CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Silas Moser walked briskly down the gang-plank of the Stonehouse Shipping Company's newest and most luxurious coastal steamer, the SS Fraser Island. The moment he set foot on the South Brisbane dock the plank was smartly hauled aboard, and the ship began to move away from the wharf, with her steam horns piercing the stillness of the early morning.

Moser turned and looked for Percival Fairweather, whom, minutes earlier, he had personally escorted aboard the vessel at the start of its regular run to Sydney. He spotted the Englishman standing among a small group of passengers at the rail of the first class section and waved politely. Minutes later the vessel was well downstream, and Moser turned away from the river and walked along the dock toward his office.

Barely an hour after sunrise, Brisbane and its busy waterway was only just beginning to come alive. The sun shone in a cloudless winter sky, but Moser pulled his coat collar tightly against his throat, as a brisk westerly put a rare nip in the morning air.

Surprised staff in the general office abruptly ended unnecessary gossip, and hurriedly went about their duties when Moser entered Stonehouse's, at least an hour and a half earlier than usual. Soon after he entered his office on the second floor, an office boy tapped on the door and wheeled in a trolley with tea and toast.

Moser rewarded the office boy for his thoughtfulness with a barely discernible nod, but at once poured himself a steaming hot cup of tea. He moved to his desk and sat down, and swung his chair around so he could look out over the river. He sat there perfectly still, nursing his tea, and contemplating what the future may bring.

A week had passed since Percival Fairweather had cabled London, stipulating the price and conditions which he and Clare Stonehouse were prepared to accept in return for relinquishing control of Stonehouse's. But up until the time of Fairweather's departure for Sydney, no reply had been received from British Far Eastern.

Moser took another sip of tea and wondered what could be the cause for the delay. Perhaps the price may well have been too high he mused, but then negotiations had to start somewhere, and nobody ever started at the figure they were really prepared to accept. No, he reasoned, it was just the British way. They were always slow to pursue the important matters. By God, he would show them how to do business with speed and efficiency when they looked to him to direct their operations in Australia.

He stood up and poured himself more tea. As he was about to sit down again there was a knock on his door.
'Enter.'
The door opened. It was the office boy. `There is a messenger from the telegraph office downstairs, sir. He has a cable for Mr Fairweather. He says he must deliver it personally or have it signed for by our chief-manager. But Mr Worthington-Jones isn't in yet. Will you sign for it, sir?'
`Yes,' Moser said. `Send him up immediately.'
After the messenger left, Moser stared for some time at the large wax-sealed brown envelope laying on his desk and pondered its contents. Finally his curiosity got the best of him. He reached for an oil lamp, lit it, and held a tiny flame under the lump of hard wax. Soon the lump softened enough to allow his eager fingers to pry open the flap of the envelope. A moment later he read the short terse message inside.
RE STONEHOUSE ACQUISITIONSTOP PRICE IS ACCEPTABLE STOP RE SILAS MOSER STOP HIS LONG ASSOCIATION WITH THE SOUTH SEAS LABOR TRADE PRECLUDES HIM STAYING ON AS MANAGING DIRECTOR IN THE LONG TERM STOP AVOID ANY BINDING AGREEMENTS BEING SIGNED IN THAT REGARD STOP SIR JOHN SOTHERBY CHAIRMAN BRITISH FAR EASTERN END
Charles arrived at South Brisbane shortly before nine o'clock to find a hand written message on his desk asking him to report to Silas Moser immediately. He found Moser still seated in his chair, gazing out over the river.
`You wish to see me, Silas?'
Moser swung the chair around to face Charles. `With regard to British Far Eastern. There are a few things I would like to discuss. Would you mind if I am perfectly frank with you?'
`Not at all, Silas.'
Good. Now as you know, Fairweather expects to formalize the purchase of Stonehouse's as soon as he returns from Sydney, providing Catherine hasn't suddenly fallen pregnant. Now tell me... is there any possible chance of that happening?'
Charles shook his head. `I don't think so Silas.'
`I see.'
Moser stared thoughtfully into the top of his desk.
`I take it Percival has heard back from London then,' Charles said.
`I don't think so,' Moser said quickly. 'He said nothing to me before he boarded the Fraser Island,' He looked up from the desk. `I suppose, of course, Catherine is still as opposed as ever to the sale of the company, and strongly disapproves of me selling enough shares to give British Far Eastern a majority holding?'
`Oh, no. On the contrary. She has come to accept the fact that it's inevitable that Stonehouse's will pass out of the family's hands. Just last night she told Percival that she was prepared to sell her shares. After all, she will receive an enormous sum of money.'
Moser's eyes narrowed. `Yes, yes of course. And you Charles. How do you feel about all this?'
`I'm quite happy, Silas. Percival Fairweather assured me that British Far Eastern want me to stay on in a senior position.'
Moser's face hardened. He slowly got up and stood at his window and looked toward the Queensland Parliament buildings on the other side of the river. `Very well, Charles. That will be all. I'm glad we've had this little chat. Now I can see exactly how the land lies.'
Charles turned to leave, Just as he reached the door Moser turned his head and said:
`Oh Charles, when you get downstairs would you send one of our messengers over to Shamus McClintock's office in Parliament House requesting him to meet me for lunch at the Colonial Club? And send another messenger to the chambers of Fagal, Finch and Wutherspoon in Queen Street, asking Hiscock, their senior clerk, to come to my office at his earliest convenience.'
*
Shamus McClintock downed his drink in a single swallow, and laid his glass down noisily on the long bar in the Colonial Club's members' lounge. His face broke into a broad grin.
`So Charles couldn't put a bun in Catherine's oven, 'eh Silas? She should have asked me, I'd have been more than happy to oblige.'
Moser eyed McClintock reproachfully.
McClintock's face took on a more serious look. `With Catherine now agreeing to sell,' Moser said, `the ace I held up my sleeve, in being able to give British Far Eastern control in return for a lengthy tenure as Managing Director, is now worthless. But I will not allow them to toss me out on my ear after spending a lifetime building the company.'
`Just what is it you want me to do, Silas?' McClintock asked.
`British Far Eastern will not buy Stonehouse's without being assured of the uninterrupted supply of meat for export to England from your graziers' syndicate, which of course, owns the refrigerated warehouses on the Stonehouse wharf. What I want is a commitment in writing from the syndicate members, granting me sole authority to act on their behalf in any dealings with British Far Eastern.'
`I can't ask them to do that Silas,' McClintock said without hesitation. `Not with the financial crisis worsening every day. I think you're forgetting that the colony is teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. The only hope the graziers in the syndicate have of weathering the storm, is their income from the frozen meat trade, and they won't put it at risk just to save your position at Stonehouse's.'
Moser was visibly shaken by McClintock's rebuttal. His anger showed on his face.
`They owe it to me, Shamus. After all, it is me they have to thank for the enviable position they find themselves in today. I have served them well in the past. Tell them I don't think they can trust British Great Eastern. Tell them ... tell them anything.'
Now it was McClintock who became angry. `I won't lie to them Silas. I was able to recruit them into the syndicate when you needed them because they trusted me. And it was these same graziers and their families and friends, who trusted me enough to put me into the Parliament when I ran for office. I will not deceive them just to save your skin.'
'But you are a politician, Shamus; lies and deceit are your stock-in-trade,' Moser said bitterly.
McClintock shook his head. 'This conversation is at an end, Silas.' He downed what remained of his drink in one swallow and walked stiffly from the room.
*
Silas Moser returned to his office in South Brisbane where he spent the afternoon pondering his situation. He was preparing to leave for the day when the head-clerk Fagel, Finch and Wutherspoon arrived. Hiscock entered Moser's office carrying a large leather satchel in his arms.
`I'm sorry not to have come sooner, Mr Moser,' Hiscock apologized, `but your new property portfolio has kept me very busy outside of chambers, what with court appearances and serving documents on debtors.
`Yes, yes.' Moser snapped impatiently. He waved Hiscock to a chair in front of his desk. `Now, with regard to the foreclosure on the property known as Jarrah at Graceville.'
`Yes, Mr Moser.' Hiscock fumbled with the buckles on the straps on his leather satchel, then ran his fingers through scores of documents which were crammed tightly inside. Eventually he pulled out a small separate sheaf of papers bound loosely with white string. `Here we are. Now what exactly is it you wish to know?'
`Has the debt owing on the property been paid?'
`No, Mr Moser.'
`And on what date will the property legally pass into the hands of the Stonehouse Shipping Company if the mortgagor fails to respond to our letter of demand?'
Hiscock checked the papers in his hands. `Two weeks from now, sir. At midnight on the first day of August.'
Moser nodded. `I see. Now, in your opinion, Mr Hiscock, what is the likelihood of the debt being paid.'
`I would say remote, Mr Moser, very remote. Usually an owner will exhaust every avenue open to him in order to hang on to his property, and keep us advised of his progress while doing so. But what with the financial state of the colony at the moment, and with the banks being closed, there's little anyone can do to prevent foreclosure.' Hiscock shook his head slowly. `In this particular case, I think the owner has already abandoned the property. He left the place the day after we served papers. As far as I know he hasn't been back since. He's a half-breed you know, half Chinese. These people aren't like us—they can't face up to responsibility. If they can't win, they just move on.'
`And the Kanaka woman he lived with, I take it she's still living on the property?'
`Oh yes, and two young children. He left them all behind. As I told you before, sir, in times of adversity, his kind usually run from any kind of responsibility.'