Golden Hope

by Johanna Nicholls

  Heaven on earth! What made me say that?

  His invitation was coming out all wrong and he cursed himself for his clumsiness.

  ‘Perhaps you might like to come along with me? It’s all in a good cause.’

  Clytie did not hesitate. ‘Thanks, Finch, but it’s hard enough to be pointed out as the Knife-Thrower’s Daughter, the girl Rom Delaney left at the altar, without giving them fresh ammunition.’

  ‘Who cares what people think? Look, it’s a good cause. Some of the money raised will go towards Hoffnung’s war memorial.’

  That was an instant mistake. It raised the possible spectre of those Missing in Action – and Rom’s name on the list.

  ‘It isn’t just me, Finch. None of the women who work at the Diggers’ Rest are welcome tonight. Marj Hornery is head of the committee. It’s been made loud and clear. Respectable women will stay away in droves, if we turn up to lower the tone!’

  Finch swore under his breath as he saw his chance slipping away from him.

  ‘I tell you what, I’ll leave a ticket in your name at the door – in case you change your mind. That’s a lady’s privilege, isn’t it?’

  Clytie could not be swayed. ‘Sonny will have offered you a good job. I’d put money on it. You’ll be in a mood to celebrate your change in fortune. But I should warn you about Hoffnung dances. There’s a total ban on alcohol in the hall. So blokes fuel up on grog before they show up at the dance. ‘

  ‘I don’t drink much at the best of times.’

  ‘Can you dance?’

  ‘I’m about to find out.’

  ‘Just show willing and there’ll be a stampede to claim you when it’s the ladies’ choice. Don’t worry, you won’t have much competition. Most blokes simply go to eye off the young girls who are forced to dance with each other for lack of male partners.’

  ‘How about you give me a few tips?’

  To his surprise Clytie rose to the bait, guiding him through the waltz and demonstrating the revolving patterns of the Progressive Barn Dance.

  He followed her instructions, trying not to be distracted by the smell of her newly washed hair and the sweetness of her breath against his chest.

  Why feel guilty? Damn it all, there ought to be some compensation for playing Rom’s go-between.

  He broke away. ‘Thank you, Miss Hart. At least I won’t walk on some poor girl’s feet. I’d best go. Don’t want to keep Doc waiting.’

  ‘Good luck, Finch D’Angers,’ she called after him.

  He had a flash of a woman’s naked body locked into his, rising and falling under his hands, crying out with joy under his determined persuasion. He realised with a jolt just how long it must have been since he had been to bed with a woman.

  • • •

  The bells of St Xavier’s Church were tolling for Mass. Trudging uphill towards the sound was a cluster of the faithful, men in miners’ garb ready for their next shift, women with heads covered in scarves, keeping a tight rein on small sons who dragged a step behind, as if unwilling to bare their secret sins at Confession.

  Standing outside the Diggers’ Rest on the corner of Main Street and the road to the Mineral Springs, Finch was ironically aware his early stance at the doors of the pub might place him by association with Frankie the Fly, the bar-fly who was first through the doors each morning. He was also uncomfortably aware that, being surprisingly well dressed in Rom Delaney’s best clothes, he was the subject of female interest that no doubt would be transmuted into gossip and spread by the early-bird passers by.

  Some women were bold enough to comment audibly on his appearance.

  ‘Take a gander at that Finch, all dressed up all of a sudden,’ the baker’s wife said as she waylaid postmistress Marj en route to opening up the Post Office.

  ‘I prefer him in uniform, myself,’ Marj replied, ‘but he’s not that bad looking, in an English gent sort of way.’

  ‘You think he’s a Pom, do you? Poor lad, it must be weird not knowing who you are. Like an unwanted baby abandoned on a doorstep.’

  They were still discussing his lost memory when entering the General Store.

  Ginger, the auburn-haired barmaid with the bold eyes ringed with kohl, gave him a confidential aside as she passed him.

  ‘Don’t mind them, sweetheart. They wouldn’t recognise a real man if they woke up and found one in their bed,’ she said with a bold wink.

  While Finch tried to sort out a response that couldn’t be read two ways, the barmaid tossed him a final smile before she entered the hotel.

  ‘Don’t be a stranger, Finch. We welcome gents like you. You raise the tone of the place.’

  He was reminded of Clytie’s words about the ban on the hotel’s female employees to avoid ‘lowering the tone’ of the dance that night.

  Holy Maude was nothing if not direct. She marched up to Finch and pointed a finger at his chest. ‘And where would you be off to so early, dressed to kill? I ain’t seen you haunting any of our churches.’

  ‘I pray in private,’ Finch said amiably. ‘I don’t play favourites.’

  ‘Wise lad,’ she said. ‘There’s enough Catholic–Protestant rivalry around here as it is.’

  Finch liked the eccentric old woman but he had no wish to broadcast his imminent meeting with Sonny Jantzen, especially given his slim chances of success.

  ‘These glad rags are because I was hoping to impress you, Miss Maude.’

  ‘Oh, you are a one!’ she giggled behind her fingertips. ‘No wonder you’ve earned yourself a bit of a reputation.’

  ‘Who, me?’ he asked innocently. ‘Why, I hardly know anyone in Hoffnung – except you, the Doc and Rom Delaney’s fiancée, Miss Hart. She kindly lent me my friend’s clothes to wear until his return. My khaki clobber is a bit on the shabby side.’

  Let’s hope that circulates and doesn’t harm Clytie’s reputation.

  Holy Maude touched his sleeve and spoke in hushed tones.

  ‘There’s something odd going on. Rom Delaney’s officially listed as Missing – and we all know that forebodes bad news. Yet I would swear on a stack of Bibles I saw him two nights ago past walking past my place at Barnaby’s Ridge.’

  ‘You did?’ Startled, Finch tried to conceal his interest in the news. ‘What did he have to say for himself?’

  ‘Not a blessed thing. I hurried outside. Too late – he had already disappeared out of sight down the road leading towards the bridge and Hoffnung.’

  ‘You’re quite sure it was Rom? I seem to remember there was no moon at all two nights ago.’

  ‘True enough, but it was him all right. Rom and me have been matey since the time he drove coaches for Cobb and Co. And another thing, he was whistling that same song he often did. What’s its name?’

  She sang a few bars and, cracked though her voice was, there was no mistaking the tune.

  ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me. That sounds like Rom. He sang it in hospital in Johannesburg so often it drove us all crazy.’

  ‘Funny he hasn’t shown himself to Clytie, yet. She’s sweating on his return.’

  It was a blunt statement but there was no malice in it. Rather, she sounded disappointed in not being able to report a romantic reunion between the illicit lovers.

  ‘Miss Maude, best not say anything to Miss Hart, it might upset her.’

  ‘Good idea, Finch.’

  Finch was grateful Holy Maude was drawn away by Mrs Binstead, the Methodist minister’s wife.

  He doffed his hat to them as they walked off deep in discussion about the next inter-denominational fete, leaving Finch to mull over the unexpected sighting.

  How the hell do I handle this? I can’t play this two-faced game much longer.

  The sight of Doc driving his cart down the road at full tilt brought Finch a distinct sense of relief – then surprise. Doc called out a curt, ‘Wait here!’ then raced inside the Post Office. He emerged moments later and gestured Finch to climb up onto the seat beside him.

  ‘Kind of you to offer me
a lift to the Jantzen place, Doc.’

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. A big problem just erupted out of the blue. Sister Bracken has handed in her notice from the Bush Hospital. To take effect in four weeks’ time. I am hoping to resolve the matter, but just in case I fail, I have advertised in the local newspapers for a replacement. I’ve received a disquieting accusation about her work. It’s totally out of character for her. She’s as wedded to that hospital as a Mother Superior to a convent.’

  ‘I heard she was devoted to you.’

  Doc looked discomforted. ‘Be that as it may, the charge is serious. She refuses to discuss it. Her letter of resignation only makes an oblique reference to a past medical decision she made. There’s no proof for me to rectify it without her confession. Forgive me, Finch, I’ve no right to burden you. You must keep your mind clear for your meeting with Jantzen.’

  Doc’s anxiety was self-evident. Finch kept silent about the subject concerning Clytie he had wanted to ask – but it seemed Doc read his thoughts.

  ‘Today is my weekly visit to check on Sonny. I had intended to broach a most difficult subject with him – but Bracken’s departure has put that on hold.’ He eyed Finch as if he would like to say more but his hands were tied. ‘However, I can assure you I have already advocated your sterling qualities to Sonny.’

  ‘Thank you for going out on a limb for a stranger with no proven credentials.’

  ‘My pleasure. Clytie has also championed your cause. There is no way you would be wearing Rom Delaney’s clothing unless she believed you were his true friend.’

  Finch felt himself sinking deeper into a mire of guilt and seized on a random thought to change the subject.

  ‘I can see how gossip is dispersed by the four winds in Hoffnung – but sometimes there may be a grain of truth in it. I’ve been told on good authority from Holy Maude that Rom was recently sighted at Barnaby’s Ridge.’

  Doc Hundey drew the cart to a halt and studied Finch carefully before forming his response.

  ‘If our theory is correct, I suspect Rom is only choosing to make his presence known to certain people. I feel there is “method in his madness” and that all will be revealed – perhaps sooner than we think.’

  Finch nodded. He was convinced that Doc knew far more than he was able to reveal, bound by the physician’s code of confidentiality.

  They were met at the front door by Alice, the Aboriginal housemaid, who respectfully ushered Doc directly to her master’s room. Finch was directed to take a seat on the veranda and, unasked, Alice brought him a cold drink.

  From somewhere deep inside the house came the sound of a baby’s laughter and its attempts to repeat simple words made by a woman patiently trying to teach him to talk.

  Finch was sadly reminded of that other babe whose name was etched in stone in the cemetery. Did Doc’s dilemma involve the likely true paternity of Sonny Jantzen’s son, Maximilian? Finch had no doubt Clytie was clinging to the last vestiges of hope that Rom would return to make her whole again.

  She’ll never love another man the way she loves Rom.

  Pacing along the flagstone veranda shaded by the dappled light of a bougainvillea vine, Finch chanced by an open window. Acting on instinct he took a seat out of sight but close enough to overhear what was being discussed.

  There were three distinct voices. Doc was talking to a young woman and a young man whose well-bred voice was overlaid with the fretful weariness of an invalid.

  Perhaps his forgotten training as a soldier ran deep, alerting him to every scrap of information, no matter how insignificant that could be used to rout the enemy . . . The woman’s insistent words had an edge of petulance. Finch decided that her careful accent belied her status of wealth and breeding like a woman’s cloak that would pass muster but did not fit her as if to the manner born.

  ‘I fail to understand you, Doctor. Are you inferring my husband’s condition is beyond your expertise?’

  ‘I assure you, Mrs Jantzen, I would welcome your seeking the opinions of lung specialists in Melbourne.’

  The patient’s voice interjected with surprising vigour and to Finch was an interesting introduction to Sonny Jantzen.

  ‘You misunderstand the situation entirely, Noni. Forgive us, Doctor, for any suggestion of disparagement of your treatment. There are a dozen physicians in Melbourne with a string of medical degrees to their name, whose judgement I would not trust more than yours. I am content to be guided by you.’

  ‘Thank you, your confidence means a great deal to me. But perhaps for your wife’s peace of mind – ?’

  ‘Exactly. We shall travel to Melbourne immediately,’ Noni said sharply. ‘I shall begin packing at once. May I show you to the door, Doctor?’

  ‘No! Please leave us, Noni. I wish to speak to Dr Hundey in confidence.’

  The sound of a door closed with unnecessary force was followed by Sonny’s embarrassed laugh.

  ‘My wife means well, Doc, but she is tilting at windmills. I obey your instructions to the letter. Rest, a bland but healthy diet, buckets of fresh air and a mind free from worry. The latter is the most difficult. I have two concerns never far from my mind. Firstly, little Max means the world to me. But I would gladly forgo the pleasure of his company if close contact with me endangers his health.’

  ‘I see no danger in your playing with him out of doors, helping him take his first steps and riding his pony. Feel free to read to him, teach him nursery rhymes and songs. I understand your wife has instructed the servants to be vigilant in keeping all your utensils and linen separate from that of the household. And you are to be scrupulous about washing your hands before you handle the boy.’

  ‘I follow all that to the letter, Doctor.’

  Doc continued. ‘Avoid kissing the boy. Forgive me for being blunt – and your wife as well. You must show your affection in other ways. Watching you play with Max there is no doubting your feelings for him, and a child instinctively knows when he is genuinely loved. Max certainly basks in his father’s love – he is always laughing in your company.’

  ‘Thank you, Doc.’ Sonny’s simple words were said with a catch in his voice that made Finch’s own throat constrict.

  ‘May I assist you with the other concern you mentioned?’ Doc asked.

  ‘The Golden Hope. Until recently Father ran the mine like a one-man band – all decisions were in his hands, I simply carried out instructions to the best of my ability. I was never properly groomed to take over the role of manager and to be honest my heart has never really been in gold-mining. I feel a measure of guilt because gold has enabled me to live the life of a gentleman, travelling to Europe, buying works of art and cases of books whenever it pleases me. And not least my townhouse at St Kilda Beach.’

  There was an ugly bout of coughing before he could continue.

  ‘My problem is not confined to my physical health. It is now a matter of deep concern that Father is no longer in control of his mind. His moods swing wildly between confidence in the mine’s future and anger that no one – myself included – is pulling his weight. He swings between penny-pinching and lavish, useless expenditure.’

  ‘Do you wish me to speak to him?’

  ‘Yes, but be prepared he may turn on you at a moment’s notice. I believe he recognises he is losing control – and his fear enrages him.’

  ‘I shall keep in mind all you have said. But perhaps you may find an unexpected source of help in Finch, the young man who I have brought here this morning to meet you. Finch is a man of many parts and hidden talents, a friend of Rom Delaney –’

  ‘Rom? Is he back again in Hoffnung? I would dearly welcome the chance to talk to him about his experiences in South Africa. If you should see him . . .’

  Finch was surprised by the note of eagerness in Sonny’s voice. He moved away from the window, aware that he might be called on at any moment. He was determined to make a good impression on the man who might offer him steady work.

  Doc drove off to visit another pati
ent. Finch rapidly ran through the range of his proven skills. How he could present them, despite his lost memory, was a knife-edged journey he knew he could only navigate as the moment dictated.

  To his surprise Finch found himself face to face with a man totally unlike the mental picture he had formed from the invalid’s isolated voice.

  Sonny Jantzen was formally dressed in a three-piece suit with a gold watch chain looped across the pin-striped vest. His most striking features were his clear blue eyes and the Nordic blond hair that framed a face lined with the tell-tale stigmata of illness. His smile was warm and welcoming.

  Sonny approached with his hand extended in a ready handshake, and drew Finch to the garden table set up for morning tea. He immediately set out to put Finch at ease with a flow of words that was impetuous and boyish in his haste.

  ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet a friend of Rom Delaney’s and a man admired by Doc Hundey. Doc tells me you have a sound knowledge of book-keeping, a good knowledge of several languages and some experience in gold-mining. And that above all, you are totally discreet.’

  Finch was about to deny his experience in mining but his host pressed on.

  ‘You would put my mind at ease if you could spare me a couple of days per week to check the mine’s accounts over the past months and advise me directly on what you find. My father had a brilliant managerial mind but he is getting on in years – I’m sure you understand. Now, take your time to consider if my offer is acceptable and how soon you could begin . . .’

  He casually named a figure. Finch could not believe his luck. Teacup in hand, he was pressed to try the French petit fours and tartlets. He felt he was masquerading as an honoured guest instead of a would-be employee.

  Finch accepted his employer’s terms, barely able to control the smile that threatened to split his face in two. The agreed payment for two days per week was double what Finch could hope to earn six days a week for a month in any other capacity – even if any work was available in Hoffnung’s shrinking labour market.

  Sonny Jantzen’s parting words reminded Finch of the reality of the situation.