Land of Golden Wattle

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘How do I get to the hamlet?’

  ‘The track around Betty’s Mere will take you to the beach. Walk along the beach with the sea to your left and the hamlet’s about half a mile.’

  ‘Why should this man help me?’

  ‘Because I asked him. Josh Yarm and I go back a long way. He’ll be happy to take you.’

  ‘It’ll have to be at night,’ Emma said. ‘They don’t let me walk out by myself during the day.’

  ‘He knows that. I told him to put out a storm lantern so you know where to go. He’ll be waiting.’

  The light was almost gone. Inside the room it was hard to see each other, which made it easier to speak their thoughts.

  ‘Why are you doing this for me?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Damsel in distress?’ She could just make out his expression, part smile, part serious. ‘Because I care for you? Care deeply?’

  She felt the blood rush to her face. ‘You do?’

  He took her hand. ‘Since I first set eyes on you.’

  ‘I never suspected it.’

  ‘Why would you?’

  Again Emma spun fortune’s wheel. ‘Because I feel the same.’

  They looked into each other’s eyes as though for the first time. Then Ephraim Dark gave a sharp, bitter laugh. ‘It makes no odds; after Monday we’ll likely never see each other again.’

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ she said.

  I have come to care for you… She had not asked him to say it but he had and she was not prepared to give him up without a fight.

  He smiled ruefully. ‘Nothing to be done about it, my dear.’

  Later that evening he spoke again when they were alone in the drawing room.

  ‘I’ve been looking at boat sailings in The Times. The Admiral Cockburn sails for Hobart Town on Friday. Leave here on the Wednesday night and you should be there in nice time.’

  ‘Good.’ But she spoke dolefully, thinking only of the prospect of losing what for a moment she had dared hope might be hers.

  His eyes met hers. ‘I don’t like it either.’

  Enough.

  It was not a lady’s place to be forward but she could still remember the curl of Lady Raedwald’s lip as she told her she was a woman of no background. Very well. She would pretend the hag had been right. She would take her future in her hands, careless of the rules. She fixed her eyes on Ephraim’s face.

  ‘You believe Sir Edmund Wilkes will be able to mend your foot?’

  ‘He’s the acknowledged authority. I expect him to do his job.’

  ‘What will you do after he’s fixed it?’

  ‘Rejoin my regiment.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘As soon as I can. When I come back I’ll write to the colonel –’

  ‘That will take months. Why come back here at all?’

  Ephraim stared at her. ‘But my aunt –’

  ‘You said it yourself,’ Emma said. ‘The Admiral Cockburn sails on Friday. All being well, I shall be aboard.’ Her eyes were steady on his. ‘Choose.’

  He opened his mouth to reply when Lady Raedwald swept into the room. On her heels came Mr Wallace, announcing that dinner was served.

  It was Monday morning, a warm day with clouds high up and the wheat ripening in the fields, with Lady Raedwald’s carriage standing before the open door of Raedwald Hall. The household had gathered on the steps down to the drive, and Lady Raedwald had held her nephew’s arm down to the carriage, where he kissed her cheek and climbed in.

  ‘The captain will be back in a few days, Emma,’ Lady Raedwald had said to her the previous night. ‘There is no need for you to see him off,’ but Emma did not intend to be left out. She stood in front of Mrs Hadgwick and smiled – Ephraim nodded, and waved gaily to them all. ‘See you soon.’

  For a moment only his eyes sent Emma a different message. You will be in my thoughts.

  She heard the words as clearly as though he had spoken them. And you in mine.

  He nodded. His eyes smiled. She wondered how it was possible for them to communicate without words, but emotions, like the stars, moved in mysterious ways.

  She went back into the house. Three more days and I too shall be gone.

  Midnight Wednesday night: not even three days since Ephraim had left and already Emma was missing him more than she could have imagined.

  She had packed a small case, which was the most she could hope to carry with her. What she could not carry she would have to leave.

  She had decided to wait until one o’clock. By then – surely? – everyone would be asleep. Waiting wasn’t easy; every few minutes she found herself checking the Josiah Emery watch that had belonged to her father.

  At one o’clock she eased open the bedroom door and tiptoed down the stairs, nerves jumping at every shadow. She did not attempt the front door, which she knew Mr Wallace would have double-locked as he did every night. Instead she walked down the corridor to the kitchen. The damper was closed on the stove; she saw the red glow and heard the soft whisper of logs turning to ash. A cat blinked from a wooden chair’s padded seat. No other movement; no other sound. She went through the lobby, turned the massive key in the lock and opened the door. Cool air came in, and the smell of rain-wet grass. She went out, shadow-soft, and closed the door behind her. There was no moon but overhead was a multitude of stars. She heard the muted call of an owl. Keeping to the drive’s grassy verge she made her way towards the side gate that opened on to the road.

  She was ten yards from the gate when a shadow moved. It solidified into the shape of a man who straightened beneath the tree where he had been sheltering and spoke in a harsh Norfolk voice.

  ‘Stay where y’are, you! Stay still!’

  For an instant shock stunned her. Breath would not come and her legs turned to ice. Feeling came back in a rush and she recognised the man as the redheaded sub-keeper. She also saw he had made a mistake. Earlier the rain had been heavy and he had taken shelter beneath the tree. Now she was closer to the gate than he was. Before she knew it she had wedged her case under one arm and flung herself forwards, outstretched hand reaching for the handle of the lock.

  ‘Ah said stay!’

  The voice was too close for comfort but her hand grasped the handle and turned it, the gate opened and she was through it and slamming it in the face of the man who had almost caught her but not quite. There was no way to lock the gate from this side and she was not strong enough to hold it shut against him; it would take him no more than a moment to force it open. She turned and ran, her case bumping against her leg. The case was a nuisance but she could not abandon it; her money was inside it and without that escape would be impossible.

  On the far side of the road a line of trees separated her from the marsh while beyond it the waters of Betty’s Mere shone in the starlight. She had to find somewhere to hide but there was nowhere and she could not hope to outrun the keeper.

  Panic was a sickness. Lightning clawed the sky beyond the mere; thunder rumbled while clouds advancing on an east wind rapidly quenched the stars. She saw the familiar shape of the derelict jetty she passed regularly on her morning walks and hesitated but that was the first place her pursuer would look and she dared not stop. This whole area was tidal; at the peak of spring tides salt water lapped the base of the park wall. It was a land of shadows and the calling of water birds, with patches of reeds edging the mud flats and tidal pools and crooked waterways leading eastwards to the restless sea.

  The keeper had lost ground after he came through the gate, unsure which way she had gone, and she thought the increasing cloud cover would make it hard for him to see her.

  There were hundreds of reed beds, big and small; it would be impossible for him to search them all. The narrow track she had noted before led off to the left. Without thought she turned onto it. The keeper had been right about the mud. It sucked at her feet but she made her way as quickly as she could along it until she reached a vastness of reeds bowing and whistling in the wind. She thrust her way
into the reeds as deeply as she could and crouched down. The stems rattled, in the distance were the sleepless calling of birds and the hollow booming of the sea, otherwise all was still. The keeper could not see her there; provided she remained still he had little hope of finding her.

  She would have to wait him out.

  It was a slow business. Where the keeper was she did not know; he might be twenty feet away or half a mile. She was up to her ankles in mud and her feet were bitterly cold. The wind from the sea was cold too. Before long her body was shaking; she tried to control it but could not.

  The tide was out but eventually the water would return. She had to move before then. Thank God it was only September; she could not imagine how it would feel in winter.

  It started to rain. She tried to read her father’s watch but could not. She guessed she had been there about an hour, which meant soon she would have something else to worry about. In another hour it would be getting light.

  She had to be well away before then.

  Gingerly she parted the reeds. Nothing moved. She inched her way back on to the track and headed towards the sea. The eastern sky was showing the first hint of grey as she came to a wide beach. Drenched by the rain that continued to fall, she followed the beach until she reached the ancient Saxon hamlet of Raedwald. She looked back several times but saw no one. No one followed her; she was sure of it.

  The salt-grimed shacks were hunched at the bottom of a hollow. In one of them an oil lamp guttered in the breeze. As Emma approached a man looked out. He was burly in the shoulders and she could not see his face.

  ‘Josiah Yarm?’

  ‘You the leddy wants get to Yarmouth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come wi’ me.’

  He led the way over the dunes behind the hamlet. She followed and soon they arrived at an inlet where fishing boats were moored. Josiah Yarm gave a shrill whistle.

  A moment later a figure appeared on the deck of one of the boats. Yarm shouted to him across the water. ‘C’mon, Lob, look lively, lad. Let’s get they anchor in.’

  Lob raised his hand in acknowledgement, made his way to the vessel’s stern and began to heave on a chain. A minute later an anchor rose dripping into the air. It was massive, yet the way Lob dumped it on the deck it might have been a feather. Josiah Yarm hauled on the mooring line and within a minute the bow of the fishing boat was nudging the wharf.

  ‘’op aboard, your leddyship,’ Yarm said.

  Emma did so. The smell of fish was very strong. Within minutes Yarm and Lob had worked the boat down the channel to the sea. The rain had stopped, the cloud gone. With sail hoisted, they headed south while the rising sun set sky and water ablaze with red and golden fire.

  Emma was not looking forward to Yarmouth. Lady Raedwald would know by now that she’d run away. She might well believe Emma was trying to get back to Chatham, which would mean going via London. To do that she would have to take the flyer from Yarmouth, and the dowager could easily have sent one of her bully boys to intercept Emma there and drag her back to Raedwald Hall. A determined horseman would have no trouble covering the distance in the time.

  Yarmouth meant danger.

  The harbour was crowded with ships but Josiah Yarm managed to weave his way between them to the wharf.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘That be all taken care of,’ Yarm said. ‘Captain Dark already settled up.’

  At that moment, frightened of what might be waiting for her and lonelier than ever before in her life, Emma could have wept at this latest evidence of Ephraim Dark’s kindness. No matter: all being well she would be able to thank him aboard the Admiral Cockburn the next night.

  The idea that she might soon be sailing into the unknown with Ephraim at her side, the warmth of his hand on hers, made her breathless, but now was not the time for daydreaming.

  Yarm told Lob to escort her to the Bugle Inn but on the way Emma said she wanted to stop somewhere else. The coach was not leaving for an hour and she needed to eat before that; after they left there would be no chance of getting a meal until they changed horses halfway to London.

  ‘They serve meals at the Bugle,’ Lob said.

  ‘Not there. Take me somewhere else.’

  If Lady Raedwald had sent someone after her the first place he would look was the Bugle. The less time she spent there the better.

  Lob did not argue but took her to the Chain and Anchor in Alderson Road. It was only a short distance from the Bugle but when she went in the landlord looked askance at her. Not surprising – her dress had dried during the journey but was badly crumpled and her hair was a mess – but when he heard her educated voice his manner changed. Of course they would be delighted to provide her with a meal and a private room upstairs to eat and freshen herself too, if that was the young lady’s pleasure. It was very much the young lady’s pleasure. She was escorted up a steep flight of stairs to a room under the thatch, where she did what she could to repair the damage of the night’s adventures.

  The meal was excellent and afterwards she felt like a new woman as she came downstairs. She gave Lob a guinea and told him to go and buy her a ticket for the London coach.

  ‘And see if you can find out if anyone’s been asking for me.’

  When he came back with her change he said that a man had indeed been asking for her.

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Red-’aired an’ with a squiffy eye. I knows ’im. Works up Raedwald ’all, him.’

  She had been right, then. The old battleaxe had sent one of her keepers after her. ‘Is he a friend of yours?’

  Lob spat. ‘Nasty bit o’ work. No one in the village can stand un.’

  ‘He mustn’t catch me. If he does he’ll make me go back with him.’

  Lob looked at her and grinned: big teeth in a hard and weather-beaten face. ‘Cain’t be ’avin’ that, can us?’

  They walked up the road until they reached the entrance to the Bugle’s yard. Inside Emma could see the flyer waiting, horses already in the shafts. There was no sign of Lady Raedwald’s keeper. ‘I don’t see him,’ she said.

  ‘’E’ll be ’avin’ a sup of porter inside. Likes his drink, that one.’

  She looked at her father’s watch. ‘We have only ten minutes,’ she said.

  ‘’Twill be enough,’ Lob said. ‘You stay yur and keep your eyes peeled. When the coast’s clear you nip aboard the flyer. You’ll be fine, miss. I got plenty o’ friends in this town. We’ll take care of ’im for you.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  He grinned, teeth like a graveyard. ‘Don’ you worry nothin’ ’bout that.’

  She gave him sixpence. ‘Take this,’ she said. ‘And thank you very much. I shall always be grateful.’

  ‘’Tes nothin’,’ Lob said. ‘I always wanted to punish that bully. Now you’ve give me the chance, you.’

  He strode away across the yard, heavy shoulders working beneath his sweater. Emma saw him speak to one man and then a second. The three men laughed. With a businesslike air they went into the inn.

  Emma waited.

  The coachman came out. He was wiping his mouth and wore a heavy topcoat and tricorn hat. He walked over to the flyer, his boots crunching on the yard’s stone flags.

  A chorus of yells erupted behind the bottle-glass panes of the inn’s bay window. Passers-by turned to watch as a parcel of men, punching and flailing, came tumbling out of the inn door. Emma, watching, saw Lob and his friends attempting to beat the living daylights out of the red-haired man, who was doing his frantic best to escape.

  He succeeded and fled, with Lob close behind him and yelling.

  ‘That’ll learn ’ee to fool wi’ another man’s wife!’

  Lob and his two friends stopped at the yard entrance, laughing and slapping each other on the back before going back into the inn. Emma, with two minutes to spare, ran to the coach, handed her case to the coachman and clambered aboard.

  She remained uneasy, looking repe
atedly out of the window, but the keeper had obviously had enough for one day and she saw no sign of him.

  Promptly at noon the horn blew and the coach pulled out. Emma continued to stare unseeingly through the window as they clattered swaying through the cobbled streets. She felt as though an albatross had been lifted from her neck but knew, as the last buildings gave way to the flat East Anglian countryside, that her journey had barely begun. London would present her with still more challenges but a light shone on her thoughts.

  Tomorrow, God willing, they would be together. Tomorrow all would be well.

  After a long and trying journey on the flea-infested Flyer from Yarmouth and a scarcely more comfortable night in lodgings off the Haymarket, a uniformed Captain Ephraim Dark arrived on Sir Edmund’s doorstep on the morning of 26 September. He was nervous; the foot was paining him immoderately and that morning he had observed a foul-smelling discharge from the wound that seemed to indicate things were getting worse rather than better. He knew if his foot could not be mended his military career would be over and had therefore persuaded himself Sir Edmund Wilkes would be able to put things to rights.

  Alas.

  Sir Edmund examined the foot and pronounced judgement. ‘You have been walking on this foot.’

  ‘I was wounded several months ago. Walking on it in the meantime was unavoidable,’ Ephraim said.

  ‘All things are avoidable,’ Sir Edmund said. ‘As it is you have done the foot irreparable harm. And, I may say, with no one to blame but yourself.’

  ‘So what happens now?’ Ephraim said.

  ‘Infection, like all disease, is curable. Bleeding the patient is a necessary first step. After bleeding I shall open the wound and scrape it clean –’ the way his tongue rasped resolutely on the word scr-r-rape! ‘– in order to rid it of foreign matter. I shall then dress the wound with a tincture of my own devising that will burn away any lingering pockets of infection. It is a heroic treatment, painful but efficacious.’

  ‘And will cure me?’ Ephraim said.

  ‘Certainly it will cure the infection. But that will not resolve the major problem.’