The River Charm (17 page)

The doctor sat down at the table and wrote out the bill, which he left propped up on the mantelpiece.

‘Lastly, madam, I should suggest that if your daughter does survive, that this primitive hut is not the ideal place to raise such a delicate child,' advised Doctor Mackenzie. ‘She needs nourishing food, warmth and bracing sea air. If it is possible to remove her to a healthier location, I would do so as soon as possible.'

Mamma nodded.

‘Goodnight, madam,' the doctor said, putting his hat on. ‘I wish you luck.'

When the doctor had left to spend the night with Mr Ash in the other hut, Mamma gathered the children around Louisa's bed, where their sister lay still, barely breathing.

‘She seemed a little better today,' said Emily, her voice choked.

‘Louisa, wake up,' begged James. ‘Don't just lie there. Please move.'

The terrible scene of the doctor's visit played over and over again in Charlotte's mind.
Did he help her? Did he make her worse? Will our darling poppet survive the night?

‘All we can do now is pray,' suggested Mamma.

James, Emily, Charlotte and Mamma knelt alongside the bed and prayed desperately. No one could eat. No one could talk. Mamma sat up beside Louisa's bed through the night, watching and praying over her. Louisa didn't stir.

Charlotte and Emily couldn't imagine they would ever sleep but, curled up together to keep warm, they eventually fell into a doze. It was a long, bitter night.

Miraculously, Louisa was still alive in the morning. She hovered between life and death for days. When the fever finally broke, she shivered convulsively. The children spent much of each day scouring the bushland for fallen branches to keep the fire roaring.

Mamma sent Charlotte to ask Mr Ash to kill a chicken, which Charlotte then had to pluck and boil up with herbs, onions and potatoes to make a broth. Mamma dribbled tiny sips of the broth down Louisa's throat. The hut smelt sour with illness, tinged with the aroma of eucalyptus oil.

A week later, Charlotte awoke to find the hut ice-cold. The fire had gone out. Wind whistled through the cracks in the slabs and scattered grey ash in swirling eddies. Charlotte crawled out of bed and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

Where is Mamma?
Charlotte discovered her sprawled asleep on the fur rug beside Louisa's bed. Charlotte stepped over her mother to the bed where Louisa lay buried under the mound of coverings. She held her breath, heart pounding.

Slowly, tentatively, Charlotte reached out to touch Louisa's cold, pale face.

Louisa's eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes opened and she smiled weakly. ‘Charlotte?' she croaked. ‘Where's Mamma?'

‘Poppet,' Charlotte breathed in relief, grasping Louisa's tiny, frozen hand. ‘Mamma's right here – but she's sleeping. She hasn't slept for days. Are you all right? How do you feel?'

‘Tired,' Louisa admitted. She closed her eyes again, then strained to open them and lift her head.

‘Charlotte, I dreamt I saw Papa,' Louisa confided. ‘I ran to him and he hugged me and lifted me onto his knee. I was so happy to see him, but then he sent me away. He said I couldn't stay with him because Mamma needed me here. He looked so sad and lonely that I begged to stay there with him, to keep him company. But he said it would break Mamma's heart if I left her.'

Louisa fell back against the pillow, exhausted.

‘Papa was right, poppet,' Charlotte replied slowly. ‘It would break Mamma's heart if you left her.' Charlotte stroked Louisa's damp curls. ‘What can I get you, poppet? Can I make you a cup of tea?'

‘Yes, please, Charlotte,' Louisa whispered, her eyes closing again.

By the time Charlotte had relit the fire, filled the kettle with water, boiled it and made the tea, Louisa was again fast asleep. But this time Charlotte felt that it was a good, healing sleep.

Still dressed in her nightgown, her long hair tumbling loosely down her back, Charlotte took her hot cup of tea outside on the verandah. She sat on an armchair wrapped in her blanket, Samson at her feet. The sun was peeping over the eastern horizon in a wash of apricot and rose. The sky was a vast, deep-blue dome overhead, while thick shrouds of mist wafted in the hollows. A wombat waddled slowly across the clearing.

A spider web, spun between the verandah posts, glittered with dewdrops that hung like dozens of sparkling diamonds. Charlotte buried her bare toes in Samson's thick black coat and warmed her fingers on the hot teacup. She took a sip. Louisa would be all right, she was sure of it.

18

Mount Gingenbullen

 

Present Day

Bella yawned. The fire had died down to a pile of glowing coals.

Mum looked at her watch. ‘Oh, look at the time,' she said. ‘You girls should really be in bed. It's very late.'

‘Oh, no, Mum, please,' Millie begged. ‘Just a little bit longer.'

‘Poor Aunt Jessamine must be exhausted,' said Mum, pushing herself up out of the armchair. ‘We can hear more of the story tomorrow.'

Millie and Bella tried to argue but Mum was adamant, so they reluctantly said goodnight and left the waning warmth of the embers to get ready for bed. Mum had popped two hot water bottles into the big double bed while they cleaned their teeth and changed into flannelette pyjamas.

Mum kissed them both goodnight and pulled up the extra blanket. Millie cuddled up to her hot water bottle. She fell asleep and dreamt of girls with dark ringlets and white petticoats, riding horses through the bush. She dreamt she rode alongside them, galloping on a shining black mare, her hair tangled by the wind.

 

In the morning after breakfast, Aunt Jessamine suggested that they take the dogs for a walk along the top of Mount Gingenbullen and down through the paddocks behind Oldbury.

‘Yes, please,' Millie said. ‘That would be lovely.'

The girls pulled on their coats and boots and whistled for the dogs. Once again they all set off down the road towards Oldbury, but this time they unlocked a farm gate further up the hill and walked through the paddocks. A black cow lowed and lumbered away.

‘If we walk up to the ridge,' Aunt Jessamine suggested, ‘we will have a glorious view back out over the valley.'

The way was steep, with no pathway, so no one spoke, concentrating instead on not tripping on the dewy tussocks of grass. At the top of the hill they paused and looked out to the west, over the valley. A strong southerly wind blustered. Down below, wisps of mist hovered in the hollows and along the waterholes. The house and outbuildings nestled among hedges and gardens, sheltered from the cold wind.

‘The old Aboriginal burial mound must have been around here somewhere,' said Aunt Jessamine. ‘The one Louisa sketched, with its carved tree trunks.'

‘There's no sign of it now,' said Mum, looking around. ‘It has completely disappeared.'

Millie wondered if the ancient mound might be buried somewhere under their very feet. She moved away.

‘Brrr,' Bella complained, burying her hands deep in her pockets. ‘It's freezing.'

‘It will be warmer in the valley,' promised Aunt Jessamine, heading downhill once more.

‘Why do you think the executors forced the Atkinson family to leave?' asked Millie as they descended. ‘Why didn't they just let them stay?'

Aunt Jessamine shook her head. ‘I think the executors were well meaning,' she explained. ‘However, they were conservative men who thought a widow was incapable of managing her own affairs, and I'm sure they were right in thinking that George Barton would try to strip the estate of every last penny.'

Mum opened a gate, leading from the paddock into the gardens behind the house.

‘He was a scoundrel,' said Mum. ‘What a terrible mistake she made in marrying him.'

‘By all accounts, George Barton was completely useless,' Aunt Jessamine agreed. ‘But in those days divorce was not an option, and it was not considered respectable for a woman to leave her husband. In the eyes of society and the executors, Charlotte's duty was to stay with George Barton, which of course she refused to do.'

‘The executors thought Charlotte Atkinson was difficult because she stood up to them and insisted that she was capable of managing her own affairs,' added Mum. ‘They didn't like that.'

By this time, the group had wandered down around the back of the house, past the freestanding kitchen and around to the front. Eventually, they reached the rivulet and the timber garden seat under the old tree.

Aunt Jessamine sank down on the bench, which was now bathed in warm sunlight.

‘What happened after Louisa's illness?' asked Millie. ‘She did get better, didn't she? Did they stay at Budgong?'

 

 

19

The Fishing Village

 

Double Bay, Spring 1840

The sun sparkled down on the wide, blue waters of Sydney Harbour. Sailing boats with their white sails scudded across the water, plying back and forth between the northern and southern shores. Several gaily painted fishing boats were trailing their nets offshore.

The bay horse pulling the buckboard trotted along the dirt track, his tail high. Mamma drove the buckboard, a long-handled whip in one hand and the reins in the other. Charlotte and Emily sat beside her, their bonnets neatly tied, while James, Louisa and Samson sat in the back surrounded by trunks, carpetbags and Mamma's writing desk.

It had been a tedious journey of several days. Firstly, it took two days on horseback to retrace the treacherous track to Oldbury. The family couldn't rest there, as the house was now filled with boisterous strangers, so they paused just long enough to gather some belongings and switch to the horsedrawn buckboard wagon. They all cried when they had to leave Maugie behind in his favourite blue gum tree, but Mamma insisted that Sydney Town was no place for a pet koala. Another two long days driving, staying in crowded, dirty inns along the way, brought them to Sydney. Now they were on the final stage, their bodies numb with tiredness.

‘We are nearly there,' Mamma encouraged them. Despite her weariness, Charlotte felt a surge of excitement as they clopped along the track.

The scattered gum trees gave way, opening up to lush, green fields of neatly tilled market gardens, with several farmers hoeing and weeding in fields. In the distance stood a small fishing village of modest red brick and timber homes.

On their left was a white, crescent-shaped beach. Fishing nets were hanging up to dry in the sun on timber racks, beside a pile of tattered wicker baskets. Two boats were laying hull-side-up on the sand, awaiting repairs. A group of Aborigines – men, women and children dressed in crimson or blue shirts – sat cross-legged underneath a gum tree, around a small campfire.

A timber plank bridge crossed over a small, sparkling stream leading into the main square. Mamma pulled the horse up outside a brick cottage – a front door in the middle, a shuttered window on either side and a stone flagged verandah.

‘This is the village of Double Bay,' Mamma announced. ‘And this is our new home.'

Mamma had written to her lawyers, requesting that they find her a modest house to rent cheaply. Sydney Town itself was beyond their means, so the lawyer had suggested this small fishing village on the harbour just over two miles from the centre of town. It was mostly inhabited by fishermen, market gardeners and a handful of Aborigines.

The carriers had already moved in their heavy furniture from Oldbury, which had been in storage all this time.

Mamma opened the front door and the children raced in to explore, followed by Samson, his tail wagging with excitement.

On either side of the front door were two small bedrooms, each with a fireplace. One had Mamma's big four-poster bed and dressing table, while the other held three narrow beds – one for each of the girls – and a big chest of drawers. There was barely room to squeeze between the beds.

Charlotte flung open the shutters to let sunlight flood into the room. Through the window she could see the glinting blue harbour, the white sand and the fishing boats.

‘My bed is the one near the window,' said Charlotte, throwing her bonnet and gloves on the quilt to claim it.

‘I'm in the middle,' said Louisa, bouncing up and down on the side of the bed to test the springiness of the mattress.

‘So this must be mine,' replied Emily, setting her carpet­bag down next to the bed beside the fireplace.

Down the hall was a small parlour that held the round breakfast table and four armchairs grouped around the fireplace. James's tiny bedroom was next to this.

At the back of the house was a stone flagged kitchen with a large wood stove and the familiar scrubbed-pine table. This led to the overgrown garden with its broken-down hen coop, weed-infested vegetable beds and sagging washing lines.

At the very back of the block was the washhouse with its copper and burner, the water closet, the stable and carriage house, shaded by a tall gum tree. Compared to Oldbury, it was modest, but compared to the stockmen's slab hut at Budgong, it was luxurious.

It was strange to see the well-loved furniture from Oldbury in these unfamiliar, poky rooms.

‘Where's the rest of the furniture?' asked Emily, looking around the crowded parlour. ‘Will we keep it in storage until we need it?'

‘No, my love,' Mamma replied, taking off her straw bonnet. ‘I had to sell much of the furniture to pay for the first quarter's rent on this house. It is lucky the house is small, so we do not need quite so much.'

‘Oh,' said Emily. ‘But not the piano?'

Mamma stroked Emily's cheek. ‘I am sorry . . . Unfor­tunately the piano had to go as well. There is no room in the sitting room. Perhaps we can buy a small spinet if we move to a larger house.'

Emily looked down at the floor, struggling to hide her distress.

‘So no more piano practice?' asked Louisa with approval.

Mamma stooped and kissed the top of her curls. ‘Not for a little while, poppet, just until we get some money.'

Mamma stood up and frowned. ‘James, perhaps you would be so kind as to help me unharness the horse and stow the buckboard in the carriage house? Girls, you need to help carry in the bags and trunks.'

A dreadful thought suddenly crossed Charlotte's mind. ‘There's only one stable here, Mamma?' she asked. ‘Where are we going to keep Ophelia and Clarie? Is there a paddock out the back?'

Mamma sighed and took Charlotte's hand. ‘Dearest, I am sorry but we simply cannot afford to keep the horses. I do not know how I am going to feed my children as it is. They are to be sold next week.'

Charlotte turned away, her face wooden. Ophelia was
her
horse. She had ridden her, groomed her, fed her and loved her for years. She could not bear to lose her.

Mamma took Charlotte's face in her gloved hand and turned it towards her. ‘I know this is difficult for all of us, Charlotte,' she said. ‘But I need you to be strong. I have not received one penny from the executors for nearly a year. I have debts owing to storekeepers, doctors, lawyers and carriers. I have been consulting my lawyers so I can fight the executors through the courts and get the allowance from the estate to which we are entitled.'

Charlotte shook her head, her throat thick with unshed tears.

‘Mamma, where is your locket?' asked Emily suddenly. Everyone turned to look. The locket was gone.

‘I had to sell that too,' said Mamma, turning away abruptly.

‘But you never took it off,' said James.

‘I had no money for food,' replied Mamma sternly. ‘Now that buckboard will not unpack itself, so let us get busy, if you please.'

‘At least we have each other,' murmured Emily.

Mamma paused and nodded, then gathered all her children together in a hug. ‘Everything will be all right,' she swore fervently. ‘I promise you.'

 

After the remoteness of Budgong, everything in Double Bay was exciting and new. There were walks to take along the beach, through the fields and to the surrounding bays and peninsulas. Mamma decided to keep the harness horse and buckboard, as she needed to travel frequently to visit her lawyers' offices in Sydney to prepare for the legal case.

She loaned the horse out to the neighbouring fishermen and farmers on occasion, in return for fish and vegetables. The family worked to make a comfortable home, as they had in Budgong – weeding and tilling the garden to grow vegetables and planting flowers around the front steps to make it pretty. James ran errands for some of the local men in return for fish or a bag of potatoes.

Mamma took them on excursions to Bondi Beach to walk, sketch and collect specimens. The most exciting excursions, though, were into town. The streets were crowded with people, hackney cabs and carriages. There was no money for shopping, but it was fun to look inside the shop windows.

Their days fell into a regular pattern of chores and schoolwork done at the kitchen table in the morning, then in the afternoon walks or excursions in the buckboard to sketch, collect oysters or mussels from the rocks, or dig for pipis in the sand. Every evening they gathered around the fire in the parlour to draw and talk, and Mamma would tell them stories while she did the mending.

Mamma seemed to have lost her appetite and ate less and less, becoming thinner and thinner.

A few weeks after their arrival in Sydney, the children were sitting around the kitchen table. On a tray were numerous pink, cream, light brown and white shells that they had collected from a trip to Bondi the day before. Mamma was helping them to identify the different shells they had found.

‘This one is a small conch shell,' said Mamma, showing them a brown-and-white shell on the palm of her hand. ‘Conch shells can grow up to a foot long. On some Pacific islands, they blow on the conch shell like a horn, especially in times of war. It makes a harsh, powerful noise that is also reputed to frighten away evil spirits.'

James picked up the conch shell and tried to blow it, but only succeeded in making a rather rude noise. James laughed out loud and repeated the noise even louder. Charlotte tossed her head with impatience and took the shell away.

‘These ones are pretty,' said Louisa, fingering some delicate spotted shells.

‘Yes – that one is an Arab cowry shell, while this one is called a milk-spotted cowry,' Mamma explained. ‘The spots are designed to help camouflage the creature in its habitat.'

Samson barked to warn them that the postman was delivering the mail.

‘James, could you run and fetch the post for me, please?' Mamma asked with a smile.

James returned with a number of letters.

‘Bills, bills and more bills,' said Mamma, trying to crack a joke as she flipped through the pile. ‘And more correspondence from the lawyers . . .'

Mamma used a knife to slit open the letter and began to read. ‘Oh my goodness,' she cried, her hand to her mouth. Mamma had gone as pale as milk. She swayed on her chair as though she were going to faint.

‘What is it, Mamma?' Charlotte said with alarm.

‘It cannot be possible . . .' Mamma stammered. ‘They cannot really mean it.'

Emily jumped up and rubbed Mamma's thin shoulders.

A terrible feeling of foreboding overcame Charlotte. ‘Mamma, what is it?'

‘It is the executors,' Mamma said, struggling for breath. ‘They have made a claim that I am “not a fit and proper person to be the guardian” of my own children. They recommend that you children be taken away from me.'

Charlotte exchanged a glance of horror with Emily and James. ‘Why would they say that?' she asked.

‘Don't they know that you are the best, most loving mother in the world?' demanded Emily.

Mamma waved the letter in the air. ‘They claim that my conduct is imprudent because I am living separately from my husband, George Bruce Barton,' she stated in disbelief. ‘They claim that you are not being properly educated, and that I am not providing properly for you.'

‘But how could they possibly know how we are being educated?' demanded Charlotte.

‘The executors dare to recommend that you would be much better educated if they were to send you away to a boarding school run by a
Mrs Harvey at Liverpool,' Mamma fumed. ‘She is probably some milksop school mistress who will teach you nothing but a smidgen of piano and how to simper and flirt.'

‘Go away to boarding school?' repeated Emily, stunned.

‘They want to appoint a “responsible” guardian who will look to “the benefit and advantages of the children”,' said Mamma scathingly. ‘Tell me, who on
earth
would look after the benefits of my children more than I would!'