Call of Empire, page 27
‘I have a feeling that Rosemary wishes to introduce you to her friends.’ Josiah grinned. ‘I have noticed that she seems attracted to you.’
‘Not bloody likely,’ Sam growled. ‘What woman would want a man with just one leg when it is obvious that she has the pick of the crop?’
‘From what I can see, you are able to walk and appear to improve each day. You have to remember she has a brother who has only one arm. Besides, you’re a recognised hero.’
Sam pondered his brother’s sage advice and decided to attend Rosemary and Steve’s tennis party.
The Walton residence was only slightly less grand than the Steele mansion. It was situated on the southern extremes of the city with unspoiled views of the distant Great Dividing Range and bordered by farming land.
When he arrived in the buggy alone, he was met by a smartly dressed servant and produced his invitation.
‘This way, sir,’ the valet said, leading Sam towards the double-storeyed sandstone house with its sweeping verandas. Other coaches and guests had already arrived, and Rosemary was at the front entrance to greet them. Her face lit up when Sam walked forward stiffly with the aid of his walking cane.
‘Samuel!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am so pleased that you accepted our invitation. Please, come inside so that I can introduce you to some important political contacts.’
Impressed by her confident manner, Sam followed Rosemary inside, where his eyes fell on some notable persons of the colony. He had learned more about those in the Protectionist Party and quickly realised that this was no ordinary tennis party but a political gathering. However, he could still hear the distant sound of a tennis ball being hit and the cheers of spectators.
‘Ida, this is my brother’s dear friend, Samuel Steele,’ Rosemary said to a pretty young lady of obvious pedigree.
‘So, you are the man Rosemary told me lost a leg at the Battle of Elands River and had your courage recognised with a military decoration,’ Ida said in cultured tones. ‘From what I can see, you have seemed to overcome the loss of your leg. Good show.’
Sam was surprised to hear the frank statement as to who he was, but then considered Rosemary would have such friends, given what Marian had told him of her character.
‘Do not have any ideas of setting your sights on Samuel. He’s mine,’ Rosemary said with a laugh, taking Sam’s elbow and guiding him away to meet another guest with her words still ringing in Sam’s ears. He’s mine. He was halfway across the room filled with well-dressed men and matronly women when his heart skipped a beat at the sight of none other than Cecil Anderson!
‘What in hell is he doing here?’ Sam said quietly to Rosemary.
‘Oh, he had to be here,’ Rosemary replied airily. ‘He has put himself forward to stand for a seat in the new federal government next year for our party.’ Sam could see that Anderson was in the company of an older man with a striking family resemblance. As if reading his mind Rosemary whispered, ‘That’s his uncle, Horace Anderson.’ Sam knew the man was a cad, and it was clear to him that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
‘So, why are the bastards here?’ Sam growled.
‘“Know your enemy” is a wise tactic in politics,’ Rosemary said. ‘At least I do not have to introduce you.’
As Sam leaned on his walking stick, he realised that Cecil Anderson had turned to see him on Rosemary’s arm and Sam could see how Anderson’s face paled. It was obvious that Sam’s presence had shocked him, and he almost spilled his champagne. Sam took pleasure from the fact that he had obviously upset the man he would have gladly killed for the death of George Bowden.
‘Ah, old chap,’ Steve said, approaching Sam and Rosemary. ‘The big moment has arrived for the announcement by our party leader as to who they will be nominating in this electorate for the elections next year.’
Sam was puzzled. Had they not plotted for Steve to stand against Cecil? Had not Rosemary convinced Sam to sign on as a party member to assist?
A spoon was clinked against a glass to request silence and attention fell to a distinguished man with bushy sideburns. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests. It is time to announce one of our future representatives for the new federal parliament. It is my honour to announce that Mr Cecil Anderson, a returned hero of the war in South Africa, will be our unopposed representative for the elections next March.’
A polite round of clapping followed the announcement as a smiling Cecil Anderson stepped forward to stand beside the party leader.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Cecil said. ‘It is a great honour to be selected for –’
‘Excuse me.’ Rosemary’s voice cut Anderson short. ‘My brother, Mr Steve Walton, will also throw his hat into the ring as one of our nominated representatives for the seat Mr Anderson is vying for.’
A confused hush settled over the room and Sam bit back a smile. Rosemary had set the ambush as well as any soldier on the battlefield. She pushed her way forward to stand beside the party leader and a stunned Anderson.
‘Steve, will you please come forward and accept the nomination?’ Rosemary continued.
‘Who nominated Mr Walton?’ Anderson demanded belligerently as Steve stepped forward.
‘I did!’ Sam called out, knowing now why Rosemary had paid his membership dues. ‘You will see that I am an official member of the party.’
‘Your name, sir?’ someone asked.
Rosemary answered. ‘Sergeant Samuel Steele, who was the recipient of the Distinguished Conduct Medal and a man who lost his leg at Elands River. You will find his name on the roll.’
A hush fell over the crowd.
‘I accept the nomination,’ Steve said, cutting across the silence.
‘Well, this is totally unexpected, and we will need to review the candidacy of Mr Walton,’ the meeting leader said. ‘We will make our decision as to who we will endorse after Christmas. So, ladies and gentlemen, please continue to enjoy the wonderful hospitality of the Walton family.’ He stepped away and immediately there was a buzz of voices as the guests discussed the late upset.
Rosemary walked over to Sam, who was unable to control his grin any longer. ‘Remind me never to get on your bad side, Miss Walton,’ Sam said. ‘You are more dangerous than any Boer commando.’
Rosemary took his elbow. ‘Never forget that, Sergeant Steele,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Sam noticed that the two Anderson men angrily departed the house in a huff. This was the next best thing to actually killing Cecil Anderson for his crimes in Africa, Sam mused. Killing his grandiose ambitions for a political career was a satisfactory outcome.
Now it was time to enjoy the first battle won in the company of the woman Sam knew he was in love with. He even suspected that he might have a slight chance of winning her hand in marriage.
Thirty-five
Uncle and nephew had left the meeting in a rage.
‘Do you know the man who nominated that bastard Walton?’ Horace finally asked his nephew when they were settled into his grand coach.
‘Sadly, I do,’ Cecil answered. ‘He was one of my troopers – a sergeant – for whom I inadvertently provided the information that saw him awarded a DCM when his best friend was killed. Samuel Steele is the brother of Josiah Steele, who I know is not exactly a friend of yours.’
‘Damn!’ Horace swore. ‘The world is a bloody small place. Josiah Steele is at the top of my list of people I would like to see burn in hell.’
‘Unfortunately, Samuel Steele knows certain things about me that I would not want made public – not that there is any truth in the lies he would spread,’ Cecil added quickly, staring out the carriage window at horse-drawn carts they passed.
‘What kinds of lies?’ Horace asked carefully.
‘He . . . he might spread a rumour that I was a coward in the face of the enemy,’ Cecil said. ‘It would only take one or two of his loyal troopers to support his smear to dash any attempt at my chance of a rightful position in the new parliament.’
‘That cannot happen!’ Horace said, slamming down his fist on the carriage seat. ‘It is vital that you gain a seat in parliament. I need you there to help along some critical future contracts with the government, contracts your position in parliament will afford me.’
‘I cannot think of any way I will be able to prevent Steele from spreading malicious lies about my service in South Africa,’ Cecil said. ‘Short of the man suddenly dying. Besides, there is still Walton. His wound from his service to the colony makes him a sympathetic character to the party leadership.’
‘I see your point,’ Horace said, staring ahead as they approached the suburbs. ‘But it is of the utmost importance that you gain a seat in parliament.’
‘I cannot see much hope of that now,’ Cecil commented miserably. ‘The party will surely believe a decorated war hero over me.’
‘But if both men were to meet with a fatal accident . . . then the problem goes away,’ Horace said quietly.
Cecil glanced at his uncle with an expression of shock. ‘That is not likely to happen.’
‘Not unless it is arranged,’ Horace replied. ‘I will need time to ponder the matter.’
Neither man spoke until they reached Horace Anderson’s luxurious home, built on bricks of dishonest dealings.
*
The bar was crowded and filled with tobacco smoke. The patrons were mostly clerks from the nearby office buildings and a few merchant sailors from the ships at the docks, who filled the busy bar, celebrating their paydays.
On this particular late Friday afternoon Sam and Steve were joined by another former soldier, who had contacted Sam only that day. Former Sergeant Nate Welsh had been discharged after his enlistment was over, and Sam was looking forward to introducing him to Steve as one of the witnesses to Cecil Anderson’s actions in South Africa.
When Nate pushed his way through the raucous laughter and shouts of the patrons already well on their way to a hangover, he was greeted by Sam with a firm handshake and also received one from Steve. In no time, they were hefting large beer glasses and discussing the war they had left behind.
‘So, you have a job as a house painter,’ Sam said to the man whose friendship had been forged in the horrors of war.
‘Yeah. Not a job I was hoping for,’ Nate answered. ‘My time travelling to South Africa kind of piqued my interest. I’d like to see more of the world.’
‘I might have the solution to your desire to see the world,’ Sam said. ‘My family owns a schooner that has been in dry dock and is almost ready to sail again. We will need men of adventure to crew the Ella on her journey through the Pacific, and I know that you are such a man.’
‘Is this fair dinkum?’ Nate exclaimed. ‘If it is, I’m your man.’
‘If it was good enough for our New South Wales infantry to become sea-going marines, I can’t think of any reason why a former mounted infantryman can’t get used to being at sea,’ Sam said with a laugh.
Nate extended his hand. ‘Aye, aye, captain,’ he said. ‘When would I start?’
‘How about you report down to the Woolloomooloo docks at ten tomorrow morning? You will be paid at a generous rate, and we hope that the Ella will sail next week for Fiji. You will be part of the crew, but I know you have the ability to learn the ropes in no time. The skipper is a crusty old sailor from America, but I know he will take you under his wing when he learns of your record of service in the Transvaal, as he is a veteran from the civil war they had over there a few years ago.’
Nate was almost in a stunned state at how his fortunes had changed in this moment. It was like a dream come true that he would not be reporting to work in the morning but would instead be setting out on his future life of adventure, all because he had the fortune to be a friend of the finest soldier he had ever served with.
Evening turned to night and the three men spilled out of the pub to return home. Sam and Steve looked for Hansom cabs while Nate intended to walk the short distance to his cheap, dingy boarding house.
*
Standing opposite the hotel was Cecil Anderson. His uncle had briefed him on the plot by allocating him the task of signalling to the waiting killers the men he wanted taken care of. It was a safe task, as he knew the odds of being recognised in the crowd coming out of the pub would not be great. Besides, if Steele or Walton did see him on the street, they would be dead within short minutes anyway.
There they were!
Cecil felt his heart pounding. But there was a third man with them. Probably just someone they had met in the pub, and Cecil was relieved when he saw the third man break away to walk in the opposite direction, carrying a bottle of beer. Steele stood out as he was using a walking stick to limp along the street. A one-legged man and a one-armed man would be easy victims.
The targets were walking in the direction Cecil had hoped, and all he had to do was point out the two men to the waiting killers. But then Steele ceased walking, gazing in Cecil’s direction before saying something to Walton, who turned to glance across the street now filled with men stumbling home.
Damn! It was obvious that he had been spotted – but that would not matter. Cecil raised his hand and pointed.
*
Sam had no time to consider what the hell Cecil Anderson was doing near the pub they had exited because three hulking figures emerged from an alleyway to fall on him and Steve.
Sam called out to Nate before they were dragged into the dark shadows of the space between the two tall buildings, but couldn’t be sure if his friend had heard his cry.
The man who held him from behind brought up a knife, and Sam reacted quickly. With all his strength, he was able to deflect the blade and swivel to face his attacker. But his wooden leg gave way and he fell heavily to the cobblestones. This at least saved him from the long-bladed knife. Without hesitating, Sam grappled for his walking cane, gripping it as the man he was up against looked irritated. His victim’s disability meant he would have to bend down and thrust his knife into the man’s chest. As he leaned forward, Sam brought up his cane to use the tip as a weapon. His aim was true, and the blunt end of the cane buried itself in the man’s eye and into his skull. The man screamed in agony, dropping the knife and throwing his hands up to his shattered eye socket.
Sam was desperate. He knew he would have trouble getting to his feet, and to stay off them surely meant he was a dead man . . . but suddenly, Nate was in the alleyway, holding a broken beer bottle and thrusting it into a man’s face, savagely twisting it. The would-be assassin stumbled backwards with his hands over his face. The third assailant, seeing his two comrades badly wounded, hesitated for a moment before turning on his heel to flee down the alleyway, leaving Sam, Nate and Steve alone in the pools of blood. The remaining two wounded attackers also wisely followed their companion, stumbling away from the scene of the crime for safety. The ruckus of the attack had hardly raised any alarm on the street as occasional brawls were par for the course in the inner city.
In the gloom of the blood-spattered cobblestones, Sam was aware that Steve lay on his back without moving. When Sam was helped to his feet by Nate, he stumbled over to Steve and fell to his knees beside his friend’s body. It was obvious that Steve was dead from the deep gash from ear to ear, his eyes staring blankly at the night sky. It had taken mere seconds in this seedy alley of the inner city to change all their lives.
‘You bastards!’ Sam screamed, cradling Steve’s head in his lap and remembering Cecil Anderson giving some kind of hand signal just before the assault was launched. Sam knew that it was not a coincidence, and he vowed that Cecil Anderson would pay with his life. First George and now Steve . . .
Cecil Anderson was a self-proclaimed war hero who had powerful and influential friends, and Sam knew there was a good chance he would walk free of any attempts to bring him to justice. After all, he had just happened to be on the street that night and had nothing to do with the sudden ambush, he would argue.
A raging fire seethed in Sam that only Anderson’s blood could put out. There was the law and there was justice, and in Sam’s experience, they were not always the same thing. Sam would seek his own kind of justice for the murder of his friend – and for Rosemary’s loss of her beloved brother.
There was something in the Steele blood that followed a different path to the law and could not be explained in any rational terms. It was a primitive instinct that the Steele men had little control over: the ancient biblical law of an eye for an eye.
Thirty-six
Sam and Nate remained with Steve’s body until a couple of uniformed beat police appeared as a result of being called by a member of the public. At first, they treated Nate and Sam as strong suspects until a couple of independent witnesses assured the police that they were also victims of the vicious crime and not the assailants.
Three plainclothes police arrived led by Detective Andrew Paull, who approached Sam, now back on his feet, leaning on his cane.
‘Your name and place of residence?’ Andrew asked, pulling out a small notebook and pencil from his suit pocket.
‘Mr Samuel Steele. I reside with my brother, Mr Josiah Steele,’ Sam answered defiantly, knowing that his brother was well known in colonial society.
The police detective paused writing and looked up at Sam, who was covered in Steve’s blood. ‘I know your family,’ he said. ‘It seems that such violence follows you all.’
‘My friend has been brutally slain, and I hope that all your resources are used to catch his killers,’ Sam said, still fighting the rage inside him. ‘The man at our feet is Mr Steve Walton, who was to be a candidate for the new federal government. He is also a man who lost his arm in the war in South Africa, serving his country and Queen.’
