by Peter Watt
Penelope sat on the edge of the bed with her long golden hair falling around her shoulders and framing her beautiful, almost angelic face. But the proposition disturbed her. There was something in her own feelings for her cousin that rebelled at the thought of her brother gaining access to Fiona’s body.
Granville watched his sister’s face and could see that she was troubled, but he waited patiently for her response to his proposal. Then she smiled enigmatically, as if she’d had a divine revelation, which made him feel a little uneasy.
‘I will help you,’ she replied. ‘But I must warn you that convincing Fiona to marry you will not be easy. Not while she thinks she might be in love with the Irishman.’
He flashed his sister a victorious smile, which reminded her of the smile on a cat’s whiskered face before it kills the helpless mouse.
‘I don’t think Fiona will be in love with Mister Duffy for much longer, dear sister,’ he said, and his sister frowned as she had a tiny suspicion which she preferred not to dwell on. Was it possible that he was planning to have Michael Duffy disposed of in some way? But she dismissed the thought with another that satisfied her needs first and foremost. Very deliberately she lay back on the bed in a way that allowed the silky chemise to slide seemingly innocently up her thighs, exposing for a brief and erotic moment that which her brother had used for his carnal pleasure.
Her provocative act was not lost on Granville who stared with undisguised lust at her, and she was pleased to see that her power over him had not diminished with time. She smiled seductively and his face reddened with his desire. If only you knew my ultimate plan, dear brother, in helping you win the hand of Fiona, you might think very carefully on what you have asked me to do, she thought as she watched her brother struggle with his lust. The divine revelation had told her how she could wreak her ultimate revenge on her brother as only she knew his true weakness, and it was this vulnerability she would use against him in the future.
‘I think you should leave my room now,’ she said, adjusting the chemise modestly to cover her exposed thighs. ‘Or you might confuse me with Fiona . . . and that would not do. I think you should return to the library to seek your relief. I believe the gardener’s daughter is due to visit you tonight.’
He glared at her with a rage for what she was deliberately doing to him, and the memories returned of their times together in the stables and the hidden places of the big house in England. How was it that she had been able to take his power from him when it had always been he who had controlled her, he thought. He stormed from the room, leaving his sister to gloat in her subtle victory.
FOURTEEN
The Osprey lay at her mooring and her timbers squeaked incessantly as she rubbed her hull against the wharf protesting like a lonely dog chained too long in the night.
Her sails were furled and her masts pointed like skinny fingers at the constellations of the Southern Hemisphere.
She was a barque, whose proud career had taken her into the rolling seas of Bass Strait and the calm of Moreton Bay as she plied the waters of Australia’s east coast with a proud history as a supply ship for the Macintosh companies. But now the barque was undergoing a refit to carry human cargo rather than the trading goods she usually carried in her holds.
A lone man stood nervously under the bow of the Osprey and baulked at every unexpected and unidentifiable sound. His hand never left his coat pocket where it gripped a small pistol.
Granville cursed himself for choosing to meet Jack Horton at such an ungodly hour, but it was a time when he could be sure very few people would be witness to the meeting. Horton was late. He had stipulated 4 a.m. and it was now a quarter past the hour. Granville yawned and thought about lighting a cigar to pass the time.
‘Bin later I’d might have seen you.’ The voice, which came softly from nearby, startled Granville who almost fired the pistol in his pocket.
‘Good God, man! You gave me quite a fright,’ he exclaimed as Horton emerged cautiously from behind a news stand on which a half-torn poster declared a Confederate victory in the far-off American Civil War.
‘Don’t trust anyone . . . an’ you don’t get caught out,’ Horton said matter of factly. ‘I was waitin’ to see if you was alone before I introduced meself.’
Granville eyed the bulk of the man who stood squarely in front of him. It was a mutual appraisal.
‘Spect you has a gun in your jacket in case I turn nasty or somethin’, Mister White.’
‘How do you know who I am?’ Granville replied, as he felt his spirits sink. ‘I might not be this Mister White you called me.’
‘I knows you, Mister White. Don’t take a genius to know who you are round Sydney Town. I knows you are the man who wouldn’t give me a job on this ’ere boat,’ he said as he pointed to the Osprey. ‘Now you give the Osprey’s mate a message for me to meet you down ’ere. But ’e don’t say who I was to meet. So I’se jus’ stan’s over there and watch youse real careful like, in case it wus the traps tryin’ to pinch me. But I recognises you and decides it wus all right.’
Horton spoke softly, which belied his hulking appearance. Although there was not enough light to make out his features, Granville could smell the rum on the man’s breath and feel his menace as if it were something tangible. Yes, Jack Horton appeared to be the right choice. His caution proved he was also a thinking man, despite his crude grasp of the English language.
‘I presume you are Jack Horton.’
‘That’s who I am when me mother named me, God rot her soul,’ Horton spat.
‘Well, Mister Horton, as I was about to say, who I am is best forgotten. To make this point, I will offer you a job within your . . . er . . . domain of skills, and pay you extremely well,’ he said, relaxing his grip on the revolver in his pocket.
‘What’s this “domain of skills” mean?’ Horton asked suspiciously. ‘I never ’eard that word before.’
‘I believe you are capable of doing away with a man for a price?’
‘Ah, so that’s what the word means,’ he replied, pleased with his grasp of something new. ‘Well, youse could be right . . . and youse could be wrong. It depends on how much we is talkin’.’
‘Hundred pounds.’
‘Hundred guineas . . . an’ youse can purchase my domain o’ skills, Mister White,’ he countered.
Granville baulked at his asking price, but could not help admire the man’s shrewdness as a hundred pounds was a small fortune to any man. ‘A hundred guineas is a lot of money, Mister Horton,’ he sighed, as if the figure might bankrupt him.
‘For a hundred guineas you can call me Jack like youse would any of your other employees, Mister White,’ Horton said with a sly smile that bared yellow and broken teeth.
‘Well, er, Jack . . . I suppose a hundred guineas it is.’
‘Good. Now that I am an employee of yours, you can tell me the person or persons youse want done away with.’
‘Only one person. An Irishman by the name of Michael Duffy. He . . .’
‘’E comes from the Erin, don’t ’e?’ Horton said.
‘Is this man a friend of yours?’ Granville asked apprehensively, as he had not expected Horton to know the Irishman.
‘No friend, Mister White, but ’e’s no pushover, an’ ’e’s got a lot o’ friends around the old Sydney Town. If I’d a knowed it was the pretty boy youse wanted done away with, I’d ’ave asked more than a hundred guineas. No, to do away with Michael Duffy will require a little ’elp.’
Granville weighed up what Horton was saying. Was it a ruse to extract more money from him? ‘Why is Mister Duffy a problem to a man like you?’
Horton scrunched his shoulders and slipped his hands in the rope belt about his waist. ‘The man ’as a reputation on the other side o’ town for being handy with ’is ’ands. I can take ’im, but I’d feel better wif some backup . . . jus’ in case, youse know.’ For a man like Jack Horton to make such an admission impressed Granville.
‘Another fifty guineas
. . . to buy extra help. How you pay for the help is up to you . . . but at no time will you mention who I am to anyone. I need not impress on you that we are talking murder here,’ he cautioned.
Horton grinned before replying, ‘Not murder . . . jus’ me usin’ me domain o’ skills. But I need youse to do somethin’ else before I’se can do the job.’
‘What else?’ Granville asked as he tried to keep his feelings of annoyance under control at the man’s persistence in extracting further concessions from him.
‘I’se’ll need to get out of Sydney Town after I’se do away with the pretty boy. Youse can give me a berth on the Osprey here as a mate,’ he indicated with a flip of his thumb.
Granville did not have to ponder very long on the suggestion. For Horton to disappear from Sydney after the task was completed made a lot of sense. ‘A mate’s job requires experience. Do you have the experience?’ he ventured cautiously.
‘I’m a quick learner. An’ besides, if the work is like I think it’s gunna be with the darkies, you are goin’ to need men like me. Men who know how to get the job done properly for the right kind of boss. Someone like you.’
‘You could be right, Jack. I think you have a fine future with the company,’ Granville replied with a short and mirthless laugh. ‘Now I will tell you how and when you and Mister Duffy will meet.’ He explained to the big man his carefully thought out plan and he could see that Horton was impressed. When he asked the man if he had any questions, he said no.
Business complete, Granville was eager to leave the wharf and return home in the carriage waiting for him at Circular Quay.
‘Before youse leaves, Mister White, I have a habit of shakin’ on any deals I’se makes,’ Horton said.
Granville saw the big man offer his left hand and automatically moved to offer his left hand. A warning clicked in his mind. The left-handed shake was not right! He froze in absolute terror when the knife appeared in Horton’s right hand.
‘You see how easy death can come to a man. It can come as easily as a ’andshake between gentlemen.’ He grinned at the sudden terror on Granville’s face. He had made his point and knew Granville White had recognised the message in the simple but potentially deadly gesture. ‘An’ I knows youse is a gentleman, Mister White, who wouldn’t go back on any deal.’
Granville did not move as Horton shuffled into the dark shadows of the wharf. His legs felt like jelly and he realised that his breath was coming in short desperate gulps. He could almost feel sorry for the last moments of Duffy up against such a man.
Granville hurried back to Circular Quay where his coach was waiting for him. Even the anticipation of having the young girl’s body in his bed when he arrived home did not take his mind off the short distance the knife had been from his groin.
From his office window, David Macintosh could see across the rooftops of the warehouses to the waterfront. And as he stood with his hands behind his back he could view the Osprey being refitted for his cousin’s Pacific venture. Worry lines creased his forehead as he turned away from the window and walked back to his desk.
There was very little paperwork to be seen as papers and files were located in the anteroom adjacent to his office. On the other side of the door, his private secretary, George Hobbs, sat engrossed in lists and correspondence that generated the Macintosh business interests for shipping in the colonies and the Pacific.
An unobtrusive knock at his door indicated that Hobbs wished to see him.
‘Yes, Hobbs.’
Hobbs poked his bespectacled face around the door and, although he was twenty-eight years of age, premature baldness had put ten years on his appearance.
‘Missus Macintosh to see you, sir,’ he said with a warming smile reserved for the introduction of family to the offices of Macintosh & Sons. Except now it was the singular of sons that would appear on all the business signs. The problem was George’s to wrestle with. Should he have the ‘S’ dropped from the signs by erasure? Or should new signs be painted? The former option had the less than tactful touch of obliterating the ‘S’ as if wiping out a life.
‘Thank you, Hobbs,’ Enid said with a warm smile. Hobbs gave a courteous nod of the head as acknowledgement to the mother of his boss, whom he genuinely admired for the professional manner in which she had run the business in the absence of her husband.
He closed the door behind Enid as she swept into the room. She wore a satin dress of black with matching hat which suited her as it contrasted with her smooth and milky white skin.
‘Hello, Mother,’ David said, and he guided her to a thickly padded divan set against the wall. ‘Your visit comes as a pleasant surprise.’ She sat and placed her hands in her lap, which was a rather demure gesture, her son reflected, if out of character for a woman who had grown used to using this very office in the past to make critical decisions that had at times brought others to their financial knees.
‘I was talking to Hobbs,’ she said without any idle chatter. ‘He tells me you are having problems with the crew of the Osprey.’
David frowned. ‘Not all the crew. Just the first mate, Bill Griffin. He approached me when I was making an inspection of the Osprey this morning. He was rather agitated about a decision Granville has made. It seems he has put a man on as assistant first mate to Bill Griffin. A man whom Granville had originally rejected on the advice of Mister Griffin.’
‘That is Granville’s prerogative as to whom he hires . . . or rejects,’ Enid commented. ‘We agreed Granville had full control of the operational side of the venture.’
David strolled over to the window and placed his hands behind his back. Enid could see that her son was worried. He gazed at the Osprey and all seemed to be normal. Supplies were going aboard and sailors went about their routines. He turned away from the window.
‘Mister Griffin has threatened to resign if the man Granville hired goes aboard the ship,’ he said. ‘The man has a bad reputation as a trouble-maker and cannot be trusted.’
Enid raised her eyebrows as her nephew’s decision to hire such a man against the advice of a proven employee flew in the face of logic and good sense. ‘What do you think you should do about the situation?’ she asked.
David was in a quandary. He could not interfere in the operations unless he thought the venture might, in some way, bring scandal upon the good name of the Macintosh companies.
‘I suppose I should try to talk to Mister Griffin and placate him,’ he sighed. ‘The man Granville hired has done nothing to cause any problems at this stage and we can only give him a chance to prove his worth, one way or another.’
‘In your shoes, I would have made the same decision,’ his mother said. ‘Just let the matter ride for now.’
David was pleased at his mother’s support for his decision, except that he could not help but wonder why Granville had hired the man called Jack Horton.
‘Now that is out of the way,’ she said with a cheeriness in her voice that David had not heard since the tragic news concerning the death of Angus, ‘I actually came to see if you would like to join me for lunch. There is a French chef at that new cafe in Pitt Street and I have heard he is very good.’
‘I wish I could, Mother,’ David apologised. ‘But I have an appointment with the bankers in an hour. A matter concerning Father’s proposed expansion in Queensland.’ Lunch with his mother was definitely preferable to the stuffy boardrooms of the Bank of New South Wales, a place inhabited by pale and starched men.
‘Well then,’ his mother replied in a disappointed voice, ‘I suppose I should discuss with you the matter I was going to at lunch. Fiona’s forthcoming marriage.’
David blinked. ‘This is the first news I have heard about Fiona getting married. Who in Hades is she marrying?’
‘I thought you would have made a logical conclusion on the matter. You rather surprise me. She is going to marry Granville, of course,’ Enid answered.
‘Granville! Does Fiona know she is going to marry Granville?’ David uttered w
ith a burst of surprise. ‘Since when has all this come about?’
‘Since he approached me on the matter this morning,’ Enid replied calmly. ‘Oh I know you are not overly fond of Granville but I have agreed for a very good reason. An important reason that concerns you,’ his mother said to placate her son.
‘Me?’ he questioned. ‘How does Granville’s marriage to Fiona have anything to do with me? Oh, except for the fact I dislike the man as he has only one true love in life. And that is for the Macintosh companies and his chance of running them by himself.’
‘That is why I think Granville is the right choice to join the family through marriage,’ Enid said gently. ‘You cannot hide from me that you are not happy at being thrust into the role of manager of the family’s business. I have known for some time that you were offered a position at Oxford. And that the position means more to you than managing the companies.’
He did not know how to reply to his mother’s very perceptive summation of his lost dream. Yes, a position at Oxford was his greatest hope. He had been an outstanding student – even for a colonial – and Oxford’s cloistered halls were where he felt most at home. He had never considered being thrust into the position of managing the business because his brother Angus had always been the heir apparent. But an Aboriginal spear had changed all that.
‘You are right in what you are saying, Mother,’ David replied. ‘But I also know my duty.’
‘I know you do, David. But I do not think you will be a good manager. You will be an outstanding scholar, but not a very good manager. Granville can build on our interests even bigger and better in the tragic eventuality of your father finally passing on.’
‘You are giving the family’s interests to Granville?’ David asked. He was astonished at the idea of his ambitious and ruthless cousin with so much power.
‘No, your father will be giving the companies to his grandsons . . . eventually,’ she replied quietly. ‘When Fiona and you produce them for us. You will always be a very wealthy man and share in the profits. And so will your children.’