The River Charm

by Belinda Murrell

  When the bath was full of steaming water, Mamma added eucalyptus oil. Louisa, her breathing laboured, was carried over in her nightgown and slowly lowered in up to her throat. She moaned and wheezed, her dark head lolling back against the side of the bath.

  Louisa’s breathing became a little easier in the fragrant steam. Mamma kept topping up the bath with hot water. When Louisa was breathing more easily, and the bath was getting cold, Mamma sent James to fetch more firewood.

  ‘Emily, you watch Louisa and make sure she does not sink below the water,’ Mamma ordered. ‘Charlotte, help me change the sheets on the bed.’

  When the bed was freshly made, Mamma and Charlotte lifted Louisa from the bath, wrapped her in sheets and changed her into a fresh nightgown before tucking her back under the blankets. Mamma carefully spooned some water down Louisa’s throat along with a concoction made of honey and vinegar.

  Mamma hardly left Louisa’s side, leaving Charlotte to take on the role of looking after the family. Charlotte and Emily washed the damp sheets and nightgown, wrung them out by hand and hung them in the wintry sunshine to dry. Charlotte then made tea and damper, which no one could eat.

  ‘Mamma?’ Charlotte whispered. ‘She will be all right, won’t she? She won’t . . . die?’

  Mamma breathed deeply, shaking her head. ‘Shush, dearest.’ Her eyes darted to the shrunken body in the big bed. ‘I pray she will recover quickly. We are doing everything we can.’

  That night, Charlotte was kept awake by Louisa’s coughing and tossing, and Mamma moving around the hut, administering tea and water, sponging Louisa down. Mamma eventually collapsed back in the chair and Charlotte could hear the sound of muffled sobbing.

  Charlotte crept from her bed and knelt beside Mamma, hugging her legs and burying her head in her mother’s lap. ‘Don’t cry, Mamma,’ she begged. ‘She’ll be all right.’

  Mamma hugged Charlotte, huddling over her and stroking her hair. ‘You need to sleep, Charlotte,’ said Mamma finally. ‘I need you to be strong to help me tomorrow.’

  Charlotte reluctantly went back to bed.

  The next day’s treatment followed much like the day before: hot steam baths, medicine and sips of water. On the third day, Louisa seemed a little better – she even smiled wanly at Mamma. Charlotte and Emily took turns to read to their sister and watch over her while Mamma snatched a quick sleep.

  In the late afternoon, Mr Ash cantered into the clearing, followed by a stout, whiskered older man on a dappled grey gelding. The horses were foaming at the mouth and dark with sweat.

  Mamma rushed from the hut. ‘Mr Ash,’ she called. ‘Thank goodness, you have come at last.’

  ‘This is Dr Mackenzie from Nerriga,’ explained Mr Ash, his face white with exhaustion.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Dr Mackenzie,’ said Mamma. ‘My little girl is in here.’

  Dr Mackenzie smiled reassuringly. ‘We’ll know soon enough whether I will be able to help or not.’

  Dr Mackenzie bustled into the hut carrying his leather medical bag. He examined Louisa, listening to her laboured breathing, taking her pulse and feeling her skin. Charlotte, Emily and James stood back in the shadows, away from the bed, observing with bated breath.

  ‘She has croup,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘The medical treatment is bleeding, followed by an emetic to induce vomiting, then blistering to remove the toxins.’ The doctor removed a glass jar full of wriggling, worm-like creatures from his bag. ‘Leeches would be best, I think.’

  ‘Are you certain, doctor?’ asked Mamma, her voice trembling. ‘She is already very weak.’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ he replied. ‘Bloodletting is essential to reduce the body’s toxins and rebalance the bodily fluids.’

  Louisa struggled to breathe, her eyes wide with fright. Mamma took the child’s hand and stroked her dry, hot skin.

  First, the doctor washed Louisa’s neck with a wet, soapy cloth. Using tweezers, the doctor placed one, then another leech on Louisa’s neck.

  Louisa’s breathing became faster and shallower. ‘No,’ she begged, her voice croaky and desperate. ‘Please, no.’

  Charlotte felt her eyes fill with hot tears. Emily clutched Charlotte’s hand and squeezed it till the bones crunched. Samson came to the doctor’s side and growled, deep and low. James had to drag him away.

  Through blurry eyes, Charlotte could see the repulsive black leeches twisting and writhing on Louisa’s pale skin.

  ‘They are not attaching,’ the doctor complained, drawing out a scalpel. ‘I will need to make a small incision to draw the blood. A taste of blood will help the leeches to attach.’

  Charlotte looked away – she could not bear to watch. Louisa gave a muffled scream, then there was silence.

  ‘She’s fainted,’ Mamma cried, her voice breaking. ‘She’s barely breathing!’

  ‘That is a blessing,’ replied the doctor calmly. ‘Children do get very anxious when we have to bleed them.’

  There was silence while the doctor watched the leeches sucking on Louisa’s neck. At last, one by one, they dropped off, sated. The doctor returned the bloated creatures to his glass jar.

  ‘Now, we need to administer the emetic to induce vomiting,’ Doctor Mackenzie explained, taking a small bottle from his bag. ‘Calomel will do the job. Fetch me a bowl.’

  The doctor woke Louisa with cold water and smelling salts. She began to sob softly. Charlotte took the doctor a bowl because Mamma was holding fast to Louisa’s hand. The doctor administered the syrup, and then in moments Louisa was vomiting violently, hunched over the bowl.

  Charlotte and Emily clutched each other in horror. James ran from the room to wait out in the darkness on the verandah. At last, Louisa was finished and lay weak and limp.

  ‘Now we need to blister her,’ the doctor continued calmly. ‘I will apply the blister powder to her throat.’

  ‘Surely, doctor, that is enough,’ begged Mamma, her voice strong. ‘The poor child is fading away.’

  ‘Madam, I assure you that medical science has proved the complete efficacy of purging the body,’ reproved the doctor. ‘I understand that, as a woman and mother, your nerves are fragile and you don’t wish to see your child suffer. But I assure you that if you don’t follow my recommendations to the letter, this malaise will surely prove fatal.’

  He liberally sprinkled a caustic powder on a bandage, which he then applied to Louisa’s throat. She moaned and whimpered as the chemical burned her skin, causing it to bubble and blister.

  ‘Mamma,’ Louisa begged. ‘Mamma, take it away.’

  Mamma bent over Louisa, stroking the child’s hair back from her forehead. ‘My brave, brave poppet,’ she murmured.

  ‘The blisters will draw out the toxins from the skin,’ the doctor assured her.

  Finally, when he had broken the blisters and cleaned away the seeping fluid, he dressed the wound with linen bandages spread with lard. Louisa was limp and motionless after these administrations. Mamma tucked her under the coverings and kissed her forehead.

  ‘There we are,’ the doctor pronounced, packing up his medical bag. ‘All finished. Now I shall write up my bill, as I must leave to return home at first light.’

  Mamma stood up straight and proud. ‘Thank you, doctor, for coming,’ she replied. ‘I must confess that I may be a little tardy paying the bill. I have not yet received my allowance for the quarter. I could give you a piece of jewellery to cover your time and trouble?’

  Mamma pulled out the gold locket that she always wore, the one that held a locket of all their hair, and began to unclasp it.

  ‘No, Mamma,’ cried James. ‘Papa gave you that locket.’

  The doctor smiled kindly. ‘Not to worry, my dear lady. I do understand your situation. Please pay me when you are able.’

  The doctor sat down at the table and wrote out the bill, which he left propped up on t
he mantelpiece.

  ‘Lastly, madam, I should suggest that if your daughter does survive, that this primitive hut is not the ideal place to raise such a delicate child,’ advised Doctor Mackenzie. ‘She needs nourishing food, warmth and bracing sea air. If it is possible to remove her to a healthier location, I would do so as soon as possible.’

  Mamma nodded.

  ‘Goodnight, madam,’ the doctor said, putting his hat on. ‘I wish you luck.’

  When the doctor had left to spend the night with Mr Ash in the other hut, Mamma gathered the children around Louisa’s bed, where their sister lay still, barely breathing.

  ‘She seemed a little better today,’ said Emily, her voice choked.

  ‘Louisa, wake up,’ begged James. ‘Don’t just lie there. Please move.’

  The terrible scene of the doctor’s visit played over and over again in Charlotte’s mind. Did he help her? Did he make her worse? Will our darling poppet survive the night?

  ‘All we can do now is pray,’ suggested Mamma.

  James, Emily, Charlotte and Mamma knelt alongside the bed and prayed desperately. No one could eat. No one could talk. Mamma sat up beside Louisa’s bed through the night, watching and praying over her. Louisa didn’t stir.

  Charlotte and Emily couldn’t imagine they would ever sleep but, curled up together to keep warm, they eventually fell into a doze. It was a long, bitter night.

  Miraculously, Louisa was still alive in the morning. She hovered between life and death for days. When the fever finally broke, she shivered convulsively. The children spent much of each day scouring the bushland for fallen branches to keep the fire roaring.

  Mamma sent Charlotte to ask Mr Ash to kill a chicken, which Charlotte then had to pluck and boil up with herbs, onions and potatoes to make a broth. Mamma dribbled tiny sips of the broth down Louisa’s throat. The hut smelt sour with illness, tinged with the aroma of eucalyptus oil.

  A week later, Charlotte awoke to find the hut ice-cold. The fire had gone out. Wind whistled through the cracks in the slabs and scattered grey ash in swirling eddies. Charlotte crawled out of bed and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

  Where is Mamma? Charlotte discovered her sprawled asleep on the fur rug beside Louisa’s bed. Charlotte stepped over her mother to the bed where Louisa lay buried under the mound of coverings. She held her breath, heart pounding.

  Slowly, tentatively, Charlotte reached out to touch Louisa’s cold, pale face.

  Louisa’s eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes opened and she smiled weakly. ‘Charlotte?’ she croaked. ‘Where’s Mamma?’

  ‘Poppet,’ Charlotte breathed in relief, grasping Louisa’s tiny, frozen hand. ‘Mamma’s right here – but she’s sleeping. She hasn’t slept for days. Are you all right? How do you feel?’

  ‘Tired,’ Louisa admitted. She closed her eyes again, then strained to open them and lift her head.

  ‘Charlotte, I dreamt I saw Papa,’ Louisa confided. ‘I ran to him and he hugged me and lifted me onto his knee. I was so happy to see him, but then he sent me away. He said I couldn’t stay with him because Mamma needed me here. He looked so sad and lonely that I begged to stay there with him, to keep him company. But he said it would break Mamma’s heart if I left her.’

  Louisa fell back against the pillow, exhausted.

  ‘Papa was right, poppet,’ Charlotte replied slowly. ‘It would break Mamma’s heart if you left her.’ Charlotte stroked Louisa’s damp curls. ‘What can I get you, poppet? Can I make you a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, please, Charlotte,’ Louisa whispered, her eyes closing again.

  By the time Charlotte had relit the fire, filled the kettle with water, boiled it and made the tea, Louisa was again fast asleep. But this time Charlotte felt that it was a good, healing sleep.

  Still dressed in her nightgown, her long hair tumbling loosely down her back, Charlotte took her hot cup of tea outside on the verandah. She sat on an armchair wrapped in her blanket, Samson at her feet. The sun was peeping over the eastern horizon in a wash of apricot and rose. The sky was a vast, deep-blue dome overhead, while thick shrouds of mist wafted in the hollows. A wombat waddled slowly across the clearing.

  A spider web, spun between the verandah posts, glittered with dewdrops that hung like dozens of sparkling diamonds. Charlotte buried her bare toes in Samson’s thick black coat and warmed her fingers on the hot teacup. She took a sip. Louisa would be all right, she was sure of it.

  18

  Mount Gingenbullen

  Present Day

  Bella yawned. The fire had died down to a pile of glowing coals.

  Mum looked at her watch. ‘Oh, look at the time,’ she said. ‘You girls should really be in bed. It’s very late.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mum, please,’ Millie begged. ‘Just a little bit longer.’

  ‘Poor Aunt Jessamine must be exhausted,’ said Mum, pushing herself up out of the armchair. ‘We can hear more of the story tomorrow.’

  Millie and Bella tried to argue but Mum was adamant, so they reluctantly said goodnight and left the waning warmth of the embers to get ready for bed. Mum had popped two hot water bottles into the big double bed while they cleaned their teeth and changed into flannelette pyjamas.

  Mum kissed them both goodnight and pulled up the extra blanket. Millie cuddled up to her hot water bottle. She fell asleep and dreamt of girls with dark ringlets and white petticoats, riding horses through the bush. She dreamt she rode alongside them, galloping on a shining black mare, her hair tangled by the wind.

  In the morning after breakfast, Aunt Jessamine suggested that they take the dogs for a walk along the top of Mount Gingenbullen and down through the paddocks behind Oldbury.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Millie said. ‘That would be lovely.’

  The girls pulled on their coats and boots and whistled for the dogs. Once again they all set off down the road towards Oldbury, but this time they unlocked a farm gate further up the hill and walked through the paddocks. A black cow lowed and lumbered away.

  ‘If we walk up to the ridge,’ Aunt Jessamine suggested, ‘we will have a glorious view back out over the valley.’

  The way was steep, with no pathway, so no one spoke, concentrating instead on not tripping on the dewy tussocks of grass. At the top of the hill they paused and looked out to the west, over the valley. A strong southerly wind blustered. Down below, wisps of mist hovered in the hollows and along the waterholes. The house and outbuildings nestled among hedges and gardens, sheltered from the cold wind.

  ‘The old Aboriginal burial mound must have been around here somewhere,’ said Aunt Jessamine. ‘The one Louisa sketched, with its carved tree trunks.’

  ‘There’s no sign of it now,’ said Mum, looking around. ‘It has completely disappeared.’

  Millie wondered if the ancient mound might be buried somewhere under their very feet. She moved away.

  ‘Brrr,’ Bella complained, burying her hands deep in her pockets. ‘It’s freezing.’

  ‘It will be warmer in the valley,’ promised Aunt Jessamine, heading downhill once more.

  ‘Why do you think the executors forced the Atkinson family to leave?’ asked Millie as they descended. ‘Why didn’t they just let them stay?’

  Aunt Jessamine shook her head. ‘I think the executors were well meaning,’ she explained. ‘However, they were conservative men who thought a widow was incapable of managing her own affairs, and I’m sure they were right in thinking that George Barton would try to strip the estate of every last penny.’

  Mum opened a gate, leading from the paddock into the gardens behind the house.

  ‘He was a scoundrel,’ said Mum. ‘What a terrible mistake she made in marrying him.’

  ‘By all accounts, George Barton was completely useless,’ Aunt Jessamine agreed. ‘But in those days divorce was not an option, and it was not considered respectable for
a woman to leave her husband. In the eyes of society and the executors, Charlotte’s duty was to stay with George Barton, which of course she refused to do.’

  ‘The executors thought Charlotte Atkinson was difficult because she stood up to them and insisted that she was capable of managing her own affairs,’ added Mum. ‘They didn’t like that.’

  By this time, the group had wandered down around the back of the house, past the freestanding kitchen and around to the front. Eventually, they reached the rivulet and the timber garden seat under the old tree.

  Aunt Jessamine sank down on the bench, which was now bathed in warm sunlight.

  ‘What happened after Louisa’s illness?’ asked Millie. ‘She did get better, didn’t she? Did they stay at Budgong?’

  19

  The Fishing Village

  Double Bay, Spring 1840

  The sun sparkled down on the wide, blue waters of Sydney Harbour. Sailing boats with their white sails scudded across the water, plying back and forth between the northern and southern shores. Several gaily painted fishing boats were trailing their nets offshore.

  The bay horse pulling the buckboard trotted along the dirt track, his tail high. Mamma drove the buckboard, a long-handled whip in one hand and the reins in the other. Charlotte and Emily sat beside her, their bonnets neatly tied, while James, Louisa and Samson sat in the back surrounded by trunks, carpetbags and Mamma’s writing desk.

  It had been a tedious journey of several days. Firstly, it took two days on horseback to retrace the treacherous track to Oldbury. The family couldn’t rest there, as the house was now filled with boisterous strangers, so they paused just long enough to gather some belongings and switch to the horsedrawn buckboard wagon. They all cried when they had to leave Maugie behind in his favourite blue gum tree, but Mamma insisted that Sydney Town was no place for a pet koala. Another two long days driving, staying in crowded, dirty inns along the way, brought them to Sydney. Now they were on the final stage, their bodies numb with tiredness.