Later in Madam Jane's private lounge, Stonehouse asked how much she had paid for Kiri.
`Fifty pounds Alex, plus all her expenses of course,' she said cautiously. `And that's without the return of a single penny until tonight.'
Stonehouse opened his wallet and laid a number of crisp new banknotes on the table beside the divan and said: `Jane, there's a hundred pounds here. I will call again soon and bring a hundred more. Now until I tell you otherwise, I want you to keep Kiri exclusively for my own personal use, is that absolutely clear?'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Catherine Stonehouse had risen late and was taking a light breakfast on the balcony of her bedroom overlooking the river. It was a hot cloudless day and very still. Her father had long since left the house for South Brisbane, but below her in the grounds, Catherine could see her mother busily tending her flower-garden.
Clare Stonehouse was high on Queensland's social register. It was not a position she enjoyed. She much preferred to spend her time at home in her gardens, to making the rounds among the colony's elite. And it was only in deference to her husband's high profile in commerce that she accepted just a few social invitations, and hosted only enough functions at the house, to avoid being branded anti-social.
Catherine was quite the opposite. After three years in close contact with the upper-classes and members of the aristocracy in England, she was keen to become one of the central figures of the Brisbane social scene. She was well aware some members of Queensland's established society, privately looked dubiously on her family's wealth as `new money'.But she knew too, that because there was so much of it, any member of the colony's upper-crust who did not welcome her into the fold with open arms, did so at their peril.
She had always wished she had been born an only son, rather than an only daughter. It would have allowed her to do what she wanted most: to work alongside her father, helping him chart the course of the company's affairs from within the firm, and to eventually take over the reins when the time came. But as a woman, she was realistic enough to know she would never hold those reins directly. She knew the only avenue of influence open to her was by subtle manipulation from the outside, by combining the ruthlessness and hard-headedness she had inherited from her father, with her own considerable feminine charms.
In order to achieve that, she needed a catalyst to set the forces in motion. What she needed was a husband. He would need to be a special kind of man: ambitious, and more than a little hungry—qualities not generally found in the colony's limited stable of eligible well-off, wellbred bachelors.
She had arrived home from England to find that stable had been well picked over by her contemporaries while she was away. Many of the girls had married squatters, the powerful aristocracy of Queensland, and lived on vast self-sufficient sheep or cattle stations.
It was a life she didn't envy. Not for her the outback with its terrible isolation: its merciless sun quickly ruining her peaches and cream complexion, its hordes of reptiles and black-flies, and nothing for miles and miles but parched earth, littered with carcasses of livestock, lying where they dropped, dead from thirst, their sun-bleached bones picked clean by screeching black ravens.
Other girls had walked down the isle with the cream of the colony's professional men, and were destined to keep house, bear children, and play second fiddle to dreary Queen Street lawyers or Spring Hill doctors. Catherine found this option just as depressing as the first.
`Are you finished with your breakfast trolley Miss Catherine?' The upstairs maid's voice startled her. Catherine drained her tea cup quickly and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. `Yes Louise, you may take it now... and would you draw my bath please.'
Catherine's thoughts wandered to Charles Worthington-Jones. Since their first meeting, her visits to the South Brisbane office had become more and more frequent. She liked him. He was young, handsome, well educated and intelligent.
It had occurred to her some time ago that the catalyst she required may be right under her nose. The Englishman was certainly ambitious—enough to pull up stakes and travel half way around the world. He also had the necessary refinement to be accepted at the highest social levels in the colony. More importantly, he already held a senior position in the firm; as her husband, she could see to it that he would take the helm eventually.
All Charles Worthington-Jones lacked was money and position—the very things she already had, and would be willing to share to a point, in exchange for his absolute compliance with her wishes. It wasn't even necessary that they should be in love. After all, she knew well that love was just a fleeting thing. No man she had ever known had excited her for any longer than the time it had taken to crush his heart.
Below her in the grounds, Catherine saw her mother rest for a moment from her chores and sit down on an ornate iron garden bench. Clare happened to look up. She saw Catherine on the balcony and waved. Catherine waved back. Then suddenly she frowned, as just for a moment, she was horrified at the prospect of her becoming an old maid confined to a flower garden.
It was just weeks until her twenty first birthday. Catherine knew it was time she seized the initiative. She hurried inside to bathe and dress in readiness for a ladies reception on the grounds of Government House later in the day. As usual she would go alone and make some excuse for her mother's absence.
Catherine planned to leave early and call in at Stonehouse's before going on to the reception. When it crossed her mind that Charles may suspect he was the real reason for her frequent visits to South Brisbane, she decided to tell him she had come to see her father. After all, everyone seemed to know these days, that he spent more nights at his club than he did at home at Castlecraig.
* Jarrah came alive after the arrival of Mrs Llewellyn and Ho Lim. Mrs Llewellyn put the past behind her and spent the first few weeks busily putting the house in order. She took a room at a time, cleaning and polishing every nook and cranny, until the whole house sparkled.
From the very start she prepared three wholesome, and sometimes quite elegant meals each day, which she expected to be consumed at exactly the same time each day. Ben chose to eat breakfast and lunch in the shade on the veranda overlooking the river. In the evenings he would take dinner in the dining-room, after bathing and changing his clothes, at the end of long days spent down in the brickyard.
It was when Mrs Llewellyn served Ben's dinner one evening that she spoke of Kiri for the first time since they left Dunwich. `I can't help but be greatly concerned for her Mr Luk,' she said in a faltering voice. `She is little more than a child. It would be comfort enough just to know that she is not suffering—wherever she is.'
Ben looked up from his meal. `I have not mentioned Kiri since Dunwich Mrs Llewellyn, because I know how upsetting it is for you, but I have not forgotten her. Please do not worry yourself unduly. I expect by now she is settled in on a northern plantation and is happy among her own people'.
Ben watched Mrs Llewellyn as she returned to the kitchen, and hoped what he said was true.Ho Lim had hardly been able to contain his joy at returning to his hut by the river. He wasted no time in dispossessing a ten foot python, several rats, which somehow had eluded the snake, and a variety of insects which had taken up residence in the dark and dingy corners of the hut during his absence.
Much to Mrs Llewellyn's chagrin, Ho Lim preferred to take raw meat and rice from the house and cook it himself over his own wood stove in his hut. But occasionally he couldn't resist the tantalizing aromas wafting out from her kitchen, and he would hang around just outside the door grinning and bowing, until she sent him trotting back to his hut with a steaming pot-full of her culinary delights.
When the jetty was nearing completion, Ben had Jack Stark return to Brisbane with the barge to fetch more building materials. Stark took on enough timber and hardware to construct several sheds for the brickyard, and enough materials to make thousands of wooden brick moulds. He also loaded masonry and aggregates which Ho Lim would use to build kilns for the firing and coolin
g of dried bricks.
In the meantime an engineering firm made a delivery of dredging buckets, steam engines, water pumps and all kinds of ancillary equipment. Soon after that, teamsters arrived and delivered huge Clydesdale work-horses, skid-carts and haulage wagons loaded with blocks and tackle, and every conceivable hand-tool which the new brick-yard would be likely to require.
One morning Ben was watching Ho Lim skillfully applying the finishing plaster to the top of one of the brick kilns when he looked up the paddock and saw an elegant carriage at the door of the house. A moment later he saw Mrs Llewellyn directing a short fat man in the direction of the brickyard. Soon Ben recognized the man picking his way down the paddock as James Whitworth.
When Whitworth reached the kiln, he was panting. Perspiration rolled of his heat-flushed face. He eyed the hive of activity around him. `My...oh my,' he said, between short gasping breaths. `I can see you're not letting the grass grow under your feet Mr Luk.'
Ben shook the banker's hand. `What brings you out to Jarrah on such a warm day Mr Whitworth?'
Whitworth mopped his wet face with a red silk handkerchief. `Bankers don't just sit indoors and count money all day you know Mr Luk. I came to see for myself what headway you were making out here.'
After Ben had shown Whitworth over the brickyard, they walked back up to the house where Mrs Llewellyn served lemonade in the drawing room, made with cool water drawn freshly from the well.
Whitworth took a deep swallow from his glass, then said, `Mr Luk, I shall be attending a function to be held next month at the Colonial Club. It is to be addressed by the newly-elected Premier of the colony, Sam Griffith. I wondered if you would care to accompany me?'
`But I have no interest in politics Mr Whitworth.'
Whitworth smiled. `I must admit I have very little myself Mr Luk. But the function will be attended by a great number of important business leaders and pastoralists, all anxious to learn first hand how Mr Griffith's new policies will affect their operations. It will be a rare occasion indeed to have so many powerful and influential men gathered together under the same roof at the same time. I thought it would be an excellent opportunity for me to introduce you to many of the principals of business houses with whom I would expect you would wish to do business in the future.'
*
On the day of Premier Griffith's address to the Colonial Club, Ben decided against having Ho Lim drive him into town, in favor of the familiar ease and speed of his mare. He wore a new suit of clothes with a fashionable knee- length jacket, immaculately cut in black barathea, and complemented by fine English riding boots, and a black wide-brimmed planter's hat. More than one head turned in the large throng of gentlemen milling around the main entrance to the Colonial Club, when the big man with the pigtail arrived on horseback just before sunset.
Ben dismounted, and immediately a stable-boy dressed in smart red livery led his mare away. James Whitworth appeared through the crowd. He took Ben's arm and led him into the club-house and through to the members-lounge. Inside the lounge, more than a dozen stewards were trying to keep pace with the demands made on the bar by a large noisy crowd, standing shoulder to shoulder around the huge room.
Whitworth seemed to know everyone. He made the rounds with Ben in tow, introducing him to a large cross-section of the colony's business leaders, squatters, and a few politicians in Sam Griffith's new government. Most were astonished to see a pig-tailed half-bred Chinese in such austere and predominantly Anglo-Saxon surroundings. Ben was greeted with obvious and open curiosity, but with the due respect that his introduction and recommendation by such an influential banker as James Whitworth demanded.
Whitworth and Ben approached three men standing near the end of the long lounge-bar. Ben recognized one of them as the tall thin man he had seen briefly overseeing the demolition of Mrs Llewellyn's store. Whitworth introduced him as Silas Moser. Moser shook Ben's hand, but his gaunt face showed no sign of recognition. Whitworth introduced the other two men as ship-owner Alexander Stonehouse and Shamus McClintock, a squatter from the Darling Downs. Ben could see both men had been drinking heavily.
Stonehouse eyed Ben with the same unveiled curiosity shown by most of the men he had been introduced to, but the stocky Scot was the first to show any sign of racial disdain.
`I see you are a half-breed Mr Luk,' Stonehouse said bluntly. `I would have thought you would find that an impediment to doing business here in Queensland?'
`Why should I Mr Stonehouse?' Ben said quickly. `Unlike you, I am a born Australian, living in my native land. My father was Chinese and my mother English, but I find no handicap, nor feel any shame on account of my Chinese or British blood. Do you, sir....?'
A brass bell clanged loudly above the din in the lounge ending the brief exchange between Ben and Stonehouse, and everyone was requested to take their places in the dining-room, pending the imminent arrival of the Premier of Queensland.
Samuel Walker Griffith was an intellectual Liberal: a bearded Welsh barrister about forty years old, swept into power on a platform of ending Kanaka labor, and the pastoralist's stranglehold on vast tracts of crown leased land, in order to allow for the emergence of small crop- growing farmers, or selectors. In a lengthy after-dinner speech he explained his government's policies to a mostly conservative and very wary audience. During an articulate delivery, he slightly softened and modified his position on the contentious issues by skillfully reading the mood of his crowd.
Griffith ended his speech on a unifying note, which only recently had become dear to the hearts of Liberals and Conservatives alike, a call for vigilance against the threat of a newlyemerging political force in the colony—the Labor movement.
After the premier's address the dining room emptied immediately and the hubbub resumed in the lounge. Ben was anxious to be on his way back to Jarrah. He thanked Whitworth for inviting him, then made directly for the stables behind the club. He was standing at the door of the red-brick mews waiting for his mare to be led out when a big hand slapped hard against his shoulder.
`Mr Luk. May I wish you well with your brick-making?'
Ben turned around to see Shamus McClintock swaying behind him. He was so drunk he could hardly stand.
`Why, thank you Mr McClintock,' Ben said, then added quickly: `Sir, you're not riding tonight I hope.'
`No... no laddie, I'm just waiting for a driver to take me to Madam Jane's.' McClintock swayed again and grabbed at an iron tethering ring in the mews wall. When he had regained his balance he said: Mr Luk, please don't take Alexander Stonehouse's rudeness to heart, I can assure you he's not the bigot he may seem to be.'
A stable boy appeared with Ben's mare. Ben swung up into the saddle. `And how would you do that Mr McClintock?By telling me Stonehouse has a Chinese wife or keeps blacks among his household staff.'
McClintock grinned. `No, but he keeps a nigger as a mistress at Madam Jane's whorehouse. Prettiest thing you've ever seen, a runaway Kanaka from one of his labor ships.'
Ben's face hardened, but anxious for McClintock's liquor to keep talking, he casually asked, `And I suppose her name is Kiri.'
McClintock looked stunned and tried to focus his bleary eyes. `And how in hell would you know that Mr Luk?'
*
Alexander Stonehouse left the Colonial Club early and arrived at Madam Jane's around the same time as Sam Griffith was winding up his address at the club. After many hours of steady drinking, Stonehouse chose to forego the customary cognac in Madam Jane's private lounge before going upstairs, and lumbered straight up to Kiri's room.
Kiri was sitting by the open window in the light of a small flickering oil lamp when Stonehouse burst in. Without a word he stumbled across the room and stood behind her chair. He ran his hands roughly over her bare shoulders for a few moments, then he tore open the front of her dress and grabbed her breasts.
Kiri was afraid of Stonehouse when he was sober. When he was drunk she was terrified. Sometimes he would like to pretend she was an unwilling pa
rtner who had to be beaten into submission. She slipped out of the chair and backed away in the direction of the bed, knowing that was where he wanted her, and that the sooner it started, the sooner it would be over.
He was breathing heavily as he advanced towards her. When he pinned her to the bed he began to pant in short rasping gasps. She tasted stale liquor when his wet mouth briefly covered hers, then his lips moved hungrily over her body while his hands tore off her clothing, and fumbled to remove his own. Kiri closed her eyes and waited.
He entered her roughly, without feeling or compassion, like a wild animal seeking rapid, urgent self- gratification. But suddenly his clumsy thrusting stopped abruptly, and Kiri felt the full weight of his body on hers. His rasping gasps turned into a hideous wheeze. Kiri lay there and listened, too frightened to move, until eventually there was no sound at all. It was only when she thought she would suffocate, that she wriggled out from beneath Stonehouse's limp body. The light from the oil lamp fell on his eyes. They were wide and unblinking.
Alexander James Stonehouse's heart had finally given out.
*
The stable-boy's directions had been precise. When Ben reached The Gables and rode up the driveway between the ghost gums, another rider was leaving the big house at a full gallop.
Ben pulled hard on the black chain beside the double oak doors without dismounting. He heard the bell ring loudly inside but there was no response. He rang it again. This time the grey-haired butler opened the doors just wide enough to see out. Madam Jane stood behind him, grim faced, beneath the chandelier.
`You in there,' Ben shouted,' I am here for Kiri. Bring her out to me now or I shall come in and take her.'
When the big doors were hastily slammed shut Ben spurred his horse hard into them before the bolts could be drawn. The mare burst through into the hallway, snorting and frothing at the bit, her iron shoes clattering noisily as she fought to maintain her balance on the polished marble floor.
Blackbird Page 7