by Valerie Wood
She looked away. ‘I’m shamed to think of what I’d be doing. Selling my body to some stranger for a crust or a drink.’
‘Don’t be shamed, Meg.’ He leaned over and put his hand on her arm. She flinched, so he removed it. ‘It wasn’t your fault that you had to live like that.’
‘No, I know,’ she muttered, ‘but it doesn’t make me feel any better knowing that that’s what I did, and my mother before me. I thought of summat Mr Clavell said yesterday, that ’sins of ’parents should die with them and I hoped that it was true.’
She looked across the table at him. ‘I’ve never in my life had a conversation with a man until now, except for negotiating a price.’ She gave an angry grimace. ‘What do you think of that, eh?’
‘I said, it wasn’t your fault!’ He tore at a piece of bread. ‘No more than it was Emily’s for being raped by that bastard Purnell.’
‘She’s lucky is Emily, having you to care for her. And Mr Linton, he cares for her as well, you know, in spite of what happened to her!’
Joe nodded. ‘He wants to marry her. He told me, but don’t tell Em. He’s gone to England to try for her pardon.’
‘And she doesn’t know?’ Meg said in astonishment. ‘So, if he gets her a pardon –.’ She stopped, as if thinking. ‘Then – might she go home? And if she does –’. Her face creased as if she was going to cry and she pushed away her dish of soup. ‘I’ll be left alone except for Ralph and it’ll be just like England again.’
‘If she wants to go back with Linton, then that’s what she’ll have to do,’ Joe said softly. ‘We can’t hold her here if she doesn’t want to stop.’
‘We?’ she questioned, looking at him with wide brimming eyes. ‘You’re a man! You can do whatever you want once you’re free. I can’t go back to England, how would I pay my passage? Not that I want to anyway,’ she said defiantly.
‘Don’t you, Meg? Do you want to stop here?’
‘I want to stop in this country, but –’. She swallowed hard. ‘If I’m on my own I know what’ll happen. I’ll finish up on ’streets again like them whores down on ’Rocks in Sydney!’
‘No,’ he protested. ‘’Course you won’t, there are more opportunities here than at home.’
‘Huh! You’re talking just like a man!’ There was a frightened anger in her voice. ‘I’m a whore! What else could I do but go back to my trade?’
‘And I was a thief,’ he said quietly, ‘but I don’t intend to become one again.’
They both sat silently and Meg gave a shiver. ‘Here, you’re cold, put this on.’ He picked up a shawl which was draped over his chair and, standing up, put it around her bare shoulders. He looked down at her. ‘You’re a right bonny lass, Meg, and your tongue isn’t as sharp as it used to be.’
She gave a half-smile. ‘It’s onny blunted ’cos I’ve not had ’chance to sharpen it lately. But I could.’
‘On me?’
‘Aye. Like when you come in ’house with your muddy boots on.’
He grinned. ‘Why didn’t you say summat then?’
She shrugged. ‘Not my house – or my place.’
‘You know that once I’m free I’m going to work for my own farm?’
‘Aye, Emily said so.’ Her voice was low and her expression cast down.
‘Wilt tha come wi’ me?’
She looked up at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean we could get married proper. Have our own place. Give Ralph a good start.’
‘You’re not feeling sorry for me ’cos of what I’ve just said?’ Her tone was sharper, more like it used to be.
He laughed. ‘That’s more like it. More like ’woman I met on ’ship. And no, I don’t feel sorry for you at all. I think I know what sort of woman thou art, Meg Johnson. One who’ll work to get what she wants, given ’chance. Besides,’ he looked away, ‘you’re an ’andsome woman like I said. A right bonny lass and you’d probably do better than me in different circumstances. I’m not much of a catch,’ he said sheepishly, ‘and I’d better tell thee now, I’ve not had much experience wi’ women. I’ve not had ’chance,’ he added, ‘seeing as I spent most of my growing up in gaol.’
She gazed at him, a blank expression on her face. ‘You mean it? You’re asking me to marry you even though you know what sort of woman I was?’
‘We’ve nowt to hide from each other,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ve no secrets, we couldn’t start better than that.’
‘Aye, that’s true,’ she agreed, then added, ‘I’ve not been with a man in a long time, not since I met your Emily. She put me on ’straight and narrow.’ She looked down as if she couldn’t meet his eyes and he saw a soft flush on her cheeks, which made her look young and vulnerable. ‘I’ve got no disease, no clap or owt, and it’s not true what Boyle said about me going with every man on ’ship.’
‘Don’t think on that, Meg,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ve had chance to get to know you while we’ve been here, and I hope that maybe tha’ll take me wi’ all my faults, ’cos I’ve just as many as you.’
She raised her head and he saw there were tears in her eyes. ‘Aye. All right then. Do you want –? Shall we –?’
‘Aye,’ he said softly and taking her hands in his he drew her to her feet. ‘We can do. I could do to sleep in a proper bed again.’
Chapter Forty-One
The following morning Meg was awakened early by someone banging on the veranda door. She turned to Joe, who was still sleeping and gently touched his cheek. He smiled and turned towards her, reaching out to hold her.
‘There’s somebody at ’door,’ she whispered.
‘Damn! It’s all right, I’ll go,’ he said as she threw back the blanket. He slipped into his breeches and after checking that Ralph was still sleeping, she put a shawl around her nightshift and followed him to the door.
The old Aborigine was standing there. He looked at them and then muttered, ‘Young missus?’
‘She’s not here,’ Joe answered gruffly. ‘What do you want?’
He shook his head and turned away. ‘See young missus.’
‘Come back later,’ Meg called after him. ‘After dinner.’
‘I wonder what he wants,’ Joe said as they went inside. He bent to pick up the water pail.
Meg ran her hand gently over his back where his skin was scored by lash marks. ‘Is this what Boyle did?’
‘Aye.’ He put down the pail and put his arms around her. ‘Him and a dozen others.’ He nuzzled into her neck. ‘I didn’t know it would feel so good,’ he whispered and kissed her lips.
‘Nor did I,’ she whispered back. ‘I feel as if I’ve been reborn.’
‘Come on.’ He took her hand and led her back upstairs. ‘’Sheep can look after themselves for once.’
Emily returned later in the day, tired but brighter for the excursion and full of the happenings of the journey. ‘Mr Clavell showed me which were eucalyptus and gum trees, and we saw a strange creature by the river called a platypus. Oh, and at night there were koalas climbing in the gum trees, and we saw kangaroos, such funny animals, and great masses of parrots in the trees. And the sea was such a beautiful colour, not grey like the sea at home sometimes is,’ she added, always comparing, never forgetting the landscape of her birth.
‘And Mr Fowler, the clergyman was such a nice gentleman, and so kind that I didn’t feel inferior at all as he asked my opinion on so many things. And, what’s more, I ate supper with him and his wife and Mr Clavell!’ She related all of this with such excitement that both Meg and Joe laughed.
‘Well, you’re not inferior, Em,’ Joe said. ‘You were born to good, hard-working parents. Nowt wrong wi’ that, in my opinion.’
‘That’s what Mr Clavell said. He said that such people were ’salt of the earth and that I shouldn’t have so much humility.’
She didn’t tell all that Mr Clavell had imparted. That he had heard from Philip Linton; a letter had been delivered from a ship just arrived in harbour. She had at first been disappoi
nted that he had not written to her, but she was immediately wreathed in smiles when Clavell had handed her a sealed letter which had been enclosed with his.
‘He is always circumspect, our Mr Linton,’ he said as he handed it to her. ‘He wouldn’t want a letter to you to be delivered into the wrong hands.’
She had opened it with trembling fingers when she was alone and although it was brief, it was to her like a breath of English air.
‘My dear Emily,’ he wrote. ‘By the time you receive this letter I hope to be on the journey back to Australia. I have obtained orders to sail and providing my business here is completed satisfactorily, I shall be back in Sydney Harbour by the spring. I have great hopes of good news to bring with me, but will not impart it in case I raise your hopes too high, so will beg of you to be your usual patient self and be assured that I think only of your safety and preservation at all times.
Your sincere friend,
Philip Linton’
He had put a postscript at the end. ‘I visited Roger Francis in his home at Elmswell Manor and found it to be in a fine country.’
My dear Emily! Your sincere friend! she’d breathed joyously, and he has been to Holderness! She shed a few tears at the thought of him being where she longed to be, but a spring of joy kept pushing up as she thought of him crossing the ocean towards her and that soon she would see him. Mrs Fowler remarked on how well she looked at supper and although she could eat little as she was shy in such splendid company, she felt quite at ease when she was included in the conversation.
‘You know that Mr Linton cares for you, Emily,’ Clavell remarked on the journey back, as they bumped along the road in the hired chaise. ‘Do you consider that at all?’
‘I believe that perhaps he does, sir.’ She’d bent her head to hide her embarrassment. ‘I have not treated him as well as I should.’
‘You mean that you have not been more than a housekeeper, even though it is accepted by the world at large that you have?’ he’d said bluntly. ‘Come, my dear, I know you are of modest nature, but these are enlightened times. You must follow your heart to achieve happiness.’
‘My heart is happy that I have his consideration, Mr Clavell,’ she’d replied honestly. ‘It’s what I wish for more than anything else, to have his regard for me.’
There was something in the atmosphere when she arrived back at the farm. She had been worried about leaving Meg alone with Joe in case they quarrelled. There had been a few sparks fly between them recently, but now they seemed pent up about something.
‘Have you two been arguing?’ she asked. ‘If you have, you must settle it. You know I can’t abide it when you quarrel!’
‘Us?’ Joe put his hand to his chest. ‘Who? Me and Meg? Would we do that, Meg?’
Meg too looked equally astonished. Then she said, ‘Well, yes we did, Joe. Be honest. We did have that small argument.’
‘Ah, yes!’ he said. ‘So we did. Do we ask Emily her opinion or do we fight it out between ourselves?’ He couldn’t hide the huge grin on his face.
‘Joe Hawkins!’ Emily warned. ‘What have you been up to? Have you been upsetting Meg?’
He shook his head. ‘We couldn’t agree on whether we should ask ’parson to marry us now or wait for Mr Linton to come back. What do you think, Emily? What should we do?’
She flung her arms around the two of them. ‘I thought you would always be at loggerheads,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy for you!’
‘We probably will be,’ Joe grinned. ‘Meg’s not going to be ’meek little woman I allus thought I’d marry.’
‘Oh, you need a strong woman to keep you right,’ Meg laughed, and Emily thought how lovely she looked. So regal and handsome, her sunbrowned skin glowing with health, no sign of the scabs or gaol sores that she had once had.
‘Please wait for Mr Linton,’ Emily said. ‘I’ve had a letter; he hopes to be back in three months.’
They were interrupted in their conversation as the old Aborigine came across the paddock. ‘I forgot to tell you, he came looking for you, Emily,’ Meg murmured. ‘He wouldn’t say what he wanted.’
Emily signalled for him to come onto the veranda, but he preferred to wait below the steps, so she went down to him.
‘This is for you, missus.’ He held out his hand. In it was what looked like a lump of dried-up mud.
‘Thank you,’ she smiled politely, turning it over. ‘You’re very kind. What shall I do with it?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘White folk collect it.’
‘What is it, Em?’ Joe stepped down beside her. ‘What’s he given thee?’
She opened her palm to reveal the brown mud with yellow staining. She scratched at it with her fingernail.
Joe took in a deep breath. ‘Gold! He’s found gold! Emily – tha could be rich!’
‘But where did you find it?’ Emily asked the native. ‘Is it yours?’
He spread his arms to encompass the land. ‘All mine! My father’s, my sons’ and grandsons’.’
‘Where’s ’old devil found it?’ Joe was trying hard not to show his excitement.
‘Thank you,’ Emily said. ‘Thank you very much. Are you sure I should have it?’
The old man nodded. ‘More in the creek. You want some?’ he asked Joe.
‘Yes! Yes. Please! Will tha show me?’
‘But Joe, it’s not our land. We’re not entitled –’, Emily began.
‘Everybody’s entitled if it’s not on somebody else’s land,’ Joe said decidedly. ‘And if it’s on Linton’s land then we’ll dig it for him.’
‘But you must keep it quiet, Joe,’ Meg broke in. ‘If ’authorities find out about it, they’ll take it from you. You’re still a convict, remember? Nobody will accept that it’s yours. They’ll say you stole it.’
‘Aye, that’s right, they will.’ Joe’s enthusiasm abated a little. ‘But I’m still going to look and I don’t have to tell anybody. Will you take me?’ he asked the native.
He shook his head. ‘My grandson. He take you. Tomorrow, for three days. I mind sheep for missus.’
The old man brought his grandson Benne before daybreak the following morning. Joe was ready and waiting for them. He’d packed a shovel and a pick and a roll of chicken wire for a sieve into a sack. He also had the rifle, but the young man, handsome but sullen, shook his head when he saw it. ‘Soldiers shoot us if they see rifle,’ he stated.
‘Will there be soldiers?’ Joe asked.
Benne shrugged. ‘Soldiers everywhere. Looking for bushmen and crappy convicts.’
Joe wondered why the old native had offered them the gold. There was no love between the Aborigine and the English, and the natives considered the convicts to be the lowest order on earth, even below themselves, who had been hounded from their hunting grounds, to be beaten and tortured and their women taken into slavery and prostitution.
Meg gave them bread and cheese for the journey, which Joe put into the sack and they set off, the old man going with them to the boundary of Philip Linton’s land. ‘He look after you good,’ he said. ‘You do what he say.’
They followed the creek, climbing ever higher, the watercourse wide in some places and running through meadow-like land with patches of scrub, then narrowing through ravines, where the water rushed down in great torrents, falling over hidden rocks. By dawn Joe was sweating and he was thankful that it wasn’t high summer, but even so there was heat in the sun when it came up and soon the flies were swarming around them. He felt the bite of mosquitoes and saw the dart of lizards and heard the screech of cockatoos and the chattering, coloured cloud of budgerigars flying above them.
They stopped at noon beneath the grey-green foliage of tall eucalyptus which gave them shade and Joe brought out the bread and cheese and handed it to Benne. Surprise showed on his dark face as he was offered it, but he tore off a piece of bread and ate it. ‘It’s good,’ he said as he chewed. ‘Is that your missus?’
‘Yes,’ Joe replied with a grin. ‘She is.’
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‘Are you crappy convict?’
Joe shook his head, knowing that he meant the Irish, whom the Aborigines hated even more than the English. ‘No. Assigned man.’
‘Ah!’ Benne chewed thoughtfully on the bread and then went to the creek and drank, cupping his hands to collect the water. Then he bent down and scrabbled with his hands in the mud at the side of the bank and brought out two grey-brown eggs. He cracked one of them and tipped it into his mouth, then handed the other one to Joe. ‘Eat,’ he said. ‘Good.’
Joe hesitated. The shell looked old. ‘Is it duck?’
Benne shrugged. ‘Eat,’ he said, so Joe cracked it, looked to make sure that nothing was about to hatch from it and swallowed it whole.
‘I come and work for you?’ The question was direct. ‘My grandfather said I can – if we find gold.’
Joe made his decision fast. ‘Yes. Until master comes back.’ Then he asked, ‘Don’t you want gold?’
The boy shook his head. ‘No. Can’t keep it. I want sheep.’
Joe grinned. ‘If we find gold you shall have as many sheep as you want and so will I.’
They rested until the afternoon and then moved along again. They heard the sound of voices and up on the skyline saw the flash of red tunics which denoted soldiers. They flattened themselves on the ground beneath the shelter of bushes and ferns until they had gone, and then moved up once more, until Benne called a halt by an outcrop of rock which hid in its hollows nests of snakes and enormous spiders. The creek ran through a gully, here at only a trickle, and Benne crouched down on his haunches. ‘Here,’ he said, running his fingers through the water. ‘Here grandfather says he find gold.’
Joe put down his sack and he too let the water run over his fingers. He scooped up the mud from the bottom and let it trickle through his fingers. It was only mud and grit, no yellow staining. ‘Can’t expect to find it straight off,’ he muttered and bent to open up his sack. He took out the shovel, the pick and the chicken wire and threw the sack against the rock. A snake, disturbed by the movement, slithered out of one of the hollows and down the rock, where it disappeared into the undergrowth. Joe grimaced.
