by Peter Watt
He rose and pushed past Gertrude who stood stunned by all that had transpired. Granville went to his daughter’s bedroom. Dorothy needed reassurance that what had transpired between her, Mary Beasley and himself was their little secret.
When Granville returned to the library ten minutes later, Miss Pitcher was gone from the room, and so too was the wad of bank notes.
The cedar-panelled boardroom of the Macintosh offices had an ingrained scent of rich old cigar smoke. Moments earlier the boardroom had been filled with men wearing expensive suits and grim faces. After the meeting was adjourned they left behind a haze of blue smoke and two people sitting opposite each other at the solid teak table.
Lady Enid Macintosh sat straight backed and stared hard at the man opposite her. He felt decidedly nervous under her unrelenting gaze and wished that the board of directors had chosen anyone but himself to speak to her. He had known Lady Macintosh for many years and wondered how she did not seem to age as he had in the same period. She still had the flawless complexion and dark hair of a woman much younger than one in her late fifties whereas time had given him a paunch and thinned his hair.
‘You have been in discussions with my son-in-law Mister McHugh,’ she finally said, breaking the silence. ‘And I presume he has convinced you all that I am a mere woman, incapable of managing my late husband’s estates.’
McHugh pulled a pained expression as if attempting to ward off her unrelenting stony stare. ‘It is not my personal opinion that you should step aside Lady Macintosh,’ he replied. ‘But the general feeling of the shareholders is that a man, such as your son-in-law, should be granted exclusive power to decide future enterprises. Mister White has a proven record for increasing profits, which you no doubt must acknowledge. It’s just that a strong man is needed at the helm to steer the Macintosh companies. You are not growing any younger Lady Macintosh, and the strain of managing your late husband’s companies must weary you.’
Enid’s unrelenting stiffness in the presence of the spokesman for the shareholders softened noticeably. Was it that the woman was finally seeing his point of view?
‘I concede that I may not be growing any younger Mister McHugh,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘But I do not concede my son-in-law is the man to take control of my late husband’s companies.’
‘But there are no other men in your family to take the reins when you have . . . ah . . . passed on,’ he implored. ‘Surely you can see that. Mister White is the only close male blood relative you have and, after all, he is married to your daughter.’
‘What if I said that you were wrong about Mister White being the only close male blood relative I have,’ Enid said with a mysterious smile. ‘What if another existed who I could prove was of my blood. Would that alter your opinion about Mister White being the only one capable of taking absolute control in the future? What if even now I had chosen one with Macintosh blood to be groomed for the company’s management?’
‘What you propose seems somewhat hard to understand,’ McHugh replied, hoping that his feeling of disbelief was not apparent in his face. ‘From what I know of the tragic circumstances of your family’s history none of your sons left children. Unless . . .’ The possibility of illegitimate offspring was not something one expressed and he let the question hang between them.
‘I do not intend to go any further with this conversation Mister McHugh,’ Enid said quietly. ‘And under the circumstances I can only request that you do not mention outside these walls what has transpired between us. All I ask you is to go back to the shareholders and reassure them that I will not be stepping aside for my son-in-law. And reassure them that there will be another of Macintosh blood to take over from me in the years ahead. One whose breeding has produced qualities far superior to Mr White.’
McHugh frowned and pursed his lips. It was all very mysterious. But Lady Macintosh was not a woman who made a statement without being able to back up what she said. ‘As the major shareholder of Sir Donald’s estates I must accept that what you request be respected,’ he smiled. ‘I do not know how this suggestion you make could eventuate. But I do know your reputation well enough to be able to return to the shareholders and ask for an extension of time before the matter of you stepping aside be put before any formal meeting.’
‘Good, Mister McHugh,’ Enid said. ‘I can assure you that my son-in-law will never have total control of my husband’s companies while I am alive. Or even when I am dead, for that matter. He is an evil man who I have many reasons not to trust. Nor should you,’ she added.
McHugh shifted uncomfortably. He was a hard Scot who had strong views on issues of morality. As it was he did not like Granville White. The rumours that White had a controlling interest in a Sydney brothel did not bide well with him. In his business dealings with White he had come away less than impressed with the man’s pompous manner. To be able to return to the shareholders and ask them to defer any formal request for Lady Enid Macintosh to step aside suited him well enough. ‘I shall bid you a good day then Lady Macintosh,’ he said, as he rose from the table and tucked a leather satchel under his arm. ‘If it is any consolation please be assured that my personal opinion is that the best person to manage the companies has been – and always will be – you, or whoever you shall deem to take your place in the future.’
Enid glanced up at McHugh. ‘Be assured that you will not be disappointed,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘I trust that you and I will be able to work together in the future.’
McHugh nodded and made his departure from the boardroom leaving Enid alone to ponder on the meeting. Somehow Granville had planted the seed for her to step aside, she thought angrily. He had guided the mood of the shareholders in a subtle campaign to undermine her authority. But now she had played her ace card against her evil son-in-law. It was not a card he knew about however, and the time was nigh to produce the ace. Enid rose from the table with a grim expression on her delicate face. It was time to contact the law firm of Sullivan & Levi.
For the last five years Daniel Duffy had made the visit to the Botanic Gardens to meet with Lady Enid Macintosh. The meetings had been a secret that only they shared and over that time the tough courtroom lawyer had almost grown fond of the dignified matriarch of the family sworn enemy to his own.
At each meeting they had strolled amongst the flowers whilst pretending to be accidental acquaintances. And as they strolled, Daniel had talked about her grandson Patrick Duffy, while she had listened quietly, stopping occasionally to admire the flowers.
But this meeting was different. There was a degree of tension as they strolled together: the tall and slightly stooped young lawyer walking beside the straight-backed matron. This meeting would be the last of such meetings, as they had agreed those years earlier. At their first clandestine meeting Enid had proposed taking over the rearing of young Patrick. The illegitimate son of Fiona Macintosh and Michael Duffy would enter into her privileged Anglo-Gaelic’s Protestant world, to be groomed for riches and power beyond the dreams of the Irish-Catholic Duffys. Sealed in formal legal documents, their pact guaranteed to Daniel that his nephew would receive the very best education the British Empire could offer – and eventually an opportunity to take over the management of the vast Macintosh financial holdings. The young lawyer had an unmovable faith in Patrick’s innate strength to remain true to his faith – and his Irish family – in the years ahead. In his opinion Lady Macintosh had grossly underestimated the strength of Patrick’s Celtic roots to withstand any persuasions of the Anglo-Gaelic’s heritage. In so many ways young Patrick was the image of his true father.
‘How is Patrick with his studies?’ Enid asked, as they strolled past a gardener busy with the task of planting seedlings. ‘I hope he has improved since last year.’
Daniel smiled when he reflected on what had prompted her remark. ‘He has Lady Macintosh,’ he said. ‘The good fathers decided not to expel him.’
Enid glanced at the lawyer with just the hint of a smile in her eyes. ‘Fr
om what you told me last year it seems young Patrick had a spot of bother with some of the older boys at his school.’
‘He gave three of them a thrashing,’ Daniel grinned. ‘It appears he was only acting in defence of young Martin. The trouble was that the boys were the sons of some well-known and influential businessmen. Patrick made a promise to the good fathers that he would atone for his sins by getting the highest marks for Latin in his year. And he did so. He is an extremely bright boy, but allows his fists to rule his head from time to time.’
‘One could say from the tone of your voice Mister Duffy,’ Enid said mildly, ‘that you seem to approve of Patrick’s pugilistic ways.’
Daniel stopped walking and turned to her. ‘He is a Duffy, Lady Macintosh. Like his father. And like his father – and his father before him – he is a fighter. It is part of the Duffy heritage to fight for causes.’
‘Then young Patrick will have another cause to fight for,’ Enid said. ‘When he is older. A cause that will require the best of both his Scots and his Irish blood.’
Daniel raised his eyebrows at her statement. He did not think that he would ever hear the staunchly Protestant matriarch of the Macintoshes admit that Irish blood had any redeeming qualities. ‘By that I presume you mean opposing your son-in-law?’ he asked.
‘And his own mother,’ Enid replied with a touch of bitterness. ‘As well as those such as Captain Mort who ally themselves with my son-in-law. We do have common enemies Mister Duffy.’
‘Ah, Captain Mort,’ Daniel said quietly, and stared away into the distance. ‘A man as evil as can be, with the devil’s luck.’
‘I was sorry to hear that your firm was unable to bring the man to justice those years past,’ Enid said sympathetically. ‘Both you and I know he was responsible for my son’s cruel death at the hands of the natives. I prayed you would be successful in bringing him to the gallows.’
‘We lost our prime witness, the Reverend Macalister, at the same time that you lost your son,’ Daniel sighed. ‘And a short time later found our moves to bring the matter to the courts blocked by your legal representatives Lady Macintosh.’
‘May I reassure you,’ Enid said quickly, ‘that I had no part in that Mister Duffy. The matters were initiated by my son-in-law at the time without my knowledge. Had I known I would have instructed our solicitors to stand aside in the matter. You must realise that it was just as much in my interest to see Mort hang as it was yours. As it is you will soon receive a visit from a Detective Kingsley. He is in possession of certain important information that I think may finally bring Captain Mort to justice. I would like your firm to pursue the matter with some discretion.’
‘Could it be said that you are happy to see Sullivan & Levi do so,’ Daniel said with a touch of bitterness in his voice, ‘rather than cause a scandal to your family name?’ He could see that he had touched a raw nerve and Enid glanced away guiltily. ‘Not that it matters anymore,’ he continued pessimistically. ‘Captain Mort will probably remain free from the law. And free from the punishment he so richly deserves for the murders of so many people in the past.’
‘God will find a way to punish Captain Mort if you don’t,’ Enid said softly. ‘Otherwise I might doubt that there is a God.’
‘I pray you are right,’ Daniel agreed. ‘But I fear Mort will grow old and have to await his punishment in the next life. For now we are both in the shadow of the Osprey, Lady Macintosh, and its shadow is death.’ He paused and turned to Enid. ‘But there is one glimmer of hope,’ he added. ‘There was a rather gruesome murder in The Rocks some days ago and a reliable informant has told me that he feels Mort was the man who committed the murder.’
Enid’s face expressed a sudden interest. ‘How sure is your informant of the captain’s complicity?’
‘Very sure. He feels from his considerable experience that The Rocks is a place where people know things but do not talk. It’s their code.’
‘All people understand greed Mister Duffy,’ Enid said serenely. ‘Tell your informant that I am putting up fifty guineas to any witness who should come forward and volunteer information that might incriminate Captain Mort. Of course I expect the matter to be handled discreetly.’
Daniel smiled and shook his head. ‘You realise that your offer is rather generous but not exactly ethical Lady Macintosh.’
‘Neither is the murderer of my son remaining unpunished, Mister Duffy,’ she replied bitterly. ‘I will personally guarantee the money.’
‘I will pass on your offer,’ he said. ‘Other than that we have very little else.’
Enid stepped off once again and Daniel followed her. ‘We have Patrick,’ she said, as they walked slowly between the flower beds. ‘And in time he may right what is wrong.’
Daniel nodded. ‘Then it is time you met your grandson,’ he said quietly. ‘According to our agreement.’
Enid glanced at the lawyer. Was it that she sensed a common need to work through this young boy towards a future resolution of vengeance, she wondered with a flash of insight. How strange life was when she found herself allied to a family that indirectly had brought so much suffering to her own over the years. ‘Yes Mister Duffy,’ she replied. ‘I would like that to happen as soon as possible.’
~
Granville heard the muffled exchange of voices which he recognised as being those of his wife and the nanny. He sat at his desk in the library and felt the tension of the moment pass him by as slowly as the steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall. Would Miss Pitcher renege on the deal they had struck as to her silence and future complicity? He found himself straining as if to detect any nuances in the exchange below that might indicate his betrayal.
Long moments passed. The tension was unbearable and he noticed that his hands were trembling. Damned if he was going to sit around and wonder, he scowled. The only way was to go downstairs and, in a sense, confront Fiona.
He rose from behind the desk and made his way to the drawing room where he found his wife sitting with his daughters. Behind Dorothy and Helen stood Miss Pitcher.
‘Hello Granville.’ Fiona greeted his entrance with the cold voice she usually reserved for him. ‘You do not appear well. Is it that you have the same illness as it seems Dorothy has?’
Granville paled. Was she being facetious?
Miss Pitcher came to his rescue. ‘Mister White has not been well ma’am,’ she said quickly. ‘I observed that he and Dorothy both developed the symptoms about the same time as each other.’
Fiona glanced down at Dorothy who stood staring forlornly at her father. ‘Are you feeling ill now Dorothy?’ she asked with a frown.
The little golden haired girl shook her head. ‘No Mama.’
Fiona missed the subtle exchange of looks between her husband and the nanny. On Granville’s face was an expression of triumph and smug satisfaction; on Miss Pitcher’s an expression of hate and guilt for the evil pact she had entered into.
Granville felt the tension leave him and the colour returned to his face. He even allowed himself to smile and hold out his arms to his younger daughter Helen. She was in many ways a replica of his wife with her dark hair and green eyes. ‘Have you missed papa?’ he said with a beaming smile. The little girl ran to him. It was not often that her father expressed his paternal feelings so warmly.
‘Yes Papa,’ she squealed as she threw her arms around his legs.
Dorothy watched her younger sister hug her father and began to tremble. Miss Pitcher noticed the change in her and she quickly made excuses to bustle the two girls from the room. The warmth of the two little girls’ presence went with them. Left behind in their wake was the usual frostiness that existed between the pair who were husband and wife only in name.
‘I trust your visit went well?’ Granville said to break the cold silence.
‘It did,’ Fiona replied. ‘Did my mother agree to step aside for you while I was gone?’
Granville frowned and thrust his hands in his pockets. The news relayed by McHugh
after his meeting with Lady Macintosh was not promising. Something ridiculous about her nominating a proxy. ‘I’m afraid not,’ he answered. ‘Your mother thinks she will live forever. She told that simpleton McHugh that she would nominate someone to replace me in the future. Damned ridiculous, I know, as the terms of your father’s will do not allow her to do so. If anyone is to replace me it could only be a son of ours, which we do not have,’ he added bitterly, as he reflected on the circumstances that had brought about the unbridgeable rift between them.
Fiona ignored his bitterness. He was no longer of any consequence in her life, except as the relatively competent manager of her family’s substantial fortune and the father of her two daughters. ‘I am sure it will all be yours one day,’ she said patronisingly. ‘As for my mother’s threat, I’m sure she is bluffing. The only male heir of her bloodline was the son that I gave birth to. And she made sure that he was disposed of,’ she added bitterly, looking away. ‘I suppose the only consolation I have is that my mother destroyed all chance of her bloodline being carried forward in the way of a grandson.’ Fiona paused when she noticed her husband pale. ‘What is wrong?’ she asked, although not out of concern for his health so much as curiosity as to why her normally undemonstrative husband could suddenly appear so stricken.
‘Are you sure your mother had the Duffy brat sent to a baby farm?’ he asked, almost in a whisper.
Fiona frowned in confusion. ‘I wish it had been otherwise,’ she replied quietly. ‘But when Molly disappeared, I knew why. Molly would never have left me if she had not conspired to have my baby killed. That is why I am so sure.’
But Granville was not so sure anymore. It was something that his mother-in-law had once said to him years earlier. Something about her blood returning to destroy him. He shook his head. No, it was impossible to envisage. Enid Macintosh could never consider using the Duffy brat – if it were still alive – to be part of her sanctimonious world. ‘You are right,’ he muttered. ‘It’s not possible.’ But why was it that he could see the face of a young man swimming before his eyes – the face of Michael Duffy, laughing at him.