Murder Unmentioned (9781921997440)

by Gentill, Sulari

  What Rowland had seen in Germany still haunted him; the brutality of the Nazi regime, the administrative ruthlessness of it. Before the question of Henry Sinclair’s death had been resurrected, he had been trying his level best to get someone to listen. Not successfully of course. His concerns had been dismissed and belittled, at best he’d elicited a plea of powerlessness, but at least he’d been doing something.

  Rowland showered and dressed, quickly. He and Wilfred would meet with their cousin and Lucy Bennett today. He wondered if Arthur had realised that his true intentions had been discovered. Perhaps not. Wilfred had been playing their cards close.

  It seemed no one had yet come down to breakfast, and so, rather than eat alone, Rowland grabbed the newspaper from the sideboard and stepped out onto the verandah. The marquees had been taken down and all the lawns returned to their pristine manicured custom. From this part of the verandah the fire damage, and consequent reconstruction work, was not visible. In the distance, Rowland could see Edna Walling, pacing out distances while she made notes. Opening the paper he wondered what the garden designer thought of all the drama at Oaklea. Was she concerned that her clients could be murderers, or was that not as important as the harmony of the landscape she was creating?

  “Good morning,” Milton joined him. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, dropping his elbows on to the rail beside Rowland’s.

  “Just wondering when this will all be over,” Rowland murmured. “April’s a long time away, Milt. You and Clyde and Ed can’t just put your own lives on hold for that long.”

  “We can put our lives on hold long enough to see you cleared, mate.”

  Rowland handed him the paper pointing out an article on the upcoming celebrations of the Nazis’ first year in power in Germany, and another on the love of the German people for their führer, which wished the German Chancellor every success. “With an indictment for murder over my head, I’ll have no hope of persuading anyone Hitler’s is a despicable regime.”

  “You’ll be acquitted, Rowly.”

  “But it will always be there.” He cursed. “Nobody seemed keen to listen to me, anyway,” he admitted. “Not with so many eminent, upstanding citizens extolling the virtues of Hitler’s Germany.”

  For a while, Milton studied him silently. “Do you remember Egon Kisch?” he asked finally.

  “Of course.” Kisch had been one of the men who had given them refuge in Germany when they were wanted by the Brownshirts.

  “Egon’s fled Germany. He’s trying to spread the word about the reality under the Nazis.”

  “It’s a shame we can’t get him to come to Sydney.”

  Milton looked intently at him. “It has been suggested.”

  “Really? By whom?”

  Milton hesitated again. “The Australian chapter of the World Movement Against War and Fascism. They were established by Comintern—the Communist International.”

  Rowland was not surprised by his friend’s reluctance. Milton was a Communist, fervent and committed, but, despite a certain sympathy, Rowland Sinclair was not. Neither attempted to change the other. And whilst Milton had lived in his house, enjoyed his hospitality and borrowed his clothes for years, he had never once asked Rowland for money towards his cause.

  But this was different. It was Rowland who asked. “What exactly are they proposing, Milt?”

  “The movement wants to bring Egon out for some events at the end of the year to coincide with the centenary of Melbourne and the royal tour—they just need to fund it.”

  “Are you a member of this movement?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will they let me join without being a Communist?”

  “Fellow travellers are always welcome,” Milton replied. “Particularly those with your resources. But are you sure you want to—”

  “Egon might be able to convince people of what European Fascism really means,” Rowland said, remembering how the journalist had persuaded his comrades to risk everything to help them. “Nothing that I’m doing is working. It’s worth a try.”

  “Wilfred won’t like this.”

  “Doubtless. But I think it’s a better investment than milk bars.”

  Milton pressed his shoulder. “I’ll let them know.”

  Arthur Sinclair and Lucy Bennett arrived in her powder blue Riley. Rowland’s friends retired discreetly to the conservatory with Ewan, who was in disgrace, having chewed his brother’s toy plane into a woody pulp. Elisabeth Sinclair and her nurse, a sensible quiet woman who was both firm and unobtrusive with her charge, sat in the sunshine embroidering.

  Kate waited with her husband and brother-in-law to receive the newly engaged couple in the drawing room.

  If Arthur knew that his cousins had discovered his manoeuvres he gave no indication of it, greeting them all with enthusiasm and jocularity.

  Kate greeted her old friend warmly.

  “Oh Kate, you’re simply enormous!” Lucy effused. “What do you think? Heir, mare or spare? They say you can tell because girls steal beauty from their mothers.” She laughed.

  “Must be a boy then,” Wilfred said curtly.

  Kate blushed deeply. “I might just speak to Mrs. Kendall about luncheon,” she said. “If you’ll all excuse me for just a moment.”

  Rowland smiled. Any oblique compliment from Wilfred seemed invariably to compel his sister-in-law to leave the room. It had always been thus. Rowland imagined it had made courting her very awkward… and yet Wilfred had managed it.

  “I’ll come too,” Lucy called after Kate. “It’ll give us a chance to talk about the wedding while you gentlemen deal with business,” she said, smiling at her fiancé.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a terrible cock-up with the painters at Woodlands, Rowland old boy,” Arthur said after Lucy had left. “Lucy and I called in there yesterday and I’ll be blowed if some fool hasn’t painted the dining room black! Black! It looks positively ghoulish! Some blasted tradesman trying to ensure he gets paid twice for the same job, I expect. But don’t you worry, Lucy and I will sort it when we get back. She’s quite the little homemaker!”

  “Stay the hell out of my house,” Rowland said coldly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We have become aware,” Wilfred said calmly, “that you, Arthur, have been acting as some kind of informant to the police.”

  “I see.” It seemed Arthur was not going to bother to deny it. He showed no sign of remorse or embarrassment. “Well how long did you expect to get away with murder, Wilfred?”

  “Neither Rowly nor I had anything to do with our father’s death,” Wilfred replied, “so I hope you’ve not promised Miss Bennett the Sinclair estate in return for her hand.”

  “You deny it? Hardly a surprise.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

  “You’ve lived under Wilfred’s roof, eaten with his family, taken his charity,” Rowland snarled. “And the whole time you were—”

  Arthur snapped. “Charity? A good part of this estate should always have been mine. Your conniving dictator of a father stole my inheritance!”

  “And so now you’re seeking justice for him,” Rowland came back furiously. “And to do that you paid that vermin Charlie Hayden to come back to Yass.”

  “If the police had been doing their job, if Wilfred hadn’t run him out of town, they would have taken his statement years ago.”

  “I believe we’ve been fair to you, Arthur,” Wilfred said. “I settled your debts, gave you a new start… a house.”

  “Yes. Under obligation to the largesse of the great Wilfred Sinclair for what should rightfully have been mine in the first place!” Arthur hissed. “I found Charlie Hayden’s name in the ledgers. It was the fact that you’d sacked a long-serving employee so summarily the day after Uncle Henry was murdered that made me wonder.”

  “But it went rather wrong, didn’t it, Arthur?” Rowland said stepping towards his cousin. “Hayden tried to blackmail you, or pull out. He forced you to kill him.”

  “Me?”
Arthur poked Rowland in the chest. “How dare you try to pin your crimes on me!”

  “He was found at Emoh Ruo where you were about to set up house. You found his body.”

  “May I remind you that Miss Bennett was with me the entire time.”

  “She looked terribly distressed—was that because she’d just witnessed you kill a man?”

  “Don’t be bloody daft. The body was cold by the time we found it. I can’t say I blame you for killing Hayden, all things considered, but don’t think for one second that I’ll take the blame. You and Wilfred have it all worked out, don’t you? He kills Uncle Henry, secures the entire estate for himself, and then keeps you and your useless unemployed set in return for your silence!”

  “Look, you idiot, Wil was with someone when Father was shot. He has an alibi!” Rowland blurted.

  For the first time, Arthur looked startled. “What alibi? Who?”

  Wilfred placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Perhaps, Arthur, it would be best if you left. Lucy, of course, is welcome to stay.” His eyes flashed fury though his voice was steady. “You will find all the lines of credit I arranged for you have been revoked. You are not welcome here, or at Woodlands. Do not expect any further consideration from the Sinclairs.”

  “I am a Sinclair, you bloody fool!”

  “We’ll see.”

  At that point Kate and Lucy returned.

  “Wil?” Kate stepped back, subconsciously repelled by the hostility in the room.

  “Arthur is leaving, my dear.”

  “But why?” Lucy demanded. “What’s happened?”

  “Because he’s a duplicitous… scoundrel,” Rowland replied, controlling his language with some effort.

  “You’re just jealous!” Lucy said, moving to Arthur’s side and entwining her arm in his.

  Rowland laughed. He didn’t mean to, but that particular accusation was more ridiculous than all the others which had been levelled at him of late.

  Lucy erupted. “You, Rowland Sinclair, are an amoral, spoiled, cruel child. You are not half the man your cousin is!”

  “Oh Lucy!” Kate said shocked.

  “I regret to inform you, Miss Bennett,” Wilfred said gravely, “that your fiancé has been conspiring against us all the time he has been a guest in my house. He has violated our trust and any sense of honour.”

  “Because he wants to get back what’s rightfully his?” Lucy demanded. “Because he wants to see justice done after all these years?”

  Silence, both stunned and appalled. None of them had really thought Lucy Bennett knew what Arthur had been up to. That she was complicit was something for which they were completely unprepared.

  Kate gasped. It was more a cry. Wilfred moved immediately to help her into a chair.

  “Lucy, you can’t mean that,” she pleaded.

  “I believe Arthur!” Lucy replied, unmoved by her friend’s distress. “I saw what Rowland did to that poor man we found at Emoh Ruo and I only thank God that I didn’t accept him. I should have listened to Pater from the beginning.”

  “For pity’s sake, Miss Bennett, you’re the one that tried to shoot me!” Rowland said, exasperated.

  Lucy inhaled. Her horror and fury was tinged with panic. “Arthur darling, I should like to leave now,” she said.

  Wilfred took Kate up to bed and stayed with her, explaining, and comforting his wife who was deeply hurt and unnerved by the betrayal of both Arthur Sinclair and Lucy Bennett.

  Rowland told his friends about the exchange. “Did you manage to speak to Lucy?” he asked.

  Edna moaned. “She wouldn’t stop talking, but only about weddings and china patterns. Even Kate couldn’t get a word in.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Miss Bennett has made it clear that she’s going to stand with Arthur on this.”

  “Why’s he doing this, Rowly?” Edna asked. “You’re his family.”

  “I don’t know, years of feeling cheated, I guess. And he seems to genuinely believe Wilfred killed Father… or at least he did when the shouting started. He knows Wil has an alibi now.”

  “What do you think, Rowly?” Clyde asked. “Could Arthur have killed Hayden?”

  Rowland grimaced. “He makes a valid point—the body was cold when he found it. Hayden was probably killed the previous day or early that morning. He could have done it then, I suppose, but why would he then go back to the scene, with Lucy no less?”

  “Perhaps he left something incriminating at Emoh Ruo and went back to retrieve it.”

  “He could have done that on his own—without Lucy. Arthur paid Hayden to return, but I don’t think he killed him.”

  “So we’re back to no idea!” Clyde said, groaning.

  Wilfred came into the conservatory. He seemed weary.

  “How’s Kate?” Rowland asked, pulling his brother aside.

  “I might telephone her doctor. This kind of stress is not good for her with the baby due in less than a month.”

  “Is there anything we can do, Mr. Sinclair?” Edna asked. “Anything at all?”

  “Thank you, Miss Higgins.” He glanced at Ewan who was sitting in Clyde’s lap chewing on a wooden block. “Perhaps if you take the boys up to visit with her, it might be a welcome distraction.”

  “Of course.” Edna took Ewan from Clyde. “Where’s Ernie?”

  33

  VERSES FROM BAIRNS

  BOBBY’S SWING

  Bobby King he had a swing

  In an apple tree

  All day long you heard this song,

  “Will someone please swing me?”

  When mother said, “Time for bed”

  Bobby used to cling,

  Hands tight, with all his might

  To his treasured swing.

  But at last, all warnings past

  Father had his way.

  And Bobby King he lost that swing

  Through failing to obey.

  Cairns Post, 1932

  “Ernie’s in the garden with the nanny. They said something about a swing,” Milton said, standing. “You take Ewan up, Ed, I’ll go find him.”

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Clyde said. “The swing is in the elm tree, if I recall.”

  Rowland poured his brother a drink.

  “Maurice Kent is of the firm opinion that Mother would be declared unfit to stand trial even if the Crown elected to prosecute,” he said quietly, accepting the glass of whisky. “On the whole, he doesn’t believe they’d have enough evidence. In fact their case against you is, at best, extremely flimsy and would be completely unsustainable if it wasn’t for the Hayden murder.”

  “So what are they saying?”

  “If we could show that you couldn’t have killed Hayden, then the indictment for Father’s murder would more than likely also go away.”

  “But I could have killed him, Wil. I wasn’t under lock and key that day after the fire, and while it’s unlikely that I slipped out without anyone noticing, it’s not impossible.”

  “Which leaves us with finding the real murderer. You accused Arthur…”

  “Yes, I did suspect it might have been him at one point, but I doubt it now. To be honest, I doubt he could have beaten Hayden to death.”

  “What, physically?”

  “That too, but I doubt he was angry enough. I saw the body. Hayden had been battered—it wasn’t just one punch. It must have been someone with a serious grudge… like me, I suppose.”

  “Very well,” Wilfred decided. “We’ll look into who had reason to hate Hayden… other than you and me.”

  Milton returned while they were discussing how to proceed. “Clyde’s still looking,” he said, “but there’s no sign of them. Miss Walling and her crew don’t seem to have seen them either. Miss de Waring wouldn’t have taken Ernie on a picnic somewhere, would she?”

  Wilfred sighed. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d do so without notifying us, but I’m afraid she’s the silliest young woman we’ve ever had look after the boys.” He stood, pacing irrita
bly. “If I hadn’t served with her father…”

  “I’ll go out and search with you,” Rowland volunteered. “They couldn’t be too far. Is Lenin with them?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “That’s how we’ll locate them then.” Rowland grabbed his hat.

  They headed into the garden shouting for Lenin rather than Ernest or Nanny de Waring, in the hope that the dog’s single ear might prove more keen by virtue of the fact that it was attached to a greyhound. It took only a few shouts to elicit a responding bark.

  Relieved, Rowland followed the sound to the fence near the front of the property. Lenin barked madly as he approached.

  “Settle down, old boy.” Rowland untied his dog from the fencepost. “What the dickens are you doing out here? And where are Ernie and Miss de Waring?”

  He called for Ernest a couple of times, succeeding only in startling a flock of cockatoos from the gums along the fence-line.

  Lenin panted, squirming excitedly and jumping up upon his master. “Come on, we’d best get back,” Rowland said, worried now. What would the boy and his nanny have been doing so close to the road?

  He sprinted back to the house.

  “You found Lenin,” Milton said as Rowland and the greyhound reached the house garden. “Where’s—”

  “I don’t know,” Rowland replied, catching his breath. “Someone had tied Len to the house yard fence. There’s no sign of either Ernie or Miss de Waring.”

  “Bloody hell!”

  “Look, could you check again with the gardener?” Rowland said grimly. “Someone must have seen them.”

  Rowland found his brother in his study. “Wil, we have a problem.” He told Wilfred of their failure to find either Ernest or the nanny.

  Wilfred paled but he wasted no time. He phoned Harry Simpson and the other managers immediately, directing that every man on Oaklea down tools and join the search. And then he telephoned the police.

  “She’s probably taken him on some ramble and gotten lost,” Wilfred said gruffly. “Let’s not worry Kate. We’ll probably find them within the hour.”