With my fondest love, Your Elizabeth
She sealed the letter and sent a housemaid with it to the post office. It was better sent, committing her, making the decision she had hesitated over ever since her mother had first broached it.
‘Please stay,’ Edith had begged, ‘it’ll be such a special moment in your father’s life. To have you stand there with him on the platform. He needs someone. I can’t be there. And his mistress certainly can’t.’
‘His what?’ said Elizabeth.
‘My darling, he’s had one for years,’ her mother said, startling her, not only with the news, but with her lack of resentment.
‘Who is she?’
‘An ex-dancer who lives in a cottage he owns in Paddington.
Her name is Hannah Lockwood. I’ve known for ages.’
She smiled at Elizabeth’s shocked face. ‘It’s never bothered me. Other things have. Not that.’
‘What things, Mama?’
There was a silence so long, Elizabeth thought her mother was not going to answer.
‘What things?’ she asked again. She deeply wanted to know. At last Edith replied, ‘Being — nobody,’ she said. ‘Being alone in this great big awful house, which I’ve always hated. And most of all — losing you.’
Elizabeth had not believed she could feel such pain and love for her mother. When Edith asked her once again to stay until the New Year, her answer was interrupted as Sigrid brought Heinrich from the house. He was full of exhilaration as he ran towards his grandmother. It seemed the most natural thing in the world; something she had never been able to do in her own childhood. He embraced Edith as if no one else existed.
Elizabeth saw her mother’s face. She could scarcely believe how transformed it was, how animated with delight. In that moment a decision was taken that would influence the rest of her life, although she had no idea then, and in fact, did not realise it for a considerable time to come.
SIXTEEN
Towards evening the heat burst in a storm, and the last Christmas of the century was ushered in by driving rain and the sound of thunder. Forbes brought the carriage to the front porch and William, sheltering there, climbed gratefully into it. Forbes, sweating under his heavy oilskins, rivulets of rain running down his face, flicked the reins, and the drenched horse and coachman began the long journey to the parliamentary buildings in Macquarie Street.
Even though the old man treated him well, there were times, Forbes reflected dismally, when the old bastard was a bit bloody unreasonable. And this was one of them. Sodding Christmas Eve. Why in the hell would he have a secret meeting with some geezer at Parliament House on Christmas Eve? And in this weather? As if to demonstrate his point, the wind gusted, and the driving rain blew into Forbes’ face, almost blinding him.
The telephone call had come an hour earlier, but William had been waiting in hopeful expectation all day. The male secretary’s voice had been ingratiatingly polite, almost obsequious.
‘Mr Edmund Barton sends his compliments, and wonders if he might meet with you?’
William, knowing the urgency of the matter, had pretended to consult his diary and suggested a week hence, and had then professed surprise when the secretary asked for the meeting that same evenmg.
‘Tonight? Christmas Eve?’
‘If you would be so kind,’ the man said, and William once again pretended to deliberate.
‘Very well,’ he said finally, ‘tell Mr Barton I can meet him at seven o’clock.’
And so at last the opportunity had come, the dice had finally fallen his way. The summons could mean only one thing — and he was ready for it. He sat back in the carriage, experiencing a feeling of pleasure and anticipation. The eminent Edmund Barton needed him, and William had no intention of selling himself cheaply.
Barton was there before him, a distinguished figure in formal attire and wing collar, with his silver grey hair and penetrating lawyer’s gaze. They greeted each other with careful reserve; William knew that Barton had never liked him.
‘Looks like a wet Christmas,’ William said, and they ordered drinks, and made small talk about the weather and the forthcoming proclamation of the Commonwealth, a week hence, until the steward went out and shut the door and they were alone.
‘I need support,’ Barton said. ‘So I gather.’
‘The British have sent us a fool as our first governor-general.
But I have almost enough names to change his mind.’
‘Almost?’
‘Three more,’ Barton said, ‘would give me enough.’
‘I have these four. And several more if you want to impress his Excellency.’ William took a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Barton, who read the list of names and looked at William with a grudging respect.
‘You have more influence than I realised.’
William shrugged. He had, ever since the Wexford Street alarm controlled George Roland and his group, and through them was able to count on the support of a number of others. He had been close to the edge, and had no intention of ever being without the numbers again.
‘What’s the price of your support?’
‘I’m a patriot,’ William said. ‘I believe you would be our best Prime Minister.’
‘Thank you,’ Edmund Barton said dryly, ‘but I suggest we try to avoid hypocrisy. Let’s not pretend we particularly care for each other. You’re a rich man, and I distrust rich men in politics.’
‘Then it’s a pity you need me and the support I can command,’ William replied curtly.
‘I merely asked the price of that support.’
‘I said I’m a patriot.’
‘There’s always a price, Patterson. I want to know yours.’ William got up from his chair and walked to the window. He gazed out at the deepening night, and the gusting rain lashing the Moreton Bay fig trees in the Domain. He could barely see the harbour beyond. It was a moment to savour, making the most powerful political figure in Australia wait for his answer.
‘I enjoy politics,’ William finally said. ‘But the State House will be less exciting once we have Federation.’
‘I can’t promise you a seat,’ Barton told him, ‘and you know I can’t. I’d be a liar to say I could arrange something like that …’
‘And I’d be a fool to believe you. But there is the Senate. As the leader of the party, you’ll be in a position to nominate.’
‘The Senate …’ Barton said.
William smiled. Barton gazed at him for a few moments, then he nodded his agreement.
‘Very well.’
‘Senator William Patterson,’ William said quietly, almost as if he were testing the sound of it.
Barton made no reply. He rang for their coats, and ordered the carriage.
Less than an hour later they were with His Excellency, John Adrian Louis, the seventh Earl of Hopetoun, Her Majesty’s newly arrived vice-regal appointee as the country’s first governor-general, revealing to him as tactfully as possible that he was on the verge of making a monumental blunder.
‘Impossible,’ the Earl said angrily. ‘Out of the question.’
He was not a man who took kindly to opposition, or to any hint of criticism, particularly from colonials. He had already had some experience of these people, having been appointed Governor of Victoria at the age of twenty-nine; now, a decade later, invited to preside over the Federation of the rival States, each with their own different laws and diverse rail systems, he had no intention of being dictated to in this fashion. Never mind if the man was a prominent figure, and well regarded in London.
‘No,’ he repeated, ‘it is impossible, Barton.’
‘Not impossible, My Lord.’ Edmund Barton did his best to remain courteous. ‘Merely difficult.’
The rain still fell steadily outside, and in the background of the formal room, William remained a silent onlooker. He saw the aristocrat’s pallid face suffuse with indignation.
‘I repeat again, Mr Barton, for the last time — what you sugge
st is impossible. I have invited Sir William Lyne, as the Premier of the senior colony of New South Wales, to form a government and become Prime Minister.’
‘Sir William has opposed the idea of a Commonwealth for the past five years,’ Barton told him.
‘Nevertheless,’ the seventh Earl’s voice was becoming shrill, ‘I am the Viceroy-Elect, and his is the name I have chosen.’
‘Then I have to tell you,’ Barton spoke so softly his voice was almost drowned by the storm, ‘that he has no mandate.’
‘I propose to use the powers invested in me by Her Majesty the Queen to announce his mandate.’
‘No, Your Excellency.’ Barton once again spoke quietly, but with authority. ‘You can’t do that.’
Hopetoun stared at him, as if he hadn’t heard him properly. ‘I think you presume too far, Mr Barton. Are you trying to dictate to Her Majesty on procedure?’
But it was a bluster, and they both knew it. William, standing discreetly in the background, also knew it. He watched as Edmund Barton produced a list of names, and handed it to the governor-general.
‘We have a constitution,’ Barton said, and let the other absorb the long list. ‘Procedure under it is clear. Those men refuse to serve under Sir William Lyne.’ He took out the list of the names William had provided, and passed it to the startled Viceroy. ‘And also these. It gives me a clear mandate.’
‘But dammit man,’ Hopetoun said almost plaintively, ‘it’s the eleventh hour.’
‘Exactly, Sir,’ Barton was as smooth as silk, ‘which is why I felt Your Excellency should be informed of the position.’
The Queen’s elect frowned over the list of names again, then his gaze encountered William. ‘And you — er …’
‘Patterson,’ William reminded him. ‘William Patterson.’
‘Quite. Are you a party to this — this — politicking?’
‘I merely wish to avoid embarrassment, My Lord,’ William said.
‘What embarrassment?’ Hopetoun snapped at him, starting to lose his temper with these bland and polite colonials.
‘The embarrassment,’ William said smoothly, ‘of Her Imperial Majesty’s envoy proclaiming our new Commonwealth, and selecting the wrong man to lead it.’
There was a startled silence, while Hopetoun stared at him.
Even Barton almost smiled.
‘Are you being clever?’ the Earl asked. ‘Clever?’ William merely looked puzzled.
‘All right, dammit,’ Hopetoun gave up. ‘You may leave us.’
‘Yes, Your Excellency.’ William bowed. ‘May I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.’
He went across the vast panelled room towards the door, and could hear Barton saying, ‘Sir William Lyne cannot form a government,’ and Hopetoun’s testy reply: ‘You’ve made your point, Barton. Confound it, this is hardly an auspicious start for a new nation.’
William went out, closing the door quietly behind him.
An hour later he was in bed with Hannah. He stayed until the early hours of the morning, and woke with reluctance, to find her snuggled against him, her hair tousled, looking pretty and singularly vulnerable, and not for the first time he contemplated what his life might have been if Edith’s fall had proved fatal — as she intended.
He had no doubt that he would have asked Hannah to marry him.
He dressed without waking her, left the Christmas present he had chosen for her at the bottom of the stairs where she would find it in the morning, and walked home through the quiet streets. The rain had eased and the night was cooler. It was strange to be going home to decorations and a Christmas tree, and a house lively with the sound of children’s excitement. He was going to miss them terribly. In less than a fortnight Elizabeth would be taking them home; there was no way he could persuade her to stay longer. At least before she went would be the day they had all waited for with such expectation.
‘I, John Adrian Louis Hope, Seventh Earl of Hopetoun, do here proclaim that on this first day of January, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and one, by the Grace of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Defender of the Faith, that the colonies duly signed and attested shall be Federated to form the Commonwealth of Australia …’
The Earl was not a lively speaker, William reflected, as they stood on the platform among an elite group of guests. Invitations for the official pavilion had been a source of speculation and division for weeks past, a social accolade for those who received the embossed cards, a rebuff for others, envious and indignant at being omitted from the select list.
Around them were State Premiers, politicians and their ladies, bankers, businessmen, judges, eminent doctors, lawyers and their wives. The bunyip aristocracy, a wit had once christened them. Sweating in frock coats and top hats for the occasion. The ladies in crinolines and bonnets. He glanced at Elizabeth alongside him, conscious of her youth and vibrant beauty. I am, he thought, escorting the best-looking woman here today. He saw many eyes, male and female, admiring her, and felt inordinately proud of his daughter.
The city was en fete, and had been ever since the wilder than usual New Year’s Eve revelry. The end of the nineteenth century went out with a noisy salute to the twentieth — and the first day of Federation. While the churches were full, and patriotic songs sung in theatres, it was in the streets that the people celebrated. Packed crowds produced a ferocious cacophony of sounds; ringing bells, trumpets, whistles, drums, noisy ribald choruses as the night went on, the riotous excitement only dampened towards dawn by a drizzle from overcast skies.
But by mid-morning the rain had cleared, and the sun shone.
A lavish procession left the Domain, and traversed the city streets, past privately erected grandstands where the prosperous middle classes had reserved their seats. There were spectacular patriotic floats, regiments of soldiers and a naval brass band, a brigade of Light Horsemen followed by packed carriages with mayors, aldermen, politicians from all sides, and finally the gilded coach of the plumed and uniformed governor-general with an escort of lancers.
The procession was admired and applauded by crowds in Martin Place, and from there it proceeded through the city, festooned with flags, banners and floral arches, past Oxford Square to Centennial Park, where the official guests took their places. As they stood on the platform, William realised he could almost see his house through the trees. They were to proclaim the new Commonwealth on his doorstep, in a park where he often walked, a place he sometimes thought of as an extension of his home, but which today was unrecognisable, crowded with more than one hundred and fifty thousand people, bedecked with flags and bunting, lined with troops and field artillery for the salute.
‘ … and I do appoint as my Chief Minister with authority to form a government, the Right Honourable Edmund Barton …’ The roar of cheering almost drowned the name, and Barton nodded in response to the acclaim, as if no other prospect had ever been considered.
A Senator, William thought, and liking the sound of the title, he permitted himself a quiet smile as he took Elizabeth’s arm, and wished this particular day would never end.
Her mother’s admiration pleased but also disturbed her.
‘You look so beautiful,’ Edith exclaimed when Elizabeth came home after the long celebratory afternoon; first the reception and official presentation to the Earl in the Centennial pavilion, then the carnival and exhibitions of children’s dancing, the band concert followed by a cocktail party, and finally, as it became dark, the massive fireworks display. Her father had delivered her to the door, before having Forbes drive him to State Parliament where there was more festivity that would last long into the night. Her mother had been sitting by the window, waiting for her.
‘You look lovely,’ she said again. ‘Excited. Was it a grand occasion?’
‘It was wonderful, Mama. I’m so glad you persuaded me. It was really very special to be there, at the start of it all. To know that Papa had a hand in shaping it. I felt very privileged.’ They had rarely, if ever, spoken so f
reely to each other.
‘The children and I could hear the band,’ Edith said, ‘and of course the twenty-one gun salute. They both loved all that noise. Carl went to sleep before the fireworks, but Heinrich and I watched until he got tired. Sigrid put him to bed. Sit down and rest, darling. You must be exhausted. Would you like me to ring for some supper?’
‘No thanks. There were sandwiches and lots of patisseries, and then we had champagne, and father introduced me to Mr Barton. I’m not a bit tired. It was just a wonderful day.’
‘Something to remember for the rest of your life,’ Edith said. ‘Yes.’ Elizabeth nodded.
‘And now, any day, you’ll be going home.’
‘Next week.’
‘So soon.’
‘I must.’
‘Taking your children. Going back to your husband.’
‘Mama, be fair. You know I must.’
Her mother gazed at her. Elizabeth felt she had never seen such distress and sadness. Such pain.
‘I know. I also know you’re going to break my heart, Elizabeth.
You can’t help it, but you’re going to do it — all over again.’
SEVENTEEN
Stefan woke excited. Today, at last, they would be here. It was hard to believe it had been so long. Almost six months. He had already made arrangements with Gerhardt to borrow their pony and trap, and Eva-Maria was bringing it and had insisted she would stay and clean the house. In vain he told her he had cleaned it.
‘I’m talking of clean clean,’ she said. ‘Spotless — so the floors shine and everything looks beautiful. Isn’t that how it would be in her big home with all those servants?’
Stefan had to admit, it would no doubt be immaculate in the mansion opposite the park and, in an uneasy moment wondered aloud if six months there, being waited upon and no doubt indulged in all kinds of ways, would have changed her? And what about the children? Maria and Carl were too young to notice, but would Heinrich come home spoilt? Would he find his small home a disappointment after the grandeur of Centennial Park?
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