The River Charm (9 page)

‘Thank you, ma'am,' replied Charlotte, backing away. ‘I'm sorry but I need to go. My mother is expecting me urgently.'

‘Well,' complained Mrs Mason. ‘Such rudeness. But what would you expect with a mother like that?'

Charlotte turned and ran out of the store towards the courthouse a few doors up. Mamma was there, wearing her best clothes for town: grey gloves, cream silk shawl and a dark-blue bonnet.

‘Mamma, Mamma,' Charlotte called desperately. ‘I need you to come home.'

‘Dearest, what's wrong?' demanded Mamma, her voice rising in panic. ‘Has something happened to Louisa or James? Is Emily all right? Don't tell me one of them has been thrown from a horse? And why have you ridden for me? Why didn't you send Mr Ash or one of the men?'

‘Don't fret,' Charlotte said. ‘Everyone is fine, Mamma. It's the furniture. Mr Barton is emptying the house of all the finest furniture and packing it on a dray.'

Mamma's hand flew to her mouth; then she frowned fiercely. ‘That man will be the death of me. I was just on my way to visit Mr Chalkley about the impounded goods. Perhaps he will be able to help us.'

Fortunately it only took a few minutes to find the chief constable in his office at the gaolhouse. After Mamma had explained the situation, he agreed to escort them back to Oldbury, together with two of his constables. They all rode at a gallop, and at every bend Charlotte expected to see the bullock dray, dragging away their belongings.

The five horses eventually thundered up the carriageway and around the back of the house, where the two labourers and the bullock driver were lashing down a canvas tarpaulin over the furniture. Mr Barton came out the back door brandishing a loaded pistol. A moment later, Emily, James and Louisa charged down from the orchard to see what the commotion was.

Mr Barton stared at Mamma, then at Charlotte, and a look of fury washed across his face. Then he took in the three mounted constables with their own pistols drawn.

‘Good morning, Mrs Barton, my dear,' said Mr Barton, replacing his own weapon in his belt. ‘How are you this morning? Good morning, officers.'

‘What are you doing?' demanded Mamma, sitting ramrod straight in the saddle, pointing with her riding crop. ‘Why is all the furniture packed on a dray?'

Mr Barton flashed a glance at the constables. ‘Don't you remember, my dear?' asked Mr Barton. ‘We discussed this. I am having the furniture removed to Sydney . . . for
storage
.'

‘We did not discuss this and I do not wish our furniture removed to Sydney for storage,' Mamma contradicted. Mr Barton scowled.

‘You are not planning on selling this load of furniture, I hope, Mr Barton?' asked Mr Chalkley. ‘The furniture is part of the estate of the late James Atkinson, and therefore was bequeathed to his four children. If you were to sell the furniture, that would be a felony.'

Mr Barton glared at Mamma and Charlotte again, still mounted on their horses. Mr Chalkley indicated to his two constables to dismount.

‘No,' Mr Barton replied. ‘I beg your pardon. It must have slipped my mind to mention it to my wife. But as the estate is soon to be let, we will not be requiring this quantity of furniture. We will move into one of my new cottages in Berrima, where our needs will be much simpler.'

Mamma frowned. Charlotte's heart sank. The thought of living in a little cottage in the village with Mr Barton was intolerable.

‘I wish we could help you, ma'am,' said Mr Chalkley. ‘But if the furniture is just being moved, we can't stop him.'

Mamma paused before dismounting. She was tiny compared to the tall, brawny bullock driver and the other men. ‘Thank you, Mr Chalkley,' replied Mamma. ‘I appreciate your kindness, but my husband is correct. If we are to move from our home, we will not require such a quantity of grand furniture.'

Mr Barton smirked with satisfaction. Charlotte's eyes filled with bitter tears.
How can Mamma give in like this? How can she let Mr Barton triumph?

Mamma turned to one of the labourers. ‘Samuel, I will need you to ride for Sydney at once with a message for my lawyers,' she ordered sternly. ‘I will write them a letter directing them to organise storage for the furniture in a suitable warehouse until further notice from myself. Once you have delivered the letter and received your instructions, you are to ride back to Brickfield Hill and await the dray so you can direct them to the warehouse.'

Mr Barton started forward, his face red with fury. ‘Now just a moment . . .'

Mamma ignored him, turning to the bullock driver and the other labourer. ‘John, you are to take this load as swiftly as possible to meet Samuel at Brickfield Hill and ensure it is stored safely in the designated warehouse. Paddy will accompany you as a guard.'

The three men glanced at Mr Barton for confirmation.

‘That's unnecessary, my dear,' interrupted Mr Barton, his face sweating. ‘I'll go to Sydney and organise the furniture.'

‘Thank you, that is very kind, Mr Barton,' Mamma said sweetly. ‘However, my lawyers would be more than happy to ensure that my children's inheritance is secure. I would not wish to put you to any trouble.'

Mr Chalkley grinned to himself at the exchange.

‘Perhaps we could be of assistance, ma'am?' suggested Mr Chalkley to Mamma. ‘My two constables would be happy to escort the dray as far as Nattai to see it safely on its way.'

‘Thank you, Mr Chalkley. That would be most kind of you. I would hate anything untoward to happen to the dray on the journey.'

Mr Chalkley turned to the labourers. ‘I must remind you that if anything were to happen to the belongings of the Atkinson children, it would also be a felony, and I would have to pursue the culprits with the full extent of the law.'

The labourers shuffled and squirmed, glancing between Mr Barton, Mamma and Mr Chalkley.

‘Yes, sir,' replied John the bullock driver. ‘We understand.'

Mamma smiled. ‘Samuel, would you be so good as to unsaddle our horses and saddle up a fresh one for yourself while I compose a letter to the laywers?'

‘Yes ma'am,' agreed Samuel, taking both horses by the reins.

Mamma turned to the two bullockies and gave them their final instructions. ‘Farewell and take care.'

John and Paddy turned the big team of bullocks in the confined space with some difficulty and set off on the road to Berrima with much whip-cracking and yelling, accompanied by the three constables.

Charlotte followed Mamma inside, where she scribbled off a note to the lawyers on the kitchen table and saw to it that the message was safely on its way with Samuel.

 

9

Decision

 

Charlotte, Emily, James and Louisa wandered around the echoing rooms of the forlorn house. Louisa began to sob. Emily and Charlotte did their best to comfort her, but their eyes were brimming too. James kicked a stool that had been knocked over.

The dining and breakfast rooms were empty; only Mamma's paintings were left on the wall. The drawing room held nothing but Mr Barton's favourite armchair and a small side table with a decanter of rum. The schoolroom was untouched but the study was ransacked – the desk and chair gone, papers all over the floor, many of Papa's books taken.

The children heard Mr Barton coming up from the cellar, carrying a small flagon of rum. He yelled at Bridget to bring him a glass and retreated to the drawing room. The children, each one lost in his or her thoughts, hid in the school­room – the only downstairs room that seemed normal.

Soon they heard Mamma and Bridget next door in the study, tidying up the shambles.

‘Let's play a game,' suggested Emily, trying to cheer them up. ‘We could play knuckles?' James looked at Emily witheringly. ‘Or toy soldiers?'

Not even this could tempt James to play. Louisa cuddled up next to Emily, thumb in mouth, twirling a ringlet around one finger.

Charlotte strode up and down the room, thinking.
What is going to happen? Are we really going to leave our beautiful home and move into a little cottage in Berrima with Mr Barton? How could we bear it!

Through the closed double doors, Charlotte heard a crash and loud swearing from the drawing room next door, then the sound of Mr Barton staggering out into the entrance hall. A glass smashed on the floor.

Loud shouting came from the study. Bridget screamed. There was another loud crash.

Charlotte ran into the passage, followed by the other children and Samson, who was barking loudly. The study door was flung open. Bridget cowered against the bookshelves, her hands over her head.

Mamma was sprawled on the floor, her face smeared with crimson from her bleeding nose. Mr Barton stood over her screaming, his eyes bloodshot and spit flying from his mouth.

‘You think you can make a fool of me, you insolent woman?' he bellowed. ‘I won't be made a fool by you or that pack of brats!'

He struck Mamma again, sending her reeling. Charlotte flew across the room like a dart and sprang on her step­father's back, her arms around his neck.

‘Leave her alone,' yelled Charlotte, her rage bubbling over. ‘Don't hurt her, you monster.'

Mr Barton swung around, throwing Charlotte off like a discarded cloak. Charlotte thudded into the bookcases, knocking the wind from her.

Mamma leapt to her feet, her face alight with horror.

Mr Barton pulled Charlotte to her feet and shook her like a limp rag doll. ‘Don't speak to me like that, girlie,' he hissed. ‘I'll do whatever I wish to your mother. And I'll do whatever I wish to you. I'm the master of this house, and don't you forget it!'

‘Put her down,' ordered Mamma.

‘You're not my master,' retorted Charlotte, her face flushing with anger. ‘You're just a pathetic bully.'

Mr Barton's eyes bulged and he grabbed Charlotte by the throat and slammed her against the wall. Charlotte kicked and struggled, but her strength was no match for him. He dangled her by the throat, her feet no longer touching the floor.

‘It was
you
who fetched your mother and the constables,' he spat. ‘I told you to keep your nose out of my business.'

Charlotte choked for air, tears filling her eyes.
I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.

‘Put her down!' screamed Mamma, beating at his arms. ‘Put her down – you're strangling her!'

Emily sobbed, Louisa whimpered. Mr Barton squeezed tighter, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with a fanatical light. Charlotte felt her throat burning, her head swimming. Her body felt limp and cold.

Mamma pulled at his arms beseechingly. James ran and kicked Mr Barton's shins. Samson darted inside and lunged, his teeth sinking into Mr Barton's calves.

Mr Barton yelled and kicked Samson and James across the room. Mamma let go and ran towards her desk. Charlotte felt the blood pounding in her ears and the world slipping away. She thought she was fainting. She thought she was dying.

There was a loud click.

‘Put my daughter down or I will shoot you,' said Mamma, her voice low and steady.

All the children turned to look. Mamma had a pistol trained squarely at Mr Barton's chest.

‘You wouldn't dare,' chuckled Mr Barton, shaking Charlotte. Charlotte could smell his sour, stale breath hot on her face.

‘Put her down,' said Mamma.

Mr Barton stared at Mamma, smiling uncertainly. ‘You joke, madam.'

‘I do not jest with my children's lives. Release her
now
or I
will
pull the trigger.'

Mamma tightened her finger on the trigger, the muzzle still pointed directly at Mr Barton's torso. Mr Barton slumped, slackening the pressure on Charlotte's throat. Charlotte sucked in air deeply as she slid down the wall.

‘I was only disciplining her,' whined Mr Barton. ‘She is wilful and unruly, like her mother. She needs to be taught to be docile and obedient. She needs to be taught that I am the master of this house.'

‘You are
not
the master of this house,' spat Mamma. ‘You are a raving lunatic. This house was built by my beloved husband and left in trust for his children. It is
their
house. You do nothing but swig rum, laze around and steal our very bread. You do not deserve their respect – or any man's. You are a good-for-nothing wastrel.'

Samson stood firm, growling. Charlotte staggered to her feet, ready to fly at her stepfather again. Mamma stopped her with a sharp gesture.

‘Charlotte, will you please take the children and Samson safely up to your room and lock the door,' instructed Mamma, still staring down the sights of her weapon. ‘Do not open it unless I tell you to.'

Charlotte nodded and grasped the dog by his leather collar. Samson refused to be led away, his eyes darting between Mamma and Mr Barton.

‘Bridget, would you be so good as to fetch a pitcher of water and some food, and place them in Mr Barton's bedchamber, if you please?' asked Mamma. Bridget nodded and hurried from the room.

‘Come now, Samson,' Charlotte insisted urgently. Together the dog and four children slunk from the room. Charlotte looked back at her diminutive mother, swathed in her flowing skirts, holding off that madman on her own.

I think he meant to kill me
, thought Charlotte, touching her bruised throat.
I think he nearly strangled me
. She looked back at her mother with fear.
Will she be all right? Will he harm her again?

Her throat constricted in fear. Mamma stood firm, her back straight, her aim steady.

‘I think I might just take myself to bed,' moaned Mr Barton from behind them. ‘I'm feeling a little weary.'

He staggered from the room – his cheeks flushed and veined, his nose glowing – and headed down the cellar stairs. He returned a few minutes later with another flagon of rum under one arm. Mamma followed him, the gun aimed at his back.

Charlotte urged all the children up the stairs. On the upper level were eight bedrooms off the central hallway – three large bedrooms at the front of the house and five smaller ones with sloping ceilings across the back. The front bedrooms were occupied by Mr Barton, then James in the middle room and Mamma on the southern corner with Louisa. Charlotte and Emily shared one of the smaller bedrooms at the back.

After a few minutes, Mamma knocked on the door. ‘Let me in please, Charlotte,' she whispered.

Mamma came in, putting the pistol down on the dresser. The four children were huddled on Charlotte's bed, seeking comfort from each other's closeness.

‘I am so sorry, my dearests,' she said, hugging each one in turn. ‘Are you injured, Charlotte?'

Charlotte felt her throat. It was sore, but not as sore as her heart.

Mamma kissed her in the centre of her forehead. ‘Do not worry, dearest,' she murmured. ‘I will make sure he never hurts you again.'

How can Mamma make that promise? How can she stop him from ruining our lives?

Mamma took a deep breath. ‘Now, my loves, we have some work to do,' she announced. The four children stared at her in surprise. ‘I want you to pack a bag of clothes and your most important treasures. You will not be able to take very much. Charlotte and Emily, I need you to help the younger ones as Bridget will have much to do to help me.'

Charlotte and Emily glanced at each other with worried faces.

‘When you have packed your clothes,' Mamma con­tinued, ‘I want you to pack a box with sketchbooks, pencils, paints and brushes. You will also need your schoolwork and your favourite books.'

‘Why are we packing, Mamma?' asked Charlotte, feeling sick in the stomach.

Mamma looked over her shoulder towards the door, biting her thumbnail. ‘We are leaving Oldbury.' Her face furrowed with grief. ‘We are going somewhere far away, where we will be safe.'

‘We can't leave Oldbury,' insisted James, jumping to his feet.

Louisa scowled. ‘I don't want to go.' Mamma scooped her up in her lap and held her close.

Where could we possibly be safe?
Charlotte wondered, pinching folds of her white skirt between her fingers.

‘My dears, we must leave,' Mamma assured them. ‘We have to escape from Mr Barton and go to the only place I can think of where he will not follow us.'

‘Where would that be?' asked Emily calmly.

Mamma smiled at the children. ‘Budgong,' she said. ‘We are going to the outstation at Budgong.'

Charlotte caught her breath. Budgong was a cattle run that their father had established in the middle of the almost impenetrable wilderness on the coast near the Shoalhaven River. It was many miles from the nearest settlement. There was nothing there but two stockmen's slab huts and some cattle yards.

‘Budgong?' asked Emily, wrinkling her nose.

‘How do you know Mr Barton won't find us?' asked James. ‘He might follow us with a gun and make us come back.'

Mamma sighed. ‘Mr Barton will not follow us to Budgong because he is too afraid.'

‘Afraid?' asked Emily, looking pale. ‘Why would he be afraid of going to Budgong?'

Mamma took Emily's hand and stroked it. ‘Do not fret, my dearest. We do not need to be anxious. You know I ride to Budgong to check on the cattle every three months and have always returned safely.' Emily nodded, her hazel eyes wide. ‘You see, Mr Barton is scared that the bushranger John Lynch will find him and murder him if he rides out in the wild country. That is why he has never gone there to check on the cattle, and why I must go instead.'

The four children looked at each other.

‘Well, I am certainly not afraid,' declared James, putting his hand on Mamma's shoulder.

‘Neither am I,' said Emily, raising her chin.

Louisa continued sucking her thumb and twirling a ringlet around her finger.

‘It will be an adventure,' added Charlotte. ‘Won't it, poppet?'

Mamma smiled reassuringly. ‘I knew you would be brave, my dearests,' she said. ‘Now we need to pack quickly and quietly. I would prefer it if your stepfather did not realise what we were planning. We will need to take many of our household goods as there is absolutely nothing there but the stockmen's huts.'

Charlotte nodded her understanding. ‘When do we go, Mamma?'

‘At first light tomorrow,' she replied, standing decisively. ‘It will take us most of the afternoon to prepare everything.'

So soon?
Charlotte thought. ‘What about Mr Barton? He will surely try to stop us from leaving.'

Mamma nodded. ‘He is sleeping, so I locked his bedroom door. I will leave the key with John the dairyman and he can let him out tomorrow after we have left. Hopefully he will sleep half the day away – by then we will be long gone.'

Mamma gave each of the children a carpetbag and a couple of canvas sacks that they could fill with clothes and treasures. Emily had to coax and cajole Louisa to be practical since she insisted on filling her bag with dolls.

Charlotte lay all her clothes out on her bed to decide what to take, folding neat piles of linen drawers, lace-edged petticoats, fine chemises, cotton and woollen dresses, white stockings, merino shawls, gloves, coloured pinafores, nightcaps and nightgowns, bonnets and shoes, which she then carefully packed in her carpetbag. The bag filled far too quickly and many of her clothes had to go back in the drawers.

Next door, James had thrown all of his clothes on the floor and was surrounded by a pile of white shirts, brown trousers, cravats and blue jackets all jumbled together. Charlotte sighed and helped him fold and sort them.