Golden Hope

by Johanna Nicholls

  ‘In the interests of justice there must be no interference or prompting of Miss Hundey’s evidence by her brother. To this end, Sergeant, you will kindly ensure that Doctor Hundey is placed under house arrest until I – that is, the jury and I – deliver our verdict.’

  For a brief moment the spectators were speechless. Then angry voices shouted back at the Coroner.

  ‘That’s outrageous, Twyman!’

  ‘You can’t treat Doc like a common criminal!’

  ‘Who do you think you are? Ruddy Prime Minister Edmund Barton?’

  As a score of men made a rush at him, Twyman hurriedly vacated the stage.

  • • •

  The adjournment until three o’clock left several hours to fill in before Twyman could deliver the verdict that Finch had no doubt was already concrete in his mind.

  Finch took charge and steered Clytie outside into the blazing noonday sun.

  ‘You’re as white as a sheet. Come, I’ll take you home. You must eat.’

  ‘Eat? Are you crazy?’

  Clytie grabbed hold of his arm and tried to block him with her body. Enraged, she gripped hold of his lapels and shook him, her face inches from his face. Her voice spiralled out of control.

  ‘I’m not budging an inch until you tell me the truth. Why is Rom involved in all this? And Doc and Adelaide? Why were they hounding Bracken? What are you all hiding from me?’

  Finch was white in the face, unable to give her the answers she demanded. Clytie screamed at the top of her lungs and clawed his face. Aware her fingernails had drawn blood, she continued to pummel him. He pinioned her arms by her side.

  ‘I only know half of it. You’ve had enough pain for one lifetime. Rom – none of us – wanted to risk giving you more grief until we had proof positive. From Bracken herself.’

  ‘Of what? God damn you, Finch, I have a right to know.’

  ‘You’re right. There’s no stopping it now. Today is the acid test for Doc and Adelaide – and this whole town.’

  ‘I don’t care what they’ve done. I am their friend!’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Finch said. ‘All right, follow me!’

  He stalked ahead of her along the path that led up the hill. Clytie picked up her skirts and ran after him, confused by the realisation they were headed for the place where Sister Bracken’s life had ended only the day before. She felt sickened by the sight of the ragged end of the rope that remained tied around the bough of the death tree. The remembered image of the corpse flashed before her eyes in all its brutal, lurid detail.

  Finch halted in front of little Robert Hart’s headstone.

  ‘There’s no way to break it gently, Clytie. Sister Bracken must have chosen to die in this exact place – a symbol of the guilt she couldn’t bear to live with.’

  ‘Guilt? Why? My baby died of natural causes. She didn’t kill him – oh my God, you mean she did?’

  ‘No. I don’t doubt she did her best to revive the babe who died. The truth is, Clytie, the baby buried here may not be yours.’

  ‘Not mine? What are you saying?’

  ‘We all believe he was Noni Jantzen’s son. And that Sister Bracken’s shame is that she switched their dead infant with yours.’

  ‘Switched them? Why?’

  ‘Perhaps in the belief that she was saving little Robert from the lifelong stigma of illegitimacy – that she herself had suffered as a child. It was probably a spur of the moment decision, one that at the same time meant Sonny still had the son he badly wanted.’

  Clytie felt the ground rock beneath her feet as she staggered towards him. ‘Do you mean my baby is alive? That little Max Jantzen is really . . .?’

  ‘Robert Hart,’ he said softly. ‘But there’s no proof – yet.’

  Clytie’s cry sounded like the howl of a wounded animal. She lashed out at Finch, flaying her arms, blindly trying to release the overwhelming mass of grief, anger, revenge – horrified that a woman had abused her power to rob her of her child.

  Sinking to her knees she beat her fists against the stony path, as if physical pain could release the anguish that choked her.

  Finch sat limp, propped against the foot of a tombstone. His eyes were dead, drained of all expression.

  For Clytie, time was splintered in fragments of past and present, a crazy, broken mosaic . . .

  Clytie was once again in the long dark tunnel of despair, unable to cry, placing fresh flowers again and again on the child’s grave . . . unable to pray, unable to forgive The Creator of All Things . . .

  . . . she looked down at the kitchen knife in her hand, its blade dark with her own blood seeping from the deep cut on her wrist . . . saw Doc wrapping the bandage around her wrist . . .

  ‘This is no way out, Clytie. This is a dead end. Rom needs you to stay alive.’

  . . . the false, empty smile that she fixed to her face each day to make people believe she was strong, unsinkable, when in fact she was a hollow shell . . .

  . . . writing letters to Rom that flew across the ocean into oblivion . . . letters with no answers from him . . . no response to the knowledge she was pregnant . . . her lies about the baby’s progress . . . keeping him alive for Rom . . . Rom!

  The black irony brought her back to the present.

  I might have ended my life never knowing my baby was alive.

  She gradually became aware of the sounds around her, the twittering of bush birds, the snuffling sound of Shadow crouched in the shadows. She saw Finch’s hands as he reached out to hold her, rocking her in his arms, repeating the kind of soft, soothing words that fathers say to their injured children.

  ‘Hush, girl. There there, let it all out. I promise you, Clytie, we’ll get your baby back some day. I don’t know how or when. But we’ll all fight this together.’

  She shook her head. No false hope.

  ‘No! Noni will never give him up!’ She looked up at Finch, cold with horror. ‘I believe she knew all the time. How could she do this to me? What did I ever do to harm her? Was it something to do with Rom?’

  ‘Hush. We don’t know the whole truth yet.’

  She was driven by a sudden impulse. ‘I’ll go to Sonny and tell him!’

  ‘Wait! Not yet!’ He drew her to her feet, whipped off his neckerchief and dried the tears that had unknowingly streamed down her face. ‘Right now we must stand by Doc and Adelaide. They need us! For weeks they’ve been pressuring Bracken to confess her guilt. You can see how Twyman is twisting the truth, trying to frame them for her murder. We can’t let them down!’

  Clytie nodded blindly and accepted Finch’s arm as they made their way back to the hall. She could not prevent herself from glancing back at the tombstone engraved with Robert Hart’s name.

  ‘For a whole year I put flowers on another child’s grave. All the time my baby was only a few miles away – growing up to be a rich man’s son. Maxie is so beautiful. They’ll never let him go!’ She added bitterly, ‘You know what lawyers say, possession is nine-tenths of the law.’

  The blood from her fingernails had dried on Finch’s face. He brushed her hand aside. He had no easy answers.

  ‘One step at a time, Clytie. First we must go back and fight to save Doc. Without him we have no case.’

  Chapter 44

  ‘This inquest is an insult to any nation’s idea of justice,’ Finch said as he ushered Clytie inside the hall. He didn’t care who heard him. ‘This is nothing but a kangaroo court!’

  Several men turned their heads to identify him.

  Proceedings resumed exactly to the minute following the adjournment. There was standing room only. Clearly the entire population of Hoffnung had vacated homes, shops and farms, and the Golden Hope mine itself, determined to hear the verdict at first hand.

  During the past hours, Coroner Twyman seemed to have swelled physically with an air of triumphant self-importance that threatened to burst his body at the seams.

  Finch drew Clytie’s attention to the two seats vacated by the Jantzens.
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br />   Clytie could not restrain her anxiety. ‘They won’t come back. I’ll bet Noni destroyed Sister Bracken’s letter that Adelaide made her write. Sonny was probably unaware of its existence.’

  ‘It’s crucial evidence,’ Finch admitted. ‘Most people who suicide leave a note of their intentions. None has yet been discovered.’

  ‘Tell me Twyman can’t accuse Doc and Adelaide of murder!’

  Finch was saved from answering by Holy Maude’s audible whisper to them as she paused en route to her seat.

  ‘This is a bad business, Finch. Twyman’s always coveted a government job. He thinks if he brings in a verdict of murder they’ll appoint him the new Coroner.’

  When she moved away to take her seat, Finch’s mouth formed a hard line.

  ‘It seems a wife-basher is fit to sit in judgement on a fine physician who has done nothing worse than protect his sister from . . . well, you know what I mean.’

  Clytie opened her mouth, ready to spring to her friend’s defence, only to be interrupted by a man wearing a tartan cap.

  ‘Yer dead right, laddie. Even if Adelaide Hundey did the deed, we canna afford to lose the best doctor Hoffnung ever had.’

  Clytie instinctively gripped Finch’s arm at sight of the tall, dignified figure who entered the hall escorted by Sergeant Mangles.

  Today Adelaide was elegantly dressed in sober grey silk, a gold locket at her throat. The veiling on her fashionable hat was rolled back to reveal the stark pallor of her features. She moved haltingly but with pride as if determined to disguise her crippled gait. Sergeant Mangles drew out a chair for her, gave her a kindly nod of encouragement and patted her shoulder.

  Twyman wasted no time in moving in for the kill. Finch was reminded of the descriptions he had read of Spanish bullfights at the final moment the matador thrusts his sword into the wounded bull.

  ‘Are you willing to take the oath, madam?’ Twyman asked pointedly.

  ‘Why would I not?’ Adelaide demanded crisply. She took the oath in a clear voice.

  ‘You, Adelaide Hundey, are the stated sister of Dr Robert A. Hundey, are you not?’

  ‘You know perfectly well that is the case. You may recall my brother and I gave evidence regarding the death of Mrs Twyman some twelve years past.’

  Twyman stiffened. ‘May I remind you, madam, you are not here to rake over ancient history. You have been called to give account of a meeting, which according to evidence given by a previous witness, you conducted with Sister Bracken yesterday afternoon only a few short hours prior to her death.’

  ‘I do not deny that meeting. I called at the hospital to urge Sister Bracken to write the letter she had agreed weeks earlier to send to Mr Sonny Jantzen.’

  ‘Indeed. And what was the nature of this letter?’

  ‘Sister Bracken’s personal confession concerning a matter of conscience.’

  Twyman’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Do you, of all people, consider yourself qualified to judge Sister Bracken’s conscience?’

  ‘I consider that when a person in authority “plays God” and deliberately makes a wrongful decision involving the lives of innocent people, any person has a duty to attempt to reverse that decision and see justice done.’

  ‘Plays God? I warn you, madam. If you are insinuating that a respected woman of Sister Bracken’s calibre was guilty of some criminal act, you can be hauled into court on a charge of libel –’

  ‘I do not insinuate, Sir. I am stating the known facts. Sister Bracken confessed the wrong she had done – but there was no real proof of it until she put it in writing. This she finally did in my presence.’

  ‘A letter you bullied her into writing and which you bribed Donald Tibbut to deliver for you.’

  ‘Nothing of the kind!’ Adelaide Hundey began to stammer. ‘I merely gave Donald a florin in appreciation of his time. It is common knowledge that for years the lad worked unpaid for Sister Bracken in return for his bed and board.’

  Twynan could hardly contain his outrage. ‘Watch your tongue, madam! You are defaming a dead woman!’

  ‘No, she ain’t!’ a woman called out. ‘Poor Duffer’s never had two coins to rub together.’

  ‘Who said that? Leave at once!’

  No one owned up to the comment. Twyman proceeded, his face scarlet.

  ‘I put it to you, Adelaide Hundey, that you waged a relentless campaign against the Head of Hoffnung Hospital, that you coerced and bullied her into writing a lie that would destroy her reputation. And that when she refused to write the words that you dictated, you killed her in a fit of rage –’

  ‘No, that is a lie!’

  ‘– and you then covered up your murderous act by having her body strung up in the cemetery to give the appearance of suicide.’

  Adelaide Hundey rose to her feet swaying, her voice rising in denial.

  ‘I did no such thing! I admit I was furious with Bracken for destroying innocent lives. But I had no intention of pushing her to the brink of suicide. I regret greatly that the woman died by her own hand – a terrible waste of life. I have no doubt that once the wrong had been righted, my brother would have allowed her to continue in charge of the hospital.’

  ‘Your brother, eh?’ Twyman let the words hang in the air for some time.

  Clytie whispered to Finch, ‘What’s he getting at?’

  ‘He’s laid a trap for her. God help Doc!’

  The lower register of Twyman’s voice was even more menacing. ‘Do you consider your brother to be a fit person to practise medicine, Miss Hundey?’

  She hesitated as if afraid to speak. ‘Surely his record of service to the Hoffnung community speaks for itself.’

  ‘Be that as it may, do you consider yourself a fit person to give evidence in a murder trial?’

  Finch cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back at the stage. ‘This isn’t a murder trial, Twyman – it’s an inquest!’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ a number of voices echoed in assent.

  ‘You have not answered my question, Miss Hundey,’ Twyman shouted.

  ‘I have told the truth, on oath,’ she answered, her voice beginning to crack with strain.

  ‘Then you are unable to deny the fact that prior to residing in Hoffnung, you were incarcerated in Kew Lunatic Asylum for a period of one year?’

  There was a long moment of total silence. People leaned forward in their seats.

  Adelaide’s voice seemed drained of energy. ‘That fact is true. But it was a case of mistaken identity. I have never in my life harmed anyone. I was placed there to seek expert medical advice – and released.’

  ‘And what precisely was the medical definition of your mental illness?’

  Adelaide gripped the back of her chair to steady herself.

  ‘Unwilling to reveal your dirty secret, are you?’ Twyman crowed.

  Clytie saw an expression on Long Sam’s gentle face she had never seen before as he raised his hand from the back of the hall and called out.

  ‘I beg you, Sir. Stop! This is not British justice!’

  Sam’s cry from the heart caused male and female voices to echo around the room.

  ‘Shame on you, Twyman!’

  Twyman held up his hands for silence.

  ‘Here’s the proof! I have on good authority from a source that wishes to remain anonymous the dates of a patient’s incarceration in Kew Lunatic Asylum. Proof that the person committed there thirteen years ago was not Adelaide Hundey. It was Robert Hundey.’

  Twyman’s accusation seemed to hang in the air, his words greeted by total shocked silence. His face shone in triumph.

  ‘I put it to you, Adelaide Hundey, that you killed Sister Bracken to prevent her exposing your brother’s mental condition – knowing that if that was exposed, his name would be struck from the British Medical Register!’

  ‘Stop this witch hunt, Twyman!’ a familiar male voice called from the rear of the hall. Pale and haggard, but energised by some inner driving force, Sonny Jantzen strode dow
n the aisle, brandishing an envelope above his head.

  He stopped in front of the stage and cast Twyman a withering glance.

  ‘You can swear me in later, Twyman. I have just taken possession of this letter, withheld by my wife in the mistaken belief she was sparing me anguish. I offer it as evidence. It is a full confession by Sister Bracken of a shameful act she committed. In the hands of any reputable Coroner this letter is proof that her death was suicide – not murder!’

  Sonny handed the letter to Sergeant Mangles who read it swiftly then handed it across for Twyman to read. The jurymen clustered around him, craning their necks to witness the evidence.

  After conferring with Pius James, the spokesman for the jury, Twyman was forced to capitulate, but he seized his right to deliver the final word.

  ‘This letter confirms that Sister Agnes Mary Bracken intended to take her own life. Therefore the jury has brought in a verdict of suicide. This inquest is now concluded – except for one factor. The citizens of Hoffnung would be advised to appoint a physician to replace one proven to have been an inmate in a Lunatic Asylum – there is no doubt about that!’

  Sergeant Mangles took charge. ‘You heard the jury’s verdict. This inquest is now ended. You would all do well to go directly to your homes and remember that no one was proven guilty of any criminal act.’ He glanced at Twyman. ‘Although it could well be said that some greatly exceeded their authority.’

  Finch strode down the aisle and stood in front of Adelaide Hundey, defying anyone to eject him.

  ‘Miss Hundey, may I have the honour of escorting you home?’

  She looked at Finch in surprise but with dignity accepted his arm and they departed the hall via the side exit. Her tall figure seemed to have shrunk several inches.

  For barely a moment the townsfolk of Hoffnung remained seated in a shocked silence that soon erupted into a war of words in which ‘insanity’ and ‘lunatic’ passed from mouth to mouth.

  Feeling a surge of pride in Finch’s prompt action, Clytie leapt up onto the bench and yelled out in a voice that bounced off the walls. She pointed an accusing finger that swung around to encompass every person in the hall.