James North studied him, not deceived by this apparent truce between them, as he enquired, ‘You want a favour I take it?’
‘Hardly a favour,’ William said.
‘Then what?’
‘This War Precautions Act. It’s being abused. Surely you can see it’s penal and unjust?’
‘It’s very popular around the electorates.’ North smiled. ‘Germans are being persecuted. Losing their jobs — and their homes. Being wrongly arrested. Beaten up in the streets.’
‘I can’t control the popular mood. Nor can the government.’
‘The bill’s immoral, and a complete travesty of justice.’
‘What’s your special interest?’ Then, as if remembering, he said, ‘Yes, of course. Your daughter married one, didn’t she?’
‘You used to be fond of Elizabeth,’ William replied, feeling suddenly ineffectual.
‘I used to be friends with you, William. Perhaps you recall how you exploited that? Well, it can never happen again. Your time is over. I’m back in government and you’re history …’
The malice was palpable. It had been a mistake to come here.
He realised North was smiling at some private joke.
‘I never even needed to use the details. Your own party got rid of you. Ours didn’t want you. If they had I could’ve used it to crush you.’
‘Use what details? What are you talking about?’
‘Broken Hill.’
William felt his mind freeze with shock; he was unable to suppress an involuntary gasp, it was so devastatingly unexpected. He could only stare at North, who was patently gratified by the reaction.
‘What was it called? Oh yes … The Silver City Trust …’
‘Never heard of it,’ he said, struggling for calm.
‘Naturally not.’ North was amused. ‘A long time ago, you feel, and difficult to prove. But if you were still in politics, I’d use it to get rid of you. As I will in the future, if you ever give me trouble. I’d have them gossiping about you in every club and bar in town. Your name would be dirt — not very pleasant for your new wife.’
William knew he had to keep his temper, and try to bluff this out. ‘You’d find yourself in court, fighting an action for slander.’
‘Which would merely compound the damage. You know how easily dirt turns to mud, and how it sticks. There are a lot of people ready to believe the worst of you. Take it to court and you’d bring joy to the newspapers — and pleasure to your many enemies.’
‘Until the verdict. You’d pay a heavy price — without proof.’ North smiled again.
‘The jury would decide that. I’d simply tell the court what happened. That a few years ago a man came to see me — a miner, he was. He’d been in Broken Hill in 1886 — he was very precise about the date — where he was persuaded to buy shares in a fraudulent company called the Silver City Trust. Amusing, isn’t it,’ North said, ‘how these frauds always use the word Trust in their titles? Of course it collapsed, like so many of its kind, and the promoter — his name was McIntosh — he was certain of that, too — promptly vanished. It was assumed he was dead, but my informant said he’d seen you at a meeting, and something about you, some mannerism made him curious. He found out where you lived, saw you again, several times, even looked up newspaper files to study photographs of you. He’s prepared to swear you were McIntosh. He said although it was thirty years ago, there could be people in Broken Hill who still remembered the fraud. This is what I’d tell the judge and jury — to be reported in the press, of course, in great detail — if you were stupid enough to sue.’
‘And you paid him for this ridiculous, fanciful story?’
‘I paid. It was worth every penny. To know I could cause you such harm if I chose — and will if you ever cross me again.’
‘The threat is unnecessary. I’m out of politics, thank God, which means that I no longer have to associate with reptiles like you.’
He saw North’s face flush with anger, and knew he had just lost whatever remote hope he had of helping Elizabeth.
As if to confirm this, North said, ‘I’m afraid this War Precautions Act is essential.’
‘Why?’
‘To weed out the enemy in our midst.’
‘Enemy? What enemy? Half the people being victimised were born here. Thousands more are naturalised.’
‘You’re missing the point,’ North said. ‘Not as sharp as you used to be. We need an enemy. The war’s too far away. If we want recruits, this country has to feel threatened. Nothing like a bit of hatred to foment patriotism.’
‘Good God. You bunch of bastards.’
‘It’s in a good cause. Defending the flag. Raising money and troops to help the mother country. And if a few huns suffer, it’s all in the best interests of Australia.’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ William said, aware he had been naive to approach this former friend, ‘you and your manufactured loyalty, and genuflecting to the “mother country” make me sick.’
‘Better be careful, William. Quite apart from antagonising me unnecessarily — if you talk like that, people may start to ask which side you’re on. Especially since you have a German son-in-law.’
As he walked back past the cathedral towards College Street, William felt angry and dismayed. North’s threat and the chance of future blackmail had deeply disturbed him. It had been a foolish error of judgement. Hannah had warned against giving him an opportunity to indulge his long-held resentment.
‘I’d rather you see anyone else. Even Billy Hughes.’
‘The Welsh gnome? He knows I campaigned against his first attempt at conscription. I’d never get through the door.’
‘Well, go if you must. But James North has a long memory, William. He’s a good hater. I’ve no idea how — or what he could do any longer — but I’ve always felt he’d harm you if he could.’
Well, she’d been proved right. More than either of them had realised. But he’d been so anxious, after receiving a telephone call from Elizabeth, who had driven all the way to the post office in Gawler to make it in secret, that he felt he had to try to help.
His daughter had said she was frightened. It was something she had never said before.
THIRTY
The petition was carefully drawn up. It must be beyond reproach, Elizabeth insisted, no wording that could be construed as being against the government’s War Act, nothing that could be labelled treason. If Stefan was going to pursue this, then they must be careful.
He agreed.
They wrote it out, and when they were satisfied with the wording, she drove to Adelaide for an appointment with Mr Harpur, of Henderson, Hanlon, Potts and Harpur, in their offices on North Terrace. He had become their solicitor: ever since his visit years ago with her father’s gift of the ten-acre paddock, he had done their conveyancing whenever they bought more land. Mr Harpur now wore stronger spectacles, and was in his fifties, but was otherwise recognisably the same man who had arrived in his Napier Four to startle the animals and the children.
She smiled. She liked Mr Harpur, who insisted on coming out to examine their motor, and showing her his recent acquisition of a sports roadster. Then his clerk served tea and biscuits, while she told him the news, and apologised that none of it was good.
Sigrid was out of hospital, but the new doctor had confided that some of her facial scars might be permanent. Oscar was a worry to them all; for so long such a cheerful and determined optimist, he was now silent and morose, and it would be months before his ribs mended.
‘And Gerhardt Lippert?’ Mr Harpur asked.
She told him nothing more had been heard. They had already begun to accept the worst. Mr Harpur shook his head. He had met all these people over the years of visits to the valley, and was shocked at the way their lives were being ruined.
Finally, he took the petition and studied it carefully. It was silent in the cluttered room as he thoughtfully read it again. ‘Mrs Muller, I’m no expert on these matters, I warn you.’
‘I understand that, Mr Harpur. I just want an opinion.’
‘Well, my opinion would be not to circulate it.’
‘You mean, it’s treasonable?’
‘On the contrary, I can see nothing whatever wrong, not a word or a sentiment which could bring any action against you, or anyone who signs it. You’ve been very careful. It’s just that, in these times, any people who draw attention to themselves are inviting danger.’
‘I’m afraid if you told Stefan that, he’d say that’s why he must do this. He’s determined, Mr Harpur — all I can do is try to make sure there’s nothing in the petition which could be used against him.’
‘In normal times, this is a harmless appeal. It’s respectful, and it breaks no laws. Everyone should have the right to sign it.’ He paused and sighed. ‘Unfortunately, these are not normal times.’
‘I’ll tell him what you said. But I don’t think I can change his mind. I’ve tried. He was docile for too long, he says. You see, apart from Gerhardt and this attack, there’ve been other incidents.’
She told him about the blood-splattered scarecrow figure that had so distressed her, and about the Gresham Hotel, where Stefan had eventually revealed to her they were no longer welcome. ‘Dear God,’ Harpur said, visibly shaken.
That a prominent city hotel could shut its doors to Senator Patterson’s daughter because her married name was Muller, seemed somehow closer to the world he lived in, and therefore more disturbing than the other distant events, no matter how brutal. The Gresham was only two streets away, a favourite lawyer’s meeting place for lunch.
‘Would it help if I spoke to the manager?’
‘I gather it wasn’t his fault. He was very upset.’
‘Where will you stay, whenever you come to see Maria?’
‘We haven’t worked it out. Last time we came for the day. We told our daughter we were busy in the vineyard, and couldn’t stop over.’
‘Next time, you’ll stay with my wife and me,’ Harpur said. ‘We have a large house with many spare rooms since the boys went, and I won’t allow any excuses.’
Elizabeth smiled, and surprised him by kissing his cheek. ‘You won’t hear any,’ she said.
He walked outside with her, ‘Any news of Harry?’
‘He’s in England by now, I imagine. Or else France — although I hope not. And your two?’
‘David’s transferred to the Royal Flying Corps. A pilot. Loves it, he says.’
‘And Frank?’
The moment she asked, she dreaded the answer. ‘Frank was killed at Amiens.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘About three months ago,’ Mr Harpur said.
‘I had no idea. I’ll write to your wife.’
‘Would you mind very much — would you take it amiss, if I asked you not to?’
Elizabeth shook her head. She didn’t know how to respond to this. ‘It’s just that — she won’t allow herself to believe it. She pretends it’s all a mistake, and he’s not dead. It would have been his twenty-second birthday last week. She sent him a present, and a birthday cake.’
All the way home, Elizabeth thought of Mr Harpur. She knew from their correspondence and the signatures on documents that his name was Charles, but somehow he had always been ‘Mr Harpur’, just as they had remained Mr and Mrs Muller. Yet despite the formality, they were friends.
She had felt his hand tremble as she held it, then he insisted on cranking the engine for her, and had stood there in the street outside his office, waving as she drove off. She had never met his sons, only seen their school photographs in his chambers, and heard the news that they had both enlisted.
‘Oh God,’ she said vehemently and out loud, ‘I hate this war.’ Mr Harpur, after watching her drive away, returned to his office. He also hated the war. It had taken one boy, and might take his wife’s mind. He feared for the safety of his older son, who was inclined to recklessness, and who loved speed and fast cars. David shared his own passion for engines, and would be a skilful flier, but it was the risks, the bravado that concerned him — and the thought of aerial combat against other equally skilled young men flying planes also armed with machine guns.
He thought about the awful events unfolding around Mr and Mrs Muller; a friend disappearing, Sigrid and her husband both attacked, the series of disturbing incidents that had brought no protection from the local police. He reflected also on the incident at the hotel and the way they had been treated here in Adelaide, and asked his clerk to ring up the Gresham and cancel his table for lunch.
It was bitterly disappointing. There were barely thirty people, and Stefan had hoped for at least a hundred. He stood on the improvised platform in front of the church, wondering if he should wait in case others arrived, but alert to the nervousness of those already there. If he did wait, they might easily drift away.
‘I’m sorry there are so few here,’ he began. ‘There should be more. If we felt free, unafraid, then everyone would be here, every single person in this valley who has been victimised, discriminated against, or made to feel an alien.’
He could see, emerging from the police station, two constables and Sergeant Delaney, and behind them like a ventriloquist manipulating his dummies, the uniformed figure of Inspector Lucas.
‘But thank you for your courage and support. Your being here today is important.’ As the police approached, some of the crowd began to glance at them uneasily.
Delaney smothered a grin. He and the constables strolled to positions behind various people. They had pencils and notebooks, and began to take down the names of those they recognised.
Stefan could feel the wave of fear this produced. As he continued to speak, he realised Lucas was writing down his words.
‘Don’t be afraid. We are not breaking any laws. We aren’t speaking in a forbidden language. This is a peaceful gathering. I’m not going to criticise the authorities. I promised my wife not to. I promised her to obey the law, and so I shall. All we want to say to the gentlemen of the police and the government is this — we are not your enemy. We’re no one’s enemy. We just want to be left in peace, to raise our families, farm our lands, grow our crops or our grapes. But if we’re attacked, if we’re hurt, we surely are entitled to protection. We vote. We pay our taxes. That is our simple right.’
He became more confident. His voice rose.
‘I want you to take copies of this petition. Have your friends and neighbours sign it. We need hundreds of names. After the villages of the Barossa, perhaps we can gather more names in the Hills district, then in Clare, even Adelaide. Enough names to take to the Commissioner of Police, to the Premier of the State, and say to them, “Please read this, and see that we mean no harm. We are not against this country. We are a part of it. It is our native land, by choice.” Some of you were born here, others of us chose to make the journey — to make this our home.’
When Stefan finished speaking, there was scattered applause.
It might have been more positive, but for the police presence. Lucas and his men finishing writing down names, put away their notebooks and watched, as a few people queued to sign the petition. Others took copies, with promises to get signatures from those unable to be there.
Elizabeth kept watching Lucas, nervously waiting for something to happen, but to her relief she saw him gesture, and the police moved away, back to the station. One constable stopped a farmer who had a copy of the petition, and took it from him.
‘We would have given him one, if he’d asked,’ Elizabeth said, and went to hand the farmer another copy.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she told him. ‘It’s quite safe to sign this. We had it checked by a lawyer in Adelaide.’
‘Thank you, Frau Muller,’ the farmer said. ‘I’ll sign it. Even so, nothing is really safe. These people in uniform have torn up the law.’
He drove off in a creaking bullock cart.
‘He’s right, of course. How can anyone be safe?’ Elizabeth told her friends.
/> ‘But thanks to you and the lawyer, Stefan said nothing wrong,’ Eva-Maria assured her. ‘Not even Inspector Lucas could complain.’
The response to the petition was a bigger disappointment than the size of the meeting had been. In the following two days, Elizabeth and Eva-Maria visited those who had promised to collect signatures. They grew progressively more despondent. It was clear that people were very afraid. Many just shrugged, unwilling to discuss it as they handed back the unsigned paper. Some were candid enough to admit it was a risk, and said they were not prepared to take it. By mid-afternoon on the second day they had collected all the copies and counted the number of people who had signed. The total was less than a hundred. They had hoped for a thousand.
Elizabeth drove into town where they shopped for groceries and she picked up her mail. There was a letter from her father, recounting the lack of success in his meeting with James North, but assuring her he would try other avenues. It was a difficult matter, because the newspapers were prejudiced, and few people had any real idea that the police and militia were behaving with such intransigence. He begged her to avoid any sort of confrontation. Hannah was concerned and sent her love. They had received a letter from Harry, who was in Aldershot, England, and had apparently been made a sergeant. She smiled as she read her father’s acid comment — that if he hadn’t been so damned independent — she could see him at his desk underlining the word — he could have been an officer by now, but had clearly inherited his streak of stubbornness from his mother.
There was also a short note from Mr Harpur, on his personal stationery, inviting them to come and stay the following weekend, if they were able. It would greatly cheer up his wife, who was looking forward to meeting them, and he hoped they might bring Maria, because it would be his great pleasure to have them all to dinner.
‘That’s nice,’ Eva-Maria said when Elizabeth showed her the letter on their way home. ‘You should go.’
‘We will.’ She thought for a moment. ‘It’ll do Stefan good to get away — after this fiasco.’
‘It wasn’t his fault people didn’t sign.’
A Bitter Harvest Page 34
