A Mother's Courage

by Maggie Hope

  ‘Of course, pet,’ answered her mother and Ruth settled down, comforted.

  ‘There is something very wrong with Mary,’ Francis observed to Eleanor. ‘I don’t just mean her physical condition either, she looks so unhappy.’

  ‘I know. Ruth too, she worries me a lot.’

  Just then Mary came on deck and they began to talk of other things. But Eleanor was determined to get Mary to confide in her; she had brought the sisters out to Fiji and somehow she still felt responsible for them, quite apart from the fact that Mary was a friend.

  ‘I hope you can stay a while with us, Mary,’ she said. ‘We have so much to catch up on and it’s nice to talk over old times back in Hetton.’

  Mary looked up at the moon, three-quarters full and casting a silver track over the sea. ‘I hope so too,’ she said. Hetton seemed as far away as the moon, she thought, and just as difficult to reach.

  It was three days later on a sunny Tuesday morning, made even more brilliant by the bright red parakeets flying among the trees, that it happened. It was a quiet morning; Francis had been summoned to see the king and Mary and Eleanor were sitting on the verandah of the mission house as they did every morning. Ruth was playing with Edward and Francis William, who was by now her devoted servant. They were in the corner of the verandah playing a complicated game that involved upturned chairs forming a canoe and an old shawl of Eleanor’s as a sail.

  ‘Francis is doing so well here,’ Eleanor was saying. ‘The people like him.’

  ‘He deserves to do well. He works hard, I’ve seen that since I—’ Mary broke off what she was saying and Eleanor glanced up inquiringly as she saw her friend was staring out to sea.

  ‘There’s a sail,’ she said. ‘Oh, I think it’s Morgan’s ship. What a shame, do you think he wants to take you home today?’

  Mary didn’t answer; she had one hand to her throat and the colour had left her face. She looked over to Ruth, who had a walking stick and was pretending it was a paddle; she was paddling with all her energy while Francis William fiddled with the sail, which would insist on falling down.

  ‘Mary?’

  Eleanor frowned. Mary was terrified but what was so terrifying about Morgan coming today?

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. Mary suddenly jumped to her feet.

  ‘Eleanor, take the children somewhere, will you? Out of the way, I mean. Anywhere will do, so long as they don’t see.’

  ‘Don’t see what? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Please, Eleanor, just do as I ask you. Please! Take Ruth and the boys, just take them away.’

  Eleanor bit her lip. ‘If something’s going to happen, if Morgan’s angry with you – did he not know you were coming here? – surely he won’t be so angry? Don’t worry, Mary.’

  ‘Take the children!’ Mary was almost shouting now and Ruth stopped her paddling and dropped the stick. She came to her mother’s side and took hold of her hand, her tiny face suddenly older with a furrowed brow and anxiety in her eyes.

  ‘Mam?’ she said. ‘Is Daddy coming?’

  ‘No, pet, he isn’t,’ said Mary as she put Ruth’s hand in Eleanor’s. ‘Now go with Aunt Eleanor and be a good girl, the boys will go with you.’

  ‘I don’t know what it is but I don’t want to leave you,’ said Eleanor doubtfully, then she saw Mary’s expression. ‘I’ll go, I’ll go, come on, boys, we’ll go to the king’s house to meet your daddy, shall we?’

  For a moment Mary thought Ruth would make a fuss and refuse to go but the little girl was used to hurrying out of the way of trouble and in the end she went off, with Eleanor holding one hand and Francis William the other.

  After they had gone, Mary sat where she was as the ship docked, feeling strangely calm. I wonder why they are using Morgan’s sloop? she asked herself but she didn’t really care. They would come up the street for her; perhaps she ought to go inside, she didn’t want to be arrested on the balcony of the mission house, in full view of everyone, that wouldn’t do Francis’s prospects any good.

  Francis. She should have told him all about the fight with Morgan but she hadn’t even got around to telling Eleanor, somehow the words wouldn’t come. Rising to her feet, she went inside and sat down on the sofa with her back to the open door that led on to the verandah.

  She sat quietly, straining to hear the first sound of approaching footsteps, but all she could hear was the ticking of the grandmother clock on the wall. Then abruptly the silence shattered and she felt someone standing behind her, blocking out the morning sun.

  ‘Come out of there, you murdering female, or, by God, I’ll force you out with this whip!’

  Morgan, it was Morgan’s voice! Oh, she must be dreaming, Morgan was dead. She was dreaming or it was his ghost come back from the grave to get her. She sat immobile with shock. And he was towering over her, grabbing her upper arms and dragging her to her feet, holding her almost off her feet, only her toes touching the ground.

  ‘Yes, it’s me, your loving husband,’ he said. His dark brows met over his nose as he glared at her and yet smiled at the same time. ‘You useless, barren peasant of an excuse for a woman! You would kill me, would you? You couldn’t even manage to finish that job properly.’

  Mary stared up into his face; she couldn’t say anything. He loosed his grip on one arm and held her in the air with the other as he pulled his riding whip from his belt. Flinging her down on the sofa, he grinned.

  ‘I’m going to give you the hiding of your life, and, boy, am I going to enjoy doing it!’

  He lifted the whip and brought it down with all the force of his arm across her breasts and Mary screamed; she couldn’t help herself, the pain was agonising. She tried to scramble from the sofa but he caught her with one hand and laughed.

  ‘I told you I would enjoy this,’ he said, ‘go on, struggle, it makes it all the better.’

  ‘Leave her alone!’

  Mary opened her eyes in horror and what she saw almost made her forget the pain. It was John who shouted – he must have been in the house somewhere, she had forgotten about him. And he had launched his slight frame on to Morgan’s back and was clinging to him with all the agility of a monkey. He tugged at Morgan’s fair hair, pulling his head back, poking him in the eyes, the ears, anything.

  Morgan dropped the whip and growled. Putting one hand over his shoulder, he caught hold of John by the scruff of the neck and pulled him off, holding him in the air for a moment before flinging him on to the floor.

  The boy lay stunned for a second and Mary found her feet and flew at Morgan, head down, catching him in the stomach. He grunted and went back an involuntary step.

  ‘Run!’ she cried. ‘Run, John, go!’ He was beginning to get up but instead of running, he was turning back to Morgan. Oh dear Lord, he was going to be killed! Morgan would snap him in two, he was in such a drunken rage he would do it. She had to keep his attention on her.

  ‘Yes, I thought you were dead,’ she shouted. ‘I wanted you dead for what you did to us, me and my bairn, I wanted you in Hell!’

  She was backing away from John all the time, trying to draw Morgan after her, through the kitchen, anywhere away from John, but suddenly he had hold of her again, she couldn’t move and John was trying to jump on his back again.

  She had opened her mouth to scream when suddenly, miraculously, John disappeared and in his place was Francis. He threw his arm around Morgan’s neck in a hold that turned his face purple until Morgan loosed his grip on her and she fell to the floor as the whole world went black.

  When she came round she was lying on the sofa and John was sitting beside his mother. Eleanor’s arms were around him and he was holding on to her hand as though it were a lifebelt.

  Cautiously, Mary lifted her head, wincing as she felt the stinging of the weal across her breasts where the whip had struck.

  ‘Francis?’ she asked shakily. ‘He’s not hurt, is he?’

  ‘No,’ said Eleanor and Mary could see that she too was trembling with sho
ck. ‘He’s just making sure Morgan is properly secured until the police come.’

  Mary went to the door and gulped in great breaths of fresh air before rushing back in. ‘Ruth? Where’s Ruth?’

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s safe. I left her, Francis William and Edward in the village, the women will look after them.’

  Mary closed her eyes for a moment. ‘John saved my life,’ she said.

  ‘He’s a brave boy,’ agreed his mother. But Mary could see she was haunted by the thought of what could have happened to him. Did Eleanor blame her for not warning them of what might happen? She couldn’t blame her if she did.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Francis, despite his respected position in the islands, was not able to have Morgan kept in custody for long.

  ‘She is my wife and I have the right to chastise her if I think she deserves it,’ Morgan said to the police chief and Francis had to agree. Civilisation had come to Fiji and with it, western laws.

  ‘You had no right to touch my son,’ Francis insisted. At least he could do something about that; hurting John had been an offence, surely?

  ‘He attacked me,’ Morgan pointed out.

  The policeman smiled at the idea of a seven-year-old boy attacking a mature man. ‘A seven-year-old boy is a warrior?’ he asked.

  Francis went back to the mission house. ‘In return for suspending the charge of bodily harm against John, Captain West is to be deported,’ he told the two women. ‘He will be allowed to return to the plantation only to collect his personal belongings.’ He did not say that the deal had included Morgan leaving his wife and child in the care of himself. That part of the bargain was unofficial. Morgan had laughed when Francis proposed it.

  ‘I don’t want the pair of them hanging round my neck,’ he had said. ‘The brat is unlikely to reach womanhood and I want a real heir. I’ll find me a southern woman, a lady, not poor white trash.’

  Naturally Francis did not report Morgan’s comments at home.

  ‘What about the house and plantation?’ asked Mary, thinking of her old dream of Ruth’s inheritance.

  ‘You can go back for your personal belongings too,’ he said. ‘But the fact is –’ he glanced at Eleanor, feeling embarrassed at being the bearer of even more bad news – ‘the fact is, there has been a lot of trouble with foreigners coming in and practically stealing land from the natives. Obtaining it fraudulently at least. And now there is some speculation about the islands being ceded to Britain, the government at home want everything to be strictly above board.’

  He paused before adding gently, ‘I’m sorry, Mary, you will get very little from the plantation. Morgan had no proper title to it. But you need not worry, you are welcome to make your home with us, both you and little Ruth.’

  Mary looked down at the floor for a moment. That was that then, no fortune for Ruth, nothing. Strangely she didn’t feel as disappointed as she had thought she would.

  ‘All gone, eh? Like snowflakes on the oven top as my gran would say. Grandda was a great one for pitch and toss on pay night, many’s the time he’d come home with all his pay gone. I don’t think the Buckles were meant to be rich. Still, at least I’m rid of that b—’ She stopped abruptly as Francis lifted his eyebrows in shock.

  ‘Well, I am,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t think I’ll go back to the plantation, there’s nothing there I want.’

  It has all worked out very well, really, thought Eleanor as she walked down the street to Matthew’s house one morning with the usual basket of medical supplies over her arm, for afterwards she was doing her rounds. Mary had slipped easily into her old position in the household though she, Eleanor, was older now and treated Mary more as a friend than a servant.

  Prue and Matthew lived out since their marriage and Prue’s baby was due any day; in fact Eleanor was going to check her out to see if she could gauge when the birth would happen.

  Every time Eleanor saw Prue, she was struck by how happy she was. She was plump, even considering she was heavily pregnant, and she wore her hair long so that her blonde curls hung down her back. With her tanned complexion the effect was striking, Prue was an extremely beautiful woman.

  ‘I’m still waiting, you see.’ Prue stepped back from the door so Eleanor could come in. ‘Mala’s wife says I will have the baby soon, probably today. Though if that’s right there are no signs so far.’ She laughed and the sound was contented and musical.

  Eleanor examined her on the sleeping mat that Prue had woven herself, with some help from Matthew’s female relatives. It was covered with intricate patterns in bright colours and, to a western woman like Eleanor, surprisingly comfortable.

  As she palpated Prue’s abdomen she could feel that the baby’s head was indeed well down; it would not be long now.

  ‘Mala’s wife is probably right,’ she said.

  Prue looked embarrassed. ‘Er …’ she began and stopped.

  ‘Is there something, Prue?’

  ‘Yes. Matthew, well, Matthew thinks I should have her to help me when the baby comes.’

  ‘Who, Mala’s wife? Oh, but …’ Eleanor started to protest, then stopped. She was disappointed; she had thought that naturally she herself would help deliver Prue’s baby. But, of course, it was not her right if Matthew did not want her to. And she didn’t want Prue to be upset at all, not just now.

  ‘Well, if that’s what you want,’ she said, turning away and busying herself with her basket to hide her disappointment. ‘It is up to you and Matthew, Prue. Did I tell you my John was delivered by the local women? They are very good of course.’

  As soon as she could, Eleanor made her excuses and went on her way. Prue was leaving them, she thought sadly, she was leaving them as surely as she had left the time she ran away with that seaman. She hadn’t even asked after her sister Mary.

  ‘I have something important to tell you,’ said Francis that afternoon. They were sitting at dinner, Eleanor, the three boys with the youngest, Edward, propped up on two cushions, and Ruth. There was a place set for Mary but she was busy serving the meal of chicken and vegetables before she sat down. The days were long gone when Mary or Prue had been expected to eat in the kitchen.

  ‘Leave the tray there, Mary, don’t go out, I want you to hear, it too,’ said Francis. He waited until she slid into her seat before continuing.

  ‘Now that the hill tribes are more or less quiet –’ he gave Eleanor an anxious glance but she seemed not to be disturbed or reminded of the boys’ abduction by mention of the tribesmen – ‘well, now that things are quiet, the king is to be crowned. There is to be a grand coronation.’

  ‘Will there be a feast, Daddy?’ asked Francis William.

  ‘Don’t interrupt your father,’ Eleanor said automatically.

  ‘There will be a feast. But first of all I have been asked to preach at the service. I am to give the coronation address and also the sermon. The king has asked for me in particular to do it.’

  ‘Oh! Congratulations, Francis, I’m sure it’s a great honour,’ Eleanor exclaimed, leaving her seat to kiss him on the cheek, whereupon Francis looked embarrassed and glanced at Mary to see if she had noticed. She, however, was thinking of what his news meant to her and was in too much turmoil to notice anything.

  ‘I’m sure I’m very pleased for you,’ she murmured and rose to take the tray out to the kitchen.

  Francis was doing so well here on Bau, she thought. It didn’t look like he would ever want to go back to England. Oh, they were so good to her, of course they were, and it was ungrateful of her but she so wanted to go back to England that it felt like a disease, a canker, eating away at her.

  Back at the table, John was looking puzzled. ‘I thought he was king already,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ agreed his father. ‘But they will put a crown on his head and I will give a speech and then there will be a service in church. The crown will be something like the queen wears on the stamps that come from England. Now, boys, hurry up, it’s time for your les
sons.’

  Recently Francis William and Ruth had joined John in the mission school that was now run by Miss Tookey, the teacher who had come out from England on the same ship as the Taits. She ran the school with a rod of iron and the children scrambled from the table and rushed to get ready, for any child who was late was liable to get a sore bottom from her cane.

  Francis, too, had to hurry off and when she was alone, Eleanor went into the kitchen where Mary was washing up the dishes in a galvanised dish and Eleanor was dismayed to see that she was weeping, the tears falling into the washing-up water unheeded. When she saw Eleanor’s face, she dried her eyes on the corner of her apron.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of me,’ she said. ‘I’m just feeling homesick. I’m so heartily fed up of the heat and the damp and the insects and the rats …’

  ‘Oh, stop,’ said Eleanor. ‘Or you’ll have me joining in. But I didn’t know you were so unhappy.’ Though why she shouldn’t, she didn’t know. Mary had plenty to be unhappy about; this land had not treated her very well.

  That evening, when she and Francis were alone in their room, she brought up the subject of Mary and her unhappiness.

  ‘I wish we could find enough for her fare home,’ she said wistfully. ‘I feel responsible for everything that has happened to her.’

  ‘The Lord gave us free will,’ commented Francis. ‘Mary too.’

  ‘A lot of good free will is if you haven’t the wherewithal to do what you want to do,’ retorted Eleanor. Francis regarded her solemnly but held his peace until the lamp was out and she was in his arms.

  ‘I will see what is to be done,’ he said.

  Not much, thought Eleanor. Though his quarterly stipend had arrived, it was much too small to allow for such extras as two tickets back to England. And Mary would need money when she got to England; she and Ruth would have to travel by rail from the south coast to Durham and then she would have to rely on her brother to provide a home for her until she could obtain a position. Something that might not be easy when she had Ruth with her. Oh yes, a lot of money would be needed, she thought sleepily.