Not unexpectedly, the guests were dissatisfied with the change, because Brisbane was stricter with convicts than his predecessor. The concensus was the opposite among free immigrants, who had regarded Governor Macquarie as much too lenient toward convicts. Alexandra was inclined to agree with free immigrants on the issue, because it seemed to her that Governor Macquarie had been entirely too lax in at least one instance.
Her cousin in Leeds, Wesley Hammond, had been murdered by a man named Kerrick, who had been transported to Australia for the crime. She knew nothing about it except the bare facts, and the one time she had met Wesley, he had seemed a handsome, coltish scapegrace with no worthwhile interests. But he had been murdered, and Governor Macquarie had granted Kerrick a pardon, which had enraged her family.
The maid was capable of keeping glasses refilled, and when all of the guests had drinks, Alexandra resumed circulating among them. Overhearing an interesting remark made by a man named Samuel Terry, she moved toward him. Known as the Rothschild of Botany Bay, Terry had once been an illiterate Manchester laborer, transported for theft. Upon being granted a ticket-of-leave, he had become a pub keeper and moneylender. Now he owned tens of thousands of acres in farms with scores of convicts working them, and he was a principal shareholder in the Bank of New South Wales.
He was talking with Simon Lord and his wife, Alma, the owners of factories in which candles, soap, glass, and other commodities were manufactured. They were discussing the outback, which more than interested Alexandra. Ever since she had first heard of the enormous reaches of unknown, unexplored land to the west, it had fascinated her.
They were talking about people who lived there, which surprised Alexandra. "I understood that very few have even ventured into the outback," she commented, "and that it hasn't even been explored."
"That's true," Terry replied. "Only a handful of people have seen it, and you'll find no maps of it. But a sheep station called Wayamba Station was established there some years ago, and recently an account was set up at the bank for another one. It's called Tibooburra Station."
The names seemed evocative of the remote, mysterious region to Alexandra, and she asked why colonial officials knew nothing about it if people lived there. "This is a penal colony," Terry pointed out, "and the officials have no curiosity about it. The area that's presently settled is enough for the colony, and officials in London take a dim view of any effort that produces no immediate worthwhile result."
Alexandra pursued the subject, wanting to know more than the sketchy and seemingly fanciful tales she had heard about the outback, but Terry had told her all he knew. Also, as he had said about the colonial officials, he had no curiosity about it. After a while, she moved away and conversed with William Redfern. Although he was an emancipist, he was one of the very few who was more than welcome among free immigrants.
As a young naval surgeon, he had been convicted of supporting the mutiny of 1797 among sailors in the fleet based at the Thames estuary. He was by far the most skilled physician in the colony, consulted by emancipists, free immigrants, and colonial officials alike, and he was the family doctor to the Macarthurs, the wealthiest and most elite of the free immigrants. However, he devoted as much effort to diseases, infected lash cuts, and bastard births among convicts as he did to his paying clientele.
At the Sydney Hospital, he had a clinic for convicts and the poor. For a time, Alexandra had helped him there during afternoons with the women and children patients until her father had found out and exploded in rage. While they were talking, the doctor made a humorous reference to the incident. "Having been invited to dine here this evening," he remarked, "it appears that I'm back in your father's good graces."
"Or perhaps his gout is troubling him again,"
Alexandra suggested. ''It could be that he expects to consult you soon."
Dr. Redfern laughed heartily, agreeing. They talked for a few minutes, then a gong sounded in the dining room. The guests moved toward it, the doctor offering Alexandra his arm and escorting her. As they went through the hall, Alexandra's father gave her a piercing glance, evidently irritated at her for something she had done or failed to do.
The house, among the largest and most well-furnished in Sydney, reflected Augusta Hammond's efficient supervision and skill as a hostess. In the dining room, the crystal, china, and silver gleamed on the snowy Irish linen in the light of tall, heavy candelabras spaced down the long table. Alexandra assisted her mother in helping the guests find their place cards, then went to her own chair. After the toasts to the king and the governor, the housekeeper and a maid served from dishes other maids carried in from the kitchen and placed on the sideboard.
Seated between the Thompsons and James Underwood and his wife, Arlene, Alexandra chatted with them during the meal. A delicious turtle soup was followed by the fish course, smoked haddock steamed to a tender, flaky consistency in butter sauce. The main course was juicy, spicy beef Madras with curried rice, served with a mellow, full-bodied Capetown wine.
Henrietta Thompson was an amateur horticulturist, as was Alexandra. They discussed their problems with their flower gardens in the different climate and soil of Australia, and their plans on what they were going to plant when spring turned into summer. While they were talking, Henrietta mentioned in passing that she had heard that John Macarthur had recently planted vineyards on his estate, Camden Park.
It verged on being a touchy subject, because Alexandra was friends with the Macarthurs and particularly with their daughter, Elizabeth. However, the only way an emancipist would set foot on Camden Park was as an employee. Alexandra knew nothing about the vineyards, but they intrigued her, and she resolved to go and see them at the very first opportunity.
Later, when the Thompsons were conversing with guests on the other side of them, Alexandra talked with the Underwoods. Among other enterprises, the couple owned the only shipyard in Sydney. It had recently been expanded, and James Underwood gave much of the credit for that to Hiram Baxter, an emancipist whom he had hired when the man had received a pardon.
"In addition to being an expert shipwright," James said, "Hiram is a very capable supervisor. Shortly after I hired him, I made him a foreman and placed him in charge of the construction of a vessel."
"But Mr. Baxter has been of no benefit to our household," Arlene added wryly. "In fact, quite the contrary. Early last spring, we hired a most excellent maid, a young woman named Auberta Mowbray. But we had her for only a matter of days before she married Mr. Baxter."
"Staffing a household here is a problem," Alexandra observed. "Servants are difficult to hire and to keep, even at the best wages."
"Well, I can't make comparisons," Arlene replied, laughing, "because I certainly didn't have servants in England. However, I've had my share of trouble in keeping them here. In the case of Auberta, though, my loss was her gain, because she and Mr. Baxter are very happy. They have a baby, a beautiful, healthy girl."
Alexandra made an appropriate comment, then the conversation moved on to other things as the housekeeper and maid served dessert. It was chocolate charlotte russe, with a sweet, fragrant malvasia wine. After dinner, the men went to the library for brandy and cigars, and the women returned to the parlor. As the group divided, Alexandra's father again glanced at her sharply, obviously still irritated with her. She was unsure of why, but positive that she would find out in due course.
She learned shortly after the guests left and her father went to his room. Her mother stopped her on the stairs, saying that Alexandra's father was annoyed because she had helped the maid serve drinks before dinner, which he considered a menial task, and her mother agreed. "You are the daughter of the house, Alexandra, not a servant," Augusta said. "You must learn the difference between when you have friends in, and when the family entertains."
Considering it a very fine and tiresome distinction, Alexandra agreed with her mother and apologized to avoid further discussion. She went to her room, and after getting ready for bed, she went to the lar
ge, well-filled book shelves at one side of her room.
Only a few days before, she had received a copy of Walter Scott's The Heart of Midlothian, and had been looking forward to reading it. She took it with her as she went to bed, sitting up against the pillows, and she pulled the candlestick on the nightstand closer as she opened the book.
Always waiting until her father left before going downstairs, Alexandra rose leisurely the next morning. After washing, she looked in her wardrobe and selected a bright green muslin dress with pale green lace on the bodice, cuffs, and collar. Then she sat down at the dressing table to brush her hair and pin it up with combs. Then she left her room and went downstairs to the family parlor.
Immaculately neat and matronly attractive in her early fifties, Augusta was at the desk in the parlor, going over the household accounts. Augusta's mother, Christine Waverly, was seated in a comfortable chair and wrapped in a thick shawl. Frail and bent with age, she was peering through her thick spectacles and slowly crocheting with her thin, gnarled hands.
The older woman's reply to Alexandra's greeting was warmly affectionate, a loving smile on her wrinkled face, but Augusta's response was more restrained. "In the Bible, there is only one Resurrection," she remarked dryly, "but a similar miracle occurs in this household daily when you finally manage to leave your room, Alexandra."
"It prevents my having a disagreement with Father and sending him off to work in a sour mood, doesn't it?" Alexandra pointed out, sitting down. "Even though a bad frame of mind might be advantageous to him if he is foreclosing a mortgage and casting some poor family into the street."
"Your father merely protects the interests of his clients," Augusta told her daughter firmly. "And it wouldn't be amiss for you to bear in mind that the work he does supports you, Alexandra."
"I'd be more than pleased to do that myself, Mother."
"Alexandra," Augusta sighed patiently, "you know that your father will never allow you to work. Let's don't go into that again." She picked up a bell from the desk and rang it. As a maid entered, Augusta asked her to bring a tray of tea and scones. The maid left, and Augusta resumed reviewing the accounts. "At breakfast this morning," she said casually, "your father remarked that you might enjoy seeing the governor's formal review of the regiment tomorrow. Mr. Fitzroy is going, and he could escort you."
Resentful over her father's continuing efforts to push her into a relationship with the lawyer, Alexandra made no reply. She had gone out with John occasionally to avoid a conflict with her father, but her tolerance was near an end. As the silence lengthened, Alexandra's grandmother tried to ease the discordant atmosphere. "The summer horse races at Parramatta will begin soon, my dear," she said in her soft, husky voice. "And the yacht races as well. All of your young friends will be at them, and you'll enjoy them."
Alexandra agreed with her grandmother, although her enjoyment of the races was limited. Both emancipists and free immigrants attended them, which made the event a tightrope of ignoring no one while not offending anyone. Also, the races were often marred by drunken convicts brawling over wagers, and by soldiers brutally beating and arresting the convicts.
The maid brought in the tray and put it on a side table. Augusta poured the tea and put the scones on plates, handing them and the cups to her mother and Alexandra, then took hers to the desk. Stirring her tea, she brought up a subject Alexandra had discussed with her several days before. There was a shortage of teachers at the orphanage, and Alexandra wanted to spend her afternoons teaching there.
"I haven't asked your father about it yet," she continued, "because he hasn't been in an agreeable humor. Such things as placing yourself among the household staff last evening keep him poorly disposed toward you. Now he's uncertain as to whether you may go to the regimental review with Mr. Fitzroy."
Alexandra finished a scone and drank her tea, her temper rising. "Then I shall resolve his uncertainty. I've gone about from time to time with John because Father wished me to do so, and at dinner this evening I'll tell him that I'll have nothing more to do with the man."
"You will not speak to your father with a defiant attitude," Augusta said firmly. "I will not allow it."
Alexandra set her chin, fixing her mother with a level stare. "I shall tell Father precisely what I said and I shall also advise him that I will choose my own friends instead of complying with his choices."
"My dear," Christine cut in placatingly, "if your father has been encouraging your interest in a suitable man, it's only because he is concerned about your future welfare and wants you to be happy."
"No, Grandmama," Alexandra disagreed gently.
"Father is attempting to secure a law partner through me instead of through his business offices. And if he was concerned about my happiness, he would have left me with relatives in England, as I wished. There was so much more to do there."
"You are mistaken," Augusta told her daughter. "Your father does consider Mr. Fitzroy suitable for you, but he's said that it's unlikely they will ever be full law partners. Also, your father refused to let you stay in England because he wants to keep his family together."
"Indeed?" Alexandra laughed, her anger fading. "Then he'll be delighted to hear that I've no intention of marrying John and leaving the household. In fact, the way matters are proceeding, he has the likely prospect of a spinster daughter to bedevil him in his old age."
Both impatient and amused, Augusta sighed as she smiled wryly. "The men of this world will never allow you to be a spinster, Alexandra, because you're far too beautiful. But I shall tell your father that you don't find Mr. Fitzroy's company congenial anymore, not you."
"Very well," Alexandra replied. "It'll save me a lecture on my faults. He'll still be angry, so I suppose you'll have to wait for a few more days before speaking to him about my teaching at the orphanage."
"A few weeks would be better," Augusta commented dryly. "And that's assuming that you don't make him angry in the meantime, which is a rather large assumption. What do you intend to do today?"
Alexandra finished her tea, standing up. "At dinner last evening, Henrietta Thompson said that the Macarthurs have planted a vineyard. I'm going to Camden Park to see it and to visit Elizabeth."
"Camden Park?" her mother mused, frowning in concern. "That's too far for you to ride without an escort, Alexandra."
"It's a fair distance, but riding there is like being on the streets of the town, because there's a public road all the way. I've been to Parramatta and to Camden Park before without an escort, Mother."
"That's true, but that makes it no less imprudent. Why don't you go to your brother's office and see if he has time to escort you?"
"If Creighton had nothing better than that to do," Alexandra replied patiently, "he would be with his family. My friendship with the Macarthurs is one of the few things I've done that pleases Father, so I'm sure that he would offer no objection to my going to Camden Park alone."
"Well, I'm not so sure," Augusta said, "but go ahead, if you must. Do be careful, and return well before dinner."
Alexandra replied that she would, kissed her mother and grandmother, then left the parlor. In the hall, she saw a maid going toward the stairs and stopped her. "Amy," she said, "please go to the stables and tell the groom to saddle my gelding."
The maid curtsied and turned down the hall toward the back door as Alexandra went upstairs to her room. While putting on her hat, riding cape, and gloves, she thought again about her mother's concern over her going alone, then dismissed it, certain nothing untoward would happen.
Opening a cabinet to take out her riding crop, she looked at her pistol on the shelf beside the crop. Creighton had given it to her as a present on her last birthday, infuriating her father. He considered familiarity with firearms inappropriate for a woman, but her brother had long since taught her how to shoot both pistols and muskets.
She thought about taking the pistol with her, in the event anything threatening occurred. Then she laughed at herself, reflecting that
she was allowing her mother's overcaution to make her own imagination run wild. She closed the cabinet and tucked the riding crop under her arm as she left the room.
Chapter Eight
At thick, stone towering gateposts that formed a high arch, Alexandra turned her horse off the road, riding through the gate and up the wide, tree-lined avenue into Camden Park. It was a magnificent estate, a luxurious English country home in the antipodes. The Georgian mansion was huge, with large sprawling wings on each side, and was made of brick with lower courses, wide entrance steps, and a trim of native granite.
At the house, Alexandra tethered her horse, then went up the steps and tapped the knocker on the wide double doors. A maid opened the door, bobbing in a curtsy as she greeted Alexandra. She said that none of the family was home, having left the house early in the day.
"I see," Alexandra mused, disappointed. "Do you happen to know where Mistress Elizabeth went and when she is expected to return?"
"No, mo'm. She and her father left together on horseback, and I know only that the cook isn't expecting them to be here for tiffin. Would you like to come in to wait or to have refreshments, Mistress Alexandra?"
"No, thank you. Please give my regards to Mistress Elizabeth and tell her that I'll call again. Good day."
The maid replied and curtsied, closing the door as Alexandra went back down the steps to her horse. She circled the house to look at the vineyard. Behind the house were large, formal flower gardens, with paths winding through the flower beds, and farther back from the gardens were crop fields, orchards, and cow pastures.
Farther back were sheep pens, a barracks, cookhouse, shearing shed, and other buildings. In a pasture at one side of the pens, a few score of thoroughbred Merino breeding stock grazed. Flocks were scattered over the rolling terrain that lay beyond the pens and pasture, the estate consisting of some sixty thousand acres.
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