Published: 4 Aug 2022

Dev stood in front of the long mirror his expression twisted towards disagreement but politeness kept him mute.

“You look just dandy,” Toby suggests.

“I feel silly,”

The trousers fitted to perfection with a hint of showing but not towards being rude, the coat was fine, the hat -. “Do I have to wear the hat?” Dev questions as he straightens the coat collar.

“Only while helping Hubbard,”

Dev replaces his scally cap and places it on a cheeky angle.”

“And most defiantly not that cap,” Toby protests.

“I still feel silly,”

“The thing about silly it doesn’t last, give it a few goes and you will feel more comfortable.”

“For you Toby – only for you,”

“What do you think Hubbard?” Toby asks.

“The young man looks the part as long as he doesn’t speak,” Hubbard truthfully admits.

Toby laughs; he had known Hubbard so long he was more family than his own, possibly an older brother.

“Thank you for the show of confidence,” Dev growls loudly as he turns from his reflection in the mirror, “I suppose if I can’t see it, then it isn’t there.”

“Will there be anything else Tobias,” Hubbard asks.

“No I will send Dev down to you in a little while for etiquette instructions.”

Hubbard gives a quiet huff as he departs.

After Hubbard’s instructions, Dev returns to Toby while appearing more confuses than ever. “Etiquette, now that is something I’ll never accustom to, I’ll shake so much I’ll probably drop the tray or spill the drinks onto the old girls laps.”

“Best not to, there is a number of snooty women among that lot,”

“And you think telling me that helps my confidence.”

“How was it with Hubbard?”

“It is obvious I don’t know left from right. Or that is what Mr. Hubbard said.

“Don’t concern, you will soon pick it up; it’s getting late so you should be going or your mother will worry.”

“Toby?” Dev says as he changes back into his street clothes.

“Yes,”

“You don’t appear to fit in with your lot,”

“My lot; what do you mean by my lot?”

“You know with your father being royalty and all,”

“He isn’t royalty and my Grandfather made his money building railways in England, he was a businessman and his father before him sold fish in London. As for me I was brought up until eight by my sister Veronica in the country.”

“You once said your father was the third cousin to the Queen,”

“Through my Great Grandfather’s mother she married below her station,”

“Had your family met the Queen?”

“Grandfather had when Alexandrina was quite young. It is funny how after a generation or so, money can wipe away the stain of being common.”

“Who is Alexandrina?”

“The queen,”

Dev appears puzzled, “I thought she is called Victoria?”

“Victoria is her second given name and she took it when crowned, some say to bother her mother.”

“Still,”

Toby laughs; “there is an old saying, give me the child until his seventh year and I’ll own the man. I was with my sister for many of those years so it could be said the country owns me, if not my inkling than my habit.”

As Dev changed clothes he noticed something for the first time. It was a glance, nothing more, followed by an expression but hardly a movement of facial muscle. Toby’s glance registered with Dev but almost as quickly was lost from thought.

“I may have something to put to you soon Dev but I won’t say more at present.”

“What would that be?”

“I’ll leave it for another time,”

“I’ll be off then,” Dev says.

“Which way are you going home?”

“Clarendon to Victoria Parade I should think,”

“Keep away from Smith Street,”

“Why so?”

“From what I hear there could be a riot.” Toby then explains what he had read in the Argus that morning, how the Collingwood City had extended night trading until eleven o’clock against public sentiment towards an eight hour working day.

Advising a recently turned nineteen year old lad not to do something was as if waving a red flag at a bull and after reaching Victoria Parade Dev diverted directly to Smith Street.

It being the second day of the disquiet over the extra hour’s opening, gave more opportunity to protest and by the time Dev reached Smith Street it was said more than fifteen thousand had gathered, with most about the corner of Smith and Peel Streets outside Mr. Lancaster’s drapery store and the neighboring store owned by Mr. Davis.

Lancaster’s store was chosen for the protest because of its corner position and illumination and Lancaster’s willingness to utilize the extra hour, allotted by the new council bylaw. Dev not having an opinion either way kept at distance in Peel Street but could clearly see and hear the raucous occurring at the front of the crowd. He heard the booing and hissing coming from the early closure supporters and Mr. Lancaster’s protest of his right to stay open for the extra hour but obviously the closure supporters weren’t interested in a council bylaw, as having to work an extra hour didn’t involve extra pay.

As the time approached ten o’clock a usually busy Smith Street became so congested that through traffic stopped, bringing the mounted police to clear a path and in doing so pushed the crowd onto the footpath. As the town hall struck ten Davis quickly brought out the shutters in decision to close, moments later Gordon’s grocery on the opposite side did likewise. While the shutters were coming out Lancaster remained resilient in support of the new bylaw but his voice was drowned by protest. His nerve then failed and as his shutters were arriving a woman collected street gravel and smashed his plate glass window.

Hearing the shattering of glass, the foot police who had remained patient earlier, reacted and arrested the woman who threw the stone, while having to fight of the crowd as they attempted to rescue her. Then with a charge from the mounted police and those on foot and much screaming from women in the crowd the riot was cleared with many arrests and it was over for the night.

Arriving home after his night’s entertainment Dev found Jones in conversation with Ilene.

“You are late?” Ilene says.

“I’ve been up Smith Street watching the entertainment,”

“I heard it was on but I thought you would have more sense than to be part of it Devon.”

“I wasn’t part of it, only there for the entertainment.”

“You wouldn’t think it entertaining if you had to work twelve hours a day,” Ilene suggests.

“You do with your washing, while looking after the house and for no wages, or at best little.”

“That’s different,”

“Anyway what is the topic of your conversation mum?” he asks.

“Douglas was saying he should find somewhere to live and I said he is more than welcome to stay on for as long as he wishes,”

“There you go Jonesy’,”

“I’ll leave you two to natter as I have laundry to attend to.”

Once Ilene is gone Dev confronts his friend, “what has brought this on?”

“I think you can guess,”

“You aren’t considering doing tricks again I hope.”

“What else can I do? Besides I will need somewhere to take them.”

“Try looking for work, maybe with some cartage fellow, as these days they are well in demand with so many being evicted.”

“Don’t you think I have tried Dev,” Jones becomes serious, “I even tried getting a position on one of the foreign boats but there’s nothing going.”

“Then promise me you will stay here until not only your body but your brain is better, as at present you are as jumpy as a fish from water.”

Dev thought of his own position and how fortune can come from beyond the storm. Even so he wasn’t naive, at any time Toby could decide his services were no longer warranted, or Toby’s parents could return from England. Until then he would appreciate what was offered and be thankful.

“Would your fella’ need another gardener?” Jones doubtingly asked.

“There isn’t really enough work for as me.”

“It was but a thought,” Jones says with a sigh.

In truth most of what Dev appeared to do was keeping Toby company I suppose a companion of sorts but he could at least ask if Toby knew anyone who could employ Jones but doing so could prove difficult, as it may appear as if he was using Toby’s good nature. Possibly he could simply suggest in passing conversation as concern for a friend.

Dev had admitted to his gardening duties but had not said anything regarding helping Hubbard during the soirees and definitely not the fancy garb he was expected to wear while serving the women tea and cakes.

“I had a visitor while you were at work.” Jones says.

“Who?”

“Fisky’, he has work cleaning the yard where Graham Hobson’s father works,”

“What about the fishing?”

“Ben has his regular crew back now, so he only goes out occasionally. He said John Luck is full time working in the carting business.”

“There you go,” Dev says then realized his response was a little presumptuous.

“Yea I could get work as an orderly at the lunatic asylum where my old man’s locked up.”

“That sounds defeating,”

“It was supposed to be funny,”

“It didn’t come across that way; I must admit if Luck can get work, anyone can.”

At last it was time for the monthly meeting of the women’s group and Dev could be heard quietly complaining from Toby’s bedroom as he changed for the occasion. Hubbard had already expressed his doubts to Toby on Dev’s ability to perform duties as waiter during the soirees. With his doubt came concern that many of the women were in correspondence with Toby’s mother and knowing his mother, a single complaint would be enough to bring the wrath of the woman onto her son.

“He will be fine Hubbard, you said he learns quickly,” Toby contradicted as he heard the first of the carriages arrive along the long gravel path.

“Are you dressed yet?” Toby calls through the partly open door to where Dev was changing.

“As I’ll ever be,”

“Come on give me a look,”

“Well what do you think?” Dev says displaying himself.

“What do you think Hubbard?” Toby asks.

“I must say Mr. Nevis the young man looks the part.”

“Your tone still displays doubt Hubbard,”

Hubbard gives a low growl and leaves to welcome the ladies.

“Toby, why me?” Dev asks.

“Why not?”

“I feel you have allowed me to rise above my position and I can see it all crashing down.”

“Dev it appears you are the one befriending the class system,” Toby surmises while making a hand gesture for Dev to turn about to confirm the fitting.

“I have to; the entire world keeps telling me where my place is.”

Toby disregards Dev’s concern. “You look fine, now go and find Hubbard and he’ll help you through the afternoon.”

The best description of the gathering would be hats, corsets, powder and perfume. There were eleven women in all and on arrival broke into chattering groups. As soon at ladies settled and greetings were shared it was cups of tea, fancy cakes and sandwiches with their crusts removed, being the perfect size to hold between the thumb and index fingers and consume with one unobtrusive bite without the need to part the lips to any extent.

Occasionally Dev would serve from the wrong side, or hold the plate incorrectly but a gentle cough from Hubbard soon made correction and to Hubbard’s surprise by the end of the gathering he reported that Dev showed merit.

“How was it with you?” Toby asked once alone with Dev.

“I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be but I almost laughed when the lady with the mole on her chin returned a half eaten cake back to the plate, turning her nose as if she had swallowed a slice of lemon.”

“That would be Mrs. Linton; her husband owns a large department store in Malvern. She has more airs and graces than the queen but his money lets her get away with most things.”

“I think I was propositioned as well,”

“By any chance a woman in a large blue hat with a bird wing to the brim and smelling as if she bathed in perfume and dusted in powder?” Toby asks.

“Yes that is the women,”

“It would be Ruby Westford; her husband is a member of the Colony’s Assembly. Watch her; she eats young men like you.”

“I noticed she passed Hubbard a card of sorts,”

“Yes he has given it to me; do you wish to know its contents?”

“I don’t think it would be my business to know,”

“It is your business as she is attempting to make arrangements towards you?”

Dev blushed at the thought, “does that mean what I am thinking?”

“It more than likely does. Are you interested?”

“She must be fifty!”

“Ah but wealthy,”

“No thank you,”

“That is good to hear as I’ve never liked the woman, if I had my way I’d cancel their usage of the house but my mother has sway there and in most nothing comes from the gathering except the destruction of other’s reputation, yet I must admit they do much for charity.”

Tom Hadley took possession of a small penthouse apartment at the top end of Collins Street, known as the Paris-end. Although Hadley was totally lacking in artistic talent he liked to rub shoulders with artisans and that part of Collins Street was as Bohemian as Melbourne could profess towards.

Often while having his morning coffee at the many coffee houses the street offered, he would listen into lengthy debating from those of the Heidelberg School of artists. In the main it would be Tom Roberts and Arthur Streeton and later Charles Conder. There were many others from sculptors to potters and all opinionated in how to end the depression or where to find the cheapest meal and strongest liquor.

Here among the noisy atmosphere of artisans and would-be young men looking for fame and often a way into a rich woman’s bedroom, Hadley would sip coffee laced with whisky and plan his business but more to point he would attempt to imagine who in his lot would make the first move against him.

This morning it was no different for Hadley, except the larrikin who told Bryce of the ditty on Franklyn Lane wall had stuck in his craw. Who was he, what did he know about the Firm? He had questioned Joe Bolt on the lad’s identity but as Bolt had only seen him with Bryce from a distance, while his description was vague and disinterested.

‘What if Bolt is lying and he knows the lad?’ came strongly to mind.

Hadley also thought Bolt was becoming antagonistic and associating more with Worth. Individual they weren’t threatening and he could play one against the other but together they could be dangerous.

“I’ll get rid of them both,” Hadley sighed as Bolt arrived at the coffee house.

“Tom, I’ve been looking for you, we were supposed to meet at your apartment half an hour ago.”

“I was about to go there, come we will walk in the Treasury Gardens, it will be more private.”

Passing the treasury building Hadley released a short sigh. “That is a beautiful building,”

“What building?”

“The Treasury Building, you know I wished to be an architect.”

“What prevented you Tom?” Bolt asks.

“I can hardly write a letter of quality, never mind design a grand building.”

“I would say it is definitely solid,” Bolt admits indifferently towards the edifice before him.

“Yes in the style of renaissance revival designed by Mr. John Clark. Did I tell you I knew Clark and it is said he was but nineteen when he designed the Treasury Building.”

“No Tom you didn’t say,”

“I knew him when I was but a lad; that is how I got my desire towards architecture.” Hadley diverts from past wishes, “now Joe what is so pressing that you had to come across town to talk about?”

“I was talking with Will Bevin from our bank and he said on Wednesday the police were talking with his manager.”

“Why is that relevant?”

“They were inquiring into the Firm’s accounts.”

“They won’t learn much there,” Hadley scoffs.

“True but it was for samples of the handwriting on the accounts that drew their attention.”

“That is interesting why would they want that?”

“Possibly Bryce has left a paper trail,” Bolt suggests.

“Then it will only lead them to a dead man, not to the Firm. Mr. Percy from Percy and Brewster has been cleaver enough to cover any trails.”

“You would be right,” Bolt agrees with Hadley.

“Although you must admit their interest in handwriting is somewhat puzzling,” Hadley says as his paranoia lifts into overdrive.

“Oh on another matter, the young fellow you were asking about who you believed was associated with Stan, I have discovered his name, Devon Gooding but most call him Dev.”

“Anything else?”

“Actually not a lot other than he lives in Collingwood and his family hasn’t two pennies to rub together, also he was an associate of that young fellow who was killed some time back down by the river.

“Who Marcus Finn?”

“That’s him but I don’t think Gooding had anything to do with Stan, except trying to get on his good side, by warning him about the writing on the wall in Franklyn Lane.” Bolt discredits.

“He may know information about the Firm?”

“I doubt so,”

“What about his habits, was Bryce holing him?”

“Again I doubt it, what I can make of Stan was he appeared to be attracted to younger boys but I don’t have proof either way, as it was only hearsay.”

“In my opinion Bryce should have had his nuts cut off.”

“As I said Tom it was only hearsay, for all I know Stan may have been a man for the ladies, as he kept his private life much to himself.”

“Righto leave it with me,” Hadley says.

“Are you going to approach this Gooding fellow?”

“There’s no need if you say he wouldn’t know anything.”

“I would think that would be for the best,” Bolt agrees.

With their discussion ended Bolt departed back towards town, leaving Hadley to stew over the information, while developing the encounter between Bryce and the lad into a major dilemma. He could almost hear their conversations, see them laughing during their degenerate embrace and could hear Bryce’s bragging about the Firm, how he would need only to click his fingers and his underlings, including Hadley would come tail wagging like obedient little puppies.

Would he do something about Gooding? He wasn’t sure what to do but it would be advantageous if Gooding went the same way as his young associate Marcus Finn.

Back in his room Hadley made schemes, firstly against Bolt, then against the kid and then Lenny Worth but as each thought went full circle, he was left with nothing but increasing paranoia. ‘What should I do?” he thought and opened a new bottle of whisky, he poured half a glass and downed it in one gulp.

“Think!” He demanded into the empty space of his rented apartment.

“Think!” He repeated and poured a second drink. He couldn’t think as past deeds were catching up on him and tripping his reality. He couldn’t change the past and had little control over the future and his only thought was the kid and what he may know.

Out of chance after delivering washing for his mother dev met up with Fisk and enquired about his fishing.

“It is almost permanent work at the foundry now, Graham’s old man got me the job,” Fisk admits,

“Jonesy’ said so and that you only go out with Ben on the occasion.”

Turning into Elizabeth Street from Swanston Fisk stops dead and takes Dev by the arm.

“What?” Dev says.

“I heard there was a fellow asking about you the other day,”

“That’s the second time, it appears my popularity is spreading – who?”

“No I wasn’t approached you know Rob Wilson, he use to hang around with us like a fart in a dunny-house and it was Wilson who told me.”

“Do you reckon it’s the police?”

“He says he was a well dressed joker in his early twenties and appeared as if he had been drinking?”

“What did Wilson tell him about me?”

“He only mentioned your name and that you were from Collingwood, the fella’ did ask if you knew Marcus Finn but Wilson went dumb and ran off.”

“Mysterious,” Dev says and leaves it there.

“Where are you going?” Fisk asks.

“I have just delivered a load of washing for mum. Then I’m heading home.”

“How is Jonesy’?”

“He is a lot better, why not come around and have a natter with him?”

“Is he still intending to trick the boats?”

“He said so but I hope not,”

“I like Jonesy’ but I don’t understand how he can let men do that to him,” Fisk says.

“I think his father had a lot to do with that,”

“Then it is as well the old man went loony and was locked away.”

“Yes but the damage was done years ago but I believe Douglas is improving.”

“Then give him my regards, I’m a little busy at present but promise I’ll visit soon.”

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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