Emily

by Valerie Wood

  ‘It might be measly to you but not to me!’ Philip replied nastily. ‘I’ll expect to hear from you by the end of the week, otherwise I see my lawyer.’

  He trotted briskly along the road towards Hull and saw a woman in front of him struggling with a large bag. He turned to observe her as he passed and then reined in. ‘Hello. It’s Alice, isn’t it?’

  She looked up. Her face was flushed and angry. ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I’ve just been to the Purnells’. I didn’t get a very warm welcome.’

  She scowled at him and then said curiously, ‘Weren’t you there ’other night? Yes! You were. Did you let her out?’

  ‘Her?’ Philip asked smoothly. ‘Of whom are you speaking?’

  She tossed her head back towards Hessle. ‘Mrs Purnell. Somebody broke ’door and let her out. It was you, wasn’t it?’ She spoke roughly, there was no respect in her voice and Philip guessed that she had probably been encouraged to be harsh with Deborah Purnell.

  ‘It might have been. Do you know what the punishment is for keeping someone prisoner and under duress?’

  ‘I only did what I was told,’ she said sharply. ‘I was only obeying him.’

  ‘And I expect he paid you well for doing so. You were Hugo Purnell’s accomplice in keeping his wife locked up.’

  Her face paled and she began to look nervous. ‘No. He made me do it!’

  ‘But you enjoyed it, didn’t you? You enjoyed having someone of a higher class in your power. It won’t look very good when it’s brought to court, and I expect that Hugo Purnell will blame you entirely. He does that with people, doesn’t he?’

  She shifted uncomfortably and looked up and down the road as if for a means of escape. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I was thinking of Emily Hawkins,’ he said harshly. ‘You know that she was transported to Australia because of Purnell? You wouldn’t like that, would you?’

  ‘I never meant anything.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s just that he persuades you. He promises everything. He said I could have some of her jewellery, but I never got any. He sold it to pay his debts.’

  ‘Have you proof of that?’ His voice was terse, his manner cold. ‘When Mrs Purnell comes to claim it back, he’ll probably say that you have stolen it.’

  She looked up at him and he could see the beginnings of fear. ‘Will she come back?’

  He shrugged. ‘She might not, but her father most certainly will. He hasn’t been allowed to see her for weeks. Something is very wrong. I’d like to talk to you,’ he added, softening his tone. ‘I might be able to help you in this difficulty, but I would need something in return.’

  ‘Huh,’ she said derisively. ‘That’s what they all say!’

  He viewed her with distaste. ‘Don’t misunderstand me! I need to know if you have any knowledge of what happened to Emily Hawkins. Of the child she gave birth to and the picture that was damaged.’

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ she said slyly, ‘if you’ll help me. I’ve no job and no reference ’cos he wouldn’t give me one. Give me a ride into town, I know an inn where we can talk.’

  She was happy to talk once he had given her a glass of ale and a meal of meat pie and peas and had put a guinea on the table. ‘I’ll need more’n that,’ she said with her mouth full.

  ‘Not until I hear what you have to say,’ he said firmly. ‘First of all about Emily and the child.’

  ‘He raped her. He told me that he’d taken Emily on his wedding night. Boasted about it. Said as he couldn’t have his wife he’d have Emily.’

  ‘Couldn’t have his wife?’ Philip recoiled at approaching such a delicate subject, but Alice, it appeared, had no such scruples.

  ‘Never been near her,’ she said, mopping up the gravy with a hunk of bread. ‘’Cos she’s not all there and there’s madness in ’family he daren’t risk having any bairns! I know’, she pointed a greasy finger at him, ‘’cos I slept in next room to hers with ’door open. Anyway,’ she picked at her teeth with a fingernail, ‘’bairn that Emily had was stillborn. I said as much at ’time but he told me to keep quiet, and as for that picture –’, she gave a coarse laugh, ‘he said it was valuable, didn’t he? Well, he’d got it from one of ’street artists in Florence when he was visiting there one time. He pointed them out to me when I went with him and his wife. There was hundreds of ’em, pictures of women I mean. Some were nearly naked, some were getting out of a tub, and some, well, I wouldn’t tell a gentleman like you what they were up to. But he didn’t pay more’n five bob for it, I know that for sure.’

  He gave her the guinea and promised her two more if she would verify what she had said in court or in front of a lawyer. She agreed and told him that she was going back to live at her mother’s and gave him the address. When he saw where she lived he knew that she would soon be glad of the further payment, and had no doubt that she would be willing to earn it. Now all he had to do was wait until the end of the week and hope that Purnell had no means of paying off his debt to him.

  There was no money and no message by the weekend, so on the Monday morning he went to his lawyer to instruct him to press for the payment of debt.

  ‘You may not get your money, Mr Linton,’ the lawyer said ponderously. ‘I have heard through various channels that Mrs Purnell’s allowance has been stopped by Mr Francis.’

  ‘I didn’t think he could do that!’

  The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘It appears that the marriage may not have been consummated. This I must say to you is only what I have heard through chambers, and I tell you in confidence. If it is so, then the marriage could be annulled.’

  Philip thought of Alice’s words on the matter. So Deborah Purnell is free, he thought jubilantly, and she cannot be forced to go back. ‘Go ahead’, he said determinedly, ‘and press the lawsuit. I want my money back and if I don’t get it I want to see him in the debtors’ prison.’

  Chapter Forty

  ‘There’s somebody coming.’ Meg narrowed her eyes as she looked down the hill. ‘Somebody in uniform.’

  ‘Mr Clavell?’ Emily joined her on the veranda; she had just come in from feeding the hens. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s not. Who can it be?’

  They watched as the rider came nearer. He didn’t sit easily on his horse whoever it was. ‘It’s that beggar Boyle,’ Meg said suddenly. ‘What’s he want with us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Emily said uneasily and went inside to take off her apron.

  ‘Good morning. I thought I’d drop by to enquire if everything is all right.’ Boyle sounded quite pleasant as he dismounted.

  ‘Come to see if we’re still here, more like,’ Meg muttered beneath her breath.

  ‘Everything’s quite all right, thank you,’ Emily said calmly. ‘Mr Linton made every provision for us before he went away.’

  ‘Unusual situation.’ Boyle’s glance took in the house, the vegetable plot, the hen coop and the pigsty and the sheep grazing in the far pastures. ‘I mean to leave a place like this in charge of a convict!’

  ‘He didn’t,’ Emily said abruptly. ‘Mr Clavell is in charge. He comes regularly. In fact we expect him today.’

  ‘Oh.’ Boyle looked disappointed. ‘So where’s Johnson?’

  ‘Tending the sheep.’ Emily didn’t volunteer any more information and Boyle turned his attention towards Meg.

  ‘And how is the child?’ He grinned as he spoke as if he knew of something amusing.

  ‘He’s well,’ Meg answered brusquely. ‘Did you want to inspect him to make sure he’s still here?’

  ‘Not my place,’ Boyle said dismissively. ‘Nothing to do with me what Linton does. He can collect as many women and children as he wants.’ Then he addressed Emily. ‘I’d like to have a look around.’ As she hesitated, he added, ‘I’m thinking of buying a place of my own and bringing my wife out.’

  She stepped down from the veranda and joined him and walked towards the creek. She felt uneasy, remembering his cruelty towards Meg and Joe and his attenti
on to her at the beginning of the voyage.

  ‘How does it feel, then,’ he smiled, looking down at her, ‘being almost free? Though of course you’ll never be completely free will you, not when you’re housekeeper to a gentleman?’ He put a particular mocking emphasis on the word housekeeper.

  ‘I’ve been a servant girl before, Mr Boyle,’ she answered solemnly, not rising to his bait. ‘I know my position and what is expected of me.’

  They were approaching the creek and a small copse of trees. ‘You know your position, do you?’ he asked. ‘And what position is that?’ He came closer to her and she edged nervously away. ‘On your back, is it, Emily? Is that how Linton likes you?’

  She felt a sudden terror and his round, flaccid face seemed to transpose into the thin-cheeked, gloating features of Hugo Purnell. In her fear she cried out and swung out at him and caught him on his chin. He grabbed her arm and held her tightly. ‘What a little firebrand! Who would have thought it? Looks so sweet and innocent too.’ He put his face near to hers and wet his lips with his tongue. ‘Give me a kiss, Emily, and I’ll say nothing about you assaulting me.’

  She struggled to pull away, but he held her fast, leaning over her and straining for her mouth. Suddenly he gave a sharp exclamation and let go of her, putting his hand to the back of his head and dropping down to his knees. ‘Ow! What the devil was that? I’ve been shot!’

  But there was no sound. Emily looked around, there was no sign of Joe, who had a rifle, neither was Meg on the veranda holding the pistol as she might have been. She moved out of his reach and glanced at the other side of the creek and saw a movement amongst the trees. Boyle looked at his hand. ‘I’m bleeding,’ he gasped. ‘I’ve been shot!’

  ‘You can’t have been shot, Mr Boyle,’ she said hurriedly. ‘We would have heard it.’

  He made to get up, but was immediately struck again on the side of his forehead. This time they saw the weapon. A small sharp stone dropped to the ground. Boyle looked up. ‘There’s somebody in those trees. Look, over there. It’s a black. A native. I’ll have him whipped for this!’

  ‘I don’t see anyone,’ she lied and the words died on her lips as the old Aborigine appeared in full view, with his stick held high in one hand and the other clasped as if holding something. Boyle put his hand for his pistol, but before he could draw it was hit on the hand by another stone.

  ‘Don’t,’ she cried. ‘Don’t shoot him, he’s harmless!’

  ‘Harmless!’ Boyle held his bruised hand in the other. ‘He could have killed me!’

  ‘Yes, he could,’ she said nervously. ‘But he didn’t. He was protecting me.’

  ‘Protecting you! Does Linton know there are dangerous blacks on his land?’ Boyle backed away towards the house.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact he does. He keeps an eye on the flocks and he kills the dingoes.’

  ‘With a stone?’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘No, with his stick.’

  As they approached the house, another rider was seen coming up the hill. He too was dressed in uniform and he swayed unsteadily on his mount. It was Clavell and Emily greeted him with relief. At least she would now be safe from Boyle.

  ‘How de do, Miss Hawkins, Mrs Johnson.’ Clavell slipped down from his mount and held onto the saddle to steady himself. ‘Just thought I would pop round to see if there were any problems. How de do Boyle, what you doing up here?’

  ‘Same as you, Clavell, visiting. But seeing as you’re here perhaps you’d take a look at my head. A damned black has just aimed a stone at my head. Damned near killed me!’

  ‘If he’d wanted to have killed you he would have done. What was it? A warning shot?’ He gave Emily a sly wink and she smiled tremulously at him. ‘He probably thought you were trespassing on his land.’

  ‘His land!’ Boyle blustered, and winced as Clavell poked at his scalp. ‘It’s not his land, it’s Linton’s land!’

  ‘Ah, yes, but he tolerates Linton because he doesn’t move him off it. Not that he would think of it as his own land, mind. The natives don’t claim the land, they consider the earth is free for them to roam just as their ancestors did.’

  ‘Well, they’ll soon be wiped out,’ Boyle griped. ‘And not before time.’

  ‘It’s just a graze.’ Clavell turned away impatiently. ‘You won’t die from it.’

  ‘You will excuse us, Mr Boyle?’ Emily said, her voice calm though she was shaking. ‘I have something to discuss with Mr Clavell.’

  Boyle looked astonished at his dismissal, but as Clavell was already walking up the steps to the house, where Meg was standing with the baby in her arms and Emily was half turned away, there was nothing he could do but mount his horse and ride away.

  ‘I’m drunk!’ Clavell said as he sat down at the kitchen table, then he got up again and removed a flask from his coat pocket. He waved it in the air. ‘I’d offer you a tipple except it’s empty.’

  ‘I don’t drink spirits normally, Mr Clavell,’ Emily said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  He shuddered but said yes, he would. ‘Did you enjoy a drink, Mrs Johnson?’ he asked Meg. ‘Before you came to this pleasant land, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I did. It was onny way I could forget about ’life I was leading.’

  ‘That’s it,’ he nodded. ‘That’s what it does. Makes you forget.’ He sighed. ‘Except that it doesn’t.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Meg agreed, ‘it doesn’t. Nothing makes you forget until you find something else to replace ’memory.’

  ‘And for you it was the child?’

  ‘And Emily, sir.’ She smiled across at Emily, who was scalding the tea leaves in the pot. ‘When I met Emily I realized there were some good people in ’world after all.’

  He leant over and took the child from her. ‘And this young fellow confirmed it. What will you tell him when he grows up, Mrs Johnson? What will you tell young Ralph about his beginnings?’

  She looked startled and a little afraid. Then she put her head up. ‘He’ll be a free man in a young country, sir. There’ll be no stigma attached to him. He’ll be able to do whatever he wants.’

  ‘And of his mother? What will you tell him of her?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’ll tell him that there is no blame or shame attached to him regarding his mother’s character. That she only did what she thought was right.’

  He gave a gentle smile. ‘Quite right, Mrs Johnson. The sins of the parents should die with them.’

  She stared at him and her mouth trembled. ‘It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘It’s all right.’

  He stayed and had something to eat with them and as he was leaving he asked Emily if she would like to accompany him on a journey the following day. ‘I’m visiting a clergyman friend in Port Macquarie who has done much to improve the convicts’ lives. He would welcome you,’ he added, as uncertainty clouded her face. ‘He likes to hear other points of view. You will be away one night and well cared for.’

  She had no qualms about accompanying him and welcomed the chance of seeing another part of the country, but with a proviso. ‘Providing that Joe is back tonight,’ she said. ‘I won’t leave Meg alone.’

  ‘Not even with your faithful native?’ he asked.

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘Not even then.’

  After he had left, she and Meg sat on the veranda as the afternoon cooled. Ralph was asleep in his cot and they could see far off a figure approaching from the pasture land. ‘Clavell knows, doesn’t he?’ Meg said. ‘He knows that Ralph isn’t mine.’

  ‘I think so,’ Emily agreed, ‘but it doesn’t matter. He won’t tell anyone. Here’s Joe,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I go with Mr Clavell tomorrow?’ She rose as Joe approached and didn’t see the doubt on Meg’s face as she said that, no, she didn’t mind.

  Meg saw Emily off at dawn with Clavell and two escorts and busied herself during the morning while Joe went up to the pasture land. He came back for breakfast and she cooked bacon and eggs, then whilst he worked
outside she tried her hand at making bread. Emily had told her how the cook she used to know had made it and she tried to remember what Emily had said. She made one batch which was heavy and leaden and then she made another which was only a little better. Then Joe came in and told of how his mother used to do it, so she made another batch, and by the time she had put it to prove for a second time and made some soup and cooked a chicken, the day had gone and it was time to put Ralph to bed.

  ‘You’re getting ’hang of it.’ Joe poked the rising dough with his finger. ‘It needs a hot oven if I remember right.’

  ‘It’s hot all right.’ Meg wiped the sweat from her forehead. ‘Just like me.’

  ‘Why don’t you tek a dip in ’creek while it’s cooking? I’ll keep an eye on ’bairn.’

  ‘What and have that Abo staring at me!’ She glared at him. ‘Not likely!’

  ‘He’s not there,’ he said mildly. ‘He went off last night. Probably out of ’way after tekking a pot shot at Boyle. He hasn’t been around all day.’

  ‘Oh!’ She was tempted. ‘Perhaps I might then.’

  ‘I’ll bake ’bread if you like,’ he grinned. ‘Then we can have it for supper.’

  She gloried in the coolness of the creek and walked back as the sun was dipping, casting long shadows over the land. She’d draped a fustian sheet around herself and washed her skirt and shirt, which she hung over the washing line.

  ‘Here we are.’ Joe placed the hot bread on the table and served up the soup. ‘Come and sit down. Food fit for a king – or a queen,’ he added as he glanced at her.

  ‘I – er, I’d better get dressed first,’ she said lamely.

  ‘Who’s to see thee? Tha’s all right.’ He didn’t like to stare, but he thought her a fine-looking woman with her broad bare shoulders and the damp sheet clinging to her. She had lost the convict aura.

  She smiled and sat down. ‘It’s very – comforting I think is ’word,’ she said, ‘to hear your accent. It sounds like home.’

  ‘But thank God it isn’t,’ he said harshly. ‘We might still be prisoners of ’Crown, but would we be sitting out on an evening in England eating fresh baked bread and soup? No, not us. In England I’d be trying for work and not getting it, going to ’soup kitchens and begging for some sustenance. And you, what would you be doing, Meg?’