To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (25 page)

With expert hands he examined Fenella, ascertaining quickly the source of her distress. It had not been the first time on the ship that he had attended to miscarriages. ‘You are losing your baby,’ he said, opening his black bag to retrieve what he needed. ‘I am sorry. Where is your husband?’

Fenella did not answer and the doctor did not ask any further questions. He understood that his patient was unwed and probably wealthy, using the voyage to America to avoid a family scandal.

Standing outside the cabin with a gentle breeze in his face, Sean Duffy experienced a flood of emotions. He had spent over a week in the young woman’s company and had convinced himself that he was falling in love with her. He had not once suspected that she was ill and wondered at the reason for her serious haemorrhage. It did not occur to him that she might be pregnant.

The doctor stepped out onto the deck with his black bag and a bloody towel with something wrapped in it. ‘Are you a friend of Miss Owens?’ he asked.

‘We have known each other for a little over a week,’ Sean answered. ‘I would like to consider myself as a friend on this voyage.’

‘Miss Owens will require bed rest for a couple of days,’ he said.

‘Am I able to speak with her now?’ Sean asked.

The doctor’s expression reflected his hesitation. ‘I have given her a strong sedative,’ he finally replied. ‘It might be best that you attempt to speak with her in the morning.’

‘Thank you, doctor,’ Sean replied. Sean stood for a moment trying to take in what had happened. When he
saw the bloody bundle in the doctor’s hand it dawned on him what he had witnessed. But he was at a loss as to what to think about the situation.

Closer to Rabaul the
Osprey II
altered course for its destination into German territorial waters. On the bridge the ship’s captain, Ernest Delamore, scowled at the instructions given to him by young Alexander Macintosh. Although he had not been privy to the actual mission of the Macintosh ship he sensed that trade was not the priority as he had been briefed in Sydney. The mysterious crates in the ship’s hold were carefully guarded by his three passengers but it had been his chief engineer who had volunteered what he thought they contained.

‘I think the laddies have one of those flying machines stowed away,’ Jock McLeod had said over a cup of coffee on the bridge. ‘Dinna know why they would be carrying an aeroplane on this trip when we will be needing the space for copra.’

The ship was now to anchor off a beach identified on the charts by Alex Macintosh but the captain did not like the look of the alteration at all. Changing from their original course along the east side of the German island to the west side stank of nefarious practices. But he was subordinate to the ship’s owner, Patrick Duffy, and had no choice but to accept the orders.

Alex joined Bob Houston and Matthew Duffy at the bow of the ship as it chopped into a deep trough before punching through a wave. Fine spray swept over the three men.

‘It’s done,’ Alex said above the hiss of the spray swirling around them under the grey skies above.

‘So we take the Germans by surprise,’ Matthew said. ‘Are you going to cable the colonel of our change of course?’

‘I can’t do that,’ Alex replied. ‘If there is a breach of security close to us it is better that only we three know of the final plan.’

‘I don’t like the sound of the word final,’ Bob said. ‘Maybe alternative plan is a better choice.’

Matthew smiled. ‘I’m with you on that, Bob,’ he said, slapping the New Zealander on the back. ‘So, who goes on to Rabaul with the ship?’

‘We all will,’ Alex replied. ‘The German authorities will probably be waiting for us on the other side of the island with their navy if what we know about being compromised is correct. Instead, we will turn up in the harbour as innocent traders and any search of the ship will find no trace of our cargo. We will stay a couple of days and then depart. Needless to say, that should convince the Germans the information they have been fed is completely erroneous and they will stand down their operations to intercept us.’

‘Sounds good,’ Bob said, frowning. ‘But where do we dump the aeroplane?’

For the first time in days, Alex broke into a broad smile. ‘That, gentlemen,’ he trumpeted, ‘is all under control. You are about to meet the woman who will one day be my wife.’

Startled, Matthew looked sharply at his cousin. Had he gone mad? ‘You do not mean that young lady you met on her father’s plantation up the coast from here?’

‘Yes,’ Alex answered. ‘Miss Giselle Schumann.’

‘But she is German!’ Matthew exclaimed. ‘Why do you think she and her family will help us?’

Alex bit his lip. He did not know but this was the only chance he could see in carrying out his mission to reconnoitre the German territory he had been assigned. He
understood how important it was to military planning to know what lay ahead of any beach landing. ‘I think that I might be able to persuade her to help us,’ he said, ignoring the expressions of doubt on the other men’s faces. He prayed that he was right; it was the only option he had short of a suicidal mission.

Despite his promise to John Hughes to question George, Patrick Duffy had avoided confronting his eldest son with any questions concerning the security breach. He had convinced himself that his eldest son had no way of learning anything about the covert operation. John Hughes had to be wrong and should be exploring other possible sources, Patrick thought as he thumbed through the newspaper before him on the breakfast table. Outside the French windows the heavy rain pounded with a steady beat.

‘Master Macintosh is here, Colonel,’ Angus MacDonald announced from the doorway.

‘Send him in,’ Patrick said, closing the newspaper.

‘Father,’ George greeted, shaking off the cold as he entered the room. ‘I have come to remind you that we have a meeting with the board of directors before noon.’

Patrick had forgotten many of his business commitments which had been sidelined in favour of his duties as commanding officer of the city’s infantry regiment. ‘Thank you, George,’ he said and watched as his son poured himself a cup of tea and took a seat at the end of the highly polished table.

‘It seems that we have lost contact with the
Osprey II
,’ George said, sipping the lukewarm tea. ‘I was wondering if you could cast some light on the matter?’

Patrick looked sharply at his eldest son. ‘Why is that of
any interest to you?’ he asked. ‘You know the radios on our ships have a limited range. No doubt the captain will signal his position in good time.’

‘As Alex is on a trading venture back to Rabaul it is my concern that everything runs smoothly,’ George countered. ‘After all, it appears that I am the only one worried about keeping the family fortunes afloat.’

‘Don’t forget,’ Patrick flared, ‘I am still the final decision-maker when it comes to how the companies are run. I have trusted that you have obvious talent when it comes to making money and therefore do not interfere in your decisions. But ultimately I am responsible for what happens.’

‘I did not mean to say that you are not,’ George answered quickly. ‘But considering the incident with Guy Wilkes and the sudden disappearance of Nellie, I feel that you are under a lot of pressure. My question regarding Alex’s current whereabouts was born out of a natural desire to coordinate the trading venture with the Germans.’

‘How much do you know about what Alex does for me?’ Patrick quietly asked.

George frowned, feigning surprise. ‘I am not sure I know what you mean,’ he replied. ‘Naturally I know that he shares a lot of your time playing soldiers with the regiment.’

‘We don’t play soldiers,’ Patrick retorted indignantly. His son had cunningly caused him to go on the back foot, defending his part-time military duties and not pursuing the former line. ‘I am hoping that Alex will consider choosing the regular army as his career.’

‘It seems to be a family tradition,’ George said and Patrick understood that he was making reference to Patrick’s own father, the legendary soldier of fortune Michael Duffy. ‘It is fortunate that I inherited some of that Macintosh blood rather than the Papist, Irish blood of the Duffys.’

Patrick realised that his son was baiting him and cautioned himself to keep a calm head. He felt guilty that he could not truly warm to his eldest son and often looked upon him as a total stranger. Patrick knew that it was not right for a father to differentiate his affections between his children, favouring one over the other.

‘I will ask you again,’ he said. ‘Tell me precisely what you know about recent events with your brother’s activities.’

George put down his cup of tea, rose to his feet and pushed the chair from the table. ‘We have an important director’s meeting very soon,’ he said, ignoring the question. ‘I hope I will see you there.’

Patrick watched as his son walked out of the room and brooded on the fact that George had not answered his question. As if reading his thoughts, George paused at the door and turned to his father. ‘You should not be quick to forget that I am your alibi when the police eventually come to speak with you about the murder of Guy Wilkes,’ he said with the trace of a sneer.

Patrick felt his blood run cold. There was no mistaking the blackmail his son had inferred:
don’t ask me any more questions concerning your military operation
.

Then George was gone and Patrick could hear his son speaking with Angus as he left the house. Patrick sat staring out the French windows that framed the dining room at the incessant rain. Somehow George had confirmed his knowledge of his covert military life but Patrick had also realised just how fragile was his future in the hands of his eldest son. He was right. Sooner or later the police would come with their questions and only George could clear him of suspicion.

Patrick sighed heavily, rose to his feet and walked to the large window overlooking the manicured garden. Alex had
not revealed his new plan to carry out the original aim of the mission. For all Patrick knew he could have fallen into German hands and already be dead. Nellie’s whereabouts could not be ascertained and she could be anywhere in the world. His hands were trembling. He had not experienced such a physical manifestation of his fears since the battlefields of Africa. How could a father accept that he had a son who was a traitor to his King and country? He wished that he could believe in God as much as he was becoming a believer in the ancient Aboriginal curse on the family. It was as if a giant wheel was turning in time, repeating the events that had so tragically dogged the Duffys and Macintoshes in the past.

Sean Duffy waited a day and accompanied the ship’s doctor to Fenella’s cabin. After examining Fenella – and at Fenella’s request – the doctor invited the young lawyer into the cabin, leaving them to speak in private.

Sean pulled up a chair beside Fenella’s bed and reached for her hand.

‘I spent a sleepless night worrying about you, Fiona,’ he said with genuine concern in his voice. ‘When I saw the blood yesterday I did not know what to think.’

Fenella gently squeezed his hand and responded with a weak smile. ‘I am touched that you were concerned, Sean,’ she replied. ‘I do not feel so alone with you beside me.’

‘Should I have the captain communicate your distress to family in Australia?’ Sean asked.

Fenella glanced away and stared at the cabin wall with its paintings of English rural scenes. Sean realised that his question had touched a raw nerve. ‘I do not wish to intrude and am sorry if my question caused you any concern.’

‘I appreciate your sentiments,’ Fenella said, turning to him. ‘But it seems my whole life has been lived as a lie – even now I am not who you think I am.’

‘You really are Fenella Macintosh,’ Sean ventured and was not surprised when the beautiful but pale young woman in the bed did not react with surprise.

‘You know one of my secrets,’ she said. ‘The second I tragically revealed yesterday, losing the baby.’

Sean felt his heart beating. ‘Are you running away from that unfortunate business in Sydney with Mr Wilkes?’ he asked, clearing his throat. He was surprised at Fenella’s weak smile.

‘I can assure you that is not the reason I left Sydney. I am innocent of the death of the father of the child I have lost. No, that has been a sad coincidence. You must know the scandal my former condition would have caused my family.’

‘You do realise that your father and my Uncle Daniel were once close friends,’ Sean said, still holding Fenella’s hand. ‘I have often heard the stories of the past from my uncle’s family.’

‘I confess that my father spoke very little about his family on that side,’ Fenella said. ‘I think he carries much pain and will do so until the grave.’

‘You must know how fond I am of you, Fenella,’ Sean said.

‘And I am very fond of you but I am afraid that I would like us to remain friends. Are you able to accept that?’ Fenella asked.

Sean looked down at the floor lest she see the pain in his face. It was obvious that his strong feelings for her were not reciprocated. He looked up. ‘I would hope that you accept my friendship and company on our voyage,’ he choked, causing Fenella to squeeze his hand.

‘I need to be alone in my life for a while,’ she said. ‘Much has happened and I am unable to make any commitments other than getting through the present. I pray that you will understand.’

Sean nodded. He could accept her words but deep down he held on to a glimmer of hope that Fenella Macintosh might see him in a different light when the voyage was over.

‘I think that we should work towards having you back on your feet,’ he said with a cheery smile. ‘I need my shuttle board companion to reign as champion on this voyage.’

Fenella felt his hand slip from her own. At least this young man of whom she was very fond could share one of her secrets and that made her feel less alone in life. He had not laboured on whether she had been involved in the death of Guy, accepting her innocence on face value. Still, Fenella could not think who would kill her former lover.

Sergeant Jack Firth was feeling the bruising results of the previous weekend’s rugby match and his ear throbbed from a bite he had received from an opposing player in the scrum. He found the office he was looking for in the gloomy, cramped interior of the building. The imposing, convict-constructed sandstone building was behind the even more impressive courthouse designed in the Greco-Roman style. Darlinghurst police station had a sinister history. Seven years earlier the last man had been hanged inside the gaol. Now hangings were held elsewhere but for many years the public spectacle of the condemned dropping through the trap door had provided Sydney-siders with a macabre form of entertainment.