Free The Silent Frontier by Peter Watt

stand up with his bowl and walk over to the other man’s table.
    ‘Thank you for the invitation, Mr Busby,’ John said, sitting down carefully, lest he disgrace himself by spilling his soup over the table.
    ‘I would rather you call me Nicholas,’ Busby said with a faint smile, ‘if I may call you John.’ He held out his hand and John accepted the gesture, noting how smooth and soft the other man’s hand felt in his own. ‘Despite your dress, speech and manner I suspect that you are nouveau riche ,’ Nicholas said, sipping at his soup. Before John could speak to defend himself Nicholas raised his free hand. ‘That is a compliment, my dear chap. Something refreshing, when one considers my origins in merry old England and her class system.’
    ‘You are very perceptive,’ John replied. ‘I am the son of a gold miner from Scotland and my wealth is an inheritance as a result of my father striking it rich and selling out his claim at a good price.’
    ‘Ah, as for my good fortune,’ Nicholas said, leaning slightly back in his chair, ‘I am fortunate enough to be the third son of Lord Busby. Born on the right side of the bed, you might say. But now I am what you colonials call a remittance man, one who has been exiled forever from the fair shores of England to live on a stipend allocated from the family estates.’
    ‘I was under the impression that a remittance man was someone sent out here for some kind of indiscretion.’
    ‘True,’ Nicholas answered with an enigmatic smile. ‘Mine was to resist the temptation to marry well, sire a brood of little brutes and continue the family line in the time-honoured tradition. What is the dark secret of one who originally hailed from Van Diemen’s Land?’
    John was surprised at how much Nicholas knew of his life. It was both flattering and disconcerting at the same time.
    ‘Why would you think that I would have a dark secret?’ John countered uncomfortably.
    ‘Because we all have secrets,’ Nicholas said with that same smug look of knowing. ‘What are your dreams in life?’
    ‘To find my brother and sister,’ John let slip. ‘And make a fortune along the way.’
    ‘Maybe I could be of assistance – at least in the latter part of your dream,’ Nicholas offered. ‘It all depends on how we may find our future relationship in life.’
    John felt his heart skip a beat. His suspicion that the other man was inclined in the same manner as himself was being played out in their little game of verbal cut and parry. From the very first time he had first seen Nicholas in the hotel foyer he had to admit that he had been attracted to him. Now, this beautiful man was practically telling him that the feeling was mutual.
    ‘How could you do that?’ John asked, feeling as if he needed air to breathe.
    ‘If nothing else, my dear father is hoping that I will manage his estates in these colonies with some financial success,’ Nicholas replied, delicately wiping the side of his mouth with a perfectly starched linen napkin. ‘I sense that you are a young man with much talent, despite your origins.’
    John did not resent the comment, rather he desired Nicholas more than before.
    They finished their soup and the kitchen staff came in to reset the tables for breakfast. Both men retired to their respective accommodation. In the early hours of the morning John plucked up the courage and made his way very carefully and quietly to Nicholas Busby’s room. A gentle tap on the door was all it took to change both their lives forever.
    Lachlan had been invited to share Christmas day of 1862 with the Duffy family at the Erin Hotel and was welcomed as if he were a member of the family. He found himself very much in the company of Daniel Duffy, who was enjoying a break from his training to be a solicitor.
    In the European tradition, Bridget had prepared a feast of roasted vegetables and a haunch of beef. There was even the luxury of a couple of roasted chickens and a huge ham. Lachlan