Jack has no time to explain his mission but is bustled into the front parlour and seated before a fire. A maid takes his wet coat and brushes him down while the proprietor brings him a hot toddy. It’s all very pleasant after the long voyage down and the muddy approach. Several other men are sitting in the parlour reading newspapers, or perhaps waiting to board the coach outside. Jones has a word here and there as he brings the drink.
‘Now,’ he says, ‘state your business, for I can see you’re a man used to dealing, and yet we’ve not met, so I assume you are newly arrived. Also,’ he looks Jack up and down carefully, ‘I’d say you were a horseman by your clothes. Am I right?’
Jack has to laugh. He had expected an older, more sober businessman. This Shadrach Jones is like an actor on a stage. He steps this way and that as he speaks, pats at his pockets, curls his moustache, takes out his watch, glances at it and puts it away again, all the time keeping an eye on the comings and goings in the hotel. He has donned a dark green coat by now, over the yellow waistcoat. He’s as bright as a parrot, and as lively.
Jack mentions his load of horse tackle.
‘Aha! I had you right, no?’ Doctor Jones slaps Jack on the shoulder in delight, then frowns. ‘Pack saddles, eh? Hmm. The demand is not so strong, but we will find a buyer, yes we will. Now I am a busy man, Mr Lacey, let us discuss terms.’
It’s not until later, when the business is concluded, that Jack mentions Lily. He uses her stage name, Rosa.
The little entrepreneur looks at Jack with narrowed eyes. ‘Rosa Buckingham? Of course I know her. Of course. Such a voice. She performed here with her brothers. In my very theatre. I have to admit their bill of fare was not to Dunedin’s taste.’ Jones frowns at the memory. ‘Sailed too close to the wind for my clientele. What business have you with her?’
Jack stammers an explanation of sorts. Obviously Shadrach Jones has not been let into the secret: he still believes Rosa was a true sister to the Buckingham boys. ‘She and I were … close friends … more than close. There was an understanding …’ Suddenly he bursts out, ‘Doctor Jones, I believe she is being held against her will by Captain William Hayes. I have come to rescue her. She has written asking me to bring her away. I beg you, if you know her whereabouts, to tell me. I feel she is in danger!’
Shadrach Jones listens with great interest. ‘Aha! I suspected it, yes I did, I suspected as much. Such a lovely lady — talented, yes. A true soprano voice and yet a beautiful and delightful actress too. I could not believe she would … well, perhaps I should not say.’
Jack urges him to go on. Shadrach Jones pus a finger to his lips; draws Jack into a secluded corner of the parlour, pulling a drape to hide them from the other guests. Jack finds it hard to keep a straight face. Surely this little businessman is overdoing the drama.
‘That talented young woman,’ says Jones in an exaggerated whisper that everyone in the room can hear, ‘was in thrall to the blackguard Hayes. I’m sure of it. Mesmerised by his dark charms. I myself,’ he throws out his hands in mock despair, ‘was taken in by him. Yes, I, Doctor Shadrach Jones himself, was fooled! He left my Princess Theatre for the goldfields of the Arrow, taking stage scenery and provisions, and two of my best horses, all without a penny of payment. Not a penny! Promises, promises, and then finally, by the time I sent the constables to fetch payment, he was gone. I would wager he stole your Rosa with false promises in the same way.’ Jones glowers. ‘I have my eye out for that fellow. If he shows so much as a toe in Dunedin, he will be in gaol before he takes one breath!’ He breathes through his nose heavily, then takes out a snow-white handkerchief, shakes it open and wipes his eyes. A theatrical gesture.
‘Is she still with him, then?’ asks Jack, fearing the worst.
Jones sighs, shakes his curly head sadly. ‘I suspect yes. They were in Riverton briefly last year — too briefly. No sooner had I discovered his whereabouts and sent the bailiffs than he was off again. Again leaving debts, I hear.’
‘Off where?’
Shadrach Jones doesn’t know, but suggests Jack visit Conrad Buckingham, a brother to Rosa, who is teaching music in Dunedin. Jack is all for leaving immediately, but Jones will hear nothing of it.
‘No, no, Sir, you must come and see my Princess Theatre first. See where your Rosa performed. It is a stroke of genius! I promise that you, a horseman, will be interested. Come and see!’
Jack remembers that he might hire a horse from this surprising fellow and follows the bustling Jones through a side door and into a barn of a hall, which is filled with the sounds and smell of horses. Stalls line one end of the vast hall; a large, sawdust-covered ring occupies the central section. A handsome bay is being paraded in front of a group of bidders. At the far end, what looks like a construction made from giant boxes is piled to the roof.
‘My horse bazaar,’ shouts Jones over the din of auctioneers and buyers doing business, ‘and also my Princess Theatre!’ He explains that twice a week he converts the space into a theatre; that the ‘boxes’ are actually hinged sections of a stage and behind them are stacked seating and stage scenery. ‘All transformed in ten minutes precisely. Suddenly we have a beautiful theatre, which has hosted the best international talent. The Inimitable Thatcher. Annie Vitelli. The Buckinghams. Even Mrs W.H. Foley! Yes, Mrs Foley. You are right to be surprised, Sir, Mrs Foley herself!’ Shadrach Jones plants his fists on hips, beaming. ‘What do you think of that, Sir?’
But Jack is more interested in the horses. Again business is conducted speedily. The doctor might be a loquacious and expansive host, but when it comes to hiring a horse, transactions are agreed in minutes. Jack selects a small, lively filly, tests her paces around the ring, and agrees a price. Then, after promising to return to enjoy the evening’s performance, Jack heads out under clearing skies in search of Conrad Buckingham.
Jack hears unwelcome news
‘But she is in Australia,’ says the youngest of the performing Buckinghams, Conrad. He stands in the doorway of a simple, roughly built shack, his trumpet swinging on one finger, the other hand casually in his pocket. In the hallway a curious young lad — a pupil, no doubt — watches the smart fellow who has ridden up on horseback.
‘Do you have news of her?’ asks Jack, dismounting and tying his filly to a veranda post. ‘Is she in good spirits?’
Conrad Buckingham is young. Jack figures he will not yet have reached twenty, but there’s a weariness in his eyes, and a drawn look about the mouth. Jack cannot recognise in him the chubby, golden-haired prodigy who performed at the Venetian Saloon with his family, back in Auckland. He’s tall but stick-thin. Perhaps his music teaching business is not flourishing.
His voice is high and light. ‘Come in, Jack. I’ll be finished here in ten minutes, if you care to wait.’
Jack ducks his head to enter the dark little hallway. There are only two rooms, apart from a tiny alcove at the end of the hall which clearly must serve as kitchen. Jack sits on the single bed while Conrad finishes with his pupil. The boy stumbles through scales and a simple tune or two, but when Conrad plays, the rooms fill with rich ribbons of music. Jack is transported away from the sordid little shack; he dreams of Lily in happier times. Concerts in Auckland; dramatic performances in Wellington; her feats in Foley’s circus ring. How is it that she has travelled to Australia? What can it all mean?
When the boy leaves, having paid his shilling, Conrad beckons Jack into the music room, where there are two chairs, a music stand and a little table. Nothing more. From the back of the house, Conrad brings two jars of ale, a raisin loaf, a wedge of cheese and a bowl of pickled onions. He’s smiling now, happy to see Jack again, ready to talk.
This is the first time they’ve been together since Rosetta’s death. Jack sadly tells Conrad of his wife’s fatal accident, his own loneliness, his letter from Lily. Conrad then tells about the family ructions in the goldfields and the farce mocking Bully Hayes. Jack is heartened to hear the story. And to read, in Conrad’s face, how much the young man hat
es Bully.
‘She wrote,’ says Jack at last, ‘asking me to have her back. I have replied welcoming her. But since then — silence. I have no idea whether she received my letter. Did she change her mind? Do you know anything of this?’
Conrad’s young-old face has clouded. He takes a good swig at his ale. ‘She blows hot and cold over Bully Hayes. But mainly cold, I thought, when I last saw her.’ He smiles — a crooked, fleeting twitch of his mouth — and then sighs. ‘I would have carried her away myself, but she had no feeling for me. I was just a boy to her. And of course the baby …’
Jack nearly chokes on his ale. ‘Baby?’
‘You didn’t know? She didn’t tell you? When she left the Arrow she was large with Bully’s child.’ Conrad frowns. ‘I suppose it was Bully’s.’
Jack stands. He turns away; looks out the little window onto the crowded street outside. ‘The baby is born then?’ he asks finally, not able to turn back to Conrad.
‘Yes, so I hear. A girl.’ Conrad’s voice rises a little. ‘My brother has joined again with Hayes. I believe they are touring together in Australia. He wrote once. An unhappy letter. What either of them sees in that man …’
A silence settles in the little room. Jack is still digesting the news of the child; Conrad perhaps wistfully remembering happier times when the whole family performed together.
At last Jack turns back from the window. ‘Do you know where they are?’
‘I do not.’
Jack takes from his pocket his new calling card. ‘Here is my address. If you hear from her, please let me know. I feel she’s in danger.’
Conrad nods. A timid tap on the door heralds the next pupil. Jack mounts and rides away, not knowing what to do. Was Lily planning to come to him encumbered with Bully Hayes’s child? Would she be so brazen? Oh Lily, Lily, he groans, where have you gone so wrong?
It seems his trip south has been a waste of time.
THE JOURNAL OF LILY ALOUETTE CONTINUES …
SCENE: Aboard the brigantine Black Diamond: winter of 1864
Return to New Zealand
Oh, that nightmare voyage across the Tasman Sea! The seas heaved and reared above our little ship, crashing onto the deck and sweeping any unlashed item overboard. We lost one crewman — I never knew his name — on the second day of the crossing. Bully roared his anger at the man’s carelessness and the loss of valuable manpower. Valuable indeed, for the Black Diamond was in a shocking state and all hands were needed to pump water. Bully’s precious brigantine leaked through its timbers like a sponge; the main mast creaked and groaned, threatening to snap with every gust; its great sail, rigged fore and aft, was as threadbare as my petticoat. Even Bully, who seemed to love every howling, drenching moment of the storm, watched that sail with an anxious eye. Finally, during a short lull in the weather, he ordered the men to take down the mainsail and we ran on a single, square-rigged sail on the foremast.
The Black Diamond had been my home for months in Australia as we sailed between towns and then performed at shabby establishments. I hated every smelly, rotten, creaking inch of her. The bed linen in our tiny cabin was mildewed; likewise all my stage garments in their sea-chest. I tried to keep the bright skirts and shawls aired, but the fetid shipboard odour seemed to seep into everything. Even the flowery hats in my hat-box grew mould. I was ashamed to think that when I stepped in front of a new audience in a new town they would detect the reek of rotten seaweed even above the usual stench of ale and sweat. Many were the times I swore never again to set foot upon any floating vessel, be it the most modern sailing ship or humble river ferry. A promise impossible to keep, of course, for a performing artiste.
George Buckingham hated that crossing as much as I. More. He was a shocking seaman, heaving his guts out from the moment he set foot on board, let alone during the raging storm we encountered.
‘Oh Rosa,’ he moaned as I brought him a little weak tea and a dry biscuit, ‘why do we do this? What a fool I am. I could be a simple music teacher, safe in a solid house, clean and neat little children knocking on my door ready to learn, a wife to cook my dinner …’
At the mention of dinner he heaved into his bucket again, nothing left inside his wretched stomach but a thin slick of bile. Poor George. He was a wonderful musician, played the piano and flute as if he were performing for the good Lord Himself, no matter how humble the audience, but he had no idea how to organise his life. If Bully said ‘Go here,’ George went. If Bully decided to move on, even though we were having a good season, George agreed. Now Bully had decided to return to Nelson in New Zealand, so off we set, with a small cargo — which, I have no doubt, Bully had not paid for.
Indeed I do not believe the Black Diamond itself was properly purchased. Bully described himself as ‘owner, captain and master’ of the brigantine, but surely he was none of these, given the way we sailed out of every harbour suddenly and at night, Bully chuckling away at his cleverness, skipping ahead of the law yet again.
It was most tiresome.
My one delight was little Adelaida. She had the constitution of an ox. She slept through the mountainous seas. While the crew shouted and pounded across the deck, while winches creaked and stays groaned, my daughter rocked in her little hammock, oblivious. She sucked at her milk and slurped down her porridge while my maid, Mary, and I could hold nothing in our stomachs. I would point to her proudly — what a fine sailor! — but Bully had lost interest in his daughter. He was cross that I needed a nursemaid, who crowded our little cabin; cross that I should pay attention to Adelaida rather than to him. At sea, Bully Hayes was in love with his ship and his adventures. Women played no part in his seafaring life.
‘Out of my way!’ he would roar, if I came to show him a trick of Adelaida’s or a new song I had written. ‘Can’t you see I am busy? God’s Blood, woman, get below!’
Yet he was happy, for all his roaring outbursts at me and the crew. Wild seas and wild rages were his natural habitat, as the stage and an audience were mine. We were unsuited. That was the simple truth of it. Yet in his view I was his possession and he would not let me go.
There were times — not many — when we gave each other pleasure. On a calm day, his ship rocking gently beneath us, after a drink or two, he would call for me to sing some quiet song and he would become wistful, his hand beating time, his eyes misting over. He would sit me on his knee and play with my hair and call me playful names. Then he would have his way with me, but gently, not like his usual drunken forcings. Then we would sleep together quietly like children. Mostly, though, he was moody: as quick to fly into a rage as a savage dog. I could not face the idea of living the rest of my life with this man.
Finally land was sighted: the high Tasman mountains, which I remembered fondly from easier times performing with Mrs Foley. Dear, golden Nelson, with its proper God-fearing settlers and gentle bays! Here I would part from Bully Hayes forever. That was my steadfast plan.
Just as we approached that happy town, Bully suddenly shouted to his men to change course and head for a large indented bay.
‘Run her ashore!’ he shouted, pointing to a beach of gently sloping sand. ‘We’ll caulk her here. Find those damn leaks. Head straight in now, lads!’
What was Bully Hayes up to? We were almost at the good harbour of Nelson, where we could unload and where there would be plenty of carpenters and timber for repairs.
‘But why, Bully?’ I cried, pulling at his sleeve to gain his attention. ‘Surely this is madness. Look how lonely the bay is. Scarcely a homestead to be seen.’
He pulled away his arm, eyeing me blackly. ‘Can’t you see we are taking water, woman?’
‘We have been taking water all across the Tasman Sea,’ I said, trying to keep my voice level and reasonable. ‘Why stop now when we are so close to civilisation?’
He strode away without a word. You could see that the sailors were as bemused as I. Bully took the helm himself and ran his ship gently aground in Croixelles Harbour, on a lonely beach wit
h beautiful sand and trees crowding down to the shore.
Croixelles: a name forever written in blood on my heart.
SCENE: Croixelles Harbour
The final straw
The nearest homestead to our little encampment in Croixelles Harbour was that of Mr and Mrs Askew. He was a farmer who had recently married and brought his wife over from Nelson to live with him. They were good, hardworking English folk who befriended us — particularly George and me and Mary the nursemaid, as we were no help at all in the repairing of Black Diamond. While Bully shouted orders and at low tide the crew busied themselves hauling the ship onto one side and then the other, looking for rotten planks, caulking and tarring the poor wormy timbers, the three of us walked over the sand and through the bush to the Askews’ neat little home. Oh what a pleasure to wash in pure river water! What joy to strip off our dresses, which were stiff with salt; to wash them in soap and water and leave them to dry on sweet-smelling bushes! Wrapped in blankets and coats, we sat by the cosy fire in that little home and chatted. Jane Askew was about my age, come out alone from England as a maid, but now brimming with happiness to have found and married a decent, landowning man.
‘I am mistress of my own home!’ she said, her pretty, fair face showing astonishment at her good luck. ‘I work for myself — and for Mr Askew of course.’ She would blush every time she mentioned him, unable, it seemed, to call him by his given name. She would take Adelaida on her knee and bounce her up and down till the little mite laughed and tugged at Jane’s fair curls. When I told her that I was a singer and actress on the stage, her eyes grew round.
‘Oh, Rosa!’ she cried, clapping her hands like a child. ‘Sing a song, do! Show me how you do it!’
Skylark Page 17
