By the Currawong's Call

by Welton B. Marsland

  Matthew could tell already that Jonah needed no further proof. It was clear the pieces were of a custom set. But Jonah dutifully examined them both and nodded at the engraved markings on their backs.

  After an appropriate moment, Jonah handed the clips back to Benedict. ‘Thank you, Mister Ling, Miss Ling. I’ll file a report that a formal identification has been made. My condolences on your melancholy loss.’

  Matthew gently laid a hand on Benedict’s shoulder. ‘Would you like to see where we buried her?’

  Benedict looked up at him. ‘You buried her, Father?’

  ‘We both did, the sergeant and I. We dug her grave and laid her to rest beneath two of the largest trees I’ve ever seen.’ He gave a small smile.

  Benedict looked at his sister, then back to Matthew and nodded. ‘We should like to see.’

  ***

  A knock at Matthew’s door roused him from the final pages of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall shortly after eight in the evening. A traitorously hopeful spark in his chest had him wishing to find Jonah on the other side, even though Jonah wouldn’t be calling at the rectory’s front door unless he was there on business.

  He was nonetheless surprised when he found Benedict Ling standing on his front verandah.

  ‘Mister Ling!’

  ‘Father. Apologies for calling on you unexpectedly.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Matthew stepped back a pace. ‘Please. Come in. What can I do for you?’

  Benedict removed his hat as he entered. ‘I wished to thank you again, Father. At greater length than my sorrow would allow at Lan’s graveside this afternoon.’

  Matthew closed the door behind them. ‘There’s no further need, Mister Ling, I assure you. Would you care for some tea? I think my kettle is somewhere close to the boil—’

  He was struck silent by his guest’s action of removing, from within the many pockets of his fine overcoat, a small lump of rock. It didn’t glimmer or gleam, but Matthew doubted there would be anyone in all of Victoria who would fail to recognise a nugget of gold when they saw one.

  ‘Mister Ling?’

  ‘You cared for my sister, Father, when no one else in this town would beside Sergeant Parks.’ Benedict looked at the stone as he turned it in his hand, then raised his gaze to meet Matthew’s. ‘My parents, were they here, would have wanted you to be rewarded for your care and kindness.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Matthew muttered. ‘No, Mister Ling, I really could not—’

  ‘Sergeant Parks has already refused me.’

  Matthew tilted his head. ‘You’ve visited him already?’

  ‘Immediately before I came here. He wouldn’t accept this gratitude either.’ The rock was held out towards Matthew.

  ‘I’m sure I can speak for Sergeant Parks as well as myself when I say that the gratitude is well received, Mister Ling. It’s the …’ Matthew looked again at the rock sitting in Benedict’s open palm. ‘It’s the generosity of that gratitude. Men in our positions of trust … we cannot be seen to accept gifts beyond our due, Benedict.’

  ‘This was given to my father to pay off a bad debt,’ Benedict said of the nugget. ‘I haven’t earnt this. It holds no meaning, I do not suffer to see it gone. I offer it to you in good faith, Father.’

  ‘I have no doubt.’ Matthew gave him a small smile. ‘And I have no wish to offend you with this refusal. Please believe me.’

  Benedict nodded, his expression sombre, and re-pocketed the gold. ‘You are two good men,’ he said around a sigh. ‘This town should be grateful for you.’

  ‘We do our duty.’

  Benedict nodded again. ‘Thank you for taking care of Lan.’ His voice cracked slightly as he said his sister’s name.

  ‘I’m only sorry we couldn’t do more for her.’ Matthew held his hand out and Benedict shook it.

  ‘Goodnight then, Father. We return to Bendigo in the morning. A headstone will arrive in due course.’

  ‘I’ll make sure it finds its place,’ Matthew assured him.

  ***

  Jonah appeared in Matthew’s bedroom around midnight, his tunic damp from another autumnal drizzle.

  ‘You’re cold,’ Matthew griped lazily when he slid beneath the blankets.

  ‘I could take my coldness elsewhere, then, if you don’t want nothin’ to do with it.’

  Matthew tightened his grasp of him, held him closer, let his fingertips dig a little way into his skin. ‘Don’t you dare.’ The cold was soon forgotten and then dispelled.

  Jonah was demanding that night, firmly placing Matthew’s hands exactly where he wanted them, holding Matthew’s head to his chest in a plea for licks and kisses. In response, Matthew sought out all of the man’s weaknesses—the vulnerability lurking between his ribs, the delicacy of his balls, the tickles hidden behind his knees. They were both breathless by the time they crashed to earth together, tangled in the bedsheets and laughing softly into each other’s hair.

  ‘I like how ya hold me.’ Jonah pressed their mouths together firmly for a moment between breaths. ‘Like them big hands of yours.’

  ‘Oh? So you don’t find yourself missing a more delicate touch?’

  Jonah nipped at Matthew’s bottom lip. Matthew could feel him grinning. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking women are all delicate in bed just ‘cos they’re feminine. The fierceness of their fucking would surprise ya.’

  ‘I’m quite sure it would.’ Matthew rolled to the side, became momentarily caught in the bed linen and fought to free himself. Jonah scoffed a laugh at him before lending a hand.

  ‘You refused a gold nugget today,’ Matthew suddenly said, apropos of nothing.

  ‘How the fuck do you know about that?’

  ‘Mister Ling offered it to me after your refusal.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘I refused it also.’

  Jonah chuckled. ‘Respectable couple of so-and-sos, aren’t we?’

  ‘Not in our current state, I fear.’

  ‘Hmph,’ retorted Jonah. ‘Bollock naked and slurping on a dick, you’re still the most respectable bugger I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Must you be so crude?’

  ‘You love it.’

  ***

  Matthew led Sunday’s service with stories of Saint George, the medieval fable involving dragons as well as more historically accurate tales of the martyrdom of a good and trusted soldier. He’d never much cared for the dragon-slaying nonsense, Matthew had always thought George of Lydda was interesting enough without all that, but worshippers invariably fidgeted if denied it.

  Charging well into the last week of April, then, Dinbratten was treated one afternoon to its own exhibition of “dragon” slaying.

  The commotion in the main road—a woman shrieking and the calamitous clatter of panicked horse hooves—was sufficient to drag everyone within earshot out of their houses and places of work, the children and teacher from the school.

  Matthew was sweeping cobwebs from the corners of the church hall’s ceiling, but dropped his broom and dashed outside to see what dilemmas had befallen. An over-laden cart full of flour sacks rattled by him as he emerged from the hall, the poor beast pulling it startled beyond all sanity and the lone lady on the driver’s bench unable to wrest control.

  Evidently not a town to give into panic in such circumstances, the gathered adults quickly formed a cordon across the road, right where the bend was. Doing this visually steered the horse away from further road-rattling and instead towards the small grassed lot at the side of the police station. Having positioned themselves somehow right where the horse would now go, Jonah and George stood firm in the animal’s approach, both of them with their empty hands up, palms forward in a calming gesture. Veering away from the cordon had slowed him to a degree, the troopers’ uniforms and calm slowed him further. Jonah grabbed at the bridle.

  Matthew was already striding up the road, fascinated to see the townspeople fall to such swift and effective action, but also concerned that his lover was now face-to-muzzle
with a very large and rather spooked beast of burden.

  ‘Oh, isn’t he brave?’ Kitty Alson was saying to her fellow senior girls at the school gate as Matthew passed by. ‘Isn’t Sergeant Parks just the bravest man?’ Matthew recalled how Kitty had confessed to him her “mad crush” on Jonah, whilst dancing together at the harvest festival.

  Yes, Miss Alson, Matthew said in his thoughts as he approached the stopped cart, he is braver than anyone in this town could possibly know. Anyone except me.

  The brave man in question was now stroking the horse’s forehead, speaking to it in a soft and calming voice, while George and the blacksmith worked nimble fingers in the buckles and straps of the harness. Once freed of the cart, the horse gratefully let Jonah lead it to the water trough nearby, nuzzling into Jonah’s shoulder as it walked. Jonah tethered it to the railing at the trough, then turned his attention to the cart’s driver.

  Matthew looked properly for the first time, too, and his heart dropped a little. The lady was handsome.

  Jonah offered a hand and helped her step down from the cart. She was wobbly on her feet when she landed, stumbling back into Jonah’s chest with a thousand breathless apologies as he caught her.

  ‘There was a snake!’ she cried. ‘I’m so sorry, everyone! There was a snake right under him and he simply took off! Hideous brown serpent! I think we ran clear over the top of it! Oh, my poor boy, he was so scared!’

  Jonah scooped her up into his arms as though she weighed not a thing, and carried her up the cop shop path and onto the verandah. There, he set her down gently on the wooden form and disappeared indoors for a short moment. When he re-emerged, he gave her a tin cup and—of all things to have procured in a police station—a wicker hand fan. Matthew watched all this at a discreet distance, guessing the tin cup to contain Jonah’s whisky of choice. The expression on the lady’s face after drinking certainly attested to such. Jonah crouched down beside her, and they exchanged some words before Jonah rose again and strode back into the grassed lot where the cart had come to rest.

  ‘George!’ he called his constable to him. His gaze travelled the milling townsfolk until he found Matthew. ‘Father Ottenshaw? A word, please?’

  He was surprised by the summons, but Matthew hastened over, he and George standing shoulder to shoulder in front of Jonah who gestured them both closer still. The three men huddled together.

  ‘Right then,’ Jonah began, voice low. Clearly, he didn’t want anyone overhearing. ‘Her name’s McMillan. Reckons she’s headed almost to Dimboola with all that lot.’ He jabbed a thumb in the cart’s direction. ‘Desperate times, desperate measures, she says. Needs what coin she can get for that old flour. She’s not had a proper meal in a day or two, so I’m gonna take her to the Commercial and get a meal into her. She says she’s not got any money on her and I’m set to believe her for now. So. George? I want you to ask Fred if he can spare his Jimmy lad and get that horse taken care of. Tell Jimmy there’s a coin in it for him. Want it fed and watered well, but I want it given a good brush-down as well. We’ll stable it here at the station for the night. Oh.’ He gave a quick flash of a smile. ‘His name’s Samson, by the way.’

  George snorted out a tiny laugh and straightened his uniform jacket. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Jonah. ‘Take a walk after that, see if you can find any trace of this snake she reckons spooked him.’

  ‘Bit late in the year,’ said George.

  ‘We’ve had tigers this late before. And I wouldn’t want a pissed off one of them this close to the school.’

  ‘And if I find it?’

  Jonah grinned. ‘It’s yours. Tell Katy I said bon appetit.’

  George made a clicking sound out the corner of his mouth, grinning back. ‘Cheers, Sarg.’

  ‘We’re gonna have to stable her too, of course,’ Jonah continued in his quiet voice, jerking his head once, just slightly, in the direction of the station verandah.

  George flicked a glance that way, too, before looking back to Jonah. ‘You gonna put her up at the pub?’

  ‘I’m already buying her bloody dinner!’ Jonah grouched half-heartedly. His gaze slid towards Matthew. ‘I was wondering if I could ask you a big favour, Father.’

  ‘Of course,’ Matthew said at once, still curious what Jonah had in store for him.

  ‘Can we put Miss McMillan up at the rectory for the night?’

  Matthew’s eyes widened at the suggestion. ‘Is that appropriate?’

  ‘I don’t mean to bed her down with you. God!’ Jonah rolled his eyes a bit, then his expression sobered again. ‘You can bunk in with me for the night, yeah?’

  Matthew surreptitiously, for he was all too aware of George standing right by them, studied Jonah’s face for any hint of mischief. To his great credit, Jonah’s features were casual and appropriately schooled, not giving away any air of impropriety. The man was all business.

  ‘Of course,’ Matthew said. ‘Yes, of course, you’re right. That is the most appropriate solution.’ He hoped he wasn’t agreeing too enthusiastically or nodding too much. It really wouldn’t do to let his excitement at the prospect be noticeable.

  ‘There’s a couple of things I want you to do in preparation though,’ Jonah went on, voice even lower again. He turned his head and cast a glance back at the station, making sure Miss McMillan was still where he’d sat her, then turned back with an earnest expression. ‘While yer back to collect what you need for the night and to make sure everything’s decent for a lady to be in, do me a favour and,’ he paused, eyes narrowing, almost as though it pained him to be even thinking this, let alone saying it. ‘And collect yer valuables together.’

  ‘I knew it,’ George murmured, triumph in his tone. ‘I knew you didn’t trust her.’

  ‘You think she’d rob me?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘She said it herself just now, desperate times, desperate measures,’ repeated Jonah. ‘I’m just saying to be … careful. Alright? Just pull together anything small and valuable, even if it’s just sentimental value to ya, anything that a person could swipe easily enough. And another thing, I want you to make sure the church and the sacristy are locked up, too.’

  Matthew thought he’d have to draw a line there. ‘You can’t surely imagine anyone would steal from a church?’

  ‘People do,’ George pointed out.

  ‘People do,’ Jonah agreed, nodding. ‘Times are getting tough, Father. This Depression they’re all talking about in the papers and such, it’s already brought down a state government and it’s really only just getting going. People are gonna be forced into positions they wouldn’t normally have been in, and for some of ‘em that’s gonna mean doing things they wouldn’t normally do, things we wouldn’t like to think ‘em capable of. I just …’ He sighed shallowly, dragging a hand back and forth across his chin stubble. ‘I just want us all to take precautions. Can you do that for me?’

  Matthew took in a quiet, deep breath. ‘I’ll … do what I can to help.’

  Jonah smiled crookedly at him. ‘Good man.’ He clapped his hands together once. ‘Well, then. That was a nice bit of excitement to finish off the day, weren’t it?’ His voice was back to normal volume, no longer caring, evidently, if Miss McMillan overheard.

  ‘So,’ George said to Jonah with a cheeky smile, ‘you get the girl and I just get a dead snake then, Sarg?’

  Jonah laughed and smacked George lightly on the back. ‘You’ve got free meat in your family’s pot tonight, George. I’m shelling out dosh on mine.’ He spared Matthew a private look as he said it, the laughter in his voice not translating to his eyes.

  Matthew nominally appreciated the fact Jonah was keeping up appearances in front of George, but he still felt the dull twist of jealousy in his gut.

  ***

  Matthew did as he was requested, more or less, and tried to keep his mind off Jonah and the handsome Miss McMillan enjoying a meal together. He banged about the rectory, setting things to rights and gathering bits and pieces befor
e heading over to the track behind the bakehouse and Jonah’s little mudbrick cottage that stood there. He let himself in, plonked down his rather sad box of valuables on the table, put the kettle on to boil, and waited for the man of the house to return.

  And waited.

  He picked up one of Jonah’s periodicals from London and started reading. He had very nearly reached its back cover by the time his friend came home.

  Very slowly, the door opened, and Jonah peered around it first before stepping fully inside and closing it softly. ‘You didn’t have to wait up,’ he said.

  Matthew shrugged with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the wall as he sat on the low, narrow stretcher bed. ‘It would’ve felt rude to help myself to your washstand and your bed without at least having your presence here as implicit permission.’

  ‘Eh?’ Jonah frowned, sliding the latch into place on the door. Matthew didn’t bother repeating himself and Jonah didn’t prompt him further. Instead, Jonah pointed at the latch as he took another step into the cottage. ‘I don’t usually put the latch on,’ he explained. ‘So George knows, see, if he needs me, he knocks twice and walks right in. So just in case, just in case George comes knocking tonight for anything—not that that’s a common thing, y’know, and all these nights I been messing about with you for hours in the wee smalls without George being none the wiser should probably tell us that—but just in case he does, the latch is on so there’s no chance of him walking in on, y’know. Anything.’ He swayed a little as he stood in the middle of the floor. That, and the rambling made Matthew wonder just how much he’d had to drink. ‘Ya just need to remember though,’ Jonah continued, ‘if that happens, it was you who locked up, right? You didn’t know about that arrangement and you put the latch on. Alright?’