For the past six weeks the new Governor of New South Wales had been the constant subject on the lips of most of its citizens. On King’s request to be relieved of his position, the Colonial Office had appointed yet another seaman, Post-Captain William Bligh, whose name, sixteen years earlier, had swept through naval circles and beyond them, with the story of the mutiny on the Bounty. ‘Bounty Bligh’ they called him now, and his name was a symbol of a feat of courage and navigation unequalled in the annals of sailors. With eighteen of the Bounty’s crew he had travelled nearly four thousand miles in an open boat, from Otaheite to Timor; he made this journey in a bare forty-one days, across almost uncharted seas. Bligh was a brave, just and careful captain … but made of stern unimaginative stuff, which invited mutiny from men who had passed six months in a Pacific idyll on Otaheite, and had then been forced to give up their native mistresses, and sail with Bligh and his cargo of bread-fruit for the West Indies. But he had piloted his small boat safely to Timor, and now the world knew him as much for his splendid seamanship, as for the mutiny which Fletcher Christian had led.
Later, he had been, unhappily, involved in the mutiny at the Nore, and the tale of his tyranny spread; he had fought magnificently under Duncan at Camperdown, and Nelson at Copenhagen. He proved himself courageous, resourceful, efficient … but the legend of the cruel discipline of the Bounty died hard. He was a victim of his own passion for perfection; as stern with himself as with other men, he was condemned as humourless and arrogant by those who didn’t take into consideration his integrity and his tenderness towards his family. Sixteen years later the world still judged this man on the disastrous voyage of the infamous Bounty. It was a ghost that would never be laid. The little colony of New South Wales had awaited his coming with apprehension; unless the temper and disposition of ‘Bounty Bligh’ had softened considerably, he was not the man to do no more than make feeble protests against those who ignored orders from Government House.
‘It’s for all the world as if he were back on his own ship, Tom,’ Brand said. ‘He’s up at the crack of dawn every morning, ordering this one and that one about. An’ just when you think he’s safely at his desk, there he’s standing right before yer eyes, wanting to know why the path hasn’t been swept.’ He considered a moment, finishing slowly, ‘But I reckon as I like him, for all that …’
Then his eyes went back to the carriage. He said reflectively, ‘Now what business do you suppose Madame de Bourget could have with old Bligh? She ain’t been abroad much these days …’
Edwards looked squarely at his companion. ‘I reckon what business the mistress has with the Governor is her business, Simon. But yer right about her not being abroad much these days. It’s gone six months since the little ’un, Master Sebastian, was drowned in the Hawkesbury flood ‒ but she don’t seem able to forget about it for a minute. Poor lady ‒ she were hardly finished wearing black for Mr. Maclay, when she puts it on again for the young master. She don’t go nowhere, except to attend to business at the store, or one of the farms. I reckon Monsieur de Bourget don’t like it much, either. They have words sumtimes, I’m told, about her wearing herself out. The master ‒ he’s not the one to take kindly to her givin’ half her attention to summat else. But that’s summat he ought t’ seen before he married her. She’s not likely to change for any man, she isn’t.’
Simon’s expression encouraged him. He took a deep breath, and prepared to launch out on another stream of gossip of the de Bourget household.
In deference to his caller’s sex, the Governor had not waved Sara to the usual seat on the opposite side of his desk. Instead, he had indicated the tall winged-chair before the fireplace. She settled herself gravely, spread her skirt a little, and gave him plenty of time to take up what must have been a familiar stance, with his back to the grate.
So when she raised her head, she found ‘Bounty Bligh’ looking down at her, his sharp eyes bent upon her with a questioning interest. His black hair was grey-streaked, and he had the thickened figure of middle-age. But he was somehow saved from the pomposity which his commanding attitude might have given him. In the slightly arrogant fold of his lips Sara recognized something of her own characteristics. She reminded herself that this man would have need of authority and arrogance, as well as courage, to bring eighteen men in an open boat across four thousand miles of sea.
Civilities had passed between them when Sara entered the room, and now Bligh shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other as he waited for her to announce her business. His term of office was only a few weeks old, but the details of Sara de Bourget’s history were known to him well enough. He looked at her carefully, trying to decide if it were the quality of ruthless ambition alone which had brought her to her present position in the colony. But it was said of her that she was an excellent mother, and Bligh ‒ the father of six daughters ‒ had a strong respect for any woman who discharged the duties of motherhood creditably. She puzzled him, for all that ‒ fitting, as she did, into no definite category within the colony’s society. He knew that in the early days her first husband had been active enough in the rum trade, but had ended his connection with it about the time of King’s arrival. She herself was an emancipist, and yet had married a man who was known to have no truck at all with emancipists, a Frenchman who farmed as a gentlemanly recreation, and who did not soil his hands with trade. It was an enigma which interested Bligh ‒ the businesswoman married to the elegant dilettante.
He noted her black gown, and her lack of ornaments, recalling then what King had told him of the death of one of her children in the flood six months before his arrival. Apart from the brief morning call she and her husband had made upon him to pay their respects, he couldn’t remember having seen her at any of the gatherings he had officially attended. Her hands lay folded in her lap; instinct told him that, in a woman of the sort who faced him now, they should have been quiet, still hands. Instead they twisted nervously.
He spoke at last, feeling that the silence couldn’t continue between them any longer.
‘Is there some way in which I can be of service to you, Ma’am? Some matter …?’ It was a foolish statement, he knew, leaving him open to a direct request from her. The more money these people had, the more they seemed to demand in privileges from the Government. He had not come to this country to pamper to such as Madame de Bourget, but to curb their power.
She answered him firmly, as if she at last knew what she wanted to say.
‘There’s nothing I want to ask of you, Your Excellency, except your discretion.’
‘My discretion, Ma’am? I don’t see …’
He frowned, suspecting her next words. No one came to Government House to ask for nothing ‒ and this woman certainly hadn’t the appearance of a senseless flipperty-gibbet. The histories of the previous governors of the colony had taught him to be immediately wary of what he did not understand. If the Frenchman thought he could send his wife, a figure for sympathy, in her mourning, to wheedle something from him, then both of them were mistaken! He drew himself up to his not-very-commanding height, and waited for his visitor to continue.
‘I have come to see you about the grain which I have held at my Toongabbie and Castle Hill farms since the harvest.’
‘Yes?’
Bligh’s voice had an edge to it which he hoped would be very much apparent. He sensed what she was about, and he believed he had her measure taken. She knew, as did everyone else in the colony, that grain was desperately short as a result of the flood on the Hawkesbury. To try to relieve the situation, Governor King had sent ships to India for provisions, but, as yet, none of them had come back to Port Jackson. In the intervening months the reserves of grain had dwindled alarmingly, and, for the first time in many years, the days of famine and rations returned. As the stores of grain went down, the prices asked by those who still had it to sell rose. Bligh’s mouth twisted as he watched Sara. So this was what she sought from him ‒ she was about to offer the large stocks of grain
he knew she held, at a price even higher than any farmer had yet got from the Commissary. She had waited until the Hawkesbury settlers were feeling the true pinch of hunger ‒ until no Governor, unless he were completely heartless, could any longer remain oblivious to their distress ‒ before she threw her produce on to the market. On top of that she had the audacity to ask his discretion in the matter! He felt his rage mount at the sheer cold-bloodedness of it. She sat looking at him calmly, this woman who was prepared to bargain for high profit on a flood which had taken her own child’s life.
‘It was, fortunately for me,’ she said, ‘an extremely good harvest at both farms.’
His voice broke in coldly. ‘Might I remind you, Ma’am, that the Commissary is the proper person to make your offers of grain to. And might I also remind you that he is authorized to offer no prices above those I have already stipulated.’
Sara rose to her feet swiftly, colour staining each cheek.
‘You are mistaken, Your Excellency; I came to give my grain, not to sell it.’
He stared at her steadily. The quiet ticking of the mantel clock was suddenly loud in the silence which had fallen between them.
‘To give it, Ma’am …?’ he said slowly.
‘To give it, Your Excellency,’ she repeated.
The high colour was still in her face, but she spoke evenly. ‘I have recently returned from a visit to my Hawkesbury farm … and I have seen the distress for myself. Most of the families there cannot possibly afford the price of flour, and their own crops are gone. The children …’ Here she halted, not trying to fill in the details for him.
He nodded. He locked his hands behind his back, and the gaze he turned upon her was both questioning and reflective.
‘There is no need to tell me, Ma’am,’ he said quietly. He paced the length of the hearthrug, and then turned back to her, flinging his arms wide in a gesture that conveyed his own distress and anxiety. ‘I have not long returned from my own tour of the Hawkesbury, and I have seen the need of the smaller farmers for myself. The plight of the children would touch the hardest heart. But,’ he added, ‘there are those in this colony who know too well that the possession of a heart does little to further their business interests.’
He shrugged, as if trying to shake away the thought. Then he questioned her directly.
‘Madame de Bourget?’
‘Your Excellency?’
‘Why are you doing this? Why should you give your grain, when others every day force the price higher?’
She ran her tongue over her lips. ‘I think I’ve already made that clear, Your Excellency. The distress …’
He gave a snort. ‘My dear lady, I may only have been in the colony a short time, but already I am well acquainted with the histories of most of the prominent citizens ‒ yours and your late husband’s among them. Do not be offended if I venture to suggest that your past transactions seem hardly compatible with this offer.’
Sara frowned, and seemed to fight for control of her voice.
‘Your Excellency ‒ let me remind you also that my past business transactions have very little to do with the fact that my youngest son was drowned in the flood which caused this scarcity. In choosing to make this offer, for once I am not acting as a businesswoman. And that is the reason I asked for your discretion. I have no desire to have it gossiped about all over the colony ‒ I should infinitely prefer to be known still as a business woman.’
He bowed slightly. ‘Certainly, Ma’am. I will give my instructions accordingly …’
‘Then,’ she said, ‘I will let you have the details of the grain, and when it can be delivered. Perhaps you would pass them on to the Commissary …?’
Bligh looked at her fully. He was touched and affected by her simplicity and dignity ‒ and more than that, he was impressed by the discipline with which she kept her emotions under control on an occasion when most other women would have been weeping. Even to ‘Bounty Bligh’ she was formidable as she stood there, and somewhere within him there was not only the warming thought that her grain would be a stop-gap to the famine for at least a short time, but also the surprisingly comforting realization that where he had looked for an enemy he had found a friend. Here was one, he thought, among the circle who controlled trade, whom he could feel was not working directly against him. He knew she could well afford her gift ‒ and yet the fact that she had made it was precious balm to him.
But while he was pondering her action, she had drawn back a few steps from him, and seemed on the point of leaving. He raised his hand in a gesture to detain her.
‘Pray be seated again, Ma’am. There are many things I’d dearly like to discuss with you …’
But she was already sinking into a curtsy.
‘If Your Excellency will permit … some other time.’ She rose and turned, walking swiftly to the door. She was gone before he had time to take more than a few paces. It was then that he realized that she wasn’t any different from other women, after all. As she curtsied, he had seen tears in her eyes.
II
On the afternoon following Sara’s visit to Governor Bligh, the spring weather had turned suddenly to rain. In the schoolroom at Glenbarr she stretched her feet comfortably on a footstool before the fire, and turned her tapestry-frame to catch the light from the window. Duncan sat at a small table near her; his tongue hung out slightly as he concentrated on building with elaborate care a house of cards. Occasionally he gave a sigh of exasperation as one card slipped, and the whole structure came down. David sat on the other side of the hearth with a book.
Sara selected a different silk from her workbasket, and glanced at Elizabeth, who stood looking over her shoulder. ‘It’s better to avoid using too much of the one …’
Then she paused. The schoolroom door opened, and Louis entered. David glanced up from his book, a smile breaking on his face. Duncan gave a soft groan as his card house collapsed in the sudden draught.
Louis pulled a face of mock tragedy. ‘I promise you I’ll build it up again, Duncan. They used to say there was no more gentle a hand at cards in the whole of France than mine!’
He stooped then to kiss Sara’s hand, and bent to receive Elizabeth’s kiss on his cheek. He pulled playfully at one of his daughter’s black curls.
‘I hope you are paying proper attention to all these lessons in needlework,’ he said. ‘I promised your grandfather you should lack none of the feminine arts.’
Sara nodded in Elizabeth’s direction.
‘She does very well, Louis,’ she remarked dryly. ‘The other day I heard Annie telling her that she had fingers as quick as a monkey’s. No doubt it was meant as a compliment …’
But she broke off and raised her eyebrows questioningly, as he bent over her again to hand her a sealed package, which he had drawn from his coat pocket. She took it, turning it over to read the inscription.
‘What is it?’ she asked, puzzled.
He shrugged. ‘Open it, my love. As I came up, a messenger arrived with it from Government House. Vice regal letters are never to be ignored, and when they come from such an impatient man as Bligh, then they obviously demand immediate attention.’ He drew Elizabeth down on to the footstool beside him, while Sara, with knitted brows, broke the seals and began to read.
Her eyes ran down the bold script.
‘… I acknowledge receipt of the details of the grain which you propose …’
Then followed more comments about the grain, and Sara’s arrangements for its delivery. The business being dealt with swiftly, the tone of the letter changed. She began to read more slowly.
‘ … Those settlers’ families who will benefit from your gift, Madame, will never know of your generosity, and can never have the opportunity to thank you. Their present distress touches me sorely and I, of all the colony, am the only person who may make some suitable reply for them. Therefore, I trust that you will accept a grant of land which I have in mind, close to your husband’s present property on the Nepean River, and adjoin
ing the Cowpastures District. This land is for you and your children, for however long …’
Tears misted before Sara’s eyes as she struggled to read on to the end. Bligh wrote that he knew of her interest and success in breeding merino sheep, and he understood the area to be particularly suited for pasture. This was a direct reference to the fact that John Macarthur, to the Governor’s extreme annoyance, had chosen his grant of five thousand acres in the Cowpastures itself. Through the concise, rather stiff phrases, there ran a spirit of goodwill and humanity. Sara felt herself warm to this irascible, unimaginative man who was so touched by the plight of the Hawkesbury settlers ‒ who would, without any public display, seek to reward her with this magnificent gesture, because she had lightened the burden of feeding them, even in a small way. A more subtle man would have found a less obvious way of showing his gratitude ‒ or would have waited some months before making this offer. But Bligh was a sailor, and one not noted for his tact. This was the largest single grant of land, apart from the one which the Colonial Office had given Macarthur, that she could ever recall. The legend that had built ‘Bounty Bligh’ into a tyrant great enough to provoke mutiny, did him a grave injustice ‒ but possibly the small settlers were the only ones who would ever know it.
Sara smoothed the papers, and handed them to Louis.
‘Governor Bligh has been more than generous,’ she said quietly.
His expression, as he read, grew gentle and reflective. Then he looked across at her, a faint smile on his lips.
‘His generosity is not undeserved, my love,’ he said, folding the letter and handing it back.
Duncan slid off his chair, coming round the table and standing beside Louis’s elbow. ‘Will Governor Bligh be coming here, Mama?’
‘I don’t think so, dear. He’s extremely busy.’
Duncan’s mouth pouted in disappointment. ‘I wish he would. I want to ask him all about the mutiny.’
Sara shook her head. ‘I think it would be better not to, Duncan. Perhaps it’s something he doesn’t care to talk about.’
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