by Peter Watt
Michael stood silently as Sir Ronald raged. He had sworn to Jane to keep her secret and he guessed that Arrowsmith would not want to press charges in case the whole sordid story came out. He remembered how Uncle Donald once explained that there was something called frontier justice, and he now understood what that meant.
‘Do you have anything to say about the matter?’ Sir Ronald asked.
‘No, sir,’ Michael replied. ‘I accept your judgement and will pack.’
‘I do not want you to have any contact with my daughter while you await transport back to Sydney,’ Sir Ronald ordered, and Michael broke into a broad smile.
‘Do you find this funny?’ Sir Ronald demanded in an angry voice.
‘Sir, I just remembered from my history lessons that the English judges used to sentence convicts to transportation to the colonies. I think I know how they felt.’
‘You are not only a criminal but also impudent if you think you can simply assault one of our own. You will never be welcome in our house again. I feel sorry for your parents for having raised such a brute.’
Michael went upstairs to his room. He closed the door and sat on the bed. How strange life could be sometimes, he thought. On Saturday he had been looking at being part of the prestigious school’s first eleven and now, a mere forty-eight hours later, he was about to return to Sydney in disgrace. At least at home he would see Nanny Keevers again. She had been writing to him regularly and, although he had been enjoying living in Britain, he had missed her. She was the only mother he had ever known. He recalled the last time he had seen her. She had tried not to cry as she helped him pack his suitcase, but she’d fallen into deep sobbing. ‘Oh, my darling boy, I feel that I will never see you again,’ she had said, collapsing onto his bed.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Michael had said. ‘I will see you when I come home for Christmas, and I will bring you the best present I can find in England.’
She had reached across to stroke his face. ‘Seeing you will be the best present I could have.’
A meal tray was brought to Michael’s room by the old cook from the village. She placed it on a side table, and Michael said, ‘Mrs Miller, I would like you to know that you are the best cook in England, and I want to thank you for feeding me so well.’
The old lady blushed. ‘I’ve heard about the matter at your school, Master Macintosh,’ she said. ‘It’s the talk of the village. I have not known you for very long, but I would just like to say you are a good young man and must have had a reason for what you did to that other boy.’
‘I had a good reason,’ Michael said, picking up a soup spoon. ‘But it does not matter now.’
After dinner Michael packed a few of his personal things into a large suitcase. He found a copy of Robbery Under Arms by Rolf Boldrewood and lay back on his bed to read it for a second time. He knew that it had been made into a film by the British Rank Organisation, starring the Aussie actor Peter Finch.
Eventually it was time to turn off the light and get some sleep. Michael had barely closed his eyes when he heard his door creak open. He came awake quickly and turned to see Jane outlined in the doorway in a long nightdress. She carefully closed the door and crept to Michael’s bed, lifted the blankets and slid in beside him.
‘I was told you put Jason in hospital,’ she whispered. ‘You kept your word that you would not tell anyone what happened and now you are being forced to go home. It is not fair.’
‘I knew that I would be in real trouble if I confronted that bastard,’ Michael said. Jane clung to him and he could feel her naked body beneath her nightdress. ‘But it had to be done.’
‘Hold me, Michael,’ she said and began to cry softly. For moments Michael held her, aware of his burning desire to go further. He kissed her and she responded with her own passion. What happened next was like a dream to him, and a memory he would never forget for the rest of his life. When he awoke in the morning Jane was gone and only the sweet scent of her body lingered on the pillow. Michael was sure he was in love for the first time in his life, but he remembered that very shortly he would be on a ship bound for Australia. Life was not fair.
When he went down to breakfast he was met by Lady Georgina, sitting at the table with her morning cup of tea.
‘Is Jane having breakfast with us?’ Michael asked hopefully.
‘I’m sorry, Michael, but her father has taken her to London,’ she said. ‘Something happened to my daughter and I wonder if you know anything about that.’
For a moment Michael thought she knew what had happened last night, then he realised what she meant. ‘I wish I could tell you, Lady Georgina, but I swore an oath to Jane not to say anything.’ Michael picked up a plate and helped himself to bacon rashers, mushrooms and scrambled eggs from a silver dish on the sideboard. ‘Maybe some time in the future Jane will talk to you about it.’
‘Was it you?’ Lady Georgina asked sharply as Michael sat down with his breakfast.
‘No, I am not the reason for any distress you may have noticed in Jane,’ he replied.
Lady Georgina glared at him. Suddenly her hard gaze softened. ‘I suspect that fight you had with Jason Arrowsmith had something to do with my daughter. I have always considered you an honourable young man. Did Jason hurt Jane in some way?’
Michael picked at his bacon with a fork, trying to avoid eye contact. ‘You will have to discuss that with Jane,’ he said.
‘I think I know what has happened,’ Lady Georgina sighed. ‘Thank you, Michael, for being such a good friend to her. You have been like a big brother to her, and I think my husband should know that.’
Michael felt just a little guilty at the ‘big brother’ reference when only hours earlier he had made gentle but passionate love to Jane.
That evening, Lady Georgina drove him to the London port in her own sports car to board his ship. It was a cargo ship with a few cabins for passengers. There were no crowds of well-wishers on the dock to farewell those embarking. After his papers had been scrutinised by customs and immigration officials, he was passed to leave. It was then that Michael suddenly felt incredibly alone, despite the fact he was returning to Sydney, Nanny Keevers, and his father.
A fine drizzle of rain fell over the port and a chill was in the air.
A crew member called down from the ship’s rail for all to board, and Michael picked up his suitcase.
Suddenly Lady Georgina flung her arms around him, holding him tight.
‘Thank you, Michael,’ she said. ‘I will not forget the sacrifice you made for my daughter.’
Michael disengaged himself and walked to the gangplank. He made his way to the deck and looked down to see Lady Georgina watching him in the drizzle of the early evening. She waved and he waved back as the ship drifted away from the wharf. Jane looked so much like her mother, he thought as the ship slid further away from the shore. It was time to find his cabin and settle in for the voyage through the Suez Canal and into the Indian Ocean. He wondered what kind of reception he would receive when he got home. Not a pleasant one – not if he knew his mother as well.
So, what was next in his life? Only time would tell. He had travelled to England first-class on a luxury steamship and now he was returning home on a battered and sea-weary cargo ship. The thought that he was being banished for his supposed criminal behaviour was not lost on Michael, who once again smiled at the parallels with Britain’s exiled convicts of years earlier.
There were no luxuries aboard the ship and the young man quickly grew bored, until he found out that one of the ship’s cooks had come down ill and been put ashore in Aden. Michael approached the dour Scots captain and volunteered to take up cooking duties. The Scotsman stared at him and said that he could have the job, but if he did not come up to scratch he would be tossed overboard. Michael thought he was probably joking but it was hard to tell.
Michael found a battered cookbook in the galley
and set out to teach himself how to cook. He proved to be a quick learner, and none of the crew protested at his meals. In fact, they even praised his cooking to the ship’s captain. It was hard, sweaty work but Michael revelled in it. He did not care that he was a paying passenger because the work made the days go by quickly.
When the ship eventually reached Sydney, Michael was summoned to the bridge.
‘You earned your passage, young fella,’ the gruff Scotsman said. ‘You will always have a berth on any ship I am skippering,’ and he thrust an envelope into Michael’s hand. ‘I think you have earned your wages for this trip.’
Michael was surprised and, at the same time, humbled by the gesture. He had just earned his first pay packet on a cargo ship that had crossed the Indian Ocean. Before disembarking he went around and shook hands with each of the crew he had befriended: Filipinos, Indians and a couple of Irishmen, who wished him well and extended the same invitation as the captain to join them as their cook.
When Michael stepped off the ship’s gangplank with a swagger, he saw his mother and father waiting for him – but no Nanny Keevers. He could see his father’s broad smile and noted the scowl on his mother’s face. At least half his family was glad to see him home.
TWELVE
‘Welcome home, son,’ said Charles as he hugged Michael to him.
‘Hello, Michael,’ his mother said in a chilly voice. ‘I hope you have a good explanation for your criminal behaviour.’
‘Where is Nanny Keevers?’ Michael asked, glancing around the wharf.
‘She passed away while you were in England,’ his mother replied. ‘Charles attended her funeral.’
Michael was too stunned to speak for a moment. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’ he asked when he could catch his breath.
‘I’m so sorry, Mike,’ said his father. ‘I know how much she meant to you.’
‘I decided that if you knew, you might want to return home, which would have disrupted your studies,’ his mother said. ‘As it is, your studies seem to have been disrupted anyway. You do not realise the shame you have brought upon me.’
Michael stared at his mother, trying to comprehend the death of his beloved nanny. ‘Oh, I’m sorry that I have brought shame to you, Mother,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘You have absolutely no idea how important Nanny Keevers was to me.’
‘Mike,’ his father said in a gentle voice. ‘Let’s go home so you can rest. We can talk about this later.’
Michael turned to his father who he loved with his heart and soul. The man had been the light of his life under the roof of the Macintosh mansion.
‘Yes, Dad,’ he said, picking up his suitcase.
On the car trip home, Michael hardly said a word. He was forcing back the tears he felt for the loss of Nanny Keevers. He hated his mother for her indifference to his grief; it was as though she had no human feelings at all.
They reached the house overlooking the harbour and were greeted by a middle-aged woman his mother introduced as their new housekeeper and cook. ‘You will find that Gertrude is a much better cook than your old nanny,’ Sarah said as she placed her handbag on a side table in the foyer.
Michael pushed past her and stormed up to his room where he threw his suitcase in the corner. He slumped on his bed, burying his head in his hands, and sobbed for the loss of the woman he most loved in the world.
The door opened and his father entered the room quietly. He sat down beside Michael and put his arm around his shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry, Mike,’ he said gently. ‘I wanted to send a telegram, but your mother convinced me that you would cut short your studies. Nanny Keevers died peacefully in her sleep after a bout of pneumonia. I made sure she had a good headstone on her grave; I knew how much that would mean to you.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Michael said, wiping away the tears with the back of his hand. ‘I suppose you think I’m some kind of sissy for crying.’
‘Son, during the war I saw a lot of brave men cry and they were not sissies. What do you plan to do now that you are home?’
‘I’m not going back to school,’ Michael said. ‘I’m old enough to leave home.’
‘But you’ve done so well academically,’ Charles protested. ‘You would be foolish not to finish your secondary education and go to uni.’
‘I can’t explain it, Dad, but I just feel like I want to go out into the world and find something else besides this way of life.’ Michael gestured around the room, as though it represented everything he hated about the Macintosh lifestyle.
Charles shook his head. ‘I know your mother can be a very cold woman,’ he said. ‘But deep down I think she loves you. I know she wants you to assume the mantle of the Macintosh companies. Not many young men are given that opportunity. Promise me you won’t make any decisions without consulting me first. In the meantime, I thought that you and I could go over to the old Manly beach house for the weekend to do some fishing, and maybe we’ll have a cold beer to wash down what we catch. Just don’t tell your mother.’
‘Sounds good, Dad,’ Michael smiled. ‘I’ve never been there before.’
Charles rose from the bed. ‘Well, get some rest, unpack and join us for dinner later,’ he said with a smile.
Michael watched his father leave the room, his mind in turmoil. He had already made his decision, but he would at least spend the weekend with his father before he left.
*
David Macintosh was now the honourable member of his electorate. His win had been by a large margin against his political opponent, and he had sat in the parliament in Canberra across the floor from Markham’s father.
He had had a long day in his office, listening to the people in his electorate and dealing with the flood of memos from his party. He was tired, and dying for a cold beer. As soon as he returned home, he pulled out a longneck and headed out to the headland where he could simply forget the world, gazing at the serenity of the ocean under a winter sunset.
It was a lonely time without Gail by his side. Why was it that he could not tell her he loved her? The question echoed over and over and the answer was always the same: fear. Fear that she would leave him, like the other women in his life. He knew it was irrational but he could not dismiss it.
‘So, the big man of politics is drinking alone.’
David looked up to see Craig Glanville, Gail’s son. Craig was now twenty-one years of age, working as a trainee stock and station agent in a business set up by his grandfather, John.
‘Pull up a sod of grass and you can drink with me,’ David said. Craig sat beside him and looked out at the ocean.
‘You know you’re a bloody fool,’ Craig said, accepting the bottle David passed him. ‘You should be with Mum.’
‘Your mum has someone else in her life,’ David countered.
‘And you let that happen,’ Craig said, swigging from the bottle and passing it back.
‘Your mother made her choice,’ David shrugged. ‘She is a grown woman and knows her own mind.’
‘Well, I know for a fact she’d take you over Hamilton any day.’
David smiled. Stuart Hamilton was wealthy, good-looking and some years younger than David.
‘What do you think I should do?’ David asked.
‘Just go and tell her you love her,’ Craig replied. ‘Propose to her before Hamilton does.’
David turned and stared at the young man who was like a son to him. ‘As easy as that,’ he said with a crooked smile.
‘I reckon so,’ Craig said. ‘I know my mum, and I know she still loves you.’
‘Well, I will take your advice under consideration,’ David said, rising to his feet. ‘But tonight I have parliamentary papers to look over, and I have an early start tomorrow.’
Craig swigged the contents of the bottle and walked with David back to the house.
‘Don’t leave it too long, Davi
d,’ Craig said as he jumped into his car. ‘You never know how long you have in this life.’
*
It was a creepy place, Michael thought as his father opened the front door to the almost crumbling wooden beach house. It smelled musty, and the furniture was from the last century. The caretaker bid them a good weekend and hobbled away to his house nearby.
Michael noticed that the house still had a wood combustion stove with a small pile of timber beside it.
‘That stove is the best way to cook the fish we catch,’ Charles said, throwing his suitcase on a single bed in a tiny room set off the central kitchen area. ‘You can have the double bed in the other room,’ he continued as he withdrew a packet of cigarettes.
‘This place kind of gives me the creeps,’ Michael said. ‘It almost feels like being back in the cave on the hill at Glen View.’
Charles glanced at Michael. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.
‘It’s a long story,’ Michael said. ‘I’ll tell you about it one day.’
The two organised dusty crockery and cutlery for their dinner. Charles stoked up the stove and lit the kerosene lantern.
‘It’s like going back in time here,’ Charles reflected as the lantern cast eerie shadows around the room. ‘It’s as if nothing has changed in the cottage since it was built back in the 1850s. I guess it must have seen many things in its day.’
They ate a meal of tinned meat, tinned beans and spuds baked in their skins. To Michael, who was famished, it tasted delicious.
Charles produced a deck of cards and the two played euchre, with Charles winning most of the hands. They went to bed early with the idea of getting up before sunrise to go down to the beach to fish.
Michael pulled up the blankets of the double bed as the chill of the winter night set in. Almost immediately he fell into a deep sleep until sometime in the early hours of the morning when he jolted awake in a cold sweat of terror. He slowly opened his eyes and attempted to focus in the darkness. He did not know why he felt such spine-chilling fear. There was a movement at the corner of the room and Michael used all his courage to look at it. It was the same Aboriginal man he had seen in the sacred cave! He was an old man holding a long spear and he appeared to be watching him with frightening intensity. There was almost an accusing expression on his dark face. Michael wanted to cry out for help but could not make a sound. He blinked and the apparition disappeared, leaving Michael with a sudden strange thought that it was in this very bed he had been conceived. It was irrational and all Michael could think was that the thought had been prompted by his fear. For the next hour he lay wide awake, wondering if the spectre of the Aboriginal man would reappear. He was still awake when he heard Charles pottering around in the kitchen, lighting the stove.