by Joanna Lloyd
At Cartel’s nod, she continued. “Lucinda happily told me she had fallen in the river and her pretty dress had got quite wet and dirty. The child giggled when she described how angry her mother and father were when she ruined her dress. She did not speak of being afraid nor did she mention the defendant. Mrs. Purnell and I watched her skipping and playing outside. I cannot believe, based on my observations, anything distressing has happened to that child.” Electra looked directly at Mrs. Purnell as she said this and the woman looked away.
Black jumped up to object to her statement. “Your Honour, this is pure assumption from Mrs. Radcliffe. We are wasting the court’s time.”
“Assumptions similar to Mr. Purnell’s would you say counsellor?” asked Cartel. Without waiting he added, “I would like to call the defendant, Bulanggi, to the stand,” and gestured for the interpreter to accompany him.
Bulanggi, fearful in the strange environment, mumbled with his eyes downcast. The interpreter continually prodded him to speak up until his story emerged. He explained he was spearing fish when the child skipped down to the river’s edge. He watched her throw stones out into the river until, heaving a large stone from the bank, she lost her footing and slid into the water. It was clear she couldn’t swim so Bulanggi leaped into the river, grabbed her arm, and paddled back to the edge, pulling her up the river bank. She told him she had thought she would drown then started to cry. Bulanggi said he put his arms around her and patted her back to calm her. At that moment Mrs. Purnell ran toward the river looking for her and on seeing them, called for Mr. Purnell.
He finally raised his deep-set eyes and looked out at the crowd. “If some kin’ fella ’im save my girl’s life, I give ’im my life, not hang ’im.”
At these words a heavy silence descended over the courtroom.
Suddenly a voice screamed, “Stop! I can’t do this anymore!” And Celia Purnell ran to the front of the room, despite her husband’s efforts to hold her back.
Judge Bromley ordered her to speak.
Her body shook and she twisted and pulled at the handkerchief in her hand. “It’s true. Lucinda said he saved her from drowning and did nothing else. I can’t let you hang him when he gave me back the most important thing in the world. It was a mistake, my husband misunderstood.” She then picked up her skirts and ran out of the courtroom.
No amount of gavel pounding or calls for order could still the crowd. Soldiers stormed into the court to remove the most recalcitrant, and finally the clerk announced the judges would make their deliberations. Bulanggi returned to the prisoner’s dock and Electra rejoined William.
He leant over and whispered, “You did it, Electra. Your visit to Celia Purnell and your testimony have saved his life. Well done.”
She thanked him, covering his hand with hers. He held her gaze for a moment and then looked pointedly at her hand. Her face flushed pink as she removed it, and he turned away to speak with Callum.
The two judges returned to the courtroom. Judge Bromley reiterated the charges, the plea, and the evidence. “Not guilty!” he announced with a final blow of the gavel. Electra reached over to hug William, but his anger made him turn away. William jumped over the seats in front of him and joined Cartel and Bulanggi.
When they descended the steps of the courthouse with Bulanggi walking free beside them, the three figures waiting patiently under the currajong tree howled with joy and relief.
They had won.
Chapter Thirteen
The gelding tossed its head impatiently as William pushed a short hunting knife into one of the saddlebags. Shi Liang had bundled together dried, salted meat, bread, and fruit for the journey, and the bags bulged with food and clothes. The rest of the supplies were packed into the back of the dray.
“Must it be you and not Callum who goes, William?”
“Yes,” he said brusquely. “I crave the respite more than Callum at present.”
Electra swallowed, stung by his words. His behaviour was too erratic for her to fathom. One minute he desired her and the next he acted as if he could not bear the sight of her.
William nodded his farewell as she stood by Shi Liang, then turned the horse and cantered toward the road, leaving whirls of dust in his wake.
Shi Liang disappeared into the kitchen, but Electra could not move. The emptiness sat like a rock in her stomach. She chased the thought away but it circled in her head refusing to leave until she acknowledged it. William was the core of this property, the life and the soul of it. And he had chosen to leave. He needed respite. From her? There was no other explanation. She noticed the small moments of tenderness they had shared since before the trial had more recently been replaced with an icy sufferance in her company. Well, his respite from her might be permanent if she cleared her name.
Looking out over Riverside and the sparkling expanse of river, she felt a sharp pang of sadness at the thought of leaving. A part of her was taking root in this land, despite her best efforts to remain detached. It was beginning to feel like home.
• • •
Tom O’Reilly rode beside William as they headed overland toward the Hawkesbury River. Young Sean Sullivan was behind them driving the dray that carried their tools and provisions. The dray slowed their journey, but the provisions it carried were necessary to their enterprise.
“And how much land is it we be lookin’ at now, sir?” asked Tom.
“Approximately 300 acres. It’s prime growing land, the soil rich and fertile. Good for grazing as well.”
Sean looked up. “So will ye be grazin’ or growin’, sir?”
“Probably both, but I will decide after seeing the land.”
It was a little more than twenty miles on the new carriage road. They skirted around Castle Hill and ended up past the second branch of the river, near Richmond. William was grateful for the road, remembering his first trip up the Hawkesbury by boat. To enter the mouth of the river, they had sailed out through the heads into rough, open seas. The journey had been dangerous, harrowing and long. In fact, it was the main reason he had chosen Parramatta rather than the more fertile land on the Hawkesbury when he first arrived. But now he was established, he could look further afield.
A month earlier the governor had alerted him to the availability of three adjoining plots of land recently abandoned by squatters unable to make a living. William told the two Irish convict workers beside him it was imperative to make a quick decision on the land. He also hoped an absence from Electra would dull the effects of the conversation he overheard. The horse threw up its head in protest as he gripped the reins hard at the memory.
“That’s it. That’s the land,” called William over his shoulder.
They regarded the wide expanse of land covered in thick scrub and tangled jungle. As they picked their way through the bush, they could see a number of areas cleared for planting and signs of primitive habitation, recently abandoned. The remains of a rough building, made from forest materials joined with vines and thin rope, stood in a clearing of sorts, now overgrown.
At their approach, a small animal scuttled out of the doorway and into the bush. A ragged piece of material flapped ominously over the window and the two convicts went no closer. William dismounted and put his head through the door, but at his touch, the flimsy structure moved. The roof had collapsed into the room and he decided not to risk using the hut for shelter. A crop, possibly maize, had been planted not far from the hut. But the crop was flattened and the most of the ground reclaimed by the hungry bush.
William and Tom rode ahead, surveying the possibilities, and finally pulled up near an inlet. A cool breeze blew off the river and the two men, hot and stiff from their journey, dismounted and waded into the shallow water. William took a deep breath of the fresh air, his nostrils picking up a faint smell of the sea. He wanted this land, regardless of its capacity for growing crops. There was something about the Hawkesbury; its raw potential, its majestic landscape, its short but torrid history. And he would get himself a boat; exp
lore the river at his leisure.
“Look here, Mr. Radcliffe,” yelled Tom. “There be perch and eels aplenty in the river. What do ye say to smoked eel for supper?”
Tom climbed up the bank, walked over to his horse and rummaged through his pack, pulling out a long, sharp knife. With the skill of long experience, he snapped branches off a nearby tree, stripped the bark for binding and began to fashion a rough trap. By the time Sean came upon them, William was knee deep in the river attempting to outsmart a mullet to put in the trap as bait, but having little success.
“If it were me, sir, I’d be after sniggling the slippery critter out of his hole,” said Sean, frowning.
William gave up on the mullet and settled on a rock with his feet immersed in the river. “Sounds good to me, Sean. I’ll leave that to you.” He raised his voice so Tom could hear. “How do you two think the Indian corn would go here?”
Sean ducked under the shade of a tree, removed his hat, and brushed the sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. “Sounds like you’ve made a decision then, Mr. Radcliffe?”
William nodded. “This is God’s own country, Sean. How could I pass it up? You know why I brought you both here, don’t you?”
Tom shrugged, obviously having guessed but Sean shook his head. “I only thought you might be wantin’ help to be settin’ up, sir.”
“Well, yes, that’s true. But any number of the workers could have done that. Tom’s served most of his time,” he turned to Tom, “and you’ve been an honest and hard worker, Tom. Not to mention your skills at farming. I want to offer you the role of manager here when we’re set up, with Sean as your offsider. What do you both think?”
Tom’s face split into a wide grin, showing two gaps where his front teeth had been. He nodded vigorously, unable to speak.
Sean jumped up, ran to the other end of the inlet, yelled, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He grabbed a lowlying branch and swung himself into the air, laughing with excitement. Then he jumped up and down, slapped his thigh, and finally ran back to the other two men. “You’ll not be sorry, sir. This will be by far and away the best blurry farm in the district. What do ye say, Tom?”
“I’m thinking ye may just be right, me boyo,” said Tom, grinning.
As the two men chatted enthusiastically about the new farm, William wondered what Electra would think of the land. He tried to imagine her dangling her feet in the water, with her wild curls blowing in the wind. The vivid images made it difficult for him to swallow. Pity it hadn’t worked out. Having children to pass the farms on to would have given it all a greater purpose.
Sean hobbled the horses and turned them out to graze while Tom and William constructed a rough shelter of canvas stretched from the cart across a tree branch. This would house the men until they built a more solid hut. Not until the deal was settled with the governor would William clear any of the surrounding land or build a more permanent structure.
“Mr. Radcliffe, sir, can ye see that smoke over yonder? I’m sure it’s on our land. I think there be someone camped,” called Sean pointing into the distance. William smiled at the “our land.”
They all turned and, sure enough, there was a thin wisp of smoke rising into the cooling evening air.
William instructed Sean to stay with their equipment and provisions while he and Tom grabbed pistols, saddled up their horses, and rode toward the smoke.
Sean was right; someone had already squatted on the abandoned land. A rough lean-to had been erected with an old piece of canvas slung across a frame of sticks.
As they neared the camp, a large underfed dog set up a racket of barking. The dog, chained to a tree trunk, strained toward them, violence in its eyes.
“Oi! You! Watcha want? Yer trespassin’ on my land,” a voice yelled from inside the lean-to. Seconds later a face appeared through a break in the canvas, eyeing them suspiciously. Then the man crawled out, swayed unsteadily, and placed a bottle on the ground.
He was short and stocky with a clump of dirty, matted hair and bloodshot eyes. He snarled, exposing a mouth of rotten teeth, and lazily scratched his crotch.
William and Tom dismounted. William stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m William Radcliffe and this is Tom O’Reilly.” Tom nodded in acknowledgment. “I believe there has been some mistake. You are trespassing on my land.”
The man had been about to shake William’s hand but briskly retrieved his own at these words. His eyes narrowed at William.
“Me name’s Gleeson, and where’s yer paper what says this here’s yer land?” he asked, his jaw thrust forward provocatively.
“I will ask you the same question, sir,” said William.
“Don’t need no piece o’ paper. Just have ter build a dwelling and work some o’ the land. An’ I don’t see no sign o’ you havin’ done that,” he said with a smug grin.
As he spoke, he edged toward the dog, placing his hand over the chain presently restraining the animal.
William’s hand moved to the handle of his pistol. Tom pushed his coat back, exposing his weapon.
“Release the dog and I will have to shoot him,” said William.
The man spat at William’s feet but moved away from the dog, his hands curled into fists. When his eyes glanced toward the lean-to, William knew where his weapon was.
“If you have any doubts about my ownership of this land, then you had best take them up with the governor. In the meantime, I would advise you to be gone by morning or I will move you off myself.” William glanced down at two cups upturned on the ground. “That includes whoever else is with you,” he added.
“Ain’t no one but me here.”
Still holding his pistol, William moved to his horse, mounted and, followed by Tom, returned to their campsite. He shot Tom a look of concern.
It was not over yet.
• • •
“Thank you, Shi Liang,” said Electra, reaching for the tall glass of lemon water. It was late afternoon and a gentle breeze disturbed the flowers of a small gardenia bush. The strong perfume filled Electra’s nostrils as she wondered how much longer William would stay away. It had been nearly three weeks and although she had kept busy, she missed him. It had been hard to admit this to herself, but it was the truth. Now she wanted him to return so they could renegotiate the terms of their relationship. She wanted more and she wanted him to know this.
His absence had, however, given her an opportunity to visit Lady Percy. Electra found she enjoyed the woman’s company and looked forward to seeing her again.
Shi Liang reappeared, holding a plate containing pieces of stale bread and beef jerky, grumbling over the waste.
She methodically placed small pieces of the softened beef jerky along the veranda railing and sat quietly, sipping the lemon water and waiting. There was a rustle in the branches of the tall ghost gum as a kookaburra landed. Then two. Then three. Their sharp eyes were riveted on the beef jerky but wariness prevented further movement.
Electra realized she was not breathing, and slowly exhaled, still not moving. The first bird shivered, its feathers fluffing in a wave from neck to tail. Then with head thrown back and throat pumping, it rent the air with screaming laughter. As if orchestrated, the other two joined in the medley of merriment.
Chuckling at their antics, Electra was taken by surprise when the cacophony stopped abruptly and they swooped from the tree, one at a time, plucked the jerky from the railing, and retreated. She replaced her offerings twice and on the third swoop, the first bird remained on the railing, eyeing her quizzically. Carefully extracting a small piece of the meat from the plate, she held it out to the bird. It hopped to the left, closing the distance, judging the situation. In a flash, the meat had been plucked from her hand and the bird was back in the tree.
A rush of excitement ran through her body. This wild beautiful creature had trusted her and fed from her hand. The feeling was new and exhilarating.
Elated, she leaned back in her chair and watched the trees beside the river becom
e dark silhouettes. And the silver shimmer of the river turn to black silk as the sun disappeared behind her.
As evening descended on Riverside, she wondered when exactly William’s cool detachment had replaced the glimmers of tenderness. Sorting through the events of the past few weeks, she narrowed it down to the days directly preceding Bulanggi’s trial. Only two things out of the ordinary had taken place. The visit from the innocent and gullible Miss Cartel and then Captain Hawley’s farewell visit. She dissected the details of Miss Cartel’s visit. Perhaps he had been attracted to her and was angry to be burdened with a wife. It was certainly a possibility. The woman had poise, was attractive, and was looking for a reason to stay in the colony. She shook her head. Surely not. The woman was also quite stupid.
That left Captain Hawley’s visit. She cast her memory back and could not find anything to have upset William in the short time he was present. Of course the conversation that took place after he left would have been problematic, had he been privy to it. No, he was obviously just prone to black moods, nothing to do with Captain Hawley.
As she listened, the nocturnal chatter of the crickets stilled. The air smelled different. Then a sudden gust of wind lifted her skirts and hurled the empty plate to the ground, shattering it. Electra stepped over the broken china, hurried down the stairs, and walked out into the garden to look back over the house. Great storm clouds had begun to gather in the west and were rolling toward them. She could hear the horses in the stables stamping restlessly, calling to each other as Barlow, the stable boy, tried to soothe them. Mary and Annie clattered through the house, as they closed and latched the windows.
“Yer’d better get inside the house, mum. Mr. MacDonald says as how there’s a big storm comin,” yelled Mary from the front door.
Trying to hold her skirt down, Electra called back. “Did he say what we had to do, Mary?”
“Just telled me as I had to warn yer and close up the house mum. Bein’ as it’s me first one, I’m a bit scared meself and Freddy’s set up an awful racket, he has.”