Fortune's Son

by Jennifer Scoullar

  He closed the book. ‘I will do no such thing. What would you have Belle do? Pay lip service to the modern notion of female independence that you yourself taught her, Lizzie, and then passively submit to her father’s demand? You would think less of her for it.’ He gave his wife, then daughter an affectionate kiss. ‘In any case, I’d miss you both, and I can’t go to Hobart. My work here is too important.’

  Belle grinned. It was two against one. Her mother didn’t stand a chance. ‘What about the little school you’ve started, Mama? What will happen to the children if you leave?’

  ‘You are my main concern,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Not other people’s children.’ She rested a hand on Belle’s shoulder. ‘You must spend less time rambling around the countryside by yourself, and more time with people your own age.’

  ‘I can do that here,’ said Belle. ‘Binburra isn’t the end of the earth. There’s Grace, and the Longbottom girls and Edward Abbott. Edward asked us to a party just last week, but Papa said no.’

  Daniel scowled. ‘You know how I feel about Henry Abbott, Lizzie.’

  ‘This isn’t about you and your feelings, it’s about our daughter. And Edward is not his father.’ Elizabeth took Daniel’s hands in hers. ‘Shall we try a compromise? Belle and I will stay here, at least for now, if you will make an effort to be more social with our neighbours, including the Abbotts.’

  ‘Please, Papa.’ Belle gave him her most winning smile.

  ‘If it’s what you want,’ he said at last in a gruff voice.

  ‘It is. It’s exactly what I want.’ She threw her slim arms around him. ‘Bye now.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘For a ride up to the falls. I saw a platypus family there last week, and I promised Papa I’d find their burrow. I’m going to draw them. You should see the babies, Mama. They’re so sweet.’

  Belle slipped out the door before any more questions could be asked. She couldn’t wait to saddle Whisky, her impatient palomino filly, and head up the waterfall track. She loved these mountains as much as her father did, but her mother was right about one thing. It would be good to see more of her friends, especially Edward. The compromise brokered between her parents would give her the best of both worlds.

  Daniel returned to his books, angered by the prospect of rubbing shoulders with Henry Abbott, but pleased Belle would stay.

  Three years ago the family had moved from Coomalong, their city home, to this country estate more than one hundred miles north-west of Hobart. Daniel had been watching the wholesale clearing of land for timber, mining and grazing in the area with increasing alarm, soon realising that the only way to preserve the forest might be to own the forest. So he’d acquired this vast tract of land in the foothills of the highlands. By most standards, the property wasn’t particularly valuable. It contained some cleared pasture, but the greater portion was virgin country, reaching high into the rocky uplands all the way to the cliffs of the central plateau.

  Daniel created an independent board to oversee the running of Campbell College so he could spend most of the year in the countryside. He named the estate Binburra, a native word for beech tree. And, indeed, the more remote, mountainous parts boasted dense stands of Tasmanian beech, along with sassafras, southern myrtles, blackwood and leatherwood. Huon pine, a relic rainforest species prized for its astonishingly durable timber, grew along rivers and damp alluvial flats in the ranges.

  Daniel loved Tasmania’s trees, particularly its southern beech. One of a few truly deciduous Australian trees, it reminded Daniel of the true beeches of his native northern hemisphere, to which it was related. Like its northern cousin, it changed colour in autumn from modest green to rust-red, orange and brilliant gold. A miraculous contrast with its evergreen forest companions. Another favourite was the leatherwood, a lovely little tree that flourished in the highlands. It bore fragrant white flowers with exquisite red-tipped stamens, equal in beauty to any English rose.

  The government didn’t share his appreciation of Tasmania’s wilderness. A Land Settlement Act allowed for easy selection of such land at a pound an acre, offering generous deferred payment plans. Thousands of acres were sold, the very object of the exercise being to encourage their clearing for agricultural use. All over the island, primeval forests were being logged, smashed, burnt, uprooted, fenced, ring-barked and poisoned into oblivion.

  By protecting the forest, Daniel hoped also to protect the vulnerable tigers, devils and quolls. The chief reason he bought Binburra in the first place was because thylacines were reportedly snared there.

  Daniel turned the page to an illustration of a strange little ostrich-like bird. He sighed. Tasmanians had already consigned their very own dwarf emu to the history books. Growing numbers of naturalists, scientists and even some more enlightened members of the public believed thylacines would soon follow the emu into extinction.

  But the unfortunate truth was that most colonials still remained fanatically loyal to their heritage, intent upon creating a little Britain at the opposite end of the world. Tasmania’s bizarre marsupial carnivores did not fit with the pretty rose gardens and neat hedgerows that flourished as tributes to Mother England. The irony, not lost on Daniel, was that they paid homage to an idealised England few of these second- and third-generation colonists had ever seen.

  Daniel was in for another disappointment. In the same year he purchased Binburra, prospectors found alluvial gold at Hills End, the nearest settlement. Worse, a substantial reef of gold was discovered right under the township itself. A train line was built. Daniel’s dismay grew in tandem with the premier’s delight.

  The find received a beat-up in the Hobart Mercury and it wasn’t long before the three illiterate prospectors who discovered the gold were swindled out of it. Hills End Resources was born, with Henry Abbott the managing director and majority shareholder. He already owned most of the prime timber and pastoral land in the district. Now he also owned the town, including a large estate eight miles west of Binburra on the other side of Murderer’s Hill. Abbott named the property Canterbury Downs. The first thing he did was clear and sell its ancient forests and replace them with pasture.

  It got worse. Last year a group of conservative politicians and pastoralists had formed a society dedicated to the deliberate spread of introduced species throughout Tasmania. It boasted the governor as patron and the premier as president. Henry Abbott, a keen sporting shooter, was also a founding member, hopeful of importing all sorts of exotic game. Pests, more like it.

  Daniel joined an opposing group, the Royal Society, the first scientific body in Australia dedicated to protecting native habitats and creating national parks. The society achieved some limited success, forming a few small reserves, but its proposed conservation reforms were regularly blocked in parliament by the powerful pastoral and mining lobbies.

  Daniel wept for Hills End and became utterly consumed with his conservation efforts. An image of young Luke Tyler came to mind, as it so often did. How he’d love to have Luke by his side to help. He missed the boy’s intelligence, his enthusiasm, his compassion. What a waste. That was Abbott’s fault too. Elizabeth didn’t know what she asked. How on earth was he supposed to share a drink with Henry and pretend all was well?

  CHAPTER 10

  Almost three weeks passed before Luke spotted Angus and his heavily laden bullock coming back up the mountain trail. So many futile hours watching and hoping meant he’d almost given up on them. His swag was already packed with his meagre belongings. Soon he and Angus would be gone from Abbott land, exploring far and wide, scouring the ranges for gold. What an adventure. He might just find his fortune.

  Bear uttered a deep growl. Scruffy pricked his ears at the sound and, with impudent daring, ran on ahead, yapping wildly. Bear ignored the little terrier, but Angus was something else again. The dog had learned to trust Luke, but this trust did not extend to strangers. He pressed protectively against Luke’s leg, hackles raised and a rumble rising in his throat
.

  Scruffy leapt into Luke’s arms, squirming with delight. Angus halted Toro at a safe distance. ‘What’ve you got there then, lad?’

  Luke put down the wriggling terrier and spoke to Bear. He walked off, stiff-legged and lay down a few yards away. Luke told Angus about the dog’s mysterious appearance at the hut.

  ‘So, this is the hound that helped you escape, eh? A fugitive from the law too, I’ll wager. There’s talk in town of a rogue black dog leading a pack of them native wolves. A demon dog, they’re saying, as big as a lion and twice as vicious. Him and his wolves’ve been killing sheep a dozen at a time. There ain’t likely to be two dogs of that size and description hereabouts. Nope. There’s your killer, all right. One and the same.’

  Luke looked at Bear with a sinking feeling. Could this be true? Bear did disappear every night without fail, announcing his departure with a single bark and trotting northwards into the forest, leaving Luke to spend the long hours of darkness alone. He returned each morning at first light.

  Luke already knew the dog was hunting his own food. Caked blood on his ruff told the story, and he was never hungry for breakfast. But leading a pack of native tigers to attack sheep? It seemed preposterous. Then Luke remembered the odd pug marks he’d seen alongside Bear’s paw prints on his second day of freedom. Daniel had taught him to recognise tiger tracks. What was the distinction between tiger and dog prints? Luke thought hard. In thylacine paws, two grooves ran down the pad. These lines were absent in a dog’s print. He tried to visualise the tracks and saw furrows running from heel to toe. Tigers. Improbable as Angus’s story sounded, Bear’s nocturnal wanderings, combined with the sightings and tracks, seemed to confirm it.

  ‘You can’t take that dog with you when you go into town,’ said Angus. ‘He’ll be recognised faster than you.’

  ‘Why would I be going into town?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve come to tell you, you daft lad. There’s jobs in town down the mine, just going begging. I’ve told the foreman me nephew needs work and he’s happy enough to have you. We’ll need to change your name, of course. Sir Henry’s posted a fair bounty on your head, but I’ve done some quiet asking about and that work camp you was in ain’t there no more. They moved those poor fellas back to Hobart not two weeks past, and the coppers have given up looking for you. You’ll have to leave the dog, though. What do you say?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What sort of a damn fool answer is that? I go out of me way to save your sorry hide and find you honest work and you turn me down flat? What’s the flaming matter with you?’

  ‘Sorry Angus, I won’t leave Bear.’

  The dog jumped up and licked his face, as if in thanks. On hind legs, Bear matched Luke’s six-foot frame. Still weak from illness, Luke was knocked flat on his back. Angus reached for his rifle, watching Bear warily. Scruffy joined in the game, jumping on Luke’s chest, making him howl with laughter.

  Angus lowered his weapon. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’

  Still laughing, Luke pushed the animals aside, climbed to his feet and brushed dirt and leaves from his clothes. He hugged the dogs and half-heartedly reprimanded Bear, who continued to eye Angus in a hungry way.

  The old man snorted and led Toro behind the hut, unloading some items from the bullock’s pack and picketing him on a juicy patch of grass.

  ‘Can you stay for dinner?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Aye. On condition that great mongrel of yours doesn’t think I am dinner.’

  Bear chose that moment to give his customary goodbye bark. Then he disappeared at speed into the forest. Scruffy chased after him for a while, but the little terrier’s legs couldn’t keep up.

  Before long, wallaby steaks sizzled on the fire. Angus smoked his pipe and watched Luke stoke the flames. ‘Your mind’s made up then?’ he said. ‘You’ll not come with me to town?’

  ‘Not without Bear.’

  ‘You’re making a big mistake,’ said Angus. ‘Think about it. If you won’t leave the dog, and the dog can’t go to town, that leaves you well and truly stuck out here in no-man’s-land.’

  ‘It’s not no-man’s-land, though, is it?’ said Luke, throwing a stick on the fire. ‘It belongs to that bastard Abbott. I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.’ A long silence followed, interrupted only by the hiss and spatter of fat in the pan. ‘And stop calling Abbott, Sir Henry,’ Luke continued. ‘He has no claim to the title.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Angus. ‘He sure acts lordly enough.’ Another long silence. ‘How’s your shoulder?’

  Luke told him of his bout of fever, and Angus checked the wound, pronouncing it healed.

  ‘What did you do while you were away?’ asked Luke.

  ‘Sold my skins and some gold – for a good price too. I’ve rented a room from a widow in town. Damned fine woman is Molly Swift. I might take that job in the mine meself, seeing as you ain’t interested. Settle down for a bit. I tell you what, these old bones sure do appreciate a soft bed. I might even consider marrying up with her, if she’ll have me.’

  ‘She’d have to be pretty hard up,’ said Luke with a grin.

  ‘Well, that’s gratitude for you.’ Angus snorted. ‘I didn’t traipse all the way up this goddamned mountain for me own pleasure. And all I get back is insults. So, if you’re too clever to take me advice, tell me, what do you plan to do?’

  ‘We could go fossicking. Bear could come with us.’

  ‘I ain’t going fossicking. I done told you that already. I’m fixing to court Widow Swift. Sorry, son. I know I said we’d go prospecting up the mountain, but me plans’ve changed.’ Angus took off his battered old hat and wrung it in his hands. ‘Stop staring at me, will you? All hopeful like.’

  Luke silently served up the steaks with boiled potatoes. After their meal, as they sipped billy tea, Angus’s expression brightened. ‘Here’s a thought. There’s a fella that owns a run not far from here. I hear he’s looking for an odd-job man. Fixing gates, a bit of fencing, cutting shingles. Do you reckon you could make a go of something like that?’

  Luke nodded.

  ‘His place ain’t more than a few hour’s walk due east of here. You could earn yourself some money without showing your ugly mug in town. He might even let you bring your lousy dog, so long as it behaves itself. He’s a funny sort of bloke. Hasn’t got any stock, save a few cows and horses, so there’s no fear of that mongrel of yours killing his sheep.’

  ‘What’s he do with his land?’

  ‘He just keeps the place natural-like.’ Angus frowned. ‘Even puts trees back into perfectly good paddocks. Got more money than sense, I guess. Still, I’ve never heard a word spoken against him by any honest man. He runs some sort of school for poor kiddies in Hobart. Apparently you couldn’t meet a nicer fella.’

  Luke’s fork hovered in mid-air. ‘What’s this bloke’s name then?’

  ‘Daniel Campbell.’

  The news left Luke choking on a piece of potato. Angus eyed him curiously. ‘I went to that school,’ Luke managed at last. ‘Daniel Campbell was my teacher.’

  ‘Was he now? That’s a stroke of luck. Did you two get on?’

  ‘Yes, we got on.’ Luke marvelled at the understatement. After his parents, Daniel had been the most profound influence of his life: mentor, counsellor, confidante. Memories of his teacher had kept him sane so often throughout his long incarceration.

  And Belle. Might he see Belle again? She’d be almost seventeen now. A wash of emotion left him trembling. He had Bear to thank for another miracle. If not for the dog, he might have gone to town with Angus, might have gone down the mine, risking life and limb, and for what? To line Abbott’s pocket, that’s what.

  Angus peered at him. ‘Taken a shine to the idea, have you, lad?’

  Luke nodded, still a little tongue-tied.

  ‘Righto, leave it to me. I’ll swing it for you, nothing’s surer. Happy to help.’ Angus beamed. ‘I’d appreciate it if Scruff and me could stay here tonight and have a bit more of a
yarn. That’s if you won’t mind and Widow Swift won’t miss me too much, of course.’

  Luke snorted and Angus clouted him over the head with his hat.

  Late into the night they chatted about their lives. Luke’s childhood in Hobart, Daniel Campbell, Becky . . . Angus had lost his wife and son to typhoid fever some years back. ‘If me own boy had lived, he would’ve been close to your age.’ The fire burned low before they turned in. With Angus snoring in a swag nearby, Luke was happier than he could remember. Scruffy snuggled contentedly beside him.

  The night wore on. Luke lay awake, too excited to sleep, and marauding doubts began to steal his happiness. He wished Bear was beside him as well as the little terrier. Fears about Bear and the dangers he faced in the forest set in. Old worries about his family. How was Becky? How was his mother? His father. He missed him with a fierceness that four years hadn’t managed to dull. Why wasn’t his father in court on that last day? And what about the forthcoming reunion with Daniel? After all, Luke was one of his many students. Perhaps he’d overestimated his significance. Perhaps Daniel wouldn’t even remember him?

  Luke went over and over the past, reliving memory after memory. Trying to put himself in his teacher’s place, trying to judge how important their connection really was. It wasn’t until Bear crept into the hut along with the faint light of piccaninny dawn that Luke fell into a blessed, dreamless sleep.

  The sun sailed high above the peaks when Luke finally stirred. Angus handed him a plate piled high with fried damper and bacon. Luke hadn’t eaten such a fine breakfast in years. With wagging tails, the dogs scrounged for the scraps Angus threw them. Bear didn’t look like a bloodthirsty killer. He even tolerated Angus patting his head in return for a piece of rind.

  After breakfast, Angus saddled Toro and packed his kit while Luke took pot shots at trees with stones. He’d been counting on heading off with Angus. Now he faced being alone again.

  ‘Cheer up, lad. I’ll not be gone long, you’ll see. A week or two at most. Time enough to pay me humble respects to Widow Swift, pay me rent and see your teacher for you. Be back for you before you know it.’