Cocksfoot and Clover: The Applecross Saga, #6

By Amanda Giorgis

In the sheep country of Canterbury and Otago the native tussock lands had reached the end of their useful life by the 1870s and were sown with European grasses - mainly ryegrass, timothy, cocksfoot and clover.

 

Rural New Zealand in 1876. A time of prosperity for Applecross sheep station. However, dark clouds are gathering over the settlers of Mackenzie's Basin.

 

James Mackenzie is good at his job. Quality wool from his flock is valued around the world. But his son, John James sees the future differently, embracing new ideas and opening up new markets. Will father and son reach a compromise that will allow Applecross to survive through the threat of pestilence and fire? Will Captain Shepherd's legacy offer the opportunity for his beloved family to spread their wings?

 

Join James, Sophia and all the folk of Applecross as, once more, they celebrate triumph and success while joining together to face adversity and tragedy against a backdrop of an ever-changing world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Spearing
• Release date: Jan 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215850305

Book preview

1. Riches

Late August 1875, the city of Dunedin.

James Mackenzie ran his index finger around the inside of his high collar, instantly regretting using his left hand to do so, as the niggling pain in his chest reminded him of the injuries he had sustained last year. Bringing that arm down, and repeating the exercise with his right hand, he began to feel the flush of his cheeks fading slightly.

Not at all used to wearing a collar and tie on a week day, James gingerly hunched his shoulders to relieve the tightness of a shirt and jacket, took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his brow, remembering to use his right arm this time.

Come, Papa, said Freddie, who stood beside him on the pavement outside the Dunedin offices of Findlay, Greer and Balfour, blinking in the winter sun after the darkness of the stuffy interior. I can call you that properly now, after all these years. Let’s find somewhere quiet to think about the events of the morning.

Aye, lad, replied James, or should I say ‘son’?

The two men were still laughing at James’ words as they crossed the busy street and entered the first tavern they came across. It was busy, it being midday, so they had to fight their way through the throng. Fortunately, they found a table in a quiet corner and waited for the serving girl to come over to take their order. She came bearing a jug of ale and two glasses with handles which she filled to overflowing, before asking, Anything to eat today, gentlemen?

James couldn’t resist taking a gulp of his cool beer before replying, Ah, that’s better. I am so hungry I could eat my own horse, but I daresay we will make do with whatever you recommend.

The stew is wholesome and the bread is fresh, the woman replied, adding, with a twinkle in her eye, Ain’t no horse in it though. Nice bit of beef, I reckon.

We will have two servings of your fine beef stew then, thank you, said Freddie, forced to reply because his father was taking another long draught of his drink.

Much restored, James sat back against the wooden settle and let out a deep sigh. Well, what a morning! he said. Who would have thought it, eh? Fame and fortune, my boy. Fame and fortune.

Hush, Papa, hissed Freddie, looking around at the crowded room. There were some shifty looking characters within earshot, that was for sure. Best not tell the world what we have. There are those who may see an opportunity for taking their own fortune from men they consider to be wealthy.

James Mackenzie had spent far too long in the Basin that bore his name, where everyone knew everyone else and nobody ever thought about taking what was not theirs. Towns and cities scared him these days. Too many people, heads down, going about their business with barely a nod to those around them. The irony of his own son being the worldly wise one was not lost on him. Ah well, we can celebrate tonight in safer surroundings, James continued. But, Scotland! My father kept that to himself, didn’t he?

He certainly did, Papa, replied Freddie, as two steaming bowls of stew were delivered to their table. He certainly did.

A small boy followed the serving girl carrying a round loaf on a wooden board and two spoons, which he plonked on the table before scuttling back to hide behind the woman, who James assumed was his mother. For some reason, perhaps because of his newly discovered wealthy state, he felt a wave of generosity sweep over him. He reached into his pocket for a couple of coins, handing one to the woman. And this one is for the boy, he said, holding out a farthing coin.

Can I, Mama? asked the boy, looking up at his mother with big, round eyes.

I daresay you can, boy, she replied. Turning to James, she added, Thank you, mister. God Bless.

Silence fell as the two men tucked into their lunch. James’ head was full of the events of the morning, and he was bursting with things he wanted to say to Freddie. But he had to agree that this was not the place to do so. It would have to wait until John James joined them and the three of them could be on their own. He did indeed feel as though God had blessed him and his family.

It was eight months since his father’s death. He still held a vivid picture of finding him propped up against the rock next to Friday’s grave, a look of utter peace on his face. He had lived a good life, found his home and family and done some good deeds along the way. James blessed the fact that he had merely slipped away, rather than enduring a long illness. He would have hated that. James Shepherd had money, the younger James knew that, just as he knew that there was a title to be inherited and a leather bag of precious jewels to come his way, but he had not been prepared for the revelations made to him this morning as he sat at Mr Findlay’s walnut and leather desk.

Like all things legal, it seemed to James that things moved along at a snail’s pace. His father had left, among his papers, a letter for his son reminding him that he was the sole heir of his estate and that all he needed to do was to contact the Dunedin offices of a Scottish firm of lawyers, who would make the necessary arrangements. It had been a straightforward thing for James to dictate the words to his wife Sophia, while she wrote in her neat hand. He smiled to himself as he rightly guessed that she had changed the odd word here and there to make it all sound more official and businesslike. She was so much better at these things than he would ever be.

Sophia addressed the envelope to a Mr H Findlay Esquire, who had offices in Stuart Street, Dunedin, then placed the letter on the hall table, where Percy the postboy picked it up a day or two later. It passed through the hands of Betsy Franks in Marytown, who had a fair idea why the Mackenzies would be writing to a law firm with a Scottish sounding name, before being carried down country with the rest of the mail. It finally lay on Mr Findlay’s desk in a pile of letters demanding his attention after taking a day or two to enjoy his first true Hogmanay celebrations in New Zealand with his young family.

Law was in the Findlays’ bones. His father still sat at the desk he had occupied in the Edinburgh office of Findlay, Greer and Balfour every day for nigh on thirty years now. His grandfather had vacated the same chair by dying in situ, pen in hand, and Hamish Findlay liked to think of a long line of ancestors laying down the law way back into Scottish history. There had never been any doubt that he would succeed his father once he came down from St Andrew’s, although he did not relish the idea of acting as his father’s junior partner until such time as the old man died at his desk, just like his father before him. Recognising his son’s impatience to make progress, old Mr Findlay took the opportunity to set up an office in the new colony of New Zealand, in the city of Dunedin, where so many things were of Scottish origin. So it was that Hamish and his young wife came to be living in the borough of Mornington, where baby Donald was born just a few weeks after their arrival at Port Chalmers by ship.

As a matter of courtesy, Hamish had contacted the small number of his father’s clients who lived in New Zealand, Captain James Shepherd being the most important of these. In fact, although James was not aware of it, his father and Hamish Findlay had once met in Oamaru, saving the captain from making the longer journey from Mackenzie’s Basin to Dunedin. Over a good lunch, they had agreed that all of the captain’s business would now be handled through the Dunedin office, rather than depending on the long process of writing to Mr Findlay senior in Edinburgh. Captain Shepherd’s leather-bound ledger was shipped over and, in due course, came to be laying open in front of the lawyer on that August morning.

The younger Mr Findlay explained that James Shepherd had been a client of his father ever since he returned from India and became aware of the existence of his son. It had been Mr Findlay who had tracked him down, via a colleague in Australia, and it was his firm who had arranged the sale of the Shepherd estate. James was aware that the estate in which his father had grown up had been sold off when he chose to leave Scotland and make a new life in New Zealand, but it came as a surprise to hear that things were not quite as simple as he had imagined.

There were many things that James would have liked to ask, but each time he opened his mouth, Hamish Findlay held up a hand to stop him. It seemed to Freddie that this was a man who would not be pushed off course. He had things to say, and he was going to say them, however long it took. There would be time for questions afterwards.

Now, Mr Mackenzie, he began, nodding towards James, who had already insisted that he should not be addressed as ‘my lord’. I have asked you here today to go through your late father’s affairs and to make you aware of his assets and liabilities. You know already that you, James Mackenzie, are his sole heir, and as such will inherit all that belonged to him. This includes the hereditary earldom of Midlem, a title in name only, but one that allows you a seat in parliament in England, should you wish to take it up. Many choose not to do so. Please do not feel that you should take passage on the first available ship to London.

James gave a sigh of relief as Findlay allowed himself the smallest of smiles. It had indeed been a matter of great concern to James that he would be expected to travel to England or Scotland.

Findlay continued, Let’s just say that the title in itself is something of a novelty. One that will give your wife, Lady Mackenzie, more pleasure than you gain yourself, I wouldn’t wonder.

James and Freddie smiled too. Lady Sophia Mackenzie of Midlem had already greatly enjoyed her new status, if only in taking advantage of it to sweep majestically through doors and to order her family to complete their chores on time. Her infectious laughter echoed in their minds now, remembering her joy at being addressed as ‘my lady’, even though it was but in jest.

And the reason I asked for Mr Frederick to be here today is to put his signature to the document we have already agreed on, which will formally name him as your son by adoption, said Findlay. In English law, that in itself would not ensure his inheritance of the title at your death, Mr Mackenzie, but you are fortunate that the Scots are a little more tolerant of progeny outside of the marital bedchamber, which is, after all, how you came to inherit in the first place. It means that Mr Mackenzie junior will, once the document is signed and witnessed, be your legal son in every way. Thus being the eldest of your male children, he will inherit the title on your death.

James and Freddie already knew about this process, having corresponded with Findlay on the matter over the last few months. The formality of it came, perhaps, a little late for Freddie as he had been using the name of Mackenzie for some years now, even though he was born as Frederick Mackay. His true father drowned when Freddie was but a small boy, then James had married his mother when he was only five years old. Indeed ‘Mackenzie’ was the name on his marriage certificate and was shared by his wife, Ngahuia, even though she seldom felt the need of it. James and Sophia had discussed the necessity of formally adopting Freddie, even though he was a grown man now. It had not been an easy decision, as John James was truly their firstborn son, and there was a chance he would feel slighted by being demoted to second place. But James had insisted that Freddie was his son in every way but blood and if there was a way to make it formal, then so be it.

Findlay turned a page over in the ledger in front of him. He paused to read a few words before resting his elbows on the desk, putting his clenched fists together as if in prayer and resting his chin upon them, saying, Now, we move on to your father’s financial affairs.

As Hamish Findlay worked his way down the list of items written before him, James and Freddie could hardly believe what they were hearing. They knew that the old man had a healthy balance in the bank, and that some of his capital had been invested in a trust to fund the Basin’s school. They had also seen the bag of jewels, including the huge red ruby stone called ‘The Delight’, that James Shepherd had been gifted by an Indian gentleman after saving the man’s daughter from drowning. What they were not aware of was the extent of James Shepherd’s property interests in Scotland. Firstly, the small gatehouse which he had purchased for his mother when the estate was sold off. Although Mrs Shepherd had died some years ago, the house remained with her son, and was currently occupied by Ned Connors, an old friend who had retired a while ago after a lifetime working as a groom. The two had been childhood friends and it had pleased James Shepherd to be able to offer Ned the right to live in the gatehouse free of rent until his death, which, according to Mr Findlay, would only be a matter of time, as the poor man was riddled with arthritis these days.

Owning a house in Scotland was no small thing in itself, but it paled into insignificance with Findlay’s revelation that James Mackenzie was now the owner of Crawdon, a complete estate on the Scottish side of the border with England, comprising a castle, landscaped grounds, a sizeable grouse moor, fishing rights on a stretch of a major salmon fishing river and a working farm which included somewhere in the region of twenty houses for the workers.

On hearing this news, both James and Freddie opened their mouths to speak, but once again Findlay held up his hand to stop them. First, let me explain how this came about, he said, firmly.

James and Freddie were astounded to hear that Captain Shepherd had two sisters. They had not been aware of any other family until now. It took a moment for James to realise these unknown women would be his aunts. He wondered briefly if he had cousins too. Findlay explained that Captain Shepherd’s older sister Agnes had married many years ago and had made no contact with her brother since he left for New Zealand. Recent enquiries had revealed that she had died, as had her husband, and there were, as far as they were aware, no living children from the marriage.

James’ younger sister, Beatrice was a different matter altogether. She had, when the estate was sold, moved into the gatehouse with her mother. After some years, she had made a financially astute marriage, her husband being heir to the Crawdon estate. However, there were no children borne from this marriage either, and no family claims on the husband’s side when he passed on, which left Beatrice owning the estate, although managers were employed to run things on a day-to-day basis. Once she died, her sole beneficiary was her brother, Captain Shepherd, somewhat to his surprise, considering the animosity between them when he left Scotland. Despite the absence of their laird, Mr Findlay explained that a team of loyal staff had continued to keep the house in good order, maintain the grounds and run the farm with a good deal of success.

Now, I have prepared a summary of the estate’s annual income and expenditure, said Mr Findlay, taking out a sheet of paper from beneath the ledger and handing it to James. I realise that you may be somewhat surprised by the news I have given you today, but Captain Shepherd insisted that he wanted to keep it to himself. I wonder sometimes if he rather hoped that if he ignored it, it may in some way cease to exist. However, despite his absence as a landowner, the estate has gone along very nicely indeed over the years, but it is up to you to decide where we go from here. All I would say is that, as you will see from the figures, the livelihoods of many families are tied up in Crawdon, and it is beholden on you to make decisions with them in mind.

James held the paper up so that Freddie could see it too. On it were written two neat columns of figures, although he found himself incapable of focussing on the numbers. Freddie reached across to steady his father’s shaking hand, glancing down at the totals, taking one from the other and coming up with a very large income indeed for the year 1874.

Goodness, said Freddie, his father seemingly incapable of speech.

Aye, replied Mr Findlay. The estate turns a healthy profit. Take that sheet with you and look it over. I have pencilled in a further session in my diary for tomorrow morning so that I can answer any of your questions. Rest assured, we do not need to make any hasty decisions.

Hamish Findlay was beginning to realise that, although James Mackenzie was now the sole owner of the Crawdon estate, it was Freddie who would be taking in the detail on behalf of his father. He couldn’t help thinking that Crawdon was in safe hands with that young man.

Now, Mr Frederick, he continued, I rather think your father is in need of some refreshment. May I suggest you take your leave, and I await your return tomorrow morning at ten of the clock?

Thus, the two gentlemen found themselves on the pavement, James feeling, not only the heat of the day and the tightness of his collar, but a good deal of emotion concerning the revelations made to them by Hamish Findlay. A cold beer and a decent lunch had improved things no end, although his mind still swam with all that he had been told. Downing the dregs of his drink, James said, Come then, Freddie, let’s go and find John James and arrange a private table for our dinner. Somewhere we can talk without needing to whisper.

The men stood to leave, but as they emerged into the sunlight once more, Freddie suggested, Father, you go back to your room and have a rest. I’ll see if I can find that brother of mine.

2. Changes

John James Mackenzie was enjoying himself immensely. In all his sixteen years of life he had been no further from Applecross than Hither House or the occasional journey with his parents to Oamaru. He had always considered that town to be a busy one with tall, honey-coloured stone buildings crowding around him and people going about their affairs on the busy streets. He now realised that Oamaru was no more than a backwater compared to the hustle and bustle of the city of Dunedin.

It had taken John James, with his father and older brother, almost a week to get here, stopping off in Marytown with Aunt Betsy, then at Hither House to see Uncle Samuel and his wife Lizzy, before heading south along the coast. Next came Hawksbury, which, his father told him, was once a much busier place. In the early days, it was not uncommon for people to walk between Marytown and Hawksbury to fetch supplies, although, as James pointed out, he was much younger and fitter in those days and could keep up with the best of them.

They stayed overnight in Hawksbury, sleeping on narrow truckle beds in a small room above the tavern. Over their supper, Freddie asked his father to tell the story of Edmund Lawton rescuing a dog on his way home from Hawksbury. John James had never heard about Meg being saved from a cruel owner, to be carried back to Marytown where her pups were born. One of those pups was Roy, who had gone on to father his own litter with Friday, and so began a long line of working dogs, many bearing the tri-colour coat that indicated their lineage. John James loved hearing stories of the early days. He sometimes felt as though he had missed out on all the excitement of settling in a new country and building up the farm. Nothing new ever happened these days, or so it seemed to a boy of his age.

After Hawksbury, the rest of the journey involved slow climbs up several hills, with Freddie having to hold back the horse as they made their way down on the other side. Finally, they came down a steep hill into the sprawling city of Dunedin where Freddie had arranged for them to stay at an hotel he had used before. Freddie and Guy Pender, who ran a photographic business together, were regular visitors to Dunedin, and John James was grateful that his older brother knew where to go. He wondered how on earth he was going to find his way around the place.

They had arrived only yesterday, late in the afternoon, and were grateful to take an early supper and fall into their beds. So today was John James’ first opportunity to explore. His father said they would be at the lawyer’s office for most of the morning. He had given his younger son a handful of coins and told him to look around. Be back at the hotel this afternoon, my lad, said James. And don’t be getting into any mischief.

And keep those coins hidden in your pocket, Freddie added. There are some who would help themselves, given half a chance.

He stood outside the hotel for a moment as he watched his father and brother stride along Stuart Street towards the lawyer’s office. Which way should he go first? People around him were heading in every direction, but there seemed to be a general drift downhill, so he joined the flow. He tried his best to look as though he knew exactly where he was going, just like everyone else, but it was hard not to gawp at the tall, elegant buildings and to stop and stare in amazement at the variety of goods for sale in shop windows. He felt in his pocket for the precious coins, deciding not to spend anything yet. He would look around first, and he would need money for some lunch, though he had no idea how much food would cost him. He hoped there would be a little bit of money left to buy his mother a small trinket. He was tempted by a woman selling fresh flowers in big bunches, but decided there would be nothing but dead stalks left by the time he got back to Applecross.

Reaching a big, open circular space, he chose to turn right, making his way along a street lined with grand buildings, their facades all columns and colonnades. The purpose of each building, or the owner’s name, was carved into the stone, many lined with gold to make the letters stand out. Exchange offices, banks, insurance companies and offices involved in shipping and trade. Freddie had told John James that the centre of Dunedin had been transformed in recent years with the wealth generated by the gold industry. Never before had John James seen paved walkways on both sides of the road, meaning that people could stay safe from the constant stream of carts and carriages going up and down in the middle. No need to step over puddles or find one’s breeches splashed by mud, it was obvious to John James that someone was employed to sweep the walkways clean at all times.

As he approached a junction, he heard the sound of a ship’s siren and it made him decide to head for the quayside. As he worked his way downhill once more, the buildings became more and more shabby and the walkway turned to a slippery and muddy path. He was forced to step over piles of rotting food, or if he took to the street, he needed to beware the steaming piles of horse manure. Things were not as affluent in this part of town, it seemed. Nevertheless, he ploughed on until he reached the water’s edge. Having felt somewhat underdressed as he walked along Princes Street beside the grand office buildings, he was now grateful not to stand out. His simple Sunday clothes, hand-me-downs from Freddie, were much the same other folk wore as they made their way up and down the quayside. He put a hand over his pocket. He had a feeling people around here could not be trusted.

A small ship with masts and a chimney stack had just arrived. Perhaps it was this vessel’s siren that had attracted John James’ attention. A team of workers were already fastening ropes to huge bollards, the shape of which resembled some of the pieces in his grandfather’s chess set. More well-built men were waiting for the gangplank to be put into place, and as soon as they could they streamed on board, returning almost immediately with barrels, wooden crates or sacks on their shoulders. These they piled on the stone cobbled walkway until a variety of carts came along to take the goods to their final destinations. Another ship of about the same size was drawing away from the quay, black smoke issuing from its tall chimney stack as it gained momentum. For a moment, John James wondered how these ships had stood up to the storms out at sea, but then he realised they were only going between the land and the much bigger ships anchored further out. His mother had told him that they had arrived from England into Port Chalmers, out on the headland, before taking to smaller boats to reach land. The big ocean going ships, she had said, could not get into the shallow waters here.

For some time, John James watched the comings and goings, fascinated by the variety of goods arriving, to be replaced by bales of wool, sacks of corn and a variety of vegetables which he rightly guessed were being exported out of New Zealand. He knew most of the wool from Applecross went overseas from Timaru to England, but the process was the same here. He was rather proud to see wool from sheep that roamed the hills inland being shipped overseas to be turned into carpets, blankets and coats in the factories of northern England.

Even though it was towards the end of winter, the sun was bright today, and about as high as it could be in the sky above him, indicating it to be around midday. It felt hotter in the town than at home, there being no breeze rolling across the land towards him, and the sun being reflected off the tall buildings didn’t help either. He was hot and thirsty. Looking around him, there were several taverns, their grimy windows overlooking the busy quayside. Could he go into one of those? He had a terrible feeling that his mother would not approve, but seeing no alternative way of quenching his thirst, he made for the first door he could find, hesitating for just a moment on the step, in case Freddie or his father appeared out of nowhere to stop him.

It was dark inside the Bull’s Head and John James blinked as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Now he was in here, he wasn’t at all sure what he should do next. Should he go to the bar, where a man was drawing beer from a barrel? Or should he just sit down, if he could find an empty seat, that is? The place was packed with men talking, drinking and eating. None of them seemed to have noticed his presence at all. Except, that is, for a serving woman, who approached now. She could tell that John James was unfamiliar with such a place, and she wondered why he was here on his own. Where was this young man’s father, whose duty it was to introduce a son to the social niceties of a tavern?

Come with me, boy, she ordered, gently taking John James’ elbow and guiding him to a table with two wooden chairs in a quiet corner. John James sank into one of the chairs, grateful to be out of the view of much of the throng. What can I get you? she asked.

Umm, I’m not sure, replied John James, all of a sudden overcome by his own boldness. I’m thirsty, that’s all, he finished, somewhat lamely.

May I suggest a light ale, sir? the serving woman said. And perhaps a bit of food to soak it up?

A worrying thought came into John James’ head. Were there enough coins in his pocket to pay for a drink and some food? He felt in his pocket once more. The kind woman understood. Bending to whisper in his ear, she said, No worry, lad. We won’t ask more than you’ve got in that there pocket of yours.

It took the woman only a few moments to return with a jug of ale and an empty glass. With a wink at the barman, she had made time to water the jug down a little. She didn’t want the boy’s first foray into drink to be spoiled by getting into a fight or falling over in the street, and he wouldn’t notice the lack of taste.

By the time she came back with a serving of meat pie on a plate, John James had sloshed a few inches of ale into his glass and taken a mouthful. He had tasted ale before, under his mother’s strict eye, of course. But this tasted very different. Bitter, but smooth. Cool, but hot in the throat. The second mouthful was even better than the first, so he filled his glass almost to the top.

Eat something first, lad, said the woman in a whisper. You’ll find it helps.

John James did as he was told and tucked into his pie with gusto. He was hungry after the morning’s wanderings, and he had to agree that the ale slipped down a treat after the last crust of his pie had been swallowed. He was so engrossed in his lunch that it took him a moment to notice a man helping himself to the empty chair at his table.

And who do we have here? said the man. Changing his mind about sitting down, he scraped the chair back and held out a hand. Name’s, Frank Jones. Haven’t seen you in these parts before, eh?