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 t
emperature 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.
&nb
sp; 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.’
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