by Peter Watt
Louise’s smile flickered with uncertainty at the mention of their last encounter. They had been lovers until George had threatened to take their son from her, although Sean was not aware of the reason she had broken off the affair.
‘Where is your husband?’ Sean asked, leaning hard on his walking stick.
‘Oh, I daresay he is off plotting another scheme to enrich the Macintosh coffers,’ she answered, glancing around the room.
‘Is it wise for you to be seen speaking with me?’ Sean asked.
‘I cannot think why anyone who knows me would see any scandal in that tonight,’ Louise said softly. ‘After all, when I look around I do not see many other men wearing decorations for bravery. This event is a kind of recognition for those who have sacrificed so much, too much.’ Sean knew that Louise was making reference to his legs, which had been blown off in the trenches by a German artillery round; he was not offended, and it had never worried her in the depths of passion.
‘It’s good to see you looking so well,’ he said as a waiter appeared and Louise took two small flutes of champagne from his tray.
‘Why don’t we sit down for a moment,’ she said, and led him to a table with several free chairs.
Sean was astute enough to notice two matrons putting their heads together behind the fans they waved, to tut-tut about him being seen in the company of Mrs George Macintosh. Sean ignored their snooty looks and sat down beside Louise. For a moment they watched the dancers swirl past in a foxtrot.
Sean took a swig of his champagne. ‘Giselle tells me that she receives a steady stream of news from you in your letters,’ Sean said by way of polite conversation, trying to ignore the desire that was flooding through his body.
‘She and David are coming down for Christmas. I am so looking forward to seeing them. It was George’s idea, oddly enough. I am hoping that this is my husband’s way of mending broken bridges.’
‘It was George’s idea?’ Sean frowned.
Louise did not miss his dark expression. ‘I know that George can be ruthless in his business dealings, but I also think he may be capable of some charity.’
Sean snorted, but before he could say anything the man he hated most in the world appeared at the table, his face full of fury.
‘Louise, you will accompany me back to our guests,’ he said, ignoring Sean.
‘Your wife was just discussing how the proceeds of tonight’s ball should be administered,’ Sean lied. ‘Perhaps she and I might discuss the matter a little longer.’
‘Keep out of this, Duffy,’ George snapped. ‘I will not allow you, a damned cripple, to question my right to command my wife.’
Sean could feel his anger boiling over into rage but this ballroom was no place to start a scene. ‘Commanding is something I know a little about,’ Sean replied icily. ‘But have I never applied the word to women.’
George Macintosh looked Sean up and down, as though weighing him up and then dismissing him as being beneath his attention. ‘I do what I like,’ Duffy,’ he said. ‘You are not playing soldier boy with your men any more. You are in my world now, and I would remind you of that.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Sean countered. ‘If so, I doubt you would be man enough to carry it out yourself. Who will you hire – Detective Inspector Firth? Or will the threat come from some hoodlum you have on your payroll? No matter, Macintosh – I will be ready.’
A silence had fallen around the men as people strained to hear what they were saying.
‘George, I will accompany you back to our table,’ Louise said wearily, rising from her chair. ‘This is no place for grown men to fight.’
Sean did not stop her but continued to fix George’s eyes with his own. ‘I am sorry we did not have the opportunity to finish our conversation,’ he said to Louise, still keeping George’s glare. ‘Another time.’
George took his wife by the wrist and pulled her after him. Sean watched them go, picked up his flute of champagne and turned to those still watching avidly. ‘Cheers,’ he said, raising his glass in a mock toast. They looked away with embarrassment. No doubt the heated exchange would be all the talk in Sydney’s upper-class parlours tomorrow, but Sean did not care.
All he could think about was Louise. How beautiful she was; how much he missed her. Then he remembered that George had suggested she invite Giselle and her son down for Christmas. A leopard does not change its spots, Sean thought. There was something wrong, and George’s words – ‘You are in my world now’ – brought that fear into focus. If Giselle and her son were to come to Sydney they would be in George’s world, and Sean knew how murderous that could be.
Not bothering to excuse himself from the table, he made his way to the exit. He had put in an appearance and given everyone something to talk about, and now it was time to be alone to think. He knew his own life was in danger – because of his connection to Giselle and David. Sean had sworn an oath to Patrick Duffy before he was killed in action that he would protect Alexander’s family. But with Harry still locked up awaiting a bail application, and him with his crippled legs, Sean didn’t think he stood much chance if Macintosh set his hired thugs on him.
Before he left the room he looked back to see Louise watching him with an enigmatic expression. He smiled and nodded his head, and carried the memory of her out into the night.
George refused to speak to Louise on the journey home in the chauffeured limousine, but as soon as they were inside the house he turned on her savagely.
‘How dare you speak with that man?’ he snarled. ‘Do you wish to make me the laughing stock of Sydney?’
Louise brushed past him into the spacious foyer of their palatial home. ‘The servants will hear you, George,’ she hushed.
‘I don’t give a damn if they do,’ George shouted, and Louise could see that he was in a dangerous rage. ‘I explicitly told you that you were to have no contact with him.’
‘I was merely engaging in harmless chitchat,’ Louise replied mildly, trying not to show how frightened she was. ‘It was, after all, an event to raise money for Major Duffy’s comrades who have been wounded as he has.’
George gripped her arm and brought his face close to hers. ‘Do you still hold feelings for him?’
Louise attempted to step away, smelling the alcohol on his breath. ‘No, he is nothing to me now, merely someone I once knew.’
The back-handed blow to her face sent Louise reeling back and smashing against the wall. She could feel that her lip was split and her thoughts spun in a shower of stars. She sank to the floor, tears welling as much from indignation as pain. She struggled to sit up, aware that her husband was now towering over her. Inflicting pain had changed his expression to that of sadistic pleasure.
‘I would not strike me again if I were you,’ Louise said, looking up at him defiantly.
‘I will do what I damn well like to my property,’ George sneered.
‘I can inform you that I am with child again and you might damage your unborn property,’ Louise said, and George’s expression changed. He occasionally forced entry to her bed, to prove his virility more than anything else.
‘How long have you known?’ he asked.
‘A week or two,’ Louise said. ‘But do not think that my pregnancy has made me joyous. I shudder every time I think that I am simply bearing you heirs to this empire built on innocent blood.’
George glared at his wife, then turned around and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. No doubt he was off to visit one of his many mistresses, she thought bitterly. Her life was nothing but a sham; from the outside they looked like the model couple. George could be so charming, but Louise knew that beneath the veneer of good manners lurked a man without a soul. She thought of Sean and his tender love for her, and the tears of pain turned to tears of sorrow. Oh, how she had missed him, but this pregnancy sealed her fate with her husband. She would grow old raising her children and in her latter days remember the strong, courageous and intelligent man who had once loved her s
o passionately. So often she had considered divorce, but she knew that divorce would bring the full weight of George’s wrath down on her head and she would lose her children to him. She could not approach her father for help – he would only remind her of the duties of a wife. She had nowhere to turn, and the only friend she could confide in was a thousand miles north in Queensland.
Louise raised herself from the floor and stumbled to her bedroom. The servants had had the good sense to remain in their quarters. It did not pay to come between a man and his wife – especially if that man was their employer.
That night Louise lay staring up at the dark ceiling of her room. It was cold and she pulled up the thick eiderdown to stave off the chill. At least she would be seeing Giselle and David in a few months; maybe she would be able to talk her best friend into staying in Sydney for a while. Sleep did not come easily but as she slipped into the small death of the night she thought of the baby that she carried in her womb and tried to be glad.
George felt his rage turning to desire as his weary chauffeur drove him to one of the many tenements he owned in the inner city. It was not the worst of areas but it was still squalid and rough.
George made his way to the front door of the double-storeyed house and rapped on the big brass doorknocker. After a few minutes the door was opened to reveal a young woman. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and wore a long, filmy nightdress. Her face was pale but pretty, and her long raven hair flowed over her shoulders.
‘It is you, Mr Macintosh,’ she said, blinking away the sleep from her eyes. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
George pushed past her and immediately reached down to grasp her buttock and squeeze it. She did not attempt to shake him off. ‘It is late and I need to sleep,’ she said.
‘I pay for you and you do what I want,’ George said savagely, taking her by the hand and leading her to the narrow stairs. ‘You know what I want.’
Maude Urqhart let him take her upstairs. Maude had left the slums and her abusive father when she was eleven. She had become an urchin on the hard backstreets of Sydney, where she turned to prostitution to survive. Maude was a streetwise and ambitious young woman who had decided that she wanted more from her life. She’d met the eminent George Macintosh at the brothel and discovered that she could manipulate him by pandering to his perverse needs. It was not long before he proposed to free her from her constant stream of clients and moved her into one of his tenements for his exclusive use. Maude had happily accepted the position of his mistress, and the money he gave her provided freedom from the streets.
Out of curiosity Maude had once travelled across the city to the Macintosh mansion on the harbour. She had stood outside the gates of the big sprawling house with its manicured gardens and had seen a woman exit with a toddler. Maude guessed that the lady with the boy was George’s wife and she felt a surge of jealous anger towards her, not because she was married to George but because she lived in such luxury and had the air of one born to money. Why should this woman have so much and she have so little? Maude wanted those privileges for herself.
After George had sated his lust he rolled over to reach for his suit jacket and take out a cigar.
‘I really enjoyed that,’ Maude lied. ‘I wish we could just lock ourselves in a room and see what else we could get up to.’ George did not answer but sat up in the bed to light his cigar. ‘We could – if I lived with you,’ she continued.
George stiffened. ‘That cannot happen,’ he warned. ‘This arrangement suits us both.’
Maude reached over to touch his face and George pulled back. ‘I love you,’ she said as convincingly as she could. ‘What if you did not have a wife but just me in your life?’
‘But I do have a wife,’ he snorted. ‘And will for a long time.’
‘You and I could live together, and every night would be the best in your life,’ Maude crooned. ‘Don’t I please you and help take away your worries?’
George turned his attention to the girl, and in the dim light he could see that she was in the prime of her life; a beautiful young woman with a depraved mind equal to his own. The idea was tempting, but it could never happen, not with his position in Sydney’s society as a stalwart of family ideals. Maybe he could employ her as a housemaid, he mused. He had done that before, until Louise had insisted that he fire the last one, whom he had made pregnant. She had been a simple country girl with little imagination, and George was secretly pleased to have an excuse to let her go. He did not wonder about the child she was carrying; she could not prove the child was his, and there was no way he would recognise a bastard as his own. Maude, however, was something very different, and he did not want to lose her too soon.
‘If I did not have a wife, you and I could live together,’ he said to placate her, and saw the sudden shining in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the lips, drawing him down to her.
14
Sean Duffy was appalled but not surprised to see what poor physical condition Harry was in when he appeared for a committal hearing in the courthouse. Shackled, he stood with his head bowed, but Sean could see that he had been beaten again. Harry’s wife was crying openly, tears streaming down her face at the sight of her battered husband. Sean turned to her and said quietly, ‘I’ll get him out of here, I promise you.’
She glanced up at Sean and he could see the pain in her eyes.
‘He suffered enough in France,’ she said and Sean knew what she meant.
The magistrate entered the courtroom and all stood respectfully.
Sean had armed himself with every piece of evidence and now presented it with every ounce of his professionalism. The prosecution then rose and called on Detective Inspector Jack Firth to give his evidence.
Sean grilled him savagely, and once or twice was reminded by the magistrate that he should not make insinuations against the police officer. The prosecution’s main witness, Lenny Johnson, failed to appear when called, so in the end the magistrate gave in Harry’s favour, deciding that the prosecution had not established a case to put him on trial before a judge and jury.
Sean walked out onto the steps of the courthouse. Harry’s wife had gone to the petty sessions office to wait for Harry’s release. She’d thanked him over and over, but he knew he would have gone to any lengths to get Harry off; he was a good man and he had been a good soldier. He didn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal.
‘Think you’re smart, eh, Mr Duffy,’ Firth’s voice said from behind him. ‘Smartarses usually come unstuck around me.’
Sean turned to see the police officer glowering at him. ‘You and I know that your star witness did the killing and I just wonder why he failed to appear today.’
‘Lenny Johnson,’ Jack Firth reflected. ‘He and I will sort that out later, but in the meantime I would watch yourself. Never know about a bad accident happening to a man as disabled as yourself, do we.’
Sean controlled his anger, remembering the time when the policeman had deliberately pushed him under a steam train at Central Station, fleeing before any action could be taken to apprehend him. Sean had only survived thanks to Harry but had known that it would be a waste of time bringing the matter to other police as the detective inspector was feared by those of his colleagues who weren’t bent, and admired by those who were. ‘I heard that a certain file found its way into the hands of the inspector general recently,’ Sean retorted. ‘It must have caused you a few sleepless nights.’
Firth blinked. ‘And the same file has now disappeared,’ he replied with a smirk. ‘Any sleep lost has been compensated for by a friend.’
‘If you are depending on George Macintosh’s support in the future, I would think twice about that,’ Sean said. ‘The second you are of no use to him he will throw you to the wolves.’
‘Did I say anything about Mr Macintosh?’ Firth responded. ‘I think you have things confused. Must have been all that shellshock you blokes sob about like little girls when you come back from a b
it of fighting.’
At the slur Sean felt his rage rising in a way that brought murder to mind. But he also sensed that Firth was deliberately goading him to do something rash. Sean was trembling violently now and he could not control it; he knew it was linked to shellshock but he did not know how or why.
‘Look at you,’ Firth sneered. ‘You’re trembling like a scared little girl already.’
Sean gripped the walking stick hard and wished he could sit down and bring his shaking under control, but to do so would only satisfy Firth’s sense of victory over him. This fight was with words and so far Firth was winning.
‘You never had the guts to enlist, did you, Firth?’ Harry appeared on the courthouse steps, his wife beside him. ‘I heard what you said to Major Duffy. I would have loved to have you with us in the trenches to see you soil your pants when the shelling started.’
‘You two’ll keep,’ Firth said with a shrug, and sauntered away.
Harry’s wife stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Sean’s trembling shoulder. ‘It will be all right, Major Duffy,’ she said quietly. ‘You saved my Harry from the hangman today.’
Sean gave a weak smile.
‘Luv, you go home and prepare dinner,’ Harry said, stepping in. ‘Me and the major are going to have a beer or two to celebrate.’
Harry’s wife glanced at her husband and this time she did not remonstrate with him. There were times when a man needed to drink, and she obviously reckoned today was one of those days.
‘C’mon, boss,’ said Harry, helping Sean down the street. ‘Let’s go get rolling drunk.’
Lenny held the curtains apart and stared out onto the narrow street below. He knew that the court hearing was probably over, and that Firth would be looking for him.
He let the curtains fall back and reached for the bottle of whisky he had brought with him. It had been fortunate that Lenny had remembered his half-sister’s address, finding her place without much difficulty. He hadn’t seen Maude Urqhart for years, and hadn’t she grown into a lovely thing. He took another swig from the bottle.
