Benevolence

by Julie Janson

  Mary follows Rodney into the kitchen. He has strong muscled arms, an African build of handsomeness and an ability to be quiet in the face of any eventuality. He smiles and whispers that she will be safe in the house. She returns with a pot of tea on a tray. She pours tea into a porcelain cup; Masters tastes the tea but grimaces in disgust. He spits the tea on the floor.

  ‘Are you trying to poison me? It tastes of something foreign, is it a native herb?’ says Masters, ‘A spell? A witch brew? I cannot trust you. Do you dance naked in the forest summoning up devils as well?’

  He takes a tendril of her hair. He twists it in his fingers as if testing the quality, then lets her go. She twists out of his reach.

  ‘You very much wish me dead, do you not?’ asks Masters.

  ‘Yes, Reverend,’ says Mary.

  ‘Ha, you are amusing. How would the death of one white man make a difference? There will always be more to come.’

  He can read her thoughts. Her chest is heaving and Mary shakes her head.

  ‘No poison,’ she says.

  ‘We shall see. Mind you, I shall be on constant alert. You want Madeira cake? You always liked cake,’ he says and reaches to eat a piece. Her mouth waters. What is he thinking? Will he harm her child?

  ‘Don’t want it,’ she says.

  ‘You haven’t learnt the manners or the good grammar we hoped for. We had such high hopes for the native servants. We thought you could be better than the Jamaicans. Oh, and I am repentant of your past treatment – shouldn’t have occurred,’ he sighs.

  He chews and brushes the crumbs from his lap. Mary watches the cake and Timmy implores her with his eyes. They are so hungry.

  ‘I need employment. My child will be with me. He can help me,’ says Mary.

  ‘Need, is it? Your baking is bad. I hear that your bread is lumpen like a lead ball. We could shoot it out the cannon that we used on Napoleon,’ says Masters.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispers.

  ‘Nothing begets nothing. N’cest pas? Let us raise your child in our orphan school,’ says Masters.

  The blood drains from her face.

  ‘Never, he stays with me,’ says Mary.

  ‘You learnt to read and write – a magnificent accomplishment. Why seek to deprive your infant? Let me touch his hair. My, goldish isn’t it? The father must have been very white.’

  Mary snatches Timmy out of the Reverend’s reach. This man wants to steal him from her. She has lost one child and now she must be courageous in holding on to her son. His little hands point to a bowl of fruit: bananas, oranges, apples, all delicious looking. He is whimpering and Mary takes an orange and hands it to him. She looks at Masters and he laughs.

  ‘Go on, steal a banana, too. Don’t be frightened.’ he says. She peels the fruit for her son while her eyes do not leave Masters’ face.

  ‘I want to ask about my daughter, Eleanor. Is she in that Female Factory? Where is she now? I wrote a letter,’ she says.

  ‘You have given up this child, this Eleanor? Had a lot of inconsequential men, have you? As for a letter, I don’t think one letter from your type of personage will mean much to the colonial authorities. Or have your circumstances changed that much? Do you by any chance happen to have a husband? A place of constant abode? Have you purchased land, like Maria Lock?’ he asks. His sarcasm drips from the walls.

  ‘No,’ says Mary.

  ‘Tut, tut. You look like something a cat vomited up. Like a beaten dog. Are you a doggie? Can you woof? No. Hmmm,’ says Masters. ‘Just a harlot mother and destitute runaway prisoner who dares to come begging to me. Not a good look, is it? Give me the boy and you can visit your Eleanor. We will find her somehow, I suppose. Not take her, mind, but see her for a few hours. If I can locate her. I am not an unjust man. I will make enquiries. That would be pleasant, would it not? Turn about, let me look at you.’

  Mary is struck dumb; she cannot even howl. She stands with gaping mouth and for a moment it seems that Masters will pop a sweet into it. He fingers a chocolate wrapped in silver paper lying in a glass bowl. He tosses it in the air and swallows. He pours red wine into a crystal glass and sips it slowly while staring at Timmy. He leans towards the child and whispers.

  ‘Have you ever heard of King Nebuchadnezzar? From Egypt? In the Old Testament? No, why would you?’ says Masters. ‘He took all the boy children and burnt them alive. Or cut off their heads with a very sharp sword. Can you picture that, little boy? I have an illustrated Bible, I can show you pictures. That is also what happens to people in Hell, who disobey God’s word. Burnt alive.’

  Timmy has buried his face in his mother’s skirt and is crying loudly. Mary summons up all her courage and hunches her shoulders as she speaks. She thinks Masters is mad, but she can also see that Timmy is hungry. She could snatch all the chocolate and fruit, right here, in front of the Reverend.

  ‘I need employment in the kitchen, like before. I’m a good worker. You already have given work to Mercy,’ says Mary.

  ‘Not for long. Mercy is a slattern. But we have other service for her, she is willing and beautiful at least,’ says Masters. ‘We have countless black girls in the kitchen and whatnot. I am not an unfeeling man, I have a duty to help. I used to fuck them when I needed. But now my pizzle will not do my bidding. Tragic. They received a coin. A farthing or such. As for you … you are quite dispensable, I am sorry. But the boy could be saved, given English manners. There are many men who could use a boy like him. Tidied up, hair-cut, nice little black suit with ribbons. Blue, I think, to show off his blonde curls. Oh, I could eat him up for supper. Nice little bottom. In the Orient, we call them cupids or Ching Chong chickies. Ha!’

  Mary is aghast.

  ‘No, I will go. Sorry for your time, we go home now,’ she says.

  ‘Home? You have no home. No land, no possessions. Oh, perhaps you could be useful. Your native knowledge could be very handy to trap renegade natives,’ he says.

  Cold terror is creeping up her back. Why did she come? Masters stands up with a gouty effort and walks over to the door. He closes and locks it with a large dark key. He hangs the key on his belt. Then he jumps, as if he’s trying to skip over a rope. He takes silly little jumps towards Timmy and Mary, and she hides the child beneath her skirt.

  ‘Oh, the boogie man is coming to get you,’ he sneers at them.

  Masters’ hand reaches for Timmy and she leans forward and bites his fingers until blood runs. The skin is thin and tastes of ink. She punches Masters on the nose and blood pours down his face.

  ‘Oh, you cat! You wicked girl! I will have you flogged! Assaulting a magistrate! You try to murder me. Rodney! Come quickly! I have been attacked! I will have you put back in a place of incarceration and flogged! Or the pillory. They should never have released you!’ screams Masters.

  But Rodney does not come. Masters fumbles with the key and plugs his nose with a handkerchief, as Mary climbs up onto the windowsill and heaves open the shutters. To leap or not to leap. She could hurt her child or even kill him.

  She pulls Timmy onto her back and leaps down past a tall wall of climbing roses and stumbles into the flower beds. Timmy clings to her hip as the savage dogs of the estate are released. The boy screams in terror and climbs up her body, while the barking thunders all around. Mary and Timmy fly away out of the yard and then stop. The mastiff dogs are upon them. Mary turns and puts out her hand to the slavering dogs, and soothes them with her Darug language, ‘nallawalli, nallawalli mirri, sit dog.’ They fall back and cringe.

  She wants to protect Mercy too, but her friend has disappeared with no backward glance. Where on earth is she? Mary runs to the riverbank and puts Timmy in the boat under a blanket. He whimpers but she tells him to stay down and hide, tuabilli. Then she runs back to Masters’ house, into the kitchen, past the darkbeamed rooms with stuffed heads of deer and a dusty fox stuck in a glass dome. But she can’t find Mercy.

  All the time, she can hear shouting behind her as the farm workers search for her. She runs
into the stables, past the tethered horses and there she finds Mercy with Rodney; both are naked and lit by a beam of sunlight. They are panting, amidst joyful, lustful fornication. She sits astride him with her rocking buttocks pinning him down. They turn their heads.

  ‘Come, we have to go now!’ Mary shouts, but Mercy is bouncing up and down, her dress bunched over her shoulders, ignoring Mary.

  ‘I come later. I’m busy. Go. I can take care of myself,’ pants Mercy and she rocks forward in Rodney’s arms.

  One of Masters’ servants has Mary by the shoulder and he hauls her out and across the lawn. She is dragged across to the rose garden and chained by her foot to a shed. She can hear them shouting out to find Timmy, who is discovered hiding in the canoe and is taken kicking to the cook to mind. Mary shouts and rattles the chain, but no-one comes, not even Mercy. She tries to yank the chain from its hook but by the damp morning, she is still a captive.

  …

  The next night, Masters hosts a dinner party to celebrate the governor’s declaration of terra nullius and invites his old friends Captain Woodrow, Reverend Henry Smythe and his wife. The old gang are back together. Mary watches their approach as they ride up to the grand house in a carriage. They are shocked to see a dishevelled and wet Mary James, tied up in Masters’ perfumed rose garden.

  Masters walks down the stone steps and stands beside Mary, as if presenting her as an offering to the captain. Reverend Smythe is horrified but cannot speak. He looks away while his wife, Susan, titters.

  Masters strokes Mary’s hair and then wipes his hand on his waistcoat. He smirks at Smythe.

  ‘Now, here you see our latest native specimen. You remember your fiesty Mary. She ran away to the mountains, absconded from that excellent education with her native paramour, and stole food from your Orphan School. Took fowls and a rooster, for pecuniary gain,’ says Masters.

  ‘Henry, you used to think she was some virtuous, educated native person, but all these years may have changed your opinion of her, eh?’ Masters asks.

  ‘Not at all. She may be untrustworthy but Mary is harmless. For God’s sake undo her bindings.’

  ‘Actually, she may be useful to me,’ says Woodrow. ‘She has lived with a native mountain tribe and has some tracking skills. Could I avail upon your generosity, Reverend Masters – may I take her on my expedition?’

  ‘Be my guest. I have a surfeit of underlings,’ says Masters.

  They move towards the house and no-one looks back at Mary. She huddles in the grass and works at undoing the shackle. She can see Masters smiling at Henry. Susan leans against her husband and strokes his cheek. Henry is mortified and carefully removes his wife’s hand.

  Mercy appears at the front door, dressed in full maid regalia with a starched, frilly white apron and a little hat. She signs to Mary across the lawn that she will help her, then darts inside with a tea tray.

  ‘I will release that wretched woman and have her brought inside, so we can examine her for her usefulness,’ says Masters. ‘It can be like a party game.’

  A few minutes later, Mary is ushered into the house by Rodney, who wears full butler livery and stands in front of the assembly. He offers glasses of wine from a silver tray, while Mercy stands behind him.

  ‘I believe that when you ran away from school, you found safe harbour with a wild mountain tribe? Oh, you are a brave girl. Weren’t you scared of myalls?’ asks Masters.

  ‘She was of much help while engaged in our orphan insitution, wasn’t she, dear?’ Henry asks his wife.

  ‘No. She wasn’t. I don’t want this disgusting person in my sight,’ she replies.

  ‘Mary. N’aie pas peur. Did you miss your warm bed? Did you eat vermin, possum and such?’ Masters goes on and will not stop. ‘Perhaps your tainted virtue meant that you were no longer wanted by your own people? Point de non-retour? She will not be able to return, not really … Not ever. Mother of two bastards. Mary, you are too much like us, then not like us at all. Quite spoiled, really. However, your actions banish you from all appropriate society. No doubt, you’ll end up spending your days like those godless native wretches outside the hotel: in rags, begging for rum or a penny, or a bit of rumpity tumpity. What is the going rate, Woodrow? A penny?’

  ‘Wouldn’t know, Sir.’

  ‘Mercy will know,’ says Masters.

  ‘Nothing. Reverend. Release her, kind Sir,’ says Mercy and she curtsies.

  ‘Nothing will come of nothing. Out you go,’ says Masters as Mercy tiptoes out of the room.

  ‘Enough of this talk! She is in distress. Either give her a position in your household or let her go free. I won’t stand by and see her tormented by your un-Christian words,’ says Smythe.

  ‘Ah, our lives are but a minute in time. We are insignificant. Perhaps I can tempt her. Would you like a penny, Mary?’ He reaches into his waistcoat pocket and flicks a coin. Susan giggles as it rolls to the carpet.

  ‘Come girl, give us some information on how to find the northern tribe Wonnaruah. Do I pronounce that correctly, Henry?’ asks Masters.

  ‘Your grasp of native language is so much better than mine. Is is “woo” as in “who” or “wo” as in “won”? The tribe is wanted by British justice, either way. They have murdered shepherds in cold blood. You must lead Captain Woodrow and his soldiers to their lair. And you will be rewarded. A Queen plate around your neck?’ says Masters.

  Smythe urges Mary forward. ‘Speak up, don’t be afraid,’ he says. She shivers, but no words come.

  ‘We are but accessories of Christ. My life out here in the New World has been sacrificed to a great calling. I was summoned to take a great leap and save heathen souls,’ says Henry, and continues, ‘Cut off from the virtuous world, Old England is now just a passing dream. Mary, you must agree to help. You must now choose sides.’

  ‘I cannot betray my countrymen,’ says Mary. She clenches her hands by her sides.

  ‘Bring Mercy back in here. Perhaps she can talk sense to her companion,’ says Masters.

  Rodney escorts Mercy into the room. Mary uses her eyes to implore her for help.

  ‘Mercy, tell your friend of her duty to be chained and to lead the captain to the renegades,’ says Masters.

  ‘She will not want to help a captain. She hates all soldiers. She might be better serving at table,’ says Mercy.

  ‘The alternative is the Female Factory,’ says Masters.

  ‘She won’t like that. Too cruel,’ says Mercy.

  Masters raises his hand to her and yells, ‘Silence!’

  ‘Speak civil to us. We’re grown-up women!’ says Mercy.

  ‘Help me, Mary, in my redemption. Please lead the captain on his search for miscreants,’ says Smythe. He tenderly takes her face and stares into it. Susan Smythe covers her mouth with a fan and turns her back.

  ‘Come, girl. You will be safe with me,’ says Woodrow.

  Masters offers Woodrow a horse whip that hangs by his chair.

  ‘Woodrow! Break her insolent spirit. You owe me a favour or two, the repayment of some debts,’ says Masters.

  Captain Woodrow empties his wine glass and wipes the drips from his long, fair moustache.

  ‘That will be unnecessary,’ says Woodrow.

  ‘Beat her a little. A little harmless lash never hurt them. Or a taste of their quim. Their heads are tougher than ours. Come on, just a tickle,’ says Masters as he prods Mary’s back. He has surely lost his mind.

  But Henry Smythe can take no more.

  ‘No, Reverend, I will not tolerate this. She wants to help us, don’t you, Mary?’ he asks as he touches her arm. ‘A little kindness can do wonders.’

  ‘You’re useless,’ says Masters. ‘In God’s name, girl, speak up and agree to go! Recalcitrant, Ewig – usque ad finem. To the very end.’ He lifts the whip over her, but Mary does not cringe. He whips her back and Mercy rushes at him but is held back by Rodney. Mercy shakes with rage but is frozen to the spot.

  Mary does not utter a sound. She is thinkin
g about the way over the mountains. It shines like silver through the bush. The rocks that they sleep by, the teeming white waterfalls and the high stone cliffs. The grey-green trees reaching tall into the mist. The cliffs that she leaps off in her sleep.

  ‘You will follow the military directions and lead Captain Woodrow tomorrow morning north towards the mountain river or I will send your boy to grow up a servant in Van Dieman’s Land. Bind her arms and throw her in the stable!’ says Masters.

  At last Henry has seen too much. He takes Masters’ arm and wrenches the whip away. His face is red and he is struggling to keep control.

  ‘You go too far, Sir. You are an arrogant monster threatening this servant in my presence. You show me no respect! We have sworn holy oaths to take care of God’s creatures. These young women and the child deserve such kindness and protection,’ Smythe is emphatic.

  ‘Henry, don’t get upset, she is just a native and she will have your guts for garters soon as look at you,’ says Susan. She continues, ‘You are a funny man to take it all so seriously. Your little black pet will not be harmed.’

  ‘He is serious! He means to do her harm and I will not allow it!’ he screams.

  ‘Reverend, you forget that I am your superior and you would do well to listen to your wife or be dismissed from this parish. I am a slave to this church and will be obeyed. Mary will be put in shackles and lead the party. I will not be defied!’ says Masters.

  Smythe is silenced.

  Rodney drags Mary out to the yard while Smythe follows behind, a bundle of clothes in his hand.

  ‘Give me your shift and apron. You must now wear the clothes of a felon. Mercy will have your child in her care,’ says Henry, ‘And I am sorry, but you will have to wear shackles. Prepare yourself with prayer.’

  The word ‘shackles’ clicks and terrifies. The sound of the word cuts her like a knife as she watches the captain put a pair in his saddle bag, next to his string of human ears.