Читать книгу The Hanging of Mary Ann - Angela Badger - Страница 7

Mary Ann stepped from the carriage and looked up and down the street.

Catching her breath she gazed at the sandstone facades, all uniformly handsome and imposing. The city at last! An elegant street in an elegant city just as imagined. What a relief to be finally free of that lurching coach. To be able to stand upright once more! Taking a deep breath she hurried up the path to her sister’s front door.

Everything became better and better. In those few moments she moved from everyday life into a dream, and when dreams become the new reality then anyone’s life is transformed.

Greeted by the scent of pot-pourri and beeswax, hugged and kissed and hugged yet again, Mary Ann immediately felt at home. Her height, her hair, her complexion, in fact everything about her person became the subject of amazement and admiration for the elder sister. And soon it was her own turn to wonder and exclaim as Hannah finally led the way up the hall. The delicate plasterwork in the cornices, the archway above their heads and the soft carpet under their feet! The floorboards and planks of Bywong were a whole world away.

Briefly Mary Ann felt like a wild creature which had strayed out of the forest into one of the paddocks, one of the brumbies from the mountain slopes rubbing shoulders with the thoroughbreds. Silly, she shook herself, a home is just a home, after all. Certainly her grandfather did not appear to be overawed.

Grand-père, supported by Job, hobbled behind them.

“Dear Grand-père, I’ll take you to your room at once. The girl can bring you some tea and…”

“Tea! Haven’t you anything stronger than that?”

“Dear Grand-père, I forget your country ways,” Hannah inclined her head and pursed her lips. “Oh, the doormat’s back there,” she pointedly frowned at his boots. “Well it doesn’t really matter, not raining today…yes, of course you can have anything you want. I’ll speak to them in the kitchen. Let us settle you down and make you comfortable after that great journey. First things first.”

First things first. She lived by popular maxim. A stitch in time saves nine, do unto others etc. Life was easiest when lived according to convention in Hannah’s view. Her shrewd grey eyes saw what they wanted, nothing else existed in her world. The first of the Guise girls to marry, she had long forgotten the easy life of Bywong and happily embraced the formality of city living. Standards must be maintained, obligations met and time needed to be spent ensuring daily routines were correctly observed. Neat ringlets framed a face which was beginning to owe just a little more to artifice than nature. Time marched on and Hannah intended to remain at the forefront. Brisk, kindly, without a trace of any disturbing fancy in her head, Hannah welcomed her visitors…but she did not expect her life to suffer too many disruptions.

“We can’t have the place turned upside down,” she’d shared her opinions with her husband earlier that day. “I hope he’s not going to expect everyone to wait hand and foot on him. And Mary Ann will need to change her ways too. None of that racing off doing her own thing all the time, life is different here. She’ll have to mind her manners. There’s so much I’ll need to show her.” Hannah allowed herself a heartfelt sigh. “But I hope I know my duty, I’ve always known my duty.” And her husband nodded, dutifully.

“It’s most gratifying to have my family under our roof, but I hope they haven’t brought their country ways with them. We don’t want any nonsense. No nonsense, I say.” He had nodded again.

Settling Grand-père took up to the best part of an hour. Hannah made it clear to her young sister that looking after all his needs remained firmly within Mary Ann’s domain. “He’s such a demanding old man, isn’t he? Seems to think he is the centre of the universe.”

By the time his face and hands were sponged, a pillow propping up his back, another under his knee and a glass of wine in his hand Mary Ann had learnt the layout of the bedrooms and the kitchen and the washhouse.

“Let me show you the parlour.” Taking her arm, Hannah led her sister down the hall. The rich colours of a Kidderminster carpet glowed on the polished wooden floor whilst on each side pictures covered the walls and a French clock ticked the hours away upon a mahogany card table.

“Oh, so elegant,” exclaimed Mary Ann as she rested her hand on the Turkey-style sofa which had no ends or pillows. “I’ve never seen a sofa like this… and how beautifully those crystals reflect the sunshine.” On a small table between two red morocco armchairs a large candlestick with lustre drops caught the last rays of the afternoon sun.

“Newly arrived in the Colony my dear, the latest in fact.”

The dining room proved no less stylish but as Hannah ran her finger along the back of one of the eight rosewood chairs she frowned. “These servants, no better than Gundaroo, I’ll be bound, you’d think they could at least manage the dusting. Oh, mind that vase!” She frowned as Mary Ann brushed against the sideboard. “Wedgwood, of course, not that ordinary blue stuff, black jasper it’s called.”

Wedgewood, Hepplewhite, soirées, tête a têtes as quickly as the words tripped from Hannah’s lips Mary Ann squirreled them away, an exclusive vocabulary of delicacy and pleasure.

Harvesting, haymaking, footrot and the myriad ills of livestock and crop had always dominated the conversation at home, now the arrival of the latest ship, the date of the next ball at Government House or the beginning of the Races were on everyone’s lips.

Over the next weeks, as Grand-père underwent his operation and began the slow business of recovery, Mary Ann’s head echoed with words she had never heard before. Chinoiserie, deshabillée, boudoir, pot pourri and of course the necessity for the careful observance of etiquette. Sometimes she seemed to be learning another language. But she found little time to ponder that, Grand-père’s needs filled up most of the day. Sitting reading to him or listening to his chatter took up a lot of time and when she wasn’t expected to be at his side then Hannah whisked her off on shopping expeditions and visits to friends.

Mary Ann found the latter quite daunting. They were very fine ladies indeed. Hannah took her out paying visits nearly every day, the strict etiquette demanded that calls were made and returned with almost military precision, especially in the afternoon when Grand-père snoozed. On the days when they did not go out ladies came calling round to become acquainted with this newly arrived relative of dear Hannah’s from the country. Smiling and nodding they plied her with endless discreet questions as they sat perched upon the rosewood chairs sipping tea.

As soon as polite enquiries about events in the country flagged, because of course everyone knew nothing of importance ever happened away from the city…they fell back on their usual exchanges.

“Sixpence! Can you imagine, sixpence to be rowed just across the Harbour. And then the lazy fellow shipped the oars before we got to land. The gentlemen in our party had to take turns. Exhausted they were! That fellow declared he had the cramp and could go no further. I ask you, sixpence!”

The disgraceful lack of respect, the idleness and the sheer frustration of dealing with the lower orders came continually to the fore in their conversations.

The evenings proved no different. When guests arrived for dinner - whilst the Sauternes, the claret and the brandy lightened the conversation - the deplorable fecklessness of the working class remained the overriding topic.

The upper echelons of Sydney obviously had very hard burdens to shoulder. Only when talk turned to gold discoveries, and the new wealth that would follow on a good investment, did the mood lighten. When the port circulated and the ladies retired to the drawing room each sex could talk about matters that really interested them. Money and sport for the men. Marriage and fashion for the ladies.

As she listened Mary Ann was surprised to find she increasingly yearned for the old parlour, with the flames licking up the sides of the stones in the fireplace, the familiar smell of tallow candles.

“…and don’t you agree?” one of the ladies turned to Mary Ann for an answer but Mary Ann had never heard the question. Her thoughts had been back at Bywong and she stuttered out some hastily composed reply. With slightly raised eyebrows the ladies exchanged glances - these country folk!

It’s the newness of it all, she kept telling herself as Hannah’s housemaid fussed and tidied and dusted and polished every surface even though it already gleamed like glass. As she dutifully followed her sister into the parlour and waited for the ringing of the front doorbell to herald yet another caller she told herself not to be such a dullard. This was how ladies spent their days, after all. The only change in their routine occurred when they themselves went out visiting and invariably another orderly, prosperous establishment presented itself.

“And did you prefer Maritana to Satanella?” the ladies were sitting on the verandah at the rear of the house belonging to Hannah’s bosom friend Mrs McAllister. Mrs McAllister gleaned the gossip and ground it down to the tiniest particle, only then did it waft around the city’s tea tables.

“I felt the story of Maritana was a little…well, you know, a trifle risqué and I certainly preferred the singing in Satanella.”

“Ah, wait till you’ve seen Farouita,” chimed in another lady.

“I can assure you, Mr.McAllister would never suggest such a performance to me. No respectable person would be seen in the audience.”

The other lady was momentarily chastened, but only momentarily. “I certainly saw the Governor’s lady in a box and her friend Mrs.Wentworth was there, too.”

“We all know the company Mrs Wentworth keeps. Enough said.”

“While I think of it,” Hannah was adept at changing the subject if it became controversial.” That new dressmaker, the one who made up that lovely yellow taffeta of yours, where does she live?”

“Ah, Madame Duval. I’ll find her address later, my dear.” Mrs McAllister turned to her guest, “do you find the city very tiring, that is, after your life at…where is it…yes, of course…Gun… Gundarry...no, I remember… Gundaroo?” Before Mary Ann could reply another question followed.

“It must be wearisome, so far away from town. Do you have any society in that part of the world…does anyone actually live there?”

“There are several very large properties in the area…”

“But I don’t suppose anyone actually lives there more than a few months of the year, do they? The men would go down for a hunt now and then and see how matters are progressing but beyond that…what is there for them to do?”

“Many certainly prefer city life. Strangely, our mother seemed to favour the country. I can’t tell you the relief for me when dear Edward agreed to us moving up here. We’ve a very good overseer on the property. We only go back when I need to visit my family.”

“I have a cousin near Goulburn. That isn’t far from Gundaroo I believe?” Mrs McAllister gave Mary Ann a pitying glance. “She’s frantic, absolutely frantic to get back to the city. Not a soul lives down there, she tells me. There’s nobody living down there at all.”

Nobody? Uneasily Mary Ann shifted in her chair but she did not want to speak out in such sophisticated company.

Nobody? What about the schoolteacher and the blacksmith and the new store in Gundaroo where you could buy anything from cough linctus to a blade for the harrow. What about the hunting parties of the Canberri and the smoke rising from the fires of the Ngunawal? Then there were all the newcomers to the district, for people were always on the lookout for land. And round about seethed that underbelly of life, the runaways and the ne’er-do-wells, those who’d lost all they possessed and existed in the bush since they had nowhere else to go.

But of course they were all nobodies! Annoyance surged through Mary Ann as she listened to the desultory exchange.

“Everyone works very hard in Gundaroo,” she blurted out.

“Works?” muttered Mrs McAllister, rolling the word distastefully round her tongue. “Oh, really. How interesting. Surely there are picnics and the occasional races and perhaps a ball?”

Mary Ann shook her head. “Sometimes Ashton’s Circus comes, then just sometimes we have a ball. The Count de Rossi is going to give a ball one day. His father is building a ballroom.”

“Count de Rossi…doesn’t the family live at Rossiville?” a lady asked.

“The very same,” Mrs McAllister was quick to show off her knowledge.

“You know it’s said the old man gave up his title, but his son has reclaimed it,” another lady chimed in and others followed.

“Why would he do that?”

“Who knows with people of that ilk.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s common knowledge. The family come from Corsica.”

“Like Bonaparte?”

Mrs McAllister nodded. “But not of the same persuasion. The old count had been a spy in the pay of good King George.”

A hush had fallen round the table. “Of course he was well rewarded, that’s where their fortune came from. Perhaps that’s when he gave up his title. But his son has certainly taken it back, always over there attending to their property. You say he is giving a ball?”

Mary Ann nodded. “Yes, it will be a great occasion. We’ve never had a really grand ball before.”

“There! It’s as I said. Just one ball! So remote. You poor girl.” Her hostess added the last remark with a doleful shake of the head. “Ah! Out here, my love, we are taking advantage of the clement weather.”

Mrs McAllister raised her hand majestically as they heard a footstep inside the house.

The little man who tentatively put his head round the door and just as cautiously advanced across the verandah reminded Mary Ann of the doomed male spider in the clutches of the murderous female golden orb.

Lateish in the summer these spiders weave multi-layered webs stretching between bushes and plants and trees. Not a flat web such as spiders usually spin, but a great trap which stretches in three levels and snares a multitude of flies.

The fat, striped female spider waits complacently in the centre for her next victim, and further out the single, tiny male clings to a strand and awaits the remnants of her meals. Wing of wasp and leg of beetle are his lot while his mate gorges on fat bodies. Not wanting to be her next repast he keeps to the furthest edges of the web.

Mary Ann had always marvelled that birds did not swoop down and gobble up the fat spider waiting in the middle but Grand-père had explained the spreading gossamer confounded them. Not one web but several confronted them, so they kept away.

Mrs McAllister extracted yet another piece of Turkish Delight from its box and discreetly brushed the icing sugar moustache from her upper lip. Her mate hovered just out of reach.

Two more weeks of this? Mary Ann picked at her cake and wished herself many miles away. How much she had looked forward to the visit and now her thoughts were entirely of Bywong, the space and silence of the farm. Away from this place where heavy sandstone and brick and cobbles crushed and covered the earth.

As the ladies clucked and commiserated the hours away Mary Ann thought longingly of just such a mellow afternoon back at Bywong. The air would be filled with busy calls from the chickens as they wallowed and fluffed the afternoon away in their dust baths. From the fowl run would come those deep contented exchanges the birds made as the soft sand slipped through their feathers and between their claws. Living so close to Nature she’d observed that hens had different calls for different times of the day. In the morning an urgency marked their exchanges, sometimes the triumphant cackle for a newly laid egg, but, in the afternoon contentment softened their songs, bringing forth deep caws of pleasure, sounds redolent of full gizzards and fat worms and all the things that made a chicken’s life a delight.

Just like the hens in their run Hannah and her friends filled each day with routine; a visit to the dressmaker, a pianoforte concert at a neighbour’s house, an afternoon at the races, a conversazione, or maybe an opera. Soon Mary Ann had no heart for all these entertainments, so intriguing at first, now she could think of nothing except Bywong.

She yearned for the fresh wind from the ranges touching her cheeks. She pined for the soft touch of the grass under her feet as she made her way down to the orchard.

“When are we going home?” complained Grand-père, “Can’t stand much more of this. House full of clacking women and that Edward! Fellow’s got nothing to talk about. I asked him for the price of this season’s ewes and he just stared at me! Got the conversation of a counter jumper.”

“Another week the surgeon says, and remember, Dr Morton said you mustn’t attempt the journey home until you can walk up and down the steps on your own. Remember what he said?”

“All I do is listen to what people say these days! No one listens to what I have to say any more, do they? It’s ‘do this’ or ‘go there’ and…”

“Grand-père!” Hannah’s head came round the door. “You have a visitor. Mary Ann, take that bowl away. Brush your grandfather down, he’s got crumbs all over his waistcoat…I’ll give you a minute.”

“Who can be visiting us?” Mary Ann puzzled, no one of their aquaintance would be in Sydney…

When Frank de Rossi came into the room she was still tidying up her grandfather.

Something in his confident stride, his polite bow and warm smile made Bywong feel a little closer. No mincing city fellow, a real man. Someone from home, what a pleasure!

Smiles wreathed her features as she grasped his hand, definitely not a ladylike greeting, but all thought of those stiff circumspect bows and proffered fingertips that Hannah had inculcated was swept aside.

“Excuse us, sir, we had no idea you were still in town.”

“Delighted. Delighted.” A rare smile wreathed Grand-père’s features, for so many months pain and irritability had been the order of the day. “Now I can have a decent conversation for once. All they talk of hereabouts is politicking and prices. Sick to death of it all, I am. What’s happening down at the lake these days?”

“No rain for one thing. We badly need a drop and some are talking about a drought.”

Mary Ann picked up her embroidery. She might have left the men chatting but could not bring herself to leave the room. Just like her grandfather she yearned for news of home.

“Help me, Mary Ann,” Hannah snapped, “We need to bring in the wine and biscuits.” Soon they were back in the room again, the younger sister hanging on every word.

Swiftly Frank de Rossi moved from details of the latest sales in Goulburn to the worrying lack of labour on the properties. Granpère had so many questions; so much can happen on the land in a matter of weeks. Then there was the flight from the countryside of so many in search of gold, and the burden which fell heavily on the squatters. Of course the harvest prospects proved the most important topic but what about that mysterious blight that had taken the crops further out on the Limestone Plains? And what about those new-fangled butter churns everyone was talking about, and was that Murray going to stand again and, and, and…

Then all too soon the visitor was making his adieux, thanking his hostess and bowing before Mary Ann.

Hannah could scarcely wait till the door shut behind him before she launched a barrage of questions.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew he was coming up to town? I could have asked him to dinner.” She frowned as she looked at them. “I don’t know, what is wrong with country people. They don’t seem to know how to make a life for themselves. How long have you known the Count de Rossi?”

“How long?” Grand-père scoffed. “I knew his father before you were born, my girl. He came to the Colony a few years later than me. Just had the two boys, his wife had died… died young. The old man gave up his title, wanted none of it, but young Frank always had a liking for his birthplace, Corsica that is, he took up the title.”

“A real count!” Hannah shook her head in wonderment.

“Oh they’re a noble family alright. Old Rossi told me once they can trace their ancestors back to Charlemagne. Mind you, he was possibly trying to go one better than the de Guises.” He chuckled to himself.

Even Edward was impressed when he returned that night. “Ah, the de Rossis, yes, clients of a chap I know, most dependable family. Of course many notable families settled on the Limestone Plains. End of the War and all that, all those officers from the army and the navy looking for good land. Yes, some fine people down there.”

“The back of beyond,” sniffed Hannah, “but he was a charming man, wasn’t he, Mary Ann?”

Surprised at the question being addressed to her, Mary Ann felt her cheeks burning. “Nice enough.”

“I’m surprised he’s not wed, such a handsome man with such a great inheritance coming to him.”

“Oh he’s been sought after. I’ve heard that. More than once a lady’s set her cap at him but seems he didn’t find any to his fancy,” the old man answered.

“Well, Grand-père, he’s too old now,” Mary Ann shrugged.

“Too old! Too old! Why my girl, he not much older than I am. That’s not too old for anyone to marry,” her sister spoke up.

“Who’d want him anyhow? Nice enough, but he can be a bit stuck up too.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t speak so disrespectfully, Mary Ann,” her grandfather regarded her sternly. “I’ve invited him to dinner before we leave town. I trust that is alright with you, Hannah?”

His eldest daughter beamed at him and clapped her hands with delight.. “Oh Papa, how thoughtful of you.”

She ticked off her potential guests one by one on the fingers of both hands. “I’ll ask Mr and Mrs McAllister, and the Frobishers and that pretty daughter of theirs. And Dr Kennedy…oh, it will be such a gathering, and I’ll see if the McMahons are in town.”

Dismayed, her grandfather glanced at Mary Ann. “I didn’t expect half the Colony to be present. I’d just thought we’d give the poor chap a decent meal and have a few laughs, even.” For Hannah’s establishment tended to be too correct and reserved for his taste.

“That may be the way you entertain at Bywong, Grand-père, but here we do things in a proper style, a style as would befit a count, I might say.”

Indeed, the style which Hannah favoured differed in every aspect imaginable from the usual hospitality at Bywong.

When the great day came the leaves of the dining table were pulled out to their fullest extent and from the épergne in the centre of the damask-covered expanse to the rosewood chairs flanking its entire length, the table was the epitome of excellence.

The glow from four silver candlesticks highlighted the silver, the crystal and the brilliant white table napkins. Hannah had hired a butler for the occasion and even two waiters from a nearby, more opulent home.

Mary Ann shifted uncomfortably as she tried to adjust her neckline. Too low for her taste, too revealing. On first hearing of the count’s coming visit Hannah had demanded to see Mary Ann’s ‘best dress’. Her dismay was immediate and intense. “My heavens girl, what are you thinking of? A positive hayseed you’ll look, for goodness sake. I’ll have you with Madame Duval first thing tomorrow.”

Now, Mary Ann squirmed every time she needed to bend forward, uncomfortably aware of her breasts and her almost naked shoulders.

Fortunately no one seemed to even notice her, all eyes were on Frank de Rossi. A real count! Sitting down to dine with a real, live count brought quite a flush to the cheeks of the ladies and a respectful hum to the gentlemen’s conversation.

Frank de Rossi had been delighted to accept the old man’s invitation but he had no idea that such a banquet was about to be spread before him and equally sure old Richard and Mary Ann hadn’t guessed either.

Certainly he had always been regularly invited out and wined and dined by many a hopeful mamma. Sometimes even a papa might suggest a dinner or a picnic or even, daringly, a ball. Of latter years the invitations had dropped away. Overseeing his father’s properties took up so much time, journeying to and from Corsica to watch over family interests and a general contentment with his solitary life had deflected the world’s interest in his matrimonial future.

He had walked in to Mrs McReady’s inn that evening a few weeks ago with not a care in the world, but when he left he knew that a part of him was lost for ever. What could he say? What could he do? Usually young women were only too pleased to make his aquaintance, far more pleased than he was to make theirs. What was he going to do about a girl who mostly turned her gaze away and whom he sensed regarded him as one of her father’s generation.

“Couldn’t you be a little more attentive to our guest, Mary Ann,” hissed Hannah as the ladies later made their way to the drawing room, “After all, it was on account of Grand-père, and you, of course, that the gentleman is here. There’s Amelia Frobisher making sheep’s eyes at him from the far end of the table and all you can do is scowl and look as if you don’t want to be here.”

“Oh, Hannah. He’s just a neighbour, and what can I say to someone as old as him anyhow, he’d be bored stiff…even more bored stiff than me!”

When the gentlemen joined them Mary Ann retreated to the alcove at the far end of the room and stared out into the night. She had often dreamt of such an occasion as she sat by the light of a candle in the kitchen back home. What would it be like to exchange her cotton dress for a silk gown and spend the evening with fine company listening to sparkling conversation and eating exotic food? Now that she had obtained her heart’s desire the reality proved quite different and only highlighted the beauty she had left behind.

Pushing open the window she gulped in a deep breath of the cool night air. Oh, for some fresh air! Instead she filled her lungs with the very lifeblood of the city. Smoke, a faintly metallic whiff from rattling carriage wheels on the cobbles outside, a telltale hint of something stale, a suggestion of decay…all these pervaded the atmosphere. Whilst far away in Bywong the night air would be sweetened with the scent of the gum trees and the perfume from roses as they cascaded along the window sills.

‘You don’t wish to sing for us?” Frank de Rossi had followed her across the room. “That other young lady is eager to oblige…in fact, I don’t think she can be stopped.” A ghost of a smile touched his face as he glanced across at Amelia Frobisher who sat at the piano, her mother turning the pages.

“I can’t sing.”

“So glad to hear that. She can’t either, but it doesn’t stop her.”

Mary Ann did not reply, but he did not go away.

“Have you enjoyed your visit here, Miss Mary Ann?”

She looked at him. What did it matter… might as well tell the truth. “It’s not what I expected,” she blurted out, then lowered her voice. “All they do is chatter… on and on. No one talks about anything important at all.”

“And what do you consider important?”

“Well,” she paused, then went on, “all the things we talk about at Bywong, the weather, and if there are going to be any more frosts, and oh, you know, all those important things.”

“Everyone has their own world, you know. That’s your world and it’s mine to some extent, but their world is quite different, and just as important to them as ours is to us.”

“I think I’ll be quite satisfied with my world from now on.”