by Di Morrissey
. . . these children are city dwellers, with little space about them and have never seen the source of the (albeit meagre) food which they receive. It would be instructional, and most beneficial to morale. Their ages range from three to thirteen and I would like to assure you that decorum will be observed should you kindly grant my request.
Robert folded the letter and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He would show it to Catherine this evening. It could provide just the diversion she needed and give her an outlet for her as yet unfulfilled wish for a family.
Robert waited until after dinner, when he and Catherine were settled comfortably in the small drawing room, he with his newspaper and she with her tapestry. They sat in companionable silence, until Mr Butterworth brought a small glass of port to Robert and a cup of sweetly spiced milky tea for Catherine. It was chai, the tea she had drunk in India and which Robert now imported for her.
Robert sipped his port, then drew the letter from inside his jacket. ‘I have a letter for you.’
‘For me?’ Catherine was curious as she unfolded and quickly read the letter. ‘So what are you going to do? I have no objections to her bringing the children to visit Zanana.’
‘I thought you might like to organise it. Make it a bit special. Put on a picnic or something. It would certainly be a day for them to remember. I don’t think they get out too much. Though the matron sounds an enterprising sort of woman.’
Catherine looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, it would be lovely for them. But in a way it’s sad for them too. Imagine what they are coming from and then to see a place like this . . . it could make for some discontent.’ She sighed. Robert knew that she was thinking how fortunate their own children — should they ever come along — would be to grow up at Zanana.
Slowly Catherine refolded the letter. ‘Perhaps we could arrange for them to come every year. Make it an annual event which they could look forward to, so they feel they are not just treated as a one-time charity visit.’
Robert stared at his beautiful golden-haired wife and a large smile spread across his face. ‘My dear, that’s a wonderful idea. In fact, why don’t you take on the orphanage as your own project, become its informal benefactress?’
‘You mean it would be like acquiring a whole family all at once? Don’t think I don’t see the reason why you suggested this, Robert MacIntyre.’ Laughter sparkled in the depths of her blue eyes.
Late the following day, Robert found Catherine sitting on the rustic garden seat in her rose garden, and noted with satisfaction her bright and happy demeanour. He kissed her cheek and sat beside her, taking her hand in his.
Catherine leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Robert dearest, I have decided I would like to help the orphanage in whatever way I can. I think the children’s picnic will be a fine way to start things going. Mr and Mrs Butterworth will help me, along with the staff — I think they’ll rather enjoy it — and I have so many ideas!’ She could barely contain her delight as she began outlining her plans. ‘We will have a different theme every year — a circus, a carnival, an Aladdin’s cave — each year will be something new. You wait and see, it will make those social parties at Government House seem frightfully dull!’
Zanana’s first annual children’s day was a success beyond Catherine’s dreams.
Two dozen children travelled to the estate by a small steam ferry which ran regularly from Sydney to Parramatta. They were met on the wharf by a court jester who handed them kites with a lucky number painted on each. Zanana’s grounds were dotted with carnival tents housing games, a Punch and Judy show, clowns and donkey rides.
Robert shook his head in wonder as the donkeys appeared in colourful straw hats decorated with ribbons and flowers. ‘They’ll eat those hats, Catherine!’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll make more,’ she laughed.
Mr Butterworth, the head gardener, the foreman of the dairy, and Sid Johnson took small groups of wide-eyed children on tours of the orchard, the dairy, the vegetable plots and the stables to explain how Zanana was managed. Lambs were patted, attempts made to milk cows, creamy fingers were licked and rows of mature carrots uprooted in delight then washed and eaten raw. Mrs Butterworth led other groups through the grand house where the children whispered in hushed tones, surreptitiously fingering silk curtains or a satin cushion.
Then came the highlight of the day — the food. Long tables were set along the shady verandah and there was every kind of food small children dreamt about. Jellies, butterfly cakes filled with fresh cream, jam tarts, blancmange, custard tarts, fairy bread, rainbow cake, miniature meat pies, pasties, sausage rolls and toad-in-the-hole, followed by fruit they’d picked themselves, cheeses, ice cream and big jugs of fresh milk, home-made lemonade and ginger beer.
After this feast a magician entertained them all, pulling rabbits from hats, doves from his sleeves, coins from behind a boy’s ear — to their amazement and delight. Then, after Matron had issued strict instructions, the children were allowed to roam the gardens to play hide-and-seek.
‘The swimming pool area is out of bounds,’ she reminded her exuberant charges.
But, all too soon, late in the afternoon, the moment came when they had to leave the joys of Zanana for the austere environment of the orphanage. Matron lined the children up in single file in front of Catherine, who was standing beneath the portico. Each child was given a brightly wrapped gift that matched the number on their kite, then they were helped into horse-drawn carriages for the trip back to the city.
Their earlier shyness had evaporated and they began to wave and call out thanks and goodbyes to Catherine. Suddenly a small girl broke away from a group and dashed forward, flinging her arms about Catherine’s legs and burying her face in the apricot silk of her long dress.
‘I love you,’ she sobbed. ‘I want to stay here . . .’
Catherine lifted the small girl in her arms and hugged her. ‘Don’t cry, my dear. You’ll come here again. And I will come to see you too.’
Gently, she carried the girl to the carriage and handed the child to the driver, who settled her amongst the other children.
‘God bless you all,’ called Catherine, waving goodbye.
Spontaneously the children sent up a great cheer. ‘Hip hip hooray! Thank you! Thank you!’ They cheered again as the horses, with dancing plumes on their heads, clip-clopped down the curving drive and through the massive iron gates to the everyday world beyond the fairyland of Zanana.
Robert stepped forward and put his arms around Catherine’s shoulders as she tearfully waved her lace handkerchief at the departing carriages. ‘My dear, you have given them so much joy.’
‘Oh Robert, they gave far more in return.’
True to her promise, Catherine began visiting the orphanage every month bringing fresh fruit and vegetables from Zanana’s gardens. On each visit the little girl who’d flung herself at Catherine when she’d left the picnic, made a dash straight for her and clung to her. She was prised off and gently admonished by Matron each time and sent back to where she should be. The eager little five-year-old seemed to have an uncanny sense of knowing when Catherine was coming to visit, and she hung around the entrance of the building waiting for her.
On her first visit Catherine paused and exchanged a brief conversation with the bright-eyed child.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Mary.’ She bobbed a quick curtsy, holding the edges of her pinafore as she’d been taught.
‘And how old are you, Mary?’
She held up her hand. ‘I’m five fingers.’
Catherine stifled a smile. ‘And when’s your birthday? When will you be six?’
The child looked blank. ‘My birthday?’ She bit her lip and hung her head.
Matron stepped forward, saying to Catherine, ‘We celebrate a joint birthday here. One birthday party all at once. We find it easier that way.’
Catherine, thinking how sad it was not to celebrate your very own birthday, nodded and took Mary’s hand
in hers as they followed the matron into the building.
Over the months Catherine found she was looking forward to seeing the determined young Mary and, in the face of her persistence, Matron allowed Mary to be the ‘welcoming committee’ for Catherine’s visits.
Privately, one day, over tea in the matron’s small office, Catherine asked about Mary’s history.
‘A typical story, I’m afraid. Her mother was a poor unmarried girl in service who got into trouble. It is usually a case of lose the job or lose the child, though in this girl’s instance it was a case of both. Little Mary’s father was the master of the house and in no position to acknowledge fathering a servant’s child. Mary has been here since a baby. She’s known no other home.’
‘How sad. She’s a dear little thing.’
‘They are all dear — and lonely — children, Mrs MacIntyre,’ said the matron gently.
‘Of course, of course.’ But the matron noticed it was little Mary who received an extra hug when Catherine bid the smallest of the children goodbye. So she was not too surprised when Robert MacIntyre visited the orphanage to discuss a certain matter with her.
‘My wife and I have not . . . er . . . produced a child and it distresses Catherine greatly. She longs for a baby. She has a lot of love to give and she feels unfulfilled despite our happy marriage and comfortable life.’
‘I understand. You’re saying she, you both, wish to adopt a child?’
‘That’s what Catherine wishes. She’s been thinking about it for some time. It’s not a rash or a sudden decision.’
‘And what about you, Mr MacIntyre? What are your feelings?’
‘I want whatever makes my wife happy. I had hoped a child might come along, but if that is not to be, then I think this is a sensible solution.’ Seeing the questioning look on the matron’s face, he added, ‘Of course I am sure in time I will come to regard the child as my own’.
‘You seem to have reservations.’
‘Well frankly, Matron, Catherine has her heart set on a little girl she has befriended here. I would like a son. Zanana is a big responsibility and inheritance, you understand.’
‘Of course. But in your circumstances there is nothing to prevent you also adopting a boy.’
‘Yes. I hadn’t considered that. Naturally it would be lonely for one child,’ said Robert thoughtfully. His face cleared and he smiled, his mind made up. ‘Yes, indeed. Well, one step at a time. Could I see little Mary without her being aware of the reason I’m here?’
Robert stood in the sun-filled children’s schoolroom now empty during the children’s play hour. In the grounds below the windows he could see a small gaggle of young girls skipping rope and playing hopscotch. Mary played near them, but alone, involved in some make-believe game of her own with clumps of grass and twigs. Two girls, a little older than Mary, approached her, holding out the skipping rope, inviting her to join them. Mary didn’t look up, but shook her head and seemed to be singing to a makeshift toy she held — a crudely fashioned doll made from dried grass.
‘Independent little miss,’ he thought. It was a good sign that she could entertain herself. There were no other children at Zanana other than Sid and Nettie Johnson’s small boy.
Having made up his mind and rather taken with the pert little Mary, Robert visited Hock Lee and told him his plan.
‘I think it an excellent idea, Robert. It will make Catherine happy and you must begin to think about the future of Zanana.’
‘Yes, indeed. If Catherine hadn’t set her heart on adopting young Mary, I would have chosen a boy. However, I plan to see how matters work out and perhaps take one of the older boys at a later date. I would prefer an older boy so one has some inkling of his . . . nature. After all, Zanana must go to the eldest son.’
Robert then called on his solicitor, Charles Dashford.
The well-bred, haughty Dashford said little, but his manner was disapproving. ‘It’s a big step, Robert. And, I mean, one never knows . . . the background of these children. This is a lifetime commitment.’
Robert dismissed his comments with a wave of his hand. ‘My mind is made up. Just draw up the necessary papers, please.’
Catherine and Robert went to the orphanage together to pick up Mary. The matron had already explained to Mary that she was going to live at Zanana but the child simply did not believe her. But when she was ushered into the matron’s office and saw Robert and Catherine smiling at her, she stood still, gazing at the adults in the room. Her natural ebullience was overcome by shyness and disbelief that this momentous event was actually happening.
Catherine held out her arms and for once Mary didn’t rush to her, but walked solemnly forward and stood before her, hands clasped behind her back, face downcast. Her hair was brushed and tied with a ribbon, her worn shoes had been polished and she wore a faded flower print dress, handed down, but clean and pressed. It was the first time Catherine had seen her not wearing the usual pinafore provided by the orphanage.
‘Hello, Mary dear,’ said Catherine softly. ‘Are you sad to be leaving all your friends here?’
The little head of curls swung firmly from side to side.
‘Speak up, Mary; you don’t have to be shy,’ said the matron.
‘No,’ came a small voice.
‘Are you happy you’re coming to live with us at Zanana?’
The head bobbed vigorously up and down, followed by a fervent, ‘Yes’.
‘Then why do you seem so sad, dear child?’ Catherine scooped the girl onto her lap.
‘They won’t let me take my pinnies and I only have this dress,’ mumbled Mary, burying her face in Catherine’s shoulder.
‘Oh, my sweet girl.’ Catherine held her tightly as tears began to spill from Mary and dampen Catherine’s dress.
The matron and Robert exchanged a sympathetic smile.
Robert leaned over and lifted Mary’s chin with his finger so that the little girl stared into his face. ‘That’s a very pretty dress, Mary, but I thought you might like some new dresses. We are going to look after you now and you are going to have your own room with everything you need.’
‘My own room?’ Her eyes were wide with astonishment. ‘All alone?’
‘You’ll be right next to us,’ said Catherine reassuringly.
Mary slid from her lap and went to Robert, giving him a quick hug, a big smile spreading across her face. Robert’s initial reaction was to recoil in surprise, then he awkwardly patted the curly head.
‘Let’s go fetch your bag, Mary.’ Matron took her hand. ‘I’ll take her along. It might be upsetting for some of the other children if they see you taking her away. It’s the dream of every child here. Sadly they can’t all be as lucky as little Mary.’
‘Matron, please make it clear to the other children that I still hold a place in my heart for them and I will keep visiting here. And our special days at Zanana will continue.’
‘Of course, Mrs MacIntyre; that is very kind and generous of you.’
Mary walked down the long dormitory where rows of identical beds lined the walls. From the foot of Mary’s bed, Matron took a small cloth bag which held Mary’s meagre clothes and few precious possessions: a rag doll given to her by a charity one Christmas and a tiny cardboard kaleidoscope — her prize in the lucky dip at Zanana’s children’s day. She had spent hours staring down the little cardboard tunnel, slowly turning it so the pieces of coloured glass tipped into changing patterns.
The rest of the children were in the schoolroom and as she was led past, they all looked up from their slates and a murmur ran through the room. The teacher rapped on the blackboard and eyes quickly went back to their sums. But Mary had sensed and seen the looks of envy, and she lifted her head and marched proudly.
Within a couple of weeks of living at Zanana, Mary knew every inch of the estate, had made friends with all the workers, had been given her own pet lamb, and had developed the habit of following Mrs Butterworth as she went about her chores.
Mrs But
terworth waved her away. ‘Shoo, Mary, you have to learn to be a lady. Off you go to the playroom. It will soon be time for your music lesson.’
Mary wrinkled her nose. Catherine was teaching her the piano and giving her school lessons, though she had promised that a governess would come and live with them and teach her when she was older. Mary was not looking forward to that day.
Catherine delighted in the little girl but found Mary’s energy tired her easily. In fact, she found her own strength was not as it had been; but she ignored any warning signs for nothing could take away from the joy of watching Mary blossom.
Robert enjoyed the little girl’s company on the occasions they spent time together, but he worried over the state of Catherine’s health. He was glad she was happy with Mary, but doubted his wife would be able to cope with another child so soon. He would wait and adopt a boy when Catherine was stronger.
Catherine continued to do the things she enjoyed most. She spent time in her rose garden, though these days she didn’t have the energy to work amongst her flowers but simply sat and enjoyed their beauty and fragrance. She continued the routine of Mary’s lessons, teaching her about the history of England and Scotland, weaving in stories of her own childhood. Mary sat entranced, as much by simply being with Catherine as by what she told her. Mary was devoted to her beautiful new mama and looked forward to her lessons where she was the focus of Catherine’s time and attention. However, as much as she enjoyed tutoring the bright and attentive Mary, the periods where Catherine rested in her cool bedroom became longer each week.
So Robert was pleased when Catherine suggested she take Mary to Sydney for a day’s outing the next time he went there on business. Robert kissed Catherine as they arrived in the city already teeming with office and store workers, street sellers and food hawkers.