by Peter Watt
‘I’m coming with you, old chap,’ Sir Percival said quietly, his own small revolver gripped in his hand.
Charles Lightfoot could not sit down. In his agitated state he paced Daniel Duffy’s office, muttering under his breath.
‘It would be easier on yourself,’ Daniel said calmly from behind his desk, ‘if you took a seat and composed yourself, Major Lightfoot.’
Charles ceased pacing and swung on Daniel. ‘Did you know of this?’ he demanded, his eyes almost bulging from his head.
Daniel kept a poker face. If only you knew, he thought, eyeing the former English officer with contempt. He had been briefed by John MacDonald before he departed for the north. Aware of who Lightfoot was and why John wanted his downfall, Daniel had agreed to assist Nicholas in his clever scheme. ‘I am afraid what we have discovered comes as a shock to me too,’ Daniel said, doing all he could to hide his smugness. ‘But, in business, one has to accept that there is always a gamble involved when investing large sums of money. We only found out today that the property you purchased is being resumed by the government.’
‘They are paying a pittance of compensation compared to what I have outlaid on the purchase,’ Lightfoot said, spitting out his words. ‘I am ruined unless something can be done. The money was nearly the sum total of my brother-in-law’s capital.’
‘Well, at least it was not your money,’ Daniel shrugged. ‘You must be grateful for that.’
Lightfoot stepped to the edge of Daniel’s desk and glared down at him. ‘Sir, I once held the Queen’s commission and thus I was deemed to be an officer and a gentleman. Gentlemen do not throw away a trust granted to them by someone like Sir Percival Sparkes. How can I tell him of the loss?’
‘I am sorry for the situation that you find yourself in,’ Daniel said, trying to sound sincere. ‘But all you can do is take it on the chin, and write off the financial loss to experience. I think you may have been a better soldier than a businessman.’
Lightfoot finally slumped into a chair. ‘Is there nothing I can do to recover even some of the money?’ he pleaded.
‘We could appeal in the courts,’ Daniel offered. ‘But that could take years and a great amount in legal fees.’
‘So, you are saying I would be wasting my time,’ Lightfoot sighed.
‘To be honest,’ Daniel replied, ‘it would be a waste of time, unless you had resources to fight the government.’
‘Why was there no warning of the resumption?’ Lightfoot asked.
‘Just one of those matters lost in the red tape of a colonial government,’ Daniel shrugged. ‘About all I could suggest at this stage is for you to return to your hotel and have a stiff drink. No doubt you will have to contact Sir Percival and inform him of the loss.’
Lightfoot rose wearily from his chair. His demeanour reminded Daniel of the defeated boxer leaving the ring after a terrible beating and he almost felt sorry for him. But Daniel’s tragic family history also had its roots in that bloody day at the Eureka stockade when his uncle, the legendary Patrick Duffy, had stood against the British regiments and goldfields police. This matter was as personal to him as it was to his friends the MacDonald brothers.
As Lightfoot entered the foyer of his hotel a desk clerk waved a telegram at him.
‘It came today,’ the clerk said, handing it to him. ‘All the way, relayed from Cooktown,’ the clerk continued, clearly impressed by the marvels of modern technology.
Lightfoot accepted the telegram without much enthusiasm. If it was from Cooktown, then it had to be from his brother-in-law. He pocketed the envelope and went to his room.
Taking off his coat and top hat, he sat down at a desk. The telegram was indeed from Sir Percival, saying that he and Amanda had arrived safely and were preparing to go on the expedition to the Black Mountain. But what Sir Percival had added chilled Lightfoot. His brother-in-law had been fortunate in acquiring the services of a well-experienced guide by the name of Lachlan MacDonald. In fact, their guide was a former Forest Ranger, who had served in the same campaign as Lightfoot.
‘Lachlan MacDonald!’ Charles Lightfoot whispered, dropping the telegram to the floor as if it were a poisonous snake. He had tried to dismiss the young Scot from his mind after the unfortunate incident with Forster’s murder trial, which had left him looking like a liar in the eyes of the court. That was besides the impudent scoundrel’s influence over his sister. It had taken a lot of threatening to get Amanda to agree to marry Sir Percival Sparkes on their return from New Zealand and he suspected she still harboured feelings for the young soldier she had loved all those years ago.
What was Lachlan doing acting as a guide for Sir Percival Sparkes? Hadn’t it been Nicholas Busby who recommended the man? The same Nicholas Busby who had recommended such a ‘sound’ financial investment which had now ruined his brother-in-law?
And then the pieces started to fall together in the bitter officer’s mind; Busby & MacDonald – surely it was no coincidence that Nicholas’s business partner shared the same name as the man he held such enmity for? Lightfoot suddenly felt the chill of a conspiracy. He had been set up!
Leaping to his feet, Lightfoot gripped the table, toppling it over in his rage. By God! They would all pay for their devious treachery. He would have his revenge. From a small travelling chest, he took a pistol. He was ruined and had nothing more to lose.
Cautiously, Lachlan and Sir Percival moved through the bush towards the camp. Now they could hear voices and calculated that they were about a hundred paces from the clearing.
‘The bastard slew Jimmy,’ Lachlan heard one voice raised in anger. ‘Cut the heathen’s throat.’
Spurred by the urgency of getting to his friend, Lachlan burst from the scrub to see three men standing around Matthew, who lay on his back on the ground. Without hesitating, Lachlan raised the pistol and fired into the group. Four shots scattered the startled men, but they had no chance to return fire, so intent were they on seeking the cover of the scrub. Lachlan was reassured when he heard Sir Percival’s revolver providing covering fire.
Matthew raised his head and groped for the shotgun lying a few feet from where he had been felled by a bullet. ‘Get away!’ he shouted at Lachlan. ‘They will shoot you!’
Lachlan sprinted across the camp site and dropped to his knees. Blood was oozing from the big Maori’s chest where a bullet had entered his right side. Lachlan had seen enough of the signs in war to know that his friend was in trouble unless he could get him medical help.
‘They jumped me,’ Matthew rasped in his pain. ‘But I got one of them – over there.’ He nodded in the direction of the tents, where Lachlan could see a young man splayed on the ground, staring with sightless eyes at the sky.
A volley of shots from the scrub nearby and the shouts of men encouraging each other to shoot made Lachlan acutely aware of how vulnerable he was. ‘Take cover, you damned fool man,’ he heard Sir Percival shout to him from the edge of the clearing.
‘I will come back for you,’ Lachlan said, laying Matthew’s head gently on the earth. ‘Just keep your head down.’
Lachlan sprinted to where he had left his rifle and cartridge belt by his saddle. He scooped up both as bullets plucked the grass around his feet. At least he now had a weapon to hold off the men.
Joining Sir Percival and loading the Snider, Lachlan swung on the scrub where the shots had come from. For a fleeting second he saw a figure blur in the bush and he fired. Luck was with him when he heard the man scream, ‘I’m shot!’ As the gunfire abated, Lachlan guessed that the man’s companions were going to his aid. Five men the day before but now that number had most likely been reduced to three, he calculated.
This time, his opponents were careful not to reveal their presence and Lachlan waited behind a log for a target to reveal itself. The wait was agonising. In front of him was Matthew and behind him he had left Amanda. Were the attackers even now doubling around the camp to go directly to the hill of stones seeking out Amanda? Lachlan moved his h
ead to peer into the shimmering grey scrub. A volley of shots plucked at the trees around him, answering his unspoken question. Then he heard the sound of horses’ hooves thundering away. It seemed that the men had departed.
Warily, Lachlan rose from behind the log. Turning to Sir Percival, he froze. The Englishman lay on his back. A small dark spot on his forehead marked where one of the shots from the departing volley had entered. Lachlan immediately dropped to his knees and stared at Sir Percival’s motionless body. The bullet had killed him instantly. Closing the dead man’s eyes gently, Lachlan shook his head. Walking towards Matthew, he could see his chest rise and fall. The big Maori was still alive.
Charles Lightfoot stood over the body of Nicholas Busby, the smoke curling as a wisp in the still air of the hallway. Blood was forming a pool around Nicholas’s head and soaking into the carpet.
Staring at the man he had just shot dead, Lightfoot felt very little. Busby had attempted to play him for a fool, but had at least admitted that his partner was indeed the brother of Lachlan MacDonald. When Lightfoot had produced the pistol, Nicholas had tried to reason with him – but to no avail. Although Lightfoot had promised him his life in return for the information that he required, he had still shot him at point blank range between the eyes, once he was satisfied that he had learned all Nicholas Busby could tell him.
Did they really expect him to do the right thing and shoot himself? Lightfoot smiled grimly, staring at the body at his feet. If so, they had also underestimated the former soldier. Well, there were others who would pay for treacherously leading him to financial ruin. It would not be hard to hunt down the MacDonald brothers before losing himself in the hordes drifting between the goldfields and Cooktown. He still had enough money to purchase a ticket north, and enough after that to flee to the Americas. But he would first exact his revenge.
It was time to tie up loose ends.
TWENTY-EIGHT
There was nothing Lachlan could do for Matthew at the moment, except make him comfortable, so he turned his attention to Amanda. With his rifle and revolver, he ran back to Black Mountain.
‘Amanda!’ he shouted from the base of the hill, but received no response.
Lachlan clambered up the rocks until he reached the last place he had seen her. He called down into the wide crevice, but still no response. Cold fear gripped him. He must return to the camp to fetch a kerosene lantern, having no other choice than to go down into the heart of the hill itself.
Returning with the lantern, Lachlan lit the wick and, leaving his rifle on a rock, carefully lowered himself down into the crevice. He could feel earth beneath his feet when he slithered to the bottom and glanced around at the shadows flickering on the smooth granite walls. There appeared to be a series of tunnels, varying in size.
It looked as if Amanda had been there. He cried out her name again but still did not get any response. Suddenly there was a whir of sound around him. Huge bats flitted past his head, disturbed by his presence. Lachlan ducked to allow them to pass.
Holding up the lantern, he could make out a steady decline in the slope that seemed to lead to a narrow set of tunnels. Lachlan bent down to see where Amanda’s tracks led.
As he carefully followed the trail ever deeper into the centre of the hill, he was forced at times to stoop to negotiate the passages, aware all the while that he must keep the lantern alight. Without its illumination he would surely be a dead man. Again and again Lachlan called out, but the only answers he received were the muffled echoes of his own voice.
An overpowering, musty stench was all around him. Lachlan guessed that it was the excretions of bats. In the distance he could hear the moaning growing louder. Every instinct warned him to leave the place. ‘God help me,’ he muttered in his fear, desperately wanting to find his way out. But leaving Amanda in the entrails of the hill was not an option he could take.
‘Lachlan.’
The cry was faint and he had to force himself to believe that he had heard it. ‘Amanda,’ he responded and heard Amanda call out to him again. When he lifted the lantern, there were four tunnels before him. Lachlan called out again. ‘Amanda, keep calling my name.’
She did so and Lachlan’s hopes were raised. Her cries became louder the further he went, until he entered a relatively large cavern. Amanda was huddled on the floor, covered in dirt and bloody scratches. She blinked at the light and Lachlan went to her, taking her in his arms to hold her in a crushing hug. ‘Thank God,’ he almost sobbed in his relief. ‘I have found you.’
Amanda was so racked with sobbing she could not at first reply. Finally she regained her composure.
‘I fell down. I’ve been groping along the tunnel. I . . . ’ Amanda broke into another fit of sobbing. ‘I want to get out of here. Please, Lachlan, get me out of here.’
Lachlan helped Amanda to her feet and together they back-tracked along the trail of footprints Lachlan had left in the musty earth.
Eventually they could see the sun shining down through a narrow crack in the rock. With some difficulty they were able to climb up the crevice, at last bursting into the warm sunshine of the day.
They sat on the rocks, surveying the scrub around the base of the hill. Never before had it looked so good, thought Lachlan, reflecting on how close they had come to being trapped inside the hill. If nothing else, sharing the same tomb as Amanda would have meant they were joined in death. Banishing the macabre thought from his mind, Lachlan spoke forthrightly.
‘Your husband is dead,’ he said, gently placing his arm around Amanda’s shoulders. ‘He was shot and I am not sure if the bastards who killed him are gone. They may attempt to kill us in revenge for the death of one of their own. Matthew has been seriously wounded and I have to get him back to Cooktown as fast as possible.’
Amanda swung on him with tears in her eyes. ‘I must go to my husband’s body,’ she said.
‘I think that the best option is to return to Cooktown as quickly as possible and inform the police of what has happened here,’ Lachlan said. ‘We don’t have much other choice. Hopefully, Matthew will survive until then.’
When they returned to the camp, Lachlan quickly buried the body of the silent young man who had come into their camp previously. Amanda went to her husband’s body alone. Lachlan watched as she knelt beside him. She seemed to be saying prayers over the body of the man she had married. Finally, he intruded on her privacy to heft Sir Percival’s body onto one of the pack-horses. He then was able to assist Matthew to mount a horse. On a second examination of the wound, Lachlan was pleased to see that the bullet had passed through the flesh, leaving a clean wound.
‘You will live,’ Lachlan muttered.
Matthew grinned weakly. ‘I had better,’ he said with some effort. ‘We have many places to explore together.’
On their return to Cooktown, Lachlan immediately sought out a doctor. He made a cursory examination of the wounded Maori before turning his attention to Lachlan.
‘Your big heathen friend will live,’ he said, ‘so long as he rests and the wound does not take on any infection.’ Lachlan thanked the doctor, bid his friend a farewell, then joined Amanda outside to ride to the police station with Sir Percival’s body.
After taking statements, the police promised to organise a party to go in search of the gang. Lachlan then led Amanda to a relatively clean and reputable hotel, where he secured her accommodation. He stood awkwardly in her room, his hat in his hands. ‘I wish it had been me and not your husband,’ Lachlan said. ‘From the little that I learned of Sir Percival on our expedition I got to like him.’
‘I know it is a cruel thing to say,’ Amanda said softly, ‘but if I had to choose between you and my husband, I would have chosen you to live. Oh, I was very fond of Percival,’ she said. ‘He was a good man. But I always knew that one day he would leave my life on account of his foolish searches. In that way, you and he have much in common. You are both restless men.’
‘What will you do now?’ Lachlan asked.
‘I must arrange to have my husband’s body shipped back to Scotland,’ Amanda said.’ I made him a promise that should he die on foreign soil his body would be buried on the family estate. I suppose I will accompany his body and take over the management of my husband’s properties.’
‘I guess that there is little else you can do,’ Lachlan said, standing by the door as Amanda sat in a chair with her hands in her lap. ‘If I can be of any help, you only have to ask,’ he added.
‘What will you do?’ Amanda asked quietly.
‘I have to return to Townsville as soon as my brother returns from the Palmer,’ Lachlan replied. ‘Maybe he has found our sister by now. If so, that shall bring some light to the darkness presently upon us.’
‘Will you return to your life of exploring?’ Amanda asked.
‘I think that I will, as soon as I get the chance to speak with my brother,’ Lachlan answered.
‘I always remember those beautiful letters you wrote to me in New Zealand, where you would pour out your dreams of becoming a famous explorer,’ Amanda said gently. ‘I wish you well. I will never forget you, Lachlan MacDonald. It seems so cruel that just when I had thought you were forever out of my life, fate should cast us together in this place. I will have to try and erase you from my heart one more time.’ Amanda turned away, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I think that I would like to be alone now,’ she whispered.
Was her grief just for her husband or was it for losing each other again? Only Amanda had that answer. For now, Lachlan would go to a hotel with the hope that alcohol would help assuage his own pain of lost love. How could God be so cruel as to allow him to once again meet with the only woman he had truly loved and snatch her away from his life again? But now he had become the betrayer. It was probably only a matter of time before Amanda would learn that he was implicated in destroying her brother. He could not find any reason why she would not hate him after that.