First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  The old judge chuckled and raised his glass, before realising that it was empty, and scowled at his servant, who hurried to the table to fill it.

  ‘I see a glorious future ahead of you young man. Who knows, may be in time, one day, there will be a Vizzard on the bench, hmm?’

  ‘I very much doubt that my Lord. I fear that is a position I cannot aspire to.’

  ‘We shall see, Jack. We shall see.’ Henry could see only his dream of a son following his path and finding fame in the only noble profession.

  5

  A kitchen tale

  Mary balanced precariously on a short wooden ladder, as she pulled some apples from the tree. Half rotted, worm-eaten fallers littered the damp grass around the tree, so she intended to leave those. The better fruit remained on the gnarled branches, but just beyond her reach. She would have to climb another rung, and worried about climbing higher to reach the ripest fruit. Standing on ladders always made her anxious. Concentrating on that task, she did not notice Jack slip through the orchard gate.

  Her mind was only partly on the pie that Mistress Clutterbuck wanted her to bake. Enjoying the cool clear air of morning, she was thinking of the lawyer’s son that she had met and who had caused her to flee in embarrassment. A more handsome man she had yet to meet. She had not known many boys. There were some lads in Stroud who tried to court her, but none that she had taken seriously. It was not that she had no interest in them, simply that she thought them frivolous, disrespectful and, if honest, not attractive.

  She smiled inwardly as she called to mind the encounter with the son of the village squire. She was not always so shy but there was something about John Vizzard that confused her mind. Handsome, certainly he was that, but a curious and indefinable energy that passed from him at that first meeting. She hummed a simple tune, reflecting the lightness of her mood. The basket was more than half-full, but the best apples were yet to be picked. She pulled two more, dropping them into the basket, and started to reach for another.

  ‘Now that’s a pretty sight,’ Jack called up, grasping the ladder on which she perched so perilously.

  With that, the basket slid from her hand, the ladder slipped sideways off the trunk of the tree and with a scream, she fell back, landing heavily on him as they both fell in a tangle of limbs onto the still damp grass and rotten apples.

  ‘Oh now see what you’ve done. My Sunday dress is ruined and my wrist is broken for sure.’

  Jack was laughing and unable to answer for a moment. ‘But it was worth it by God. That tree is one I know well from my youth, and it never bore such treasure then as it does today.’ He grinned at her blushes.

  ‘Here, Mary, let me help you up, and we’ll gather these apples that I caused you to spill.’

  Mary gathered herself. ‘Now, Master Vizzard, what are you about this morning – if it’s the vicar you want he has already left for church, although the condition he is in will make for an entertaining sermon, I’m thinking, and Master Giles is still snoring in his bed.’ She rubbed her left wrist, and wriggled her fingers, still blushing in embarrassment. She found the nerve to look directly into those blue eyes.

  ‘I have told you that you are to call me Jack, and no, it’s not the vicar, but you I have come to see.’

  Jack’s gaze was on the most beautiful face he had seen in a very long time. None of the society ladies he had met in London compared with the girl in front of him now.

  Mary was tall and slender, unusually so, with a face as soft as cream he thought. He looked with unashamed admiration at her cascading copper hair and those large hazel eyes, alive with health. She was clothed simply in a blue, coarse woollen dress, tied at the waist with an embroidered belt, which emphasised her fine, rounded figure. Diverting his attention from her face, he took her hand and examined her wrist with elaborate care.

  ‘I see no permanent injury here, but if you wish I will find a physician to attend to it? I am truly sorry; I startled you and should have announced my presence. Please, I beg forgiveness for my foolishness?’

  She smiled now, her earlier shyness waning as she returned his gaze. Her eyes took in the tall and stocky young man, with the dark, wavy hair and broad smile.

  ‘There is no need,’ she said. ‘I thought to gather these apples for a pie. Mistress Clutterbuck is away this morning, but asked me to bake a fruit pie for the vicar’s supper,’ she continued, to break the awkwardness she felt, ‘Perhaps you would like to help me?’

  ‘I have no skill with pastry, Mary, but the least I can do is peel the fruit for you certainly.’ It sounded a little strange to his ears to use her name; not un-naturally so, but almost intimate. ‘Would that be a help?’

  She regarded him wide-eyed for a moment; ‘I suppose it might.’ She said, not at all certain that it would be.

  They walked towards The Vicarage kitchen, an odd and novel sensation passing between them, that each felt. Jack wanted to know more of this girl. She captivated him like no other and he had thought of little else for the last few days. He studied The Vicarage, as though seeing it for the first time. A black cat crept along the garden wall, eyes wide, viewing them warily. It stopped, stared in the direction of the couple and with a sudden spring, dropped out of sight to the far side.

  The awkwardness he felt was unnerving, and he sensed that she wanted him to speak. Now he was close to her, he found light, easy, conversation difficult.

  ‘Mary, do you ride?’ He blurted out. ‘I had wondered if you did and might accompany me this afternoon. We could take my father’s horses up on the common, there are wonderful views over the Severn from Selsley, and it is a fine day for it.’

  She stopped and hesitated before answering. Her eyes met his and she coloured again, ‘I know the common well. My father and I walk there sometimes. I would like that very much although my skill with a horse is doubtless equal to yours as a pastry cook.’ She smiled at the jest and was pleased to see, from the broad smile, that he was amused.

  ‘Then it is agreed, I will bring them around after luncheon, if that scoundrel the Reverend Barnwood will release you.’

  ‘Oh that will be no bother – he will be full of wine by lunch and asleep for much of the day. Besides, Sunday afternoon is my time off.’

  They continued towards the house, and he felt more able to talk. The kitchen aroma was of fresh-baked bread, several loaves cooling on the oak bench by the oven. Mary had been busy he decided. Removing his coat, he rolled back the cuffs of his shirt, and set to work.

  In the scullery, peeling the apples, he found himself asking more and more questions. It was in his nature to be inquisitive, but he took pleasure in talking to this girl. He was enchanted by her modulated west-country voice and her laugh when he made some silly remark. Only eighteen years old he discovered from initial questions, but with a maturity and confidence he had not detected at first. She talked easily of her family and her childhood. He learned too that she loved reading and had learned to write, a skill of which she was particularly proud. The more she talked, the more he could observe her, and he liked what he saw.

  She was slender, he decided, with a face that radiated health and pure joy of life. She was taller than most girls although not as tall as him, and her hair, long and shining, had been cared for in a fashion that was uncommon amongst the village girls. She had a curious mannerism that he found bemusing; a habit of raising a solitary eyebrow.

  Her figure was classically proportioned, and he mildly scolded himself for imagining her naked. This was not some wench that he could take to his bed and forget, nor some predatory society lady of the kind that had given him some amusement in London recently. Mary was different, an innocent, he realised, virginal and unexplored surely and not for the first time he questioned his thinking.

  As she talked, Mary stole glances at this man, who in a matter of a few minutes had managed to learn more of her life than she had willingly offered to any other, and wondered why she could do so. He was certainly handsome. His hair, although d
ark, was not quite black, she decided. The white shirt he wore, was tight across his broad shoulders and powerful upper arms. His eyes, with a brightness that appeared when he smiled, were rarely off her, and she knew he was attracted to her. Why, she did not understand.

  Father forever described her as beautiful, but that was merely a doting father’s natural partiality. Now for the first time in her short life, a man, a true gentleman, was taking a close interest in her. It was an alien sensation, and her developing emotions were in disarray. How to treat this? Am I to take his interest seriously? Or is he merely seeking a diversion for the short time he has at home?

  She busied herself with the fruit, filling a battered iron pot with water and adding a measured quantity of sugar, before hanging it on a blackened hook suspended above the fire. She handed Jack some logs from a basket, indicating with her head that he should place them on the fire.

  ‘That will need stoking, if I am to boil up this fruit. The pie is needed for this evening, so says Mistress Clutterbuck, and I best be getting on.’ She held his eyes, almost a moment too long, but he grasped her meaning.

  ‘I have to go too – father is expecting me for luncheon, and it would not do to keep him waiting!’ He brought her hand to his lips, brushing her fingers gently. ‘Until this afternoon, then.’ He picked up his hat and coat, and left quickly through the kitchen door, striding out into the orchard.

  She thought she heard him whistling, as he disappeared from her sight. She continued gazing through the window, until the water in the pot, bubbling over into the fire, started spitting and hissing, bringing her back to her duties.

  6

  A ride

  Jack rose from his father’s table in some haste. ‘May I take the horses out this afternoon father? I have a mind to ride on the common for an hour or two and blow some cobwebs from my head.’

  Before his father could answer, Charlotte looked up sharply. ‘And why pray should you wish to take both Barley and Humbert, my dear Jack. And who is to accompany you on this excursion, may I ask? You have behaved in a most mysterious manner of late.’

  ‘A fair question my boy.’ Henry added, now taking an interest with an amused expression at seeing his son colour slightly. ‘Well come on now, out with it. Can’t be Giles, he has a stable full of hunters to choose from now, what.’

  ‘I see I have a most inquisitional court to deal with today.’ Jack grinned. ‘May I therefore plead for your mercy and offer the explanation that I wish to entertain a certain lady of this parish, one Mary George, who now resides at The Vicarage as an assistant to Mistress Clutterbuck.’

  ‘I knew it!’ his sister exclaimed. ‘Meg Dauncey mentioned that she had seen you and the George girl conversing in the orchard this morning, on her way to church.’

  Charlotte could not prevent the emergent smirk of triumph from spreading across her face.

  Henry was intrigued. ‘You mean that daughter of Marling’s man, what’s his blasted name now? Well I never, she is a mere slip of a thing – wait a minute – at The Vicarage you say? Now I seem to recall hearing something of the kind last week at Stroud. Thought she was to work for James Champion in Dursley, last I heard.’ Henry thought he should spare his son some discomfort.

  Not so Charlotte however, who, sensing her brother’s embarrassment, thought to capitalise on it. ‘I have yet to have the pleasure, but my informant tells me she is a very pretty maid. Is that your opinion, Jack dear?’ Her delight was evident from Jack’s reddening features. ‘What is the matter my darling brother, cat caught your tongue?’

  ‘In mitigation it has to be conceded that she has a not unattractive countenance and the pleasure will be yours, my dearest sister, for I intend to invite her to join us for lunch next Sunday,’ Jack added on impulse, and turning to his father. ‘With your agreement father?’

  ‘By all means dear boy, if that is your pleasure.’

  The older man’s eyes glinted with the thought that some romance was in the offing. His son had never before invited a companion to his table. All too often, the guests at Lampern House comprised rather dull gentry, or the even more dreary mill owners, with little to offer in the way of intellectual conversation. The occasional officers from the 28th Foot that Charlotte dared to introduce were, in the main, only marginally more entertaining, but only because they wished to cultivate his approbation. Frequently they were pompous asses, in his opinion. He had once hoped that his daughter might set her cap at young Giles Mountjoy, who was a decent sort, but she had clearly never taken to Jack’s friend, thinking him too aspirant and cavalier.

  Perfidious creature, he thought to himself, when is she going to be off my hands? I must do something about that, he thought absently.

  ‘Yes, excellent idea, Jack,’ was what he spoke aloud, ‘we could do with some more company here. I will speak to Neave about it and make the arrangements. Leave it to me!’

  ‘Does she ride dear, or is that to form part of your tuition?’ Charlotte enquired, a little too haughtily to Jack’s mind.

  ‘We shall soon find out. Now, with your leave I will ask Neave to saddle them up and be on my way.’ Jack left them to speculate on his interest in the vicar’s new housekeeper and went in search of his father’s servant, Neave, who with Mrs Neave looked after the family and their house.

  As he rode through the village some ten minutes later, he felt lightness, a sense of recklessness, a rising of his soul. He had Barley on a leading rein, so rode slowly. Nodding to a few villagers as he passed along the lanes, unable to resist the wide grin that grew across his face.

  It must be infectious, he thought, as a pair of village women returned his smile, evidently believing that he had directed his good humour at them. He felt more contented with his life than he could remember. The sun was shining covering the valley with a visible warm haze, such that several whitewashed cottages on the hills danced in the false sunshine. Life, he decided, had suddenly improved immeasurably for the better. He sat straight and unbuttoned his waistcoat, and whistled to himself, enjoying the sun’s rays on his face.

  Charlotte could tease all she wished.

  7

  The Escarpment

  They had climbed slowly along the tracks leading from the village to the edge of the escarpment, which ran for miles along the east side of the Severn Valley. The horses disturbed the sheep grazing on the common, sending them scattering in various directions, seeking safety. A dozen or more red-throated barn swallows dived and soared above their heads, eagerly and efficiently taking the last of the sleepy flies, before heading to warmer climate.

  He talked of his childhood in the village and of his time at school. Like the sons of the local gentry he had boarded in Gloucester. Mary asked about his time at university, a thing she had not known of until recently, and pretended to understand all that he said of his studies; matters that were often beyond her comprehension and experience.

  He talked of his time at Oxford, of the many colleges there, the fellows and the lectures, the intimate evenings spent in quiet debate and discussion, the more noisy times drinking in the taverns in Blue Boar Lane and St. Aldates, and of boating on the River Isis.

  He described something of his life in London; not the intimate details of course, but of his friends there, of the old buildings in the Temple and Lincoln’s Inn. She was amused at his accounts of the boisterous dinners he was obliged to endure as part of his pupilage.

  ‘Twenty-four of them, all on the longest table you have ever seen.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘Given to the Society by Good Queen Bess herself, and legend has it, shaped from a single oak tree cut from Windsor Forest.’

  He enjoyed telling her snippets such as these, and she wondered at his interest in all things. She was aghast at the expense of a tenancy in a set of chambers while he learned his craft. She laughed at his tales of ‘devilling’ for his pupil-master, researching precedents, preparing arguments, and writing opinions on torts, property and trusts.

  In turn, she told him o
f her family, of her brothers and of her father, always encouraging her to learn more. Mary was devoted to her father. He was the one who came home with borrowed books, and paid for her attendance at the village school. However tired he might be, he never failed to listen to her learning her numbers, letters and words. He would sit by the fire in their small cottage helping her understand new words. Her mother would say however, that girls were not expected to learn; or to read and write. Mary loved learning and listened to her father more than her mother. The horses munched on the long grass as they talked, their long tails swishing from side to side, as the afternoon passed.

  Jack wanted to take her to another part of the escarpment, further to the south, and challenged her to a fast ride, passing the many tumuli that littered the landscape, the burial mounds of the ancients who had lived on the high ground five thousand years before.

  The horses were beginning to tire after a long canter so Jack pulled up at the peak overlooking the Severn Vale, the broad, sleepy river a thousand feet below. The beech woods along the escarpment provided a colourful backdrop for the riders. The leaves would be falling soon with the first frosts of autumn, but now they were ablaze with colour as the sun started its descent over the Forest of Dean that they could see on the far side.

  He stood in the saddle leaning toward her. Mary pushed the hair from her face, now aglow with perspiration, after the canter across the common. He gazed with admiration at her, feeling more contented than he had for many months.

  He pointed out the small villages of Uley and Frocester; and the curiously shaped Smallpox Hill, where local villagers sought protection from the plague centuries before. Standing upright in the stirrups, he looked at her and said,