Butcherbirds Cry at Midnight

By David Scott

A family running a vineyard in the post–World War II era are in crisis. But why, when the prosperous winery is world-renowned for its award-winning wine?

The Algie family are held in high esteem within the small Murray Valley town, Howard and Elizabeth being pillars of society.

Yet all is not what it seems. Mother and daughter have a strained relationship; father and one of the sons are antagonistic to each other, to the point of murderous intent; and the youngest child is introverted. What dark family secret lurks beneath the happy facade that is so carefully nurtured by Howard and Elizabeth? A secret so soul-destroying that hatred threatens to turn to murder—and madness.

It is a story that lurks in many towns and cities, mostly hidden from prying eyes. It is a tale of truth, denial, and shame, one where exposure affects every member of the family, shattered lives that only time might mend.

It is a story of power and loss, of stubborn disbelief at the expense of broken loyalties that leave victims without hope or trust, at the edge of sanity.

The author's stage-play drama of the story was so confrontational that sections of audiences remained seated at the end to compose themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228832362

David Scott

David Scott is currently a Senior Research Fellow at the History of Parliament Trust and has formerly taught at both York and Yale Universities. His previous book (for Palgrave) 'Politics and War in the Three Stuart Kingdoms 1637-49' was chosen by the Sunday Telegraph as one of its Books of the Year in 2004.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Twenty-three-year-old Amy Algie awoke screaming. The dream scenarios often started innocently, happily, which added emphasis to the horror that came. She was six or seven in the latest dreamscape, and having a wonderful time on the back lawn of the family home. She wore a new blue dress, like Alice in Wonderland, and was swirling around with arms flung out. She felt so pretty, spinning with her face turned upwards to the blue sky, the edge of the house flying by as she spun. Giddiness overwhelmed her, and she collapsed on the lawn, giggling.

As equilibrium returned, a butcherbird sang sweetly from within the wood dividing the house from the winery, and she whistled back. Butcherbirds were her friends, eating minced meat from her hand each day.

She scrambled to her feet and headed to the large copse of trees where the trill had come from, fully aware of her mother’s crossness about going there in her new dress.

Amy! she would scold. How many times must I tell you to change into play clothes before going into that bushy area?

Amy would solemnly drop her head as if contrite, and then sneak out and do it again and again. This was almost as much fun as playing hide and seek with her young brother, Cade. But he hadn’t been with her in her bad dream. No one she knew ever was.

The trees and bushes closed around Amy the further she went into the woods, and the sweet trill in the trees changed to the harsh cry of a cranky butcherbird attacking a rival flock. She turned to leave, but wattle and eucalypt trees hemmed her in, their limbs with long, thin fingers grabbing her, one snagging the bottom of her dress.

Amy screamed and pulled away, the dress ripping. Then the darkness came, the same dreaded scene that always filled her nightmares: gloom filled with red eyes and deafening screeches.

Her legs sagged and she dropped to the ground with her hands pressed over her ears to block out the racket. The darkness began to divide into butcherbird shapes; not the friendly ones she knew, but angry ones with snapping, hooked beaks and blood-red eyes. They tugged her hair, and when she tried to fend them off they scratched and pecked her hands and arms.

Amy, distraught, hit and kicked at them in vain. The thought of her mother’s anger at seeing the ruined dress added to her distress. How could she make her mother understand it wasn’t her fault?

A face started to form in the darkness behind the attacking birds. She sensed it more than saw it. It was a diffuse and dim outline within the blackness. A secret came to mind . . . she wasn’t sure if it was a thought, if it had been spoken, if she’d sensed it, or if she’d imagined it along with the shrieking?

Then she’d awoken screaming in the darkness with an urgent need for light, her only weapon to vanquish the demons. Her bedside light blinded the vision heaped in her mind, but not the sensation, which lasted much, much longer. Light, artificial or solar, was her ally; it kept the terrors of darkness at bay. It calmed her—not calmed exactly, relief was a better term. Calm meant peace, and she was by no means peaceful. But it was her saviour when nothing else was, not even her mother who had cuddled her as a child whenever she’d woken screaming. Amy always felt it was too little, too late. Why hadn’t she appeared before the bad dream? Why hadn’t she banished it?

She looked at the clock: 12:15 a.m.—still a lot of night to pass. She propped a second pillow behind her and pulled the covers up.

In the five years since she’d moved to Sydney from her country home at Wingoonda by the Murray River, the nightmares had lessened in number but not intensity. Her father hadn’t been happy about her leaving home, and never missed an opportunity to try and coax her into staying at home and being involved in the family business. He felt slighted when she had told him about accepting a job in Sydney. He wasn’t used to being defied, especially by a precocious eighteen-year-old!

Precocious? In hindsight she must have appeared that way, but inside she was far from it. Sydney was a scary place to a girl who’d grown up in a small country town. During the weeks leading up to her leaving home, she’d had to bolster all her resolve to not back out of leaving.

I’m going and that’s that! she’d screamed at her mother when she’d supported her husband’s sentiment.

Being accepted for a position with an organisation running cinemas and distributing movies in every Australian state, its head office in Sydney, had been the clincher to her decision. It came through a friend of a family friend who knew one of the executives, and Amy had only told her family about it after accepting the offer. There had been hell to pay from her parents, but she’d stuck to her guns. Amy sighed thinking about it.

Returning to the present, she knew her face was ghostly white and her light auburn hair a mess—after past night terrors she’d seen them that way in the bathroom mirror when she’d washed sweat from her face. Her appearance didn’t matter—that was fixable in the morning—her only concern was to rid herself of the nightmare’s lingering remnants.

And then there was the odour. She’d heard somewhere that smells don’t enter dreams, but they entered hers. Maybe it was a mind trick, something from her past associated with the horrible images, but whatever it was, the source was forgotten. Sometimes she sensed a familiarity in it, but only fleetingly. Sometimes it left a claustrophobic staleness that made her retch.

Glancing around the neat and tidy room, she sensed nothing sinister hiding in the shadows. Her passion for order bordered on obsession, something she found reassuring. At work, woe betide any office boy sloppily dropping a message or parcel on her tidy desk. They knew how particular she was, and often waited for her to appear from the director’s office to hand it to her.

Tidiness is next to godliness, her mother used to say, and as a child Amy purposely flouted the rule, even though dropping her clothes on the bedroom floor gnawed at her ordered sensibility. But it was worth it to annoy her mother.

Amy lay still to focus her mind onto something else. She settled on a time with Cade when she was six and he was four. They’d scampered into the house from the backyard, and she’d smiled to herself at how purposefully she’d slammed the wire-screen door shut, knowing it would aggravate her mother, Elizabeth, who was peeling carrots for their supper.

Giggling, she burst into the kitchen ahead of Cade, demanding, I need meat! as she scuttled to the refrigerator. Minced meat was kept there to feed native birds, and she’d swung open the door so fiercely that it banged against the wall.

Just a minute, young lady! Her mother’s admonishment stopped Amy from diving her hand into the bowl of minced meat, but she made sure her petulance was noticed. Her mother hated that too. According to her, Little girls should be polite and quietly spoken at all times.

Phooey! Amy had thought. Where was the fun in that?

Amy recalled watching her mother turn away from peeling carrots and wash her hands. She seemed to be taking her time on purpose.

As Elizabeth wiped her hands on a towel, she glimpsed her reflection in the window. She was happy at having slid into her thirty-second year with ease despite bringing up three children and pandering to a self-indulgent husband. Her wavy auburn hair was styled across her forehead to soften a tall brow, and her straight-backed stance gave her a regal air. It was important to look her best, as she’d cultivated a significant social position in the small community.

The years immediately after World War II were lucrative for the family’s winery in the Murray Valley, and she stood proudly in her two-storey mansion. The established gardens surrounding it were immaculate, and any weeds daring to sneak amongst her flowers and bushes did so at their own peril. Vineyards could be seen beyond the circular driveway at the front and off to one side, while an acreage of natural bushland bordered the backyard in the other direction, with gums, wattles and thick shrubbery providing privacy from the winery.

She pictured her husband in the barrel room, either conducting tours for visitors that included wine sampling, or checking vats and barrels. Howard Algie was a stocky man with a plump moon face, bushy eyebrows and a sweaty forehead. His hair had aged prematurely, bypassing grey to white, leaving odd dark strands as reminders of how it used to be. He dressed extravagantly, a vanity complementing an expansive personality that dominated conversations, and the more he imbibed, which was often, the more garrulous he became.

Where’s the Rhine Valley?

Elizabeth turned from her reflection to seven-year-old Michael, her first child, sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by books. He was thick-set and olive-skinned like Howard, and just as fascinated by the family business without being as effusive. She saw a sign written in French on the winery pictured in the book he was reading, and speculated, Um, France, I think.

Umph, he muttered, returning to his book.

She hadn’t sounded convincing, so she knew Michael intended on asking his father, who would certainly know.

Mum! The butcherbirds are waiting. Amy had been impatiently rocking from foot to foot, not caring that the refrigerator door was wide open.

Elizabeth studied her while crossing the room: even at that age it was obvious she was blessed with a beauty destined to break hearts. She was more petite than Elizabeth, her nose finer, her hair closer to brown than red, and a smoky hue in her green eyes gave them an air of mystery. Elizabeth often clashed with her strong-willed daughter—enduring a husband’s egotistical nature was bearable, but a bossy child was intolerable.

In contrast, Cade was gentle, his angelic face expressing unconditional love. His fine features, fair complexion, blond hair and pale blue eyes gave him an ethereal quality that was both endearing and mysterious. His temperament was the opposite of Amy’s, always wanting to please and so easily pleased.

The refrigerator was Elizabeth’s pride and joy, being the first electric one in the district, so she quickened her pace before Amy let too much cold escape. Haven’t we forgotten the magic word?

Please, came with an impatient sigh without looking at her mother.

Elizabeth overlooked the impudence and loaded meat onto a saucer. Your birds eat more than we do.

Cade giggled and hugged his mother’s leg.

But they sing so sweetly for their supper, Amy said, snatching the saucer of meat from her mother and dashing off.

Elizabeth bristled, but before she could chastise her, Cade snared her attention by squeezing her hand. Tommy Tucker sings for his supper too. Doesn’t he, Mummy?

She nodded, his gentleness sweeping away any annoyance with her daughter. He swivelled on his heels and chased after his sister.

Amy! Elizabeth shouted. Take Cade’s hand when you get to the driveway! The last word was swallowed up by the screen door banging shut.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head, lips pressed together in frustration. Amy was a constant irritant, something her husband failed to see. However would she get it through to her daughter that she had her best interests at heart?

The kitchen’s ambience had returned to normal and she appreciated it. She studied Michael, who’d been too absorbed in reading to notice his siblings. He was his father’s son as far as the family’s business was concerned.

Her life was the envy of her friends, and she was the wife of a highly successful businessman, which made them pillars of the local community. They were known for their entertaining and charitable fundraising events that were often held at their mansion, and they had three healthy children with assured futures within the family enterprise. She felt smug; there wasn’t anything in her life she’d change.

She crossed the room to the window to watch Amy and Cade disappear among trees and bushes. An ominous feeling crept into her self-satisfaction, squirming inside her like a bunch of twisting nerves. She looked for a long moment at the spot where they had disappeared. She suspected she was being overprotective, putting it down to her daughter’s rudeness. She returned to preparing vegetables for dinner.

Letting her thoughts wander, she remembered the times she had looked out the window to watch Cade as he rolled on the soft lawn, laughing at the antics of the birds swooping and chasing after one another. He was a constant source of joy. It seemed the world held an endless supply of delight and fascination for Cade, and his enchantment with the ordinary so often revealed the extraordinary. The words the meek shall inherit the earth came to mind, surprising Elizabeth out of her contemplation.

Suddenly the silence was deafening, and she felt compelled to look out the window again, at where the children had gone. Was she being overprotective? She worried anew, a hand fiddling with a curl of her permed hair.

Amy’s remembrance of the time was different from her mother’s. All Amy had been interested in was the saucer of food for her butcherbirds and dashing to the winery to find her father. He enjoyed feeding the butcherbirds as much as she and Cade; he was so much more fun than their staid mother.

Amy! Cade shouted. She ignored him as she forged ahead, so he shouted again. Amy! Wait!

She took no notice of his cry and skirted by wattle trees. They had broken out in blossom, even though it was still winter. They were always the first trees to show off their finery, and the air was filled with their sweet perfume. As Amy relived the memory, she swore she could smell the bushland aromas in her bedroom.

ARGH! Cade cried out as he tripped and fell.

Guilt rushed through Amy and she stopped to wait for him, her exasperation at his sluggishness peaking as a distant butcherbird trilled. Hurry up, slowcoach! Toot’s singing out to us.

He picked himself up and rushed on, arriving breathless. Wo-wonder if Wh-Whistle, Plunk and Boom are there too?

They won’t be far away, or the twins. They hadn’t named the fledglings yet, the adults gaining theirs from musical sounds detailed in a storybook.

Amy took his hand and they continued on, swinging their arms between them. They broke through the scrub and trees and followed the bitumen driveway, leaving it to cut through an empty car park where they made a game of shoving each other onto oil spots left by cars. Cade often won, Amy always being careful not to spill the meat from the saucer.

Tiredness was catching up with Amy as she lay propped up in bed, but she pushed on with the reverie despite drooping eyelids.

The sales shop was the first building, and at seeing the sales assistant by herself, they knocked on the glass front window to attract her attention. Knowing whom they wanted, she pointed further along the buildings.

Amy snuggled down a little in her bedding, her head slipping into the heaped pillows, but not by much. The best part of the memory was about to happen.

They hurried to the barrel room, the likeliest place to find their father, pausing just inside its giant doorway. By this time, they took for granted the wine and oak aromas in the dimly lit area, but standing dwarfed before high rows of barrels and vats under a vaulted ceiling had always been daunting for Amy.

Dad? Amy spoke softly, intimidated by the immensity of the room.

Cade wasn’t as affected, so he boomed, Daddy!

The sound shattered the fermenting silence and claret spilt down Howard’s shirt front. He was in a back corner, drinking. He quaffed down what remained in his glass and heaved his heavy frame out of the chair. Being the centre of attention was something he relished.

And how are my little tomtits? he greeted, lumbering into the central aisle with outstretched arms.

The children crashed into him.

Daddy! Toot’s singing for her supper, Cade declared. Just like Tommy Tucker.

Amy yawned back in the covers as she recalled how she’d held up the saucer of meat, saying to her father, And the others will be there too.

Well, we’d better feed them then, Howard expounded, tickling Cade’s ribs as he lifted him onto his shoulders. The boy squirmed, giggling.

Cade wobbled precariously when Howard took his hands away, gasping as he slumped forward to press his cheek into his father’s hair, his hands gripping his chin. Amy clasped one of her father’s clammy hands and skipped alongside them as they moved outside to head between buildings to the rear.

Amy stifled a yawn as she relived the moment of her chanting, Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom. Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom. Cade had joined in.

Whistle saw them coming, her trill alerting the other butcherbirds, who flitted to the closest bush, Plunk excitedly juddering his wings.

Amy rushed ahead and handed some meat to Whistle, who gobbled it and looked for more. She held out another lump, but Toot snatched it before Whistle could, the loser shrilly voicing her indignation.

Howard set Cade down so the boy could feed Plunk, Boom and the fledglings. They were too wary to come close, so Cade tossed meat up to them and they adeptly caught it in their beaks.

Boom’s dollop was so big that he stretched his long, thin tongue outside his beak to swallow it whole, and Cade’s throaty giggling at the bird’s antics soon had everyone laughing till tears streaked their vision.

The birds flew off after eating, leaving the children snuggling against their father, comforted by his fingers threading through their hair.

Amy cherished those times, savouring them after maturity had blotted out other childhood memories.

Her thoughts blurred as sleep took over.

She slept peacefully until the alarm clock blared to herald a new day.

CHAPTER TWO

Amy awoke with a stiff neck from being propped up most of the night. Wobbling her head around and around only helped a little, so she headed to the shower to let hot water pound on the sore spot. It worked, and as she drove to work an hour later the sore neck was forgotten.

It was just as well, with the day turning out to be full of new contracts to check for her boss, along with organising a charity premiere for a movie to be released in a few weeks. It was a tall building, and the managing director’s office in which she worked was at the top, floor-to-ceiling glass windows giving wonderful views of Sydney Harbour Bridge and the crossing ferries.

It was the head office of a film-distribution firm that also ran movie theatres. It had outlets in all Australian cities so it was always busy, especially when film stars visited to promote their movies.

Her boss, Frank Dirby, treated her as a daughter, and she adored him for his caring ways. His wife Zelda was the most stunningly beautiful lady she’d seen. Whenever she entered a function room, she was the centre of attention. Her thick black hair was always sculpted in a way that would make Sophia Loren jealous, and her radiant smile melted men’s hearts. But her real beauty lay in her unpretentiousness. Amy was certain Zelda was unaware of just how beautiful she was.

Zelda had made a point of meeting her at the first premiere Amy organized. Amy was in awe of her, but Zelda immediately put her at ease by placing her hand on Amy’s and saying, You must be Amy? My husband has told me so much about you, and how everything runs like clockwork since you became his secretary.

Amy had blushed and looked down at the floor. Compliments always embarrassed her. Thank you, Mrs Dirby, Amy managed to say.

Zelda’s delicate hand on Amy’s chin was like a feather as she tilted her head up.

My friends call me Zee, she said, smiling. And I just know you and I are going to be special friends.

Amy had smiled back, all nervousness forgotten.

During the evening, Amy noticed Zee and Frank often glanced across the room at each other, their expressions so endearing that Amy was moved to tear-glittered eyes.

At a later screening, for which proceeds were donated to The Flying Doctor service, a not-for-profit organization that provides medical assistance to remote communities in the outback, Zee circulated among the guests. Amy had been watching her speaking with a greying gentleman, and found herself being called over to meet Brad, a local ambulance driver who was in attendance to support the cause.

Within seconds, Zee impishly exclaimed, Oh, I have to go and mingle. With that she was off, turning behind Brad to mischievously wink at Amy.

Brad was ten years older than Amy, which appealed to her: he was past the stage of going all out to impress by bragging about himself, a refreshing change from previous dates she had endured. He was simply who he was, his nature cast in stone for all to see. He was content in his own skin, which was more than Amy could say for herself.

The night passed quickly, and Amy enjoyed Brad’s light-hearted banter. He had quickly put her at ease with his easy-going nature and natural gift of the gab. He was certainly a lot different than Ronnie, whom she had briefly dated—that one couldn’t pass a mirror without looking at himself.

The next day Brad sent a single red rose to her office, ringing later to see if she got it and asking if she would like to go to dinner. She politely refused.

He did the same for the next three days, always receiving polite knock-backs.

On the fourth day Amy relented, mainly to stop office gossip, and agreed to go out with him.

After that they went on outings, a phrase Amy preferred to dates. On weekends he played Aussie Rules football, badly, his concern at hurting others his downfall. Fellowship was what was important to him, and he was popular because of it. Amy watched from the stands, often cheering out of place, like if he dropped a mark. He’d good-naturedly smirk at her, which made her laugh.

They had gone on outings regularly over the past six months, and if he was off duty he joined her at premieres.

During this time she learned he had been married and divorced in his twenties. He didn’t talk much about it, but by reading between the lines Amy gathered his wife was a wannabe socialite who resented the lack of prestige with Brad’s career, a job that entailed weekend work and being called out to emergencies at any hour of the day or night, things that did not suit her thirst for partying.

An opportunity to enhance her social standing arose when a wealthy barrister arrived on the scene and attached himself to her, and between them a hasty divorce was arranged so they could marry. Brad went along with it, seeing only hurt in forcing a relationship that wasn’t working. He bore her no ill will—worse than that, he was indifferent.

Amy liked his good humour and relaxed way, but as with previous suitors she refused to commit to a full relationship. He put up with it, whereas others had soon tired of her reticence, one labelling her a teaser, which she couldn’t completely disagree with.

*     *     *

Amy had a good day despite the previous evening’s nightmare, which had been forgotten. She drove home after work feeling light-hearted. She parked in her carport by one of the four apartments on the beautifully landscaped property, and stayed in the car after turning the motor off, admiring alternating pink and blue hydrangea blooms along the front of the units. She liked orderly structure; it gave a constant rhythm to life. Clutter was distressing.

At twenty-three she liked the way her life was going. Living in Sydney for five-and-a-bit years had become like a favourite pair of shoes. The early days of living in a boarding house and being an errand runner at a large firm exhibiting and distributing movies had been like walking in pinching shoes, and there were times when she was close to calling it quits and returning home to help run the winery like her parents wanted. But she had stuck it out, and within a year she moved into a unit. When her position within the company rose she upgraded to an apartment in the more fashionable suburb of Cradleton.

She loved the career she’d made for herself, thriving at organising and hosting movie premieres, gala events where she rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous, as well as the ambitious and infamous.

Her ability to interact with these personalities was what had impressed her employer to promote her to his assistant, and she was in attendance as major deals were brokered. She idolized her boss, Mr Dirby, a man who treated her with respect and appreciated her intelligence, commitment and diligence, something she’d yearned for from her mother when growing up. The Dirbys, especially Zee, regularly asked about her home life and what she’d gotten up to over the weekend. She was part of their extended family, and on occasions she and Brad dined with them.

Her mother’s words when she had come to Amy’s room as she packed came to mind: But you’ll only be an usherette, like Gwen at the pictures in town.

Amy had dug her toes in, saying, It’ll be different in the city. They said I’ll be in their office, too. They distribute films as well as showing them, you know. The last bit was slung arrogantly.

Hmph! And I know what they’ll have you doing: making cups of tea and licking stamps.

So? Amy had stared defiantly at her mother.

They’re menial tasks, dear. Your father had plans of you helping out here. It’ll be yours and your brothers’ one day. Elizabeth had taken Amy’s hand in hers. People look up to us, dear.

Snobs do! With that she’d whipped her hand free and turned away to continue packing.

Good breeding doesn’t make snobs. Pretenders and social climbers do.

"And who’s the judge of that? What’s so special about Grandpa and Grandma? They worked at a factory. Amy knew she’d scored a direct hit when her mother sucked in her breath. Without looking up from her packing, she continued pushing her cause. Theatre chores may seem humble to you, but think how exciting it’ll be in the movie world."

Elizabeth refused to be swayed from her opinion. If sharpening pencils and posting letters makes you happy . . .

I’ll soon work my way up to a better position. Just you wait and see.

You won’t if you wear those slacks. I hope you’re leaving them at home. The fashion insurgence of women wearing slacks repulsed Elizabeth, something she blamed World War II for.

Oh, they might come in handy when I’m pasting posters onto billboards.

Elizabeth brushed off the comment as if she hadn’t heard it. Have you thought about Cade? He’ll miss you terribly.

Amy’s mind was closed to being reasoned with, and on top of that she resented her close relationship with her brother being used as a levering tool to try to change her mind. It was always going to happen, and it’s not the ends of the earth. We’ll keep in touch, and I’ll be home often.

Elizabeth had stepped around a suitcase overflowing with clothes to sit on the bed. Sydney’s a long way away, dear. She idly straightened a crinkle in a blouse yet to be packed. I doubt if you’ll be home all that much.

Amy told herself not to respond and concentrated on spreading tissue paper between folds in clothes.

Tell me, dear, where does Cade get to when he goes off alone?

Why? Amy automatically put a shield up.

I’d like to know what my son gets up to.

Keeping her mother guessing was a deviously common game, and Amy prolonged it. He’d tell you if you were meant to know.

She’d heard her mother suck her breath in again and suppressed a giggle. She knew without looking her mother would be fiddling with a lock of hair by an ear.

Elizabeth said, Mrs Johnson’s son, Samuel, is . . .

Meeting me at the train station. Yes, I know all that. Her mother’s mention of the arrangement indicated she had grudgingly accepted Amy’s decision to leave home.

I do wish you’d stay with Aunt Maude instead of the boarding house. She would really make you feel at home.

Mum, she lives out at Parramatta. I’ll be working in the city, so it’d be too much travelling. Anyway, didn’t you say your Country Women’s Association friend claimed the boarding house was reputable?

I’m only thinking of you, dear. You’ll be lonely without people you know close by.

At that stage Amy had stopped packing to put an end to the discussion. Mum! I’m eighteen, not a child.