CHAPTER NINE

The messenger Madam Jane dispatched just minutes after the death of Alexander Stonehouse was a squatter from the bush, and the only other client in the house at the time. Unaware of the full extent of what had happened in Kiri's room, he left on horseback at a full gallop, not to fetch a doctor or police constables, but to urgently summon Silas Moser to The Gables.

When Moser returned home from the Colonial Club over an hour later, he found his housekeeper anxiously awaiting him with an envelope containing a hand-written note from Madam Jane. His face paled when he read the message. In less than ten minutes his carriage was at the front door of The Gables. He stepped out quickly and hurried inside.

It was only later, when he sat alone in his drawing- room and sipped on a large brandy, with Stonehouse's body stiffening between the crisp white sheets of his rarely used guestroom bed, that he had time to ponder the situation. And ponder he did—well into the early hours of the morning.

Mrs Llewellyn burst into tears at the sight of Kiri when Ben brought her home to Jarrah.She hugged her tightly, and talked a mile a minute, while she fussed over her like a mother hen. First she made tea, then sandwiches, which Kiri left untouched, then she prepared a spare room for her to sleep in.

At first Mrs Llewellyn was astonished to hear Kiri speak English so eloquently. Then later, in the privacy of the bedroom, she sat patiently on the edge of the bed, and listened while Kiri tearfully told her what had happened during the months they had been separated.

Ben sensed Mrs Llewellyn and Kiri were best left alone. Despite the late hour he went out onto the veranda and sat for a long time under the stars, watching the river shining in the moonlight. He was about to get up and go to bed, when Mrs Llewellyn came from Kiri's room and sat beside him. He listened, staring into the darkness, saying nothing, while MrsLlewellyn told him everything Kiri had told her.ﾁ

`They say time heals all things Mrs Llewellyn,' Ben said when she had finished. `But I think it will be a long time before she gets over all this. When she does, I must find a way to return her to Kiriwina Island.'

Ben remained on the veranda for some time after Mrs Llewellyn left to turn in for the night. Eventually he got up and went to bed, but not before he found his Snider carbine, loaded it, and laid it on the mantelpiece above the fireplace in the drawing room.

*
Clare Stonehouse's eyes quickly ran over a long list of names, neatly written on several pieces of pink writing paper which Catherine had laid on the table when she joined her mother

for breakfast. Catherine saw her mother's eyebrows rise when she reached the last page. `I see you have added Charles Worthington-Jones to the invitation list for your twenty-first
birthday party Catherine. I know you like him, but don't you think that perhaps you are being
a bit forward. I really don't approve you know.'
`Oh Mother,' Catherine's tone was condescending. `Even in England these days people are
not as stuffy as you.'
Clare Stonehouse sighed. `I am not surprised. English standards with respect to etiquette
and propriety have never been as high as those of the Scots.'
Catherine rose angrily from the table. She crossed the room to the window, and stood
petulantly, arms folded, eyes blazing, staring out across the grounds at the front of the house. `And has it occurred to you,' Clare continued, `that your father may forbid it? After all, Mr
Worthington-Jones is just an employee of the company.'
`And so is that dreadful Silas Moser. `Catherine snapped. `But I see that hasn't stood in the
way of his invitation.' As she spoke, Catherine saw a carriage coming up the driveway toward
the house.
`Now Catherine, you are not being fair. Mr Moser has been with the firm since before you
were born, and he has proved himself over and over again to be absolutely indispensable to
your father. He has put the welfare of the company before all else, even to the extent of
sacrificing marriage and family life in order to devote every minute of his time to business.' Catherine watched as the carriage in the driveway drew closer to the house. Soon she
recognized its lone occupant as Silas Moser. `Well Mother.' She sighed. `Speak of the devil...' Two minutes later Jenkins entered the dining room. `Mr Moser wishes to see you
Madam.Shall I show him into the drawing-room.'
`No...' Clare looked puzzled. `Show him in here, and please tell cook to send in fresh tea.' Silas Moser appeared at the door. He was ashen- faced, and wore a dark suit with a thick
black arm-band. The blood drained from Clare's face.
`Is it Alexander, Silas?' she gasped.
`I'm afraid so Clare.'
`It was his heart?'
Moser nodded gravely.
Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a sob.
`Where did it happen Silas? Did he suffer?'
`Last night, he came to my house in Toowong.' Moser said softly. `I think he knew
something may happen, otherwise he would have stayed at the club overnight. He said it was
important we talk. Soon after we arrived, he suffered an attack. He passed away in my arms.
It was all over quite suddenly. His last wish was that I run the company to the best of my
ability, to ensure it would provide for yourself and Catherine in the years to come.' *
Charles moved from his digs after John Cripps retired from the firm. He found a small
house on Highgate Hill not far from the Cripps home, at what he thought was a bargain price,
considering the spiraling property prices brought on by the booming economy of the colony. The pleasant two bedroom cottage was new and situated near the very top of the hill. From
its front veranda, Charles had a bird's-eye view of the centre of town, across the river, and of
the Stonehouse wharf below. The only drawback was that in wet weather, the cottage could
only be accessed on foot, on account of the steepness of the road which quickly turned to mud
when it rained.
Charles purchased the property with a modest down payment and obtained a bank
mortgage for the balance. It was his first home of his own, and he quickly came to love it.
Already the flowers he had planted in the tiny garden just a few weeks ago, were starting to
bloom.
He was glad of the decision he had made to come to Australia, and very thankful for his
good fortune since his arrival. Silas Moser was a hard task-master, but it was his
recommendation to the bank that had made his new home a reality. Charles resolved to show
his appreciation to Moser and the company through hard work and loyalty.
Charles closed his front garden gate and set off down the hill to work. It was a fine clear
morning, and there was a spring in his step. He wondered if he would see Catherine that day.
He hoped so. She had been coming to South Brisbane a great deal lately, and usually called in
at his office for a chat. He knew that somehow they were being drawn together. Although they had never touched since their first meeting, Charles knew what simmered beneath the
surface, was likely to boil over at any time.
As usual, Charles was the first of the office staff to reach Stonehouse's, although the wharf
was already alive with ship-handlers and teamsters. A messenger was waiting for him when
he reached his office door. The messenger handed him a note from Silas Moser, advising that
he would not be in until later in the morning.
Moser arrived just after ten o'clock and summoned Charles immediately. When Charles
entered his office Moser waved him into a chair and said solemnly, `Charles, I am sorry to
inform you Mr Stonehouse is dead. He died late last night of a heart attack in Toowong. I
have just come from advising the family in Hamilton.'
Charles opened his mouth to speak but Moser held up a silencing hand.
`Outside the family Charles, you are the first to know of this tragedy. I am telling you now,
before I address the staff, because a great challenge lies ahead of us all, and it is important
that I know you are committed one hundred per cent to the Stonehouse Shipping Company. I
must know that I can personally count on your absolute loyalty if you are to become my
second in command when I take over as managing director of the firm.'
ﾁCharles swallowed. `You have my word on that Mr Moser.'
`Very well Charles, perhaps you would arrange to have the entire staff assemble on the
wharf at mid-day, where we will observe two minutes silence in respect of Mr Stonehouse.' Charles got up to leave. When he reached the door Moser waved him back. Oh... and Charles,' Moser's jaw tightened. `Mr Stonehouse and I were introduced to the
half-Chinese yesterday—the man with the whip you saw on the dock. His name is Ben Luk.
He is an ambitious man, a man of some means, intent on establishing a commercial brickyard
here in the capital. He is an ill-bred insolent fellow. I believe his rudeness contributed directly
to Mr Stonehouse's heart attack. On top of that I have been told he has kidnapped the Kanaka
girl from Madam Jane's.' Moser wagged a thin reprimanding finger. `Charles, it is our duty to
nip this Oriental upstart in the bud; to cut out the poison he and his kind bring to this colony,
now, before it grows out of control and consumes us all.'
*
Alexander James Stonehouse's funeral service was attended by a crowd of over two
hundred mourners which filled the tiny church in Hamilton to overflowing. Later his body
was laid to rest in an elaborate grave marked with a huge grey marble headstone at the end of
his wife's flower-garden.
Three days later, just three people were in attendance in the Queen Street chambers of
solicitors: Fagel Finch & Wutherspoon for the reading of Stonehouse's will. Ewart Fagel, the
firm's ageing founder, sat at the head of a long table in the partner's conference room. Clare and Catherine Stonehouse sat on one side of the table facing an expressionless Silas
Moser who sat alone on the other. The solicitor broke the red wax seal on a stiff brown
envelope and withdrew the will, then read it aloud. When he had finished he laid the
document down on the table 'Now, he said', 'what all this really means is that all Alexander's
personal wealth and real property interests now belong to Mrs Stonehouse... With respect to
the Stonehouse Shipping Company, fifty percent of the shares go to Mrs Stonehouse, and
thirty five percent are to be held in trust for Catherine until her twenty-fifth birthday. The
remaining fifteen percent go to Mr Moser, provided he undertakes to manage the company, a
position which Alexander has stipulated he may retain for as long as profits continue to
increase under his stewardship.'
Clare Stonehouse looked tired and drawn. She sighed and said, `Thank you, Ewart. I may
leave everything to you then?'
`Indeed you may, Mrs Stonehouse, indeed you may.'
Fagel got up and held the widow's chair as the small group prepared to leave. Moser
appeared to be well pleased with the contents of the will. The look of satisfaction on his face
didn't go unnoticed by Catherine. She turned to Fagel and asked indignantly, `Does this mean
that Mr Moser has a free hand to run the Stonehouse Shipping Company while holding just
fifteen percent of the stock?'
`Yes it does,' Fagel replied quickly. `Providing of course that the profitability stipulation is
met each year. You must realize, Catherine, that the returns made by any commercial
enterprise are in direct proportion to the competence of its management. In this regard it's
clear that your father believes Mr Moser to be the best man to manage the family's largest
asset, and in return for his expertise, your father has provided him with a very worthwhile
incentive. I would have to say that under the circumstances I consider the arrangement to be
most prudent.'
Catherine's eyes turned back to Silas Moser. His thin lips stretched in a tight smile as he
bowed his head politely.
*
Silas Moser's first act as managing director was to move into the well appointed second
floor office previously occupied by Alexander Stonehouse. From there he directed the affairs
of the company like a general, finally granted the authority to wage war in exactly the way he
saw fit, as supreme commander-in-chief.
He would arrive early in the morning, sometimes even before Charles, and leave very late
in the evening. He spent the days pouring over multitudes of reports and financial statements
which he invariably demanded Charles to produce on incredibly short notice. Wherever he saw an opening to reduce costs and increase profits he took it, usually at the
expense of small suppliers, who he forced to accept discounted payments for goods supplied,
or by reducing the wages of older or unskilled employees who were unlikely to find work
elsewhere. He was also keen to expand the company's labor operations without delay, before
Sam Griffith and his liberals finally banned the lucrative trade.
As Moser's demand for reports and financial information increased, he installed a bell in
Charles' office with which he could summon him upstairs by giving a cord beside his desk a
sharp tug.
Charles had never worked so hard in his life.
*
On the second Sunday after Alexander Stonehouse's death, Charles was enjoying his one
day of the week off. He had intended to work in his garden but intermittent autumn showers
gave him the excuse to sit and relax in shirt- sleeves on his veranda.
It was early afternoon and he was almost dozing when he saw a woman picking her way up
the lane toward the cottage. She was dressed in black, and held her long skirts just above her
booted ankles to avoid the mud caused by the frequent showers. The woman stopped for a
moment and raised her head. When he saw the long red hair, he knew it was Catherine. `You told me all about your new house Charles,' she said when she reached the garden
gate, `but I thought I had better see it for myself. Your lane is far too slippery to bring the
carriage up, so my driver is waiting just down the hill.' She rolled her eyes mischievously, `I
told him I came to collect some very important business papers.'
Charles was at a loss for words. He hadn't seen Catherine since her father's death. He
rubbed his chin, embarrassed he had not bathed or shaved that morning.
She pretended not to notice.
`Well, aren't you going to ask me in Charles?'
`Yes... by all means.' He swung open the gate.
Inside the small house, Charles led the way around and Catherine's eyes made a cursory
inspection of each room. Later when they stood at the living room window she said, `Your little house is... well... comfortable, Charles.' She lowered her eyes and gently bit her lower lip. `I hope you don't find it too lonely, like my home in Hamilton since Father was taken
from me.'
Charles' heart went out to her. She looked so helpless standing there alone, hands clasped,
like a bewildered little girl in her severe black mourning clothes. He quivered, and her eyelids
fluttered over her moist pale green eyes. Charles knew she was just a heart-beat away from
bursting into tears. He reached out and drew her to him.
He was surprised how tightly she held him. She pressed her body hard against his, her
cheek buried against his shoulder. He hadn't held a woman like this for a very long time.
Suddenly his mouth was on hers, kissing her hungrily and forcefully.
After a few moments he pulled away abruptly.
`I'm sorry Catherine, I...'
She reached out and held his face gently between her hands as if it were a rare piece of
priceless china. Then slowly, she drew his lips back to within an inch of her own. `Sorry for what my darling?' she whispered. `For doing what I have been longing for you
to do since the very first day we met.'
It was nearly an hour before she left the cottage and walked alone back down to the
carriage. Charles had given her a small black valise containing a few leaves of blank white
paper to justify to her driver, if need be, her unchaperoned visit to his cottage. When she reached the carriage the driver opened the door and took the valise from her
hand.
`I take it you got what you wanted Miss Catherine.'
Catherine climbed up into the carriage and sank back into the plush upholstery and
laughed.
`Oh yes, I did. I most certainly did.'
*
As the extreme heat of summer gradually gave way to the more comfortable days of
autumn, so the completion of the brickyard at Jarrah drew closer.
Jack Stark and his crew had stayed on long after the jetty was finished, speeding up the
building process of the entire yard. Even so, Ben was anxious to see the departure of the
construction workers and the arrival of brick-makers to assist Ho Lim with the production of
the first run of bricks.
Ben worked without let-up. He spent all the daylight hours in the brickyard, and each night
after the evening meal, he would sit for hours at the dining-room table with a small
rectangular abacus, attempting to calculate his projected costings against the current prices
being paid for bricks.
The days came and went. One week rolled into the next. But eventually the brickyard was
ready to start production, and by then, Ben had worked out what he thought was a workable
plan for its profitable operation.
One morning as Ben watched Ho Lim and his helpers fill the moulds of the initial run of
bricks, he thought for the first time in weeks of returning Kiri to her island. He was surprised
to find he had mixed feelings about seeing her go.
He knew Kiri was happy at Jarrah, he saw it on her face every day. And he knew she was
grateful for what he had done for her, it showed in her dark eyes every time he caught her
looking at him. He realized, like Mrs Llewellyn, Kiri had now become a part of Jarrah, part
of his home. But he knew it was not her home. It was not Kiriwina.
`Now the yard is in production, I shall need to spend time in Brisbane looking for buyers,'
Ben said to Mrs Llewellyn as she served dinner that evening. `While I am there I shall make
enquiries about a passage for Kiri to her island,'
Mrs Llewellyn eyed Ben apprehensively and moved quickly to close the dining-room door. `I have been meaning to talk to you about Kiri for some time Mr Luk,' she said, her voice
barely above a whisper. `Kiri can't go back to Kiriwina, even if it were possible to find a ship.
Not for some time anyway.'
`Why not, Mrs Llewellyn?'
`She's carrying a baby, Mr Luk.'
Ben looked at Mrs Llewellyn, dumbfounded.
`And Mr Luk,' Mrs Llewellyn said sadly. `It can only be Alexander Stonehouse's child.'