Land of Golden Wattle

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘That will depend on how her ladyship speaks to me.’

  Such a spineless man, she thought as she called Maudie to give her a hand. She couldn’t tell whether she despised him more than she disliked him; either way she knew that neither in three months nor three hundred years would she agree to marry him. Always assuming she had a choice.

  ‘He makes me sick every time I look at him,’ she informed the furniture as she went into her bedroom.

  All the same it was a problem knowing what to do about it.

  ‘I am a prisoner,’ she said, forgetting Maudie was in the room with her.

  ‘Ain’t we all?’ said Maudie. ‘You movin’ to the big house, then?’

  ‘In the interests of propriety,’ Emma said.

  ‘In the interests of the master,’ Maudie said bitterly.

  Emma looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean he’s behaved himself since you been here. Quite good, it’s been. But with you gone there won’t be much sleep for me tonight.’

  ‘You are surely not suggesting –’

  ‘He’s a man, inn’e? What you think maids are for? He’ll have me in his bed soon as you’re out the door is what I’m saying.’

  ‘But…’ Emma was appalled. ‘What if you have a child?’

  ‘Me gran give me herbs. It’s still a worry but what am I s’posed to do?’

  Emma saw she had more to learn about the ways of the world than she had thought. ‘That is intolerable!’

  ‘It’s life,’ Maudie said. ‘People like me, we don’ expect no bed of roses.’

  That was right, Emma thought as later that afternoon she walked the short distance to Raedwald Hall, Arthur’s gardener carrying her trunk on his shoulder. Not too many beds of roses in her life either. But she, unlike Maudie, was unwilling to put up with it. She would think of something. She had to; the alternative was unspeakable.

  ‘Miss Tregellas will be marrying the vicar,’ Lady Raedwald said. ‘I have arranged it. It will be an excellent match for her.’

  It was a small dinner party: a Mr Peter Walford and his wife, members of the lesser local gentry who were both clearly overawed by their invitation; Captain Dark; and Emma, hidden away behind a vast silver-gilt cruet set. Arthur was not present and Emma was thinking of Maudie, no doubt hard at work.

  ‘For reasons I am at a loss to understand,’ her ladyship continued, giving Emma a stern look, ‘she wishes to delay proceedings, I believe for a month. I confess I find it inexplicable.’

  ‘I have explained already, your ladyship. I am in mourning for my late father.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said sour-lipped Lady Raedwald.

  ‘Filial devotion is surely to be admired,’ said Captain Dark.

  ‘You may admire it if you wish,’ Lady Raedwald said. ‘Others may have a different opinion.’

  ‘Always assuming it is their business to have an opinion at all,’ the captain said.

  Lady Raedwald gave her nephew a glare but it seemed Captain Dark was impervious to glares.

  ‘Her ladyship does not like even death to disrupt her plans,’ Emma said.

  ‘I do not like impertinence either,’ said Lady Raedwald, puffing like a dozen bullfrogs.

  ‘No impertinence intended, your ladyship,’ Emma said. ‘But I know you will understand that I must respect my father’s memory.’

  Captain Dark seemed amused but the Walfords did not know where to hide their faces.

  After dinner they went together into the drawing room, Lady Raedwald no believer in leaving the gentlemen to their cigars and port. The room was richly furnished with a splendid chandelier and a piano in one corner.

  ‘Emma, you may be excused,’ Lady Raedwald said.

  ‘Oh no, Aunt, if you please,’ said Captain Dark. ‘I was hoping Miss Tregellas might entertain us with a song. I am sure she has a most delightful voice.’

  Lady Raedwald looked as cross as two sticks but clearly did not wish to fall out with her nephew in the presence of her guests.

  ‘Very well. I take it you do sing, Miss Tregellas?’

  ‘A little,’ Emma said.

  ‘Then perhaps you will oblige us, as my nephew has suggested. But I warn you, miss, my ear for music is widely admired and I can be a formidable critic.’

  Emma nodded. ‘Then I shall have to be on my best behaviour, shall I not?’

  Captain Dark said, ‘May I have the pleasure of accompanying you?’

  ‘In my day it was normal for a singer to accompany herself,’ said Lady Raedwald to Mr Walford. ‘Either on the harp or spinet. But today, alas, old standards have fallen away.’

  ‘Fashions have changed, Aunt,’ Captain Dark said. ‘We must move with the times.’

  ‘Humpf,’ said his aunt.

  ‘What shall you sing?’ the captain asked Emma.

  ‘There is a song by Mr Schubert,’ her ladyship said. ‘Something about a boat and time passing.’

  Captain Dark smiled at Emma. ‘I was thinking of something more lively. Do you know John Peel?’

  ‘I believe I have heard it. If you play the tune the words may come back to me.’

  Obediently the captain picked out the tune on the piano and the words did indeed come back. Captain Dark joined in, they found they sang well together and ended with the rousing chorus:

  For the sound of his horn brought me from my bed

  And the cry of his hounds that he oft times led

  Peel’s view-halloo would waken the dead

  Or the fox from his lair in the morning.

  By the time they had finished the dowager’s downturned mouth was still mourning Schubert but Emma was flushed and happy. Afterwards she sang No place like home unaccompanied after the captain had given her the key. Mrs Walford even clapped her hands briefly until quenched by her husband’s warning elbow and her ladyship’s grim lips.

  All in all it was a far more comfortable evening than Emma had expected but the following day was a different story, with Lady Raedwald’s fat fist pounding the arm of her chair and her fat face a picture of disapproval.

  ‘How do you account for your behaviour last evening, miss?’

  Emma had no idea what the old bat was on about. ‘I beg your pardon, your ladyship?’

  The dowager’s face darkened to purple. ‘Do not pretend to be innocent. Simpering and making eyes at my nephew! I will not have it, miss. Do you hear me?’

  Lady Raedwald might or might not be a great lady but Emma Tregellas was a lady, too, daughter of a major in the 33rd Foot, and unwilling to be bullied. ‘I was invited to sing, your ladyship. I sang. Captain Dark chose to favour me by accompanying me. Certainly on my part there was no simpering.’

  On my part… Because Emma’s evening gown, which she had brought with her from Chatham, was cut fashionably low and last night she had observed – as no doubt Lady Raedwald had also – the direction of the captain’s appreciative gaze.

  ‘Dressed to catch my nephew’s eye… Or should I say undressed? I will not have it, miss. Do you hear me?’

  ‘I hear your ladyship very clearly,’ Emma said. ‘But that does not justify the misplaced suspicions your ladyship seems to hold.’

  The silence that followed lasted only a moment but was as menacing as an earthquake.

  ‘Never in all my days have I been spoken to in such a way,’ declared Lady Raedwald. ‘And by whom, I ask myself? By whom?’

  It might be impossible for Emma to win the war but she would not give ground in what was no more than a skirmish. ‘By a lady like yourself,’ she said.

  ‘By a young woman of no background, an orphan without a penny to her name. And she dares defy me? It is not to be borne, miss! Not to be borne.’

  ‘My mother was second cousin to the Earl of Leominster; your background and mine are therefore comparable, your ladyship,’ Emma said.

  Lady Raedwald grew calm; ice could not have been calmer. ‘You will leave me now,’ she whispered. ‘I shall discuss with Mrs Hadgwick, my housekeeper, the duti
es you will be required to perform while you remain in this house. Now: get out!’

  Emma inclined her head. ‘As your ladyship pleases.’ She gave a composed curtsey. ‘I hope you will feel better as the day progresses.’

  She turned and walked slowly from the room. The door was barely shut behind her when she heard a scream of fury followed by the sound of a bell being rung by an angry hand. A footman came running.

  ‘Best straighten your wig before you go in,’ Emma warned him.

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  He did so before opening the door and walking straight-backed into the furnace, while Emma took her parasol and went out into the rose garden, where she considered what she must do to escape what was becoming an intolerable situation.

  Mrs Hadgwick would have been another Lady Raedwald had she been able to carry it off.

  ‘You have displeased her ladyship.’

  ‘I regret that,’ Emma said.

  ‘I have seldom seen her so angry.’

  ‘I regret that,’ Emma said.

  ‘She believes you abused her kindness in permitting you to sit at table with her guests last night.’

  ‘I regret that,’ Emma said.

  The housekeeper’s eyes were spikes in her sour face. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  ‘Yes. And who are you, Mrs Hadgwick, to question me in this manner?’

  ‘I am following her ladyship’s instructions –’

  ‘In that case it would perhaps be best if you confined yourself to doing so, Mrs Hadgwick. I would not want you to forget your place.’

  A daughter of the 33rd could also wield a blade when needed.

  ‘I am sure I never intended to cause offence,’ said the housekeeper in a careful voice.

  Emma’s smile was the picture of condescension. ‘In that case you may proceed,’ she said.

  ‘In the library there is a compendium of documents relating to the family’s history. Some papers go back over two hundred years. Her ladyship thinks that sorting them is a task you might usefully perform.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hadgwick. I shall examine the papers and let you know if I can assist in this matter.’

  Mrs Hadgwick’s lips set in a disagreeable line. ‘I shall take you to the library and you may judge for yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hadgwick.’

  The library was a scene of chaos with ancient documents spilling in dusty piles about the floor. Even the books in the shelves looked tired, as though they had been neglected for so long they had grown weary of life. It was clear no one had used the room for a long time. It was also clear that if Emma agreed to undertake the work the task would keep her occupied for many weeks.

  I can always make a start, she told herself. As to what the future might hold, who could say?

  ‘I shall be happy to assist her ladyship if that is her wish,’ she said. Her smile – so sweet! – was calculated to set the housekeeper’s teeth on edge. ‘Perhaps you could arrange for luncheon to be brought me on a tray?’

  ‘Her impertinence knows no bounds,’ Lady Raedwald said when Mrs Hadgwick made her report. ‘She instructed you to have her luncheon served in the library? On a tray? Are we sure she did not ask to be attended by Mr Wallace at the same time? With a flagon of claret, perhaps?’

  Mr Wallace was the butler.

  ‘Miss Tregellas did not mention claret,’ Mrs Hadgwick said.

  ‘I should hope not!’

  But Lady Raedwald was in a bit of a fix. By banishing the Tregellas girl to the library and giving her a nightmarish task, she had thought she would get her out of the way and punish her at the same time. Of course she had intended to send her food on a tray, but now the wretched creature had suggested being served in this manner. By allowing her to have her way her ladyship would in effect be giving in to her. That would never do.

  ‘Miss Tregellas will eat in the dining room,’ Lady Raedwald said. ‘We shall have no picnics in Raedwald Hall. Kindly advise Miss Tregellas accordingly.’

  ‘Certainly, my lady. Will you be joining her?’

  ‘I shall eat in my room,’ the dowager said. A picnic wasn’t a picnic where Lady Raedwald was concerned.

  By midday Emma had made barely a dent in the mass of papers. She was tired, dusty and beginning to feel hungry when the door opened behind her.

  ‘Put the tray down over there,’ she said without turning her head.

  ‘No tray,’ a voice said. A man’s voice.

  Startled, she looked up. ‘Captain Dark!’

  ‘I thought you should know that luncheon will shortly be served in the dining room.’

  His voice was full of smiles and she smiled in return. ‘And her ladyship?’

  ‘Is otherwise engaged. So we can relax and have a pleasant meal in peace.’

  ‘That sounds an attractive option,’ she said.

  ‘I think so too,’ he said.

  Emma placed the documents on the table with the others she had examined and they went down to the dining room together.

  There was no fire in the large fireplace. Captain Dark stared at Mr Wallace and his voice was as cold as the room. ‘Why is there no fire?’

  Mr Wallace coughed. ‘Her ladyship gave orders that a table should be set up for you in the small study, sir. This we have done. There is a fire there.’

  ‘Why in the small study?’

  ‘I believe she thought you would be eating alone, sir.’

  ‘The table in the study… Is it set for one or for two?’

  ‘For one, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps you can instruct the maids to change that?’

  ‘The table is very small, sir.’

  ‘You are saying there is no room for two?’

  ‘It would be cramped, sir.’

  ‘I see. What do you have for us, Mr Wallace? Something hot, I hope.’

  ‘A cold collation, sir. Some beef, a ham –’

  ‘It is a brisk day, Mr Wallace. I believe we would prefer something warm.’

  ‘But it is a Tuesday, sir.’

  ‘As you say. What of it?’

  ‘Her ladyship’s instructions are that we should always serve a cold collation on Tuesdays, sir.’

  ‘And if it happened to be a Wednesday?’

  ‘It would be baked ham and a guinea fowl, sir.’

  The captain pushed back his chair and stared at the butler. His voice remained calm but Emma thought that in Mr Wallace’s place she’d be running for cover.

  ‘Pray explain,’ the captain said.

  ‘They are her ladyship’s standing instructions, sir. For every week.’

  ‘Winter and summer?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Then we shall change it.’

  ‘But sir –’

  ‘We shall change it, Mr Wallace. I shall discuss it with my aunt later but in the meantime, Mr Wallace, we require something hot on this cold day. Do I make myself clear, Mr Wallace?’ The tone was soft but with a bayonet in every word.

  ‘But the kitchen range… There is nothing prepared, sir.’ Mr Wallace, exposed so unexpectedly to the fire of this suddenly ferocious infantryman, looked close to tears.

  ‘You are saying there is no hot food?’

  ‘Perhaps the kitchen could heat up some soup, sir…’

  ‘Then we shall have soup.’ Dark turned to Emma. ‘Soup and some cheese. And bread to go with it, I think. How will that suit you?’

  ‘It will suit me very well,’ Emma said.

  ‘And we shall have it in the study, Mr Wallace. Where you say there is a fire.’

  ‘A good fire, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. You say it is a small room. Well, we shall cram in somehow.’ He gave Emma a brilliant smile. ‘And I think a bottle of the Constantia to go with the cheese. I understand Napoleon Bonaparte was partial to Constantia. What was good enough for a fallen emperor should be good enough for us, wouldn’t you say?’

  Emma found herself looking at Captain Dark with appreciative eyes. What had she been say
ing to herself only the other day? I shall take life by the throat.

  Mr Wallace led them to the study. He wore a woeful expression, no doubt troubled how he would explain his part in what the dowager would no doubt consider an outrageous challenge to her authority, but the room was cosy and the fire warm – altogether a much better bet than the cold and empty dining room.

  Captain Dark slapped Mr Wallace on the shoulder. ‘Cheer up, man. We’ll all be dead in a hundred years.’

  By his expression the butler was fearful that death might descend on him a good deal earlier than that. Emma choked back a smile. Poor Mr Wallace…

  They managed to squeeze around the little table. The captain’s eyes sparkled and once again Emma could have laughed out loud; they were like naughty children outsmarting the grown-ups.

  The soup came and a splendid mound of cheese. The soup was hot and satisfying. There was bread and some pickles. There was the opened bottle of Constantia wine. The fire crackled in the hearth. As picnics went, Emma thought, this was close to being a banquet.

  They finished and Emma said she should get back to work.

  ‘No rush,’ Captain Dark said. He gave her a lazy smile and she felt a tingle flow through her. ‘Those papers have been there for years. They aren’t going to run away, are they?’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so.’

  ‘So stay and talk.’

  Emma was more than happy to do so.

  ‘You have served in Van Diemen’s Land?’ she said.

  ‘That’s where I picked up this foot. I told you when we first met.’

  ‘When you gave me my uncle’s letter.’

  ‘I hope it contained good news.’

  ‘It explained some things I hadn’t known before.’

  He topped up their glasses. ‘Capital wine,’ he said. ‘Bonaparte was right.’

  ‘Tell me about Van Diemen’s Land.’

  He played with his glass. ‘It’s an island. Very beautiful, thickly forested. Many lakes, many mountains.’

  ‘And savages.’

  ‘Plenty of savages but most of them are white.’

  Emma was surprised.

  ‘Convicts and ex-convicts, bushrangers… There are black savages too, of course. They know how to fight – my foot is proof of that – but they have no chance against us.’