Murder Unmentioned (9781921997440)

by Gentill, Sulari

  Rowland said nothing. He hoped his brother was right. Oaklea was vast—how far could a six-year-old and his nanny possibly have walked by themselves?

  “Perhaps one of them has been hurt… a snake…” Wilfred stopped. “Dear God.”

  Rowland pressed his brother’s shoulder. “Come on, Wil, we’ll join the search.”

  Outside Harry Simpson was already organising teams to scour the property in every direction. Rowland spotted Jack Templeton—he looked white and shaken.

  “She wouldn’t have gone far, Mr. Sinclair,” he said. “Mrs. Sinclair had given her the afternoon off. We were going to the flicks in Yass just as soon as I got through with planting the elm trees.”

  “When did you last see her, Templeton?”

  “This morning. She was speaking to Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Wil?”

  “No, the other one.”

  Rowland thanked him, already striding back to Wilfred who was standing over maps, barking orders and directing men.

  He told his brother what he’d ascertained from Templeton. “Where did Arthur and Lucy go from here, Wil?”

  “I don’t know,” Wilfred said angrily. “Sydney I presume, though they may have stopped in Yass for lunch.” He started towards the house, motioning for his brother to follow. “Rowly would you telephone the police again—see if they can find them.” He paused as they stepped through the front door, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going up to advise Kate,” he said slowly. “All these people here… she’ll sense something.” He faltered. “Would you mind asking Miss Higgins to stay with Kate?”

  Rowland nodded, unnerved by his brother’s fear. He had never seen Wilfred afraid.

  Once he’d spoken to the police, Rowland ran upstairs to find Edna. She was waiting outside Kate’s bedroom with Ewan, while Wilfred broke the news to his wife. Edna threw herself into Rowland’s arms. Ewan protested as he was squashed between them.

  “Sorry mate,” Rowland said, taking his godson from the sculptress. He put one arm around Edna and told her more completely what was happening.

  She looked up at him in horror. “Oh, Rowly, how could this happen?”

  “I don’t know, Ed. Oaklea’s an extensive property and there are still a few uncleared patches and gullies. I wandered off when I was younger than Ernie. I’m told it took nearly six hours to find me.”

  “But Miss de Waring is with him.”

  “I hope she is. Perhaps he wandered off and she’s looking for him.” Rowland watched vaguely as Ewan played with his tiepin. “They can’t have just vanished.”

  Edna glanced at the closed door behind which Wilfred was telling his wife that their eldest son was missing. “Poor Kate. She’s already so upset about Lucy.” The sculptress wiped her eyes and kissed Ewan’s chubby hand. “We’ll have to look after your mummy, won’t we darling?”

  “Thank you, Ed. You’re a brick.”

  “Rowly, why don’t you take Doris up over Oaklea? You might see something from the air.”

  “That’s a capital idea, Ed,” he said. “Ernie can’t see a plane without waving like a lunatic.” Grateful to have something he could do, he smiled and kissed the sculptress on the forehead.

  Wilfred cleared his throat as he stepped out of the bedroom. He looked haggard, desperate.

  Edna took Ewan from Rowland. She paused at the door, placing her hand gently on Wilfred’s arm. He seemed startled. “I’ll stay with Kate, Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Yes, thank you, Miss Higgins. The doctor will be here shortly.”

  Rowland told Wilfred of Edna’s suggestion as they descended the stairs.

  Wilfred checked his pocket watch. “We have a couple of hours before sunset. I’ll go up with you. I can look while you fly the plane.”

  Rowland didn’t argue, concluding that Wilfred needed to do something practical as much as he did.

  Outside, Rowland looked for Clyde but it seemed he’d departed with a hastily recruited search party led by Harry Simpson. He spotted Jack Templeton who had just returned from an unsuccessful search with Bob Bowman’s group and beckoned him over.

  “Look, Templeton, Wil and I are going to take the plane up, see if we can spot them. Would you give me a hand, pull away the chocks, that sort of thing?”

  “Of course, Mr. Sinclair. Anything to help. I can’t believe they’ve just vanished.” The young gardener choked on his words. He looked wretched.

  “Thank you, Jack,” Rowland said. “We’ll find them, we’ll find them both.”

  Rowland parked the Mercedes outside the shed and opened the doors. Wilfred and Templeton followed him in. He climbed onto the wing, rummaging in the cockpit for the second cap and goggles. “There’s a pair of binoculars in the car. It might be a good idea to take them,” he said, reaching into the passenger compartment.

  “Hey, we still need to get the plane out,” he called as he heard the doors swing shut, darkening the shed’s interior.

  “Rowly.” Wilfred’s voice.

  Rowland turned. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the diminished light inside the now closed shed.

  “Don’t move, Rowland. Not an inch.”

  Templeton’s voice… but different—angry, confident. The gardener had one hand on the back of Wilfred’s collar, the other held the revolver he pressed against Wilfred’s skull.

  “What the hell—?”

  “Come down from there, slowly now, ’cos believe me I’d be quite happy to shoot your bastard of a brother.”

  “Come on, Jack, steady…” Rowland did as the gardener asked, his mind working frantically to understand what was going on.

  Templeton motioned him over to the Caterpillar. “You’ll find a rope on the seat. Give it to Mr. Sinclair here.”

  Again Rowland had no other choice but to do as he was told.

  Templeton pushed Wilfred forward. “Now tie Rowland to that post over there. Either one of you tries anything and I’ll shoot you both, I swear.”

  “What do you want, Templeton?” Wilfred asked as he bound Rowland to the post. He tied the knots securely, but carefully ensured there was just a little give in the bonds.

  Templeton waited till he finished, and then with the gun trained on Wilfred, he stepped behind the post to test the knots. He noticed the slight slackness. The gardener didn’t hesitate, stepping back suddenly and shooting Rowland in the upper arm. The bullet chipped the post after tearing through Rowland’s flesh.

  Both Sinclairs swore, Rowland in pain and Wilfred in horror. Instinctively Rowland struggled against the rope. His arm was on fire but he could still move his hand. Desperately he tried to loosen the bonds while the chance existed. It did not exist for long enough.

  “Let’s try again, Mr. Sinclair. If you don’t tie him up properly this time I’ll be forced to immobilise him by other means.” Templeton pointed the revolver at Rowland’s head.

  Having evidence that Templeton would carry out his threat, Wilfred tightened the bonds. Rowland cursed as his arm was pulled back. “I’m sorry, Rowly,” Wilfred said quietly. Then to Templeton, “He’s bleeding, he needs a doctor.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Jack Templeton said firmly. “Now you.”

  “I can’t tie myself up, you idiot,” Wilfred said, taking out his handkerchief and clamping it against the bloody wound on Rowland’s arm. Removing his own tie, Wilfred used it to bind the handkerchief in place.

  Templeton moved towards the Caterpillar. “Before you decide to be heroic, Mr. Sinclair, you may wish to remember that your brother cannot run or duck and I’m a pretty good shot.” He kicked out a bag stashed behind the tractor and without taking his eyes from Wilfred or his gun from Rowland, extracted a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around, Mr. Sinclair, and put your hands behind your back.”

  Wilfred didn’t move.

  “I could just shoot out your kneecaps,” Templeton said, aiming the gun accordingly.

  “Wil,” Rowland said. “Do what he wants.”

&
nbsp; Slowly, Wilfred turned and placed his hands behind him.

  Templeton pressed the muzzle of the gun on Wilfred’s neck and secured the handcuffs. With both Sinclairs now restrained, he seemed to relax slightly. He shoved Wilfred back against the post to which Rowland was tied and forced him onto his knees.

  “What do you want, Templeton?” Rowland asked this time. The initial shock of pain was settling and he was focussing again.

  “You don’t remember me at all do you, Rowland?” Templeton stepped up to him.

  “Should I?”

  “I used to live here, was born here, in fact. We even played together once or twice before your father forbade it.”

  Rowland said nothing.

  “Of course, why would you remember me? I was one of the workers’ kids. Not good enough for you uppity Sinclairs to remember or even think about!”

  Rowland stared at him, trying to force some sort of recognition… and then it came. More a guess than a realisation. “You’re one of Charlie Hayden’s boys!”

  34

  AID FOR ORPHANAGES

  Mr. E.A. McTiernan (Attorney-General), speaking at Parramatta, said that £50,000 had been placed upon the Estimates in order that a due payment might be made by the State for each child succoured by the orphanages throughout the State, whether by being made an inmate of some orphanage, like that at Baulkham Hills, or by being boarded out. If it was right that in the latter case the guardian of the child should be reimbursed by the State, it was equally right that the sisters of the orphanages should be reimbursed by the State on similar lines for the care of the orphans they rescued from unfavourable and dangerous conditions, and placed safely on the road to honourable manhood. Whilst this was done, it was trusted that the spring of private charity now flowing to the benefit of the orphanages would not dry up.

  The Sydney Morning Herald, 1922

  The man who called himself Jack Templeton smiled. “Yes. Charlie was my dear old dad.”

  Rowland winced. “I didn’t kill your father.”

  “I know, I finished the bastard myself.”

  Both Rowland and Wilfred stared at him. Templeton seemed to relish their bewilderment, their attention.

  “I’d just tracked Charlie to Queensland, drinking himself to death in Toowoomba,” he said, “when suddenly, he takes off! The old soaks who drank with him reckoned he’d come into some money.” Templeton sneered. “I wasn’t going to let the old mongrel get away from me, so I followed. Could have knocked me dead when I realised he’d come back to Yass. And then, I heard Miss Walling was looking for some men to help with Lord Wilfred’s fancy gardens.”

  “He recognised you?” Rowland asked, remembering that Hayden had waited on the verandah for Kate with a full view of the gardens in which Edna Walling and her men were working.

  “Oh yes. Wanted me to help him extort a little something extra from you Sinclairs. When I refused, the drunken fool thought he might be able to persuade me with a thrashing. But I’m not a boy anymore.”

  “If you know we had nothing to do with your father’s death, what the hell are you doing?” Wilfred demanded. “My God man, I don’t have time for this—I have to find my son!”

  “My issue, Mr. Sinclair, is with you—what you did.”

  “What I… because I sacked your father?”

  “You did more than sack him, Mr. Sinclair, you destroyed him, you exiled him, and in the process you destroyed his family, my family.” Templeton pushed the revolver muzzle up under Wilfred’s chin. “My old man wasn’t such a bad bloke until your bloody father instructed him to flog Rowland here. Then dad decided that if it was good enough for the Sinclairs, his own boys could probably benefit from having the living dickens belted out of them. But you never thought about that, did you?”

  “How the devil was he supposed to know?” Rowland said in his brother’s defence. “He didn’t even know about what was happening to me.”

  “Yes, but once he found out, he sorted it, didn’t he? Whichever one of you killed old Henry, life got much better for you after that, didn’t it, Rowland? But it got a helluva lot worse for us! We lost everything!”

  “What did you expect me to do?” Wilfred said, meeting Templeton’s eye. “There are still scars on Rowly’s back from what your father did that night. Did you really expect me to keep him on?”

  “No, I would have thanked you if you’d shot him along with your own father. But you didn’t, did you? You punished all of us. We were destitute. My mother took her own life. My brother and I went to an orphanage. We didn’t think life could get any worse, but it did. It did. And neither of you ever even wondered what had happened to Charlie Hayden’s lads.”

  Rowland tried to reason with him. “Look, Templeton, we didn’t know. Perhaps we should have thought about you but it was a helluva time and we were doing the best we could…”

  “It was me who sacked your father,” Wilfred said. “That was all me. It was nothing to do with Rowly, or my son.”

  Templeton laughed. “What my father did was nothing to do with me either, but I paid for it.”

  “For God’s sake, Templeton, he’s a little boy!” Rowland pleaded.

  “You don’t deserve to be a father, Sinclair!” Templeton spat at Wilfred. “In the end you’re the same man your father was. How many times have you belted that poor kid?”

  Wilfred pulled back, stunned by the thought.

  “Jack,” Rowland said, seeing hope in the accusation—Templeton was ironically trying to protect Ernest on some level. “Wil’s never laid a hand on the boys… not to hurt them.”

  “How would you know?” Templeton retorted. “He claims not to have known what was happening to you. Maybe you’re as oblivious as he was.”

  “What do you want, Templeton?” Wilfred asked. His voice was strained, unsteady. “If it’s money, I’ll give you whatever you want—name your price, just, for God’s sake, give me back my son.”

  “Can’t do that. I’m not stupid, Mr. Sinclair. I know this isn’t going to end well for me. Afraid it’s not going to end well for you either.” He poked Wilfred with the barrel of the revolver. “I was just going to stick around and enjoy watching you grieve, like I grieved for my mother. Don’t even know where they buried her. A pauper’s grave somewhere I expect—a stark contrast to the marble monument you erected for your father. I thought it would be fitting to watch you with no grave to mourn. But somehow, I don’t think taking your son will be enough. I’ll have to shoot you.”

  “What have you done with Ernest?” Rowland demanded as he watched his brother turn grey with grief and terror. “I know you haven’t hurt him, Jack. You liked him, he liked you!” Rowland was speaking as much to Wilfred as their captor.

  “I did like him, but you’re wrong.”

  Rowland struggled against the urgency of his own anguish, stemming it with denial and a desperation to save his brother.

  Jack Templeton took aim at the back of Wilfred’s head.

  Wilfred barely moved, defeated by the loss of his son.

  Rowland shouted, straining against the rope, ignoring the physical pain as he threatened and begged. “Stop, Jack, please! I can fly you out of here. Kate—Mrs. Sinclair’s about to have a baby… for pity’s sake, man!”

  Templeton turned on him. “Shut up!” he screamed. “Shut the hell up. I can’t think!”

  “I can fly you to Queensland. You’ll have such a head start they’ll never find you! Just stop.”

  Templeton aimed at Wilfred again, but he hesitated. “What about your arm?” he said.

  “I’m all right,” Rowland replied, seeing Templeton’s resolve weaken. “I can fly.”

  Templeton took a knife from his belt and cut the ropes binding Rowland. “Get the plane ready. Try anything and I’ll kill your brother.”

  Pushing the Gipsy Moth out of the shed by himself proved to be a challenge. Rowland didn’t think he was badly wounded, but moving his arm was painful. He’d hoped that, out of frustration or impatience,
Templeton might be tempted to help, to let down his guard and point the gun away from Wilfred. Instead the gardener secured Wilfred to the post while Rowland used the Caterpillar to pull the plane out.

  Eventually the Rule Britannia was ready and waiting on the flat of the paddock outside, but still in view of the shed. Rowland climbed up onto the fuselage to switch on the fuel lines. Templeton backed out of the shed and clambered into the second cockpit, the revolver now aimed directly at Rowland.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded as Rowland moved to jump off.

  “I have to swing the propeller to start the engine or we are not going anywhere.”

  “Remember that I’ve got the gun. Try anything and I’ll get out of the plane and shoot your brother.”

  “Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  From his elevated position on the fuselage, Rowland had caught sight of the convoy in the distance. He dropped onto the ground before Templeton saw it too. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wilfred struggling against the ropes. Determined to keep Templeton in the biplane, he spun the propeller.

  Now Jack Templeton saw the vehicles hurtling down the farm lane to Emoh Ruo. “Get in!” he shouted. “Get in and fly this bloody contraption!”

  Rowland declined in terms that were profane and certain. He ducked, ready for the shot this time. A second shot splintered the propeller blade. He moved under the fuselage.

  The motorcars reached the gate. Templeton launched himself out of the cockpit and ran for the shed. Rowland went after him, charging him to the ground just short of the doors. They grappled for the gun. Rowland slammed Templeton’s hand to the ground as the gardener pulled the trigger.

  Rowland wasn’t sure where that bullet went, nor the next. Pinning Templeton, he forced open the gardener’s hand and disarmed him. And then he punched him, repeatedly.

  It was Clyde who pulled Rowland off.

  “What have you done with him, you bastard?” Rowland was desperate. “What the hell have you done with Ernie?”