The River Charm

by Belinda Murrell

  The spacious, formal dining room was at the front of the house, overlooking the garden. A fire roared in the fireplace to ward off the chill spring air. A collection of Mamma’s landscape paintings hung on the rich-green walls. She had painted some of them in England, but most were of the surrounding countryside in soft, silvery greens and ochres.

  Mr Barton sat at the head of the table, nursing a tumbler of brandy. Charlotte and James sat on either side of him, dressed in their Sunday best, while Louisa and Emily sat on either side of Mamma at the other end.

  Mamma was standing, carving the roast beef, while the children passed around the side dishes of roast potatoes, peas and beans, baked onions and the gravy boat. The silver gravy boat had disappeared, so they had to make do with the china one from the kitchen. Likewise, the massive silver soup tureen was missing from the cedar sideboard.

  Bridget entered the dining room and bobbed a curtsy, looking flushed and flurried.

  ‘Mr Chalkley, the chief constable, would like to see you in the office, sir,’ explained Bridget to Mr Barton.

  ‘Danged if I’ll see him,’ swore Mr Barton. ‘It’s the middle of dinner. Tell him to go away and come back next week.’

  Bridget glanced at Mamma. Mamma put down the carving knife and straightened her lace cap. ‘I will see him, Bridget,’ she said, frowning. ‘You may start dinner without me.’

  Mr Barton drained his tumbler of brandy and banged it down on the table. ‘No, you won’t see him,’ he shouted. ‘He didn’t ask to see you. He asked to see me – I’m the master of the house.’

  Charlotte froze in the middle of passing the potatoes to Emily. Her stomach clenched with nerves.

  ‘It will not take a moment,’ replied Mamma soothingly. ‘He may have some news of those missing cattle. Mr Ash thinks that they may have been moonlighted by one of the local farmers.’

  Bridget stood stationary by the open door, not sure whether to obey the master or the mistress.

  ‘You won’t,’ insisted Mr Barton, pouring himself another tumbler of brandy. ‘You’ll serve my dinner. The bleeding constable can go hang himself.’

  The chief constable appeared in the doorway, hat in hand.

  ‘My apologies for intruding, ma’am,’ said the policeman, inclining his head. ‘I’m sorry to arrive at the dinner hour, but I need to speak with Mr Barton about a certain matter. Could we perhaps retire to the office?’

  Mr Barton glowered at the constable then at his wife. ‘No need – we can talk here while I eat,’ he decided, his voice more civil.

  ‘Would you like to join us, Mr Chalkley?’ invited Mamma. ‘May I pour you a glass of wine?’

  ‘Get the man a brandy,’ Mr Barton demanded.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ replied the constable. ‘A brandy would be appreciated.’

  ‘Bridget, could you fetch Mr Chalkley a glass, if you please?’

  Bridget hurried to obey, relieved to have the decision made. Mr Chalkley sat down between Charlotte and Emily. Mamma continued carving the roast beef, and everyone helped themselves to meat, gravy and vegetables.

  Mamma said grace and everyone began to eat.

  ‘Now what is it you want to tell me?” asked Mr Barton, picking up his knife and fork.

  Mr Chalkley glanced around at the children, who were quietly eating, their eyes on their plates. Mealtime was uncharacteristically quiet when their stepfather was present. He firmly believed that children should be seen and not heard – but preferably not seen, either. Any childish chatter was likely to be met with a roar and a slap.

  ‘Well?’ said Mr Barton.

  ‘It is about the robbery of the dray from Sydney on Friday night on the main road,’ began Mr Chalkley. ‘The victim, Mr Sanders, died yesterday but was able to dictate a complete account of the attack.’

  Charlotte leant forward, a crowd of questions on her tongue begging to be asked.

  ‘The poor, unfortunate man,’ replied Mamma, putting down her cutlery. ‘May his soul rest in peace.’

  ‘What’s that to do with me?’ asked Mr Barton. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  Mr Chalkley turned to Mr Barton. ‘No, but yesterday we discovered a young man by the name of Knight, who says he is employed by you. We apprehended him on his way back to Oldbury, laden with goods that correspond with items stolen from the dray.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know anything about that,’ said Mr Barton.

  ‘Today another two of your convict labourers were apprehended by Mr Loveby the innkeeper for attempting to sell stolen goods at The Three Legs of Man,’ continued Mr Chalkley. ‘A number of the goods seem to have been stolen from the dray, yet they also offered several items from this house that they said you had instructed them to sell.’

  Mr Barton flashed a guilty look at Mamma, shrugged nonchalantly, then speared a potato and thrust it in his mouth.

  ‘They’re now being escorted to the Berrima lockup,’ advised Mr Chalkley. ‘The goods have been impounded as evidence.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Mamma, her hand to her throat. Charlotte kneaded her hands together under the table.

  ‘After questioning them, it seems that most of the robbers were employed on Oldbury Estate. We have just apprehended two more of your convicts – Jack Ellis and William Barnes.’

  ‘Dandy Jack?’ whispered Charlotte.

  ‘I always thought that Dandy Jack was a rogue,’ said Mr Barton, pouring himself another brandy.

  ‘These Oldbury men shot an innocent man?’ asked Mamma.

  ‘Yes, murdered him quite callously in front of his wife and child,’ said Mr Chalkley. ‘Apparently the bullock driver, who pretended to be asleep during the attack, was actually an accomplice. He refused to ride for medical help until he had finished his breakfast that morning. We’ve arrested him too.’

  Louisa slid out of her chair and crept to her mother’s side, twisting a curl around her finger. Mamma cuddled her close.

  ‘That poor woman,’ Mamma said. ‘I wish she and her child had come here for help – perhaps we could have saved her husband.’

  ‘I don’t believe it would have helped, ma’am,’ replied the constable. ‘He was shot in the abdomen – a slow and painful way to die.’

  ‘Where are they now?’ asked Mamma. ‘Can we be of assistance to the unfortunate woman and her child?’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, however they are taking the mail coach back to Sydney tomorrow,’ replied Mr Chalkley.

  Mr Barton suddenly shoved his chair back. ‘I know who’s behind it all,’ he announced, eyes blazing. ‘It’s that murdering convict bushranger John Lynch. I know he’s escaped and is hiding out there in the bush, just waiting to take a shot at me. It’s John Lynch who put them up to it.’

  Mr Chalkley stared at Mr Barton then glanced at Mamma.

  ‘Next he’ll be coming for me, and you constables will do nothing about it,’ Mr Barton shouted. ‘You sit here at my table eating my food, drinking my brandy and letting that murderous Lynch skulk about my farm, waiting to kill me!’

  Mamma stood up and straightened her skirts, attempting to smile reassuringly at everyone. ‘Children, perhaps it’s time . . .?’

  ‘Why aren’t you searching for Lynch?’ interrupted Mr Barton, waving his arms.

  ‘I believe the convict Lynch has been transferred to a road gang down south,’ began Mr Chalkley, wiping his moustache with the damask napkin. ‘There is no evidence –’

  ‘Evidence be danged!’ shouted Mr Barton. ‘I tell you he’s out there.’

  Mamma beckoned urgently to the children, signalling them to leave the room.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ whispered Charlotte as she pushed back her chair and hurried to the door, along with Emily, James and Louisa.

  A thunderous smash filled the air. The children spun around.

  The crystal decanter lay in shattered pi
eces on the carpet and amber liquid dripped down the pale-green wallpaper. One of Mamma’s watercolour paintings had fallen to the floor and lay face down in a puddle of liquor, its gilt frame snapped.

  It seemed Mr Barton had just thrown a half-full brandy decanter at the chief constable’s head. Fortunately, he’d missed. Mamma’s eyes widened in shock. Mr Chalkley jumped to his feet, his hand on his pistol.

  ‘Oh, Mr Chalkley, I do apologise profusely,’ cried Mamma breathlessly. ‘Emily, take Louisa upstairs and read her a story. James, run and get Bridget to clean up that mess. Charlotte, can you get Mr Ash as fast as you can – I may need his help.’

  The children ran to do as their mother ordered. Charlotte’s mind reeled with all that she had seen and heard: the murderous bushrangers were actually Oldbury servants she saw every day; Mr Barton had thrown a crystal decanter at the chief constable; Mr Barton thought a murderer was hiding on Oldbury waiting to kill him.

  Charlotte found Mr Ash at his cottage and explained the situation. By the time she returned, Bridget had mopped up the broken glass, the ruined painting had been thrown out with the rubbish and Mr Barton was resting in the drawing room in an armchair in front of the fire, his booted feet up on an ottoman.

  Emily was reading to James and Louisa upstairs, so Charlotte helped Bridget clear away the ruined meal, which was now cold and congealed on the plates. Samson looked delighted as Charlotte fed him some of the scraps.

  Afterwards, as Charlotte was creeping along the passage to go upstairs to her room, she heard a muffled sound coming from the study. It was the sound of deep, desperate grief. She cautiously opened the door. Mamma was collapsed on the floor, her face buried in the wide circle of her grey skirts. Her back and shoulders shuddered as distraught sobs escaped her.

  ‘Mamma?’ whispered Charlotte. ‘Mamma – are you all right? Does something ail you?’

  Mamma sat up and wiped her face on a sodden handkerchief. ‘No, my dearest. Do not concern yourself,’ she insisted, sniffing. She twisted the handkerchief between her fingers.

  Charlotte dropped to her knees and hugged her mother’s narrow shoulders. ‘Mamma?’

  Her mother dropped a letter onto her lap. ‘The sheep have been sold,’ she croaked. ‘It was the finest flock in the colony. It took your father years to build it up, and now they have been sold for a mere sixteen shillings each. The Oldbury cattle have been sold also. The Budgong cattle will be next – even our flour mill has been sold.’

  Charlotte gulped in shock. It is happening. It is really happening.

  ‘Oh, Mamma, that’s dreadful news!’ exclaimed Charlotte, patting her mother on the back.

  ‘The executors wish to take legal action against Mr Barton for the property that he sold that belongs to you four children,’ continued Mamma. ‘Mr Barton has apparently made arrangements to send a large quantity of our finest furniture to Sydney to be sold at auction. He has said the most unspeakable things about me to anyone who will listen.’

  Mamma began to sob again, scrunching the handkerchief in her palm. ‘Oh, Charlotte, I do not know what to do,’ she cried. ‘Nothing I say will sway him. I think he has gone completely insane.’

  Mamma stood up and began pacing back and forth across the floor, leaving the letter on the floor. Charlotte glanced down at it. Among the florid handwriting she read:

  She wrenched her eyes away.

  ‘I have no money,’ Mamma continued, frowning fiercely. ‘This is our home. It was built for me by your papa as a wedding present. I cannot bear the thought of strangers living here.’ Charlotte shook her head vehemently. ‘If only your stepfather would stop interfering, I could run the farm and make an income for us. He thwarts me at every turn, countermanding my orders and alienating the workers.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ said Charlotte. ‘Why can’t you just tell the executors what to do? Oldbury is ours. Mr Barton and the executors have no right to it!’

  Mamma pulled Charlotte to her feet and gazed steadily into her eyes. ‘Charlotte, they have every right,’ she said bitterly. ‘I have written to my lawyers. I have tried everything. But as a woman I have no rights. My husband owns all my property – not me. Mr Barton is my husband. He can do what he likes and I can do nothing.’

  A shiver of revulsion ran up Charlotte’s spine. I hate him. I wish he would go away and leave us alone. I wish John Lynch would shoot him.

  Mamma straightened her back and hugged Charlotte. ‘I am sorry, my dearest. I should not have troubled you with all this. I do not want you to worry. There must be something I can do.’

  Mamma slipped her hand into her pocket and ran her fingers over the pebble hidden there.

  8

  Stealing the Furniture

  Oldbury, Summer 1839

  On Tuesday Mamma rode into Berrima early to see Mr Chalkley about retrieving the items that the convicts had been trying to sell and to warn the businesses in town that they were not to buy any property that Mr Barton should try to sell them.

  As she came downstairs, Charlotte was surprised to see Mr Barton dressed and emerging from the breakfast room, a cup of coffee in one hand. He usually slept most of the morning.

  ‘Good morning, Charlotte,’ said Mr Barton jovially. ‘Has your mother left already?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She left a few minutes ago to ride to Berrima,’ replied Charlotte.

  Mr Barton smiled at Charlotte. ‘Good girl, and when do you think she’ll be back?’ he asked.

  Charlotte frowned. ‘She said not to expect her until teatime this afternoon.’

  ‘Excellent,’ replied Mr Barton, taking a large swig of coffee. ‘Now, I have a lot to do this morning, so I don’t want any of you children in my way. Understood? I’m sure you are responsible enough to take care of your siblings while your mother is away?’

  Charlotte swallowed. ‘Yes, Mr Barton. I’ll make sure they don’t bother you.’

  ‘Good. I have some sweets here that you can have if you keep them well away.’ Mr Barton handed her a paper bag of red-and-green boiled lollies.

  Charlotte took them reluctantly. She didn’t feel like accepting sweets from her stepfather, so she hid them in the kitchen where Louisa or James couldn’t see them. She didn’t think they’d be so scrupulous about accepting bribes from him.

  Charlotte rounded up her siblings, their bonnets and shawls, Samson the dog, Maugie the koala and took them all for a walk. First they visited the cool, dim dairy to beg more milk from John the dairyman. He obliged, giving them an iron bucket filled with foaming, creamy milk.

  Charlotte dipped her fingers in the milk for Maugie to lick. They headed through the courtyard, past the stables, carriage house, store and vegetable gardens. Charley waved to them from the stable, where he was pushing a wheel­barrow piled high with manure and straw.

  The wallabies hopped along behind the children, just in case the bucket held hay or grain. Charlotte felt troubled. What is Mr Barton up to? There’s something he’s trying to hide.

  Well behind the house was a large orchard of about eight acres, planted with many different types of fruit trees. Wide paths were mown between the trees, with the rounded domes of beehives placed along the fence. Five orphan lambs came running, their long tails twitching at the sight of the bucket.

  Mr Ash had given them the lambs to raise by hand when their mothers had died. Louisa and James took turns to let the lambs drink from the bucket, while Emily tried to stop Louisa from being knocked over by the exuberant orphans.

  James ran up and down the grassy avenue with Samson chasing him and barking loudly. Charlotte picked some long grass and plaited it. Emily sat down in the grass under an apple tree and began picking tiny daisies and weaving them into a crown for Louisa.

  ‘A crown fit for a fairy princess,’ said Emily, taking off Louisa’s bonnet and setting the crown on her head.

  Louisa grinned wit
h her gap-toothed smile and stroked her ringlets back behind her ears. ‘I’m a fairy princess,’ she told Charlotte.

  Charlotte nodded absent-mindedly.

  ‘Can you make me wings?’ Louisa asked Emily.

  Emily frowned and looked around. ‘Perhaps back at the house I could make some, poppet,’ she replied, weaving a necklace out of daisies.

  Louisa jumped up. ‘Well, come on, then. Let’s go back and make some wings.’

  Emily glanced at Charlotte, who pulled Louisa into her lap and said, ‘We cannot go back to the house now, poppet. Mr Barton would be cross.’

  ‘But I want fairy wings, now,’ Louisa insisted, her lip pouting.

  ‘I know,’ said Emily. ‘Why don’t we make you some wings from the bonnets?’

  Emily took Louisa’s discarded white bonnet and tied the ribbons around one shoulder, leaving the headpiece as a frilled white wing. Charlotte pulled off her own bonnet, which Emily tied to the other, then draped over the other shoulder to make the right wing.

  ‘Pretty wings for a princess,’ soothed Emily. ‘Now how about a bracelet?’

  Charlotte glanced back towards the house, which was out of sight behind the outbuildings and trees. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked James as he raced past.

  James, who was always starving, stopped and grinned with anticipation. ‘I’m famished.’

  ‘Yes,’ added Louisa. ‘When is Mamma back?’

  ‘Later,’ said Emily. ‘When she has finished all her business in town.’

  Charlotte pulled Louisa’s chin gently so she was looking at her. ‘I’m going to creep back to the house on a secret mission to fetch us some food,’ she explained. ‘But it’s really important that you stay here with Emily. Don’t follow me, or Mr Barton will be annoyed.’

  Louisa’s eyes widened. She knew what Mr Barton was like when he was angry.

  ‘We can play fairies and witches,’ suggested Emily. ‘You can be the fairy princess Titania, and I’ll be the evil witch Malevolence, who has captured and imprisoned you in the tower.’