The Opal Dragonfly

by Julian Leatherdale

  ‘William, dear brother! And Joseph! You are a sight for sore eyes!’ cried Isobel, wiping away tears as she raced towards them. The two men greeted their little sister effusively and complimented her on her obvious good health.

  ‘You are a good head taller than when I saw you last!’ said William.

  ‘And fairer than I remembered. But then I have a terrible memory,’ Joseph laughed.

  Isobel returned their compliments, noting the fine cut of their clothes, which they confirmed had been freshly tailored for their travels. Relishing this happy reunion and the sight of her brothers’ smiling faces, she wished she could monopolise them for longer but knew the staff would have already hurried to alert Grace and Anna to their arrival.

  Isobel had written a reply to William’s letter over three weeks ago, telling him of her banishment from Rosemount, but she had had no reply. What did he know of her situation? It was entirely possible he had left Melbourne before the letter arrived. Grace had at least informed Isobel that Papa now knew of his sons’ plans for India and William’s intention to visit Rosemount. She did not know if Joseph, the ‘black sheep’ in Father’s view, was expected or not.

  ‘Father won’t be home until this evening,’ she told them.

  ‘Yes, we suspected as much,’ confessed William. ‘Which is one reason why we decided to come earlier, unannounced. We wanted to spend some time with our dear sisters before meeting with Father. We have rooms in town; our ship leaves first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Before Isobel could speak another word there were exclamations of delight from the portico. In their best bonnets and shawls, Anna and Grace rushed out, arms outstretched and faces lit up with smiles. Another round of embraces and compliments followed.

  ‘We were not expecting you so early,’ chided Grace. ‘Thankfully, Cook has a few treats stored in the pantry and I have set us up in the drawing room for tea.’

  The siblings made themselves comfortable on the chaise longue and the sofas while the butler tended to the fire. Grace unlocked the tea caddy on its rosewood poy and offered her brothers a choice of gunpowder or pekoe. Once that critical issue was settled, the tray arrived with Winifred’s most prized Spode tea service, taken down from the dining room cabinet for the auspicious homecoming of the two Macleod brothers.

  Cook had managed to rustle up two dozen lemon cheesecakes, generous slabs of plum cake and gingerbread tea loaf, and two plates of rout cakes. Grace officiated at the urn while Anna and Isobel passed plates, forks, spoons, milk jug, sugar box and tongs. The usual pleasantries (how beautiful the garden looked; how clement was the spring weather; what progress the sisters had made in music and drawing; praise for their new lace doilies) were soon exhausted. There was an awkward pause as everyone present realised it was time to embark on more challenging topics.

  William went first. He explained how he and Joseph had met up in Melbourne last year to pursue some business opportunities. Their successful trading in hemp and tea had brought them to the attention of a well-known exporter who offered them both positions in his company’s Madras offices. The brothers seized on this chance to learn more about the flourishing Indian market, especially now the East India Company’s monopolies had ended. Grace expressed her devout hope that they would thrive in India while Anna prayed they would not die from the bite of a cobra.

  ‘I am sure that two such clever fellows as yourselves will do very well.’ Isobel smiled at her brothers, hiding her grief that they were going so far away. ‘Of course, once you have made your fortune, you will make Australia home again?’

  ‘Yes, of course. We plan to be away for three or four years at most,’ said William, avoiding his youngest sister’s gaze. ‘But I promise we will regularly write you of our progress.’

  Always the good son, William had resigned his commission with the Royal Navy to run the Camden farm after Richard died. Released from these duties by the Major, with the appointment of a manager, he had then taken off to Melbourne to form a business partnership with an old friend.

  Having finished his law studies, Joseph had been articled to a Sydney firm but soon drifted into political circles and journalism, much to his father’s displeasure. The Major had threatened to disinherit him if he did not return to the law and eventually made good this threat (and his son’s banishment) when Joseph’s insolence and rebelliousness became intolerable. In the throes of a heated argument between father and son nine months ago, Joseph had shamelessly admitted – nay, boasted – to his father about writing a slanderous poem attacking Mr Macleay’s son, William. This cruel portrait of the former penny-pinching, antisocial occupant of Rosemount Hall had been published anonymously over a year ago and had provoked a minor scandal.

  Bleak house blears blindly o’er Eliza’s Bay

  Chill as the owner’s hospitality

  No music here save weeping willows sigh

  And wavelets ripple murm’ring lullaby

  Chance picnic pilgrim, seeking scallop shell

  Draws down in dudgeon this high Admiral

  Too puffy, selfish, greedy and effete

  For Council’s squabbles or the world’s debate.

  With rumours rife about the poem’s authorship, the Major came under intense pressure from his superiors to reveal the poet’s name. Though he had his suspicions, the Major decided to protect his son’s honour and said nothing. Joseph’s ingratitude for this kindness as well as his stubborn refusal to return to the law left the Major with little choice.

  Unconstrained by gentility or diplomacy, Anna asked the obvious question. ‘So, has Father agreed to see Joseph again?’ William confessed that their father had neither agreed nor disagreed to see Joseph. ‘We will see what he says when he returns today. It is a matter for his own conscience. We are resigned to his stubborn refusal but we are also hopeful that our plans may meet with his approval. And even blessing.’

  ‘I think you will find Father a little changed since…’ Grace hesitated to name the event that had caused everyone so much distress, allowing the absent word to hang in the air unsaid. By a happy coincidence all parties had independently decided to avoid the subject of the duel; there was nothing to be gained by risking upset in this all too brief reunion. For the sake of family harmony, Isobel had also promised Grace to say nothing of her banishment when William visited; her sister had no knowledge, of course, of the letter Isobel had already written him.

  ‘Papa is almost fully recovered except for a small tremor of the right hand,’ said Grace. ‘His spirits are still troubled but Dr Finch said that is to be expected.’

  ‘He has always had an exceptionally strong constitution and a mind of such clarity and discipline that there are few to equal it,’ said Joseph.

  With almost visible relief at having negotiated this perilous terrain, the siblings moved on to other subjects, including their sister Alice’s news from England that she was expecting and the glowing reports from Dr Finch’s son about the Great Exhibition.

  Despite her promise to Grace to say nothing, Isobel still brooded on the injustice of her impending banishment. She planned to steal a few moments alone with her brother to tell him of her horrid fate (assuming that he had not received her last letter). She even hoped that William, the favourite son, might agree to intercede with Papa on her behalf. As it turned out, this opportunity never presented itself.

  Isobel reflected later on how cleverly Grace had managed to keep Isobel and William apart. When the business of serving tea and cakes was concluded, the brothers admired Anna’s performance of four Chopin polonaises. Joseph then joined Anna on the piano stool for a robust duet performing a pastorale he enjoyed by Willam Byrd. Isobel also liked this song well enough but was always amused at how the powerful and rich were presumed to be so dreadfully jealous of the honest and humble virtues of the poor.

  Several sentimental ballads ensued, then the improvised concert was followed by an invitation for Joseph and William to make up a four for a game of euchre. Isobel insisted she w
as content to watch her siblings at play while she did her mending by the fire. despite her anxiety to speak alone with her brother, she was enchanted by the familiar scene before her, reminiscent of happier times when Alice and Richard were still here and their sweet mother, Winifred, presided over such domestic felicity.

  This heartwarming gathering was rudely interrupted by the drumroll of carriage wheels in the drive. They all hurried to the windows. To their collective dismay they discovered that the Major had returned from his office two hours earlier than anticipated.

  ‘Quick, quick, take Joseph into the breakfast room. And lock the door,’ Grace urged Isobel. ‘I will greet Father and break the news.’ Isobel stayed with Joseph who stood pale and trembling by the mantel, with more reason than anyone to fear the old man’s temper.

  Meanwhile William and Anna waited in the drawing room while Grace hurried out to the vestibule. As her father entered, Grace welcomed him and inquired as to what had brought him home at such an early hour.

  Standing behind the locked door of the breakfast room, Isobel could hear only the timbre of this conversation, not its content. The exchange sounded troubled and then shifted suddenly to a more alarming register when her father exclaimed, ‘Why all this mystery?’ She did not hear Grace’s answer but heard her father’s response: ‘Very well, send him in.’ The study door opened and closed again. Now William’s voice could be heard joined with Grace’s in the vestibule and their urgent dialogue concluded with Grace bidding him ‘good luck’ as he knocked on his father’s door. On Grace’s signal, Isobel unlocked the door to the breakfast room and admitted her and Anna, both in a state of agitation.

  ‘What is the matter? Why has Father come home so early?’ she asked.

  ‘The timing of this visit could hardly be less propitious,’ said Grace. ‘Father tells me that the Governor has this very day informed him that he is about to appoint a commission of inquiry into the Major’s conduct of his department.’

  The colour drained from Joseph’s cheeks. The Major would be in no mood for a reconciliation today. Isobel recalled all too clearly her mother’s distress some three years ago that her husband’s loyal service was to be rewarded with the threat of official sanction. ‘There has been talk of an inquiry for some time,’ said Grace. ‘But I wonder if more recent history has given encouragement to our father’s enemies. I bet that Mr Davidson had a hand in this.’

  In the late afternoon light, the four siblings sat in miserable silence with no fire in the grate and no candles lit on the mantel. Huddled in the gathering cold and gloom, they were like a group of school children playing hide-and-seek who dared not breathe too loudly for fear of revealing their presence. The meeting between William and the Major felt interminable. Only the sluggish pendulum of the mantel clock and slow advancement of its hands gave any sign of time passing.

  At last there was a rap at the breakfast room door. ‘It’s me,’ said William, and was admitted by Grace. Isobel was saddened to see how much her brother’s spirits had altered. His face was now sombre and his demeanour subdued.

  ‘I am glad to see that Father’s strength of mind has returned,’ he observed. ‘But luck is against us, dear brother. It seems there is to be a government inquiry into our father’s career. It may well affect the future of his employment, and even his entitlements and pension. I am sorry to see him treated so wretchedly. His mood is very dark.’

  ‘He refuses to see me then?’ Joseph asked bitterly.

  ‘He does,’ answered William. A sob broke from Isobel’s mouth. Banished! She and Joseph were both exiles from their father’s love. It was insupportable. She felt dizzy with despair. The Macleod family, once so assured of their social position, was now divided and faced with ruin and disgrace. Isobel realised that the sacrifice of her good name had not saved her family; at worst, it had contributed to their downfall.

  ‘I thought it unwise to press the point, given the circumstances,’ said William. He could not meet his sisters’ gaze or acknowledge their expressions of fear. ‘Even so, I am reassured that Father looks forward to hearing how our ventures abroad shall prosper.’

  Joseph, his eyes downcast and his deportment one of utter defeat, was unconvinced. Spurned by his father and unwelcome in his own home, he was anxious to leave. ‘There is nothing to detain us here, William. We must bid our sisters adieu.’

  The group reassembled in the drawing room. The two gentlemen called for the butler to fetch their hats and outer garments. Poor Isobel had failed to consult privately with William and it was now clear that she would not get the chance. Unwilling to burden Joseph with her woes, she had scratched a quick note while they both waited in the breakfast room.

  Dearest W—

  Supposedly for the sake of my own welfare, Papa has banish’d me to Aunt Louisa’s. For how long? I do not know. I hold grave fears for my future at Rosemount as Grace & Anna cannot be trusted. I wish I could alter Papa’s mind and win back the Love and Esteem I once enjoy’d. Please write to me soonest. I wish you and Joseph every blessing with all my Heart and will pray for your safety, good health and Success.

  Your doting & foolish sister,

  Isobel C. Macleod

  The solemn party made their way out onto the gravel driveway. Rain clouds had gathered on the horizon and a fresh gust off the harbour played havoc with bonnets and hats. The sisters made their farewells, wishing their brothers ‘bon voyage’ and ‘good fortune’ with tears of sorrow brimming at their eyes. Just before they climbed aboard the trap, Isobel hugged William, pressing her letter into his hand with a whisper in his ear. ‘Please read my note, dear William, I beg you. And send me your good counsel.’

  The women watched the trap pull away with its two occupants bidding them loud farewells, hats raised high. The three sisters waved their final goodbyes until the trap bearing their brothers vanished beneath the trees, leaving the forlorn trio alone in the lengthening shadows of the house. The scene struck Isobel as momentous. And ill-omened.

  Here, standing centrestage in the grand amphitheatre formed naturally by Rosemount’s sloping lawn, lush gardens, wild forest and harbour prospect, the women’s private grief assumed the epic quality of Greek drama. Under the darkening, windswept sky, she and her sisters were tragic heroines in a play by Sophocles, lamenting their dear brothers’ departure for foreign shores and contemplating their family’s inevitable doom.

  What Isobel did not see was her father’s face at an upstairs window. An awful gravity resided in that grief-stricken countenance, for it was the Major’s sorrowful conviction that he would never see either of his two sons alive again.

  Chapter 14

  SYDNEY TOWN

  There was only one week left until the ball at Juniper Hall. To her immense surprise, Isobel found herself happily preoccupied with her fittings at the premises of the Misses Burnill, dressmakers of Riley Street. These accomplished ladies had been busy with their expert needles creating a debutante’s evening dress of white silk, trimmed with lace and bouquets of violets. It was close to completion, needing only minor adjustments to cuffs and neckline.

  Isobel’s companion was none other than dear Mrs Palmer, who had loved Winnie greatly and was now strenuously protective of her daughters. Too poor to host even an afternoon tea for Isobel to come out, Mrs Palmer said she would do whatever else she could to assist Isobel’s entrée to society.

  ‘The dress will be delivered to Rosemount on Friday as promised,’ reassured the younger Miss Burnill. ‘It should be quite the occasion if our orders are anything to go by.’

  ‘So why is this the last ball that Mr and Mrs Cooper are hosting at the Hall, do you know?’ asked Mrs Palmer, hoping not to cause any offence. Neither she nor Isobel’s family mixed in the same circles as Mr Cooper so they were not privy to the gossip.

  ‘Well, they are leaving Juniper Hall, I believe,’ said the dressmaker. She lowered her voice. ‘The rumour is that Mr C. is in extreme financial distress and has had to give up the house. Not alto
gether surprising given the number of his offspring and their taste for luxury. This ball is the Coopers’ final farewell.’

  Isobel and Mrs Palmer nodded. Miss Burnill continued: ‘I’ve been told that the Hall is to be turned into an Asylum for the Relief of destitute Children. They say that Mr Robert’s son, Augustus, who has done very well for himself, offered to buy him out, but the young Mr C. already has a house in town and a country estate. He was advised not to over-extend.’

  ‘I see.’ Mrs Palmer smiled. For reasons not that hard to understand, she found that dressmakers were excellent sources of gossip. Isobel was intrigued to hear about ‘the young Mr C.’ and sorely tempted to ask if he was attached or not. But she thought better of it. ‘Thank you both. The dress is perfection.’

  ‘And you, Mademoiselle, shall look perfection in it.’

  The two Misses Burnill waved goodbye as Isobel and Mrs Palmer took their leave. Now that the session at the dressmakers was concluded, they caught another omnibus into town where they could amble along George Street to consider the purchase of new gloves and maybe even a shawl and a reticule to complement the evening gown.

  Seated atop the omnibus, Isobel and Mrs Palmer hung on tightly to their bonnets. The hot, boisterous winds whipped at the hems of their skirts despite the omnibus’s ankle boards (intended to protect female modesty from straying eyes as well as stiff breezes). Isobel enjoyed these trips into Sydney in daylight hours, especially when the weather was this fine and the streets filled with so many gentlefolk. days like these afforded her a closer acquaintance with the broad river of humanity in all its variety and colour. As the omnibus passed along Old South Head, Isobel saw Sydney spread out grandly before her under a royal blue sky, like one of Mr Augustus Earle’s celebrated panoramas.