Published: 13 Oct 2022

It had been a strange year for Marvellous Melbourne, firstly the sewer caught fire, the city flooded and a pair of legs was found in a street in Hawthorn, later the arms were found in Fawkner Park but never the head or torso. It was also the year there was a plague of locusts and that of the missing Parliamentary mace.

The mace was a strange occurrence, as two people were charged in locking it away after the day’s proceedings and returning it for the next session of parliament and both swore truthfully the procedure had been acted to the letter. The mace was silver gilt with golden ornamentation and weight eight pound and, as in the British Parliament, represented the monarch in the colony of Victoria during sitting times.

The story of the mace was to become an ongoing mystery that would never be solved, running alongside an orgy in a Little Lon brothel attended to by ministers of the crown, a tunnel from Parliament to the brothel and a sexual act by some woman, or women upon the sovereignty of the mace. It was even suggested that the Speaker of the house Sir Thomas Bent who had a devious nature, took the mace to the brothel and as they couldn’t smuggle it back the following day, had a criminal known to him, throw it into the Maribyrnong River.

Even with all the fuss about prostitution, the missing mace and the body parts and much activity from the police, the many gangs that all but ran business in the city were thriving, as was the Firm and Tomas Hadley had been at his city apartment all week and had called a meeting of the Firm’s inner circle for that morning.

With the meeting at an end only Joe Bolt remained as he had word for Hadley he didn’t think wise to report to the others.

“Have you heard about the missing mace?” Hadley asks.

“I did but it went missing months back and was only reported recently,” Blot says.

Hadley gives a knowing chuckle.”

“Do you know something Tom?” Bolt asks.

“Not as such but Rob Knotting said he knew who threw it in the river.”

“Do you believe him? If it was me I would have melted it down as scrap,” Bolt suggests.

“As what more than likely happened,” Hadley agrees, “what is it you are holding from the others Joe?”

“The noose is tightening Tom,”

“What do you mean?”

“I have had word from our retainers at Russell Street that your name is mentioned most often behind closed doors, not only that, they have questioned a number of our,” Bolt gives a cheeky grin, “clients.”

“I don’t think they will get much there,”

“I don’t know, some are getting brave, possibly we haven’t come down hard enough and should make an example of one or two.”

“I agree and that wog sausage maker in Errol Street will do for a start; do you want a drink?”

“Only a small one thank you.”

Hadley measures two large drinks, “I saw that kid today,” Hadley says and immediately his tone became abrasive.

“What kid is that?”

“The kid that Bryce was grooming.”

“I think you are becoming obsessed,”

“He was with an officer from the Victorian Rangers. I think it was Tobias Nevis.”

Bolt takes a sip and placed his drink aside without comment.

“I think the kid needs roughing-up a little,” Hadley suggests.

“By roughing up, do you mean like how Stan Bryce was roughed-up?”

“Something like that?” Hadley says while pouring a second drink.

“Who is to do this roughing-up – will it be you Tom?”

“If I have to,”

“What of Bryce?” Bolt asks his tone low and accusing, his expression condescending.

“What of Bryce?’ Hadley snaps realising Bolt’s attitude.

“I hear it is suggested around Russell Street, you may have done him in.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m not paid to think,”

“No you’re not and don’t you forget it.”

“Well Tom If I can make a suggestion,”

“Go on?”

“I think you should lay low for a while. Possibly go up to Sydney, you could stay with my sister at Five Dock; she would appreciate the company since her Clarence passed on and she has always been keen on you.”

“I’ll think about it,”

“Then you consider what I have suggested but I must be on my way,” Bolt gives a slight nod of the head and a forced smile as he prepares to depart.

“Right-o Joe, get Williams onto the sausage maker,”

“Consider it done,” Bolt closes the door behind as he departs.

‘Did I hear you laugh?’ Hadley was now imagining more that reality had to offer.

“Yes you would like that,” Hadley quietly spoke as he poured yet another drink.

‘Get me out of the way so you can take over.’

‘Not unless I get you first.’

‘How?’ he thought.

‘How can I do him in without anyone knowing?’

Before the depression most in Melbourne turned a blind eye to the many street women but the number was increasing daily, some for simply excitement but in the most a way to survive and was becoming visual as woman openly and raucously fought for street territory. The area close to the Paris End of Collins Street was commonly known as the Little Lon and held many of the town’s brothels. The humor being, the politicians across Spring Street complained bitterly about the brothels during the day while visiting them by night, even suggested some had ownership.

It was common belief there was a secret tunnel from parliament under Spring Street coming up close by a Chinese opium den that was a front for one of the busiest bordello but such belief was simply one of the many truism that were bandied around amongst the poorer class.

Little Lon became a melting pot of Chinese, Germans, Jews and Italians to name a few without mentioning the multitude of brothels, ale houses and opium dens, although most of the opium dens were along Little Bourke Street in Chinatown and remained quite legal in the colony.

There was much opposition to the opium dens and the loudest protest came from a wealthy Chinese tea importer from Sydney, Mei Quong Tart who had visited Melbourne earlier in the year. Quong Tart was a strange fellow, he being orphaned and brought up in a Scottish household speaking English with a heavy Scottish brogue, believed he had a fair singing voice and once while visiting the Victorian goldfields sang over the newly installed telephone to Melbourne for the Governor. It was also his influence that eventually brought about the closure of opium dens, while leading to the illicit drug laws throughout the colonies.

For now the dens were making good business, as were the brothels and of these establishments some were high class and mostly found facing the main street, while those of the lower class were in dwellings within narrow lanes across the Lon, working behind tobacconists, confectionery and other small business. One such was a Chinese woman locally known as Yokohama, with a voice so shrilled it hurt the ears and laughter that could be heard a block away.

As for those giving service to the wealthy one immediately came to mind, Madam Brussels of Lonsdale Street often titled Queen of Harlotry who owned a number of properties in the Lon, under the guise of boarding houses. Sarah Fraser was oddly married to a police officer working up country and remained married throughout her career. It was to Sarah Fraser the Police Commissioner directed Prince Alfred the duke of Edinburgh during his visit and Sarah then travelled to Sydney with the Duke.

If the Lon’s prostitutes were many, its larrikins and gangs were equally numerous. It was a lucrative area for graft with its gambling halls, opium dens. It was an area the Firm had attempted to break into but was quickly warned off by those already in control, leaving them to the less profitable western sector. Suggestion had been made for the Firm to amalgamate with the biggest of the Lon’s push but in doing so, Hadley would become a minnow answering to the more aggressive Stephen Street Push.

Now alone with time to consider the points of the morning’s meeting Hadley was becoming even more distracted. It was Lenny Worth who suggested the merger with Stephen Street and was loosely backed by Bolt. Who will run it? Hadley had asked and without concern Lenny Worth admitted it would be the larger and the Firm would all but fade into insignificancy, that being preferred over the pressure coming from Russell Street. Worth also suggested Stephen Street had more retainers than the Firm, while alleged there were a number of politicians on their payroll, being a luxury the Firm could never afford.

Again Hadley thought of the kid. Was he being knocked by the man he was with? Had he been in bed with Bryce? In the alcohol washed shadows of his mind Hadley could imagine the kid with Bryce, talking and laughing at his expense while sharing their sordid behavior. Hadley had hated Bryce for his unnatural preference and that alone would have been enough to justify his former boss’ demise now he plotted against his second in Bolt and the kid but was without application or scheme.

Hadley returned to the problem at hand being the suggested amalgamation with Stephen Street, he was acquainted with Toe-cutter Reeves who ran that Push and his persuasive ways of obtaining agreement.

Hadley had previously come up against Stephen Street in a mild rumble within an alley close to the fish market at the western end of Flinders Street and two from the Firm had been badly injured with knife wounds. That was during Bryce’s time and soon after Bryce met with Reeves the Stephen Street leader and came to a territorial understanding.

“Territory,” Hadley huffed into the late afternoon air as he peered down from his apartment onto Little Lon and the territory of Stephen Street. He gave a smile, “here I am living in Reeves territory and can’t make gain from it.”

In the lane below he could see a number of ladies peddling their trade and a well dressed gentleman with a cane and top hat, obviously arguing the price for an hour’s horizontal entertainment.

“I know him,” Hadley whispered towards the grime on his window glass. He rubbed a section clear to gain a clear view.

“That’s Harry Fleming the minister for railways,” another smile as he thought of how he could blackmail the politician into supporting the Firm. A second thought realising Fleming was suggested to be a retainer for Stephen Street.

“The noose is tightening,” Hadley quietly repeated Bolt’s earlier words, while unconsciously touching his throat.

“I need a shave,”

He rubbed the stubble on his chin.

‘Possibly Joe is right and I should lay low for a while, let it all blow over,’ but even as the thought developed he discarded it.

“Bolt!” Hadley growled.

“Somehow I’ll get the bugger.”

“What about the kid?”

The questions loudly escaped into the late afternoon closeness of the room with its scent of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. Hadley didn’t smoke but Worth did, even after Hadley had stipulated not to smoke in his presence.

‘The kid would be the easiest to contend with but it would point back to me,’ Hadley, although somewhat intoxicated, realized that fact and placed any plan aside, at least for the present.

‘What has O’Keefe got on me?” He questioned as alcohol driven fear commenced to grip more tightly onto his reality.

‘Possibly I could get O’Keefe first,’

‘Difficult,’ he discredited.

Dev sat at the end of the bed watching Toby undress from his military uniform after returning from his monthly duty with the regiment. The action excited him enough to ask a mental question. When was the first time he found pleasure in the male form? With his question was realization it was always there but until now lacked title being part of that thing called self. His eyes were drawn to Toby’s nakedness and his lack of urgency to cover. Dev smiles broadly.

“What’s got your fancy?” Toby quietly asks.

“You naked,”

“You’ve seen me naked before,”

“True,”

“Then why more so now?”

“The uniform I guess,” Dev admits as Toby carefully folds it back to a special drawer.

“So you are into roll playing, how would you like to try it on?”

“It wouldn’t fit,”

“Go on try it,”

“I’d rather take you to bed.”

“Then do it.”

The two fell onto the bed laughing in a rough and tumble.

Dev becomes silent.

“Now what?” Toby asks.

“Something you said some time back.”

“What was that?”

“I was wondering if you meant it,”

“If you don’t reiterate then how can I say?”

“Reiterate, I like that,” Dev says.

“Dev you are dodging,”

“Yes I am – aren’t I?”

Dev slowly sucks in a chest of air, he holds it for a second then slowly releases.

“Again I ask – reiterate,”

“You said you love me.” Dev rises and folds his arms around his knees in an almost fetal position.

“I did say that,” Toby admits.

“Did you mean it?”

“And I asked you to think on it,”

Both became serious as the excitement of the moment diminished towards somber.

“I have and I like the idea,”

“What does that translate to Dev?”

“I agree,”

Toby begins to laugh.

“Don’t laugh it isn’t easy for me to admit such things.”

“Admit what Dev? As yet you haven’t admitted anything?” Toby is teasing.

“To say I also love you but shit Toby in the saying it frightens me.”

“Why so?”

“I’m afraid some day you will turn away from me. What would I do then?”

“You are stronger than you realize and it would never happen.”

Another breath, another release as Dev becomes silent allowing his sight to rest on the crazed pattern of the patchwork quilt. He remembers one similar long ago when his father was alive and he was a child. He also remembers a day when from out of bright sunshine came gloom that placed his mother with two young children into lingering poverty. It had been as if someone had snuffed out a candle plunging further life into darkness and as he grew into boyhood came the depression and a further deepening of gloom for his poor mother.

“What is troubling you?” Toby asks.

“Fear of the future I guess, or shadows from the past.”

“Come here,” Toby draws Dev close, “let the future look after itself, it will anyway.”

“I guess so but I do love you Toby.”

“And as I said I love you more than you could realize,”

Dev releases a soft giggle.

“What was that for?”

“The conversation has really taken the heat out of it,”

“It has but I still have enough heat left to continue.” Toby wraps his arms tightly around Dev and they fall into a wrestle.

Dev arrived home early from his Saturday’s horticulture course beaming with excitement and obviously eager to share some information, while finding Hubbard relaxing in the garden after his afternoon’s work.

“Mr. Hubbard you appear a little warn out.” Dev says as he entered through the side gate.

“I’m not getting any younger I’m afraid Mr. Gooding,”

“It’s Dev please Mr. Hubbard,”

“Very well Mr. Gooding; what has you so excited?”

“I’ll explain later, where is Toby?”

“Tobias is in the main hall, there has been a leak near the entrance and he is contemplating if he can do the repairs himself, or will need to call someone in.”

“That will be fun, he isn’t all that clever with a hammer,” Dev laughs.

“Now Mr. Gooding,” Hubbard lightly issues rebuke.

Dev hurries into the hall to find Toby standing hands on hips, while gently shaking his head towards a large water stain down the wallpaper.

“That looks bad,” Dev mentions.

“It is and I’ll have to call someone in. I think it has been leaking for a time but as we don’t often come in here it was missed. Hubbard discovered it during his monthly investigation of all rooms.”

“Will you be able to match the wallpaper?”

“I think not, it was specially imported from France some years back. There would be a few rolls left up in the attic but not enough to cover this.”

“Posh paper,” Dev comments.

“Mother’s choice, not mine.”

“I have some news,” Dev allows his excitement to rise.

“Come on out with it.”

“I’ve passed my final examination top of the class,”

“Clever boy,”

“Well I exaggerate, I still have two examinations before I finally qualify but they are practical and not written.”

“We will have to celebrate,”

“Where?” Dev asks.

“Tonight and I’ll take you to the club for a meal and a few drinks.”

“What club?”

“The Melbourne Club but you will need to dress for the occasion. Maybe wear that jacket I bought you some weeks back.”

“I would like that.”

If swank was appropriate it could be used, along with conservatively British with a dash of colonial snobbery and that was but the external of the building. A well groomed doorman stood guard against any who were not members, while looking down his aquiline nose at those who passed and glanced towards a door they could not enter. He almost smiled as Toby approached; Dev but a half step behind.

“Good evening Mr. Nevis,” the doorman greeted.

“Good evening Richards, the weather is on the change.

The doorman reached and opened the large glass and panel door, being sure he used the highly polished push plate with his gloved hand. As he did so he gave Dev a glare.

“And guest,” Richards suggests somewhat aloofly.

“And guest Mr. Richards,” Toby announces as they enter into the scent of cigar smoke and wood polish. The silence inside was all but deafening.

“We will need to sign in,” Toby says approaching a lectern but a pace inside the door. He signs into a leather bound book of some magnitude, then passes Dev a stick pen, “there the ink,” he nodded to the silver inkwell.

“What should I write?” Dev whispers afraid to break the silence within the club.

“Your signature,”

“I don’t have on,” Dev nervously admits.

“You have a name. Simply write that but remember forever on it will be your signature.”

“Oh,” Dev scratches D. Gooding to the page and not being use to the nib sends a light spray of black ink across another’s signing.

“Oh,” he says again with nervous overtone.

Toby softly laughs.

“It’s alright for you Tobias Nevis but I’ve never been in such a swank place before. Dev whispers and gives Toby a gentle poke to the rib cage.

“It will do and you can see someone else has already blotted his copy book, as for swank it’s more pretentiousness than classy,” Toby whispers.

“So why come here,”

“Mainly for information to send back to my parents, they like to keep up with the colonial scene. Come on move in as there are other’s waiting.”

“What would you like to drink?” Toby asks as they are directed to fine leather club chairs.

“I’d love a beer,”

“Not in here you won’t,”

“Why not?” Dev asks.

“Beer is considered the working man’s preference.”

“I am a working man,”

“Not while you are in here.”

“Then what would be on offer?” Dev asks.

“Scotch, gin, maybe sherry or brandy,” Toby lists.

“Umm, I suppose scotch will do.”

“Two of my usual Jackson, Toby directed to the waiter standing patiently by.

“I don’t see any women,” Dev suggested while flicking his eyes around the smoky environment.

“Men only here;” Toby admits as he is gently tapped on the shoulder. He turns, “Raymond I haven’t seen you for some time; Will you join us?”

Raymond Dyer becomes seated, a drink in one hand an expensive cigar in the other and held at such an angle that could only be thought of as effeminate. His eyes fall on Dev.

“Young man you do scrub up well,” He says.

“Thank you Mr. Dyer,” Dev answers being uncertain of the connotation behind Dyer’s comment.

“No – no never; it is Raymond to any of Tobias’ friends;” Dyer says with flair and issued through a suggestive grin.”

“Keep it nice Raymond,” Toby says knowing his friend was incapable of discretion.

“I do have a question for Devon, if I may be at liberty to ask,” Dyer says as he beds his eyes into the material of Dev’s crotch.

Feeling uncomfortable Dev places a hand over the area of interest. “What would that be Mr. Dyer?”

“Your friend Douglas.”

“What has he done?” Dev asks.

“That is the point – nothing,”

“I don’t understand your meaning,”

“The week before last he said I’ll see you on Sunday and that was the last I heard from him and I don’t know his place of abode and I’m concerned something has happened to him.”

“I haven’t seen Douglas for a while myself,” Dev admits.

“If I’m not being bold could you find out for me?” Dyer apologetically asks.

“That I could, I will go around tomorrow,” Dev then turns to Toby, “do you have anything planned for tomorrow?”

“No,”

“I would be most grateful as the bed is cold without his little body to warm me,” Dyer says.

“On hot nights like we have been having of late?” Dev contradicts.

“You know what I mean,”

“Only too well,” Toby answers.

“I think I’m becoming a little too use to his company,” Dyer admits.

“I will go around tomorrow and maybe Toby can let you know what I discover,” Dev promises.

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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