Published: 21 Jul 2022

Constable Turner arrived with the morning’s reports finding O’Keefe somewhat lost in thought. He placed the reports on the desk. “You appear puzzled Mr. O’Keefe,” the constable quietly offered.

“I went to Bryce’s funeral,” he paused and as quickly diverted, “well not as such but stood off to discover who was attending and by their manner I would say Tom Hadley has taken over.”

“I remember Hadley from his visits to the Bryce residence,” Turner admits.

“I didn’t recognize any of the other’s but I’ve marked them now,” O’Keefe smiles as with his memory for faces he would have ability to pick them in a future crowd if such a necessity arose. “What is your opinion Turner; who do you think did Bryce in?” O’Keefe asks.

“Downstairs they are saying it would be one of the Richmond lot,”

“Possibly so Turner, possibly so but I don’t know, they are somewhat in disarray at present, seeing we have their boss banged up and half their lot awaiting further trial.” O’Keefe releases a satisfying grin as he has his own idea on the matter and would follow that speculation.

Being late spring Melbourne lived up to the adage of four seasons in one day, with cloud covering from one horizon to the other, developing into a light mizzle as Dev arrived at the Nevis residence but soon after it appeared as if it may clear. Dev found Toby already at work clearing brambles from behind the orchard.

They had only been in the garden for a short while before it was realized the weather wasn’t clearing and the rain arrived. Both found cover within a small tool shed towards the brick wall at the rear of the property.

“Spiders,” Dev mentioned noticing the many cobwebs while having to brush them away with his hand to avoid covering his face.

“Do they worry you?”

“Not really, our house is a haven for them; mum hates the daddy-longlegs although they are harmless.”

“And this country has so many that can kill you,” Toby admits.

“It’s pissing down,” Dev says of the weather.

Toby laughs,

“What Mr. Nevis?”

“Your expression, pissing down – I like the way you talk,”

“Sorry Mr. Nevis,”

“In private Dev it is Toby, besides I’m not a lot older then you.”

“How old are you Toby?” Dev stumbled a little over calling him so.

“Twenty-two – just,”

“I’m eighteen,” Dev laughs, “just,”

“We won’t get much done this morning, come inside and I’ll have Hubbard bring tea,” Toby suggests.

“I’m a little grubby to be in doors,”

“You’re fine besides it will only be the servant’s quarters, I don’t use the main house for myself.”

Dev had been working for Toby for close on a month and during that time, it was mostly two mornings a week and on one occasion for a full day. This was to be his second full day but by design it appeared as if the rain had set in.

The tea was fine but Dev concerned over the cup, it had a floral design and was of the finest bone china possible. “I would rather a mug and a tin pannikin at that,” he said as the cup gently clattered against its saucer.

“What is wrong with a cup?” Toby asks.

“I’m afraid I may break it,”

“Don’t concern, it is from an old set and half of its number has already met the floor, some of the ladies are quite clumsy.”

“Still,”

“Do you have siblings?” Toby asks.

“Siblings?”

“Yes brothers and sisters,”

“I have a half brother Jack,”

“I have an older brother and a sister Veronica but she is now widowed and lives on a property up on the Murray River,” Toby admits.

Dev frowns,

“What is wrong?”

“I’ve never been out of Melbourne, except once fishing on the bay but even then you could see the city.” As Dev spoke Hubbard returns to the room.

“Will that be all Mr. Nevis,” Hubbard quietly asks.

“Yes Hubbard thank you,”

Toby was a handsome young man who always appeared happy, blessed with a permanent smile. His frame was strong and muscled and although Dev could not be considered short in statute, Toby stood a good four inches more. Another trait Dev had perceived in his new employer and developing friend was Toby’s lack of airs and grace, he obviously fitted his station in life but it didn’t appear to power his character. If anything could be said of Toby it would be simplistic of habit, with his attire well below that of his class.

“What is your usual entertainment?” Toby asks as Hubbard quietly closed the door and departed their company.

“I sometimes go to the cricket and football when in season,” Dev says.

“Do you like music?”

“My mother has a good singing voice but I can’t sing a note,”

“What about your father,”

“He was killed on the docks when I was very young,”

“Sorry,” Toby apologizes.

“Toby there are things about me you may not appreciate,” Dev was feeling somewhat out of class and quite uncomfortable with the direction of conversation.

“Dev I think you will find I’m not as naive towards life in a depressed city as you may think.”

“I pick pockets, or to be truthful did,” Dev nervously admits while waiting for rejection.

“I guess that was so,”

“Do you still trust me?” Dev asks.

“Dev I had you worked out from the moment you poked your nose through the fence.”

“Then why give me work,”

“I could see there is another side to you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Dev admits as his head lowers, his youthful cheeks flushed.

“Say nothing, besides I may have another job for you.”

Dev lifts his head, ‘now comes the ulterior motive,’ he thinks. “What would that be Toby?”

Toby gives a gentle laugh, “it’s nothing strange, only Hubbard plays host for the old girls during their meeting and he is getting beyond doing so, he isn’t as cleaver on his feet anymore, having inclination to trip and I thought you could help him during the meetings.”

“Me!” Dev laughs realising his street attire and ways were not designed to serve cakes and sherry to high class women, even those with colonial aspirations towards proper society.”

“I think you could do so, you would need new clothes and Hubbard could teach you how to hold a tray but I believe under that exterior of yours there is a young fellow wanting to become more with his life.

“I can’t afford new clothing,” Dev admits.

“No worries I can arrange that,”

“What of the gardening?”

“The women only meet once a month, I will still need help with the gardening.”

“The rain has stopped,” Dev says as the last few drops hit the glass on the room’s window.

“It would be too wet to work, are you hungry?”

“A little,”

“Hubbard has gone for the day but I think I can manage something. Come on.”

Toby led Dev from the room down a dark passage to the rear and a small kitchen, “when my parents were living home we had a number of servants but I’d rather do my own, as for Hubbard he runs the main house and accounts and answers to my father.”

“How big is the house?” Dev asks.

“The main house has seventeen rooms and here in the servant’s quarters there are five, not including the front room where we were and the kitchen.

“That is more than my entire street combined,”

“It is much too big for me. Do you like turkey?”

“I’ve never had turkey,”

“Then I’ll make some turkey sandwiches from last night’s leftover and if you like it I’ll give you some to take home to your mother; now what of my request?”

“It is a little frightening,”

“Why do you say frightening?”

“I’ve never associated with women other than those in our street and most of them curse like troopers and truthfully I wouldn’t know protocol.”

“Protocol? Dev you are half way there, most wouldn’t even know the word, never mind what it means.”

“It ‘tis but a word,”

“And you have many,”

Dev’s expression turns to hurt.

“That was a compliment, accept it as such.”

“Therefore compliment accepted but can I think about your offer?”

“As long as you wish,”

Dev places the small package on the kitchen table.

“What have you there?” Ilene asks craning her neck towards the package without actually touching, while giving a wondrous smile, as she is never quite sure what Dev would turn up with next.

“Turkey,”

“Where did you get turkey?”

“Toby gave it to me,”

“How do you like working for Toby?” There was a measure of suspicion in Ilene’s tone, as previous dealings with the moneyed class generally didn’t end well.

“Fine but it’s not like working but more entertainment and being paid for doing so, – where is Jonesy’?”

“He is out in the washhouse having a wash. He said he feels well enough to go for a walk.”

“In the dark?”

“He said he felt safer that way and was only going to wander a few streets.”

“I’ll go see if he needs a hand,”

Dev knocks on the shed door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Dev,”

“Come in,”

Dev enters to find Jones naked standing besides the copper sponging his body with the now tepid washing water which glistens on his body under candle light.”

“Ops, sorry,” Dev says.

“No worries you’ve seen me naked before.”

“Actually no,”

“What about when we go swimming,”

“Mostly you were wearing your trousers, saying it was a double washing, that being yourself and your pants.”

“What about when we were kids?” Jones says sheepishly.

“So you remember those times, besides you have grown a little since then in more ways than one.”

Dev notices a small bed tucked away in a dark corner of the shed, “Where did the bed come from?”

“Jack found it in the back street and dumped on the footpath after the owner was evicted.”

“Most handy,”

“I thought Jack didn’t like me.”

“It was Jack’s idea for you to remain here.”

“I must thank him,”

“I wouldn’t as he doesn’t like fuss. What’s this I hear about you going for a walk? You said you were too nervous to go out by yourself.”

“I suppose I’ll have to sooner or later. It is kind of your mother letting me stay on,”

Dev tries the bed. “It’s a little rough,” he says while pushing at the springs, “and it squeaks,”

“Ten times the worth of what I had at home and the washhouse has fewer holes than our shed and a brick floor, ours was dirt.”

“You are putting on a little weight and most of the bruising has gone, you will soon be back to your old self.”

Jones attempts to reach about and wash his back but couldn’t find the strength or elasticity in his arms to do so.

“Let me do that for you,” Dev offers on hearing his friend whimper under the strain.

“You have soft hands,” Jones laughs.

“They are only hands, I don’t know about softness,”

“Do you know Dev, this is the first time anyone has touched me without being on the end of a whipping or abuse.

“Really? What about your dad when you were young?”

“In some ways he was the worst,” Jones gives a grubby chuckle, “look what your touching is doing to me,”

“Yes I noticed – I should stop,”

“Dev I would you know?”

“What would you?”

“I’d let you have me,”

Dev pauses his washing, besides he was approaching Jones’ buttocks and thought twice of advancing further.

“You’re a mate Doug, how could I do that with you? Can you reach your bum; I don’t think I should go there.” Dev passed Jones the sponge, “there you go,”

“I was enjoying that,” Jones admitted as his member returned to flaccid.

“You know Doug; if you weren’t a mate and I was drunk I might have taken you up on that offer,” Dev gives a light titter and pats Jones on the arse, “yes I’d have to be very drunk.”

“Have you ever?” Jones asks.

“Now Douglas Jones that would be telling,” Dev says while bring Jack to mind and times when they were younger but that was long ago, before Jack found the softness of a woman. “You never did say what happened to you down at the docks?”

“I found a trick from one of the ships, he was crew and handsome in a rough kind of way, that should have been a warning. He offered me five shillings but once we were in the lane and he in me, he commenced shouting calling me all kinds of names, then once he had finished he lay into me with both his fists and boots, I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I hope you are going to give it up,”

“How can I? Have to make a quid somehow and I can’t stay here indefinitely.”

“Mum said you can,”

“Do you want to come for a walk with me?” Jones offers.

“Why not and I can tell you all about my new job.”

“What new job,”

“Come on get dressed and we’ll be off and I’ll tell you.”

Tom Hadley could hardly believe his good fortune as he had taken over the Firm with a minimum of fuss. There was a minor of concern with Lenny Worth but he was at most only wind, a winger without the courage to become conceptual with his complaining but would always be that tic, that splinter that would not budge.

Hadley’s greatest fortune was he had Joe Bolt at his back. Bolt was a yes man, a doer on demand without question and had always backed Hadley’s opinion how the Firm should be run, even so he appeared to have had a strong loyalty to Bryce, which made Hadley cautious towards sharing his inner thoughts. Now with Bryce gone Hadley realized such a man could be dangerous if he became disillusioned. He would need to keep Bolt happy and Worth at distance.

Unlike Bryce, Hadley had bolder plans as he wished to dabble further in illicit alcohol and gambling. That would mean setting up bogus shop fronts and more payments to the police. He had often suggested so to Bryce but Bryce had a nervous streak and was much too cautious. Already Hadley had taken over the remnants of the Richmond Push although another had commenced from as a breakaway group but hadn’t the strength or leadership to be a threat.

There was another slight problem forming in Hadley’s developing paranoia, that being the street kid who informed Bryce about the graffiti on the wall in Franklyn Lane. Bryce had often mentioned the kid but never by name and how he wished to groom him for the Firm’s use. Hadley believed Brice had sexual intentions towards the lad, as it was believed his former boss was somewhat versatile in the bed. It was said of Bryce that when it came to preference he swung like an outhouse toilet door, meaning both ways and that concept sickened Hadley to the stomach. Concern was now developing, believing Bryce may have shared information with the kid. Had there been whispering beneath the sheets and if so could it be detrimental to the Firm, or more to point to Hadley himself.

Hadley again returned to Bryce’s residence to finalize the man’s affairs. Foremost it would be attention towards the property as he had already removed the Firm’s banking and Bryce’s private papers from the safe before O’Keefe visited the house, along with any incriminating evidence. All that remained was what to deal with his former bosses’ personal effects.

Unknown to most, Bryce had an older spinster sister who lived in Geelong, so Hadley would arrange for her to inherit the property but not Bryce’s money as that would be reincorporated back into the Firm, or to point the pocket of Hadley.

‘What to do with his clothes?’ Hadley thinks as he opened the bedroom cupboard door. Inside were a number of high tailored suits and shirts. He would have kept them for himself as he well knew the labels but he was at least a size smaller than Bryce.

Noticing a hanging of shirts at one end, he thought he may have them adjusted to his size. Hadley had a liking for shirts and as those owned by Bryce were also from his tailor being Harry Stafford, he thought he would keep them. One shirt in particular drew Hadley’s attention, as except for being a lighter shade it was identical to one he had somehow torn on a nail in his shed but kept with intention to take to Stafford for mending.

Hadley removed the shirts from the cupboard and placed the best on the bed, ‘yes with a little tailoring,’ he thinks.

‘What of the suits?’ with the thought he shuffled through the pockets and was relieved in finding nothing.

‘They are not worth my effort,’

‘I’ll give them to Bolt.’

Hadley laughed loudly; his humor appeared to echo about the stillness in the room,

‘That would be like putting ermine on a swagman,’ another thought while realising Joe Bolt could be considered to be the worst dressed man in Melbourne.

“Shoes,” Hadley says into the empty room.

“Bryce liked his shoes,”

Hadley picked up a pair in fine leather he had always admired.

“Pity they don’t fit,” Hadley had large feet for his height.

Discarding them roughly back to the bottom of the cupboard he laughed, “I could always cut off my toes,” he roughly made further jest, “where is Reeves the toe-cutter when you need him.”

Once again Hadley searched the bedroom, then the spare bedroom and the living room where he found nothing incrimination. In the living room he spied the half crate of imported whisky and quickly decided to lay claim to it. Finally to the kitchen and while looking through the drawers he found an envelope carefully attached behind the back panel of a drawer and would have been misses altogether except from pulling the drawer out further than its runners permitted, dropping its contents in a crescendo as cutlery spread across the kitchen floor.

Hadley opened the envelope and what he read turned his expression to crimson.

“Shit!” he loudly cursed.

“What was the man thinking!”

Inside the envelope was what could be described as a confession defining the Firm’s business, naming all associated with the Firm, also the names of their so called police retainers and penned in Bryce’s hand. Foremost on the list of names was that of Tom Hadley.

“If the police found this,” Hadley gasped.

“Why has he done this?” he questioned then tore the document into a dozen pieces placing the shards into his pocket for a later more secure disposal.

“Why?” Hadley loudly repeated.

“He must have mistrusted us; then again he always had a measure of doubt towards our loyalty,” Hadley gives a smile and pats the pocket holding the shredded paper, “funny that, if you wish something long enough it will happen and to think you wanted to be rid of me and now it is you Stan Bryce who is no more.”

On his returning home Hadley remembered Bryce’s confession and removed the torn pieces from his pocket, then passing along Marion Lane behind a number of cheap eateries, he placed small portions in each bin, believing in doing so they could never be retrieved. Such was his developing paranoia.

He takes a deep breath and loudly speaks, “thank Christ I found that.”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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