The Silent Frontier

by Peter Watt

  As Lachlan had given his word to Max not to drink alcohol again, he slipped from the rowdy crowd in the hotel to find a quiet place in the dark of the backyard amongst the stacked empty wooden crates. He ached all over from the heavy blows he had received and sat on an empty crate, the silk sash spread across his lap. He cherished this gift from the beautiful Amanda Lightfoot. He felt that it had brought him luck and knew that he would never part with it. If only he could speak once again with the young woman and listen to that soft, gentle voice, he sighed.

  John MacDonald stood in the cold room of the newly completed storage area for the sides of beef that would soon hang from the meat hooks. Nicholas had been a master in organising the joint enterprise into which they’d invested all their savings but they now had a working meat canning complex situated not far from the wharves of Melbourne.

  Nicholas had been able to track down the tradesmen and engineer who had worked on installing the cold works for the brewery and explained what he wanted. The engineer soon put together a system to cater to their requirements and the building had gone ahead without any real hitches.

  John had been able to win a contract for meat to be supplied to the British army in New Zealand and now all they had to do was deliver. Along with the meatworks they had been able to corner the market on rum. All going well, they expected to see the money roll in within a short time.

  ‘This is not a good place to be in the middle of winter,’ Nicholas said, entering the large cold room. ‘But not so unpleasant in summer.’

  John turned to greet him and they decided to exit the room for the comparatively warmer air of the Victorian winter day.

  ‘Well, my dear John,’ Nicholas said, rubbing his hands against the chill of the late afternoon, ‘it is going as I predicted it would. The British army is recruiting men in Sydney, Hobart and here in Melbourne to join an expedition to New Zealand fighting the Maori. We have put ourselves in the right place at the right time and will reap the profits.’

  ‘That’s good,’ John replied, yet without the enthusiasm Nicholas expected.

  ‘What is wrong, my dear chap? I thought our imminent fortune might make you as ecstatic as I am.’

  ‘I was just thinking that finding my brother and sister would have truly made our probable success a happier occasion. It all seems so empty without being able to fulfil my promise to my dying brother.’

  Nicholas placed his hand on John’s shoulder. ‘The money we earn from our enterprises will be the key to finding your brother and sister,’ he reassured. ‘Money can open a lot of doors.’

  John accepted the reassurance. Yes, he would use the money they earned to track down Lachlan and Phoebe. Nicholas was right.

  After two weeks back on the work site, Lachlan’s body had healed and all he sported now were the tiny scars on his face which marked his fight with the army’s champion. He was well treated by his work comrades, as they had all won good money on the outcome of the match.

  He still missed the larrikin ways of Jimmy, who, when Lachlan thought about it, had been the catalyst for him to meet Amanda Lightfoot. Not that briefly meeting the beautiful and charming young woman would ever lead anywhere, Lachlan had to admit to himself. He was but a poor, hard-working young man of no foreseeable means of any worth, and only a dream to cling to.

  He had read about the colourful explorer John Jardine establishing an outpost at Somerset on Cape York Peninsula in Queensland only months earlier and would have given his right arm to have been with him as he forged north through the wild, unexplored country. Lachlan had been impressed by the news earlier in the year of the massive funeral held in Melbourne for the ill-fated Burke and Wills, who had died at Coopers Creek a couple of years earlier. He read of how a huge crowd formed the funeral procession estimated at around four thousand strong. The bodies had been carried on a copy of the Duke of Wellington’s funeral carriage and escorted by a contingent of dragoons. Shops had closed and it had been the Victorian colony’s first state funeral.

  Australia knew how to treat its glorious explorers, Lachlan had remembered thinking when he read the article. To be a famous explorer was to make a place in history and be remembered for all time. He was determined that he would one day establish his place in history, regardless of having already carved out a reputation in Sydney Town as a bare-knuckle boxer. But others would follow in the sport and he knew his feats as a pugilist would soon be forgotten. No, it was as an explorer he wanted to be remembered.

  As he sat on the steps of the boarding house this winter’s day watching the horse-drawn drays, fancy carriages of the well-to-do and the pedestrians pass by the door, Lachlan pondered on his future. It was in poetry that he often found solace and the young Scot made his decision. He would go to a book shop and lose himself amongst the words and thoughts of those who spoke with wisdom and experience from the volumes on the musty book shelves.

  Lachlan loved the smell of books. He stood perusing a pile of poetry volumes neatly stacked on a table. The older woman who ran the store knew Lachlan from previous visits and had bid him a pleasant day with her smile when he entered the shop. Lachlan was so engrossed in flipping through the pages of a collection of John Donne sonnets that he was startled by the voice behind him.

  ‘So it is true that you really do have a romantic soul, Mr MacDonald.’ Lachlan turned to gaze into the brown eyes barely inches from his own. ‘Miss Lightfoot,’ he spluttered. ‘I would never have expected to meet you here.’

  ‘And why not, Mr MacDonald?’ Amanda teased with a gentle smile. ‘I can read and as it happens I consider Mr Donne’s poetry the best that was produced in Elizabethan times. I would think that you also have a love for his fine poetry.’

  ‘Er, ah, I do,’ he replied.

  ‘You are blushing, Mr MacDonald,’ Amanda said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Lachlan was lost for words.

  She had caught him unawares and was consolidating her ground.

  ‘I suppose I was going to say that you are the finest lady I have had the honour of meeting. A lady born to privilege.’

  ‘You may see me as one born to the manor, but my parents were simple country people who struggled to build a business,’ Amanda said quietly. ‘In England we did not receive invitations from the gentry as you might think. I think that my brother wishes to forget our humble origins and pretend to be above what we really are.’

  ‘Despite what you say, Miss Lightfoot,’ Lachlan said, ‘you are still the finest lady I have met.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Amanda replied as a slight blush stained her cheeks. ‘I see that you have recovered well from your hard-fought victory.’

  ‘I was lucky,’ Lachlan replied modestly. ‘And I attribute my luck to the beautiful sash that I wore in your honour.’

  ‘You won because you have the heart of a lion,’ Amanda said, meeting his gaze directly. ‘And the mind of a poet.’

  Lachlan felt that time was standing still and he wished it would remain that way for the rest of his life. He was in the company of an angel and could feel himself short of breath. He realised that his hands were growing clammy and hoped not to embarrass himself in her company.

  Amanda broke her gaze and looked away quickly. ‘I must offer my apologies, Mr MacDonald, but I am here to pick up a book and depart,’ Amanda said. ‘Meeting you so unexpectedly here has been very pleasant,’ she added.

  Amanda did not want to break her contact with Lachlan but she knew that her brother waited for her in their carriage outside and she did not want him to come looking if she remained too long in the book shop. She sensed that her brother suspected her feelings for the young Scot. Not that he had said anything to her but she knew him well enough to know some of his comments about Lachlan were less than subtle hints that he did not want her to see the boxer again.

  Lachlan sought some way to delay her from leaving, but Amanda had already turned to walk over to the counter. ‘Miss Lightfoot,’ Lachlan said suddenly to her departing back, ‘I would li
ke to purchase this volume of Donne’s sonnets, as a gesture of my thanks for having faith in me as a fighter.’

  ‘That is not necessary,’ Amanda said, turning to face him. ‘The book is very expensive and you have already given me a beautiful present in the necklace, which I cherish.’

  ‘Call it my payment to the lady who got me the fight,’ Lachlan grinned, thinking that he could see an interest in his proposal in Amanda’s eyes. ‘I would like to inscribe it to you.’

  ‘On that condition I would be flattered that you might present me with such a beautiful gift,’ she said with a shy smile.

  Lachlan paid for the slim, leather-bound book, borrowed a pen and dipped the nib in an inkstand. Very carefully he formed the words in his best copperplate handwriting just inside the cover: A gift to the most beautiful woman in the world. That she may remember me in the years ahead as an explorer of this land.

  L. MacDonald

  Lachlan blotted the wet ink and carefully closed the book, passing it to Amanda, who accepted the gift in her gloved hands.

  ‘I would rather you not read what I have written until we part,’ Lachlan said.

  ‘I will do that,’ Amanda replied, pressing the book to her breast. ‘Thank you, Mr MacDonald. I hope that our paths may cross again some day.’

  As she walked away Lachlan knew that no matter what else he achieved in his life, winning the heart of Amanda Lightfoot was the most important of his aspirations. He would march through hell if necessary to gain her love.

  SEVEN

  The day came when the last brick was laid in the construction of the great building, that would now become a warehouse. Old Harry announced to his team that they would have a couple of weeks break before the next contract was ready to begin. The enforced lay-off was hard on finances and one or two of the team had decided to seek work with other contractors to ensure that they continued to receive an income. Lachlan however decided to make the most of the break between jobs to see a little more of this rapidly growing city on the great and magnificent harbour. And there was always the Erin Hotel, which by now had become something of a second home to him.

  Max was busy in the bar when Lachlan finally made his way to the Erin, but Daniel was at home and greeted Lachlan. ‘You must stay and dine with us tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Daniel,’ Lachlan replied as they stood in the bar of the hotel, which was rapidly filling with patrons from the nearby factories, workshops and building sites. ‘I would enjoy that. Your mother is a fine cook. Have you had any word from Kevin and Kate?’

  A dark shadow fell across Daniel’s face. ‘My mother received a letter from Kate in Rockhampton. She has lost a baby and that bastard O’Keefe has deserted her,’ he replied angrily. ‘Michael never trusted O’Keefe, but Kate was besotted by him. He is lucky Michael is not around to give him a thrashing.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear about that,’ Lachlan said.

  ‘A perception of love seems to have brought nothing but tragedy to my cousins’ lives,’ Daniel said. ‘First, with Michael being besotted by that squatter’s daughter, Fiona Macintosh, and then Kate wedding that no-good son of Irish convicts. Both loves have left nothing but sorrow in their wake.’

  After hearing Daniel’s bitterly delivered tirade against love, Lachlan decided to keep his feelings for Amanda Lightfoot to himself. Sharing a meal with the Duffy family in the Erin’s kitchen, he felt just a little awkward when Bridget said grace in the Catholic fashion. Although not a devout Presbyterian, he still harboured the old religious animosities Duncan had instilled into him. And he was well aware that while his MacDonald ancestors had stood at Culloden as Catholics loyal to Prince Charlie, the family had since converted to the religion of Scotland.

  When dinner was over, Max joined them and the three men retired to the backyard for Max to smoke his battered old pipe under the stars. Mugs of tea in their hands, they chatted on subjects of the day. Popular was the matter of the bushranger Henry Manns being hanged at the Darlinghurst prison back in March. He had been convicted of his role in a robbery whilst under arms of the Eugowra gold escort. The law firm where Daniel was articled as a clerk had some involvement in the unfortunate man’s defence. Hangings in Sydney were not uncommon and Lachlan knew that Michael Duffy had made his escape, although Daniel swore that he had been innocent of murder. It was not worth the risk of losing a case and having him end up on the gallows despite any facts that might prove his innocence. None of the family had any idea where Michael had fled. All they had gleaned from friends was that Michael had jumped a Yankee schooner returning to America.

  Eventually a silence followed and it was Max who spoke next.

  ‘That pretty lady, the sister of that Captain Lightfoot, is travelling to New Zealand with her brother,’ he said, puffing his pipe.

  Lachlan looked at him sharply.

  ‘How do you know?’ Lachlan asked.

  ‘I hear a soldier from his regiment talk about it at the bar,’ Max answered.

  ‘She is a nice lady,’ Lachlan replied, appearing not to have any great interest in the matter but feeling crushed by the news of Amanda’s impending absence. He had hoped that he might find a way to see her again.

  ‘I thought you might like to know,’ Max continued. ‘I think she was sweet on you.’

  At the old German’s statement, Lachlan frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked, curious to know what was going through his friend’s mind.

  ‘No reason,’ Max answered, staring ahead into the night and listening to the rowdy drinkers in the bar.

  But Lachlan suspected that Max was not letting on to something and only the enigmatic expression on his face gave him away.

  ‘It might be that she left a letter for you with me today,’ Max finally allowed, a broad smile over his battered face as he handed Lachlan an envelope addressed to Mr Lachlan MacDonald. ‘It is not usual for such a fine lady to leave letters with simple barmen unless they have good reason.’

  As Lachlan took the letter he noticed his hand was trembling.

  ‘You will need the light of the kitchen to read your letter,’ Daniel suggested. But Lachlan was already making his way back into the kitchen.

  Opening the letter carefully, he could smell Amanda’s eau de cologne.

  My dear Mr MacDonald,

  I have sat down to pen these words to you as I will be departing tomorrow with my brother for the islands of New Zealand.

  I have read the book of poetry that you so kindly gave me as a gift and also read the beautiful inscription that you penned within the cover. I would like to express my gratitude for both the book and the words.

  It may be possible that some day we may meet again as friends and discuss the finer subjects of which you appear to have such a wonderful grasp.

  Yours in all sincerity

  Miss Amanda Lightfoot.

  Lachlan read the letter once more, hanging on every word. When he had finished a third time, he carefully folded the missive and placed it back in the envelope.

  New Zealand, Lachlan thought. He stood up from the table and rejoined Max and Daniel.

  ‘How do I go about joining Colonel Pitt’s volunteers for the New Zealand campaign?’ Lachlan asked.

  Even in the dimly lit backyard, Daniel’s surprise was apparent, but Max did not appear so taken aback.

  ‘You would go to be a soldier, then,’ Max said, rather than asked. ‘Ja, why is this no surprise?’

  ‘I heard that Colonel Pitt has been recruiting men to join militias to fight the Maori,’ Lachlan said. ‘I believe that there was a promise of land to those who served.’

  ‘So, it is for land that you vish to go,’ Max said slowly, savouring his knowledge of his young boxing protege’s unspoken desire to follow the woman he was infatuated with. Max had seen much of life and Lachlan’s feelings for the aristocratic lady were no secret to him. He was surprised that the educated young Daniel Duffy was not aware of his friend’s infatuation, as he had spoken of her enough times in t
heir presence. Perhaps romance was far from his mind as he struggled with the technicalities of the law.

  ‘I am without employment here,’ Lachlan answered without much conviction. ‘And I have always had a desire to see the world as surely you must have when you were a sailor.’

  ‘A soldier is not a sailor,’ Max replied. ‘You must think carefully on what your travels to that land of savages may entail. You could get killed.’

  ‘Jimmy never went near a war and he up and died only a few months ago from his fever,’ Lachlan said. ‘At least I will get to see some of the world before it is my time.’

  ‘If you truly wish to serve in New Zealand,’ Daniel said, ‘I can arrange to have papers written up saying you are a man of good character. According to the terms of enlistment, you will need them.’

  Lachlan looked to Daniel with gratitude. ‘Thank you. I just have a feeling that it is time for me to set out on the first leg of the search for my real dream.’

  ‘And what is that?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘One day, I will be an explorer,’ Lachlan replied quietly. ‘I think my service in New Zealand may assist me in doing that.’

  ‘Not the hand of a beautiful young Englishwoman?’ Max asked with a broad grin.

  ‘Er, ah,’ Lachlan spluttered. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Tomorrow, I will have the references drafted,’ Daniel said, oblivious to Lachlan’s untruth. ‘I am sure that you will be granted a berth on one of the steam ships travelling to New Zealand before you know it.’

  Lachlan only wished it had been the same ship transporting Amanda to New Zealand.

  The Melbourne inn was far less salubrious than the type of establishment where John MacDonald would have chosen to meet someone. But the semi-literate note that he had received at his hotel stated the writer had information of great value to him. He was to bring twenty guineas with him as payment for that information.