The River Charm

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘It was you who fetched your mother and the constables,’ he spat. ‘I told you to keep your nose out of my business.’

  Charlotte choked for air, tears filling her eyes. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

  ‘Put her down!’ screamed Mamma, beating at his arms. ‘Put her down – you’re strangling her!’

  Emily sobbed, Louisa whimpered. Mr Barton squeezed tighter, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with a fanatical light. Charlotte felt her throat burning, her head swimming. Her body felt limp and cold.

  Mamma pulled at his arms beseechingly. James ran and kicked Mr Barton’s shins. Samson darted inside and lunged, his teeth sinking into Mr Barton’s calves.

  Mr Barton yelled and kicked Samson and James across the room. Mamma let go and ran towards her desk. Charlotte felt the blood pounding in her ears and the world slipping away. She thought she was fainting. She thought she was dying.

  There was a loud click.

  ‘Put my daughter down or I will shoot you,’ said Mamma, her voice low and steady.

  All the children turned to look. Mamma had a pistol trained squarely at Mr Barton’s chest.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ chuckled Mr Barton, shaking Charlotte. Charlotte could smell his sour, stale breath hot on her face.

  ‘Put her down,’ said Mamma.

  Mr Barton stared at Mamma, smiling uncertainly. ‘You joke, madam.’

  ‘I do not jest with my children’s lives. Release her now or I will pull the trigger.’

  Mamma tightened her finger on the trigger, the muzzle still pointed directly at Mr Barton’s torso. Mr Barton slumped, slackening the pressure on Charlotte’s throat. Charlotte sucked in air deeply as she slid down the wall.

  ‘I was only disciplining her,’ whined Mr Barton. ‘She is wilful and unruly, like her mother. She needs to be taught to be docile and obedient. She needs to be taught that I am the master of this house.’

  ‘You are not the master of this house,’ spat Mamma. ‘You are a raving lunatic. This house was built by my beloved husband and left in trust for his children. It is their house. You do nothing but swig rum, laze around and steal our very bread. You do not deserve their respect – or any man’s. You are a good-for-nothing wastrel.’

  Samson stood firm, growling. Charlotte staggered to her feet, ready to fly at her stepfather again. Mamma stopped her with a sharp gesture.

  ‘Charlotte, will you please take the children and Samson safely up to your room and lock the door,’ instructed Mamma, still staring down the sights of her weapon. ‘Do not open it unless I tell you to.’

  Charlotte nodded and grasped the dog by his leather collar. Samson refused to be led away, his eyes darting between Mamma and Mr Barton.

  ‘Bridget, would you be so good as to fetch a pitcher of water and some food, and place them in Mr Barton’s bedchamber, if you please?’ asked Mamma. Bridget nodded and hurried from the room.

  ‘Come now, Samson,’ Charlotte insisted urgently. Together the dog and four children slunk from the room. Charlotte looked back at her diminutive mother, swathed in her flowing skirts, holding off that madman on her own.

  I think he meant to kill me, thought Charlotte, touching her bruised throat. I think he nearly strangled me. She looked back at her mother with fear. Will she be all right? Will he harm her again?

  Her throat constricted in fear. Mamma stood firm, her back straight, her aim steady.

  ‘I think I might just take myself to bed,’ moaned Mr Barton from behind them. ‘I’m feeling a little weary.’

  He staggered from the room – his cheeks flushed and veined, his nose glowing – and headed down the cellar stairs. He returned a few minutes later with another flagon of rum under one arm. Mamma followed him, the gun aimed at his back.

  Charlotte urged all the children up the stairs. On the upper level were eight bedrooms off the central hallway – three large bedrooms at the front of the house and five smaller ones with sloping ceilings across the back. The front bedrooms were occupied by Mr Barton, then James in the middle room and Mamma on the southern corner with Louisa. Charlotte and Emily shared one of the smaller bedrooms at the back.

  After a few minutes, Mamma knocked on the door. ‘Let me in please, Charlotte,’ she whispered.

  Mamma came in, putting the pistol down on the dresser. The four children were huddled on Charlotte’s bed, seeking comfort from each other’s closeness.

  ‘I am so sorry, my dearests,’ she said, hugging each one in turn. ‘Are you injured, Charlotte?’

  Charlotte felt her throat. It was sore, but not as sore as her heart.

  Mamma kissed her in the centre of her forehead. ‘Do not worry, dearest,’ she murmured. ‘I will make sure he never hurts you again.’

  How can Mamma make that promise? How can she stop him from ruining our lives?

  Mamma took a deep breath. ‘Now, my loves, we have some work to do,’ she announced. The four children stared at her in surprise. ‘I want you to pack a bag of clothes and your most important treasures. You will not be able to take very much. Charlotte and Emily, I need you to help the younger ones as Bridget will have much to do to help me.’

  Charlotte and Emily glanced at each other with worried faces.

  ‘When you have packed your clothes,’ Mamma con­tinued, ‘I want you to pack a box with sketchbooks, pencils, paints and brushes. You will also need your schoolwork and your favourite books.’

  ‘Why are we packing, Mamma?’ asked Charlotte, feeling sick in the stomach.

  Mamma looked over her shoulder towards the door, biting her thumbnail. ‘We are leaving Oldbury.’ Her face furrowed with grief. ‘We are going somewhere far away, where we will be safe.’

  ‘We can’t leave Oldbury,’ insisted James, jumping to his feet.

  Louisa scowled. ‘I don’t want to go.’ Mamma scooped her up in her lap and held her close.

  Where could we possibly be safe? Charlotte wondered, pinching folds of her white skirt between her fingers.

  ‘My dears, we must leave,’ Mamma assured them. ‘We have to escape from Mr Barton and go to the only place I can think of where he will not follow us.’

  ‘Where would that be?’ asked Emily calmly.

  Mamma smiled at the children. ‘Budgong,’ she said. ‘We are going to the outstation at Budgong.’

  Charlotte caught her breath. Budgong was a cattle run that their father had established in the middle of the almost impenetrable wilderness on the coast near the Shoalhaven River. It was many miles from the nearest settlement. There was nothing there but two stockmen’s slab huts and some cattle yards.

  ‘Budgong?’ asked Emily, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘How do you know Mr Barton won’t find us?’ asked James. ‘He might follow us with a gun and make us come back.’

  Mamma sighed. ‘Mr Barton will not follow us to Budgong because he is too afraid.’

  ‘Afraid?’ asked Emily, looking pale. ‘Why would he be afraid of going to Budgong?’

  Mamma took Emily’s hand and stroked it. ‘Do not fret, my dearest. We do not need to be anxious. You know I ride to Budgong to check on the cattle every three months and have always returned safely.’ Emily nodded, her hazel eyes wide. ‘You see, Mr Barton is scared that the bushranger John Lynch will find him and murder him if he rides out in the wild country. That is why he has never gone there to check on the cattle, and why I must go instead.’

  The four children looked at each other.

  ‘Well, I am certainly not afraid,’ declared James, putting his hand on Mamma’s shoulder.

  ‘Neither am I,’ said Emily, raising her chin.

  Louisa continued sucking her thumb and twirling a ringlet around her finger.

  ‘It will be an adventure,’ added Charlotte. ‘Won’t it, poppet?’

  Mamma smiled reassuringly. ‘I knew you would be brave, my d
earests,’ she said. ‘Now we need to pack quickly and quietly. I would prefer it if your stepfather did not realise what we were planning. We will need to take many of our household goods as there is absolutely nothing there but the stockmen’s huts.’

  Charlotte nodded her understanding. ‘When do we go, Mamma?’

  ‘At first light tomorrow,’ she replied, standing decisively. ‘It will take us most of the afternoon to prepare everything.’

  So soon? Charlotte thought. ‘What about Mr Barton? He will surely try to stop us from leaving.’

  Mamma nodded. ‘He is sleeping, so I locked his bedroom door. I will leave the key with John the dairyman and he can let him out tomorrow after we have left. Hopefully he will sleep half the day away – by then we will be long gone.’

  Mamma gave each of the children a carpetbag and a couple of canvas sacks that they could fill with clothes and treasures. Emily had to coax and cajole Louisa to be practical since she insisted on filling her bag with dolls.

  Charlotte lay all her clothes out on her bed to decide what to take, folding neat piles of linen drawers, lace-edged petticoats, fine chemises, cotton and woollen dresses, white stockings, merino shawls, gloves, coloured pinafores, nightcaps and nightgowns, bonnets and shoes, which she then carefully packed in her carpetbag. The bag filled far too quickly and many of her clothes had to go back in the drawers.

  Next door, James had thrown all of his clothes on the floor and was surrounded by a pile of white shirts, brown trousers, cravats and blue jackets all jumbled together. Charlotte sighed and helped him fold and sort them.

  Down in the kitchen, Bridget was packing up hampers of crockery, cutlery and cooking implements. Mamma tackled books, papers and food supplies. When the children went to bed after a picnic supper, Charlotte’s ears strained in the darkness listening for any telltale sounds. Much later, when Charlotte finally fell asleep, Mamma had still not come upstairs to bed.

  10

  Flight

  ‘Charlotte, dearest,’ whispered Mamma, shaking her gently on the shoulder. ‘Charlotte, wake up.’

  Mamma stood over her bed, black hair hanging down her back and a shawl thrown over her white nightgown. Mamma’s face looked pale and drawn in the flickering light of the candle. Charlotte glanced over to the other bed where Emily was still asleep, her nightcap tied tightly under her chin.

  ‘I am sorry to wake you,’ apologised Mamma. ‘But we must get ready to go. I need you and Emily to dress and help me. We can leave Louisa and James asleep until the very last moment.’

  Charlotte yawned and nodded reluctantly, not wanting to leave her warm bed.

  Mamma woke Emily quietly and lit a candle for them to dress by.

  Charlotte shivered in the cold early morning air as she climbed out of bed and grabbed her shawl. The floorboards felt icy under her bare feet. The rest of the house was dark and quiet, except for the long, rumbling snores that came from Mr Barton’s room at the opposite end of the hall.

  The girls splashed their faces in the washbasin and dressed hurriedly in chemises, petticoats, dark riding habits, stockings and boots.

  Together, Mamma and the girls carried down the trunks to the rear courtyard. Charley and Mr Ash had saddled up a number of horses, including Ophelia and Clarie, and they were tethered outside the stable, stamping their hooves and jingling their bits. Charlotte worried that the noise might wake Mr Barton. Fortunately, his bedroom faced the front of the house. Charlotte shivered and wrapped her woollen shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

  Mr Ash, Charley and Bill the bullocky were now loading the trunks onto three red Devon bullocks by the light of several lanterns. The track to Budgong was too narrow and precipitous to drive a vehicle. The bullocks would be driven on foot by Bill and one of the convicts.

  Mamma flitted to and fro anxiously in the darkness, glancing back to the house, giving the men directions and checking that all was packed to her satisfaction. The men loaded sacks of flour, potatoes, sugar and tea from the storehouse. The first two bullocks had already been loaded up with tents, bedding, Mamma’s medical chest and foodstuffs. Bridget carried a wicker hamper of provisions from the kitchen.

  Charley had captured a number of chickens, which were now imprisoned in a wicker hamper, squawking with disgust. The bullock at the rear bellowed mournfully. Samson ran among the bullocks and men, barking with excitement.

  It was impossible that Mr Barton had not heard the commotion.

  ‘Run and fetch Maugie, if you please, Emily,’ asked Mamma. ‘I have a pannier here for him. He’ll be snug in a nest of old clothes.’

  Emily ran to obey, her brown ringlets tangled and tousled.

  ‘Charlotte, my dear, would you be so good as to wake Louisa and James and help them dress?’ asked Mamma. ‘We must get away as soon as possible. It is nearly dawn.’

  The horizon to the east was streaked with a glimmer of crimson. The men fumbled with buckles and straps on the packsaddles in the dim light. A cock crowed.

  Charlotte ran upstairs, her heart thumping. The house seemed bare and cold and her footsteps echoed on the timber floorboards. In the middle bedroom, she woke James first, urging him to be quick and quiet. Then she went to Mamma’s room next door. Louisa was fast asleep in Mamma’s wide four-poster bed, tangled in the damp sheets, her thumb in her mouth.

  Charlotte leant over her youngest sister and breathed in the warm, milky scent of her skin.

  ‘Louisa,’ whispered Charlotte. ‘Poppet? It is time to wake up.’ Louisa rolled over and burrowed deeper into the blankets, her back to Charlotte. ‘Come on, poppet. We are going on a wonderful adventure today. You get to ride your pony all day long. Won’t that be lovely?’

  Louisa moaned and her eyelids fluttered open. Charlotte lifted her gently out of the sheets and sat her on the side of the bed. Using a wet cloth, she quickly sponged her face and hands, then dressed her sister like a limp doll. Louisa was too sleepy to either help or complain.

  Picking Louisa up, Charlotte piggybacked her into James’s room. James was up and dressed, wearing his fawn trousers, white shirt, a blue jacket and boots – his hair standing on end. He was standing by the fireplace, penknife in hand.

  ‘What are you doing, James?’ Charlotte demanded.

  James started and guiltily hid the knife behind his back. He had carved some letters on the mantelpiece.

  ‘I’m carving my name,’ he confessed, shamefaced. ‘Just in case we never come back. I wanted to leave my name as a record that we belong here and Oldbury belongs to us.’

  Charlotte nodded, a lump in her throat. ‘Then you had better finish it,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

  When Charlotte, James and Louisa came downstairs, the men were loading Maugie’s basket on top of a bullock, opposite Mamma’s portable writing desk and a large hamper of earthenware crockery. Maugie roared with indignation.

  It was this roar that finally roused Mr Barton. He began banging on the locked door, yelling and swearing at the top of his voice.

  ‘We must make haste,’ Mamma urged the men.

  A loud crash came from upstairs. The children glanced back towards the house in fear.

  ‘Hurry up,’ whispered Charlotte, jiggling up and down.

  At last, the final parcel was strapped onto the rear bullock’s packsaddle. Bill the bullocky swung his long-handled whip over his head, cracking it sharply over the bullocks’ backs.

  ‘Walk on, boys,’ called Bill. The three bullocks started forward slowly in unison, directed by Bill’s verbal instructions and whip cracks.

  ‘We will be right behind you, Bill,’ said Mamma.

  ‘Right you are, ma’am,’ he replied, lifting his cabbage tree hat.

  As the bullocks moved out of the yard, the two men walking along their left side, Mamma hurried the children and Bridget towards the horses.

  Another
loud crash came from the house. This one sounded closer.

  Louisa had just been lifted onto her grey pony and James mounted on his gelding when Mr Barton staggered onto the verandah, carrying a pistol.

  ‘I outwitted you, woman,’ jeered Mr Barton. ‘I smashed the door off its hinges.’

  Mr Ash started forward but Mamma gestured to him to stay back. She grasped Samson by the collar, holding him by her side.

  ‘Mount your horses, girls,’ whispered Mamma, holding Ophelia and Clarie by the reins with her other hand.

  Charlotte and Emily scrambled up into their side-saddles as quickly as they could, their eyes trained on their step­father and his gun. Mr Ash helped Bridget into her saddle with more difficulty, as she was not used to riding on horseback.

  ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ bellowed Mr Barton, waving the pistol in the air.

  ‘We are leaving, George,’ explained Mamma gently. ‘You have succeeded in driving us from our home.’

  ‘You can’t leave,’ he shouted. ‘You can’t leave me here alone.’

  In answer, Mamma lifted her skirt in one gloved hand, stepped on the mounting block and swung into the saddle.

  ‘We are going away to a place where you cannot harm my children ever again,’ said Mamma, pulling the reins.

  Mr Ash and Charley mounted their own horses.

  Mr Barton raised the pistol and took aim at Mamma, squeezing the trigger – nothing sounded but an empty click. He tried again. Mamma ignored him and twitched her horse’s neck with her riding crop. The cavalcade of horses and riders moved forward.

  Mr Barton sank to his knees and sobbed. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone, I beg you.’

  ‘Farewell, George,’ replied Mamma. ‘I pray you find peace away from here.’

  Mr Barton leapt to his feet and threw the unloaded pistol after them.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll burn the place down. I’ll ruin your reputation so that no decent person will ever speak to you. I’ll make sure you and your brats never get a penny from this place ever again.’