The Opal Dragonfly

by Julian Leatherdale

  ‘I gave addresses on my ship’s screw to the Institution of Civil Engineers in London, the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich, and the Royal dockyard Schools at Portsmouth, Devonport and Chatham,’ the Major told them proudly. ‘I even met with Mr William Patterson from the Great Western Steamship Company.’ Mr Patterson was one of Britain’s most famous boat-builders, who had worked on Mr Brunel’s mighty passenger ship SS Great Britain, the largest ocean-going vessel afloat with an iron hull and screw propeller.

  Isobel was glad to have her father home. She hoped that William’s death and the commission’s report would not cause him to regret his homecoming, though she feared what heavy blows they would be for him to bear. It was also evident to Isobel that the meeting with Alice had unsettled him. He had been deeply moved to see his eldest daughter so vulnerable and proud. She had told him that the fall of Gothamberly House and the family’s fortunes had begun years ago with a shameful tragedy, barely ever spoken of: the murder of Lady Olivia at the hands of an adulterous and insanely jealous lover. The house’s ruin dated directly from this grim episode. The 13th Baron Crawley, Andrew’s father, was so haunted and shamed by its memory, he had all but abandoned the house. It was a tale certainly worthy of Mrs Radcliffe, as Charles had observed.

  It was obvious to everyone present that it had taken all the Major’s strength of will and force of love to leave Alice and his sweet grandson behind. Papa explained that Alice’s husband had grown so grievously ill that leaving him in debtors’ prison was tantamount to a death sentence. The Major had been appalled at how little kindness or interest Andrew’s parents took in their son’s fate. It was clear that the poor fellow had for a long time been a victim of his father’s heartless control, forced, against his will, to sink his inheritance into his father’s risky ventures. He had also been sent to Sydney for the express purpose of securing land grants and a marriage with a well-off colonial family as no family in England would ally itself with the scandal-plagued Twyckenhams.

  As it happened, Andrew had fallen deeply in love with Alice and now wished to sever relations with his parents if only his debts could be settled. He promised to make a new life with suitable employment to support Alice and Xavier as a responsible father and husband. ‘I came to know the man, to see past the charade he had been obliged to perform, and found it in my heart to embrace him, despite everything that has happened.’

  The Major took out an envelope and opened it. ‘A letter from Alice to you, her sisters.’ He handed it to Grace, who read aloud.

  My sweet sisters, Grace, Anna and Isobel,

  Please forgive my long silence. I think of you daily and miss you all very much. I have not found the heart to write earlier as life has been a great trial with no good prospects of Improvement and I did not wish to burden you. I am sure Papa has explain’d the circumstances of my decision to stay. What may be hard to understand is why I am so loyal to a man who must appear proud and deceitful in your eyes. I hasten to reassure you he is far from that. His love for me shows him to be the most tender and considerate of men. Since childhood he has been relentlessly bullied by his father into upholding the Family Honour.

  But the truth is that Andrew is a kind and sentimental man who loves his own son dearly. He also loves me and would do anything to spare me such suffering. I know how much this terrible situation tortures him.

  For me to take the escape route offered by Papa and abandon Andrew now would surely destroy him, in spirit if not in body. I cannot express my gratitude to Father deeply enough that he has cast aside his rightful suspicions and anger and chosen to help where help was most sorely needed. Andrew is determin’d to repay this Debt in any way he can and shall forgo his hereditary title – which is no more than a shackle of shame to him – in order to win his freedom. He is a changed man now that he has renounced his bonds of fealty to his father who used him cruelly. I will write you all again soon.

  Please find enclosed a drawing of little Xavier who is overjoyed to see his father again.

  With all my love and best wishes for your future happiness,

  Your sister, Alice

  Everyone was deeply moved by this testament of love. It also showed their father in a magnanimous light, able to overcome his anger and give this desperate young man a second chance, all for the sake of his daughter Alice and his grandson Xavier. Isobel hoped it augured well for her father’s meeting with Charles; maybe Papa would be more kindly disposed towards him now.

  The Major looked pale and exhausted after all this talk and decided he should have a nap. ‘There is much news still to share,’ he told his family. ‘But there is plenty of time.’ Anna, Isobel, Aunt Louisa and Mrs Palmer embraced him again and took their leave.

  Later that evening, Grace knocked gently at the Major’s door to tell him the news of William’s death. ‘It was better that he hear it directly from me than from someone else’s lips. I could not risk that.’ Grace told Isobel later that her father had been struck down by the news as though poleaxed. She feared for a moment that he had suffered a stroke for he sat in his chair, stony-faced, muttering ‘kismet’ repeatedly like a man possessed. And then he barked angrily, as if berating himself, ‘No, you fool. It is all your fault.’ Grace heard him sobbing all that night and pacing the floorboards in his room. The following morning, he asked to be taken to see William’s headstone in the graveyard at St Mark’s. Grace obliged. He laid fresh-cut flowers and one of his campaign medals on the stone and walked away. How strange, thought Isobel when she heard Grace’s account later. Was the medal a gesture of paternal regret, a private salute to his dead son?

  The second onerous duty that day was to read the commission’s report. The Major sat in the study for hours with the door locked. He had received and taken comfort from reassurances from his patron, Lord Sherbourne, that the Colonial Office would take a dim view of this so-called official commission of inquiry and the report that his old enemies had cooked up to discredit him. He composed a long letter to the Governor in which he disputed many of the report’s findings and defended his conduct.

  The following morning, he went to the city for a brief meeting with His Excellency. The Governor welcomed him home, conveyed his condolences and graciously received the Surveyor-General’s letter of response. ‘Your deputy, Mr Perry, will be able to brief you on developments in your absence.’ That same day, the Major visited his accountant and his solicitor to review his affairs.

  Dr Finch came by Rosemount later that afternoon and examined his old friend. The tremor in his right hand had never gone away and was most pronounced when he was tired; today it troubled him more than usual. His pulse was weaker than it should have been, his face appeared dreadfully pale and he was short of breath even when sitting. He neglected to tell the doctor about the traces of blood on his handkerchief that morning following another violent bout of coughing. The doctor advised that Sir Angus take up the load of his many duties slowly and gradually; a long sea voyage often proved vexatious to the spirit and taxing on the body, not to mention the terrible shock of grief the Major had sustained at the news of William’s death. ‘Rest is what you need, my friend.’

  The Major thanked Dr Finch for his advice, promised to have him as a guest for dinner soon, and promptly returned to work the following day. There was still so much to be done and, despite the report’s criticism that he failed to delegate work to others, the Major insisted on visiting a road-repair crew in the Blue Mountains the day after to personally check on their progress.

  In the meantime, another ship had docked at the quay that morning from Port Phillip. Isobel stood alone, her face hidden in the darkness of a hooded cloak, anxious not to draw attention to herself. She was meant to be visiting Mrs Palmer but she had come here instead. As the gangplanks went down, Isobel searched impatiently for her lover’s face in the noisy egress of passengers. At last, what a welcome sight! With his unmistakeable swagger, and that noble profile and golden hair, he crossed the wharf, swinging his cane, and looking
about for his darling Isobel. Their reunion after two and a half months was as tender as she had imagined it. They found a moment alone behind a brougham, hidden from public scrutiny, to steal a passionate kiss. ‘dear God, how I have missed you!’ Charles growled at her.

  ‘I am due at Mrs Palmer’s in an hour,’ confessed Isobel, ‘but I had to steal some precious time with you. I could not wait a moment longer.’

  Charles laughed. ‘Ah, my dearest love, how good it is to see you. I have so much to show you. And to tell you.’

  Charles spoke to the petty officer and paid for his luggage to be taken to his studio. ‘It can be left with Mr Dawson, the shopkeeper, down below. He knows me.’ This business concluded, the happy couple strolled along the quay, rejoicing in their reunion and the sheer loveliness of the harbour on such a sunny morning. The shining green waters and teeming panorama of the quay were a rapture to Isobel’s eyes. And to her ears, the bell-clanging, gull-crying, wagon-trundling tumult seemed a jubilant hymn of praise. And yet in all this exultation, Isobel’s heart ached with fear.

  ‘So is your father returned from London? When can I see him?’ asked Charles.

  Isobel could not put off the dreadful truth a moment longer. She must make her confession. She must do it before her lie destroyed her future.

  ‘There is something I have to tell you, Charles,’ she said. ‘But I am almost too afraid to speak. I fear you will be very angry with me.’

  Charles stopped walking then and looked at her. ‘What is it, my dear? You look so pale. Please tell me. You frighten me as well. Is it bad news?’

  ‘I hope you do not receive it as such,’ she said. ‘I ask you to consider my desperate situation when I tell you what I have done. And I beg your forgiveness in advance. Whatever crime I have committed, I did it out of my love for you.’

  Charles studied her face with a look of utter bewilderment.

  ‘I lied to you, my darling,’ said Isobel.

  Charles stared at her. ‘When?’

  ‘I told you my father favoured our match. I told you he approved of our courtship in principle, and that we must keep our courtship secret to spare my sisters. All lies. Father did not give his blessing to our courtship. He said he could not do so until he was satisfied you were a respectable man in the eyes of society. Because you have been a convict. He told me he would inquire about your reputation and may agree to meet with you when he returned.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I felt so betrayed when he said all this. So angry! I hated him for his hypocrisy. He was happy to let Grace marry Augustus whose father stole thousands of pounds of feathers and silk! But he hesitates to forgive you who, out of hunger and despair, took the paltry contents of a woman’s purse. I realised then that my belief that honesty is the best policy was a mistake. It had only been rewarded by my father’s hypocrisy and heartlessness!’

  Charles appeared at a loss for words. His face was grave and still. His eyes were downcast and his expression impossible to read. Isobel continued her confession, unable to turn back now. If this was to be the end of her love, her happiness, her only chance at a future in which she could fly like a flash of light and discover her own true nature, then so be it. She would tell him the truth and be damned for it.

  ‘I knew it was wrong to lie. That it was an offence to you, to God, to my whole family. And I knew that my lie would be discovered and would grievously hurt the people I have deceived. And yet I still prayed that Father would come to see things differently. You and he share so many interests, so many fine qualities. I know when you meet you will like one another. Were it not for a petty crime long ago there would be no obstacles to our marriage, I am sure of it. I lied because I could not bear to lose you, Charles. You are the only good that has come into my life in these last few years.’

  Charles looked up at her then. There was a great tenderness in his regard.

  ‘We have kept our courtship secret from everyone. And yet, as my teacher and friend, you have already won the hearts and good opinion of my family: Aunt Louisa, Grace, Augustus, even Anna when she is not ill. The only heart that waits to be turned is Papa’s.’

  Isobel was crying now. ‘I have no right to ask you any favours, I know. I have deceived you. If I were a man, I would not be forgiven such deceit. And yet…I love you, Charles. I love you so much that I am willing to imperil my immortal soul. And to risk the wrath of my family all over again. I am beyond caring about reputation and honour. What are they worth if you must trade away true love and be condemned to misery for their sake!’

  Isobel’s voice had risen to a pitch of indignant anger. Now she dropped her voice and spoke quietly, her hands folded in supplication. ‘So this is what I ask, dear Charles. I beg you to find it in your heart to forgive me. I pray that we may still have a chance at happiness. Father is not the proud man he once was; life’s blows have bowed that stiff neck and tempered that pride with humility. He may well look on your offer of marriage with fresh eyes. That is if you have any love left in your heart for one so wicked!’

  Isobel wept then. Charles clasped her left arm and drew her closer, oblivious to the curious stares of passers-by. ‘Listen to me, Isobel.’

  She looked at his serious, handsome face. dear God, how she would miss it! How could she live without this man in her life? The man in the rowboat gripped the oars and she heard them splash as they hit the water. Which way would he row? Towards her or away?

  ‘Listen to me,’ he said again. ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of. You did what any true lover would do to save herself! I do not judge you for that. You have my solemn promise that this changes nothing between us. I yearn for our life together, two souls dedicated to the same ends: beauty, love, freedom. I will meet your father and ask for your hand in marriage.’

  ‘Oh, Charles!’ Isobel was overcome. She felt herself close to fainting but Charles’s firm grip had her by the elbow and guided her to the nearest seat. Her tears blurred the blazing harbour light that seemed to envelop her like a blessing. She had risked everything, gambled everything on this confession. Honesty had won through in the end.

  And its most fierce champion, Mr Charles Probius, would lay this sinful lie aside and send a note urgently to Rosemount for a meeting with the Major the following morning.

  That evening, Aunt Louisa and Isobel visited Rosemount. The Major, still very pale and with his chest racked by spasms of coughing, welcomed his daughter into his study – his only refuge now in a house changed beyond recognition. On an impulse, Isobel decided she wanted to show her father a watercolour she had finished that day. It was a view of Woolloomooloo Bay, worked up from the sketches she had done weeks earlier on the day of the dust storm. He was very pleased to see her and they sat in his study for the best part of an hour. There was, of course, another even more pressing reason for their meeting.

  ‘Your mother would be so proud of you, my dear Isobel.’ The Major held her hand affectionately. He picked something up from his desk. ‘I have received a note from your suitor. Mr Probius.’

  Isobel blushed, mindful that she must feign ignorance. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘He wishes to meet me early tomorrow morning here. In the gardens.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘He seeks your hand in marriage.’

  Isobel looked her father full in the face then. He looked at her with curiosity. ‘So tell me, do you still have feelings for this fellow?’

  ‘I do, Papa. I do.’ Isobel struggled not to shed tears. She did not want to alarm him.

  ‘Well, I shall look forward to our meeting with great interest. I believe I have acted properly with regards to the welfare and happiness of your two sisters. I am gratified that this man has not changed his attitude towards you even after all this time. It bodes well, I think.’

  Isobel’s face burned now. ‘Oh, Papa.’

  ‘You shall have my answer tomorrow, Isobel.’

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ said Isobel and kissed him on the cheek. She had reasons to
be hopeful. She had only to pray that all would go well on the morrow.

  When she looked back the Major was studying the watercolour she had left on his desk. A view of Woolloomooloo Bay.

  Later that evening, the Major put on his dress uniform with his campaign medals and Macleod clan tartan. While he did not feel at all well, he was determined not to miss that evening’s important occasion. Two hundred eminent men had been invited by the Governor to attend an anniversary dinner to celebrate Mr Hargraves’ discovery of gold at Bathurst two years ago. His position as Surveyor-General might be under review (‘under threat, more like,’ the Major snarled) but Sir Angus’s service to the colony had earned him a place at that table.

  The saloon in the Royal Hotel in George Street was bathed in the brilliance of four gaslit chandeliers. The banquet table and its epergnes, stocked with fruit and flowers, glistened opulently. There were many speeches about the colony’s grand future, evoking soul-stirring visions of Sydney Harbour choked with steamships, all laden with money and migrants, and the banks bursting at the seams. Mr Thomas Mort, owner of Sydney’s largest dry dock, proposed a toast to the city’s traders who were destined to become ‘like those of the once magnificent cities of the Mediterranean—merchant princes!’ This was greeted with lusty cheers. Amid all this self-congratulatory bonhomie, Major Macleod felt a quiet glow of satisfaction at having played such a vital role in the colony’s prosperity.

  Early the following morning, the Major met Mr Charles Probius for a walk through Rosemount’s gardens. Except for the artist’s unfortunate past, there was a firm foundation already in place for a congenial meeting of minds, a happy commingling of kindred spirits. The artist admired the Major’s sketches and maps and had read the published journals of his expeditions. The explorer and mapmaker in his turn had a set of the artist’s lithographs and knew of his portrait work. The two men discussed their respective encounters with natives, a topic on which they shared many observations and insights. The Major complimented the artist on the sensitivity and subtlety of his portraits of indigenes. The artist complimented the explorer on the courage and tact with which he had negotiated with tribes in the hinterland and his keen interest in their customs and language. And then Charles Probius formally requested Isobel’s hand in marriage. Isobel would have to wait until the following day to learn the outcome of his request.