Brigid the Girl from County Clare

by Vicky Adin

  “I don’t know for sure, mo ghrá ... Tell me your story, my love.” Jamie held her hand and waited.

  “I’ve seen him lose his temper before, but nothing like this. He hurled whatever he could lay his hands on at me and then started to throw the furniture around. I kept jabbing at him to keep him away from me. The stool hit me on the side of the head.”

  Maggie stopped and rubbed her temple. A frown creased her brow. She tilted her head to one side. “I don’t remember much after that. Lots of noise ... Oh, I remember having a knife in my other hand at some stage, but I don’t know how it got there or what I did with it. Did I stab him?”

  Jamie shook his head, certain this time. “No. You didn’t. You’d remember if you had. The crack over the head was enough. It laid him out, but I reckon hitting his head on the firebricks is what did him in in the end. Not you. Do you understand? He fell and banged his head.”

  Maggie nodded.

  There had been a lot of blood, and wanting to clean it up as best he could while she was still asleep, he’d turned the head and saw a bloodied mess where Michael had hit the corner of a brick as he’d fallen. Not that that would matter to the police. While she hadn’t meant to kill him, he was still dead.

  “I don’t know how long we edged around each other, but he started coming at me again, with something in his hand. The axe maybe, or the maul. I was sure I was done for, Jamie. The crazed look in his eyes really scared me. I must have dropped the knife then because I remember grasping the poker with two hands. I raised it above my head. I even heard the swish in the air as I brought it down. Then ... a terrible bellow, a jarring in my shoulders.” Tears trickled unnoticed down her face and neck. “I don’t know what happened after that. Not until I woke up and you were here.”

  Jamie nestled her into his shoulders and rocked her. “Hush now, my love. That’s enough. I found you. That’s all that matters.”

  He murmured his plans and made her lie down again and sleep while he went to talk to Sally. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”

  By the time Sally drew the reins back, halting the horse outside the cottage, Jamie was whistling songs from the old country and acting like he’d had too much to drink.

  “Maggie. Are ye there, Maggie?” shouted Sally as she peeled off her gloves and strode towards the door. “I’ve brought someone to see you. You’ll never guess who. It’s our friend from the ship, it is. I thought we’d go for a picnic. Why don’t you join us?”

  She reached the door and knocked loudly, looking around to see if anyone in the street had seen her. The unusual and noisy arrival of the buggy up the narrow lane had attracted some attention from the house away to the right. The woman had come outside to see what the commotion was, and someone in the house over the back closed a window with a bang.

  Satisfied, Sally nodded towards Jamie leaning against the wheel of the cart – hands in pockets, feet crossed, looking as relaxed as he could. She opened the door and disappeared inside.

  “I’ve underestimated you, Jamie, me lad,” she said, as she surveyed the mess inside. “How on earth did you come up with your plan so fast?”

  “Maggie, wake up,” Sally said quietly, as she shook Maggie by the shoulder. “Come on, wake up. We’ve got to go.”

  Maggie sat up slowly, ran her hands over her face and rubbed her eyes, trying to clear her head. She started to sweep the hair back from her face, but Sally stalled her. “Leave it loose.”

  “Now listen carefully,” Sally continued. “Remember you are supposed to be sick. You’ve got the fever. So lean on me and I’ll help you to the cart. Don’t do too much yourself.”

  Maggie attempted a weak smile. “That won’t be hard. My legs don’t feel like they could hold me up anyway.”

  Sally put her finger to her lips to tell Maggie to be quiet and went to the door. “Paddy!” she cried, inventing a name, her voice shrill with alarm. “Paddy. Stop slouching and come and help me. There’s sickness inside. We have to get them to a doctor.”

  Jamie straightened and pulled his hands from his pockets but didn’t move. He shouted back. “What is it? I don’t want to catch nothing.”

  “Fever. But don’t you argue with me, young man. Get in here and give me a hand. I’ll help the woman, she’s still on her feet – just – but you’ll have to carry the bloke.”

  “Carry him!” Jamie sounded indignant.

  “Well, if you don’t think you are capable of doing it, then go get someone who is.” She slammed the door shut.

  “Are you saying I’m not up to it,” he shouted. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you what I’m ... cab-apple ...” He pretended to stagger. “Um, cab-a-bul ... What I can do. You’ll see.”

  Moments later, he too had entered the house.

  He righted the rest of the furniture, and between them they returned the place to some semblance of order. Broken bits of furniture he threw on the fire and fanned the blaze. Sally swept up the broken china and stowed it in her carry bag. “Jamie,” she said partway through the sweeping, “I’ve not found a knife or the poker.” She turned to Maggie. “Are you sure about what you did?”

  “Aye. No. At least, I’m sure I had the poker. But I have no memory of what I did with it.”

  “The fire axe and maul aren’t here either,” added Jamie, searching the fire surround and floor.

  Sally put her broom away, and cast her eye about the room. “It’ll do. Some mess should be expected if they’ve been sick, and we haven’t time to worry about anything else for now. We have to get these two out of here before the nosy neighbours start asking questions.”

  She gathered her bag and put her gloves on again before helping Maggie to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  Jamie wrapped a shawl around Maggie’s shoulders and Sally guided her out the door and along the earthen track to the cart. “There there, dear. Not far now.” She spoke loudly. “That’s it. One step at a time. I’m here.”

  Once there, Sally climbed into the cart first and then pulled Maggie up. “I’ll just get your hat. Won’t be long,” she said and jumped down again, hurrying back inside.

  Jamie had managed to pull Michael over his shoulder where he hung like a slab of meat, arms and legs dangling on either side. Sally breathed a sigh of relief that no fresh blood oozed, and draped a jacket over Jamie’s shoulders to hide Michael’s head. She picked up the patchwork quilt, took Maggie’s hat from its peg and followed Jamie out the door.

  Slipping back into her persona as the loud and bossy woman who had arrived at the cottage ready for a picnic, she berated Jamie all the way to the cart. “Be careful, you great clod. Fancy carrying the poor man like that. He’s ill, I tell you. Ill. Let me put the quilt over him. It’ll help stop the shivering.”

  As soon as Jamie lowered Michael onto the cart Sally flicked the cover over him. Jamie jumped on the back again, in the same position as he’d arrived, and with a snap of the reins, Sally turned the horse in the direction of town.

  Once they were out of sight of any of the neighbouring houses, Sally turned the buggy north, then west, and headed inland away from civilisation. For a while, at least, they would look as if they were going on an outing, but once they turned off the thoroughfare onto a byway, their progress soon became precarious.

  “The horse is having a hard time of it already, and the cart’s not built for this sort of terrain, Jamie,” said Sally as they bucked around on the hard, uneven surface littered with stones. “What’ll we do now?”

  “The horse will manage, just take it slow. Let him choose his path. There’s been a bullock wagon up here at some stage so we should be able to get further along yet. We need to get a little higher, but not too far. Keep your eyes peeled for a ravine or crevice in some rocks.”

  Maggie had not spoken a word since they’d left the cottage. Sally glanced at her and saw her eyes widen at Jamie’s words, but otherwise she showed no sign of having heard, let alone having any interest in what they were doing.

  The torrential r
ains and high temperatures of January and February had gone and lessened with each passing month. The late April day held promise for a pleasant month ahead, weather-wise, much cooler and far less wet than anything else they’d experienced so far. The tussock grass looked fresh and was dotted with green shrubbery. Numerous gum trees wavered in the current of air. It would have been a perfect day for a picnic if they hadn’t been carrying such a burden.

  Wildlife scattered as they advanced, the vibrations of the bush the only sounds they heard. A kookaburra laughed, and parrots and galahs squawked. No human eyes followed. They let the horse meander where it could find a path, alongside a stream and small lake until a rocky outcrop appeared.

  Sally and Jamie clambered down from the cart and climbed the hill to the side of the rock face until they came to a plateau. The view was astonishing. The expanse of red and gold, dotted with dusky greens and browns went on as far as the eye could see. In the distance, vague wisps in the sky indicated where Townsville would be.

  “I hadn’t realised we’d come so far,” said Sally. “It’ll be nigh on dark when we get back.”

  “All the better. We can say we got lost, if we’re asked.”

  Maggie, who had not moved when Sally had invited her to come with them, now appeared by her side. She seemed drawn to the majestic wilderness and moved closer and closer to the edge.

  “Don’t go any nearer, Maggie. Maggie! Stop. Please.” Sally tried to keep the panic from her voice. “You’re making my stomach tingle.” She inched towards Maggie and gently took her arm, tugging her back safely from the edge. They stood arm in arm in awe of their surroundings.

  Meanwhile, Jamie fossicked for a place where, if a person were to fall, the body would tumble against the rocks on its way down. He’d not told Maggie what he intended, but Sally had guessed. Jamie needed to make this look like an accident, should anyone ever find the body. The task wasn’t easy – but the man was already dead, so he could do him no further harm.

  As quietly as possible, but whistling to cover any sounds, Jamie dragged Michael’s body off the cart. His whistle rang in the vast openness, but he kept going. Out of sight of the two women, he rolled the corpse towards the edge where the slag was loose and it would be possible to lose your footing. About to push him over the edge, he stopped. Maggie and Sally shouldn’t hear it. Not up close anyway – and even he couldn’t do it without saying at least some sort of prayer first.

  Dear Lord, help me. Time was running out. How long could Sally keep Maggie up there? Maybe it would be better to get the two of them to start back ahead of him. They’d still hear it, but less so from further away.

  He ripped a few small branches off the nearby bush and laid them on top of Michael lying in the shadow of the rocks – partly to obscure the body, and partly to make it appear as if the man might have grabbed at them to save himself as he fell.

  “Sally. It’s getting late. I think we should be getting back now. Turn the buggy around, will you, and move down the track a-ways. I’ll help Maggie.”

  A look passed between them. Sally did as she was bid while Jamie took Maggie’s arm and walked beside her towards the cart, talking all the while.

  “Now you go with Sally, there’s a love. You should be getting back to the girls now. They’ll be sore worried, and Sally will take real good care of you. I’ll be right behind you, that I will. I can walk faster than the horse can pull its load on this ground. So don’t you be fretting now.”

  With her eyes firmly fixed on the treetops, Maggie appeared unaware of anything Jamie had said, or of the risk he was taking to save her.

  “There. Right as rain now, you are.” Maggie was once again seated on the cart, and he hoped she wouldn’t look behind. “Off you go now, both of you. Let the horse do the work, Sally. I’ll catch up.”

  Sally’s eyes were like balls of glass, shiny, knowing. She nodded, unable to raise a smile.

  Jamie slapped the horse’s rump. “Hup. Get along now.” He watched as they jiggled and bounced along the track.

  He climbed back up the hill and stood on the plateau, staring into the vastness, hat held against his chest. Prayers for the dead, from childhood, came back to him, and he silently mouthed them into the sky. When he was convinced the women would be far enough away, he crossed himself, shoved his hat on and scooted down to where he’d left Michael’s body. Without hesitation, he pushed it over the edge. He didn’t stop to watch it fall. He ran.

  Above the clump-clump of his footfall, he could hear the sounds of stones rattling, branches snapping, birds squawking as they took flight, and the thuds as Michael crashed and bounced against rocks and trees. The echo rebounded around him and in his head. His blood pounded and his breath came in gasps as he tried to escape the inescapable images in his mind.

  10

  The Tide Turns

  Brisbane

  April 1887

  “Why won’t you listen to reason, Pa?” Philip was seething with anger. Nothing he said made the slightest difference to his father’s high-handed and stubborn viewpoint.

  “Because you have no idea what you are talking about. We lost nearly everything. How will setting up a new branch fix that problem, I ask you?”

  Keen to restore his business as soon as possible after the flood, Harrison Browne II wanted to purchase newer premises near Eagle Street, which had its own wharf and where the warehouse and shop would be housed together.

  Philip still believed they should establish a branch outside of Brisbane that would offset the risk and still bring in money should such a flood happen again.

  “The river will flood again,” he’d argued. “It has before and it will in the future. Will you survive another complete washout?”

  Brisbane had already suffered two devastating floods in a little over twenty years and several smaller ones in between. There were no guarantees but plenty of risks.

  “I’m the one taking the risks, young man, so I make the decisions.”

  “No. You’re the one giving orders. The rest of us have to cope as best we can with your inflexible pronouncements.”

  Father and son faced each other squarely in the eye, neither prepared to give an inch.

  “And I’ll continue ‘making pronouncements’, as you so rudely put it,” roared Harrison Browne. “We’ll do it my way. Is that clear? Anyway, your mother tells me this girl you wanted to use is too valuable to her these days to allow her to fit with any of your foolish notions. So get all that rubbish out of your head.”

  The way his father flapped his hand airily when he talked about Brigid riled him to the point of defeat. And his father had called him foolish once too often.

  “Fine! If you think me and my ideas so utterly foolish, then I’ll remove the nemesis from your presence. Permanently.”

  He strode from his father’s office, slamming the door behind him. Racing down the stairs two at a time, he was out in the street and marching towards The Queensland Club before he realised he’d left his hat behind. “Damn and blast!” he shouted aloud, attracting looks from passers-by, but he couldn’t have cared less what people thought at that moment. He didn’t have the faintest idea what he could or should do next. His father governed his allowance, his father provided a roof over his head, his father controlled everything he did and everywhere he went. He wanted out, but how was he going to escape those paternal clutches when he was thwarted at every turn. Brigid was supposed to be his meal ticket – his goose to lay the golden egg. If she was under his control, Philip knew he could make his plans work.

  The effects of the flood were still being felt, even now, three months later. Many were suffering great hardship after losing their homes or livelihood. Sheep losses were high, a shipment of wool loaded onto a ship ready for export was destroyed, several people were killed and often families were seen sleeping in the open or wherever they could find shelter.

  The town was a mess, with many homes, streets and gardens in disrepair. Mud, silt and debris lay trapped in tangled sw
athes in every nook and cranny when the water receded. Only the business area and wharves showed any signs of industry as workers strove to get the commercial district operating again as soon as possible.

  His mother was in her element working with both the Lady Musgrave Committee, which normally helped educated young immigrant women get settled, and the Anglican Girls’ Friendly Society, which gave young maids and domestic staff a place of social interaction and religious guidance. After the flood, accommodation was difficult to obtain, and the ladies of these societies stepped outside their standard procedures to help those in need, especially women with young children. Beatrice had commandeered Brigid to assist her as soon as the girl was fit enough.

  As he got closer to the club, he thought about the night of the flood – and Brigid, the woman who was, unwittingly, the source of all his ambitions and fascination and the woman who would be the ruin of him if he couldn’t bring her round to his way of thinking.

  He’d never forget that night.

  Full of good intentions, Philip had made his way directly to the shop in Queen Street to see how it had fared and whether his father was there. Reassured by the two department managers that so far all was well, and that they had everything under control – with sandbags at the ready should they be needed – he’d been uneasy when they said no, Mr Browne was not with them. With their commitment to stay and protect the store should the water reach them, Philip had fought his way circuitously around to the warehouse.

  The closer he’d got, the more he knew the story would not end well. The floodwaters collided as the river rose and the raging torrents raced towards each other. The whole of lower Brisbane and the south side were under water.

  He’d doubted he could get close enough to be of any help, the floodwater was too deep. He could only hope his father – and Alf – would have the sense to stay upstairs and not try to do anything stupid to save the stock. They were insured.