well eventually engulf the entire world. The only hope was swift and decisive action against the fascist forces by the world’s major powers.

But hopes of anti-fascists around the world were dashed in late September when Britain, fearing a repeat of the Great War and the loss of substantial commercial interests in Spain, pressured Europe’s major powers to endorse a policy of non-intervention in the Spanish Civil War. That policy was supported wholeheartedly by isolationists in the United States..

Bill was released from Long Bay Jail at the end of September on the very day General Franco was appointed Commander-In-Chief and Head of State of what the rebels called the Nationalist Spanish Government. That night Bill announced to a small celebratory gathering at Emma’s house, that he intended to joined a group of Australian volunteers planning to fight in Spain for the Republic.

Transportation arrangements had to be made quickly. Already the Commonwealth was planning to stop Australian volunteers by bringing in a Foreign Enlistment Act which would prohibit anyone from volunteering to fight in Spain, under penalty of two years jail. All new passports were to be stamped, ‘Not valid for Spain’ and persons required to sign passport applications such as clergymen, doctors or professional people were warned they might commit an offence if they knowingly signed applications from Spanish war volunteers. Father O’Brien was reluctant to sign Bill’s passport application, but finally agreed in deference to Bill’s well-being and safety rather than his own.

Bill told Emma he had no idea when he would leave. The Anti-Fascist League and the Communist party made travel arrangements for most volunteers and to protect themselves and the volunteers, travel arrangement were only disclosed a few hours before a ship sailed.

Emma, Bill and Christopher had just returned from a Sunday afternoon spent aboard a harbor ferry when a league member called at Emma’s house to say Bill’s ship sailed at six o'clock the next morning. After dinner, Emma and Bill sat alone together on the living room sofa and talked. She made a last effort to make him change his mind.

‘Why is it young men always want to go off to war?’ she said sadly. She took his hand in hers. ‘Please… don’t waste your life.’

She had asked the same of him when he had first announced he was volunteering. Her protests had just been a reaction to the temporarily loss of a friend, but since then she had paid more attention to newspaper reports of the terrible bloodbath in Spain..

‘I’m not so young,’ Bill said. ‘Most countries wouldn’t send a man my age to the front, especially one with a game leg. But I’m not going to war for Australia or Spain. I’m going to war for myself, and for men like me around the world—once proud men, degraded and humiliated by years of depression and forced to watch their families go to bed cold and hungry.’

‘But why risk yourself, Bill? It’s not worth it. It’s just another damn war.’

‘Its not just another war, Emma. This time there are no marching bands playing patriotic tunes. No politicians urging other people’s sons to sacrifice themselves on the beaches at Gallipoli or in the trenches of Flanders. And there are no young girls giving white feathers to the young blokes who refuse to go.’

‘Then why go? One man can’t make a difference.’

‘It would make a difference to me,’ Bill said solemnly. ‘I can’t turn my back on all I believe in and on everyone else who’s going. And I don’t just mean those from Sydney or Melbourne, but blokes from places like Liverpool in England, Saskatoon in Canada. Pittsburg in America or Marseilles in France. They all see this as a place where they can make a difference. What would happen if we all stayed at home?’

Emma looked into Bill’s eyes and knew she could never change his mind.

Bill moved to get up. ‘Well, I’d best be getting back to my digs. It’s almost midnight. I have to leave by five o’clock.’

Before he could get up Emma reached for him and kissed him gently on the mouth. He drew her closer and they kissed again. For a long time they clung to each other, as they never had before. Eventually Emma pulled away and stood up. When Bill rose to his feet she took his hand and pressed it to her breast.

‘Stay with me tonight, Bill,’ she whispered. When he opened his mouth to speak she covered it with her other hand. ‘There’s no need to say anything. There’s no time left for talk.’

She took his hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom. The whole house was already asleep. Without a word they undressed and slipped into bed. Bill gently explored her body for the first time, then he gently but urgently made love to her, cherishing the unexpected moment. His happiness was her joy and she made love to him willingly and ardently without the need to whisper promises of love or commitment.

Afterward they lay in each others arms, silently and sleeplessly. Emma lay so close to Bill she could hear his heart beating. Lying in the darkness she wondered how fate could be so cruel, allowing her to respect and admire a man so much, yet deny her the fulfillment of falling in love.

Just before four they rose to face the day. Emma switched on a bedside lamp. As Bill dressed she went to her wardrobe. At the end of the clothes rack was her father’s old Light Horseman’s uniform. From the shelf above it she took down the emu-plumed broad-brimmed hat.

It was still dark when Bill stepped out the front door onto the porch. The street outside was deserted. He drew a deep breath and tried to smile. Emma pushed her father’s hat into his hands.

‘Wear this in Spain,’ she said. ‘I know my father would want you to. It will let them know Australians care enough to send them our very best. Wear it with pride for all of us.’

Bill hugged Emma tightly. Then he was gone.

*

Since the brief period when Bowes-Scott stores had cancelled their standing orders, demand for Sydney Styles’ products had soared as employment and consumer confidence slowly increased in the wake of the Depression. But five years of endless work, day in and day out, had taken its toll on Emma. She had never felt so run down and exhausted in her life.

Not only had business increased from Bowes-Scott, but Marshall’s Stores, a large Sydney clothier Emma had solicited at the time of the crises, had begun placing large orders. And David Jones, although they had not ordered yet, had shown keen interest in Sydney Styles’ products. Now every square foot of factory floor space was in use. More workers were hired and more equipment was purchased. And Emma was pleasantly surprised at just how willing the bank was to accommodate her every financial need.

Neale the Nib and Emma still worked every waking hour but they each ignored the other’s advice to ease up. Bruce had helped out at the factory since the day after he arrived in Sydney. Having his strong back to help in shipping and receiving was a godsend. But although he worked long and hard and had never said a word about returning to Queensland, Emma knew his heart and mind were still in the bush. And she knew that, like Stephen and Bill, he too would eventually leave her and Sydney far behind.

Emma often thought fondly of Bill and she tried not to read the worsening reports in the newspapers of the carnage in Spain. She heard no word at all from Stephen but he was never far from her mind. It made her bitter that the Depression had driven them both into exile.

Emma was at her desk and thinking of Stephen one day when Kathleen phoned to say they had an unexpected visitor. When Emma asked who the visitor was Kathleen wouldn’t say. All she said was that Emma must come home right away and be sure to bring Bruce with her.

When Emma and Bruce arrived at the house they were astonished to see Aunt Laura taking tea in the living room with Kathleen and Molly. Laura quickly got up from the sofa and embraced them both in turn. Molly left the room to bring fresh tea and scones.

Both Emma and Bruce could feel the tension in the air

‘It’s so wonderful to see you all living as a family again,’ Laura said when she sat back down. ‘I’m so glad things have worked out so well for you here in Sydney.’

‘Is Uncle Patrick in Sydney with you?’ Bruce asked cautiously.

‘No, he’s in Canberra,’ Laura replied quickly. ‘I’m on my way there now. I have just a few hours between trains. It seems it’s necessary for me to meet people down there. The party say it’s important that Patrick be seen as a family man, a caring man, a man with good old fashioned values. You see, Patrick is going to resign from the Senate and run for a seat in the House of Representatives so he can be a prime ministerial candidate in next year's election if Mr Lyons bows out.’

Emma grimaced at the prospect.

Laura sighed despondently. ‘Yes. Ridiculous isn’t it? It’s all so false and hypocritical.’

‘Who’s behind him, Aunt Laura?’ Emma asked. ‘Surely not Joseph Lyons?’

‘Oh, no. Royston Silver’s behind it all. He and your uncle have been as thick as thieves, in business as well as politics since Elliot married his daughter.’

There was a strained silence. No one seemed to know what to say.

Eventually Laura said, ‘I know I have no right to come here after everything that’s happened. But I’ve been so miserable for so long. I’d leave him if I could, you know. I already tried. But he said it would wreck his political career and if I did he would throw me out without a penny. Now, I feel like a prisoner at Essex Downs. I see no one. Not even Elliot. I haven’t spoken to him since I discovered Beth ran away from Yallambee because she was pregnant by him.’

There was another period of embarrassed silence.

‘And I never see my grandson,’ Laura continued sadly. ‘Because under the circumstances I can’t bring myself to set foot on Yallambee, and they won’t bring him to Essex Downs.’

Emma said, ‘If it ever all gets too much, Aunt Laura, there’s always a place for you here with us.’

The door opened and the room fell silent. Molly wheeled in a trolley with fresh tea then, sensing the atmosphere turned to leave. ‘Christopher will be home from next door any minute,’ she said quickly, ‘I’ll just go and fix him a snack.’

Bruce followed Molly toward the door, grateful for the opportunity to absent himself from the women and the maudlin conversation.

‘Bruce, please come back,’ Laura called out. ‘There’s something I have to say that you must hear.’

Bruce reluctantly returned to his chair and sat down.

‘Before you and Emma came home, your mother and I had a long talk.’ Laura paused and glanced at Kathleen. When Kathleen gently nodded her head Laura continued, ‘Your mother asked me earlier, if I knew why your uncle has caused the McKennas so much pain. Well, I do know why and I told her’

‘And,’ Kathleen interjected, ‘I’ve asked your Aunt Laura to tell you both exactly what she told me.’

‘When my brother married your mother,’ Laura said softly, ‘he knew things about her background which she had never known, things which he chose to say nothing of to your mother or me.’ Laura drew a deep breath. ‘Apparently, around the time of federation, a number of Aboriginal children were taken from Essex Downs by the Aboriginal Protector. All of them were just babies and most were light skinned enough to pass for white.’

‘Yes, I know the story,’ Emma said. ‘Old Mary told me about the Aboriginal girls penned up for the white station hands on Essex Downs in the old days. But what’s that got to do with the McKenna family?’

‘Well, the Protector placed most of them, the light skinned ones anyway, in the Mary Wells Home in Brisbane…’

‘The Mary Wells Home?’ Emma was surprised. She and Bruce quickly turned their eyes to their mother.

Kathleen’s eyes moistened. ‘Yes my darlings. It seems I was one of those Aboriginal babies.’

*

A week after Laura’s visit, Emma collapsed on the floor of the factory.

‘This is what happens when people ignore all the little signals the body sends them after they’ve been overdoing things for far too long, Mrs Gallimore.’

Emma heard Dr Longbothom’s words. She opened her eyes slowly and saw the kindly doctor smiling down at her. Molly was standing beside him at the side of the bed.

‘What happened?’ Emma asked. ‘I feel so tired.’

‘You collapsed at work, young lady,’ Dr Longbothom said. ‘You’ve pushed yourself just too hard. You’re utterly exhausted physically and mentally. You gave us all a nasty scare.’ The doctor produced a thermometer and shook it. ‘Now… open wide.’

Emma opened her mouth. She felt her eyes closing again.

Dr Longbothom took the thermometer from Emma’s mouth and read it, then held her wrist and took her pulse. Emma yielded to the weight of her eyelids. As she drifted away she heard the doctor say:

‘Emma must remain in bed, Mrs Gallimore. Under no circumstances must she leave this room until I give her permission. What Emma needs now, is rest, rest, and more rest. I’ll call again tomorrow.’

*

Ironically, Bill’s journey to Spain began at the same Pyrmont dock where the Dilwara had berthed bringing Jo Wojek to Australia. Bill and six other volunteers boarded the French freighter Avignon as paying passengers, their low-cost fares paid by an official of the Communist Party who put Bill in charge of the small group.

The Avignon was bound for the English Channel port of Le Havre carrying Australian wool destined for the mills and fashion houses of Paris. When the old ship cast off, her decks were covered with a blanket of red dust, residue from her outward cargo of European terracotta, a favorite roofing material in the suburbs of Sydney for decades.

Heavy seas and howling winds in the Great Australian Bight removed the last traces of terracotta dust from the Avignon but kept her seasick passengers confined to their cabins. The weather improved after the vessel rounded Cape Leeuwin and entered the Indian Ocean, and for Bill the remainder of the long voyage was the most peaceful period in his entire life.

When the Avignon passed through the Strait of Gibraltar, Bill caught his first glimpse of Spain. The coast was so close he could almost swim ashore and it seemed a waste of time to spend several more days at sea sailing to northern France just to journey southward again overland. But the next day, off Lisbon, when a crewman pointed out HMS Resolution entering the Tagus River on her regular patrol, hunting illegal civil war volunteers attempting to enter Spain, he realized just how seriously the Non-intervention Pact countries took the explosive situation in Spain.

The weather deteriorated in the Bay of Biscay and it was cold and rainy when the ship finally reached Le Havre. Bill and his group had been told in Sydney that all customs and immigration officials in France were under orders to watch out for civil war volunteers arriving from all over the world. They were also told that in the event of being interrogated, they must keep their nerve and insist they were tourists. Providing they could prove themselves solvent, it was unlikely they would be denied entry to France.

By the time the Avignon arrived in Le Havre the French government had closed the border with Spain and scrutiny of all able-bodied men entering the country had been stepped up. Bill divided the money he had been given in Sydney for the volunteers’ food and transportation expenses in France between everyone and hoped it would be enough to show they were financial tourists.

But the shabbily dressed group of young Australians carrying small battered suitcases immediately drew the attention of the custom officials. When questioned, they all stated they were tourists but the inspectors held onto their passports and baggage and told them they were to await further questioning by their supervisor.

After almost two hours Bill was called into the supervisor’s office. He was a short stout man of about fifty. When Bill entered the room he was holding Bill’s passport in his hands.

‘Ah, Mr Travis. I see you are the eldest of this group of volunteers for the Spanish war,’ he said solemnly and in fluent English. ‘So I assume you are in charge.’

‘We are all individual tourists to your country, sir ’ Bill tried to sound convincing, ‘ As far as I know, no one is travelling on to Spain.’

The Frenchman sighed. ‘Do not take me or my inspectors for fools, Mr Travis. It is perfectly clear that you are volunteers and as such I must tell you that the British have advised us that they will pay return passages, no questions asked, for any of their nationals who are intercepted going to Spain to fight. As all Australians have British passports, I think you should take advantage of the offer.’ The supervisor shrugged. ‘There is just no point in wasting your lives in Spain.’

‘But I have told you, sir,’ Bill insisted. ‘We are tourists, not volunteers.’

The supervisor looked Bill directly in the eye for several moments then picked up Bill’s suitcase from the floor. He lifted it onto his desk and opened it. It contained only a few clothes and an extra pair of shoes. The Frenchman rummaged through the clothes and took out Emma’s father’s hat.

‘When I looked through your case earlier, Mr Travis, I saw this hat. And I noticed the name Captain McKenna, Yallambee Station, Queensland, stamped on the band inside. It is perhaps where you are from in Australia, Mr Travis?’

‘No, it’s where a girl I know once lived. Captain McKenna was her father.’

‘The supervisor gently straightened the bent brim and the crushed emu plume. ‘When I saw this hat it brought back many memories. In the Great War I was a member of one of two French Chasseurs d’Afrique squadrons which General Allenby assigned to the Australian 5th Light Horse Brigade. The Australians we served with were the best horse soldiers we had ever seen. We were proud to fight by their side.’

To Bill’s surprise the Frenchman gently laid the hat back in the case, closed the lid and marked it with white chalk. Then he said, ‘The many thousands of Frenchmen fighting in Spain at this very minute in the International Brigade would not thank me if I stood in the way of Australians who, this time, have come to fight at their side.’ The supervisor reached out and shook Bill’s hand. ‘Mr Travis, you and your group of tourists are free to go. Good luck.’

From Le Havre, Bill’s instructions were to take the train to Paris, then go by taxi to a building in Rue Natherin Moreau, the headquarters of the International Committee of Volunteers. After presenting themselves and having their papers checked the group was sent to a nearby hotel and told to wait. After three days they were all issued brown paper carrier bags containing food and other essentials, given fresh instructions and put aboard a train for Marseilles.

On the train there seemed to be a disproportionate amount of young men among the passengers and almost all of them carried the same tell-tale brown carrier bags. The young men attracted the attention of members of the Sûreté, who were also travelling on the train, and who pleaded with them to abandon going to Spain to fight for a lost cause. But every volunteer doggedly maintained he was just a foreign tourist, intent on seeing France.

In Marseilles, overnight accommodation was arranged for them and the next day they travelled by bus to Perpignan at the base of the Pyrenees. Perpignan seemed to be full of young men, speaking dozens of different languages, all waiting for guides to take them on the dangerous overnight journey on foot over the mountains into Spain.

The night Bill’s group was assigned a guide it was blowing a blizzard. When the guide saw Bill walk he was reluctant to take him, in case his limp prevented the party from making it through the mountains before dawn. As it turned out, after trudging all night in freezing temperatures over the slippery mountain goat trails, Bill was the first man to set foot in Spain.

*

A month passed before Dr Longbothom allowed Emma out of bed. And she spent two more weeks confined to the house and garden before she was allowed to go back to work. During that time the only contact Emma had with business matters was during a brief once-a-week visit the doctor allowed Neale the Nib to make.

The morning Emma returned to work she looked radiant and rejuvenated. She found everything shipshape and even seemed a little disappointed at how well everyone had coped in her absence. All production and deliveries were on schedule and the order book was bulging with new business.

‘I thought I would come back to a mountain of work and you would be ready for a nervous breakdown,’ Emma said to Neale the Nib as they shared a pot of tea at mid-morning. ‘But it seems the more you work, the better you seem to cope.’

‘That’s because getting this job took me off the scrap head and let me put all my worries behind me. You’re the one who’s had all the worry and stress, Emma. It’s a wonder you didn’t drop on your feet a long time ago.’

‘That what Dr Longbothom said.’ Emma took a sip of tea. ‘ He said I should take a holiday or it could happen again.’

‘That’s sounds like good medicine to me, Emma.’

‘I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. Christopher is growing up so fast, I’m afraid I’ll miss his childhood altogether. And I’m sure Bruce will go back to Queensland soon. A long holiday away together may be just what we all need and the only chance we’ll ever get.’

‘Then do it, Emma. Do it.’

‘Can you and the girls manage for a few months.’

‘Of course we can.’

‘Where will you go?’

Dr Longbothom says it’s the perfect opportunity to take my mother to England and have a Harley Street specialist he knows see if he can do anything for her.’

‘That’s wonderful, Emma. When would you go?’

‘If you’re sure you can handle things here, Neale, I think we’ll leave as soon as we can make all the necessary arrangements, probably in early December.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Grey November skies warned of the approach of a cold wet Hampshire winter. It was late afternoon and a chilly crosswind was blowing hard across the Basingstoke airfield as Stephen’s student pilot sideslipped the Tiger Moth down to a copybook landing.

Half an hour later Stephen was behind the wheel of his MG on a winding country road heading for Garden Cottage, his small rented property in the sleepy village of Rake. Freezing cold air whistled in through tiny gaps between the car body and the soft canvass top. Stephen pulled his thick woolen scarf around his neck tighter and pondered on how his life had changed in just eight short months.

When he’d arrived in London, he’d had no idea of what he would do or where he would live. At first, he stayed in a small hotel in the West End. He wrote to Enrico Conti, care of the mysterious Max Winkler post office box in Berlin. Stephen told him of the collapse of his marriage and without being too specific, the reasons why he had been forced to leave Australia. But the real reason for writing was to enquire about the chances of joining Enrico’s hush-hush squadron of adventurers.

After a month there had been no reply from Enrico and, homesick and bored beyond belief, Stephen answered an advertisement in a newspaper for an experienced light aircraft pilot to be trained as an instructor at a flying school in Hampshire. A week later he got the job, bought an MG and moved into the cottage in Rake. Soon after moving to Hampshire, he wrote a second letter to Enrico, but once again he received no reply.

Because it was so cold, Stephen drove straight home from the airfield to light a fire before going to the local pub, as he always did, for his evening meal. When he opened the cottage door there was a letter lying on the floor inside. It was from Enrico and postmarked Salamanca in northern Spain. In the letter Enrico said he had leave coming and that he would be spending two days of it in London, staying at the Dorchester Hotel.

Ten days later Stephen drove up to London. Once on Bayswater Road he had no trouble finding the Dorchester. He and Eleanor had stayed there for a few days on their honeymoon and had admired its opulent, old world charm. When Stephen knocked on Enrico’s door, the young Italian opened it almost immediately, greeted him with an embrace. Inside the spacious room overlooking Hyde Park, Enrico opened a bottle of ouzo to celebrate the occasion.

‘I must apologize for not writing sooner,’ he said as he poured the drinks. ‘But I have been in a war zone for many months. ‘And the Luftwaffe, which distributes the mail from the Max Winkler box in Berlin, is not always as reliable as the humble postman. I received both your letters at the same time and only just recently.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘I was so sorry to hear about you and Eleanor. What a great pity for such a woman to sleep alone.’

Stephen had forgotten the Italian’s familiarity. But he smiled and said, ‘It’s unlikely she does often, Enrico.’

Enrico shrugged. ‘And what of your private air force, Stephen—your New Guard?’

‘Faded away like an old soldier, I’m afraid.’

‘And condemned you to exile in cold rainy England in the process.’ Enrico handed Stephen a glass. ‘It is grossly unfair. It must be difficult to leave your homeland, knowing you can never return.’ Enrico raised his drink ‘Anyway, to us, and to our friendship.’

They touched glasses and Stephen sipped the ouzo, then lowered his glass. ‘My life lacks any kind of purpose, Enrico,’ he said. ‘Access to my country and the people I care about is denied me. I don’t know how long I can go on living this way.’ Stephen decided to come straight to the point. ‘I was hoping there might be a place for me in your secret squadron of volunteers. As a fugitive it seems more appealing to me than the French Foreign Legion.’

Enrico laughed. ‘I’m afraid the Condor Legion is not much of a secret anymore, my friend. It’s hard to hide the most powerful, best equipped, and best trained offensive air unit in the world. And it is no secret that the Legion is the brainchild of Colonel Von Richtoven, cousin of the famous "Red Baron." When we first went to Spain we wore uniforms without insignia and flew airplanes with no markings. But since air power has turned the tide of the war in favor of Franco, only an idiot could think that such a feat could be accomplished by anyone other than the Luftwaffe. Soon our aircraft will openly display the swastika.’

‘But what about the Non-intervention Pact?’

‘Nothing but a sham, my friend. The French and the Russians are helping the Republicans and the Germans and the Italians are helping the Nationalists. The British and the Americans say they are staying out of it to protect their commercial interests, but German intelligence knows better. Without massive foreign aid the Republicans would have been beaten by now. I tell you, it really is a free-for-all over there. But if you’re a flyer it’s the only place to be.’ Enrico recharged their glasses. ‘We have the most advanced equipment in the world and Spain is the perfect place to test it in real combat conditions.’

‘How difficult is it to volunteer for the Condor Legion?’

‘Volunteering is easy. It’s getting accepted that is the hard part. Remember it is an offshoot of the German Air Force. They only take Germans.’

‘But you’re Italian. They took you.’

‘You forget my friend. My father is a personal friend of Benito Mussolini. There are always exceptions to any rule.’ Enrico swirled his ouzo around in his glass thoughtfully. ‘But perhaps I can to arrange for you to spend some time with us as an observer. After all, I can tell my commander you flew with the New Guard in Australia which supported the fascist movement.’

‘I’d appreciate that, Enrico.’

‘Very well. I will let you know.’ Enrico downed his drink. ‘But enough of that, Stephen. I came to London to see an old friend and to have some fun. Tell me, where are the best places in London to find pretty girls?’

*

Bill and his group spent their first two days in Spain hidden in a hay loft on a farm just inside the border. In the early afternoon on the second day a van arrived to take them to a nearby village. In the village square, a convoy of International Brigade trucks was assembled to transport almost two hundred new volunteers to Madrid.

The long column drove south-westward all night. No one in Bill’s vehicle slept a wink and after the first hour there was little conversation. When the convoy approached the Spanish capital just before dawn they heard the drone of aircraft overhead and the roar of exploding bombs on the ground. The night sky was ablaze with searchlights and tracer fire from anti-aircraft guns.

At daybreak the convoy entered the city and the canvas tops of the trucks were drawn back. The volunteers all rose to their feet. It was plain to see Madrid was a city under siege. As the vehicles of the International Brigade rumbled by, men, women and children lined the streets outside bullet-scarred and bombed-out buildings to wave and cheer on the volunteers. Many of the Spaniards raised their arms in the clenched fist salute of the defiant and beleaguered defenders of the capital. When the volunteers raised their arms and returned the salute, the crowd roared. Bill took the Light Horseman’s slouch hat from his bag and put it on his head.

The convoy ended up at what looked to be a large abandoned factory. At the gate a banner read: BRITISH BATTALION-15TH INTERNATIONAL BRIGADE. Later, after they had been shown to their quarters and fed, Bill’s group was called before a sergeant who told them they had been assigned to his machine-gun company. The sergeant’s name was Evans. He was a short, wiry man with a Welsh accent and he spoke so fast that the Australians found him hard to understand.

‘New volunteers are usually sent to a place called Albacete. They are trained there for several weeks. Then they’re sent into action against the enemy.’ The sergeant spoke in short rapid bursts. ‘But Madrid is under constant bombardment. We need more gunners now. So your anti-aircraft training will be on the real thing. If your lucky you’ll be firing on easy targets, squadrons of the Spanish Nationalist Air Force and the Italian Air Force. If you’re unlucky, you’ll be up against the German Condor Legion. In that case you’ll be the easy targets. Now try and get some sleep. Your training starts tonight.’

Bill spoke with Sergeant Evans after the men were dismissed. He learned that the Welshman had also been a coal miner. Evans told him that he too had fought pitched battles against the police during the Depression, at demonstrations at collieries in the Rhondda Valley. The sergeant asked Bill how he came by his limp. When Bill told him, Evans said:

‘If a man waits long enough, he usually gets a chance to get even with the bastards in this life. For the likes of you and me, Bill, our chance is here in Spain.’

*

At first, Bruce was reluctant to go to England. He told Emma if he went anywhere, he wanted to go back to Queensland. He said Sydney suffocated him with its crowded streets, dirty air and indifferent people. He said he belonged in the bush. But when Emma told him that Kathleen couldn’t make the long trip without his strong arms to help her, he agreed to go on the understanding he’d head for Goondiwindi as soon as they all arrived back in Australia.

The Orient Line’s SS Orontes left Darling Harbor on a hot sultry day in early December. Molly and Neale the Nib waved from the dock until they could no longer see the passengers standing at the rail.

Emma had arranged for two adjoining cabins. She and Kathleen shared one, Bruce and Christopher the other. From the moment the family boarded the Orontes Emma knew she had done the right thing. Everyone was happy and eagerly looking forward to a long holiday together, especially Christopher who’s enthusiasm for the great adventure knew no bounds.

By the time the vessel reached Melbourne, Bruce had already worked out a simple routine for moving Kathleen about the ship. Whenever it was necessary to change decks to go to the dining room, the lounges, or the sun deck he would take the wheelchair first, then come back and carry his mother in his arms. By the time the ship left Fremantle, the McKennas had put all their cares aside and were having the time of their lives. The Christmas they spent at sea, somewhere out in the Indian Ocean was their happiest since the old days at Yallambee.

The Orontes docked at Southampton just after dawn on a grey late January morning. Emma was grateful that Dr Longbothom’s arrangements for the McKenna’s in England went beyond normal professional responsibilities. In addition to organizing Kathleen’s consultation schedule with his old associate Dr Pettering, the Harley Street specialist, Dr Longbothom had also enquired about accommodation for the family in London.

Dr Pettering’s staff had advised that there were flats available for rent near the surgery and arranged for a three-bedroom ground floor flat in Marylebone for the duration of the McKenna’s visit. When the family arrived exhausted at Paddington Station from Southampton after five hours on an icy-cold train, Emma was pleased to find their accommodation was clean, comfortable and best of all within walking distance of Harley Street.

Dr Paul Pettering was the exact opposite of what Emma expected. Instead of a little aloof specialist in a Savile Row suit, she found a friendly bearded giant wearing the largest white smock she had ever seen.

‘I’ve studied your mother’s case history which Dr Longbothom sent me from Sydney, Miss McKenna,’ Dr Pettering said, when he emerged from a private room after Kathleen’s initial examination. ‘And after examining her I must say everything looks encouraging.’

Emma and Bruce sat on a couch on the doctor’s private office. Outside, Christopher sat on a waiting room chair, swinging his legs.

‘It’s not generally known,’ the doctor continued, ‘that most people rendered paraplegics as a result of spinal chord damage do not live beyond the first few weeks following their accident. This is usually due to respiratory infection, urinary dysfunction or even bedsores. The fact that your mother has been able to resist these associated problems is a strong indication that she has a naturally high resistance to infection and proof positive that she has received the very best of care from those around her.’ Dr Pettering smiled at Emma and Bruce. ‘And that’s a credit to your both.’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Emma said.

‘But in spite of the positive signs, I must impress upon you that there still is no known cure for spinal chord injury. At the present time there is no medical knowledge or techniques that can completely restore your mother’s use of her legs. But because your mother has had the will to fight so long and so hard against her disability, it may be possible for us to help her achieve a modest increase in mobility.’

‘How can you do that, Doctor?’ Emma asked.

‘We have achieved some success by stimulating the nerves of the spinal cord which carry nerve impulses to and from the brain and to the rest of the body. Our new therapy involves a great deal of repetitive spinal massage and a number of specific load bearing exercises. At the very least the treatment is helpful in preventing further deterioration in the patient, because even the slightest increase in nerve impulses sent to the brain signals pain and damage which otherwise would go undetected.’ The doctor rose to his feet. ‘But first of all we must run the usual tests, then see how your mother responds to therapy over the next few weeks.’

After Kathleen’s tests were completed, her therapy schedule at the surgery required Bruce to take her to Harley Street every second day. Usually, he would walk her there in her chair if the weather was fine, but if it was cold and wet they would go by taxi.

*

Emma and Bruce had said little to each other about the revelation of their Aboriginality since Laura’s visit, and Kathleen had not spoken of it at all. It was of little consequence to her, and she knew when Emma or Bruce had time to come to terms with their heritage they would voice their concerns, if they had any.

One night, about two weeks after they had arrived in London, Emma brought the subject up as they sat in the glow of the living room fire after Christopher had gone to bed.

‘When we first went to Essex Downs after we lost Yallambee, I could never understand why old Mary spent so much time with you, Mother. She’d sit with you for hours on the veranda of the cottage. Do you think she knew about us all along?’

Kathleen smiled wryly. ‘Oh, I’m certain of it. She told you how the Aboriginal girls were treated on Essex Downs. She’s old enough to remember it all. And she’d have known where all those near-white babies went. Maybe not right away. But sometime, somewhere, an Aborigine would have heard a white man mention what happened to them. Next thing you know all the blacks would know. The thing is, Mary’s so old, everyone else who knew is probably dead by now.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,’ Bruce said, looking up from the flickering fire. ‘We really don’t know for certain it’s all true, do we?’

‘Would it really matter to you either way, Bruce?’ Kathleen asked.

‘Not really. But I wouldn’t bet my life on anything that Patrick Coltrane said. Anyone in the bush will tell you that if you’re born a half-caste you’ve got to be registered as a ward of the state. That’s the law, in Queensland anyway.’

‘Perhaps, I am.’ Kathleen said.

Bruce shrugged ‘You weren’t when Harmony made enquiries when we were looking for you after Crestview shut down, Mother.’

‘Only the Mary Wells Home in Brisbane would know for certain,’ Kathleen said. ‘And like Crestview it’s been closed down for years.’

Emma got up from her chair and went to the coalscuttle in the hearth. As she put more coal on the fire she said, ‘But the Mary Wells Society must still be in existence. It’s over a hundred years old. And it’s headquarters are here in London. Perhaps there are records.’

Emma made enquiries as to the whereabouts of the Mary Wells Society the next day. She discovered their headquarters were located in Golden Square, a short distance from Piccadilly Circus and less than three miles from the flat in Marylebone.

Emma asked Bruce to take Christopher with him the next morning when he took Kathleen to Harley Street while she went to Golden Square. A brass plaque on the three-story building stated that the Mary Wells Society had occupied the premises since being established in 1807.

Emma explained to a clerk inside that she was visiting from overseas and that her family had a long association with the Society in Australia. She asked if she could speak to someone regarding records of Australian homes which had closed down during the Depression. The clerk asked her to wait and went away. He returned a few minutes later minutes with an elderly matron.

‘I’m Mrs Hampton-Smith,’ the woman said in a cultured voice. She gave Emma a friendly smile. ‘I’m a trustee of the Mary Wells Society. Our clerk has told me you are enquiring about records from Australia, Miss McKenna.’

‘Yes,’ Emma replied. ‘My mother was taken in by your Brisbane Home in the 1890’s when she was just a baby. I was hoping you might have records here of admissions of orphans in Brisbane from that far back. You see, my family has had a long association with the Society as both financial contributors and also as recipients of services it provided in our country.’

‘The administrator of the Brisbane Home, like those of all our overseas institutions that closed during the Depression was required to send all non-financial records to us here in London,’ the trustee explained. ‘Over the years our cellars have become crammed with them.’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘Unfortunately, we have neither the time nor the resources to even get the hundreds of boxes and crates in some kind of order let alone search for anything specific.’

‘I’ll be in London for some weeks yet, Mrs Hampton-Smith. Would you allow me to look for my mother’s records? It’s so important to our family.’

‘I would like to help, Miss McKenna. But it’s against all the rules. Only staff are allowed to inspect records.’ The trustee strummed her fingers thoughtfully against her cheek. After a few moments she said, ‘Look… we have an ex-administrator who worked in Australia for a long time. She’s retired now and lives out in Staines. But she comes in on the underground every Friday to do volunteer work. I could ask her if she’d be willing to come in a few extra days to help.’

Emma’s face lit up. ‘Oh, would you? I’d be so grateful. I’ll be happy to pay any expenses.’

‘Very well. I’ll ask her when she comes in on Friday.’

‘You say this lady lived in Australia, Mrs Hampton-Smith. Whereabouts?’

‘In New South Wales. She ran our home in Armidale before it was forced to close. Her name is Erin Potts.’

*

As the weeks passed, Dr Pettering became satisfied that Kathleen was responding to therapy. Although there were no dramatic signs of any increase in the mobility of her long-dormant limbs, he told Emma that he was confident of beneficial results in the long term. Accordingly, he increased the number of Kathleen’s therapeutic sessions and extended their duration. Emma was asked to be present at the sessions so she could become familiar with the massage techniques and the exercise procedures to enable her to continue the therapy after the family returned to Australia.

Erin Potts was delighted when she heard the McKenna’s were in London. She not only offered to come in an extra day each week to search the overseas records, but she also persuaded Mrs Hampton-Smith to allow Emma to help her. But all they accomplished during the first few weeks was to locate the crates from Brisbane from amongst hundreds of others from around the world.

Sifting through the thousands of documents contained in the crates was slow and painstaking work. And many of the journals and papers were so old they had to be handled with great care. When it became clear the search would be a long one, Erin Potts came in to the society’s headquarters more often. In late March, when there were just a few weeks remaining before the McKennas were to return to Australia, she started to come in every day.

Just three days before the Orient Line’s SS Orion sailed from Southampton, Emma hurried over to Golden Square after her final visit with Kathleen to Dr Pettering’s surgery. When she arrived at the Mary Wells Society the clerk took her directly to Mrs Hampton-Smith where the trustee and Erin Potts were taking afternoon tea at a table strewn with documents.

‘Miss Potts was rewarded a short time ago for her persistence, Emma,’ Mrs Hampton said when Emma entered the room ‘She has some news for you.’

Erin Potts waved a hand over the papers on the table. ‘I’d just about given up when I found all these, Emma. It’s all here. A full report of the seizure of indigenous children by the Aboriginal Protector in the 1890’s from a number of pastoral properties including Essex Downs. Most of the seizures were carried out at the insistence of church groups and concerned citizens. Your grandfather is named in these documents as one of those citizens.’

‘Do the documents detail what happened to the babies taken from Essex Downs?’ Emma asked quickly.

‘Oh yes. All the children were sent to Aboriginal missions except the light-skinned babies who were admitted to the Mary Wells Home in Brisbane. The society accepted them on condition they be deemed white by the colonial government and not registered as wards of the state which would restrict their freedom when they grew up. All the children admitted are listed here with details of where they came from. The report confirms what you already know about your heritage, but I should warn you it also contains information which you may well prefer left in our cellars.’ Erin Potts smiled apprehensively. ‘Sometimes, Emma, it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.’

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

In spite of constant artillery and air bombardment, Madrid fought off every attack by General Franco’s Nationalist forces which now held most of the territory surrounding the Spanish capital. Casualties were high, particularly among the soldiers of the twenty three nations which made up the 15th International Brigade. But somehow the sheer determination of the defenders, supported by a constant supply of Russian munitions, tanks and aircraft, kept the city from falling.

Two weeks after Bill arrived in Madrid, Sergeant Evans told him he would make a good gunner. After three months the sergeant said he was as good as any he’d ever seen. In February, Bill was one of just a few hundred men of the 15th International Brigade who held the crucial position of Suicide Hill in the battle of Jarama just south of the city which cost the lives of thousands of men on each side.

After being thwarted at Jarama and at Guadalajara, the fascist forces decided to concentrate on stemming the flow of food and weapons of war being supplied to the enemy through ports still held by the Republicans.

Apart from Barcelona on the east coast, where the majority of Russian supplies entered the country, one of the most strategic ports was Bilbao, situated on a strip on the mountainous north coast of Spain in the Basque Provinces. It was to the Port of Bilbao that a constant stream of British merchant freighters, brought in food and armaments to the Republicans, encouraged by high profits and widespread public support at home for the devoutly Catholic Basques.

While Franco’s forces prepared for a northern offensive, there was a lull in the siege of Madrid. It was during this period that Sergeant Evans came to Bill’s machine gun post shortly after dawn one morning. He sat down on the sandbag wall of the gun emplacement.

‘I’ve just come from the Captain, Bill. The brass is looking for volunteers for a bit of a risky job up north.’

Bill shrugged. ‘What could be more risky than being here in Madrid?’

‘They think the other side is about to mount an offensive in the Basque Provinces. If Franco can take Bilbao it will stop British supplies coming in to the Republicans.’

‘Why volunteers? Why not just send whatever troops are needed up there?’

‘Because southern Republican troops are communist atheists. They won’t fight alongside the Basques because they’re Catholics. And the Basques feel the same way. They’ve never sent their own troops outside the Basque Country. They just won’t fight with each other. Their differences go back a long way.’

‘Then why should we go?’

‘The Basques have got about thirty thousand troops and militiamen dug in in a defense chain in the mountains around Bilbao. They call it the Iron Ring. They could hold out forever against land forces. But they’ve got little air backup because the terrain is too rugged for more than a couple of airfields. So the brass think the main fascist offensive will come from the air and when it comes, it will be massive. So they want some of our best anti-aircraft gunners to join the Basques in the Iron Ring.’ Sergeant Evans pulled Bill’s slouch hat down around his ears. ‘And that means us, mate.’

Bill readjusted the hat. ‘Well, I don’t suppose they could throw any more at us up there than they have here in Madrid, Sarge.’

‘Does that mean you’ll go?’

‘Are you going?’

The sergeant nodded.

‘Then I’ll go. But how do we get in? The Basque Country is cut off by the Nationalists to the south and by the sea to the north.’

Evans grinned. ‘I told you it would be risky. That’s why they’re asking for volunteers. The plan is to fly the gun crews into Bilbao, then get them dug in to mountain-top positions just as soon as possible.’

*

When spring finally came to Hampshire, Stephen had all but given up hope of hearing from Enrico. And as the long grey winter months passed without any word, even the idea of spending a limited time with Enrico’s legion of adventurers seemed unlikely. But one afternoon in early April, Stephen arrived home to find a telegram boy knocking on the door.

He tipped the boy sixpence and tore open the envelope. The message was short.

YOUR OBSERVERS REQUEST HAS BEEN APPROVED STOP

FLY TO FRANKFURT IMMEDIATELY STOP WIRE FLIGHT

DETAILS TO MAX WINKLER SIGNED ENRICO END

The next morning Stephen told the flying school he had to go to the continent on an urgent personal matter of uncertain duration. Two days later Stephen arrived at Frankfurt at mid-morning on an Imperial Airways flight from London. Outside the airport customs area he saw a young man holding up a sign with his name on it. The man’s blond hair was cut short in military fashion but he wore civilian clothes.

When Stephen identified himself the fair-haired man looked at him intently for a few moments. Then he said in fluent English, ‘I am Oberleutnant Hans Schimmer, Herr Fairchild. If I seem surprised, it is because I was expecting an older man. It is unusual for one so young to have friends in such high places. You will follow me, please.’

Outside the terminal, the German led Stephen to a waiting Mercedes. In less than half an hour they reached a small military airfield to the south-east of Frankfurt near the town of Offenbach. An airman at the gate waved the Mercedes through and they drove to a hanger at the far end of the aerodrome. Outside the hangar, ground crew were preparing an aircraft for takeoff. It looked new and of an advanced design. As the car approached the plane Stephen wound down the window to get a better look.

‘It’s a new Heinkel, One Eleven,’ Oberleutnant Schimmer said. ‘Medium-bomber, twin eight hundred and eighty horsepower engines. Crew of four. Maximum speed three hundred and seventy-five miles per hour. Armament, three machine guns. Bomb load, one thousand kilos. I am taking delivery of it for the Condor Legion. We leave for Spain within the hour.’

The Heinkel approached the Nationalist-held airfield at Vitoria in northern Spain in the late afternoon. As the aircraft descended over the coastal mountains Oberleutnant Schimmer was at the controls with Stephen seated beside him. Schimmer pointed out the lay of the land. He told Stephen the airfield was just thirty miles from Bilbao, on the northern edge of Nationalist-held territory and just five miles from the front line of the Basque Republican forces.

The Oberleutnant pointed to scores of humps in the mountain sides and told Stephen they were Basque gun emplacements, part of an elaborate and almost impregnable defense system known as the Iron Ring. Minutes later the Heinkel landed and taxied across the airfield to take its place in a row of identical bombers.

Stephen was amazed at what he saw. The whole airfield was a sea of airplanes. Besides the big Heinkel bombers, there were other types of big bombers and rows of fighters, dive- bombers and reconnaissance aircraft. Several bore the markings of the Spanish Nationalist Air Force and the Italian Air Force. A few were adorned with the personal emblems and nicknames of their pilots. But most of the aircraft had no markings at all.

Oberleutnant Schimmer told Stephen that aircraft of the Nationalist and Italian air forces were massing at several other airfields in the north in preparation for a massive air offensive against the Basque Provinces and particularly the seaport of Bilbao. He said the entire operation was to be directed by Colonel Von Richtoven and spearheaded by squadrons of the Condor Legion. And he said Von Richtoven had personally decreed that the Condor Legion’s aircraft were not to display markings of any kind.

The Heinkel came to rest and Schimmer feathered the engines. When the door of the aircraft swung open, Stephen was greeted by the stench of aviation fuel, scorched tires, and the sound of excited voices shouting over the scream of engines, as men and machines were prepared for battle.

Suddenly, Stephen was filled with foreboding. The peaceful English countryside and his little cottage in Rake flashed through his mind, followed by thoughts and images of Emma, and of Christopher and of Sydney Harbor in summer. Suddenly nothing seemed real anymore. Everything he knew seemed to be in some other world. And he wondered what on earth he was doing in Spain.

*

In all, sixteen machine-gun and anti-aircraft gun crews in Bill’s company volunteered to go to the Basque Country. They were flown into Bilbao under the cover of darkness. From there, each crew was assigned to a hastily constructed but strategic gun emplacement. Most were within ten miles of Bilbao in the surrounding mountains, and all were at much higher altitude than the impregnable concrete bunkers of the Iron Ring.

Sergeant Evans, Bill, another Australian and an Englishman made up a four-man crew which took up a mountain position to the east of Bilbao overlooking Guernica, a quiet country town near the coast. The town had no defenses and although it had historical significance as the spiritual home of the Basques it had no permanent strategic value. The reason a gun emplacement had been set up above it was because it was an ideal location to pick off enemy aircraft making bombing runs over an important railway junction at the nearby village of Durango.

Sergeant Evans said the visit to scenic Guernica would be more like a well-earned holiday and by late April, the gun crew were beginning to enjoy themselves. There had been no sightings of enemy aircraft and to relieve the boredom the sergeant let them go down go to the village from time to time. There they would to mix with the locals and buy cigarettes and the occasional bottle of wine.

*

The grim sense of foreboding and uncertainty which had descended over Stephen on his arrival at Vitoria had lifted a little when Enrico, wearing the uniform of a Luftwaffe Oberleutnant, greeted him a few minutes after the Heinkel touched down.

Later, Stephen and Enrico were driven in a staff car to a small but comfortable hotel, one of several in the town commandeered to house officers of the Condor Legion. That evening at dinner, Enrico introduced Stephen to a group of young pilots under his command. He told them Stephen would be with the Condor Legion for several weeks as an observer, his presence authorized by Colonel Von Richtoven himself.

All the officers were young. Stephen thought some could barely be out of their teens. But all were polite, confident and impeccably presented in immaculate white uniforms. In spite of the language barrier, Stephen found the aircrews’ youthful enthusiasm contagious and, moved by their camaraderie, felt honored to be treated as one of their own.

The next morning he was issued with khaki flying fatigues with no insignia of any kind and flew a routine mission with Enrico in a Junkers 87 bomber. Stephen was surprised at how easily the aircraft handled when Enrico briefly let him take the controls.

After that, as the build-up continued at the airfield, Stephen flew many practice missions with Enrico over the Basque Provinces and the coastal waters of the Bay of Biscay. The Junkers was equipped with two, two hundred and fifty kilo bombs and a flexible machine gun. Stephen was always relieved when they returned to Vitoria without having used the plane’s armaments or having been fired on from the ground.

After dinner on the evening of April 25th, a large crowd of officers gathered around a radio in the hotel lounge. Those who understood Spanish listened intently as the Nationalist radio in Salamanca repeatedly issued an ultimatum to the Basque people: ‘Franco is about to deliver a mighty blow against which all resistance is useless. Basques—surrender now and your lives will be spared.’ The message was quickly translated to everyone in the room.

Enrico took Stephen to one side. ‘None of us know exactly what that message means,’ he said quietly. ‘I was only told this afternoon that tomorrow we are to be joined by Condor Legion units from Burgos for a massive air strike against the Basques if they don’t surrender by midday. Colonel Von Richtoven is to lead the attack himself. The target has not yet been revealed to anyone.’

Stephen said nothing as Enrico’s words sank in.

‘Things are hotting up, Stephen.’ Enrico grinned ‘Perhaps it is time to return to your Tiger Moth in Basingstoke. We have transport aircraft leaving Spain for Germany every day.’

Stephen ignored the suggestion. ‘Do you think the target will be Bilbao?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. Our orders are never to attack the port by air when British ships are berthed there. If we did, public opinion in England would demand their armed forces retaliate. Because of that, the shipping companies make sure there is at least one British ship in the harbor.’ Enrico shrugged. ‘If there are no British ships in port, then the target may well be Bilbao. Otherwise I think it will be the port’s rail and road links. We probably won’t know our specific targets until we’re airborne.’’

‘And the attack will be just on bridges, roads, railway lines and the like?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then count me in, Enrico.’

*

With no surrender forthcoming from the Basques, squadrons of Condor Legion bombers and fighters took off from Vitoria in the late afternoon of April 26th. Once airborne they were joined by squadrons based at Burgos, about sixty-five miles to the south-west.

Soon the squadrons had formed into an immense and awesome strike formation which blackened the entire sky. Stephen could barely contain his excitement. As usual he was flying with Enrico in the Junkers dive-bomber and he could see that Enrico’s exhilaration had soared to new heights. As they flew, the radio crackled continuously with short urgent messages. Stephen wished he understood German, so he would know exactly what their role was in the plan of attack.

But within fifteen minutes of takeoff, Colonel Von Richtoven’s grand plan became terrifyingly clear. Stephen saw the leading wave of bombers directly ahead of them descend over the town of Guernica as low as the surrounding mountains would allow. Then he watched in horror as the big Heinkel and Junkers bombers disgorged their deadly cargo and hundreds of bombs and incendiaries rained down onto houses and streets filled with civilians.

The radio crackled again with more commands and Enrico’s squadron of dive-bombers swooped down low over the streets, machine guns blazing, strafing bewildered townspeople as they sought refuge from the bombers. When the dive-bombers roared over the centre of town they were so low Stephen could distinguish between the men, women and children in the streets. He felt the Junkers suddenly lighten as Enrico released the two huge bombs strapped to her underbelly and he watched them fall into the crowded market square.

Stephen couldn’t believe what was really happening. He looked back and cried out in anguish at the trail of bloody carnage on the ground behind them. When he saw a second wave of advancing bombers and fighters swoop down to repeat the outrage he couldn’t hold back an avalanche of vomit.

The Junkers cleared the mountain top by no more than a hundred feet. Enrico banked hard to the right towards the sea. Stephen clearly saw an anti-aircraft gun nest on the mountain top firing at them. The gun emplacement was so close he could see the four-man gun crew and the sun flashing on the ammunition belts chattering through their guns. Above him he saw two more Junkers, their guns spitting fire as they swooped down out of the sun to kill the gun nest.

At that moment the gunners on the mountain top found their mark and a hail of bullets slammed through the fuselage of Enrico’s plane. Blood patches appeared on Stephen’s khaki fatigues and a flood of blood burst from his mouth, even before he felt the searing pain of the bullets ripping through his legs.

The last thing he saw was the glass of the cockpit canopy turning crimson. And the last thing he heard was Enrico screaming in agony, as he too was riddled by a burst of machine-gun fire, just a second before the two Junkers destroyed the gun nest.

*

The war in Spain was far removed from the minds of the pampered passengers aboard the Sydney-bound SS Orion. And because the world’s press was reluctant to offend German sensibilities by reporting that thousands of defenseless civilians had been slaughtered at Guernica, the saturation bombing might as well have occurred on another planet. But on April 28th, Geoffrey Dawson, the editor of The Times, in London felt compelled to publish the report of his paper’s correspondent in Spain, who was one of the first people to arrive at the scene of the atrocity:

Guernica, the most ancient town of the Basques and the centre of their cultural tradition, was completely destroyed by insurgent air-raiders. The bombardment of this open town far behind the lines occupied precisely three hours and a quarter, during which a powerful fleet of airplanes consisting of three German types, Junkers, and Heinkel bombers and Heinkel fighters, did not cease unloading onto the town, bombs weighing from 1,000 lbs downwards and, it is calculated, more than 3,000 two-pounder aluminum incendiary projectiles. The fighters, meanwhile, plunged low over the centre of the town to machine-gun those of the civilian population who had taken refuge

Emma read the report in The Times two days out from Ceylon when copies of the London papers were brought aboard the ship at Colombo. And as always, when there was news of the war in Spain, she felt anxious for Bill. She was still reading newspapers in the lounge when she was joined by Bruce.

‘Where are Mother and Christopher?’ Emma asked.

‘Up on the sun deck watching the games. I thought this might be a good time for us to talk.’

Emma put her newspaper down.

Bruce said, ‘I’ll be going to Goondiwindi just as soon as we get back to Australia, like we discussed, Emma.’

‘What will you do? Buy and sell horses with Harmony again?’

‘Yes. I’ve saved my wages since I’ve been in Sydney. So I’ll be able to buy and sell a few of my own. If it goes well, I’d like to get a little place of my own some day.’

‘You know I’ll help you financially, Bruce.’

‘Thanks Emma, but I’d sooner do it on my own. What I wanted to ask you was, will you be able to cope when I go to Queensland, what with mother’s therapy and everything?’

‘Don’t worry about us,’ Emma said quickly. ‘Molly and I will manage.’ She paused for a moment, then added, ‘Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Maybe we should get a place in the country. It’s really where we all belong. Mother never says anything, but I know she would prefer it. I think it would be better for Christopher too. And heaven knows, I’ve only put up with everything in Sydney because I’ve had to.’

Bruce looked surprised. ‘What kind of a place in the country?’

‘A place where we could be a family again. A place where we would have room to breathe and to keep a few cattle and sheep.’ Emma smiled. ‘And maybe buy and sell a few horses…’

‘Do you mean it, Emma?’

‘Yes, I really do.’

‘But what would you do with Sydney Styles?’

‘Sell it, of course.’

*

When the SS Orion arrived in Sydney, the McKenna family had decided unanimously to return to the bush just as soon as a buyer was found for Sydney Styles. In the meantime Bruce would return to Queensland and look around for a suitable property near Goondiwindi.

When the ship docked at Darling Harbor, Bruce could hardly contain his joy at arriving home in Australia or his enthusiasm for the new life that lay ahead for the family. But his dreams were shattered the moment he set foot on the dock. Suddenly he was surrounded by uniformed policemen and placed under arrest.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

‘It’s all my fault,’ Molly said bitterly. ‘When Mrs Coltrane telephoned and told me the authorities might be looking for Bruce, I should have been more careful. But nobody came to the house. There were a few phones calls for you, Emma. I just told the callers you were away and when you would be back. One of them must have been from the police.’

The family was sitting around the living room, still stunned by the incident on the dock earlier in the day which had ruined their homecoming. They were waiting for Dan Rankin, the solicitor who had defended Molly on her assault charge in the Domain, to return from seeing Bruce at the Darlinghurst lock-up.

Emma said ‘Tell us exactly what Laura said when she telephoned, Molly.’

‘She said she’d told Mr Coltrane that she was going to leave him. She said there was a terrible scene. He told her if she left, she’d go without a penny and with only the clothes she stood up in because it would ruin his chances in the federal election. She told him she didn’t care and that she’d sold a few of her personal things and put aside a little money to live on until she found some kind of work. Apparently he went berserk. He accused her of stealing and hit her. And he said if she went he’d tell the police where Bruce was.’

‘But how could Uncle Patrick have known he was here?’ Emma asked. ‘Aunt Laura would never have told him.’

‘Mr Coltrane had seen your picture in the Canberra newspaper,’ Molly said. ‘Apparently they ran the same story about the fascisti as the Sydney Chronicle. He said the police could soon find Bruce through you. That’s why she phoned to warn us.’ Molly shook her head. ‘But, I still can’t believe a man could do that to his own flesh and blood.’

Emma glanced at Kathleen. ‘It’s our flesh and blood that Patrick Coltrane hates so much, Molly.’ She got up and began pacing the floor. ‘I wonder why it should all happen now,’ she said angrily. ‘That Hope Farm business all happened so long ago.’

‘Mrs Coltrane said the man who had been in a coma since Bruce ran away, died a month or so ago,’ Molly said.

‘Brother Lucas?’

‘Yes. Apparently, right after he died the police called at Essex Downs again asking the Coltranes if they had any news of Bruce. They…’

Molly was interrupted by a loud knock on the front door. She hurried to answer it and came back with Dan Rankin.

‘Well, Dan?’ Emma said expectantly.

‘They’re processing an application from Queensland to extradite Bruce. We have no chance of fighting it. He’ll be sent up to Brisbane in a couple of days and held there until the trial.’

‘Oh, God.’ Kathleen put a hand to her mouth. ‘What happens now?’

‘I’ll turn it over to John Matheson, an associate in Brisbane,’ The solicitor said. ‘He has a small firm, but they’re very good.’

‘What about bail?’ Emma asked.

‘I’d say, no chance at all. After all it’s a murder charge now.’

‘But he was only a child at the time.’

‘And it took them five years to find him, Emma. They won’t let him out of their sight now.’

‘But he didn’t do it,’ Emma said angrily. ‘He can’t go to prison for something he didn’t do.’

‘Oh yes, he can,’ Rankin said firmly. ‘And even though the evidence is largely circumstantial, he probably will.’

‘Just who’s side are you on, Dan?’ Emma asked angrily. ‘You’re supposed to be helping Bruce.’

‘I’m trying to,’ Rankin said gently. ‘But to do that, I have to face the facts. And from what you told me earlier about this Hope Farm business, the fact is, there’s only one way Bruce can avoid going to prison for a very long time.

‘And what’s that?’

‘Your friend Harmony Jones and this boy Strickland will have to testify at the trial. And Mr Jones will have to admit it was him who bashed Brother Lucas.’

Emma looked horrified. ‘But I couldn’t ask them to do that. It seems we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. We couldn’t even try to recover Jack’s body or accuse the Brothers of anything without implicating Strickland and Bruce.’

‘I wish there was some other way, Emma, ‘Rankin said. ‘But in my view, a full confession from Mr Jones is all that’s going to save your brother.’

*

The next morning, Emma looked tired and drawn when she arrived at Sydney Styles after a long sleepless night. Neale the Nib, and Joan and Iris greeted her warmly and offered their condolences about Bruce. After a quick walk through the factory, Iris and Joan went about their business on the factory floor and Emma returned to the office with Neale the Nib.

‘I wasn’t going to come in today, Neale,’ Emma said wearily, ‘what with all this trouble with Bruce; but Molly said you needed to talk to me.’

‘Yes.’ The bookkeeper followed Emma into to her office. ‘There are a few things I think you should know right away.’

Emma frowned. ‘Everything is all right here, I hope?’

‘Yes, everything’s fine. We’ve got a full order book. No production problems. All our deliveries are on time. We’ve acquired several new accounts since you’ve been away. And all our debtors’ accounts are current.’

Emma sat down at her desk. There was nothing on it. She ran her finger along the length of the surface and managed a wry smile. ‘Six months away and business is booming. Not even a piece of paper on my desk. You make me feel expendable. Now what is it I should know, Neale?’

Neale the Nib grinned. ‘You remember the interest we got from David Jones after the hiccup with Bowes-Scott?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Well, it seems their interest was in more than just our garments.’

‘What do you mean, Neale?’

‘They want to buy the company.’

Emma eyes widened. ‘Really. Why us, I wonder?’

‘I can answer that, Emma. David Jones handles only quality merchandise. If they owned us, the Sydney Styles brand would be exclusive to them.’

Neale the Nib watched as Emma strummed her fingers on her desk.

‘Would you consider selling, Emma?’ he asked.

‘I’d be interested in hearing what they have to say, Neale. Perhaps you’d telephone them and say I’m back in Sydney and will be in touch with them soon.’

Emma saw the surprise on the bookkeeper’s face.

‘Just to hear what they have to say, Neale.’ She stood up from the desk. ‘Now, what else is really important? I have to be at Darlinghurst to see Bruce soon.

‘Nothing that can’t wait for now, Emma, except Leonard Fairchild phoned while you were away. I told him you were in England and when you’d be returning. He phoned again yesterday. He said he wants to see you as soon as possible. He’s phoning again at ten o’clock this morning.’

This time it was Emma who looked surprised.

After a moment she said, ‘I won’t be here, Neale. I’ll be at Darlinghurst. When he calls, would you tell him I’ll meet him at three this afternoon at the usual place.’

*

‘I telephoned you when the Royal Commission on banking was sitting here in Sydney a couple of months ago, Emma,’ Leonard said. ‘I was staying with my brother at Prospect House. Everyone was so distressed at not hearing any word from Stephen. When your Mr Lawrence said you were in England we thought perhaps there was a possibility you had gone to see him.’

They were sitting on the low wall surrounding Redfern Park. Children were playing on the grass inside, their shrill voices occasionally piercing the tranquility of the afternoon..

‘No. I haven’t heard from Stephen or seen him,’ Emma said. ‘Though my heart stopped a few times in London when I saw someone who looked like him on the street. England just seemed to be the natural place he’d be.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what we thought.’ Emma saw the disappointment on Leonard’s face. After a moment he said, ‘I hope you didn’t mind me telephoning, but we just had to know.’

‘No, of course not, Leonard. I know exactly how you feel. In fact I was planning to call you when I got back to see if Stephen’s situation has changed at all.’

‘No, everything’s just the same. That damn policeman, Proudfoot, still has his ear to the ground. But it seems Eleanor was disciplined by her father for what she did. William Bowes-Scott had a long chat with Fenton. He was terribly concerned he’d be ostracized by everyone. He told Fenton he’d threatened Eleanor with disinheritance if she testified against Stephen.’ Leonard shook his head. ‘It sometimes amazes me how important social acceptance is to the new money crowd.’

‘Does that mean it’s safe for Stephen to come home?’

‘Yes, that’s why we were so anxious to see if you knew where he was.’ Leonard smiled resignedly. ‘But anyway, enough about that. Now tell me, how was your trip? Mr Lawrence told me the whole family went. He also said it was doctor’s orders.’

‘Yes. I was terribly run down.’

‘I’m not surprised after all you’ve been through. There’s no substitute for a good holiday.’

‘The reason we all went to London was to have mother see a Harley Street specialist.’

‘And how is she now? I do hope he was able to help.’

‘She’s well, and Dr Fettering was able to help. But it’s a long process. She’ll need constant therapy.’

‘And how is Christopher?’

‘He’s very well and glad to be home.’

‘And no doubt Bruce is too?’

Emma had managed to show a brave face until Bruce’s name was mentioned. Leonard saw her flinch and turn away.

‘What is it, Emma? What’s wrong?’

Emma told Leonard what had happened on the dock at Darling Harbor.

‘This Coltrane fellow really is a bastard, ‘Leonard said when Emma had finished. ‘He’s been in the news a lot while you’ve been away, you know. It seems he’s bent on taking his extreme racial views into the House of Representatives, maybe even into the Lodge.’ Leonard shook his head. ‘What are you going to do, Emma?’

‘I’ll be going to Brisbane as soon as Bruce is extradited. I have to talk with the solicitors up there and do whatever I can.’

‘You’ll need the best legal people you can get, Emma. Why not let Fairchild and Associates look after it. I know Fenton would appreciate any opportunity to help. He feels so badly about the way he treated you in the past.’

‘No,’ Emma said quickly. ‘I already have a solicitor here and he’s arranged for associates in Brisbane to act for Bruce. It’s a small firm, but he says they’re very good.’

Leonard looked skeptical. ‘If there’s anything I can do, or Fenton, you will get in touch with me, won’t you? He has some of the best lawyers in the country you know.’

Emma stood up to leave. ‘I promise I will, Leonard, and thank you.’

She held out her hand and he shook it gently. Emma thought Leonard looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then he seemed to decide against it. Then he changed his mind again and said: ‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this, Emma. But if it’s any comfort to you, Patrick Coltrane may well get his comeuppance very soon.’

Emma looked puzzled. ‘How do you mean?’

Leonard hesitated. ‘This Royal Commission I’ve been sitting on. It’s been looking into all aspects of the banking and finance industry. One of the reasons the Prime Minister set it up was to make all financial institutions more accountable. Up to now, many haven’t been required by statute to disclose either their profits or their financial statements, let alone disclose how they use funds deposited with them. Under such a loose system there were bound to be abuses, especially through the Depression years. Well, we found many instances of gross mismanagement and breech of trust. So many in fact, that we have recommended that several institutions be forced to cease trading if they don’t adhere to stringent new banking regulations.’

Emma looked confused. ‘What has all this got to do with Patrick Coltrane?’

‘A great deal. He’s up to his ears in dodgy dealings with one of the financial houses we put under the microscope. It will cease trading soon. ’

‘Will he be hurt badly?’

‘Yes. A lot of people will. Many will lose everything. You see, VMP hedged its Australian interests by investing heavily in a large American financial institution which recently went to the wall. Now, it’s unlikely depositors will get even a penny on the pound when the company ceases trading.

‘You said VMP. Is that Victorian Mercantile and Pastoral?’

Leonard sighed. ‘A slip of the tongue. I shouldn’t have mentioned them by name.’

‘It’s all right,’ Emma said with a wry smile. ‘I won’t start a bank rush. That’s the last place I’d keep my money. It was VMP that foreclosed on Yallambee, you know. And as for my uncle, I don’t think he’ll suffer. He has friends in high places. He’s probably got wind of all this and taken his money out by now.’

‘I don’t think so, Emma. As I said, we’ve had this particular company under the microscope. We’ve kept a close watch. The usual seepage has already taken place. It’s quite minimal. I’ve seen the figures.’

‘Seepage?’

‘That’s what we call the withdrawal of funds precipitated by depositors with inside information,’ Leonard explained. ‘But VMP is essentially a rural financier. As far as I know there are no farmers or pastoralists sitting on the Royal Commission who might try to withdraw large amounts themselves or tip off their friends. ’

Emma remained skeptical. ‘You underestimate Patrick Coltrane, Leonard. Everyone around Augathella deals with VMP. My uncle would have their regional manager in his pocket like everyone else. Peebles would have told him if they were going under.’

‘Frank Peebles?’

‘Yes. He’s the Queensland regional manager.’

‘Not any more. He’s the managing director of VMP now.’

‘Then he’s in a position to pass on inside information even sooner.’

‘I don’t think he would dare,’ Leonard said quickly. ‘In order to prevent just that sort of thing, and to protect the thousands of smaller depositors, it’s been made clear to senior management that any breach of confidentiality will almost certainly result in a lengthy prison sentence under retrospective legislation already before the Parliament.’

Emma rose to her feet. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m sorry about VMP or Patrick Coltrane.

Leonard put a finger to his lips. ‘Just remember, my dear. You didn’t hear it from me.’

*

Emma sent a telegram to Laura at a Brisbane address her aunt had given Molly, telling her she was coming to Brisbane and why. On the long train journey she considered Bruce’s situation calmly and rationally, even though her anger at the Brothers of the Apostles and Patrick Coltrane remained unabated.

Before leaving Sydney, Emma wrote to Harmony telling him what had happened, though making no mention of Dan Rankin’s insistence that he and Strickland testify at Bruce’s trial. She also instructed Neale the Nib to advise David Jones of the price she would accept for Sydney Styles, providing the jobs of all the employees were guaranteed.

When the train arrived in Brisbane, Emma took a taxi directly to the Bellevue Hotel. Next morning she telephoned the law firm of Matheson & Matheson. John Matheson, the senior partner, told her Bruce had been arraigned two days earlier. His case had been set down for trial in October and bail had been refused. He told her he would make arrangements for her to see Bruce just as soon as possible.

Matheson arrived by car at the hotel just before midday and drove Emma to the Brisbane Jail in Boggo Road. The gaunt, fortress-like structure, built during Queensland’s colonial days stood on a hill overlooking the city. Emma shuddered when the massive prison gates clanged shut behind her. Matheson complied with the usual visitor formalities and in due course, a guard showed Emma and the lawyer into a small windowless room where they were told to wait.

After about fifteen minutes, the door of the room opened and Bruce shuffled in escorted by two burly guards. Emma thought her heart would break when she saw him. After five years of freedom, once again, Bruce was a prisoner in another heartless, soul-destroying hellhole. There were manacles on his wrists and ankles. His face was pale and drawn, his tall frame was stooped, and his dark eyes were dull and glazed. Already, incarceration with hardened criminals had exacted an awful toll.

It seemed the eight minutes she was allowed to spend with Bruce ended almost as soon as it began. When a guard took Bruce’s arm to lead him away, Emma realized she hadn’t really said anything at all that mattered. Somehow she couldn’t reach out to Bruce as she wanted in a that dirty little prison room full of strangers.

*

Emma spent two hours in John Matheson’s office after leaving Boggo Road, going over the file Dan Rankin had sent from Sydney. Matheson said he would do everything in his power to prove Bruce’s innocence, but he reiterated what Dan Rankin had said about the need for Harmony and Strickland to testify at the trial. For the time being, there was little else she could do to assist Bruce.

From the lawyer’s office, Emma took a taxi to Laura’s address in Wooloongabba. It turned out to be a large, old private residence converted into a modest private hotel for ladies.

‘When I got your telegram, I couldn’t believe he’d really done it,’ Laura said tearfully, in the privacy of her bed-sitting room. They sat side by side on a small settee overlooking the cricket ground. ‘How is Bruce?’

‘Not well at all, Aunt Laura. And the outlook isn’t good either. He has to remain in custody until the trial in October; that’s over three months away.’

‘I haven’t been able to eat or sleep properly,’ Laura said despondently. ‘I can’t help but feel responsible. If I hadn’t left Patrick, all this would never have happened.’

‘Don’t blame yourself, Aunt Laura. It wasn’t your fault. It was just pure chance that Uncle Patrick saw my picture in the newspaper.’

‘But it was deliberate malice when he told the police about it,’ Laura said reproachfully. ‘If I’d thought for one minute he’d actually do it, I’d have stayed at Essex Downs. Living with him would be better than how things are now. Now my family despise me, even the Silvers.’

Emma looked surprised. ‘Royston Silver’s family?’

‘They say I let Patrick down at the worst possible time. They think the world of him, you know. He’s done so much for Royston.'

‘He’s done so much for Royston Silver,’ Emma said incredulously. ‘That’s a bit rich isn’t it? I would have thought it was the other way around. Royston Silver’s put Uncle Patrick where he is today.’

‘And in return Patrick’s made Royston Silver a very wealthy man,’ Laura said. ‘They speculate in land—have done for years.’

Emma said nothing for a few moments. Then she said, ‘Well, they seem to have looked after themselves very nicely, Aunt Laura. But the important thing is, what are you going to do?’

‘Oh, they’ve offered me money, you know. Royston was here a few days ago. He said Patrick’s chances of being elected to his safe seat in the House of Representatives could be ruined if the opposition got word of the separation.’ Laura smiled wryly. ‘It seems the voters don’t like to elect wife-beaters or divorcees. Patrick’s offered me a small annuity if I’ll ensure that everything seems normal with our marriage, till after the election.’

‘Did you accept?’

‘I told him I’d think it over. I have to, Emma. I have so little money.’

‘What would you have to do?’

Laura sighed. ‘Oh, I suppose I’d have to make the rounds with him. He’s campaigning all the time you know. I’d have to be by his side like the loving wife at all the party functions.’

‘Would you have to go back to Essex Downs?’

‘Oh, no. Patrick is buying a house in Brisbane in the safe electorate they’re giving him. I’ll be expected to live there until after the general election. Really, politics are such a sham.’

‘What’s going to happen to Essex Downs?’

‘Elliot and his family are moving there. He says it’s all become too much trying to run two places and Victoria’s always complained about Yallambee being too remote.’

‘What will happen to Yallambee?'

‘Patrick said they’ll probably sell it.’

*

Emma and Laura dined together at the Bellevue that evening and talked at length. Emma told Laura of her decision to sell Sydney Styles and of the family wanting to return to the bush. And she spoke of their trip to England, of the encouraging results at Dr Pettering’s surgery, and of the surprising revelations of the family’s heritage Erin Potts had discovered in the cellars of the Mary Wells Society in London. But nothing Emma said could jolt Laura out of the brooding guilt she felt over Bruce’s incarceration.

Later, Emma revealed that during the long train journey from Sydney she had thought of a way to help Bruce. And that, in light of what Laura had told her that afternoon, she had also thought of a way they could combine forces for their common good. Then Laura’s mood did change for the better.

By the end of the evening Emma and Laura had worked out a plan of action.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Emma ate breakfast early. By eight o’clock, she was walking in the filtered sunshine of the Botanic Gardens, deep in thought. At nine o’clock, she was the first to enter the office of the State Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths and later in the morning she visited the Land Titles Office.

Well satisfied with her morning’s work Emma returned to the Bellevue Hotel in time for a late lunch. Afterwards she told the hotel manager she would be away for a few days and arranged for any mail or messages to be held for her until she returned. Then she packed, took a taxi to the railway station and boarded the afternoon train to Toowoomba.

*

The narrow dirt road to Goombungee was parched and dry. As the chauffeur-driven Buick approached Hope Farm it left a swirling cloud of dust hanging in the still morning air. A shiver ran through Emma when the car pulled up at the entrance to the farm.

Nothing had changed since she and the twins had arrived there from Essex Downs six years earlier: the same iron gate, the same rows of milk churns on the wooden platform, and the same rough winding trail leading into the property. It was as if time had stood still.

But on this visit, Emma was determined that the Brothers of the Apostles would be left in no doubt whatsoever that her circumstances had changed. She deliberately wore an expensive, stylish suit and accessories which she had bought in London. And the manager of the Grande Hotel where she had spent the night assured her that the car, was the finest hire vehicle Toowoomba had to offer.

When the big black saloon neared the residence at Hope Farm, two Brothers of the Apostles, standing talking at the main entrance hurried into the building. Even before the car had come to a complete stop, they reappeared with a beaming Brother Benjamin to greet what appeared to be a very important visitor. But when Emma stepped out of the car Brother Benjamin’s smiling face slowly furrowed into a frown.

‘Good morning, Brother Benjamin. I’m Emma McKenna. Do you remember me?’

‘I certainly do,’ Brother Benjamin said solemnly. ‘What is it you want here?’

‘I wish to speak to you about my brother, Bruce.’

‘I believe that matter is before the courts, Miss McKenna. I have no wish to discuss it. Now, please leave this property immediately.’

‘I shall not leave until I have spoken with you.’ Emma glanced briefly at the two Brothers and her driver. ‘And in private.’

‘I have nothing to say to you, Miss McKenna. And if you don’t leave immediately, I will be obliged to send someone for the police.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Brother Benjamin. If you refuse to talk with me, I’ll be going directly to the police myself with evidence of serious child abuse here at Hope Farm.’

Emma saw Brother Benjamin’s pious face flinch and knew she had struck a chord. He glanced momentarily at the chauffeur and at the two Brothers beside him, then forced a tight smile and said, ‘Very well, Miss McKenna, if you will follow me please.’

Emma followed Brother Benjamin into the residence, across the great hall and down the corridor to his private office without a word passing between them. When the office door was firmly closed, Brother Benjamin could barely contain his anger.

‘How dare you invade the peace and quiet of this place, young lady, and attempt to embarrass me with innuendo. And as for your brother, the law must take its course—an eye for an eye. Brother Lucas was a good man.’

‘Brother Lucas was a manic, authoritarian tyrant.’ Emma replied icily. ‘He was a cruel, sadistic homosexual who used his position of trust to physically and mentally abuse disadvantaged young boys.’

Brother Benjamin’s face reddened with outrage. ‘That’s preposterous! Now you listen here…’

‘No, it is you who will listen, Brother Benjamin.’

Brother Benjamin’s eyes widened in surprise at the controlled fury in Emma’s voice. He fell silent and instinctively retreated behind his desk.

‘My brother is rotting in Boggo Road Jail,’ Emma continued, ‘because of something he didn’t do and…’

‘Something he didn’t do?’ There was a hint of sarcasm in Brother Benjamin’s voice. ‘Then I suppose it must have been the big lad, Strickland, who was responsible. All you need is for him to come forward and admit his guilt and your brother will go free. Unfortunately, I understand the lout is still at large.’

‘Unfortunately for you Brother Benjamin, Strickland would have a lot more than his escape to talk about if he chose to come forward,’ Emma said quickly. ‘He would say he found my brother Jack’s body floating in the lake and that he helped bury him here at Hope Farm. And he would say that you and Brother Lucas told him to be quiet about it because it was better for Bruce and the other boys to think Jack had run away.’

Brother Benjamin shrugged off the accusation.

‘Don’t try to threaten me, Miss McKenna. You may recall the last time you were in this office soon after your brothers ran away, I told you Strickland was a chronic liar and if he were ever apprehended he would concoct all sorts of outrageous lies. Your brother may have swallowed such claptrap but I assure you that the authorities will not.’

‘I am well aware that people like Strickland are powerless against organized religious orders,’ Emma said, ‘but the authorities would listen to him if he took them to Jack’s grave.’

‘Even if this ridiculous story were true,’ Brother Benjamin snapped, ‘Why would Strickland turn himself in to tell it? He’d just be arrested and sent to trial like your brother. Why would he risk that?’

‘Because he is Bruce’s friend and he is prepared to come forward.’.

For the first time there was a trace of concern on Brother Benjamin’s face.

‘Do you know where Strickland is?’

‘I do.’

‘Then, why hasn’t he already come forward with his accusations, Miss McKenna?’

‘Oh, he will if he has to. But I thought I would give you the opportunity to come to a compromise with me first.’

‘What kind of compromise?’ Brother Benjamin asked warily.

‘The evidence against Bruce is circumstantial at best,’ Emma replied. ‘And it all happened so long ago. If you were to tell the police you have doubts about his guilt and as a caring Godly man, you and the Brothers will not testify against him, it’s quite probable the charge would be dropped. I thought I would give you the opportunity to do that.’

‘Why on earth would I agree to such a thing?’

‘Because if you don’t, Strickland will tell the authorities that you told him the police and the doctor had been to Hope Farm to view Jack’s body and that they had given permission for the burial to take place. And I would be obliged to tell them that no such record of Jack’s death has been lodged at the Queensland Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths as required by law.’

‘Which only proves Jack must be alive and well somewhere,’ Brother Benjamin said triumphantly. ‘Really, Miss McKenna, there is nothing more to discuss. You have defeated your own argument. I really must ask you to leave.’

Emma heart sank at Brother Benjamin’s refusal to be drawn. Perhaps she no longer held a trump card. Perhaps the Brothers of the Apostles had reburied Jack’s body after Bruce and Strickland escaped. She knew she had just once chance. If he was bluffing, she had to raise the stakes.

‘Very well, Brother Benjamin, I’ll go. But I’ll be back very soon with the police and Strickland. And don’t think the digging will end with Jack’s grave. We know other boys have gone missing after being sent down what you call, the hole. Once Jack’s body is found, I’m sure the digging will go on for a very long time.’

As Emma turned to leave, she noticed Brother Benjamin’s pious face had lost some of its complacency. At the office door she turned around and played her last card.

‘If I walk out this door Brother Benjamin, it’s not only Jack you’re going to have to explain to the authorities. I’ll see to it you pay heavily for the years of abuse at Hope Farm. I’m not the destitute young girl who came here six years ago. I’m a successful businesswoman, not some poor battler whose complaints can be burnt or buried by the church’s hierarchy. I’ll fight you with every means at my disposal and for as long as it takes. And I’ll petition the government and bring in the newspapers. Oh, and I can just see the field day Senator Coltrane’s political opponents would have in the press with his part in all this.’

Emma swung the door open and stepped outside. She had tried her best and played it to the hilt. She couldn’t say or do anything more. If Brother Benjamin were to back down it would be now or never.

‘Miss McKenna,’ Brother Benjamin called out before she took another step. ‘No one is going to benefit from mudslinging. Perhaps it might be better for us to try and resolve this matter.’

Emma went back into the room and closed the door behind her.

‘You understand,’ Brother Benjamin cautioned, ‘that any relaxation in the Brothers of the Apostles’ position would in no way be an admission of any wrongdoing on our part. It would simply be a compassionate Christian act, taken in good faith for the good of all concerned. If you’re not prepared to accept that, then things must remain as exactly as they are.’

‘I want only Bruce’s release and to take Jack’s body from this place. There is an old friend of my father’s in Goondiwindi who would do that discreetly.’

‘Very well. But I will need your undertaking that you will never attempt to embarrass this institution ever again or take any legal action of an kind against us.’

‘Which you will receive just as soon as Bruce is released,’ Emma said curtly, without allowing a trace of the relief and elation she felt to show on her face. ‘But I must warn you that I will not be bound by that undertaking if there is any occurrence of abuse at Hope Farm in future.’

*

Emma arrived back in Toowoomba with time on her hands. She asked her driver to stop at the Sundowner Hotel, opposite the railway station, intending to thank the publican for helping Bruce on his first escape from Hope Farm. But the driver told her the old pub had been a victim of the Depression.

Back at the Grand Hotel, Emma dismissed the driver for the day with instructions to call for her again the next morning at 8.00 am sharp. Then she ate a light lunch and booked a telephone call to Sydney Styles with the hotel operator. When the call came through, Neale the Nib told Emma he had received a formal expression of interest from David Jones regarding the purchase of Sydney Styles and that they had asked to view the firm’s financial statements as soon as possible.

Emma authorized Neale to furnish David Jones with whatever statements he considered necessary. And she told him that should David Jones wish to go ahead with the purchase, to send all documentation to Dan Rankin who would be acting for Sydney Styles in the matter. Then she asked him to contact Wilkins at the Imperial Bank and tell him that a sale was in the wind and she might be needing a substantial bridging loan for another matter.

*

Next morning the black Buick covered the hundred and twenty miles to Roma in less than three hours. When the car pulled up in the driveway in front of Royston Silver’s house, the little king-maker himself emerged from the elegant country home to greet its sole passenger. When Emma stepped from the car, immaculate and self-assured, Silver couldn’t hide his surprise that Patrick Coltrane’s niece had arrived in such style.

‘What a pleasure it is to meet you, Miss McKenna.’ Silver shook Emma’s hand gently. ‘I was so pleased to receive Mrs Coltrane’s telegram saying you were coming. ‘I’m sure we can arrive at satisfactory arrangements all around.’

Silver led the way through the house to his private study. The walls were lined with bookshelves and large framed photographs of prominent politicians and businessmen. He showed Emma to a seat across from his own at a large mahogany desk.

‘I do hope you don’t mind me acting as a go-between in this matter, Mr Silver, ‘Emma said. ‘Under the circumstances, my aunt felt any kind of direct contact with her husband would be too distressing.’

‘I understand completely, Miss McKenna,’ Silver said. ‘I know there have been bitter differences between Mr and Mrs Coltrane and I realize that fault rarely lies just on one side. Consequently, this kind of situation is always handled best by intermediaries.’ He smiled and settled down into his chair. ‘Who knows, if we are able to bring Mr and Mrs Coltrane together for even a short time it may even lead to permanent reconciliation.’

Emma returned the smile but made no comment. Royston Silver was charming. His manner was more that of a caring parish priest than a hard-nosed power-broker and Emma wondered when the hard bargaining would begin.

There was a soft tap on the study door and a young Aboriginal girl in a black and white domestic’s uniform pushed a tea trolley into the room. She poured two cups of tea, added milk and sugar as required, then smiled politely and left the room.

Martin Silver came straight to the point.

‘Miss McKenna, the point of having Senator Coltrane elected to the House of Representatives is to make him eligible as a prime ministerial candidate if and when the opportunity arises. The urban federal seat we have selected for him is considered a "safe seat", but in reality there is no such thing in politics. And of course, once he has relinquished his senate seat, as required by law when running for the lower house, there will be no turning back. You do understand that, don’t you, Miss McKenna?’

‘Oh yes, I do, Mr Silver, and so does my aunt.’

For a moment Silver eyed Emma warily. ‘Yes, well… because of that we intend to launch an aggressive publicity campaign and hold many political rallies throughout the electorate. The campaign will bring him under intense public scrutiny, from the newspapers and radio commentators, to say nothing of the opposition muckrakers.’ Silver paused and took a sip of tea. ‘Now, I have convinced the senator that the manner in which he has handled some matters in his private life could well come back to haunt him at the polls. Consequently, he is prepared to offer a permanent financial provision for Mrs Coltrane, in return for her support throughout the campaign. That support would include maintaining the outward appearance of a normal marriage at all times, by attending political rallies and functions as required with her husband, and refraining from voicing any view or opinions which may not be in his best interests.’

‘Are you saying that my uncle cannot win without the support of his wife?’ Emma asked.

‘Not at all. We will win. But as an old campaigner, I know his election would go more smoothly with her assistance than without it.’ The little man leaned back in his chair. ‘Do not try and read more into all this than there is, Miss McKenna. Perhaps I should warn you it would be a mistake to overestimate the importance I place on Mrs Coltrane’s cooperation.’

Emma knew the time had come for the hard bargaining.

‘What kind of financial arrangement did Mr Coltrane have in mind?’

‘A monthly annuity, enough to ensure her basic personal needs are always met.’

‘In what amount?’

‘The senator had around thirty pounds a month in mind, paid annually in advance.’

‘That’s little more than a shop assistant’s wage, Mr Silver. Small reward for thirty years service as a doormat.’

Silver’s eyebrows rose. ‘May I remind you that Mrs Coltrane left the security she enjoyed at Essex Downs of her own free will? Under the circumstances, I think it is a fair settlement considering the alternative is nothing at all.’

Emma looked Silver directly in the eye. ‘Perhaps I should warn you that it would be a mistake to overestimate the importance Mrs Coltrane places on receiving the senator’s support. She is not forced to accept what few crumbs Patrick Coltrane decides to throw from his table. I am ready, willing and very able to support her.’

‘I’m aware of the circumstances under which you and your family left Yallambee, Miss McKenna. It seems you have done very well for yourself since then, and I commend you for it. But surely you wouldn’t want to take on such a long term financial obligation.’ Silver rubbed his jaw. ‘What amount do you think Mrs Coltrane would accept?’

‘A hundred pounds a month, paid annually in advance and documented in a binding legal document.’

Martin Silver frowned. ‘I think that figure is well beyond the amount the senator is prepared to pay. But I’ll talk with him and do the best I can.’

‘And there’s one more thing, Mr Silver. I understand my cousin Elliot and your daughter are moving onto Essex Downs shortly and that Yallambee is to be sold. I went to the Land Titles Office recently and a search showed that my uncle still stands in the register as owner of that property. I wish to buy it back. My family and Mrs Coltrane intend to return there to live.’

Silver pondered the proposal for a few moments. Then he shrugged and said, ‘I wouldn’t expect there would be a problem with that, providing you are able to come up with the asking price in cash. After all, the property is to be sold.’

‘I am prepared to pay the same price paid by my uncle when he bought it, approximately eleven thousand pounds, not a penny more.’

Silver laughed out loud. ‘ But Yallambee is worth a great deal more than that.’

‘Yes, and it always was. Patrick Coltrane was only able to buy it for a song because he was in collusion with VMP,’ Emma said quickly. ‘Any land agent will tell there has been no real appreciation in the value of rural property anywhere since 1928.’

Royston Silver stared hard at Emma from across the desk. His congenial charm had evaporated since he and Emma first sat down. Eventually he said, ‘You drive a hard bargain, young lady. As I said before, all I can do is convey all this to Mr Coltrane and see what he says.’

‘Very well.’ Emma rose to leave. ‘Should he accept, please have the annuity agreement and land transfer documents draw up without delay and sent to Matheson & Matheson, my solicitors in Brisbane. If we hear nothing within the week, my aunt and I will assume no agreement can be reached. And then of course, she will be under no obligation to support her husband in his campaign, or to refrain from airing her views publicly on the break-up of her marriage and the shabby way she has been treated by Senator Coltrane.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Three days after Emma’s return to Brisbane, John Matheson telephoned to say that solicitors for Senator Patrick Coltrane had hand-delivered an agreement to his office. He said the document was in respect to Mrs Coltrane and could be executed at her earliest convenience. Matheson also advised that transfer documents for the property known as Yallambee were being prepared and would be forwarded shortly, and that both matters were in accordance with the terms and conditions Emma had discussed with Mr Royston Silver in Roma.

Emma knew Patrick Coltrane would want speedy execution of the annuity agreement. But afraid he might procrastinate when it came to producing the land transfer documents, she asked Matheson to press for both matters to be settled at the same time. Matheson telephoned the next day to say he had arranged for both settlements to take place on the same day in just over two week’s time. He also reminded Emma he would need a bank draft made payable to Patrick Coltrane prior to settlement.

When Emma visited Bruce at Boggo Road the next day she gave him the good news. It seemed to lift his spirits considerably and she was tempted to tell him of her meeting with Brother Benjamin at Hope Farm, but she decided against it for fear of giving him false hopes of an early release.

Another week passed and Emma was beginning to give up hope of anything eventuating when John Matheson called in personally at the Bellevue to see her. Matheson told Emma the Crown Prosecutor’s office had telephoned to say that they were recommending the charges against Bruce be dropped for reasons which they were unable to disclose. Only formal acceptance of the recommendation by the Attorney General’s Department was required before Bruce would be unconditionally released. But he advised Emma against telling Bruce anything before the acceptance came through, in case something went wrong.

*

Patrick Coltrane stood beside a row of suitcases on his veranda looking out over Essex Downs. The morning sun was rising on a new chapter in his life and for a few moments he allowed himself to ponder the ending of the old, which had seen him uncharacteristically giving rather than taking.

Two days earlier he had registered his nomination for the Brisbane federal seat of Lilley with the Commonwealth Electoral Commission in Brisbane, thus relinquishing his treasured seat in the Australian Senate. And on the same day, since the new chapter in his life required him to maintain homes in both the seat of Lilley and in the Australian Capital Territory, he had signed over the title of Essex Downs to Elliot.

Traditionally, the Coltrane family home had always been willed from father to son. But no other Coltrane patriarch had ever departed Essex Downs without being taken away in the arms of the Lord. This time there was yet another exception to the rule when Coltrane instructed his solicitor to name Victoria Coltrane on the title deed in addition to Elliot.

Coltrane watched the smoke rising into the sky from the Aboriginal fires down by the creek and he wondered if his present marital situation had prompted Royston Silver to suggest, even insist, that Victoria’s name be included on the deed, to give his daughter the formal security of tenure he felt she deserved as Elliot’s wife and mother of his child.

For the tenth time in as many minutes Coltrane turned his eyes to the road leading onto the property. He was expecting Elliot, Victoria, and his grandson to arrive from Yallambee at any moment to take up residence at Essex Downs, but still he saw no sign of anyone approaching.

Victoria had warned Coltrane that as a new broom, she would sweep clean. She intended bringing her own well-trained white domestics from Yallambee with her. As the new mistress of Essex Downs she was not prepared to be saddled with old blacks like Mary, who were too old and set in their ways, or too resentful to accept change.

Across the yard, a foreman opened the door of a garage, backed Coltrane’s motorcar out into the yard and began loading the suitcases on the veranda into it. As soon as Elliot and his family arrived Coltrane planned to drive to Brisbane. What few furnishings he planned to take with him from Essex Downs would have to follow later on, after the purchase of his new home in the fashionable suburb of Hamilton had been completed.

In the meantime he would spend a couple of weeks as the guest of Royston Silver, staying at Silver’s Brisbane townhouse and where party organizers would put the finishing touches on his election campaign. Coltrane rubbed his hands together at the prospect of gliding to a resounding victory at the polls and triumphantly taking his place on the government front benches in Canberra.

The loud drone of an engine jolted Coltrane out of his euphoria. He looked up to see a stock truck approaching. When it came to a halt in the yard, the marking ROMA ABATTOIR was just visible beneath the grime on the door of the cab. Coltrane recognized the driver as Jacko the half-caste cattle haulier. Jacko glanced up at Coltrane for a second but quickly looked away. Typical shifty half-caste, Coltrane thought, never looks you right in the eye, always looks like he’s just stolen something or has got something to hide.

The foreman put the last case into the car, then climbed into the cab of the truck and drove off down toward the creek with Jacko. A moment later Coltrane heard more vehicles approaching. He looked up the road and saw Elliot’s motorcar, followed by farm vehicles loaded with furniture and other belongings.

No sooner had Elliot’s car stopped than Victoria stepped out and told the men in the vehicles behind to start unloading furniture. Acknowledging her father-in-law with just a nod of her head, she swept into the house with her homely domestics in tow to take possession of the homestead.

Elliot stepped up onto the veranda with his son Royston Elliot, who stood silently clutching his father’s leg and staring up at Coltrane.

‘How did you leave the old McKenna place, Elliot?’ Coltrane asked.

‘A damn sight better than I found it, Father. I hope you made her pay a big price for it.’

Coltrane ran a playful hand through his grandson’s thick dark hair. ‘Under the circumstances, I got the best price I could.’

Elliot shook his head. ‘I still can’t see how she could make that kind of money from dressmaking.’

‘Neither can I. There’s only one way I know for a woman to make that much money over a few short years in the city.’ Coltrane sneered. ‘And I don’t think I’ve got to spell it out for you, Elliot.’

Coltrane entered the house to gather up a few personal things and say goodbye to Victoria. When he came back outside Elliot and his grandson walked him to the car. As he was about to drive off, Jacko’s stock truck pulled back into the yard.

Penned up in the back were fifteen or more old Aboriginal men and women. They sat on dirty blankets spread over the truck’s flat deck and peered dolefully out through the slats of its wooden framework sides. Then Mary shuffled from her shack behind the house. She was clutching all her worldly possessions in an old, rolled-up blanket with the corners knotted to form a kind of carry-handle. She struggled with the bundle until Jacko hopped down from the cab, opened the tailgate and bodily lifted Mary and her blanket up into the truck.

Elliot watched the truck pull away then turned with raised eyebrows to his father.

‘When Victoria said the house-gins had to go,’ Coltrane said, ‘I thought it was as good a time as any to finally get rid of the mob of blacks down by the creek.’

*

Emma returned to the Bellevue Hotel from visiting Bruce at Boggo Road, deeply saddened by his progressive withdrawal. Emma was finding it more and more difficult on each visit not to lift Bruce’s spirits by telling him what was going on, even if it meant his hopes might be shattered later on. Almost three weeks had passed since John Matheson had received word of the recommendation of Bruce’s release but still there had been no official word from the Attorney General’s office.

Upstairs the telephone on the writing table was ringing. Emma rushed to it, praying it was John Matheson with some news about Bruce’s release. But the hotel operator was on the line with a trunk call from a Mr Rankin in Sydney.

Dan Rankin told Emma his office had received a formal offer from David Jones for Sydney Styles, subject only to the normal conditions associated with a commercial acquisition. He said if Emma was happy with it he would draw the necessary documents and negotiate a settlement date. Emma didn’t have to think twice. The offer was so close to the asking price she told him to proceed with the sale immediately.

*

Both Laura’s agreement and the sale of Yallambee were to be settled at the chambers of Patrick Coltrane’s solicitors on Queen Street. When Emma, Laura and John Matheson were shown into the firm’s conference room by a senior partner, Emma was surprised to see that in addition to Patrick Coltrane, Royston Silver was also in attendance.

‘As Mr Silver brokered these two transactions and will be a witness to Mrs Coltrane’s support settlement agreement,’ Coltrane’s lawyer said, ‘I’m sure you won’t object to his presence here today?’

Coltrane and Silver rose from their seats at a long polished table and remained standing until the ladies were seated on the other side. While the solicitors perused the documents Laura and Coltrane entered into some forced but courteous conversation.

‘How is everything at Essex Downs?’ Laura asked.

‘Very good,’ Coltrane said stiffly. ‘I’ve signed the place over to Elliot and Victoria. And I was there recently to see them all move in. My word, little Royston Elliot is getting to be quite a little man now.’

‘And Mary, she’s well I take it? ‘

Some of Coltrane’s affability seemed to diminish. ‘Mary’s no longer at Essex Downs.’ he said curtly. ‘Victoria brought her own domestics.’

‘Then where is she?’

‘She’s gone to the Woorabinda Mission, south of Rockhampton.’

‘You sent her to Woorabinda?’ The color drained from Laura’s face. ‘But that’s an awful place. There’s no one there but helpless old derelicts That’s where they send useless old blacks to die. Mary deserves better than that.’

‘It was the only mission that would take them,’ Coltrane said with no empathy. ‘She’ll be all right. The others will take care of her. We sent them all. It was the best thing.’

Laura’s lips trembled in dismay. ‘You sent them all?’

‘Yes. There isn’t a nigger left on Essex Downs.’

Stunned, Laura leaned back in her chair and stared blankly into the grain of the tabletop.

Coltrane’s solicitor tactfully seized the lull in the potentially unpleasant conversation. ‘Well, shall we proceed? Now, Mrs Coltrane, with respect to the support agreement, I must ask you before those present today, if you have read and understood all the terms and conditions in the document, particularly the clauses which provide for the termination of support, and the recovery of any support already paid in advance, if at any time, by word or by deed, you prejudice my client’s political career in any way?’

Laura looked from the tabletop to John Matheson. The solicitor nodded his head.

‘Yes, I have read the conditions and understand them,’ she said softly.

‘Very well. Now, Mr Matheson, if you would have your client sign the document…’ The solicitor paused while he produced a bank draft from among the papers in front of him. ‘I’ll give you the first year's support payment.’

When the agreement had been dispensed with, the same procedure was followed with the execution of the Yallambee land transfer documents and a bank draft was exchanged for them in settlement.

Everyone rose from the table as soon as the transactions were complete and Emma, Laura and Matheson prepared to leave the room. Laura was still plainly upset. When she reached the door of the conference room she turned around.

‘Patrick, there’s something I should tell you,’ she said in a firm even voice. ‘And I think Mr Silver here will be interested too. Last year, I told Emma and her family about their Aboriginal blood.’

Emma, like everyone else was taken completely by surprise. She watched as Coltrane and Silver exchanged apprehensive glances and she waited for what she knew was to follow.

‘But to be absolutely certain,’ Laura continued, ‘Emma went to the Mary Wells Society headquarters when she was in London recently to see if there were records to prove it. There were. But that wasn’t all. They had records of all the near-white half-caste babies the Aboriginal Protector took from Essex Downs in the old days. It turned out there were more babies than the Mary Wells home in Brisbane could take in. So they asked the churches to try and arrange for the overflow to be taken in by white families who would raise the babies as their own flesh and blood. The hardest ones to find homes for were the girls. I suppose the McKenna family took me because they had so many boys of their own but no girls at all. It’s all true, Patrick. The Mary Wells Society gave Emma copies of their official records.’

Laura seemed to savor the horrified sag of Coltrane’s jaw and the grim realization slowly spreading over Martin Silver’s face as the implications of what she had said sank in.

’So you see, Patrick,’ Laura said as she slowly closed the door. ‘There still is one nigger left on Essex Downs—your son.’

*

An hour after the settlement, Emma and Laura were taking afternoon tea in the lounge at the Bellevue, quietly celebrating the return of Yallambee to the McKenna family. Only Bruce’s continued incarceration clouded their joy and deep personal satisfaction.

Emma was pouring Laura more tea when she noticed John Matheson enter the lounge. He stood in the doorway, his eyes anxiously scanning over the tea tables. When Emma waved and caught his attention, he hurried over to her. He was grinning from ear to ear.

‘When I got back to my office there was a message from the Attorney General’s office,’ Matheson said happily. ‘Bruce is to be released at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I thought I’d better come and tell you in person.’

Relief surged through Emma like a flooding tide. She tried to speak, but suddenly, overwhelmed by the events of the day, no words came.

‘Well, I’d better be going,’ Matheson said. ‘I’ll call for you at eight-thirty in the morning.’

As the lawyer left the lounge Emma and Laura smiled at each other across the table.

‘I wish my father was here to see this day, ‘Emma said.

‘I wish he was here, too,’ Laura said. ‘I’d like him to see the look on your face at this moment.’

Emma laughed for the first time in weeks. ‘I’d like him to have seen the look on Patrick Coltrane’s face in the lawyer’s office this afternoon.’

A waiter arrived at the table with a bottle of French champagne.

‘Compliments of Mr John Matheson,’ the waiter said as he popped the cork. ‘He said you ladies had something to celebrate.’

When the wine was poured Emma and Laura raised their glasses.

‘To Captain Jack McKenna and Yallambee,’ Emma said. ‘I think the time has come to take our Light Horseman home.’

*

Royston Silver found nothing to celebrate after the settlements in the lawyer’s chambers. Instead he remained in the conference room, ashen-faced and distraught, demanding a full explanation from Coltrane of the personally and politically devastating revelations made by his wife.

Silver and Coltrane were still in earnest and heated conversation when they left the law firm just before three o’clock to continue their discussion at the nearby Colonial Club. Along the way Coltrane stooped at the a sub-branch of VMP and deposited Emma’s bank draft in settlement of Yallambee.

While he was at VMP, Coltrane had intended to draw a bank draft in favor of the vendors of the property he had bought in Hamilton which was to be settled the next day. But the branch was just closing. Already a clerk was waiting to lock the door.

When the door of the Victorian Mercantile and Pastoral Company closed behind him, Patrick Coltrane had no way of knowing that it was just one of the company’s twenty-seven branches which would never open again.

CHAPTER FORTY

As a result of the demise of the Victorian Mercantile and Pastoral Finance Company in 1937, thousands of customers lost their savings. Large investors like Patrick Coltrane and Royston Silver, who had put all their eggs in one basket, lost everything and were left penniless. The 1937 Royal Commission on Banking submitted many far-reaching recommendations for changes in the industry. Few were ever acted upon.

A combination of Patrick Coltrane’s changed financial circumstances and the revelations made by Laura caused him to lose his House of Representative’s endorsement, which released her from any contractual obligations to him. She later returned to her childhood home of Yallambee and lived with the McKennas, as did Molly Gallimore. With regular therapy Kathleen continued to show some modest improvement in the mobility of her limbs.

Emma arranged for John Matheson to make urgent application to the Woorabinda Mission for Mary to be contracted out to Yallambee as a domestic. But the administrators advised that, although she appeared to be in good health when she arrived at Woorabinda from Essex Downs, the old woman had inexplicably died the following day.

Prime Minister ‘Honest’ Joe Lyons went on to win the general election of 1937 but with greatly reduced public support for his draconian right-wing policies. He died before completing his term in office. After the sale of Sydney Styles, Neale the Nib was appointed general manager of the new David Jones subsidiary. Many allegations of abuse of destitute children placed in the care of government and religious institutions during the 1930’s were made after the end of the Great Depression. Some were prosecuted in the courts. No convictions were ever recorded.

Nearly two hundred Australians made their way to Spain during the civil war. Most fought with the International Brigade. But there were also many Australian nurses who, compelled to follow their consciences, used their skills to care for anti-fascist casualties throughout the bloody conflict. More than half of the Australians who went to Spain never returned. Over two thousand innocent civilians were killed in the attack by the German Condor Legion on the defenseless town of Guernica.

*

Emma walked up the hillside in the morning sun with a small basket of flowers on her arm, as she had done so often as a girl. For generations the McKennas of Yallambee had buried their dead on the highest point of the entire property, a small plateau about half a mile from the homestead. It was the place where six months earlier Captain Jack McKenna and his namesake son were brought to their final resting place by Bruce and Harmony Jones.

Emma laid the last of the flowers beside the graves on the plateau. She rose to her feet and looked out over the property to the high ridge to the east. Here and there clusters of cattle and sheep dotted the rolling grasslands, now lush and green after summer rains. Already Bruce had almost restored the levels of livestock to where they had been in the old days. Emma smiled at the peace and serenity of it all, then started off back down to the house.

After a few moments she saw a telltale cloud of dust on the winding road leading down from the ridge, signaling the approach of a visitor to Yallambee. She kept watching as she walked. Soon she saw a motorcar ahead of the trail of dust. After a few minutes it came to a stop in front of the house. Someone got out of the car. She was still too far away to see clearly but it appeared to be a man. When he walked towards the house, Emma could see he moved with difficulty. Then she saw Christopher’s small frame bound out of the front door and dash over to the visitor. The man ran his hand through the boy’s hair. They seemed to talk briefly, then she saw Christopher turn and point up the hill towards the plateau. Then Emma saw Molly’s plump figure come out of the house and Bruce emerged from one of the outbuildings in the yard.

Molly and Bruce walked over to where Christopher and the man were standing. Soon everyone was looking up the hill towards her. Emma was still a few hundred yards away from the house when the man began to climb the hill. She quickened her pace. Everyone else remained where they were. Soon she could she that he man walked with a pronounced limp. Emma broke into a run. The man struggled desperately to hurry, awkwardly hobbling in his haste to close the gap between them. Tears blurred Emma’s vision. Her heart pounded. Soon the man was close enough for her to see his face.

A moment later Stephen held her tightly in his arms.

*

The two-man crew of the Junkers dive-bomber had been pulled from the wreckage of the plane soon after it crashed into the Bay of Biscay. Oberleutnant Enrico Conti died within minutes of being taken aboard a British merchant vessel homeward bound from Bilbao. Stephen Fairchild was taken to England and spent five months in a Liverpool hospital recovering from near-fatal lacerations before being deported to Australia.

*

A battered parcel arrived at Yallambee from Wales in January of 1938. It was simply addressed to Yallambee Station, Queensland, Australia and was postmarked Aberdare, in the Rhondda Valley. Inside it was an Australian Light Horseman’s slouch hat and a short note.

My son Glyn recently passed away from wounds suffered on active duty as a sergeant with the International Brigade in Spain. Glyn often spoke of an Australian friend, Bill Travis, who always wore this hat. Bill died fighting alongside Glyn in the Basque Country.

Glyn never knew which part of Australia Bill came from, but today I happened to notice the words stamped inside the hat. I hope this parcel finds his family in spite of the pain it might bring. Sometimes, knowing what has happened is better than not know anything at all.

Glyn always said the struggle against fascism in Spain would be a small price to pay for the saving of millions of lives in the worldwide conflagration which will surely follow if it is lost.

Let us hope Bill and Glyn did not die in vain.

Sincerely,

Gweneth Evans

END

David Crookes was born in Southampton, England. After living in Canada for twenty-three years he moved to Queensland, Australia with his wife and children. He has worked in many occupations,as a farm hand,factory worker,lumber-mill worker, costing surveyor,salesman,contractor,oilfield and construction industry executive and as a small business owner. He now writes fulltime. His travels have taken him to many parts of the world and his particular passion, apart from writing is single-handed ocean sailing.

His novels include: Blackbird -The Light Horseman's Daughter-Someday Soon

Children of the Sun-Redcoat-Borderline-Great Spirit Valley

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE.

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

PART TWO

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

PART THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

PART FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY