The Queen's Colonial

by Peter Watt

  ‘I will think about it,’ he said, finishing his mug of tea.

  ‘I will get you a blanket and something to put your head on,’ Molly said, rising from the chair.

  Molly brought the blanket and a pillow stuffed with horsehair. She laid it out for him and retired to her tiny room, leaving the colonial Irishman with his thoughts.

  Conan stared at the darkness around him as he lay on the hard floor; his thoughts drifted through the last twenty-four hours, and to the past, to Mary Steele lying dead at his feet. Oh, if only he could turn back time and still have the kind woman alive. Her untimely death haunted him and he cursed his dead brother for his stupid and foolish act of killing her. Kevin had paid the price for his crime and Conan felt sadness for his death. Sleep came to his troubled mind and the world faded from his consciousness.

  *

  Dr Peter Campbell cradled the goblet of brandy as he sat on a divan in the Forbes London residence. He was still shaken by the bare-faced robbery he’d endured on his charitable rounds in the London slums.

  ‘That is the thanks you get for helping those wretched people,’ Alice said, sitting opposite him with her hands folded in her lap. ‘We have attempted to warn you that it is dangerous to go into those areas. The poor people there have no gratitude for your selfless service.’

  ‘My dear,’ Peter said. ‘This unfortunate incident has not deterred me. I shall resume my assistance to them when I am able to replace my medical bag. I have reported the matter to the police, and from my description of my assailants, a detective thinks it might be the work of a couple of Welsh brothers they have had their eye on for some time. The third person is a mystery I am sure they will solve.’

  ‘Oh, Peter,’ Alice said, exasperated by the surgeon’s humanitarian attitude. ‘What would become of me if something horrible ever befell you. I think that I would simply die of grief.’

  He smiled. ‘I grew up on the Canadian frontier. These men were not half as scary as a grizzly bear on the rampage.’ Seeing she did not share his humour, Peter put down his brandy and knelt before her, taking her hands in his own. ‘The best thing that has ever happened in my life was the fortune of meeting you. I promise that I will also make enough money to win the approval of your father for a chance to have you become my wife. I know he currently disapproves of a colonial wedding his only daughter, but I think I can eventually win him over.’

  Alice looked down into his face, tears in her eyes as she gripped his hands.

  ‘I do love you so,’ she said. ‘You are so different to all those stuffy young men my father would have court me. They may be rich and respectable, but they are not you. I know that when my brother, Samuel, arrives home, he will like you and help persuade father of your good intentions.’

  The Canadian doctor had heard Alice continuously prattle on about her beloved brother who was, amongst many things, a war hero who had faced the savage natives of the British colony of New Zealand, holding the regimental colours against the Maori onslaught. Peter hoped she was right. He needed more allies within the Forbes family if he was to win her hand in marriage. He knew he had Alice’s younger brother, Herbert, who had just turned sixteen on his side. The boy admired the doctor, who told him stories about the wild frontier of Canada. At least for now, he could see the love in her eyes for him and hope for the future.

  *

  The seas were calm and only a few fluffy clouds lay on the horizon. A gentle breeze filled the sails of the clipper conveying Ian Steele to London. He stood at the rails, gazing out over the English Channel at seagulls whirling over a shoal of small fish off the starboard. The captain had announced they should be docking in the early morning, and the young colonial felt both excitement and trepidation for what lay before him.

  His first test had come only a week out of Sydney when one of the passengers learned who he was – at least, who Samuel Forbes was. The man, a banker from London in his late fifties, had approached Ian one evening on deck and introduced himself as a friend of the family. He said that he only remembered Samuel as a young boy of five when they first met, and then said that he, Samuel, had grown to be a fine young man.

  Ian casually asked if the meeting had been at their London residence near Hyde Park or at the country estate in Kent.

  The banker said that it had been at the London residence, where he had been a dinner guest, and noticed him with a book in his hand, which made an impression on him. Ian was nervous, but he also noticed his ability to put into practice the background stories he had been taught by both Sir George Forbes and Samuel himself, and appeared to fool the man into believing that Ian was in fact, Samuel Forbes.

  On the occasions that Ian was in the man’s company, he was able to keep up the pretence with practised ease, to the extent that the banker said he would enjoy having Ian dine with his family when they reached England.

  ‘Land ahoy!’ a crewman cried from the sails above, and Ian quickly crossed the polished deck to see the faint outline of land.

  ‘From this distance, that would be either the Isle of Wight or Dover we can see,’ an older passenger mentioned from behind Ian. ‘Either way, we are almost home.’

  Home, Ian mused. Not if he was unveiled as an imposter. Then, home might mean being returned to the Australian colonies as an imposter in chains. A dread filled him, but he knew now there was no turning back. From herein, he must become Samuel Forbes, and forget he was ever the son of a convict woman and a former British soldier.

  *

  It was the heavy, hurried tramp of boots on the narrow staircase to Molly’s dingy residence that alerted Conan. He came awake and leapt to his feet.

  ‘Open in the name of the Queen,’ a voice boomed, as fists crashed against the solid wooden door.

  ‘Quick, this way,’ Molly hissed to Conan, who was still shaking off the sleep. It was dark and, he guessed, in the very early hours of the morning.

  Molly slid back a wall panel and gestured for Conan to slip through. He cast around him but could not see Edwin or Owen. Without hesitating, Conan entered the stuffy space as Molly slipped the panel back. Conan could see a sliver of light and realised that there was an exit into an adjacent hallway of the tenement. He felt around with his fingers to find that he could slide the panel and crawled out into the vacant hallway. Through the flimsy walls, he could hear the raised voices of police demanding that Molly inform them of the whereabouts of her brothers and the other man associated with them.

  As Conan made his way cautiously down the steps of the hallway, her protests of innocence faded, and he opened the door to the street, peering carefully to see a uniformed policeman wearing his top hat and blue, swallow-tailed coat standing outside the front entrance of Molly’s residence with short wooden truncheons in his hand. Conan could see that he was staring into the building, and that the sun was not above the horizon.

  Very carefully, Conan stepped from the tenement, walking softly away along the virtually deserted street. He had not had time to grab his boots and, though shoeless, he attempted to appear inconspicuous. So far, so good. There was a street corner where he could turn to be out of sight of the police.

  To his surprise, he saw Edwin and Owen walking towards him, with Owen carrying a bag. They stopped when they saw Conan.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Edwin asked.

  ‘Don’t go back to your sister,’ Conan warned. ‘The traps are there looking for you.’

  ‘Traps?’ Owen queried.

  ‘Police,’ Conan corrected himself. Traps was not a word the Welsh brothers were familiar with.

  ‘We had better make ourselves scarce,’ Edwin said, tossing the bag of what Conan guessed was the result of a burglary that night.

  ‘I’m going on my own.’ Conan said. ‘I don’t think they know who I am. Do you have my share of the money we took yesterday?’

  ‘We do,’ Edwin replied. ‘But it is not a go
od time to dole out your share with the peelers not far away. It looks like they have caught onto us.’

  ‘Then we had better get out of London,’ Conan suggested.

  ‘Where do we go? The peelers must know who we are to come to Molly’s place and if we are caught, it will be all over for us,’ Owen said.

  ‘I have an idea,’ Conan said. ‘I know how I will disappear, where the traps won’t find us.’

  Seven

  Conan led his newly found friends in the direction of the Thames docks. He remembered the pub where he had met the recruiting sergeant, arriving as it was opening. Sure enough, he sighted the uniformed Irish sergeant standing outside.

  Conan turned to his confused companions.

  ‘If you want to keep out of the clutches of the peelers, your only choice is to enlist in the army,’ he said.

  ‘The army!’ Owen exclaimed. ‘That does not sound like a good idea. I would rather take my chances with the peelers.’

  ‘Prison has bars, and at least with the army we still have our freedom,’ Conan responded. ‘The army might mean being posted to the colonies, and I can tell you it is far better than being in this cesspool.’

  ‘Maybe the Paddy has a good idea,’ Edwin said. ‘The peelers will not look for us in the army and later, we can leave quietly when the heat is off us.’

  ‘What about Molly?’ Owen asked. ‘The peelers are sure to find the doctor’s bag.’

  ‘Molly is smart,’ Edwin said half-heartedly. ‘She will give the peelers the slip. Molly will be safe, and we can contact her after we go into the army when we get leave.’

  Conan caught the eye of Colour Sergeant Leslie, who was preparing to enter the pub. ‘Sergeant, would you be looking to recruit three for the regiment?’ he asked.

  Colour Sergeant Leslie stood appraising the three men. ‘Was it not you I spoke to only yesterday in the pub?’ he asked Conan.

  ‘It was, sergeant,’ Conan replied. ‘I thought upon your words and have convinced these two Welshmen of the bounties the army has to offer three, healthy and future loyal soldiers of the Queen. Besides, I’ve heard it said that the Welsh were the Irish, who couldn’t swim to Ireland.’

  Colour Sergeant Leslie broke into a grin.

  ‘You men, come with me to the barracks,’ the British army, senior non-commissioned officer said, and the three followed him to the gates of the regiment a short distance away. Conan was sure that he had made the right decision. He suspected that if the Welsh brothers had been picked up by the police, it would only be a matter of time before he was implicated in their gang. Enlisting in the army gave him breathing space to consider options, and to eventually reach Ireland. He would be signing on for ten years of service, but he had no intention of remaining a soldier of the Queen, and desertion was in his future.

  *

  The hansom cab that brought Ian to the impressive house just off Hyde Park came to a halt. Ian sat for a brief moment, wondering if he should have the driver turn around and take him back to the docks.

  ‘Would you like me to assist you with your luggage, sir?’ the driver asked.

  ‘No, I can manage,’ Ian replied, as he only had one bag of essentials. He alighted with his bag in hand, paid the driver, and took a deep breath as the horse-drawn cab clattered away. It was mid-morning, and the sun was a feeble light in perfectly blue skies.

  Ian stepped forward to walk up the short flight of steps to the main door where he rang a bell, waiting for the entrance to open to his future.

  The door opened and a serious-faced older man answered. Panic gripped Ian. Was this man his supposed father?

  ‘Yes, sir, is there anything I can do for you?’ the well-dressed man asked. Ian struggled in his memory to remember all that he had been briefed by Samuel and Sir George.

  ‘Yes, I am Master Samuel Forbes. I believe that my father has been expecting me,’ Ian finally replied, calculating that the man standing before him would have to be a valet or butler.

  ‘Master Forbes, I will inform your father that you have arrived,’ the older man said. ‘Please come inside.’

  He stood aside, and Ian stepped into the foyer of the Forbes London residence. He was immediately impressed by the obvious display of wealth in the relatively spacious room, adorned with paintings and Chinese vases on stands.

  Ian was standing alone as the butler went to fetch Sir Archibald Forbes. He was taken by surprise when a very attractive young woman burst into the foyer, followed by a gangly young man in his mid-teens.

  ‘Sam!’ the young woman said, hugging him to her. ‘You have certainly changed in your time away from us.’ Ian knew this must be his sister, Alice, and the young man standing shyly behind her the younger brother, Herbert who Sir George briefed him had been a mere boy when Samuel had left England.

  ‘Alice, your warm reception has made the long and difficult voyage worthwhile,’ Ian said.

  ‘How delightful! It is so good to have you return to us,’ Alice said, overjoyed at the reunion with her older brother.

  ‘Herbert, you’ve certainly grown since our last meeting,’ Ian said, extending his hand to the slim, good-looking young man who had stepped forward, accepting the outstretched hand. It was a firm grip from Herbert, who had not uttered a word. Ian could see that the youngest brother appeared in awe of this meeting.

  Two men entered the foyer, and Ian could see that they were obviously father and son. This had to be his father, and eldest brother.

  ‘Father, Charles, I pray that you received the letter from Sir George,’ Ian said. He could see the coldness in both men’s faces. There would be no warm reception from either.

  ‘Samuel, I hope your voyage to return home was pleasant,’ Sir Archibald said without offering his hand. ‘I can see that your time with my brother in the colonies has changed you very much.’

  Ian could feel the dryness in his mouth as his supposed father appraised him. This was the ultimate test of the impersonation he had assumed. ‘It is good to be back with my family.’

  ‘We should have a welcome home dinner party for Sam,’ Alice said. ‘I can arrange the guest list. I only wish mother was with us to celebrate this joyous moment.’

  Ian noticed Sir Archibald cast his daughter a disapproving glance.

  ‘We shall see,’ Sir Archibald said. ‘But first, I think I should speak alone with Samuel before we make any arrangements. Samuel, if you will come with me to the library.’

  Ian nodded and followed the tall man down a long hallway and up an elegant staircase to a room lit by gaslight. He entered, casting around at the walls filled with books. Samuel had briefed him that this was his favourite room in the London house.

  Sir Archibald closed the door behind them and stood at the centre of the room, hands behind his back.

  ‘Sir, you are not my son. I wonder why you should pretend to be so,’ he said.

  ‘You are correct, I am not your son,’ Ian answered, his heart pounding with fear. ‘George Forbes is my real father.’

  The blood drained from Sir Archibald’s face.

  ‘I am not sure if anyone else is aware of this, and I am sure that it is not something you would like for your friends to know. After all, I am still Samuel Forbes.’

  ‘Has my brother acknowledged you as his son?’ Archibald asked quietly.

  ‘He only intimated that I was,’ Ian said. ‘He is aware that to do so would gravely damage your reputation in London society, and to the memory of my mother. I have always been aware of your resentment towards me, and why you were so hasty to have me sent away with the regiment. If it is any consolation, I have only returned to be commissioned into my grandfather’s old regiment, and expect that you will arrange for that to occur. I am sure that you will be pleased to see the back of me.’

  Ian could see that his unexpected declaration of not actually being Archibald’s true son had take
n him unawares. Ian could see some of the doubt about his being Samuel Forbes had drained from the other man – but not completely.

  ‘My brother wrote to me that you had changed somewhat from the boy I last saw. You even appear to have a touch of a colonial accent.’

  ‘I was not aware of that,’ Ian said, growing more confident in his impersonation. ‘I suspect that was inevitable, mixing with the colonials of New South Wales for so many years.’

  ‘I think that we should rejoin the rest of the family,’ Archibald said and walked stiffly out of the room.

  Ian followed him to the drawing room where the family had gathered. Sir Archibald walked over to Charles and spoke quietly to him. Charles glanced at Ian with a frown as Alice took Ian’s hand and led him to a sofa. Most of the dryness in Ian’s mouth had gone, but he also knew that his place in the family was not completely cemented. His revelation concerning his parentage had put Sir Archibald off-foot. It was obvious that he did not wish to have it known that Samuel was his brother’s son. For the moment, he felt secure that he was being perceived as the prodigal son, returning to the bosom of the family, albeit still a tentative situation. The sooner he could join a regiment, the better.

  *

  ‘He is not Samuel,’ Charles said to his father in the privacy of the library. ‘I could not even bring myself to greet him.’

  Sir Archibald poured whisky in a crystal glass and slumped down in a big leather chair.

  ‘I had my doubts, until Samuel raised an issue that only he could have known about,’ he said, swishing the liquid around the tumbler. ‘We have to accept he has changed considerably since we last saw him.’

  ‘Did he mention that he is only my half-brother?’ Charles asked, standing with his arms behind his back.

  ‘Yes,’ Archibald replied and took a swallow of the golden liquid. ‘Until otherwise can be proven. We both know what will happen if he serves his ten years with your grandfather’s old regiment. His claim to our estate will considerably weaken it.’