The Queen's Colonial

by Peter Watt

  ‘She has been slain,’ the constable said, seeing the terrible crushing blow to the back of Mary’s blood-encrusted head. ‘Her neighbours said they saw her in the early evening, so she must have been murdered last night or early this morning. Whoever did this attempted to cover their bloody work.’

  ‘Her son is the blacksmith, Ian Steele?’ the magistrate said, bending to examine the fatal wound.

  ‘That is correct, sir,’ the constable said. ‘But I know he has been away since early yesterday morning. I was informed that he was on his way with Mr Samuel Forbes, long before this could have happened.’

  ‘We will have to get news to Mr Steele concerning the untimely demise of his mother,’ Dyer said, rising to his feet. Already, concerned citizens were gathering at the front of the house as the news spread like bush fire through the village. ‘Do you have any idea who may have done this wicked deed?’

  ‘Not at this moment, but I will be asking questions of the locals,’ he replied. ‘Someone has to know something of this affair.’

  ‘Arrange to have the body taken to her room,’ the magistrate said. ‘In this heat, we need to make arrangements to place her in the ground as soon as possible before corruption sets in.’

  The constable nodded and turned to another police officer, who had hurried to the village from his own station a couple of miles away when he was informed he was needed to assist in a murder investigation. He was not alone when he joined the magistrate and his fellow policeman; Francis Sweeney was with him.

  ‘Sir, this young man may have some information on what has happened here,’ the second constable said.

  Francis stepped forward and looked with horror at the body of Mary covered in flies. For a moment he was speechless.

  ‘What can you tell us?’ the magistrate prompted.

  ‘Last night I was at the tavern and the Curry brothers were there,’ Francis said, continuing to stare at the lifeless body. ‘They were asking me about where Master Steele kept the takings from the blacksmith shop.’

  ‘Did you tell them?’ Dyer asked accusingly.

  Francis hung his head in shame, and the magistrate looked away in disgust.

  ‘With all respect, sir,’ the first constable said. ‘I know of the Curry gang, and I also know that they are very prone to violence. I’ve suspected them to be involved in a number of matters but I have never been able to detain them, as people around here are frightened of retribution from the family. In my opinion, any of the Curry boys are capable of doing this. And it is well known that they have a strong dislike for the slain woman’s son.’

  ‘I suggest that you continue with your duties, constable,’ the magistrate said. ‘Question the family as soon as possible.’

  The constable did, and learned that Kevin and Conan had departed hours earlier. Their mother, a tough former convict, informed the village constable that her sons had told her they were heading south to the goldfields of Ballarat, in the colony of Victoria.

  The constable informed the mounted police of her statement, and they rode the track in search of the suspects. The lie they had left with the family worked, as the two brothers made their way towards Sydney Town, carrying the stolen money. It was enough to pay for berths aboard a ship heading for the British Isles, and then on to Ireland.

  *

  Monday found Ian at a warehouse on the city harbour, purchasing iron ingots for his blacksmith shop. Samuel and James had chosen to spend time together at the cottage and Ian loaded the heavy metal bars aboard a dray he had hired to transport the cargo back to his village.

  When the loading was over, Ian stopped to wipe the sweat from his face and gaze at the forest of ships’ masts laying at anchor on the inviting blue waters. All around him, the commerce of the bustling port went on. Cargoes of supplies needed for the growing population of the colony, bolstered by the gold now pouring out of the hinterland discoveries, piled up. The wharf resounded to the multitude of languages being spoken by the visitors. Ian could see the numerous Chinese immigrants, with their long pigtails and exotic clothes, Europeans with the dress of their nations. He reflected how each would contribute to the face of the continent. So many people with so many languages, he thought as he gazed at the mass of humanity coming ashore around him.

  He pulled himself aboard the dray and flicked his big draught horse into moving away from the harbour. He would stop over that evening at James’ cottage, and leave early next morning for the trip back to the foot of the Blue Mountains.

  Just after midday, he reached the cottage and was pleased to see Samuel and James were at home. He was welcomed with a glass of crushed lemons in water which proved to be refreshing, and he could smell the inviting aroma of a beef stew cooking on the stove.

  Samuel pulled Ian aside and led him to the backyard to sit under a trellis overgrown with a grapevine to provide shade against the blistering hot sun while dinner was being prepared.

  Both men sat with glasses of lemon water.

  ‘I suspect that you may be curious as to why I suggested that you and I travel together to Sydney,’ Samuel said. ‘I know that you have a business to run at your village, and time away is a possible loss of profits.’

  ‘I have used this opportunity to purchase supplies for the business,’ Ian replied. ‘Besides, I enjoy your company.’

  Samuel smiled at the compliment. ‘I suppose that you have noticed that we look so much alike, albeit you are of a much more robust physique. But in all other appearances, we could almost pass as brothers.’

  ‘That has been mentioned by my mother,’ Ian said, taking a sip of his drink. For a moment, Samuel looked away at the rolling plain behind the cottage, to the distant line of great gum trees.

  ‘Would you consider being me?’ he asked quietly.

  Ian frowned at the strange question. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Just what I said,’ Samuel replied. ‘Would you ever consider taking my place as Samuel Forbes?’

  Ian did not know if he should laugh or scoff at the lunatic suggestion. ‘I think you should elaborate,’ he said.

  ‘I would request that you assume the role of myself for the next ten years or so,’ Samuel said, leaning forward. ‘You see, it would be very financially beneficial for both of us if you pretended to be me. My uncle has already given his blessing – and is a part of the conspiracy – if you should agree. I know I may sound as if I should be incarcerated in Bedlam but I also have great faith that you are the one man who could carry out this mission on behalf of us both. For you to do so would mean your dream of being a commissioned officer in a British regiment, a generous stipend from my family in England, and the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to amass enough money for you to be able to retire as a wealthy country squire back here in the colonies, if not an even higher station in the mother country. Please consider my offer.’

  The opportunity to be an officer was all that Ian had dreamed of, but the offer was ludicrous. Wasn’t it? ‘And what benefit would this exchange of roles do for you?’ Ian asked.

  Samuel sighed. ‘I would be able to leave this lie I live,’ he said. ‘James and I could sail for America and start a life together. James is a man of independent means, but I do not wish to be a burden on him in the years to come. There is a condition imposed by my grandfather that if I serve honourably for a period of ten years in the army, I will inherit a substantial portion of the estate. Its income will be my retirement fund and give me financial independence in the future.’

  ‘Then why not simply return to your regiment and serve out the ten years?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Because I would lose James from my life, and I love him. I doubt you will be able to comprehend that.’

  Stunned, Ian almost dropped his glass. He wondered if he had heard correctly. For a moment, he had trouble absorbing just what was implied.

  ‘What about Miss MacHugh?’ Ian asked feebly,
and Samuel smiled sadly.

  ‘Miss MacHugh will always remain a fond memory,’ Samuel said. ‘But I cannot love her as I do James. I do not expect you to condone – nor even understand – but if you accept the offer I have made to switch places I, as Samuel Forbes, will not blacken the family reputation as a sodomite.’

  ‘God almighty!’ Ian exclaimed, shaking his head, still trying to come to grips with Samuel’s explosive confession. ‘Do you really think that I could ever fool your family?’

  Ian watched as the smile returned to his friend’s face. ‘So, despite what I have confessed to you, you are considering taking on this adventure?’

  ‘Adventure,’ Ian repeated. ‘Maybe a dank gaol cell in England if I am uncovered for the impersonation.’

  ‘My uncle will brief you on every aspect of the family, and being a Forbes, when you return to the village,’ Samuel said. ‘By the time you eventually meet my family, you will know more about me than I know. Meeting you was like an answer from heaven.’

  ‘But why is your uncle going to help?’ Ian asked, ensuring that no stone was left unturned.

  ‘My father, my uncle’s elder brother, had him exiled to the Australian colonies many years ago for an indiscretion. But, as they were blood, he also had to ensure my uncle had enough financial support to establish himself here. As it was, my uncle went into wool and has well and truly made his own fortune.’

  ‘What was the indiscretion, may I ask?’ Ian questioned.

  ‘Sir George was deeply in love with my mother,’ Samuel said. ‘So he was banished to this convict colony. He will do anything to strike back against my father now my mother has passed away. We Forbes are a cold and vengeful family of vipers but I suspect that you are more than capable of dealing with snakes.’

  Ian stood slowly and gazed westwards towards the sun on the horizon. ‘Your proposal has much adventure attached,’ Ian sighed. ‘But I could never leave my mother to pursue the dream I have always harboured to serve the Queen and the Empire. I thank you for trusting your secret and confidence in me – but I must decline.’

  Samuel stood and offered his hand. ‘James and I are booked on berths for San Francisco in a couple of weeks. We will meet again as I know you have to return the dray. You might think on my offer, and if you still decide not to take it up, I will always consider you a dear friend. I pray that you do change your mind. I feel my venture would be of great advantage to us both.’

  Ian accepted the gesture of friendship, putting out of mind what he now knew about Samuel Forbes. He preferred to remember Samuel as a friend and nothing more. In the eyes of the law his friend was a criminal but Ian had only known an intelligent, gentle and courageous man. His confession had not changed the nature of Samuel, and Ian was confused.

  That evening, the three men drank good rum and played cards. The next morning Ian set out to return to his village to resume his life as a country blacksmith. The silver lining to his return was that Isabel MacHugh was a truly single woman who would need consoling when Samuel sailed for the Americas.

  Four

  Ian sensed that something was different about the village as he pushed his dray across the dusty track towards the outskirts of the town. His suspicion was confirmed when he saw two horsemen in the uniform of the Mounted Police ride towards him. He pulled his dray to a stop to await them.

  ‘Are you Mr Ian Steele, the blacksmith?’ one of the constables asked.

  ‘I am,’ Ian replied. ‘Why do you ask?’

  The constable cleared his throat. ‘I am sorry to say Mr Steele that your mother, Mary Steele, has been slain by a murderer early Sunday morning past. Her body has been laid out at your home.’

  For a moment, the news seemed unreal. He had only kissed his mother goodbye days earlier. How could she be dead?

  Ian flicked the reins and the big cart horse hurried forward into the village as fast as the big horse could. As he approached his house, he could see Francis and a neighbour standing outside the picket fence. They saw him approach and Francis walked quickly towards him.

  ‘I am sorry, Master Steele,’ Francis said. ‘We had no way of sending you the tragic news any earlier. I told the magistrate that you said you would return by this evening from Sydney.’

  Ian alighted from the dray. ‘How could this happen?’

  ‘The police have a strong suspicion that Kevin and Conan Curry might have killed Mrs Steele,’ Francis said. ‘It appears that they have fled south to Victoria.’

  Ian brushed down the dust from his trousers and strode away towards the cottage, where he saw more neighbours inside the house. They greeted him with grim faces and condolences. Ian climbed the stairs to his mother’s room, where he saw a grey-haired, elderly lady sitting in a chair by the bed. Mrs Barton was holding a perfumed handkerchief to her nose to help disguise the sickly stench of decomposition in the hot air of the room.

  ‘Ian,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘I cannot find words for the foul deed committed against your mother.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Barton,’ Ian replied, taking steps towards his mother’s body laid out in her best Sunday dress on top of the mattress. He gazed down at her face, and thought that she looked as if she was asleep.

  ‘I hope you do not mind but I have arranged for Mary to be buried tomorrow morning,’ Amelia said. Ian nodded his agreement. In the heat of the summer, bodies began to decompose very quickly.

  Amelia rose from her chair to exit the room, leaving Ian privacy to mourn his mother.

  *

  Many attended the funeral from the district as Mary Steele had been well-liked and respected, despite the fact she had once been a convict. The sun blazed down on those who attended, and amongst the mourners was Isabel MacHugh and her parents.

  The wooden coffin was lowered into the grave while the pastor droned on about the grace of God. Ian stood with his head bowed, forcing back the tears. They would come when he was alone. In the distance, a crow cawed its lazy call across a plain of desiccated grass. Oh, how he wished that he had listened more to his mother’s stories about her life as a young girl in the Scottish Lowlands, he reflected as he stood by the grave. Now part of his soul was gone forever.

  Many of the villagers murmured their condolences in his ear as they passed by out of the tiny cemetery. At the centre of the land for the dead was a giant gum tree, a reminder that the inhabitants now lay for eternity in a foreign land, far from home in the British Isles.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss, Mr Steele,’ Isabel said, touching him on the arm with a gloved hand. ‘I knew of your mother’s charitable work in the district.’

  Ian turned to Isabel, whose pretty face held sincerity in her condolences.

  ‘Thank you, Miss MacHugh,’ Ian replied. ‘I appreciate your kind thoughts.’ In that moment, Ian felt that this was the woman he should be with for the rest of his life. Isabel walked away to her parents and their fine carriage drawn by two horses, and he was reminded that she was far above his station. He watched her helped into the carriage by the driver and realised that he was alone.

  *

  Mrs Barton had arranged a respectful wake at Ian’s cottage and only a few from Mary’s church attended.

  Tea was served with a few dainty cakes, but Ian felt out of place amongst the elderly friends of his mother. He hardly spoke with the guests but stood holding his cup of tea, reflecting on a future without his beloved mother. The cottage would be his, and he owned his forge. Life ahead would be spent in the village until he eventually found a wife more suitable to a lowly blacksmith, and eventually, he too, would join his mother and father in the cemetery at the outskirts of the village. The likes of Isabel MacHugh were not within his reach, and his dreams of adventure before he died would be that only.

  With these thoughts, Ian made a decision.

  Francis attended the wake and stood quietly at the back of the small dining room holdi
ng a cup of tea. Ian went to him. ‘You have proven to be an excellent apprentice, Frankie,’ Ian said. ‘I know that your family are good people and struggle to earn an income. I have a proposal for you. How would you and your family like to move into my mother’s cottage, and pay a small rent?’

  ‘But where would you live?’ Francis asked in his surprise at the generous offer. He and his family lived in a bark hut outside of town, where his father struggled to eke out a living on the small agricultural holding.

  ‘You might say I will be living in a mansion,’ Ian said with a smile. ‘I will also sign off your papers, and make you a qualified blacksmith, and hand over the shop as a business partner. I trust you to bank ten percent of the profits in my name.’

  ‘Master Steele, I am at a loss for words at your generous offer,’ Francis replied, his thoughts reeling at Ian’s sudden and life-changing offer. ‘I can promise you on my family’s name I will honour your offer, and my family will be forever in your debt. May I ask, what are your plans for the future?’

  ‘I may travel and see some of the world while I am still young,’ Ian answered. ‘Or maybe go seek my fortune as a gold prospector.’ Ian felt uneasy to be lying to his apprentice but it was necessary if he was to accept Samuel Forbes’ proposal. There was a lot to be done.

  Time was of the essence and Ian knew that when he took the dray back to Sydney, he would be cutting things short. Samuel and James were close to departing the shores of New South Wales for America.

  When the last guest departed the house, Ian sat down at the kitchen table with a bottle of good Irish whisky that his father had kept in a cupboard. Ian knew his mother’s puritan view of alcohol meant that Ian was not to drink under her roof, but now she was gone, and he poured the contents into a glass tumbler.

  ‘To the finest mother and father a man could have,’ he said softly, raising his glass as a toast. ‘I hope you will forgive me for what I am to venture in the future.’