A Murder Unmentioned (41 page)

Rowland headed back outside through the kitchen so he could reassure Lenin, who had been confined there for the party, that he had not been forgotten. When he heard the scrabbling, he opened the door quickly, concerned the hound was helping himself to some painstakingly prepared culinary delicacy.

“Mr. Sinclair!” Nanny de Waring sprang back from Jack Templeton, fumbling frantically with the pearl buttons of her blouse.

Rowland turned away while she made herself decent. She apologised hysterically. Rowland did so out of courtesy.

“Charlotte… Miss de Waring is not to blame, Mr. Sinclair, sir,” Templeton said gallantly. “It was me. I—”

“If you were forcing yourself upon Miss de Waring, Templeton, then you and I would have a problem. Otherwise, it’s not really my concern.”

“Oh, Mr. Sinclair,” the young nanny sobbed, smoothing her hair back into place. “If you can only forgive me… it won’t happen again.”

Rowland smiled. “I’m neither your father nor your priest, Miss de Waring.”

“This is my day off,” she offered in mitigation. “There was no one in the kitchen and—”

“Not quite no one,” Rowland said, bending to rub Lenin behind the ear. The hound opened one eye and grunted. “But Len doesn’t seem particularly scandalised. You could probably buy his silence with bacon.”

“We got carried away, Mr. Sinclair,” Templeton explained. “We didn’t mean to—”

“This is a rather risky spot to get carried away, Mr. Templeton, don’t you think? I’m sure there are more private, not to mention appropriate, locations on
Oaklea
for… courting,” Rowland grimaced, wondering when he’d become so stuffy. Courting! For pity’s sake!

Perhaps Templeton sensed Rowland Sinclair was having trouble being in any way critical. “Do you have any recommendations, sir?” he asked rather impudently. Charlotte de Waring blushed but she didn’t protest.

Despite a vague notion that he
should
be offended, or at least disapproving, Rowland laughed. “There’s a folly on
Emoh Ruo
near the creek, looks like a Delphic temple. Some mad notion of the previous owner’s. It’s a bit overgrown now. I don’t think anyone’s been there in years.”

“You won’t be requiring it yourself?” Templeton asked, his eyes twinkling, in what Wilfred would have considered an unacceptable show of familiarity.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Rowland replied.

Rowland returned to the garden party which, by then, was winding down.

“Where have you been, Rowly?” Edna asked. She was flushed with the consequential exertion of repeated invitations to dance.

Rowland told her quietly of the tryst upon which he’d stumbled. Edna giggled. “Good Lord, they’re lucky it was you and not Wil.”

Rowland nodded. Wilfred might well have objected, and quite strenuously, to his children’s nanny entertaining the gardener in such a manner.

“The irresistibly handsome, mysterious gardener,” Edna said dreamily. “It’s all rather like Lawrence’s
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
.”

Rowland’s eyes sharpened. “Templeton? You think he’s han—mysterious?”

Edna smiled wickedly. “Well, he’s not nearly so mysterious as you, darling, but yes, I can see why he’d intrigue Nanny de Waring.”

32

SUCCESS TO HITLER

Rev. W.E. Hurst’s Wish

“We wish, with our whole hearts, that Herr Hitler will be successful in the tremendous and revolutionary experiment which he is undertaking at the present time, and that he will succeed in bringing the world a little nearer to what our Lord intended it to be, a society of friends.”

These remarks were made by the Rev. W.E. Hurst, President of the Queensland branch of the Australian League of Nations Union, at a reception given by the branch to the commander, Captain Baron Harsdorf von Enderndorf, and officers of the Karlsruhe, at Mt. Coot-tha on Saturday morning.

The Rev. Mr. Hurst said he had been very much impressed with the remarks of Commander von Enderndorf and First Officer Schiller in regard to Herr Hitler in an interview appearing in the Press. The members of the branch greatly sympathised with Germany in the terrible and unjust conditions which had been imposed on her, and they wished Herr Hitler success in the task before him.

BROKEN PROMISES

There were a large number of persons in this country who felt that Germany had been treated very unfairly and unjustly by the world generally. Other nations gave a pledge that they would disarm to the extent they had forced Germany to do, and they had not done so. The present unrest in Europe, he believed, was mainly due to those broken promises. It had been said that all the trouble of the world to-day could be traced to the war. He refused to believe that; it was not right to impute war guilt to any one nation when there were others in it.

Courier Mail, 16 January 1934

R
owland woke early. He’d slept fitfully. The last weeks since his father’s gun had been found seemed to have halted the normal course of his life. He was frustrated, angry that his father had risen from the grave to cause more pain and misery.

What Rowland had seen in Germany still haunted him; the brutality of the Nazi regime, the administrative ruthlessness of it. Before the question of Henry Sinclair’s death had been resurrected, he had been trying his level best to get someone to listen. Not successfully of course. His concerns had been dismissed and belittled, at best he’d elicited a plea of powerlessness, but at least he’d been doing something.

Rowland showered and dressed, quickly. He and Wilfred would meet with their cousin and Lucy Bennett today. He wondered if Arthur had realised that his true intentions had been discovered. Perhaps not. Wilfred had been playing their cards close.

It seemed no one had yet come down to breakfast, and so, rather than eat alone, Rowland grabbed the newspaper from the sideboard and stepped out onto the verandah. The marquees had been taken down and all the lawns returned to their pristine manicured custom. From this part of the verandah the fire damage, and consequent reconstruction work, was not visible. In the distance, Rowland could see Edna Walling, pacing out distances while she made notes. Opening the paper he wondered what the garden designer thought of all the drama at
Oaklea
. Was she concerned that her clients could
be murderers, or was that not as important as the harmony of the landscape she was creating?

“Good morning,” Milton joined him. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, dropping his elbows on to the rail beside Rowland’s.

“Just wondering when this will all be over,” Rowland murmured. “April’s a long time away, Milt. You and Clyde and Ed can’t just put your own lives on hold for that long.”

“We can put our lives on hold long enough to see you cleared, mate.”

Rowland handed him the paper pointing out an article on the upcoming celebrations of the Nazis’ first year in power in Germany, and another on the love of the German people for their führer, which wished the German Chancellor every success. “With an indictment for murder over my head, I’ll have no hope of persuading anyone Hitler’s is a despicable regime.”

“You’ll be acquitted, Rowly.”

“But it will always be there.” He cursed. “Nobody seemed keen to listen to me, anyway,” he admitted. “Not with so many eminent, upstanding citizens extolling the virtues of Hitler’s Germany.”

For a while, Milton studied him silently. “Do you remember Egon Kisch?” he asked finally.

“Of course.” Kisch had been one of the men who had given them refuge in Germany when they were wanted by the Brownshirts.

“Egon’s fled Germany. He’s trying to spread the word about the reality under the Nazis.”

“It’s a shame we can’t get him to come to Sydney.”

Milton looked intently at him. “It has been suggested.”

“Really? By whom?”

Milton hesitated again. “The Australian chapter of the World Movement Against War and Fascism. They were established by Comintern—the Communist International.”

Rowland was not surprised by his friend’s reluctance. Milton was a Communist, fervent and committed, but, despite a certain sympathy, Rowland Sinclair was not. Neither attempted to change the other. And whilst Milton had lived in his house, enjoyed his hospitality and borrowed his clothes for years, he had never once asked Rowland for money towards his cause.

But this was different. It was Rowland who asked. “What exactly are they proposing, Milt?”

“The movement wants to bring Egon out for some events at the end of the year to coincide with the centenary of Melbourne and the royal tour—they just need to fund it.”

“Are you a member of this movement?”

“Yes.”

“Will they let me join without being a Communist?”

“Fellow travellers are always welcome,” Milton replied. “Particularly those with your resources. But are you sure you want to—”

“Egon might be able to convince people of what European Fascism really means,” Rowland said, remembering how the journalist had persuaded his comrades to risk everything to help them. “Nothing that I’m doing is working. It’s worth a try.”

“Wilfred won’t like this.”

“Doubtless. But I think it’s a better investment than milk bars.”

Milton pressed his shoulder. “I’ll let them know.”

Arthur Sinclair and Lucy Bennett arrived in her powder blue Riley. Rowland’s friends retired discreetly to the conservatory with Ewan, who was in disgrace, having chewed his brother’s toy plane into a woody pulp. Elisabeth Sinclair and her nurse, a sensible quiet
woman who was both firm and unobtrusive with her charge, sat in the sunshine embroidering.

Kate waited with her husband and brother-in-law to receive the newly engaged couple in the drawing room.

If Arthur knew that his cousins had discovered his manoeuvres he gave no indication of it, greeting them all with enthusiasm and jocularity.

Kate greeted her old friend warmly.

“Oh Kate, you’re simply enormous!” Lucy effused. “What do you think? Heir, mare or spare? They say you can tell because girls steal beauty from their mothers.” She laughed.

“Must be a boy then,” Wilfred said curtly.

Kate blushed deeply. “I might just speak to Mrs. Kendall about luncheon,” she said. “If you’ll all excuse me for just a moment.”

Rowland smiled. Any oblique compliment from Wilfred seemed invariably to compel his sister-in-law to leave the room. It had always been thus. Rowland imagined it had made courting her very awkward… and yet Wilfred had managed it.

“I’ll come too,” Lucy called after Kate. “It’ll give us a chance to talk about the wedding while you gentlemen deal with business,” she said, smiling at her fiancé.

“I’m afraid there’s been a terrible cock-up with the painters at
Woodlands,
Rowland old boy,” Arthur said after Lucy had left. “Lucy and I called in there yesterday and I’ll be blowed if some fool hasn’t painted the dining room black! Black! It looks positively ghoulish! Some blasted tradesman trying to ensure he gets paid twice for the same job, I expect. But don’t you worry, Lucy and I will sort it when we get back. She’s quite the little homemaker!”