CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Influence
En route to the Penitentiary, Louisa pulled Michael aside. She had something of great importance to discuss with him, and while they spoke she constantly looked about her, making sure that no-one was listening.
‘I think it is time you had words with George,’ Louisa was saying. ‘His friendship with Frances is most ruinous to her.’
‘And what am I supposed to say to him, Louisa?’ Michael replied heatedly. ‘I warned him to stay away from Miss Norwood on the first day he arrived here, but he hasn’t taken any notice of me. He never has. He’s not likely to start now.’
‘He is an appalling influence, Michael,’ Louisa went on in a hushed voice. ‘Have you seen how altered Frances is when she is around him? Her behaviour at the tennis match for instance, or during Christmas Eve. Even at the picnic luncheon today! She is usually so well behaved, and now look at her! How many times must I say this? Your brother, most assuredly, is corrupting my niece right under our very noses.’
‘Miss Norwood is an intelligent young woman, Louisa. I feel sure she knows what she’s doing.’
‘I wish I could agree with you, but I am afraid I cannot. From all accounts, Frances has had very little experience with members of the opposite sex, particularly with undeserving men like your brother. How is a young maiden, like Frances, supposed to protect herself from the likes of him?’
Michael wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, and after removing the boater from his head, began to fan his face with it. Behind him, the sun, set amid a cloudless sky, was beating down upon his back.
‘I don’t think it’s all that bad, Louisa. From what I’ve witnessed, George genuinely likes Miss Norwood.’
‘Oh, I have no doubt of that. Agnes informs me that George freely addresses Frances by her Christian name, and vice versa. Even after my objections! What do they say about familiarity breeding contempt? Oh, how will it end, if at all?’
‘Yes, well that brings us back to the original dilemma. What are we going to do?’
‘I appreciate what you say about George and his unwillingness to listen to you. The problem I have is that Frances does not listen to me either.’ A gust of wind, sweeping in from Mason’s Cove, nearly blew Louisa’s parasol out of her hands. ‘I saw you talking with Frances on the boat earlier today,’ she said, as she grappled with her parasol, ‘and forgive me for saying this, my dear, but you two seem very comfortable together. It is very obvious to me that she likes you, and that she sees you as her friend. Could you not speak with her?’ She soon managed to regain control of her parasol, and repositioned it over her head. ‘She respects you. I know she will listen to you.’
‘I care for Miss Norwood a great deal myself, Louisa,’ Michael explained impatiently, ‘but when it comes down to it, I hardly know her!’
‘And what is more important? The risk of offending a friend, or of Frances losing her innocence, and having her reputation irrevocably destroyed?’
Michael’s face darkened, and for a moment, he was silent. In the distance he could see Frances walking side by side with her cousin Charlotte. They had just reached the rectangular, four-storey high edifice of the Penitentiary, and Frances was peering inside one of many tiny cell windows to the gloomy interior of a prison cell. As she looked through the shattered window pane to the rusty iron bars, rotting floor boards and crumbling stone walls, he noticed that her parasol, bordered by lace, was tilted at a becoming angle and that her summery gown, light and feminine, was fluttering at her legs. The distant sight of her, in the foreground of the sinister structure, stirred some emotion deep within him, and he was obliged to speak.
‘I’ll do everything I can for her,’ he solemnly declared, and without waiting for Louisa’s answer, he quickened his pace towards Frances.
He had only taken a few steps, however, when Agnes unexpectedly intercepted him. She had been watching him closely from afar, and only approached him when her mother had left his side. In view of the important task Michael needed to perform, Agnes’s presence at that moment was unwelcome. He greeted her, nevertheless, with a loving squeeze of her hand. Whilst Agnes smiled and reciprocated this gesture, Michael could tell almost at once that she was distracted and out of spirits. No sooner had the smile faded from her lips, than she launched into unbridled criticism of Frances.
‘She was the only person who had objections to coming to Port Arthur,’ she complained, ‘but I’ll tell you this, it didn’t take her long to make herself at home. You should see the way she ingratiates herself with people. Look at the way she’s monopolising Charlotte, for instance.’ She indicated Frances and Charlotte with a vague sweep of her hand.
‘It’s not a crime to be friendly, Agnes,’ Michael observed.
Agnes was momentarily silent. ‘Did you hear her earlier conversation with Mama? Mama was arguing, and quite rightly too, that this site, compared with other historical sites around the world, wasn’t that old, and therefore wasn’t that historically significant. Frances then turned around and tried to argue, that in terms of this colony’s history, it was most significant. Someone should remind her that she is merely a governess, not a university lecturer.’
Michael listened to Agnes’s criticisms in silence. It pained him to hear of Agnes speaking ill of anyone, let alone Frances. He expeditiously changed the subject by declaring to her how pretty the environs of Port Arthur were. His comment had the desired effect, for Agnes readily entered into the new conversation.
‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? The willows and the elm trees remind me so much of the English countryside. Quite beautiful.’ Her words were accompanied by a wistful sigh.
‘You’re very fond of England, aren’t you?’ he said, watching her earnestly. ‘You don’t speak about it a great deal, but when you do, your whole face becomes enlivened. It’s quite a transformation.’
A smile played about Agnes’s lips. ‘Yes, I suppose it is, although it’s not surprising. I’m so much looking forward to going back there.’
‘Yes, well I don’t see that happening in the near future. It may, in fact, be several years before we can get there together.’
Agnes blinked in disbelief. ‘Several years?’
‘Yes, I’d say so,’ Michael said, swiping away a fly from his face. ‘One can’t just nip off on an overseas holiday at the drop of a hat. These sorts of things require planning and time, not to mention the financial considerations.’ He turned to Agnes and noticed that she was looking rather put out. ‘But I don’t see why we couldn’t start planning a trip in a year or so,’ he said gently.
‘A trip?’ she exclaimed. ‘But I don’t want to go to England for a holiday, Michael! I want to live there permanently.’
Michael stopped walking and stared. A sudden and insidious paralysis of shock began to creep over him, numbing every sensation in his body. He remained in that state for some time until he was able to recollect himself.
‘Live there?’ he cried feebly. ‘God in heaven!’
Agnes seemed oblivious to his anguish. ‘Yes, why not? We could settle down in some quiet little town, start a family…’
Blood began to drain from his face. ‘A family? In England? I can’t believe what you’re proposing. I know you’re fond of the country, but isn’t this going just a bit too far?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘It’s just that this is all so sudden,’ he said with a look of despair.
‘It’s not all that sudden, Michael. I often expressed my love for England in my letters to you, and your written replies suggested that you would not be averse to living there. Or did you only write those things because you were missing me?’ Then there was a pause. ‘Why do you look so mystified?’
‘Good God!’ he broke out with unexpected vehemence. ‘Writing letters is one thing, but wanting to live there? That’s something else entirely!’
‘Should I presume then, that you were just humouring me?’
‘No. Not at all. I was
just trying to share your enthusiasm. You have obviously misunderstood my letters.’ In his anxiety, he looked about him. The Wintersleigh party was now a little ahead of him and Agnes, and wishing to catch up with them, he quickened his pace. ‘And what does your mother say to all this?’
Agnes paused for a short interval. ‘I vowed to say nothing to her until I had spoken with you first. I wanted to hear your reaction.’
‘My reaction? Well, I, I don’t know what to think. I don’t understand why you have this sudden compulsion to move. What does England have that Hobart hasn’t?’
‘It has everything, Michael!’ Agnes said with great avidity. ‘England is where everything is happening. It’s the land of opportunity.’
‘Absurdity!’
‘It’s preferable to living in Hobart!’ Agnes cried, her voice shaking with emotion. ‘Anywhere is preferable to Hobart.’
‘Yes, well that is your opinion, Agnes. I quite like it here.’
‘But, Michael,’ she protested, ‘there’s nothing here in Hobart but picturesque scenery and unemployment.’
‘Now wait just one moment.’
‘Where is your ambition?’ Agnes persevered. ‘Don’t you want to make something of yourself?’
‘I am something, Agnes,’ Michael said indignantly, ‘I’m a doctor.’
Agnes’s jaw clenched. ‘Yes. You’re a doctor in a country town, with no prospects to speak of.’
‘How can you say that? Of course I have prospects.’
‘Oh? And what are they? You might get a position on the hospital board one day, if you’re lucky.’
‘Yes. Isn’t that something to aspire to?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. But imagine working in England! Think of the opportunities!’
‘Agnes, please!’ he entreated, holding his hand up in front of her. ‘Please stop. I can’t bear to hear you talk like this!’
‘Why?’ she said, catching his eye. ‘Is it because I’m right?’ Michael brooded in silence. ‘I’m right aren’t I?’ Agnes went on, feeling more confident. ‘You know what you’re capable of, but you’re too frightened to make that change.’
‘What rot and poppycock! Fear has nothing to do with it.’
‘It does, and I appreciate that, but I’ll be by your side. We’ll make this change together.’
Michael stood in silence and looked about him. From a nearby building, small whirlpools of smoke rose from the chimney, soiling the country air, and filling Michael’s nostrils with its acrid fumes. He tentatively resumed walking, but this time his steps were unhurried. As he walked, he stole a quick glance at the convict ruins. Glancing through a Penitentiary window, his eyes were drawn to a menacing set of iron bars. Behind these bars lay a dank, empty prison cell. He felt its desolation.
‘I’d rather we not discuss this any more.’
Agnes perceived his irritability. ‘Are you cross with me?’ she asked. Without waiting for a reply she tried to take hold of his hand. He pulled away from her. ‘Michael, please don’t be angry with me. I don’t say these things to hurt or torment you. I say them because I care about you. You’re a talented young doctor, and I don’t want to see you languishing here, when you could be flourishing elsewhere.’
‘I’m not languishing,’ he said, attempting to recollect himself. ‘I happen to be quite content here, and you, Agnes, you were the same.’
‘Yes, well that was before I went away. It has completely changed my view of the world. I see where all the opportunities are, and they’re not here. If I had to remain in Hobart, I’d be living in a perpetual state of restlessness, knowing what I could have in England.’
For some reason, a re-emerging image of an empty cell filled Michael’s mind, and he felt light-headed. ‘I thought you were happy.’
‘Well I’m not,’ Agnes confessed. ‘But I could be, if we moved. Think about it,’ she urged. ‘You don’t have to give me a decision right away.’ She then hurriedly took her leave.
In her absence, Michael came to a standstill. The rest of the Wintersleigh party was, by this stage, making their way towards the watchman’s quarters, and as they passed over the lawn into the distance, Michael looked out after them with unseeing eyes. By the time he came to his senses, he realised that he had been left alone, with nothing but the chimney fumes and the crumbling structure around him.
Breakfast at Midnight Page 29
