Shadow of the Osprey

by Peter Watt

  But Michael already knew. The Germans were out to seize New Guinea before the British Foreign Office could react. Once annexed, Bismarck would have a strategic port as a direct threat to one of Britain’s colonies – Queensland!

  ‘Any chance of giving notice boss?’ one of the bushmen groaned. ‘Think I’ve had enough.’ The bushman was the youngest of the men Michael had recruited. He had once served for a short time with the Native Mounted Police before resigning to go in search of gold on the Palmer. He was a pallid green under his tan and tried to make a joke of his request. But as a veteran of many wars Michael knew fear when he saw it.

  ‘Only if I can come with you,’ Michael replied with a reassuring grin to the young bushman who tried to return the grin, but suddenly doubled over and was violently sick.

  ‘You think we will get out of this?’ Luke asked quietly. Michael did not know how to answer him. The Osprey rolled and lunged at unnatural angles with her timbers creaking. It was as if the ship was groaning in protest at the unbearable fury of the storm. With each lurch, cursing bushmen were sent sprawling across the deck into each other. Some prayed quietly. Others simply sat stony faced and prepared themselves for the worst. Never had any of the bushmen felt as helpless as now. At least on land there was somewhere to escape. But at sea, in a ship being callously battered by nature, there was nowhere to run.

  Lashed to the helm, Mort fought with the demons of the ocean for possession of his ship, as the great rolling waves of the Coral Sea crashed down on him. He responded with terrible oaths and curses against God. His body ached but he refused to relinquish control of the helm to any of the crew who tried to relieve him. Throughout the night he strained to listen, with fearful anticipation, for the terrible crunching shudder of the ship’s keel grinding down on a coral reef. He knew his tough little barque could weather the storm but the reefs were the real threat.

  Below decks Michael sat out the night watching over his men. As he thought about his situation he could not help but see the irony of the fact that at this moment his life was in the hands of the man he knew he must soon kill.

  ~

  In and out of his fever, Wallarie occasionally opened his eyes, to stare at the distant horizon. A black beetle was crawling slowly towards him as he lay on his side staring at the thin line between sky and earth. A big, black beetle come to eat his flesh, when he passed into the Dreaming forever.

  Soon, the blazing black ball would sink below the earth, and the cool night would come to take away his pain. His only regret was that he had not reached the lands of his ancestors. But had not his brother Tom Duffy died in lands foreign to him? Had he not died far from the green country he had always called his ancestral land?

  Wallarie did not have the strength to chant a death song and closed his eyes. He would die quietly and the animals would feast on his flesh. For a brief moment he thought he could feel the earth tremble against his cheek. Then he heard words in a language he did not understand.

  ‘Mein Gott! Was ist passiert?’

  THIRTY-ONE

  Sydney was enjoying a mild, pleasant day for early autumn. The skies were cloudless. The crisp, still air had only the slightest hint of winter. Granville White stared morosely across the garden to the harbour, wondering why he had been invited to afternoon tea by his distant mother-in-law. The serene weather had brought ships and boats of all varieties onto the water to sail and steam across its placid blue surface. On the furthermost tree-lined shores he could see smoke rising lazily from cottages and campfires hidden amongst the forests of eucalypts. Although the day had been pleasantly warm, the night promised to be chilly.

  Granville ignored the frantic prattle of his two daughters pleading with their mother for a cream bun. She in turn chided the girls while they eyed the cakes with undisguised desire: they would have to wait until their grandmother joined them. Despite their innermost desires to cause havoc to the sweets, both girls were very well behaved, as would be expected of young ladies in a prim and proper society. Nevertheless, they exploded with childish delight when they saw their aunt Penny arrive. She was their favourite adult, because she spoilt them rotten with gifts whenever she returned from one of her many trips away from Sydney.

  Granville frowned at the unexpected appearance of his sister. Penelope in turn was as equally surprised to see her brother. To receive an invitation to Enid’s house was totally unexpected by all three.

  Penelope greeted her brother coldly but spoke to Fiona with warmth as she fended off her two excited nieces. ‘Betsy told me Enid will be arriving very soon. I wasn’t informed that anyone else would be attending afternoon tea.’

  Granville’s face reflected his own puzzlement. ‘All I was told at my office last week,’ he said, ‘was that it was extremely important that I should bring Fiona and the girls here today to have afternoon tea with her. She said that she wanted to discuss some important business matters before she left for England next month.’

  The invitations were the first in years from Enid, who lived an almost hermit-like life in the rambling Macintosh mansion. Granville did see his mother-in-law from time to time at business meetings, held at the Macintosh offices in Sydney, but never at her home.

  At first Fiona had refused to accompany Granville to her mother’s house. He had in turn pleaded with her to at least attend for appearance’s sake – if nothing else. He also pointed out that their attendance was important from another point of consideration; Enid had seen very little of her grand-daughters, and it was important that she have contact with them if they were to some day inherit the Macintosh estate.

  Fiona had relented, yet was as confused as Granville and Penelope as to why her mother had suddenly decided to have them all share afternoon tea at her place. It was very odd indeed!

  Granville had come to the conclusion that whatever she wanted to see them about had something to do with her rather mysterious forthcoming trip to England. He had seen the invoices pass through the company’s office, with regard to closing down the house, and transferring her key staff to England. It was obvious that she was planning to be away for years. He was mystified as to why she should do this, when she had been so active in the management of the companies after the death of her husband.

  As the chill of the early evening crept with the lengthening shadows across the lawns they waited patiently in silence. There was a tension about the affair that Penelope decided was intolerable. She did not wait for Enid to arrive before she ordered Betsy to fetch tea and coffee for them and started tucking into the sandwiches.

  Her precedent was quickly followed by her nieces who were unleashed onto the sweet cakes with a long sigh of disapproval from their mother. That’s what the two little girls liked about Aunt Penny; she didn’t worry about being polite all the time. She did what she wanted. They knew that Aunt Penny was somehow rather naughty for a grown-up, and they had both secretly agreed they were going to be just like her when they were young ladies.

  ‘I’m rather glad you didn’t wait for me,’ Enid said as she swept into the garden. ‘I must apologise for not being here to greet you when you arrived. But my carriage was held up in the traffic in George Street. There was rather a nasty collision between two wagons. I fear a man was killed in the accident.’

  Dorothy and Helen stared at the boy who stood shyly beside their grandmother. He was tall and his clothes were plain. He was like no boy they had ever seen before.

  Fiona also stared at the boy. He was remarkably good looking, with his thick and dark curly hair. She surmised the boy was a little older than her daughters, and wondered who he was and why he was with her mother. It was unlikely for her mother to have one of the servant’s children accompany her to a family . . .

  Fiona gasped with shock. ‘Oh my God!’ she said in a strangled voice. There was no mistaking the good looks of the boy and the way he proudly stood staring back at her. With the exception of the startling green eyes he was a younger Michael Duffy in every way.

  Patri
ck saw the stricken expression on Fiona’s face and wondered why the woman looked as if she had seen something terrible. He realised that his presence was causing the pretty lady some distress. But he was perplexed as to why this should be as he had never met her before.

  He glanced sideways at Lady Enid who had a strange, fixed expression of savage satisfaction on her face. When he glanced at the faces of the other adults he noticed that they all had similar expressions of shock, except the two girls who stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and hostility. Boys were horrid creatures, and this one looked extra horrid, the girls silently agreed with each other.

  It was fortunate for Fiona that she had been sitting down, otherwise she may have collapsed with the shock. Even now she was fighting to refrain from fainting. ‘Michael!’ The name escaped her lips with a soft hiss, breaking the stunned silence that had followed Enid’s casual apology for her late attendance.

  ‘No, not Michael,’ Enid said quietly. ‘I would like to introduce Master Patrick Duffy to you all. Patrick, meet your aunt Penelope, uncle Granville, your cousins Dorothy and Helen . . . and their mother, your aunt Fiona.’

  Patrick smiled awkwardly at the family he had never known before. It was all very confusing, he thought. No-one had taken the time to explain just how all these people could be related to him.

  ‘Dorothy, Helen, take Patrick,’ Enid said quietly to the two little girls who stared at the tall young boy, ‘and show him the garden. Don’t go down to the water. And wipe the cream off your faces,’ she added sternly.

  The girls immediately obeyed and wiped away the cream with linen napkins. Their interest was in the boy who was horrid – but interesting. If they took him away from the adults, he might be able to tell them about himself, and why his presence had caused the grown-ups to react as they had.

  Patrick was reluctant to accompany the girls. The confusion around him had triggered his curiosity, especially as to why his presence seemed to cause grief to the beautiful woman with the eyes like his own. He felt a great pity for her seemingly limitless depth of grief. He could not bear to see it as it seemed to touch him in a way he could not understand. He wanted to ask questions but did not know where to start. Instead, he looked away and grudgingly let Helen take his hand to lead him away as she fired questions at him, without waiting for his answers.

  ‘I cannot believe this!’ Granville finally exploded when the three children were gone. ‘I cannot believe you could be as evil as to do this to your own daughter!’ His outrage was prompted less by any concern for his wife’s feelings, as for the consequences to his own position in the Macintosh business empire. His devious mind had already extrapolated what the sudden appearance of the boy meant. Oh, he knew Enid too well and he knew what she was playing at! ‘How could you bring the boy into Fiona’s life after all these years? How could you when she had reconciled herself to his absence from her life?’

  Fiona listened to her husband’s words. She was not fooled by his feigned concern for her feelings. A mother never reconciled herself with the loss of a baby – especially if she blamed herself for its possible death. Seeing her son for the first time in eleven years brought both extreme joy and sorrow. A joy that he was alive and a sorrow that she had lost all those years of being with him. A handsome young man, he was so very much like Michael as she imagined he would have been as a young boy. She felt Penelope’s hands resting reassuringly on her shoulders. It only seemed natural that she would console her rather than Granville.

  Enid took a seat, and listened patiently to Granville feign his righteous indignation. Now that the secret was out, Enid knew she was again in full control of all that would transpire in the Macintosh dynasty. She experienced some sympathy for her daughter’s pain. But the sympathy was short lived when Enid remembered that her own daughter had taken sides with the man she knew beyond a doubt had organised to have David so vilely murdered. ‘No matter what you think of my motives, Granville,’ Enid replied when he had finished his tirade of sanctimonious outrage, ‘Patrick is the rightful heir to the Macintosh estates unless Fiona produces you a son which I think is highly unlikely under the present circumstances.’ She glared at her daughter and Penelope. ‘God has yet to devise a way for two women to create life between them in ways that He has deemed natural between a man and a woman.’

  Penelope’s nails dug into Fiona’s shoulders. The old bitch knew! Penelope was acutely aware that her aunt was staring accusingly at her.

  ‘I have known for a long time,’ Enid said with both bitterness and sadness. ‘Oh, don’t look so shocked. I think I could truly understand how such a thing could eventuate, knowing what I know of your husband Fiona. And knowing Penelope as I do.’

  ‘You only think you know Aunt Enid,’ Penelope retorted. ‘I love Fiona, I always have. And I don’t care if you think what happens between us is unnatural. Love has many forms. But I doubt that you would know any of the human forms of love, dear Aunt Enid.’

  Enid smiled smugly at her niece’s attempt to upset her. No, she was not about to allow any of them to upset her in her moment of victory. She had yet to complete the divisive thrust between the two women. ‘I know you think Fiona loves you, as you say Penelope,’ she replied bitterly. ‘But I think the situation might change between you when my daughter hears what I have to propose.’ Enid looked directly at her daughter. ‘If you are prepared to give up this unnatural relationship you have with your cousin and also leave your husband to move back into my house, I will let you have Patrick.’

  Fiona stared in horror at her mother. How dare she think that she could manipulate people’s lives for the sake of her own twisted interests!

  ‘You can think about what I have proposed Fiona,’ Enid continued calmly. ‘But I expect your answer very soon. At least before I take Patrick with me to England.’

  ‘I think we should leave,’ Granville said quietly. ‘I think you have said enough Enid.’ He turned to call to his daughters but Penelope checked him with a raised hand. His sister had something important to announce.

  Penelope did have something important to say. She realised that she could easily lose the one person she truly loved, as she differentiated her love for Fiona from the passing physical pleasure men provided her. ‘I don’t think Patrick is yours to have Aunt Enid,’ she said with a quiet conviction. ‘I think his father might have something to say about his son’s future.’

  ‘Michael Duffy is dead,’ Granville sniffed contemptuously. But suddenly he felt a cold chill of fear. Michael Duffy was dead! He tried to console himself. Was not his death confirmed so many years past by the newspaper report?

  Penelope turned to her brother. Ignorance was a blessing, and Granville’s blissful ignorance was about to be shattered. ‘Mister Duffy is far from dead,’ she said quietly. ‘As a matter of fact, he is alive, and working for my husband. He is currently in Cooktown and is not aware that he has a son . . . unless I have reason to tell him.’

  Granville felt the chill turn to icy terror. If the Irishman was still alive, then he was in mortal danger. Duffy might come looking for him. ‘You said Duffy is working for the Baron?’ he queried his sister. ‘From this, I presume you mean he is part of the Osprey expedition?’ She nodded. By her acknowledgement she had sealed Duffy’s fate, as far as he was concerned. Thank God for the telegraph! And thank the devil for the loyal services of Morrison Mort. Granville was already mentally drafting the coded orders for the Irishman’s demise.

  ‘It was him!’ Fiona said so softly that only Penelope caught her words. She answered with a gentle squeeze of Fiona’s shoulder as she bent to whisper in her ear, ‘We will talk of the matter later. This is not the place or time.’ It was then that Fiona intuitively knew that her cousin had slept with Michael. How could she betray what they had between them?

  It was Enid’s turn to be shocked. In her carefully plotted plans she had not considered Patrick’s father as a factor to be reckoned with. She had been sure he was dead – as had Granville. She had
no doubt that if Michael Duffy knew he had a son, he would fight to keep him. Everything was crumbling around her. But she fought back desperately like a boxer with one good punch left. ‘I daresay that the Baron would be horrified to learn that his wife is engaged in an unnatural relationship,’ she said smugly.

  ‘Oh, Manfred not only knows about Fiona and I, Aunt Enid,’ Penelope smiled sweetly, ‘he actually enjoys watching Fiona and I make love.’ Her smile became a triumphant smirk as she witnessed the shock on her aunt’s face.

  Had her daughter sunk so far into the depths of depravity! Enid thought as her grand-daughters returned from the shoreline with Patrick in tow, both girls having decided that Patrick was not such a horrid boy after all.

  When Granville scowled at him Patrick felt again the tension his presence seemed to cause. He was confused, and pretended not to notice the obvious expression of hate for him. Why would Uncle Granville hate him when they had only just met? He glanced across to Lady Enid for support and could see that she was upset. Patrick felt very protective towards the grand lady and sensed that Granville had upset her. He also knew that if the man did anything to hurt Lady Enid, he would use his fists to teach the surly man a lesson.

  He instinctively moved to Lady Enid’s side, and she felt a rush of love for the same boy she had once schemed to have disposed of. She had thought of him as nothing more than a social embarrassment to the Macintosh name. Now he was the only person present prepared to stand up for her.

  She reached out to take Patrick’s hand. He liked the soft touch of her hand, but wondered at the impulsive gesture of the woman who, up until now, he had thought was so aloof.