Just like the hens in their run Hannah and her friends filled each day with routine; a visit to the dressmaker, a pianoforte concert at a neighbour’s house, an afternoon at the races, a conversazione, or maybe an opera. Soon Mary Ann had no heart for all these entertainments, so intriguing at first, now she could think of nothing except Bywong.
She yearned for the fresh wind from the ranges touching her cheeks. She pined for the soft touch of the grass under her feet as she made her way down to the orchard.
“When are we going home?” complained Grand-père, “Can’t stand much more of this. House full of clacking women and that Edward! Fellow’s got nothing to talk about. I asked him for the price of this season’s ewes and he just stared at me! Got the conversation of a counter jumper.”
“Another week the surgeon says, and remember, Dr Morton said you mustn’t attempt the journey home until you can walk up and down the steps on your own. Remember what he said?”
“All I do is listen to what people say these days! No one listens to what I have to say any more, do they? It’s ‘do this’ or ‘go there’ and…”
“Grand-père!” Hannah’s head came round the door. “You have a visitor. Mary Ann, take that bowl away. Brush your grandfather down, he’s got crumbs all over his waistcoat…I’ll give you a minute.”
“Who can be visiting us?” Mary Ann puzzled, no one of their aquaintance would be in Sydney…
When Frank de Rossi came into the room she was still tidying up her grandfather.
Something in his confident stride, his polite bow and warm smile made Bywong feel a little closer. No mincing city fellow, a real man. Someone from home, what a pleasure!
Smiles wreathed her features as she grasped his hand, definitely not a ladylike greeting, but all thought of those stiff circumspect bows and proffered fingertips that Hannah had inculcated was swept aside.
“Excuse us, sir, we had no idea you were still in town.”
“Delighted. Delighted.” A rare smile wreathed Grand-père’s features, for so many months pain and irritability had been the order of the day. “Now I can have a decent conversation for once. All they talk of hereabouts is politicking and prices. Sick to death of it all, I am. What’s happening down at the lake these days?”
“No rain for one thing. We badly need a drop and some are talking about a drought.”
Mary Ann picked up her embroidery. She might have left the men chatting but could not bring herself to leave the room. Just like her grandfather she yearned for news of home.
“Help me, Mary Ann,” Hannah snapped, “We need to bring in the wine and biscuits.” Soon they were back in the room again, the younger sister hanging on every word.
Swiftly Frank de Rossi moved from details of the latest sales in Goulburn to the worrying lack of labour on the properties. Granpère had so many questions; so much can happen on the land in a matter of weeks. Then there was the flight from the countryside of so many in search of gold, and the burden which fell heavily on the squatters. Of course the harvest prospects proved the most important topic but what about that mysterious blight that had taken the crops further out on the Limestone Plains? And what about those new-fangled butter churns everyone was talking about, and was that Murray going to stand again and, and, and…
Then all too soon the visitor was making his adieux, thanking his hostess and bowing before Mary Ann.
Hannah could scarcely wait till the door shut behind him before she launched a barrage of questions.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew he was coming up to town? I could have asked him to dinner.” She frowned as she looked at them. “I don’t know, what is wrong with country people. They don’t seem to know how to make a life for themselves. How long have you known the Count de Rossi?”
“How long?” Grand-père scoffed. “I knew his father before you were born, my girl. He came to the Colony a few years later than me. Just had the two boys, his wife had died… died young. The old man gave up his title, wanted none of it, but young Frank always had a liking for his birthplace, Corsica that is, he took up the title.”
“A real count!” Hannah shook her head in wonderment.
“Oh they’re a noble family alright. Old Rossi told me once they can trace their ancestors back to Charlemagne. Mind you, he was possibly trying to go one better than the de Guises.” He chuckled to himself.
Even Edward was impressed when he returned that night. “Ah, the de Rossis, yes, clients of a chap I know, most dependable family. Of course many notable families settled on the Limestone Plains. End of the War and all that, all those officers from the army and the navy looking for good land. Yes, some fine people down there.”
“The back of beyond,” sniffed Hannah, “but he was a charming man, wasn’t he, Mary Ann?”
Surprised at the question being addressed to her, Mary Ann felt her cheeks burning. “Nice enough.”
“I’m surprised he’s not wed, such a handsome man with such a great inheritance coming to him.”
“Oh he’s been sought after. I’ve heard that. More than once a lady’s set her cap at him but seems he didn’t find any to his fancy,” the old man answered.
“Well, Grand-père, he’s too old now,” Mary Ann shrugged.
“Too old! Too old! Why my girl, he not much older than I am. That’s not too old for anyone to marry,” her sister spoke up.
“Who’d want him anyhow? Nice enough, but he can be a bit stuck up too.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t speak so disrespectfully, Mary Ann,” her grandfather regarded her sternly. “I’ve invited him to dinner before we leave town. I trust that is alright with you, Hannah?”
His eldest daughter beamed at him and clapped her hands with delight.. “Oh Papa, how thoughtful of you.”
She ticked off her potential guests one by one on the fingers of both hands. “I’ll ask Mr and Mrs McAllister, and the Frobishers and that pretty daughter of theirs. And Dr Kennedy…oh, it will be such a gathering, and I’ll see if the McMahons are in town.”
Dismayed, her grandfather glanced at Mary Ann. “I didn’t expect half the Colony to be present. I’d just thought we’d give the poor chap a decent meal and have a few laughs, even.” For Hannah’s establishment tended to be too correct and reserved for his taste.
“That may be the way you entertain at Bywong, Grand-père, but here we do things in a proper style, a style as would befit a count, I might say.”
Indeed, the style which Hannah favoured differed in every aspect imaginable from the usual hospitality at Bywong.
When the great day came the leaves of the dining table were pulled out to their fullest extent and from the épergne in the centre of the damask-covered expanse to the rosewood chairs flanking its entire length, the table was the epitome of excellence.
The glow from four silver candlesticks highlighted the silver, the crystal and the brilliant white table napkins. Hannah had hired a butler for the occasion and even two waiters from a nearby, more opulent home.
Mary Ann shifted uncomfortably as she tried to adjust her neckline. Too low for her taste, too revealing. On first hearing of the count’s coming visit Hannah had demanded to see Mary Ann’s ‘best dress’. Her dismay was immediate and intense. “My heavens girl, what are you thinking of? A positive hayseed you’ll look, for goodness sake. I’ll have you with Madame Duval first thing tomorrow.”
Now, Mary Ann squirmed every time she needed to bend forward, uncomfortably aware of her breasts and her almost naked shoulders.
Fortunately no one seemed to even notice her, all eyes were on Frank de Rossi. A real count! Sitting down to dine with a real, live count brought quite a flush to the cheeks of the ladies and a respectful hum to the gentlemen’s conversation.
Frank de Rossi had been delighted to accept the old man’s invitation but he had no idea that such a banquet was about to be spread before him and equally sure old Richard and Mary Ann hadn’t guessed either.
Certainly he had always been regularly inv
ited out and wined and dined by many a hopeful mamma. Sometimes even a papa might suggest a dinner or a picnic or even, daringly, a ball. Of latter years the invitations had dropped away. Overseeing his father’s properties took up so much time, journeying to and from Corsica to watch over family interests and a general contentment with his solitary life had deflected the world’s interest in his matrimonial future.
He had walked in to Mrs McReady’s inn that evening a few weeks ago with not a care in the world, but when he left he knew that a part of him was lost for ever. What could he say? What could he do? Usually young women were only too pleased to make his aquaintance, far more pleased than he was to make theirs. What was he going to do about a girl who mostly turned her gaze away and whom he sensed regarded him as one of her father’s generation.
“Couldn’t you be a little more attentive to our guest, Mary Ann,” hissed Hannah as the ladies later made their way to the drawing room, “After all, it was on account of Grand-père, and you, of course, that the gentleman is here. There’s Amelia Frobisher making sheep’s eyes at him from the far end of the table and all you can do is scowl and look as if you don’t want to be here.”
“Oh, Hannah. He’s just a neighbour, and what can I say to someone as old as him anyhow, he’d be bored stiff…even more bored stiff than me!”
When the gentlemen joined them Mary Ann retreated to the alcove at the far end of the room and stared out into the night. She had often dreamt of such an occasion as she sat by the light of a candle in the kitchen back home. What would it be like to exchange her cotton dress for a silk gown and spend the evening with fine company listening to sparkling conversation and eating exotic food? Now that she had obtained her heart’s desire the reality proved quite different and only highlighted the beauty she had left behind.
Pushing open the window she gulped in a deep breath of the cool night air. Oh, for some fresh air! Instead she filled her lungs with the very lifeblood of the city. Smoke, a faintly metallic whiff from rattling carriage wheels on the cobbles outside, a telltale hint of something stale, a suggestion of decay…all these pervaded the atmosphere. Whilst far away in Bywong the night air would be sweetened with the scent of the gum trees and the perfume from roses as they cascaded along the window sills.
‘You don’t wish to sing for us?” Frank de Rossi had followed her across the room. “That other young lady is eager to oblige…in fact, I don’t think she can be stopped.” A ghost of a smile touched his face as he glanced across at Amelia Frobisher who sat at the piano, her mother turning the pages.
“I can’t sing.”
“So glad to hear that. She can’t either, but it doesn’t stop her.”
Mary Ann did not reply, but he did not go away.
“Have you enjoyed your visit here, Miss Mary Ann?”
She looked at him. What did it matter… might as well tell the truth. “It’s not what I expected,” she blurted out, then lowered her voice. “All they do is chatter… on and on. No one talks about anything important at all.”
“And what do you consider important?”
“Well,” she paused, then went on, “all the things we talk about at Bywong, the weather, and if there are going to be any more frosts, and oh, you know, all those important things.”
“Everyone has their own world, you know. That’s your world and it’s mine to some extent, but their world is quite different, and just as important to them as ours is to us.”
“I think I’ll be quite satisfied with my world from now on.”
CHAPTER 5
Job cracked the whip as they rumbled out of Sydney.
Home! All Mary Ann could think about was walking up the steps of the verandah and throwing her arms around her father. Every mile added to her excitement. The city had been all she had imagined, but also a lot of other things. Noise, dirt, the unconcerned glances of strangers, the pettiness of those who live too close to each other and see too much.
The image of Bywong filled every waking thought. Even the weather welcomed them home, not a drop of rain, four nights of sleeping under the Milky Way. And by the time the coach approached Goulburn she could scarcely contain her impatience. How many hours before they rumbled up the track beneath the swaying elms?
“Night’s falling fast. We’ve come off the main road, Job knows he won’t make home tonight. We’ll have to stop soon and set ourselves up for the night.” Gingerly Grand-père shifted his knee. He still could not quite get used to the lack of pain but now the whole limb had stiffened up from the operation. Successful as the surgeon had been, the upheaval of the visit to Sydney, combined with the nagging discomfort and the sheer worry of it all had tipped him from a contented old age into a less-than-happy frame of mind. The body which had served him so well for all those years no longer moved with ease.
“What is that?”
“Where… what… what are you looking at?”
“Look! Look!” Mary Ann cried out.
Breasting a hill they had turned to the right past a tall clump of trees and were at a crossroads.
From a gibbet, at this place of eminence, hung a terrible reminder of justice meted out.
Two bodies in their chains dangled from the gallows. Wind-burnt and shrivelled, they would no longer have been recognisable as humans if their hair hadn’t fluttered and the bones of their fingers had not showed white and fleshless.
“Oh my God,” Mary Ann covered her eyes. “Oh, we must go on. Grand-père, don’t let Job stop! We must go on. Stay on the road, we don’t stop in this place!”
“An example, that’s why it’s done. There, there!” He reached across and patted her hand. “Don’t take on so my girl. Whoever they are, they must have deserved it. They’re left up there for weeks, months, sometimes a year or more, as an example to others. They’d have deserved it.”
“Deserved it! Deserved to be left up there for the world to gape at!”
An omen! Bile rose in her throat as her heart throbbed. A terrible omen. Go on! Go on! Whip them up! Hurry, hurry! In her mind’s eye she could see those bodies as once they’d been, clothed in flesh with stout limbs and desperate eyes, taking their last look at the world. Hurry, hurry, the words went round and round in her brain but not a sound came out of her lips. Just as in a nightmare when disaster looms and you try to cry out and you can’t even escape as your legs won’t move. Transfixed, you cringe before that terrible Thing which pursues.
The panic and the pain of those men’s last moments were as real as the thudding in her chest.
“Good heavens girl, you’re white as a sheet! Close your eyes, sit back. You have no part in these matters. Don’t be frightened.”
Mere words, feeble phrases to combat the overwhelming reality of sheer dread. Mary Ann gasped and squeezed her eyes tight shut. For a tortured moment in time she was no longer inside the familiar old coach. Instead she swung high in the bitter wind of the plains, the noose cut into her neck as her body floundered at the end of the rope.
“Don’t stop Grand-père, don’t let him stop. We must get home, oh, let’s get home! It’s a wicked place. Wicked, wicked!”
At a snail’s pace now Job made his way back to the highway and continued their journey. By the light of the moon he carefully guided the horses across the Breadalbane Plains. Every rut could have claimed a wheel, every rocky outcrop might be harbouring some desperate bushranger.
The landscape which had been so exciting now became a place of threat and for every inch of the way Mary Ann clutched at the leather of the seat and stared into the night whilst Grand-père snored amongst his cushions.
Mary Ann’s heart was still heavy when, many hours later, she finally walked up the steps to the verandah at Bywong. She could not shake off the memory of those two men hanging and twisting and turning in the wind. Once upon a time they’d been someone’s son or husband or brother, a caring hand had stroked and comforted them, their thoughts had been respected, their bodies loved. Now their souls were banished and every piece of the
fabric that had made up their bodies was hideously displayed for all the world to see.
Within a few weeks the journey to Sydney and their time in the city became no more than a memory. The worsening drought, the loss of several men from the farm as they disappeared to the goldfields and, overshadowing all, Grand-père’s slow recovery, all conspired to turn everyone’s thoughts to the present and the future. Who had time to dwell on the past?
Weeks trailed into months as the old man gradually regained his strength. The injury had healed but in spite of the surgery his nimbleness never returned and, not being able to ride or even walk for very long, he began to lose interest in much of their day to day life. Meals became tasteless, the usual gossip had lost its piquancy as, without an active role in the running of the farm, he found little to enjoy in life.
“The Devil’s playing with his marbles again,” he muttered one day as he sat staring out at the parched acreages.
“Come, come, Papa. I’ve not felt a thing.” William looked up from the Herald.
“You don’t have to feel. Look at the clock!”
The old man pointed at the grandfather clock. Silent, with its hands motionless, the handsome oak timepiece loomed from its place of honour opposite the front door.
Very few homes possessed such a magnificent grandfather. Once his new venture prospered and the construction of his home been completed entirely to his wife’s satisfaction, Richard had made the possession of a really fine clock one of his priorities. Ordered from the old country, brought out in pieces wrapped in rags, hessian and straw and secured in a stout wooden box, the handsome grandfather had survived the rolling of the ship and the jolting of the cart and proved none the worse for its journey. Painstakingly reassembled the clock was soon towering over even the tallest visitor to Bywong and its hearty chimes causing some to block their ears.
The Hanging of Mary Ann Page 5
