Cry of the Curlew: The Frontier Series 1

by Peter Watt

  Kate sat with her hands in her lap and was acutely aware of the handsome young man appraising her. It was a mutual admiration, unknown to the lawyer. Kate could not deny to herself that Hugh Darlington was an attractive man, with his dark brown eyes and thick wavy brown hair curling above his collar.

  Unlike the bearded frontiersmen, he was clean-shaven and he had an aura of arrogance in his demeanour that was appealing to women. His hands were clean and his fingers rather delicate for such a big man. The slender fingers looked as if they would be very much at home on a piano keyboard and were not the hands of a man used to callus-hardening physical work. Not like the hands of the men at the Emperor’s Arms – the teamsters, prospectors, stockmen and labourers.

  ‘You asked me what I intended to do with the rest of the estate, Mister Darlington?’ Kate finally said, gazing directly at the solicitor.

  ‘Yes. I can arrange to have the properties sold for you – should you so wish to continue with the services of Darlington & Darlington,’ he replied, assuming she would liquidate old Harry’s property.

  ‘I won’t be selling any of Harry’s property. I have a feeling Harry would have liked to see his bullocks continue working,’ she said quietly, causing the solicitor to raise his eyebrows at her decision. He had naturally assumed that she would take the money and go south to Sydney. The frontier town of Rockhampton was not a place of genteel persuasion. It was a tough outpost to a wilderness where even tougher men went and from which some never returned.

  ‘You cannot be considering taking over his team, Missus O’Keefe,’ he said condescendingly. ‘That sort of work is for a man. Not a young woman of, what I must say, such delicate beauty.’

  Kate smiled and was aware that he had paid her a compliment. But he was also patronising in his attitude towards her ability to do a man’s job.

  ‘I don’t intend to work the team myself. But I am sure I will be able to plan and organise a business. And hire someone who can look after the hauling side of the work,’ she said sweetly in a way that left him in no doubt that she knew he was being patronising.

  He attempted to extricate himself from his situation and could see now that she was not a wilting flower. She was more an Irish rose, beautiful, but prickly. ‘Ah, yes . . . of course, you can. No doubt Rockhampton has one or two experienced men who would gladly work for you,’ he said with a short and embarrassed cough behind his hand.

  ‘Yes, it has,’ Kate continued, realising she had made her point with the smug but extremely attractive lawyer. ‘One of the advantages of working in a hotel is that you get to know people. You soon learn who can be trusted. And who has the right credentials. It so happens that I know of a reliable man who is looking for work with a team. Tonight he will be able to shout the bar when I tell him he is employed with the Eureka Company.’

  Having uttered the words ‘Eureka Company’, she paused and reflected on the name she had chosen. What would it mean to the future of herself and her burning mission in life? Finally her dream was within her reach. She had come north to build a hotel but instead she had found herself following in the footsteps of her father, rather than those of her Uncle Francis. The bullock team would spearhead the beginnings of a financial empire of her making. Just exactly how, she was not entirely sure. But she was sure, before her life was spent, it would bring down Donald Macintosh. As the only way to fight fire was with fire, the only way to fight wealth was with wealth.

  ‘Mister Darlington, I would like you to prepare papers to set up the Eureka Company,’ she continued with the self-assurance of someone who had been in business all her life. ‘I gather you will accept the position as the company solicitor?’

  He accepted the offer. ‘The title Eureka is a rather interesting name, Missus O’Keefe. May I inquire why you chose that name for your company?’ he asked.

  She flashed him a sweet and enigmatic smile. ‘It is the name given to a stockade where my father and other men whom I know fought for justice against the British. My company will also have to fight. It will some day take on the biggest and best British companies in Queensland. But this Eureka is going to win.’

  The lawyer was taken aback by her grandiose ambitions but wisely made no comment. He switched to discussing a few matters concerning what would be required to set up the business and the company.

  When their discussions were at an end, he rose from behind his desk and politely escorted Kate to the door of his office.

  ‘Missus O’Keefe, I hope you don’t think me forward . . . as we have only just met,’ he said as he held the door open for her to leave. ‘But I am extending an invitation to accompany me to a picnic on Boxing Day. I will understand if you decline the invitation.’

  Kate turned and smiled and her hand brushed his arm in a way that made his pulse race. ‘I would be delighted to accept your invitation, Mister Darlington.’

  Hugh stood stunned by the reply as she brushed past him. Her acceptance was so readily given that he was left standing for some time by the door in a happy daze.

  On the street, Kate flipped open her parasol. Not all the inherited money would go towards capital for the company. It had been a long time since she had spoiled herself and a visit to a draper was well overdue. ‘Thank you, Harry,’ she whispered. ‘I promise that you will never be forgotten so long as I live.’ With a spring in her step, she cut across the dusty street in a direct line for the draper’s.

  Hugh watched her from the window of his office and saw her dodge lightly between two massive bullock teams plodding down the street. He heard the teamsters bellow a hearty roar of greeting to Kate, whom they recognised from the Emperor’s Arms. She flashed them a broad smile acknowledging their rough but good wishes.

  It was a pity the young woman had aspirations beyond her, Hugh mused as he watched her friendly banter with the rough teamsters. Otherwise she might think about settling down with a man and raising a family. She had all the qualities and looks to be the wife of a man as socially accepted as himself in Rockhampton society. But she also had a foolish side to her. The idea that a young woman was capable of competing against the rich and powerful squatters and merchants . . . absurd!

  From the moment he had set eyes on the legendary beauty of Rockhampton, he knew he had to have her. Hugh Darlington was a man of considerable wealth himself. And Kate O’Keefe was a young lady with a considerable inheritance.

  Little Deborah Cohen sat on her father’s knee. She listened as Aunt Katie outlined her ideas to her parents and knew that they were impressed by what she was saying to them.

  Deborah liked Aunt Katie. She was always full of fun. But now Aunt Katie sounded serious and the little girl watched the meeting wide-eyed. It was something very important the grown-ups discussed. The two-year-old precocious girl with the big lustrous eyes knew that much.

  ‘It is such a big enterprise you propose, Kate,’ Solomon said as he unconsciously stroked his daughter’s silky raven hair. ‘But I think we can do it. We have the capital to go in with you and I think Judith agrees already.’

  Judith nodded. ‘Kate is a young woman with an old and wise head; I agree,’ she said. ‘We open another store in Townsville and Kate’s company will haul for us.’ She hesitated, as the second part of the proposal worried her a little. Kate was talking something beyond even the dreams of the Cohens – and they were ambitious dreams.

  ‘The idea of buying a property and supplying our stores with our own beef requires either our own meatworks or relying on someone else. I think we would have to own our own meatworks. But that will cost a lot of money,’ she added.

  ‘We will make that the second part of the plan,’ Kate said with measured thought. ‘First we buy the property. We need somewhere close to Rockhampton. At least within a few weeks’ drive for the beef.’

  Solomon scribbled figures on a sheet of paper as Kate spoke. ‘To buy a property . . . or lease?’ he mused as he poked at the paper with a pencil.

  ‘Buy!’ Kate replied firmly ‘And I know just
which property we should make an offer on.’

  Solomon glanced up at her. ‘Which property?’

  ‘Glen View,’ she answered without hesitation.

  Solomon and Judith stared at the ambitious young woman. She was serious and they knew why.

  ‘You are letting your heart rule your head, Kate,’ Solomon remonstrated gently. ‘Or is it your feelings for revenge?’

  Kate knew that Solomon might baulk at her suggestion to buy the Glen View lease and she was ready to counter his doubts. She drew a breath.

  ‘Glen View is struggling to stay in Macintosh hands. The present financial crisis in the colony has caused the price of beef to drop and I know the Macintoshes have put a lot of money into the shipping side of their businesses. Especially the kanaka trade. And cotton sales have suffered some setbacks since the Americans concluded hostilities between their states. The Macintoshes are shifting capital to their sugar-growing properties along the coast and I have learnt that Donald Macintosh is going to Sydney to try to raise a loan for Glen View. Now is a good time to make an offer.’

  They listened respectfully. But Solomon still felt the young woman’s prime motivation in wanting the property was because her father lay buried there. It was her way of revenge – one step at a time. First she wanted to show the Macintoshes that as a Duffy she could buy and sell them. Solomon knew of the Irishmen’s love of fighting and he now realised that it spread to their women as well.

  ‘Twenty thousand pounds will not buy Glen View and its stock,’ he said, shaking his head slowly. ‘You would need at least thirty-five thousand pounds. If we had that much I think your idea has merit. But thirty-five thousand pounds . . .’

  Sadly Kate knew he was right. To purchase Glen View would soak up all their cash reserves and leave nothing for improvements. ‘If we had that much, would you make an offer?’ Kate asked. ‘If somehow the money was there?’

  ‘Yes, Kate,’ Solomon replied. ‘I know what you have said tonight makes a lot of business sense. Buy on a buyers’ market. Glen View is just that bit far away and I think the financial slump will not stay with us forever. By that time, Glen View will be out of our grasp, so why don’t you consider something a little less costly. There are other leases.’

  She shook her head and looked away. ‘It’s Glen View or nothing,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Some day I am going to take Glen View off the Macintoshes.’

  Deborah slid from her father’s lap and went over to her Aunt Katie and put her arms around her, saying solemnly, ‘I love you, Aunt Katie.’ Kate held the little girl and gave her a squeeze.

  When the talk had shifted from business, Judith brought out a plate of cold meats and bread. Kate shared their meal and it was during the light banter that Judith unexpectedly said, ‘Kate, you should find a good man and have many children of your own.’

  Kate almost choked on a piece of chicken leg as she burst into a strangled laugh and replied, ‘What brought that on, Judith?’

  ‘I see how you are with Deborah,’ she answered simply. ‘You were meant to be a mother.’

  ‘I was a mother for a short while,’ Kate reminded her in a sad whisper.

  Judith reached out to touch her friend on the hand. ‘You will be again . . . some day,’ she said and Kate gave her friend a sad smile.

  ‘I cannot be with a man while I am married, you know that, Judith.’

  Judith gave Kate’s hand a squeeze. ‘That is not true,’ she replied. ‘I spoke to one of your priests about that very matter last week.’

  Kate was surprised at the revelation. She knew of Judith’s dislike for the Christian priests, who still held the Jewish people as the killers of the Saviour. For her to approach a priest was something very extraordinary.

  ‘I spoke to a priest, Father Murlay. He was a very nice man,’ Judith continued. Kate knew Father Murlay. He was a French priest whose attitudes varied somewhat from his Irish colleagues and he was less judgemental about matters dealing with the heart and marriage. Possibly it was his Gallic upbringing that made him more tolerant.

  ‘And what did Father Murlay say?’ she asked.

  ‘He told me that in your religion there were ways to get an annulment. I think that is what he called it. He said you should talk to him when he next visits Rockhampton.’

  ‘I will speak to him on the subject,’ Kate said as she placed a chicken bone on her plate.

  She had not thought about seeking grounds for an annulment and she was vaguely aware that the canon laws were as complex as any laws on earth. She knew that in the Vatican there were priests who were employed to examine cases just as a lawyer would. Divorce was one part of the canon law.

  ‘Good. And when you get your annulment you will find a good man and have children,’ Judith said, as if the matter was finalised before it had commenced.

  Solomon had listened to the conversation in surprised silence. He was also stunned to hear that his wife had gone to see a priest. But he knew how much his wife cared for Kate. They were bound to each other in that most sacred time for a woman – the birth of a child. It had been Judith who had brought Kate’s child into the world for its very short life. And Kate was one of the first to hold the wet and slippery Deborah, squalling in her arms. After the midwife had done her work, it was Kate who had passed the baby to Judith’s breast. That sort of thing could make a Jewish woman go and see a priest, he thought ruefully.

  ‘Luke was in the district last week,’ he said for something to say and he noticed the sudden expression of interest in Kate’s eyes. But he did not know whether it was just curiosity . . . or something else. For that he would have to ask Judith when they were in bed that night.

  ‘Oh! I didn’t know that. I pray he is well,’ Kate said casually. Judith thought that she detected just the slightest note of interest in her over-casual reply. ‘I did hear talk at the hotel that he was planning to go north into the mountains,’ Kate said in an off-handed manner. ‘Some of the bushmen said he was foolish to try. They said the myalls further north are reputedly hostile. I suppose he would see the sense of turning back.’

  ‘No, he didn’t turn back,’ Judith said quietly. ‘Luke Tracy is Luke Tracy and God only created a few men like him. But the devil has made him pay. Luke has gone north a very sick man. He has the fever.’

  Kate registered visible concern in her expression. She had often heard the bushmen yarn about the legendary but crazy Yankee prospector who, alone, crisscrossed the vast colony in search of his El Dorado. But they spoke with respect.

  Although she had not seen the gentle and courageous prospector in over four years, she often found herself thinking about him. Was he alive and well? Why did he not return to Rockhampton to visit his friends?

  It was on those occasions that she had wondered at her own deep concern but she had dismissed her thoughts as nothing more than what one would feel for a dear friend. Only once, many years earlier, had she cried alone in her bed as she remembered the man who had been beside her when they embarked on the dangerous journey in search of her father’s grave. Although they had hoped to make contact with her infamous bushranger brother, the closest she had come was to hear the stories told around the bar at the hotel of his legendary exploits. Like the American prospector, her brother was a ghost in her life.

  She instinctively felt that the lack of any communication from Tom was prompted by his deeply ingrained sense of honour, that he did not wish to bring shame on his sister by allowing any contact whatsoever. It was stupid male pride. But the American’s total lack of contact had no explanation.

  ‘How bad is his fever?’ she asked calmly, carefully hiding her feelings.

  ‘He would be a lot better if he had someone to care for him,’ Judith answered and Kate did not miss the note of slight anger in her snapped reply.

  ‘I would have thought Luke might have at least contacted me . . . us,’ she retorted.

  ‘And what reason would he have for that, Kate?’ Judith asked with an edge of sarcasm. ‘You are, aft
er all, just friends.’ Kate’s face clouded with hurt at her friend’s obvious recrimination and Judith regretted that she had been so hard on her. But it was hard to bite one’s tongue under such circumstances.

  ‘Do you know where he is now?’ Kate asked, addressing Solomon.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate, but I do not know,’ he replied.

  Kate stared at him and asked icily, ‘Why hasn’t he written – at the very least – to us?’

  ‘He is a man,’ Solomon replied lamely, suspecting correctly that she would not understand because she was not a man. ‘And some things a man has to do because he is a man.’ Oi, but there were terrible and irreconcilable differences between men and women, he thought bleakly. And hoped that he would not have to try to explain himself as he did not know how to do so. All he knew was that Luke had told him he must do very important things before he could ever return and face the beautiful young woman as a man she could be proud of.

  Solomon Cohen could not betray the promise he had made to his friend that he was in receipt of a letter that had arrived two weeks earlier from up north. Luke had written optimistically that he had a feeling in his bones where his El Dorado lay and it was only a matter of getting there and back alive that counted for the present.

  But Solomon did not share the American’s optimism, as he had heard disturbing stories of the northern districts of the colony. It was said the land belonged to extremely fierce and warlike tribesmen who practised headhunting and cannibalism in little-explored country of high jungle-clad mountains and searing arid plains.

  Kate did not pursue the philosophy of the irreconcilable differences between men and women. Solomon breathed a sigh of relief. And the subject of Luke Tracy was quickly dropped from the conversation.