Settling the Account (36 page)

‘It’ll be a different building when you men
have finished with it. I think that’s very good of you, making time
to do that.’

‘Well, just about half the kids in the place
are mine,’ Frank said, with a touch of exaggeration but with
understandable pride. ‘Don’t want my kids trying to learn their
lessons in an old shack like that.’

He grinned, then glanced almost shyly at Mrs
Coulson. ‘I’ve had some good times at that school,’ he said,
looking like a boy caught in some harmless mischief.

‘Really? Did you enjoy your schooldays a
lot?’

‘No, I wasn’t much good at school. I only
went for a couple of years, anyway. No, I was thinking about other
times… one time specially.’

His grin was infectious, and Mrs Coulson
felt herself smiling in response. ‘And what time was that, Mr
Kelly?’ she prompted.

‘They used to have dances there, when there
were a whole lot of us around the dancing sort of age. I took
Lizzie to one—no, I didn’t really, Bill brought her—anyway, Lizzie
and me…’ another shy grin, ‘that was when we started courting
properly.’

‘I see. No wonder you’re so fond of the
place, then. Was there rather a lot of that going on at this
dance?’

‘I suppose there was. I didn’t take much
notice of anyone but Lizzie. Let’s see, who was there? I don’t
think Sophie was, her and John got together later. And of course
Lily didn’t turn up till years after that—her and Bill were all
Lizzie’s doing, anyway. I’ve an idea Jane was, though—yes, that’s
when her and Harry met, I think.’ He screwed up his face in
thought. ‘Oh, I can’t remember—seems like everyone was there. Even
Charlie turned up, goodness knows why. I remember he shoved past me
and Lizzie when he got there, he must have been in a hurry for the
beer. He sure wasn’t there for the dancing.’

Frank grinned sheepishly. ‘Not that I can
talk. I was a dead loss at it, Lizzie’s feet must’ve been covered
with bruises by the time I’d finished with her. There was hardly
room to dance, anyway, but some of the others managed all right. I
remember seeing Harry dancing with Jane, and of course Amy and
Jimmy were…’

He stopped abruptly, and suddenly seemed
intensely interested in the biscuit on his saucer. Mrs Coulson let
the silence rest between them for several long moments before she
asked in a voice of studied casualness, ‘Who’s Jimmy?’

Frank examined the fascinating biscuit more
closely. ‘Oh, he was just a bloke who came and stayed at Jack’s
place that summer.’ If that was an attempt at sounding indifferent,
Mrs Coulson thought, then Frank Kelly was an extremely bad
actor.

He offered a scrap more. ‘He was Susannah
Leith’s brother, that’s why he went to stay with them. He was
younger than her, though—about the same age as me, I think.’

If she had not been so eager to disprove her
dark conjectures, Mrs Coulson might have told herself that it was
none of her business; that she must not pry. Instead she went on
probing, gently but relentlessly. ‘And they had something of a
romance, did they? This brother of Mrs Leith’s, and young Amy
Leith?’

She heard Frank’s feet scuffing against the
boards of the verandah. ‘Something like that. It didn’t come to
anything.’ He shot a guilty glance at the nurse, and Mrs Coulson
decided that Frank was as bad a liar as he was an actor. ‘Well, he
went away at the end of the summer. It didn’t come to anything
good, anyway.’

‘I see,’ Mrs Coulson said, and indeed she
did. ‘I imagine Miss Leith was rather upset about it all.’

‘Yes, I… I think she was. I didn’t see much
of her around then.’

Mrs Coulson could see an inward struggle
reflected in Frank’s face; debating whether or not to say more, she
guessed.

‘We… we don’t really talk about that stuff
much,’ he said at last. ‘About Jimmy and all that. I mean… well, it
was a long time ago, and…’

He looked at Mrs Coulson with a troubled
expression; she sensed he was trying to decide how much she knew or
had guessed. ‘It’s Charlie, really. Amy’s had a lot to put up with
over the years, and he’s grumpy enough without people bringing up
all that old stuff. It’s better not to talk about it.’

‘I’ll say nothing outside this house,’ Mrs
Coulson assured him. She slumped back in her chair as a wave of
relief washed over her.

So that young rogue had lured Amy into
wrongdoing, then somehow managed to get away before his guilt had
been discovered. It was a shameful deed, but not as uncommon as
people liked to pretend. Mrs Coulson had delivered too many
supposedly seven-months babies to believe that all brides went to
the altar as virgins, and not all fathers managed to make
sons-in-law out of their daughters’ deflowerers. She had been young
and in love herself once, though it seemed more than a lifetime
ago; she knew what it was to feel temptation. It might be sinful,
but it was natural. She no longer had to imagine what was so
hideously unnatural: the idea of a father making his daughter do
service as a wife.

She considered the whole story as
dispassionately as she could, picturing each of the main characters
in her mind. ‘Mrs Leith’s brother, eh? And it all came to nothing.
I wonder why. Wasn’t young Amy good enough for him?’

Frank’s face set into an expression sterner
than she would have thought him capable of. ‘Maybe he thought she
wasn’t. He was pretty fond of himself, I think. I tell you what,
though—he was wrong about that. She was too good for him. Much too
good.’

May – August 1901

Amy had taken a mild pleasure in the beauty
of the day, drinking in the sense of calm that came from the
smoothness of the distant sea and the stillness of the air. After
the wild weather of a few days before, the contrast could not help
but lift her spirits.

Even Charlie seemed not entirely unaffected
by the improved weather; certainly he seemed a little less
impatient with the boys than usual. Amy allowed herself to hope
that perhaps the worst was over between Charlie and Malcolm.

It was only when a storm of another kind
broke that Amy discovered just how ill-founded her optimism had
been.

The family were sitting down to morning tea.
Amy knew it was too much to hope that Charlie and Malcolm might
have a civil conversation, but she was heartened that at least they
were not actively annoying each other. The noise of hoofbeats
coming up the track took them all by surprise. Charlie scowled at
the sound.

‘One of your bloody relations coming poking
their nose in here again,’ he grumbled, but Amy shook her head.

‘I shouldn’t think so. John and Harry don’t
ride over here, it’s just as fast to walk, and it won’t be Lizzie,
she’s not up and about yet. It might be someone to see you.’

Amy went to the back door to see who their
visitor might be, but Charlie pushed past to get outside first. He
shaded his eyes as he looked down the track to where a man on a
large, black horse was riding towards them. ‘What’s that bloody
policeman want?’ Charlie muttered under his breath, but as soon as
Amy caught sight of the tall figure she was sure she knew just why
Sergeant Riley had ridden all the way out from town. Or at least
who he had come to see.

It’s Mal. What on earth has that boy got up
to now?

Sergeant Riley dismounted and tied the reins
to the nearest fence. ‘Morning, Stewart,’ he said curtly. ‘How’d’ye
do, Mrs Stewart,’ he added, tilting his hat in Amy’s direction.

‘What can I do for you?’ Charlie asked, not
bothering to hide his irritation at the unwelcome visit.

‘It’s not you I’m wanting to talk to,
Stewart. It’s that son of yours. And there’s the boy now.’

Amy turned to see Malcolm and David peering
out the back door.

‘Malcolm Stewart, you come out here,’ the
policeman boomed. ‘I want a word with you, boy.’

For a moment Malcolm looked as though he
were considering escape, but he seemed to think better of the idea.
He walked towards the waiting adults, the hint of a swagger in his
gait given the lie by the nervous glances he shot in his father’s
direction. David crept along in his wake, but no one had eyes for
the younger boy.

‘What’s my boy got to do with you?’ Charlie
demanded.

Sergeant Riley ignored him, fixing his
steely glare on the edgy Malcolm.

‘What do you know about this business with
the minister, boy?’ he asked.

Malcolm frowned in a confusion that Amy was
sure was unfeigned. ‘Dunno what you’re talking about.’

‘What’s happened to Reverend Simons?’ Amy
asked.

‘Haven’t you heard?’

Amy shook her head. ‘I haven’t been out of
the house for days, except going to Mrs Kelly’s.’

Charlie cleared his throat. ‘I heard someone
rattling on about that down at the factory the other day. Had his
house broken into, didn’t he? Got roughed up a bit, too, I
heard.’

‘Nasty business,’ Sergeant Riley said. ‘You
know the poor fellow’s been as good as bedridden with the
rheumatism these last few months?’

Amy nodded. Reverend Simons’ age had begun
resting heavily on him over the last year, and it was now all he
could do to struggle to church once a month to take a communion
service. She had missed his fiery sermons, though she knew that
Charlie regarded the minister’s affliction as something akin to
divine retribution for having preached such foolish doctrine.

‘Well, it seems a bunch of young ruffians
decided to turn his place over for him. They got in there the other
night and found his strongbox—there was little enough in it, from
what I can make out, but they helped themselves to it. They must
have thought the old fellow wouldn’t put up much of a fight even if
he did wake up. They were wrong about that,’ he said with
satisfaction. ‘Simons wasn’t too bad at all with the rheumatics
that night, and he heard the hooligans. He knocked one of them down
with a poker and gave another one a good clout with it before they
got it off him. Must have been four or five of them, by all
accounts.’

‘Is he all right?’ Amy asked anxiously.

‘It was touch and go for a couple of days
there. He couldn’t speak till last night, that’s the first chance
I’ve had to get the full story out of him. Doctor says he’ll be all
right now, though you wouldn’t have thought so the other day. Those
young thugs kicked him till he was black and blue, and he had a
lump on his head the size of a duck’s egg when Mrs Finch went in to
do his bit of cleaning the next morning. He’d spent the night lying
on the passage floor, and a powerful cold night it was, too. Mrs
Finch thought it was a corpse she’d found. He’s a tough old fellow,
that one.’

‘Poor Reverend Simons,’ Amy said.

‘That’s all very well,’ Charlie cut in, ‘but
what’s it to do with us?’

‘That’s what I intend to find out,’ Sergeant
Riley said grimly. He turned back to Malcolm. ‘Well, boy? What have
you got to say for yourself?’

‘I didn’t—I wasn’t—you don’t—’ For a few
moments Malcolm could not manage a coherent sentence. ‘I don’t know
nothing about it. I wasn’t there. I didn’t know anyone did that.
And anyway, I wouldn’t beat up some sick old man,’ he finished on a
defiant note.

That, at least, Amy was prepared to believe.
Whatever other mischief Malcolm might be capable of, she had never
seen any hint of bully in him. Malcolm was much more likely to take
on an opponent far too strong for him, most notably his father,
than to pick on a weak one.

‘No?’ Sergeant Riley said sceptically. ‘It’d
be the first piece of trouble you weren’t mixed up in for a good
while, lad.’

‘You want to watch what you’re saying,
Riley,’ Charlie said. ‘My boy’s never been near the minister’s
place. He’d never have had the chance, even if he was inclined to.
I don’t allow my boys out at night,’ he finished on a
self-satisfied note that made Amy cringe, given what she suspected
would come next. ‘I sometimes let the boy go out of a Saturday
afternoon if he’s done his work properly, but I keep my sons home
of an evening.’

Sergeant Riley stared at Charlie in blank
disbelief for a moment, then looked from Malcolm to his father in
growing amusement.

‘You young rascal,’ he said, forgetting to
look stern for the moment. ‘Been pulling the wool over your
father’s eyes, eh?’ He faced Charlie with a challenging air. ‘Keep
them home of an evening, do you? I tell you what, Stewart, if this
son of yours has been staying home at night he must have a twin out
there somewhere. I’ve boxed that boy’s ears more times than you’ve
had hot dinners when I’ve caught him playing up in town—given him a
few good kicks in the backside, too. Begging your pardon, Ma’am,’
he added, touching his hat in Amy’s direction.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Charlie said, still bewildered rather than angry.

‘I’m talking about this larrikin son of
yours, you great fool. When there’s a window broken, or stones
thrown on someone’s roof, or a fight in the street, Malcolm
Stewart’s never far away. And it can’t have been more than a
fortnight since I told him the next time I catch him doing furious
riding in the town I’ll put him in the lockup overnight.’

‘He couldn’t—I don’t—’ Charlie spluttered
briefly, then subsided into silent confusion. He stared at Malcolm
with his mouth hanging open in utter perplexity.

‘Well, lad?’ Sergeant Riley said, all
amusement gone from his voice. ‘You want to tell your father what
you’ve been up to? What about that fight you were in last month
outside the Royal, when someone said those ruffians from Tauranga
had knocked around one of the wh… ah, one of the women from the
hotel? Though it’s not a fit story for a lady’s ears, so you’d
maybe better not tell it in front of your mother. And what about
when I caught you jumping that horse of yours over my fence? Horse
must be as mad as you are—that fence is damned near six feet high.
He cleared it, too,’ he added with grudging admiration. ‘Only fell
off trying to get back over it again. I took my belt off to him
when I caught him—I bet you were pretty sore riding home after
that.’