The Silent Frontier

by Peter Watt

  Their trek north took them past the small outposts of Port Denison and Smithfield, where they stopped to resupply their stores. Eventually, their journey brought them just south of Cooktown and within sight of Black Mountain.

  ‘So that is what Sir Percival wants to see,’ John mused from astride his horse, gazing at the giant black landform rising above the scrub to form a low hill. ‘Just looks like some giant has piled up a store of stones to build something and forgotten what it was.’

  ‘Not the time to go exploring the hill now,’ Lachlan said, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘We have to keep moving if we are to meet the boat bringing Sir Percival to Cooktown.’ With that, Lachlan spurred his horse forward through the scrub.

  ‘This place has got a bad feeling,’ Matthew muttered. ‘We have places like this at home where you don’t go.’

  ‘Bloody heathen rubbish,’ Lachlan threw back across his shoulder. ‘It’s just a strange-looking pile of rocks – nothing more. Maybe Sir Percival will tell us how the hill was formed.’

  ‘The devil made it,’ Matthew replied softly. ‘That is a place of dead people who come out at night to snatch you away.’

  Lachlan shook his head. He had spent long enough in the bush to know that the dangers to him were tangible – not spiritual. But that night, having fallen into a deep sleep beside the camp fire, Lachlan had a strange dream. In his nightmare, the dead did indeed come out of the crevices between the rocks. They had the almost forgotten faces of the Maori warriors he had killed and were led by a decomposing Sergeant Samuel Forster. He awoke with a shout, waking the others in fright, expecting a shower of Aboriginal spears to fall on their camp site. Snatching a rifle, Matthew looked across the dying embers of the camp fire.

  ‘What is it?’ John yelled.

  Lachlan was now fully awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. ‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘I just had a bit of a bad dream. Nothing to worry about.’

  The following morning over a mug of hot tea, Lachlan glared at Matthew sitting on a log, poking the fire with a stick.

  ‘You know that trick we played on you with the snake,’ Lachlan growled. ‘Well, you got me back last night you big heathen bastard. I wouldn’t have had my nightmare if you hadn’t put it in my head with your talk about the dead coming out of Black Hill.’

  ‘I was serious,’ Matthew answered, continuing to poke the embers and without looking up at Lachlan. ‘There are the spirits of dead people in that place.’

  ‘I thought that you were a Christian,’ Lachlan said.

  ‘I got my education from missionaries,’ Matthew smiled. ‘I didn’t say I was a Christian.’

  ‘Thought so,’ Lachlan sighed. ‘I let myself go bush with a heathen Maori who is probably a cannibal on top of everything else.’

  ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t a cannibal,’ Matthew grinned.

  John had listened to the banter between the two men and noted their camaraderie. He could see that for some strange reason the two men – once former enemies – were as close as any two brothers. He could only surmise that it had grown from the bond that develops between men who have known the horrors of armed conflict, regardless of which side they fought on. He envied Matthew for his relationship with his brother, but was also grateful that Lachlan had such a man by his side. He had Nicholas by his, and seeing the closeness his brother shared with Matthew he was beginning to appreciate more his own relationship with Nicholas. Where Lachlan and Matthew were men of action, however, Nicholas’s strength lay in his mind and the ability to manipulate the world around him. That was what he was doing now, John mused, rolling up his blanket, working towards destroying Major Charles Lightfoot. How, John was only vaguely aware but he knew all would be revealed in time. Whatever scheme Nicholas was working on was guaranteed to succeed. Nicholas was not a man to lose.

  ‘My company was going to purchase this stretch of estate,’ Nicholas Busby said, standing in the street with Charles Lightfoot gazing at the long row of empty warehouses on the harbour foreshore. ‘But we are committed to another investment and a bit over-extended at the moment. So, I remembered you and, as a great favour, put your name first on the list to possibly buy the land before it comes on the market. It will be worth a fortune to anyone with the money to snap it up now and resell within a month.’

  Charles Lightfoot cast his eye over the vast stretch of vacant buildings. ‘How much is the vendor asking?’ he queried. ‘That is a lot to ask,’ Lightfoot replied when Nicholas gave him a price. ‘To do so would be using all Sir Percival’s capital.’

  ‘Ah, but I predict that when you resold you would triple your return,’ Nicholas replied. ‘You would have to act fast, for when the sale is announced it will not remain on the market for long. The buildings are ready to use for any factory or storehouse business on a large scale. There are plenty in Sydney with financial means and prepared to take a gamble – although I do not see the purchase, of this tract of land as being much of a risk when I know the current market here.’

  Lightfoot frowned. He knew that he had access to the amount required for the purchase but it was everything that Sir Percival had shifted to the colonies. In his mind, he quickly calculated his commission on the transaction, and the frown evaporated from his face. It was enough to live off for a couple of years in the lifestyle suited to a gentleman. ‘You say it could be put back on the market almost immediately after purchase for triple the price I might pay?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Nicholas said, cupping his hand to light a cigar. ‘You would not even have known about this deal if I had been in a position to buy it myself.’

  ‘I would have preferred to have spoken to my brother-in-law first,’ Lightfoot said.

  ‘I believe he is probably up in Cooktown by now, getting ready to have a look at his hill,’ Nicholas said, blowing smoke into the still air. ‘Maybe you could consult his wife – your sister,’ he suggested.

  ‘That is a bit hard, old chap,’ Lightfoot mused. ‘At the last moment, my sister insisted on travelling with him to Queensland. She said that she would be bored waiting for him in Sydney.’

  Nicholas paled. From what he had heard, Lightfoot’s sister was well acquainted with Lachlan MacDonald and would surely come across him in Cooktown. To do so might cause suspicion and ruin Nicholas’s long-contrived plan to ruin Lightfoot. Already Nicholas was considering telegraphing Lachlan to warn him of the unexpected development. Or was it already too late?

  ‘I will go ahead with the purchase,’ Lightfoot said.

  ‘Sorry, what did you say?’ Nicholas said, his mind focused a thousand miles north, rather than where he stood with Lightfoot.

  ‘I said I will go ahead with the purchase,’ Lightfoot reiterated. ‘No doubt you are able to assist me with that.’

  ‘Wise decision,’ Nicholas replied. ‘As a matter of fact, I have just the solicitor in mind who will handle the paperwork. A young chap by the name of Daniel Duffy.’

  Lightfoot nodded. He was both excited and frightened by his decision. But Nicholas Busby had already proved his worth as a man who knew how to make money and if he recommended the purchase then that was good enough. But a small fear continued to nag him. What if something went wrong? It was a long drop from riches to rags. If Sir Percival had not been so besotted with Amanda, then he himself would not even be considering such a huge outlay of another man’s money. But it was an easy way to make an income. One did not have to work for the return like a common person. After all, money made money.

  ‘Sir Percival Sparkes is over there,’ the crewman from the coastal steamer told John.

  He, Lachlan and Matthew had gone down to the jetty on the Endeavour Paver to await the boat’s arrival. When it docked, John had approached the gangplank while Lachlan and Matthew had remained with the wagon they had hired to transport the Englishman’s luggage to the accommodation they had arranged for him. Through the crowd, John could see a tall, well-dressed, handsome man with an aristocratic bearing, stand
ing by a large pile of trunks. Beside him stood a striking young woman wearing a free-flowing dress of pure white and a sun-bonnet and carrying a parasol. For a moment, John was puzzled. Who was she? Suddenly he had the answer. It had to be Sir Percival’s wife, Amanda. He gasped. His first thought was to warn his brother and find someone else to guide Sir Percival to his mountain. But this thought was curtailed when Lachlan suddenly appeared beside him.

  ‘Thought I should come down to help our visitor with his luggage,’ Lachlan said lightly.

  ‘Lachlan, I have . . . ’ John started, but was cut short.

  ‘God Almighty,’ Lachlan gasped. The beautiful woman had swung around and her eyes fixed on Lachlan. From the expression on her face, it was clear that she had recognised him immediately. Her eyes were wide, as if she had been frightened by a ghost, and for a brief moment it appeared that she might swoon.

  ‘Damn!’ Lachlan swore under his breath. ‘What in hell is she doing here?’

  ‘I doubt that it matters now,’ John answered glumly. ‘The cat is out of the bag – as they say. Well, we may as well go over and introduce ourselves to Sir Percival and Lady Amanda Sparkes.’

  As they pushed their way through the crowd milling around the jetty, Amanda’s expression did not change. Lachlan tried to remain stony-faced.

  ‘Sir Percival,’ John said, thrusting out his hand. ‘I am John MacDonald and may I introduce my brother and your guide, Mr Lachlan MacDonald.’

  ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,’ Sir Percival said warmly. ‘I would like to introduce my charming wife, Lady Amanda.’

  Amanda smiled wanly and averted her eyes. She had said nothing about already knowing him and for this Lachlan was grateful.

  ‘Well, Lachlan has arranged a wagon to take you and your luggage to the best hotel that had a vacancy. I hope it is suitable, although we were not expecting Lady Amanda to be accompanying you on this expedition.’

  ‘I have always had an interest in seeing new places,’ Amanda spoke up. ‘I have had the good fortune to see much of the world and was not going to miss out on visiting this part of the colony. I once even spent time in New Zealand with my brother, during the Waikato campaign.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ John said, clearing his throat. ‘So did my brother Lachlan.’

  ‘Did you soldier there?’ Sir Percival asked with interest.

  ‘I did,’ Lachlan replied quietly. ‘I was with Von Tempsky’s Rangers company.’

  ‘Ah, then you would not have known my brother-in-law, Major Charles Lightfoot. He was a captain at the time of his service in New Zealand.’

  Lachlan caught Amanda’s eye for a fraction of a second. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘I served in the Crimea with my father’s regiment,’ Sir Percival said. ‘But I did so as a mere ensign. Did you hold a commission?’

  ‘Corporal,’ Lachlan replied, reaching for one of the heavy chests. ‘I finished my service around ’65 and returned to Sydney.’

  ‘Then you would have received the campaign medal for New Zealand,’ Sir Percival continued in a chatty mood.

  ‘I was not much interested in medals,’ Lachlan said. ‘My brother made application for it on my behalf. He said that it was good for the family inheritance.’

  ‘Something for your wife and children, no doubt,’ Sir Percival said.

  ‘I have neither wife nor children,’ Lachlan replied, hefting the chest onto his shoulder and noticing just the slightest change in Amanda’s expression.

  Loading the wagon, Lachlan tried to remain calm, but he now had to admit to himself that he had never stopped loving Amanda despite his vow to ruin her. He only hoped that his legs would not give way as he hoisted the chest onto the tray.

  Lachlan quickly introduced Matthew to Sir Percival and Amanda. He had never mentioned Amanda to the former Maori warrior but at least it was out in the open that he had served in New Zealand. It was one less lie to hide.

  John took over settling their guests and their luggage into their hotel, but all the while Lachlan and Amanda did not speak to each other. However, the tension in the air was palpable. Lachlan longed to be with Amanda alone so he could ask the question that had haunted him for over a decade. Why? Why had she so suddenly and inexplicably broken all contact with him, after professing her love in such tender terms through her letters?

  The opportunity to speak to Amanda alone did not arise while they were in Cooktown. Lachlan was occupied arranging for extra supplies now there was an additional person accompanying them on the trip south to Black Mountain. He was also kept busy ensuring that John’s trek to the Palmer goldfields was well organised and locating the Dutchman who would guide his brother. By the time he had completed his work, it was well into the evening. He returned to the stables, where John was standing guard over their precious supplies.

  ‘Have a drink,’ John offered.

  Lachlan accepted the bottle passed to him.

  ‘Your party is settled in,’ John said. ‘They will join you tomorrow at first light.’

  Lachlan nodded, taking a long swig from the rum bottle and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Lady Sparkes was quite a surprise,’ Lachlan said. ‘At least she did not let on to her husband that she knew me.’

  ‘We can’t be sure that she will not inform her brother that you are here,’ John said. ‘The telegraph can be a blessing or a curse.’

  ‘I don’t think she will tell him,’ Lachlan said, gazing out at the dimly lit street. ‘I think that she will try to pretend to herself that I don’t really exist.’

  John made no comment. He found it hard to accept that a woman could be that insensitive, considering the little that he knew of his brother’s past love for her.

  ‘We will part for the time being in the morning,’ John said quietly. ‘I just wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed sharing this country with you, my dear brother.’

  Lachlan gazed at his brother’s face in the dim light of the kerosene lantern. John’s tender gratitude brought a lump to his throat.

  ‘Be careful,’ Lachlan replied. ‘It can be very dangerous in the lands that you will be passing through. Always keep your gun handy.’

  ‘I will,’ John smiled. ‘I have given the rifle a name. It’s called Lachie.’

  Lachlan broke into a broad grin. ‘Good name,’ he said. ‘Well, time to find Matthew and get him home for some sleep before we ride out at dawn.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ John asked.

  ‘I have a good idea,’ Lachlan replied. ‘I made the mistake of paying him his wages today and when I last saw him he was heading in the direction of a house of ill repute.’

  ‘Take care, and I will share breakfast with you before we leave,’ John said, settling down to a bed he had fashioned from loose straw.

  Lachlan found Matthew exactly where he had expected him to be. He was just in time, as the Maori was standing toe to toe with a powerfully built American prospector, arguing over a girl. Reluctantly, Matthew left the establishment, throwing a stream of Maori curses over his shoulder.

  ‘Time for us to head back to the stables,’ Lachlan said. ‘We have an appointment with the Black Mountain.’

  ‘I still don’t like that place,’ Matthew mumbled. ‘It has a bad feeling.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  The following morning, with his brother gone, Lachlan remained with Matthew at the stables. Although they had been supposed to depart Cooktown at first light it was almost mid-morning before Sir Percival arrived with Amanda.

  ‘Sorry to be late, old chap,’ Sir Percival said cheerily. ‘But I had to send a telegram south to my brother-in-law, to inform him that we had arrived safely in Cooktown.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Lachlan growled. ‘You are paying.’

  If the English aristocrat had detected Lachlan’s surly comment, he ignored it. Lachlan regretted being so churlish. He hoped the English aristocrat had not mentioned him in the telegram. But it was too late to worry if he had. On
the trip up from Townsville, John had detailed the plan to ruin Charles Lightfoot and Lachlan felt no guilt that should it succeed the scheme would also drag Sir Percival into financial devastation. Although it would also probably mean Amanda finding herself in dire straits, Lachlan was not too troubled. It would be a fitting fate for the woman who had hurt him so deeply. This morning Amanda was dressed in riding boots and a long dress tied at the waist with a sash.

  ‘I hope that you have a side saddle,’ she said to Lachlan.

  ‘I was able to find one yesterday,’ Lachlan replied. ‘Your horse is already saddled.’

  They were the only words that passed between them before they departed from Cooktown.

  Nicholas had arranged to meet with Lightfoot at the Australia Club. Over dinner, Lightfoot told him that the contracts for purchase had been examined and all seemed to be in order. The settlement date had been agreed for the next week.

  ‘Good,’ Nicholas said, raising his claret. ‘Here is to your windfall.’

  ‘You are sure that this deal will pay off?’ Lightfoot asked.

  Nicholas sensed the other man’s nervousness. ‘All business is a gamble, my dear chap. I am sure that you will reap what you deserve.’

  At this reassurance, Lightfoot relaxed. He was looking forward to surprising his brother-in-law with the good news of the purchase that he had made in his name and its subsequent resale for a huge profit.

  Lachlan called a halt to set up camp for the evening. It had been an arduous day traversing the dense rainforest tracks, but Sir Percival had proved to be a competent horseman and appeared to be at home in the terrain. His background as a young officer in Her Majesty’s army had clearly prepared him for such conditions.

  ‘I had the opportunity to hunt tigers in India,’ he said when Lachlan begrudgingly complimented him on his skills. ‘It is a pity that you do not have such game in the colonies.’