Emily

by Valerie Wood

  ‘Everybody line up! Come on. Jump to it, I haven’t got all day.’ The orders were barked out by a military-looking man. By his side stood a clergyman. There were women prisoners milling around the yard and as Emily watched them she thought that some of them looked drunk. Some of them were hanging onto the arms of soldiers who were lounging in doorways, whilst others were walking out of the gate and no-one appeared to be stopping them.

  ‘You will find’, the official shouted, ‘that there are grave punishments here for those who misbehave. We no longer lash women, but we still have the treadmill,’ he added with a thin smile. ‘And heads are shaved and food is withdrawn for the serious miscreants. But those who obey the rules will find there are special privileges.’

  Some of the younger women who had just arrived began to weep, but Emily stared straight ahead. I will cry no more, she vowed. I will not let them get to me.

  They were taken to their quarters by a supervising woman convict, who ushered them into a large bare room, and Emily was glad that she had had the forethought to pick up her blanket from the ship, for on the floor were thin straw mattresses but no blankets or pillows.

  ‘If any of you have money,’ the woman said, ‘I’d advise you to keep it safe. You’ll get supper and breakfast, but if you want anything else you have to pay for it.’

  ‘How?’ Emily dared to ask. ‘How can we pay if we have no money?’

  The woman stared at her. ‘Work for it,’ she said harshly. ‘Or sell that blanket you’re hanging on to,’ she grinned, ‘or anything else you have to offer.’

  Emily sank on to a mattress away from the door. The door was open on to the yard and she didn’t want everyone staring in at her, for this appeared to be an open house with other convict women coming and going to inspect the new arrivals.

  A group of these came and stood in the doorway and made jeering remarks at the newcomers. Some of them retaliated and abuse and foul language were hurled from one to another. One woman leaning on the door jamb spotted Emily and shouted across to her. ‘Hey, you. I know you!’

  Emily looked up. She saw a bedraggled old hag with scanty grey hair and dressed in rags. She turned away and ignored her, but the woman came across the room towards her.

  ‘I remember you.’ She dropped down onto the mattress and Emily shuffled away. ‘We drove from York gaol together. Don’t you remember?’

  Emily cringed and shook her head. She would surely remember such a miserable creature with her sore face and misshapen black teeth.

  ‘Yes!’ The woman poked at her with a dirty finger. ‘In the coach going to London! You remember me – Molly?’

  Molly! Yes, now she did remember. The vile woman who had offered –. Emily shuddered. To meet again with such a woman on the other side of the world!

  Molly leaned forward and Emily pressed against the wall in order to get away from her sickening stench. ‘Listen,’ she poked Emily again and whispered, ‘do you remember I said I’d get you fixed up with an officer or somebody, so’s we could eat? Well, the offer still holds. I’ve been here a few weeks now and I’ve seen what goes on. Soldiers and farmers come and go as they please, but they’re getting a bit particular. I can’t do business with ’em, they won’t look at me.’ She appraised Emily. ‘But you, now, you’ve still got bloom o’ youth on you. I could get a good price for you! We could have a regular little business going. What do you say?’

  Emily jumped to her feet and grabbing the end of the mattress she tipped the woman off it so that she sprawled onto the floor. ‘I say get out of my way with your filthy mouth,’ she screamed. ‘I want nothing to do with you!’

  Molly looked up at her from the floor and wiped her dirty hand across her mouth. ‘Think you’re too good for ’likes of us, do you? Well, you’ll soon find out you’re not. I’ve onny to put the word about and you’ll wish you’d never been born! You’ve not seen likes of some of these women in here, they’re worse than men some of ’em, and they’re not averse to using leather or a knife on a pretty face.’

  Emily started to tremble, but she would not be intimidated. ‘I said – get out of my way,’ she hissed, her eyes wild. ‘Get out!’

  There was a sudden silence in the room as two men appeared in the doorway. One was the clergyman, who stood nervously twisting his hands together. The other was a tall, thin man in naval uniform whom Emily recognized. Mr Clavell, the surgeon from the Flying Swan.

  He came into the middle of the room and slowly turned around so that he looked at each of the women in turn. There were about thirty of them. ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ His voice was authoritative, but not unkind. He looked down at Molly and pointed with his finger to the door. ‘I wish to speak to the new arrivals.’

  Molly shuffled off, casting a look of loathing at Emily. The surgeon waited until she had gone and then spoke again. ‘My name is Clavell. You may not know it, unless you were sick, but I travelled on the same ship as you, the Flying Swan, though I have to admit to having had a trifle amount more comfort than you did.’

  The women glanced at each other, here was a man speaking to them as if they were human beings. ‘I am here on a permanent basis, much as you are,’ he explained. ‘This is my prison as much as it is yours. The difference is that I chose to come here.’

  He waited for this to sink in. ‘I have been here before and I didn’t like it. Nor did the women who were here, but some of them made it worse for themselves than it needed to have been. There have been improvements since then, but you wouldn’t notice. Now what I aim to do, with your help,’ his words were chosen carefully and precisely, ‘is close this prison down!’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  First of all Clavell made them take all the mattresses outside and shake them. Then he appointed groups of women from the newcomers to brush down the walls and windows of their dormitory and wash the floor with antiseptic. He then turned his attention to the old hands, those who had been in Parramatta for some time and who looked at him suspiciously as he went to speak to them.

  ‘Some of you are set in your ways,’ he said. ‘You have established a routine for yourselves which you may find difficult to break. But I am telling you that from where I am standing, you are a disreputable lot! You are dirty and lousy and you have forgotten what it is like to be a woman. Except,’ he added, as some of the whores of the prison grinned and nudged each other, ‘except for those who sell their bodies in a vile trade and have given this prison its name of whorehouse! It may be too late to do anything about any of you, but I aim to stop you staining the reputation of those who have not yet sunk so low.’ His voice was firm and they were left in no doubt that he was determined to do exactly what he had stated.

  ‘For those who are diseased,’ he went on, ‘you can come and see me in the sick bay. But first of all,’ he said forcibly, ‘you will take out your mattresses and pile them in the centre of the yard, where they will be burnt. You will scrub and clean your cells and dormitories. Then you will be given water to wash yourselves and your clothes. If your minds are dirty then you may cleanse them through the parson here, who will hear your confessions.’

  Emily heard some of this as she came outside to empty a bucket of dirty water and felt a glimmer of hope. Some of the other newcomers felt it too and spoke in whispers that perhaps it wouldn’t be long before they would be allowed to leave.

  But the soldiers, settlers and farmers appeared at the gate to ogle the new women and offer them their freedom and other inducements if they would go with them. Some of the women were tempted, for they had no money to buy extra food or blankets and the nights were cold, and they had no reason to know that when their services were no longer required they would be turned out on to the streets. Emily pulled her blanket over her as she lay down that night on her mattress; it was scratchy and tore at her skin, but the floor looked and smelt cleaner than previously, though she could hear the scurrying of mice beneath the floorboards. Then she heard one of the women scream. Everyone sat up. ‘A snake,’ she s
houted. ‘There’s a snake by my bed.’

  The women started to scream and shout and run to the corners of the room. Emily got up, and picking up a broom that was leaning against the wall, she brushed the creature towards the door. The door was locked, but there was a gap beneath it and she propelled it through it. ‘Was it poisonous, do you think?’ someone asked. ‘I’ve heard say that snakes in this country are deadly, and that there are spiders and beetles as big as your hand!’

  Emily shook her head. ‘It wasn’t a snake. It was a lizard, I think, and it was probably more frightened of us than we were of it!’

  The next morning she smoothed her hair with her fingers, for she had no hairbrush, and plaited it into a thick braid. She left the dormitory and approached the sick bay, which was nothing more than a wooden hut. The door stood open to reveal a row of beds, which unlike the mattresses the prisoners slept on were raised from the floor on wooden legs. Mr Clavell was standing by a sink washing his hands. She knocked on the door and entered and as he turned, she dipped her knee.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, sir,’ she said quietly, for she saw that two of the beds were occupied, ‘but could I speak to you?’

  There was a flicker of interest in his eyes which lasted for only a second, and he nodded.

  ‘I wondered if you needed any help in the sick bay? I need something to occupy my time whilst I’m serving my sentence. I’m clean – as a rule, though I have head lice at the moment – and I’m a hard worker. But’, she finished in a rush, ‘I don’t want to stay in the dormitory with the other women.’

  ‘Too good for them, are you?’ He echoed Molly’s words, a trifle cynically she thought. ‘A touch above them?’

  She hung her head. ‘No, sir. I’m here to be punished for a crime just as they are.’ Then she raised her head and looked at him honestly. ‘But there is no point in wasting my life if I could be doing something useful with it.’

  He came towards her and stood with his arms folded, surveying her. ‘Why did you not go with Philip Linton, Emily?’ he asked softly. ‘I know that he asked you.’

  She put her hand to her mouth in surprise. ‘How –?’

  ‘He confided in me,’ he answered. ‘And he said that you had some loyalty towards another prisoner, that you were going to come to Parramatta together. That was very foolish, surely?’

  She nodded miserably. ‘I realize now that it was and now Meg has gone off somewhere else with the baby.’

  ‘Ah, yes! The infant. You helped to deliver it, I believe?’

  Emily bit her lip. It didn’t seem right to tell a downright lie but she didn’t want to get Meg into trouble, and what if Meg had to give up the child because of her honesty?

  Fortunately he didn’t seem to want an answer, for he was muttering something about the stamina of women under these circumstances. ‘A boy, I believe?’ and as Emily nodded, he asked, ‘And did she name him? Has he had the benefit of the parson’s blessing?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘though his given name is Ralph.’

  She thought she saw the ghost of a smile, but it was gone instantly as he said, ‘Ah, yes! Very well. I do need some help in here. There are some instances when I need a woman in attendance or I shall stand accused of all kinds of misdemeanours. Fetch your mattress and you can sleep in here if you don’t mind being with the sick. I shall be glad if you will come.’

  ‘He doesn’t know that you’re Emily’s brother,’ Meg whispered, as side by side in the hired wagon she and Joe drove up the dusty road towards the farmstead. Philip Linton rode ahead on his hired horse and in the back of the wagon there was a pile of furniture which he had collected from the stores. Two chairs, two single and one double bed, blankets and a table. The double bed was giving Meg some cause for concern and she eyed Joe with misgiving. The child in her arms stirred and she smiled down at him, grateful to Philip Linton for having the forethought to ask if she needed milk for him and collecting it from the grocery store as well as provisions for them.

  ‘I think that’s it.’ Philip turned round in his saddle and pointed up the hill to where a stone-built house stood on the summit. ‘Creek Farm.’

  Joe shook the reins and urged the horse on and the wagon creaked and groaned under its load. ‘Let me down,’ Meg said, ‘I’ll walk up,’ and jumping down she finished the journey on foot, stopping and turning from time to time to gaze at her surroundings.

  ‘It’s filthy,’ Philip exclaimed as he unlocked the door of the house. ‘An absolute dung heap! However will we get it clean?’

  Looking at it, Meg thought she had never seen anything so wonderful in her life. A large wooden veranda fronted the house and several big rooms with windows overlooked the hillside and in the distance a view of Sydney Cove. There was a big kitchen with a wooden floor and a cooking range, and various rooms at the top of a wide staircase. It didn’t look in the least dirty to her, maybe a few cobwebs, but as she had never in her life done a day’s housework, that didn’t bother her too much.

  ‘Soon get it cleaned up, Mr Linton,’ Joe said. ‘But just as well you bought a broom.’ His strength was enormous as he manhandled the furniture into the house, refusing the assistance of his new master. ‘Perhaps you could have a look to see if there’s a well, sir, then we can swill out all this muck from ’floor.’ He looked at Meg, who was standing with Ralph in her arms, just looking around her. ‘Go fetch provisions out of ’cart, Margaret,’ he said in a familiar manner, ‘and then you can start Mr Linton’s dinner!’

  She placed the baby in an empty box and glared at Joe as she passed him. ‘Don’t keep calling me Margaret,’ she hissed. ‘My name’s Meg!’

  By the time they had unloaded the wagon and brought everything inside, lit the fire under the range and Meg had somehow produced a simple meal of eggs and ham, dusk was starting to fall and Philip decided that it was too late to ride to Parramatta. The road was unknown to him and he had no idea of the hazards which might be waiting; he just hoped that Emily was all right and not afraid. Surely she will come back with me, especially now that I have a house and Meg is here?

  The double bed they put in a back room at the top of the house and Philip said that he would sleep on a single bed downstairs for the time being. ‘We will sort everything out eventually,’ he said. ‘I shall need more furniture, but I’ll leave it until – until later.’ He caught a slight smile on Meg’s lips as he hesitated, but which disappeared when he said, ‘You and Johnson can have the room upstairs.’ He wanted to be downstairs in case anything untoward happened. He had his pistol strapped beneath his jacket so that if they were attacked by escaped convicts or unfriendly natives he was well prepared, and he also had full view of the stairs, should Meg or Johnson decide to take their leave during the night.

  That night Meg eyed the double bed and then Joe, who was also standing looking at it. ‘I can’t remember ’last time I slept in a bed,’ he said softly.

  ‘Well, that’s all you’ll be doing,’ she said harshly. ‘Sleeping in it! Don’t think, because we’ve passed off as a married couple that you can have ’same privileges as such.’

  ‘It never entered my head,’ he said sourly. ‘It was onny when I realized that couples could be assigned together on a farm that I came forward. It would have been ’road gang otherwise.’ He gave a sudden grin. ‘Stroke of luck though, that our names were ’same.’

  ‘’Cept that yours isn’t,’ she griped. ‘So don’t expect owt.’

  ‘Changing thy spots?’ he said harshly. ‘Or is it because I’ve no money? Whoring was your living, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was!’ She glared at him. ‘But not any more.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve not been wi’ a woman in years. I can wait a bit longer, till I meet one I fancy.’ He picked up a blanket from the bed and lay down on the floor giving a deep sigh. ‘I feel as if I’m home at last. Get into bed, Meg. I’ll not trouble thee, have no fear.’

  The next morning Philip hammered on their door to wak
en them. It was six o’clock and the sun shone brilliantly through the uncurtained windows. He had gone outside and swilled himself under the pump, eaten some bread and cheese and then saddled up the horse ready for his journey to Parramatta. Thing is, he pondered, will they both be here when I get back or will they have taken themselves off in search of real freedom? He thought that Meg would stay because of Emily, but he had no inkling of Johnson’s motives. He has no ties with Meg in spite of what he claims, I’m not such an idiot that I don’t know that, and he could go off.

  Many convicts in the past had absconded from their employers, some had become bushrangers, living a wild life and terrifying decent citizens, others had disappeared into other parts of the New Territory, never to be seen again.

  Philip confronted Johnson as he hurried down the stairs apologizing for having overslept. ‘I can’t remember when I slept better,’ he said. ‘Not since I was a little nipper anyway, safe in my ma and da’s bed.’ And in truth, although the floor had been hard, at least it was stable and not prone to dip and plunge as his bunk on board ship had done for the last few months. Tonight, Joe vowed, he would move his blanket to another room along the landing.

  ‘Where are your parents now?’ Philip asked casually and saw the veil of secrecy drop over his face.

  ‘Both dead, sir, many years ago. Ma died in ’workhouse and that was ’start of my downfall.’

  ‘And no other relatives?’

  He hesitated. ‘Onny a sister, sir. Nobody else.’

  ‘I’m going to Parramatta, Johnson. I know that if you have the mind to you can take yourself off as soon as my back’s turned and I’ll never see you again.’ Philip was blunt. ‘But I’m putting you on your honour to stay. I’ll be gone all day and I want you to stay with Meg to protect her until I get back.’

  ‘What makes you think I’ll protect her?’ he said defiantly. ‘If you think I’m likely to go off as soon as your back’s turned, why should Meg make any difference?’