To Chase the Storm: The Frontier Series 4

by Peter Watt

  SEVENTEEN

  The housemaid, Betsy, was immediately impressed by the man with the black leather eye patch who stood tall with the arrogance of a man who feared nothing. She was further charmed when he remembered her name after a period of fifteen years and flattered when he said that she had not aged in all those intervening years. She blushed like a young girl, not a spinster in her early forties.

  Michael Duffy was escorted to the library where Lady Enid met him. Tea was ordered and Enid gestured for him to sit in the big leather chair that Patrick so often occupied when he was home. She took a seat behind the great mahogany desk. Having received a letter from Patrick to say that he would be visiting, Enid was not surprised to see Michael.

  ‘I must say that you are looking exceptionally well for a man reported dead so many times,’ Enid said with a touch of mirth. ‘Remarkably well, Mr Duffy. Or is it Mr O’Flynn?’

  Michael’s grey eye reflected the warmth of a smile for his old adversary. ‘Mr O’Flynn, Lady Macintosh,’ he replied. ‘I’m afraid there is no statute of limitations on a charge of murder in New South Wales. Not even after almost forty years.’

  ‘Patrick has told me the events surrounding your meeting in South Africa. And of your latest wound,’ Enid said with a note of genuine sympathy. ‘I do hope that you are well recovered.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I was once again fortunate with Lady Luck.’

  ‘He also informed me that you would like to meet with your grandchildren,’ Enid added. ‘You are fortunate too that they are all here today.’

  ‘I am glad, as I have come for that very reason,’ Michael replied softly. ‘But I would prefer that they meet me as Michael O’Flynn, and not as their grandfather.’

  Enid looked at him in surprise.

  ‘I have my reasons,’ Michael answered her unasked question. ‘Reasons that may not make a lot of sense – except to me.’

  A light tap at the library door distracted them as Betsy entered the room with a silver salver upon which she balanced a sterling silver coffee pot, china cups and a small silver jug containing thick, yellow cream. Enid thanked her as Betsy placed the tray on the library desk and left the room.

  ‘If I remember correctly, you do not take cream in your coffee, Mr O’Flynn,’ Enid said as she poured.

  ‘You have a good memory,’ he commented with a warm laugh. ‘You forget nothing.’

  ‘I have forgotten much, I’m afraid,’ she frowned. ‘But I have not forgotten the mistakes that I have made in my life.’

  ‘We can do little for what is in the past,’ he said to reassure her. ‘I have long learned to live with where I am and who I am with in the present.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Duffy,’ Enid said. ‘I have a need to hear your forgiveness. What I have foolishly done in the past has cost us both the same woman.’

  ‘Your daughter and I were never meant to be together,’ Michael said gently as he accepted the cup and saucer from her frail hand. ‘I believe that she found her truest love with the countess.’

  ‘I hope God will forgive her the transgressions of her strange love for my niece,’ Enid sighed. ‘I was finally able to reconcile her love for another woman. And I doubt that the Lord is half as judgmental as I. If I may ask,’ she changed the subject that had brought pain to them both, ‘what are your intentions when you leave Sydney, Mr O’Flynn?’

  ‘I intend to go north to Townsville to see my sister. Her son has enlisted and gone to South Africa with the Bushmen’s Rifles, as no doubt you are now aware from Patrick. She will be in need of my company.’

  ‘Yes. I had the good fortune to meet your nephew here at this house but I’m afraid none of us suspected who he really was at the time. Otherwise, I would have used my influence to thwart his attempts to enlist. He is a fine boy and I pray the Lord will protect him. Captain Thorncroft was most distressed losing his services as a photographic assistant. He had a promising future as something called a camera operator, Arthur said, just before he left for England.’

  ‘I’m sure young Matthew will return safely,’ Michael said. ‘I knew his father and knowing him I feel the boy will survive.’

  ‘Will you be staying with your sister for a while then?’ Enid asked.

  ‘Long enough,’ Michael answered. ‘Then I will travel the far reaches of the colony in an attempt to paint again. It is something that I yearn to do before I die.’

  ‘You appear a long way from death, Mr O’Flynn,’ Enid said with a warm smile. ‘I suspect that you will fill a wagon with your paintings before then.’

  ‘Well, I hope so. I’ve got this far and I have no intentions of ever seeing another war.’

  Enid’s expression suddenly changed and it was as if something had only now dawned on her. ‘Mr O’Flynn,’ she said, ‘I have a rather unusual proposition to put to you.’

  The last time Lady Enid Macintosh had put a proposal to Michael he had ended up in the Sudan seeking his son, only to find that she had reneged on the deal. She noticed his concern.

  ‘Oh, do not appear so worried. No, my proposition is that you take your youngest grandson, Alexander, with you to stay for a short while at our property of Glen View. I know you may not have been considering such a detour in your itinerary, but I hope you might warm to the idea when you meet him.’

  ‘I would have no objections to having Alexander accompany me,’ Michael replied. ‘In fact I would like to visit the grave of my father on Glen View while I’m out that way.’

  ‘Good,’ Enid concluded, as if closing a business deal. ‘With both his parents away I know Alexander would benefit from your company on the trip north. I shall write to the manager of Glen View to inform him that you will be coming. You will also have the opportunity to meet Fiona’s eldest daughter, Helen, and her husband while you are there.’

  ‘Fiona’s daughter,’ Michael echoed, suddenly reminded that his own son had two half sisters. ‘Isn’t Helen married to one of Count von Fellmann’s sons?’

  ‘Yes, his son Karl,’ Enid answered. ‘He is a Lutheran minister seeking to establish a mission station for the blacks,’ she continued. ‘Helen has requested that the family turn Glen View over for a mission station, but Patrick and I have rejected her request. The property is where my husband and eldest son are also buried, not to mention your father and that nephew of yours.’

  ‘Peter Duffy,’ Michael offered. ‘He was the son of my brother and a darkie girl called Mondo.’

  ‘Oh yes, I am sorry, I had forgotten his name. But, as you probably appreciate, the land has great meaning to both our families and as none of the original blackfellows who once inhabited the land around Glen View are left it makes little sense to establish an Aboriginal mission station now. There are many other places Helen and her husband could choose.’

  ‘I agree, Lady Macintosh,’ Michael said. ‘The old days have gone and the blackfellas have lost their land forever.’

  ‘I see you understand,’ Enid said. ‘It would be different if any of the full-bloods still lived but it does not appear so. They are all gone.’

  ‘If any of the full-bloods still lived would that have altered your decision on Glen View?’ Michael asked quietly. ‘Would you have turned the property over to a mission station?’

  His question brought a cloud to Enid’s face. He could see the struggle in her expression as she fought to find an answer. ‘If even one full-blood still lived then I would consider my grand-daughter’s request, Mr O’Flynn,’ she finally answered. ‘Then, possibly, we could make recompense in a small way for the injustice we brought down upon these people. I firmly believe that the consequences of that day, almost forty years ago, continue to haunt our present lives. There’s a kind of heathen curse we will never understand. I know I sound like a silly old woman but the passing years have only strengthened my conviction in this. But let us not dwell on things beyond our control. If you have finished your coffee, perhaps it is time to meet your grandchildren.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Preto
ria fell to the British army in early June.

  A young lieutenant of the New South Wales Mounted Rifles under the command of Lieutenant Colonel De Lisle, the commander of the Mounted Infantry Brigade, rode alone into the town under a flag of truce to meet with the Boer commander, Commandant General Botha.

  Lieutenant Watson from Sydney had tied a white handkerchief to a riding crop and passed through the Boer lines to meet with the famous commander at his private residence. Mrs Botha kindly served tea and sandwiches to the young Australian officer who had not eaten in two days. The British column, under the overall command of Lord Roberts, had pressed relentlessly forward despite a constant hail of bullets and shells.

  Botha agreed to meet with Lord Roberts the next day at Lieutenant Colonel De Lisle’s camp. The surrender was followed by Roberts marching twenty-six thousand of his troops into the last of the Boer capitals to fall to his army.

  Saul Rosenblum was struck by the quaint beauty of the town that nestled in a hollow between picturesque hills. The houses reflected their Dutch origin: round turrets and wide verandahs set amongst shady gardens. But everywhere the dust of the veldt left a thin sheet of crimson as thousands of iron shod hooves churned up the earth. What also struck the young colonial soldier was the absolute silence of the Afrikaners who lined the streets to witness the bitter acceptance of their defeat against the hated rooinek Uitlanders.

  Saul searched for the street where Karen had told him her father lived. An Englishwoman finally gave him directions and, after his squadron took up a campsite just outside of town, Saul slipped away.

  The house was just as Karen had described to him, reflecting a comfortable affluence in its well-kept gardens and traditional Dutch design. A young African woman answered his knock and after a short time returned to say that Mr Isaacs would meet him in the garden. Saul was escorted through the house with its lingering scent of strong tobacco, leather and exotic herbs. At the rear, he found Mr Isaacs bent over, pruning a native shrub with secateurs.

  ‘Who are you, young man?’ he asked bluntly in excellent English without turning to greet his visitor.

  ‘Private Saul Rosenblum, sir,’ the Queenslander answered with his slouch hat in his hand. ‘I am a friend of your daughter. We met in Bloemfontein.’

  The older man ceased pruning his shrub and straightened to turn so he could fully appraise the soldier standing in his garden. Isaacs was tall and his face reflected a quiet intelligence. Although his hair was thinning it had not lost its colour and he wore a three-piece striped suit with a gold chain running into the fob pocket of his trousers.

  ‘You have a Jewish name,’ Isaacs stated, now mildly curious. ‘I had friends in London by the name of Rosenblum. A wealthy and respected merchant. Are you related to them by any chance?’

  ‘Doubt it, Mr Isaacs. I’m from the Colony of Queensland. Not many of us Rosenblums out my way. But I do have an uncle who came from England as a convict many years ago. His name was Solomon Cohen. Did you know him?’

  Isaacs smiled at the tall young man wearing the dusty uniform of his enemy. The young colonial had a quick intelligence and a gentle sense of humour.

  ‘I am afraid not, Mr Rosenblum, and I must apologise for my lack of manners to one who is a friend of my daughter. I should offer you something to drink as I suspect, from the look of you, your march on our town has been a somewhat trying ordeal. A cool drink possibly?’

  ‘I won’t say no to a drink. I’d kill for a beer if you have any.’

  ‘That I do.’

  Isaacs called to the African servant to fetch two bottles of English beer and gestured for Saul to take a seat on the back verandah of the house.

  ‘I suppose that you have come to inquire about my daughter?’ the older man asked carefully as they sipped on the ale. ‘As you are a friend of hers.’

  ‘I am, Mr Isaacs. When I last spoke to her she said she was intending to return to Pretoria, to be with you.’

  ‘When did you last see my daughter?’ Isaacs asked softly.

  ‘About four weeks ago. But I guess she is still in Bloemfontein if she is not here.’

  ‘She is not in Bloemfontein, Mr Rosenblum,’ Isaacs stated quietly. ‘Nor is she in Pretoria.’

  Saul felt a terrible shadow fall on him. It chilled his soul with a crippling uncertainty. ‘Could she be elsewhere?’ he asked weakly.

  ‘No,’ Isaacs answered with a slump of his shoulders. ‘She could not be anywhere else.’

  ‘How can you be sure? Couldn’t she be visiting friends or something?’ Saul asked with a rising note of concern in his voice. ‘Maybe she has gone back to Bloemfontein.’

  ‘No. I wish that were so but I know in my heart that something has happened to my beloved Karen. I cannot tell you why I know this, Mr Rosenblum. Some things it is better that you do not know.’

  ‘What things? What shouldn’t I know about your daughter?’

  ‘To tell you might involve more than you could understand,’ Isaacs said, looking away into the shadows of the garden. ‘Are you in love with my daughter?’

  ‘I am, Mr Isaacs. Karen would often tell me about you and the plans you have of going to Palestine when the war is over. She wanted me to come with you.’

  ‘Then she loved you very much,’ he sighed sadly. ‘You must be a man of great honour to have earned my daughter’s love.’

  Saul bowed his head. ‘She has to be alive,’ he said in a firm voice, attempting to convince himself. ‘I cannot believe anything could have happened to her. There are no reasons why any harm could come to her. She wasn’t fighting in this war like her brothers.’

  ‘Maybe you should know the truth,’ the older man said quietly. ‘I think under the circumstances I must trust you, even if you are an enemy. My daughter was fighting for the Boer cause in her own way. She was to deliver a consignment of diamonds to me here in Pretoria. Her mission was vital for our war effort against the British invaders.’

  Saul sat stunned. The woman whom he had loved with his whole body and soul was an enemy agent working against him!

  Isaacs saw Saul’s expression of utter shock and disbelief. He had not really known the enigmatic young woman who was his daughter as much as he thought. He reached over and grasped Saul on the arm.

  ‘Sadly, love does not recognise political agendas. It is an emotional weakness of human kind,’ he said sympathetically.

  Saul remained silent staring out at the garden. A tiny bird flitted from flower to flower seeking the nectar of the buds with its long beak.

  ‘I . . .’ He shook his head and found that he could not reply. He was choked with a turmoil of emotion.

  Isaacs let go his arm and the two men sat in silence, contemplating the terrible tragedy that most likely had occurred.

  ‘I should go, Mr Isaacs,’ Saul finally said as he rose from his chair and picked up the rifle by his side. ‘I have to return to my squadron before they find me missing.’

  ‘Go with God, young man. Maybe we will meet in better times.’

  Saul took the hand offered to him. ‘I hope so,’ he replied in a choked voice. He turned on his heel to leave the house, fighting his fears. He could not accept that the woman he loved could be dead. And yet her father had.

  In a daze he stumbled back to the campsite of the Queenslanders. No, Karen was just missing. She would turn up somewhere.

  Two days later his burning hope would be shattered. The message came to him at his squadron camp via Mr Isaac’s African servant. She had walked to the camp and sought out the soldier she had met two days earlier with the verbal message carefully memorised.

  Saul received curious glances from his comrades when she called to him in the lines where he was combing down his horse. She drew him aside and he listened carefully to her instructions.

  Saul waited until dark and last post was bugled, signalling lights out in the rows of white tents. He knew the layout of the lines and the positions of sentries and was able to slip past them.

  He walked in th
e night along a narrow, faintly marked wagon trail until he came to the kopje the servant girl had described. It stood out against the night sky like a stubby, broken finger pointing at the stars. He was unarmed as he had been instructed and felt very vulnerable away from the heavily guarded perimeter of his own forces. This was Boer country where the commandos were far from beaten, despite the fall of their capital.

  ‘Halt, Englisher!’ a guttural voice came out of the dark. ‘Hands up.’

  Saul obeyed and prayed that this was the man with whom he was to make his rendezvous. If not, he had walked into a trap and become not only guilty of deserting his post, but also of surrendering to the enemy.

  ‘Private Saul Rosenblum, of the Queensland Mounted Infantry,’ he called out and stood with his hands in the air.

  A figure rose on the skyline about fifty yards from him. ‘You are alone?’ the figure called back.

  Saul could see the shape of a rifle in the man’s hands pointed at him. ‘I’m alone. I’ve come to meet Field Kornet Isaacs.’

  The figure disappeared below the skyline and in a short time reappeared beside him. Saul could see that he was a big, bearded man about his own age. The rifle was no longer pointed at him so he dropped his hands.

  ‘I am Field Kornet David Isaacs,’ the man said gruffly with a trace of an Afrikaans accent. ‘My father has told me you are a man of honour. If this is true, I have something that should interest you. Come. We will go up to the kopje and have some Cape brandy together.’