by Di Morrissey
Florian was elated. He hadn’t considered the reopening of her case. ‘Excellent, if this man produces them, it will be worth the cost. It is beyond my humble means but I’m sure Miss Kelly will reimburse you. I was unsure of approaching the trustees of her estate as I didn’t want anyone to know of my plan.’
‘Very wise, it seems few can be trusted in this matter. I am happy to advance you the ten pounds,’ said Reverend Lang. ‘Be cautious and make sure they are the correct papers before handing across the money. I await your return this evening.’ They shook hands and Florian left, feeling confident and impatient for the evening meeting.
He waited in a dark corner of the rowdy hotel and saw Gordon Finch enter. Finch didn’t appear to be carrying anything. He glanced cautiously around and, seeing Florian stand up briefly, made his way to him.
‘Evening, Mr Holmes,’ said the clerk, with an impassive expression. ‘Fancy meeting you again in this establishment.’
‘I still have business in Sydney but I will be returning north in the morning,’ said Florian for the benefit of anyone in earshot. They chatted about life and the weather until their drinks were brought to them, then they moved to a vacant table with two chairs.
The clerk sat with his back to the main room, reached into his coat and drew out an envelope before lifting his tankard and taking a long draught.
Florian looked around casually and took a sip of his drink before saying in a low voice, ‘I must take a look at these before I give you payment.’
The clerk shrugged and watched him as Florian took out two sheets of paper: one the bill of sale, the other a mustering agreement. He knew the signatures were not those of Isabella. These must be the documents Skerrett had forged. There were many people who could attest that it was not the Kelly signature they knew – Miss Kelly’s bank manager, Reverend Lang, business people who had never been called to verify the signature at Skerrett’s trial. But he was not about to let Finch know that. He nodded and folded the papers and put them in the envelope.
‘They appear to be the right ones. My friend will be glad to dispose of these for good,’ he lied.
‘There’s a fire over there, toss them in,’ suggested the clerk.
Florian kept his hand on the documents, saying quickly, ‘My friend wishes to undertake that task himself. He will know then he got what he paid for, if you get my drift.’ He then took out the envelope with the ten pounds in it and slid it across the table. Finch’s hand reached out and the envelope was in his coat pocket in one swift movement.
They chatted amiably while they finished their ales and Florian rose and held out his hand. ‘I bid you good evening, Mr Finch.’
Finch turned to the bar where men were crowded, voices loud with laughter and argument, and no one paid any attention to Florian disappearing into the night.
At the dining table in Reverend Lang’s house, Florian and the minister pored over the forged papers, comparing the writing with their own correspondence from Isabella.
Lang straightened and held out his hand. ‘Well done, lad, I will handle matters from here.’
Relieved, Florian thanked him and returned to his lodging house where he wrote Isabella a note, hoping it might bring some comfort to her, though he could not give details of what had transpired in case the note fell into the wrong hands.
Charles Skerrett had filed for compensation against unlawful imprisonment but when the Select Committee met to hear his case, Isabella’s barrister dropped a small bombshell by re-introducing the missing documents. Comparisons with Isabella’s handwriting showed them to be forgeries as she’d testified, proving she had not perjured herself. Furthermore, William Turner, who’d appeared at Skerrett’s trial and subsequently disappeared, was found and brought back in to testify that he had been paid by Skerrett to say he’d witnessed the documents, when in fact he could neither read nor write.
It took only a short time for the judge to recommend that Isabella Kelly be pardoned and released from prison. She had served five and a half months and was in frail health. For several weeks she was too ill to be moved. Finally she left Darlinghurst Gaol to recover in the boarding house in Hunter Street before visiting Reverend Dunmore Lang.
‘I thank you for your kindness, Doctor Lang, and for believing and assisting Florian Holmes,’ said Isabella.
He dismissed her thanks but added, ‘It concerns me that the acting chief justice has declined to pass a public opinion on whether you are guilty or innocent.’
‘I fear there will be the inevitable rumours of “friends in high places”, rather than a woman exonerated,’ she sighed. ‘You have noticed there has been no mention of my release nor of the report to the governor concerning my innocence in the Sydney Morning Herald or the Empire newspapers.’
‘I hear there are those in your valley who know nothing of your illness and wonder at your absence. You should return as soon as you are strong enough, and put your affairs in order.’
‘I wish I could clear my name. The attorney general remarked that my character is clean,’ said Isabella bitterly.
‘Then you must prove it so.’
Isabella spread her hands in a gesture of despair. ‘I want the world to know of my innocence but when I asked the attorney general he merely said he would talk to my attorney.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Dear Doctor Lang, I told him I had no money left to pay lawyers. I have been robbed by Charles Skerrett through legal actions and his theft of my assets and property ever since he was liberated from Cockatoo Island.’
The Reverend Dunmore Lang knew that, while not penniless, the once wealthy Isabella Kelly was struggling – financially, emotionally and now physically. She still faced enmity from her neighbours and fair-weather friends. ‘If I can be of assistance . . .’ he began.
Isabella rose shakily to her feet. ‘You have done more than enough, for which I thank you. Now I will retire as it will be a long journey back tomorrow.’
But her joy at being back at Riverview, overlooking the river, was soured by the shocking discovery of how the trustees had mismanaged her affairs while she was in prison and then ill. Birimbal and the stock Skerrett hadn’t stolen had been sold off at ridiculously low prices. Skerrett and unfriendly neighbours had pounced on her stock with flimsy illegal petitions to her trustees. To redress these would mean more protracted court cases and she had neither the strength nor the funds. She hoped her case for compensation for wrongful imprisonment would recoup some of the losses.
Hettie, heavy now with her third child, was lethargic and missing her husband Richard who was away working in a timber cutters’ camp. Florian, who still mourned Noona and their daughter, was not a natural farmer, and struggled with their crops and itinerant workers under the guidance of the overseer Isabella had employed. Young Kelly kept disappearing for hours, sometimes overnight, and Isabella was concerned he was spending time with the group of natives squatting near the creek. They came each season when the land was thriving, living well on plentiful fish and game, but the stockmen were ordered to chase the blacks away.
Kelly was now a tall lad of fifteen with his mother’s fine features, a mop of thick black hair and dark olive skin. He’d inherited Florian’s light-coloured eyes but was considered by the white population of the valley to be more native than white and was dismissively referred to as Miss Kelly’s pet black boy. Few realised that Kelly could read and write and knew the customs and manners of the drawing and dining room. Kelly was tolerated but not welcomed by the settlers and was easily dismissed as another of Isabella Kelly’s eccentricities. Isabella forbade Kelly from mixing with the natives and Florian did his best to persuade Kelly to avoid them as well. He never spoke to his son about his personal relationship with Noona but occasionally he’d mention to the boy something of her life or culture that she’d taught or shown him when they were out in the bush together.
‘Times haven’t changed much since your poor mother died. While you have the protection of Miss
Kelly you have a good life. Perhaps in times to come you will be able to mingle freely with white people,’ advised Florian.
But Kelly refused to deny his black heritage. It ran in his blood. He’d been taught some of his culture and his law by his mother and he could not ignore the instincts and knowledge that were intuitive. He longed more and more to be able to unite the two parts of his being. What he’d observed of white culture held little appeal for him. But he was not always welcome among the tribe that frequented the valley and it slowly occurred to Kelly he was going to have to choose. While he had a strong bond with his father and Riverview, and was grateful to Miss Kelly, the pull of his mother’s people and their culture became more and more unsettling. Aborigines he knew who worked for white people and hung on the fringes of the settlements told him about the tribal elders. These men clung to the old ways and resented the intrusion of the whites.
‘There’s a lot of secret things goin’ on, you got to be with the elders to learn it,’ said one of the black stockmen who’d long ago lost links with his people. ‘Don’t see it’s goin’ t’do you much good.’
Kelly shrugged. ‘I don’t see me owning property in this valley, why should I pretend to be a white man like my father when my mother was Aboriginal?’
‘If you’re a true black man you own all this valley,’ growled the stockman. ‘Them whites just come and took it. One day we gonna take it all back.’
Isabella, still struggling to recover from her illness and the emotional and financial burden of the recent years, was depressed by her loneliness and the injustices she had suffered. She began to consider returning to England.
Dani
Now that her Isabella paintings were finished, Dani turned increasingly to a different form of contemporary art. In the Isabella series she had tried to merge the past with the present, and she hoped the unseen just below the surface would be understood and that the paintings would not be viewed just as realist landscapes. She wanted people to see beyond the individual representations of trees, river and hills, and find an emotional connection to the scenes.
Dani had walked through Isabella’s country with her eyes and heart open and it gave her much in return. The beauty, the tranquillity and the sense she was walking in Isabella’s shoes were inspiring. It gave her fresh creative energy and in trying to capture the essence of the place she began collecting strips of bark, seed pods, leaves, grasses, tiny rocks, feathers, bits of lichen from rotting logs, wings from a dead dragonfly. She began making small collages of landscape constructions with her found objects, experimenting with textures, gluing them into position on prepared board with watered down PVA glue.
Dani then began arranging her objects on a thin card, gluing them in place and coating it with PVA so she had a hard, textured surface ready to paint with diluted acrylic paints and watercolours. She closed her eyes and ran her hand over the card enjoying the tactile feel of the picture. She decided she’d find a printing press somewhere – maybe they had one at the local high school or TAFE where Max taught – and run off some relief prints.
She glanced at the old clock she’d brought in to the studio and reluctantly stopped work. Roddy was due for coffee. There was obviously a lot wrong judging from the desperate tone of his voice. She’d agreed to see him because she felt sorry for him and a little responsible for the Isabella movie, which had obviously hit the wall.
She heard a car and was surprised to see Roddy get out of an old sedan and not his flash convertible. He gave her a warm hug and Dani hugged him back. Neither made an attempt to kiss the other’s cheek.
‘I’ve made coffee, thought we could sit outside and take in the view. It’s such a lovely day,’ said Dani picking up the tray.
‘The view is pretty glum from where I sit,’ sighed Roddy, following her with the coffee pot.
‘Okay, lay it on the table. The movie deal,’ said Dani as she began pouring the coffee.
‘Stuffed. Money’s not happening, the exec producer pulled the plug. Because Franks took off for Europe with a young girl, he’s being chased by her parents. Everyone’s walked away. I’m left up shit creek.’
‘What about the investors?’ asked Dani evenly.
‘It was a speculative investment. You take your chances, honey bun.’ He saw her expression and lifted his shoulders. ‘Look, I feel bad but there’s jack all I can do about it.’
‘There’s no way to recoup anything?’
‘Nah. It happens a lot. Movies fall over at the last minute. Look at Eucalyptus, where everyone was there, ready to start shooting, and the plug was pulled. Sets built and all. No one involved was too happy.’
‘I should have remembered that,’ said Dani. ‘I’m really sorry, Roddy. But it’s still a damn good idea. Couldn’t you interest someone else in it?’
‘Been down that route. Isabella has the kiss of death on her now. Have to wait a few years before shopping this script around again. At least I own that. Russell Franks got paid.’
‘So how are you going to tell everyone?’
‘Any suggestions?’ he asked with a rueful grin.
‘Go to Patricia, lay it all on the table. Call a public meeting and be honest.’
‘God, how hard would that be?’ He put his head in his hands.
‘At least you’ll be able to hold your head up and work in this town again.’ Dani felt for him. He hadn’t deliberately been devious or a con man. Roddy saw himself as an entrepreneur when half the time he was probably the one who was being conned.
‘I feel I should just move on. The only way this can be salvaged is if I come up with another promotion that can bring media, tourists and money to town.’
Dani thought that unlikely. ‘So if you’re up-front about this, people might give you another go.’ She poured more coffee. ‘Patricia is your best bet to smooth things over.’
Roddy leaned back in his chair. ‘Ah, I do have another idea. I reckon it could work, it’d certainly bring business to town, but I’m not sure how to capitalise on it.’
Dani saw the gleam in his eye and her heart sank. ‘My God, you’re indefatigable. Okay, run it past me but unless you deal with the film mess I can’t see anyone putting up any money for another of your schemes.’
‘Doesn’t require investment, just media. And then you’ll have people running here, could be a great tourism hook.’
‘What’s that?’ Dani figured she might as well hear him out. Roddy was the kind of guy that could have projects and plans fall over left and right and then suddenly hit a winner when you least expected it.
Roddy leaned forward. ‘The mysterious beast of the valley. The elusive, thought-to-be-extinct animal. A living wild cat-dog from the dinosaur era. We could offer a huge reward for the person that finds it. Be bigger than the Loch Ness Monster.’
Dani started to laugh, as Roddy, now carried away, went on, ‘Just think, there could be trail rides, camping safaris through the valley, a model of the beast in the museum, souvenir merchandise of the valley beast, night hunts. Every TV crew would be out here like a shot. Think of the business for accommodation, tourist events, food, marketing spin-offs!’
‘But, Roddy, there isn’t any such beast!’ Dani stood up and began putting the cups back on the tray.
‘Yes, there is. You know you’ve seen it. You told me you took a photo of it that day with Max. Where’s the picture?’
Dani stopped in shock, remembering the day she’d met Roddy. She’d almost forgotten she’d seen the creature again with Max. Foolishly, she’d mentioned the photograph to Roddy. ‘I erased it.’
‘Bloody hell. Why’d you erase it? Are you sure? Have you checked your camera?’
‘There’s no picture, Roddy. Forget it.’
He looked crushed – for a moment. Then his face cleared. ‘Well, you could draw it! You’re an artist. And Max saw the photo too! You’re both credible, people will believe you!’
Before Dani could answer there was a call from the front door as Jolly began barking
her hello bark. Jason came around the side of the house following Jolly.
‘You home, Dani?’ he called, then stopped as he saw Roddy.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.’ He looked embarrassed.
‘You’re not interrupting, would you like a coffee?’ said Dani, relieved to see him. She was still in slight shock over Roddy’s mad idea and worried he might try to go through with it. She’d have to alert Patricia who would no doubt also put the kybosh on it.
‘I was just going,’ smiled Roddy. ‘I was just running a few ideas past Dani.’
‘Another film?’ said Jason with barely concealed facetiousness.
Roddy stood up with an easy grin. ‘Well, it could be, eh, Dani? I’d better be going. Thanks for the advice, Dani.’
‘Oh, don’t let me get in the way,’ said Jason hurriedly. ‘I’m just dropping off the saddle for Tim’s birthday.’
‘Thanks, Jason.’ She turned to Roddy. ‘I’m giving Tim a saddle, Jason chose it for me. Well, Roddy, talk to Patricia.’ Awkwardly Dani shot out her hand, feeling uncomfortable.
Roddy glanced at Jason and smiled as he pulled Dani to him and gave her a hug. ‘You’ve been a rock, Dani. Give me a call if you spot another beastie, eh?’ He nodded at Jason. ‘Good luck with your development. Way to go, isn’t it?’ He grinned and sauntered away without a backward glance.
Dani watched him go with a feeling she’d never clap eyes on him again. Maybe read about him in a newspaper article.
‘Beastie? You got snakes or something?’ asked Jason.
Dani rubbed her head. ‘Ah, it’s a long story. Please stay. I’ll make fresh coffee. There’s something I have to do.’
Dani hurried into her bedroom, picked up her camera and scrolled through to the photograph of the strange animal she’d seen on the edge of the road and captured with her camera. The yellow eyes seemed to stare at her with a direct challenge. Firmly Dani pushed the ‘Erase?’ button and the image disappeared. She sighed and returned to Jason.