The River Charm

by Belinda Murrell

  The girls scrambled to find gloves, shawls and bonnets. James dug out the bucket, net and yabby lines, and raced to the kitchen to beg Bridget for some finely cut meat to use for bait.

  Louisa searched everywhere for her favourite doll, Lucy, to join the expedition. Samson joined in the excitement, wagging his whole body from side to side, pink tongue lolling as he ran back and forth between the schoolroom and the door. Emily carried Maugie, his eyes slowly blinking in the late afternoon light.

  This expedition lay to the front of the house, through the formal flower garden with its neatly clipped hedges, and down the carriage drive towards the stream. Snowdrops, creamy jonquils and bluebells danced on their long green stems under the trees, filling the air with their delicate scent. White primula and pale-blue forget-me-nots provided a carpet of early colour under the bare rose bushes. The buds on the white lilies were fat and ripe, ready to burst into bloom.

  The children skipped and joked, delighting in the unexpected expedition. Louisa, brown ringlets bouncing, ran to and fro, chattering non-stop. James kicked a ball along, zigzagging down the path.

  Down at the rivulet, the sun glinted on the water. Ducks waddled and quacked along the mossy banks, demanding to be fed. Blue-and-black dragonflies and silvery midges danced above the surface of the still water. Behind them, Oldbury House glowed in the warmth of the late afternoon light, looking as majestic and magical as a fairy palace.

  James tucked his ball under his arm and ran ahead to the waterhole with the rods and bucket.

  ‘I’ll bait all the rods,’ he offered, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. ‘If you don’t tie the knots properly the yabbies pull them loose.’

  ‘I know how to bait a yabby rod, James,’ Charlotte reproved, throwing down the blanket. ‘Remember that beauty I caught last time? It was massive.’

  ‘You can bait mine, James,’ offered Emily. ‘I’ll help Mamma set up the picnic.’

  ‘Lucy wants to catch yabbies too,’ said Louisa, holding up her doll. ‘But Lucy doesn’t like yabbies for supper.’ She grimaced, scrunching up her grey eyes and revealing the gap between her teeth.

  ‘That’s all right, my poppet,’ Emily replied, carefully spreading the blanket out on the grass. ‘We can help Lucy with her rod, and then we can share her yabbies.’

  ‘Lucy could try eating yabbies,’ suggested Mamma, straightening Louisa’s bonnet. ‘She might find they are delicious with my lemon, butter and parsley sauce.’

  ‘My favourite,’ agreed Charlotte, gathering twigs into a pile. ‘The thought of it is making my stomach rumble.’

  At the water’s edge, James became very serious, tightly tying a strip of raw meat to the end of a length of string, which in turn was knotted to the wooden rod. Samson sat beside him, eyeing the bait longingly. Louisa stood on the bank and threw scraps of bread to the squabbling ducks.

  ‘Louisa,’ James objected, waving her away. ‘Do that over there or you’ll frighten away all the yabbies.’

  Charlotte and Emily gathered twigs and branches and built a small campfire to boil the billy for tea. Mamma sat on a wooden bench under one of the elm trees, unpacking the picnic basket beside her. This was her favourite place to sew, or draw, or read when all the many chores were done.

  Emily helped Mamma make up slabs of freshly baked bread smothered in creamy yellow butter, topped with pale-pink ham and a smear of mustard.

  When the billy boiled, Charlotte made cups of sweet, milky tea for everyone, which they drank out of tin mugs, while Mamma handed around slices of bread and ham. James stood sentinel on the bank, watching the lines of five makeshift rods carefully to see if one of them twitched.

  ‘Mmmm,’ said Charlotte, feeding a scrap of ham to Samson. ‘Why is it that everything tastes better out in the open air? This is the best ham I have ever tasted!’

  ‘Tea tastes completely different out of a tin mug,’ added Emily. ‘It has an exotic smoky flavour, as though it has travelled thousands of miles on camelback.’

  ‘I wish we could live out of doors always,’ added Louisa. ‘Then we would never have to do chores or study or practise the piano.’

  Louisa fed her doll a crusty crumb and a teensy sip of tea.

  ‘Being outside is the best place to learn, poppet,’ replied Mamma, gesturing at the creek, the paddocks and the graceful trees. ‘Surrounded by the beauties of nature. Out here, you are learning without even realising it.’

  One of the yabby lines dragged taut. James dropped his bread, where it was quickly gobbled up by Samson, and grabbed the net.

  Slowly, slowly he inched the line in and gradually pulled it up to reveal a plump crustacean clinging to the strip of bait. In an instant, James had the net under the yabby so that when the creature realised it was out of the water, it dropped off and was captured safely.

  ‘I caught one,’ James cried. ‘We are having boiled yabbies for supper tonight.’

  ‘Boiled yabby,’ corrected Charlotte, her hand on her hip. ‘At this rate we will have barely a quarter of a tea­spoon each!’

  A second string tugged. James smiled triumphantly at Charlotte and dropped his first catch into an iron bucket of pond water. Charlotte and Emily raced down to the waterhole to help, trying not to slip on the mossy, muddy bank.

  In a moment, another rod twitched sharply, then another.

  ‘Come on, Louisa,’ called Emily. ‘That one is for us to land.’

  Louisa skipped down to help hold the rod while Emily scooped the net. The bucket soon held four plump yabbies.

  ‘That’s one for Mamma, one for me, one for Louisa and one for Emily,’ James said, tying a new strip of meat onto his string. ‘Looks like you might be going hungry tonight, Charlotte.’

  Charlotte tossed her head, flicking back her long black hair. ‘With all this racket you are making, it’s a wonder we have caught any yabbies at all,’ she retorted. James poked out his tongue.

  Mamma had been sitting quietly, mending some of James’s torn breeches and sipping on her tea. She rubbed her forehead as though it ached.

  ‘My darlings, there is something I must talk to you about,’ Mamma began, putting aside the sewing. She slipped her hand inside her pocket and took out a small, red-brown pebble, which she rubbed between her fingertips. ‘It is something of grave importance . . .’

  Emily stopped tidying up the bread scraps and sat down quietly, her head to one side and her hazel eyes gazing steadily at her mother. James safely landed a fifth yabby in the bucket while Louisa continued to feed her doll.

  Charlotte felt her stomach knot. What does Mamma want to talk to us about? Why does she look so worried? Is it something to do with that letter?

  ‘I have been corresponding with the executors,’ Mamma announced. She took a deep breath and smoothed out a crease in her skirt.

  Charlotte glanced at Emily. Louisa put her doll down.

  ‘The executors have decided that it is not in your interests for us to live here at Oldbury anymore,’ Mamma announced, her eyes on the yabby lines. ‘They plan to sell all the sheep, cattle and horses, and lease out Oldbury for the next seven years.’

  Charlotte sucked in her breath. Emily leant forward and clasped her mother’s skirts. James frowned and put down his net. Louisa picked up her doll and began to play again, rearranging the petticoats and velvet pelisse.

  ‘Not in our interests?’ asked Charlotte, her voice rising. ‘But this is our home! You and Papa built Oldbury when I was a baby – we’ve always lived here.’

  James stood up, the yabby lines forgotten. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, mussing it up on end. ‘They can’t do that,’ he said firmly. ‘Papa left Oldbury to me. I’m the boy – it’s mine and I want to live here with you and the girls.’

  ‘It must be some kind of mistake,’ suggested Emily, her face hopeful. ‘We just need to explain that we are happy here. We be
long here.’

  Mamma slipped the pebble back in her pocket and rubbed her eyes, blinking rapidly. ‘Darlings, I know it is difficult, but we don’t have any choice. The executors control all the money and how it should be spent until you come of age. They have appointed an auctioneer to sell everything except the property itself so that they can hold all the money in trust for when you are older. The property has already been advertised in the newspapers.’

  Emily’s eyes filled with tears. James walked over and kicked over the remaining yabby lines, his lip pouted.

  ‘I don’t like the executors,’ said Louisa. ‘They are horrid.’

  ‘How can they do this, Mamma?’ asked Charlotte, her voice trembling. ‘This is our home. Papa meant for us to live here forever. How can they sell our sheep? Our cattle? Our horses? They can’t mean to take Ophelia and Clarie! Where would we go?’

  Mamma held out her arms to the children, her face pale with grief. ‘I do not know,’ she confessed. ‘I do not know. I have written and begged and pleaded, but nothing I say will deter them. I do not know what else I can do.’

  Emily fell into Mamma’s arms, followed by Louisa and then James.

  Charlotte knelt on the rug all alone, her mind churning. There must be something Mamma can do? Surely it is not possible for total strangers to turn our lives upside down on a whim? Surely the men far away in Sydney Town cannot dictate how our lives should be lived? Why did Papa have to die? Why did Mamma have to marry Mr Barton?

  ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ accused Charlotte, glaring at Mamma. ‘It’s all his fault we have to leave Oldbury. If he didn’t steal our money and sell our livestock, the executors would not be doing this.’

  Mamma bit her lip. ‘Charlotte, my dearest . . .’

  Charlotte stood up, her body trembling with rage, and cried, ‘They can’t make us go. I simply refuse.’

  ‘Charlotte –’

  Charlotte turned and ran, her eyes blinded by tears. She ran through the gardens, in the front door and upstairs to her bedroom. She lay on the bed, her face buried in her pillow, and became lost in thought. There must be something we can do? There must be something that will change the executors’ decision?

  5

  Mr Barton

  The table in the breakfast room was set with floral china and bone-handled silverware. A bowl of pale-pink cabbage roses stood in the centre. Bridget carried in a basket of hot, steaming rolls straight from the oven, their warm, yeasty scent making Charlotte’s mouth water. Mamma poured out cups of milky tea from the polished silver teapot into delicate china cups.

  ‘Today, Mamma, can we go searching for tree frogs down in the swamp?’ asked James, spooning some strawberry jam onto his plate. ‘I want to catch some to keep in the terrarium.’

  ‘Not today, dearest,’ Mamma replied with a fond smile. ‘You all need to do some arithmetic, then we are going to study the North American Esquimaux. They are a truly fascinating people. Then I need to talk to the super­intendent about the sheep. The ewes will be starting to lamb.’

  James pulled a disgusted face, his fringe flopping over one eye.

  ‘No, Mamma – please no arithmetic,’ Charlotte wheedled, putting down her bread roll smothered in marmalade. ‘Why don’t we do a composition, or perhaps we could just ride up to the mountain and sketch?’

  Mamma smiled again. ‘Definitely arithmetic this morning, but possibly we can go for a wander after lunch and sketch down by the rivulet?’

  ‘That would be heavenly,’ agreed Emily, the peacemaker. ‘Perhaps we could catch some frogs for James and sketch those?’

  Mamma brushed Emily’s forehead with her fingertips. ‘I think that would be an excellent compromise, dearest.’

  Suddenly a loud crash came from the back of the house, near the kitchen.

  ‘Mrs Barton – woman!’ yelled a loud male voice.

  Mamma stiffened and went pale. ‘Quickly, children,’ she urged, standing up with a small, forced smile. ‘Finish your breakfast and then go to the schoolroom and start your arithmetic. I’ll come in shortly to see how you are progressing.’

  Mamma hurried from the room, back straight, her full skirts swishing.

  ‘It’s Mr Barton,’ Charlotte announced gloomily. ‘He’s back.’

  Emily dropped her crust, no longer hungry. James stood, clutching his butterknife smeared with strawberry jam. Louisa’s bottom lip trembled.

  ‘Oh, there you are, woman,’ yelled the rough voice from the back verandah. ‘You bother to welcome your husband home then?’

  ‘Where have you been?’ their mother asked.

  ‘Oh, I’ve been away on business.’ His voice sounded slurred. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours what your husband chooses to do.’

  ‘Business at the tavern by the sound of you,’ replied Mamma, sounding bitter. ‘You have been gone for a week. Perhaps you could tell me why the silver dinner service has disappeared? Plus all the money I had hidden in the tea caddy– the whole quarter’s allowance is gone. I do not suppose you know what may have happened to that?’

  There was another loud crash, either of something being thrown or someone falling. Charlotte felt her neck muscles clench with anxiety.

  ‘Nagging, nagging – always nagging,’ shouted Mr Barton. ‘I swear I don’t know what I did to deserve such a shrew for a wife. Spare a man from a wicked tongue.’

  Charlotte glanced at her siblings. Louisa stared at the door with wide, frightened eyes. James picked up his butterknife again and clutched it firmly. Emily, her eyes swimming with tears, bit her fingernails.

  ‘Come on,’ Charlotte whispered, gesturing to the others. ‘Mamma wished us to start our schoolwork.’

  ‘I wish I could kill him,’ whispered James, jabbing his butterknife into his bread roll. ‘He is an evil man.’

  ‘Shush, James,’ replied Emily in horror. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I do,’ James insisted, lifting up the butterknife like a sword. ‘I wish I was older, then I would cut out his wicked heart.’

  Charlotte pushed away her half-eaten breakfast.

  ‘I know he’s difficult, but he’s our stepfather,’ Charlotte reminded her younger siblings. ‘It would grieve Mamma if we were to vex him.’

  ‘He’s a thief and a villain,’ insisted James, his voice rising. ‘He steals from us and from Mamma, the things that Papa worked and paid for. He gets drunk and does nothing to help Mamma with the farms. He would be better off dead.’

  ‘Hush, James,’ repeated Charlotte, glancing nervously towards the door. ‘He’ll hear you and then we’ll all be in trouble.’

  There was a loud clang from the verandah, the sound of some heavy metal object hitting the stone wall. Mamma stifled a shriek.

  ‘Blast you and blast your impertinent brats,’ screamed Mr Barton. ‘It’s more than a man can stand to see your long face over the dinner table. Do you wonder that I’d rather spend my time at the Three Legs of Man Inn? I don’t know why I slave to feed you and those spoiled brats. You think you are all so superior, but you are no better than me.’

  There was the sound of Mamma’s voice, low and soothing.

  ‘Don’t talk to me like I’m an imbecilic child,’ roared Mr Barton. ‘Of course I don’t need to go to bed.’

  Charlotte looked around at her brother and sisters. She tried to smile brightly. ‘Come on, Louisa,’ she urged. ‘Time to do some arithmetic! Let’s go the schoolroom.’

  The children rose from the table reluctantly. Someone stumbled in the hallway outside. The door flew open and their stepfather staggered into the room.

  ‘Well, brats – did you leave me some breakfast?’ asked Mr Barton.

  Their mother followed closely behind, a strange false smile on her face. ‘Come along now, children,’ she said. ‘Time to start your schoolwork. Mr Barton would like to eat his breakfast in peac
e.’

  Charlotte noticed an angry red streak on her mother’s cheek that had not been there before. Charlotte and Emily hurried away obediently. James glared at the tablecloth. Louisa started to sob.

  Mr Barton swore and clutched his forehead. ‘My poor head! For goodness’ sake, get that wailing brat out of here,’ he demanded, swaying on his feet. ‘Before I do it myself.’ Louisa ran to Mamma and buried her face in her skirts.

  Mamma kissed her head and stroked her ringlets. ‘Charlotte, my dear, be so good as to take Louisa for me,’ she suggested, her voice tight and high. ‘I’ll be there very shortly.’

  Charlotte glanced at Mamma then at her detested stepfather. ‘Come on, James. Come on, Louisa,’ she urged, trying to take her sister’s hand. Louisa clung to Mamma’s skirts more tightly, her sobs rising to a howl.

  ‘I said shut that brat up,’ shouted Mr Barton, cuffing Mamma on the shoulder. ‘I can’t stand that blasted noise.’

  Louisa screamed once more before her cries subsided and she raised her tear-filled eyes to her mother. Mamma compressed her lips.

  ‘Don’t you dare hit my mother!’ Charlotte shrieked, leaping forward. ‘Don’t you dare touch her with your filthy hands!’

  ‘No, Charlotte,’ Mamma warned, holding out her arms.

  Mr Barton whacked Charlotte with the back of his arm, sending her flying across the room. She squealed, slid across the floorboards and banged her head on the skirting board. Samson bailed up Mr Barton and growled menacingly, the hackles on the back of his neck raised.

  ‘No!’ Mamma shouted, darting forward to kneel beside Charlotte. ‘My dearest, are you hurt?’ Charlotte was shocked and angry but not badly hurt. She sat up, shaking her head and blinking back tears, and glared at Mr Barton and Mamma. ‘Are you sure you are all right?’ her mother asked.

  Mamma stroked Charlotte’s forehead, gazing into her pupils to check for signs of concussion. Charlotte nodded and rubbed the side of her head.

  Mamma stood and faced her husband. ‘You will not strike my children.’