“I can’t go back, Annora. I don’t want to. I wish I could stay here.”
Then the idea came to me. “Helena, why shouldn’t you come with us to Australia?”
I saw the wonder dawning on her face.
There was a great deal of discussion about it. My mother wrote to Aunt Amaryllis. She had always had great influence with her. “I was like the dictatorial elder sister,” she used to say.
The result was that both Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis thought it might be a good idea for Helena to accompany us.
Helena brightened considerably at the prospect and I even saw her smile once or twice.
About a week before we were due to leave Rolf returned.
He came over to see us at once. He looked melancholy and I had never seen him like that before.
He visited us frequently and talked a great deal with my father about the estate, which was solely his now. He had been looking after it for years because he, not his father, had been the one who had built it up. “But there is a difference,” my father said, “when something is entirely your own.”
Rolf contrived to be alone with me when we went riding together.
He said: “I wish you weren’t going away, Annora. You’re going right to the other side of the world and you’ll be away for a long time.”
“It wouldn’t be worthwhile going just for a few weeks.”
“Then there is the journey there and another back. I missed you while you were in London. Did you think of Cador?”
“Often.”
“When you come back, I want to have a long talk with you.”
“What about?”
“Us.”
“What do you mean … you and me?”
He nodded.
We were walking our horses and he turned to me and said: “You seem to take such a long time to grow up.”
“The usual time I suppose.”
“Will you think of me while you are away?”
“Quite a lot, I expect.”
“When you come back we’ll make plans …”
I felt a sudden happiness. He could mean only one thing. I smiled at him. He looked different with that air of melancholy about him.
I thought of what my mother had said. “One must try to understand people.” She and my father had broken laws. People did at times. One must not judge them too harshly. One must grow up. One must understand something about life.
In that moment I wondered why I had ever thought there was a possibility of my marrying Joe. I knew I loved Rolf. But I wished I could forget that terrible night.
When we returned to the stables he helped me to dismount and kissed me.
I felt rather glad that we were going away. During the trip I would sort out my thoughts. I would come to terms with myself. I would make sure that, whatever had happened on that night, I was going to marry Rolf.
On the High Seas
IT WAS THE BEGINNING of September when we set sail. We stayed a few nights in the house in Albemarle Street before going on to Tilbury to join the cargo ship in which we would be sailing. I was sure the excitement of the coming journey was good for Helena. She was still very sad and at times lapsed into deep melancholy, but I did feel that she had come a little way from the terrible lassitude which implied that she simply did not care what became of her.
Amaryllis was sorry that she was going but at the same time she felt that it was the best thing for her. As for Peter Lansdon, his resilience continued to amaze me. He behaved as though there was nothing extraordinary about a man who had aspired to become a leading politician being at the same time, to put it crudely, a brothel owner. He simply shrugged off politics and I had no doubt that he would soon be applying his immense energies to something else.
We went to the house in the square for dinner and it was almost as it had been in the past. He was insouciant, talkative and informative about what was going on. I did notice once the sardonic smile he sent in my mother’s direction and I guessed he was reminding her of that long-ago pact, and telling her that exposure did not worry him all that much. Yet he had gone to great lengths to keep the nature of his business secret. He was, no doubt, making the best of an ugly situation, and in spite of everything I knew about him, I could not help feeling a grudging admiration for him.
He did talk a great deal about the Queen and Lord Melbourne and the growing certainty that there would soon be an election which would put Melbourne out.
“And what Her Majesty will do when she loses her beloved minister, I cannot imagine. Stamp her little foot, no doubt. But it won’t do any good. And they say she has an aversion to Peel. Well, one has to admit he is too serious a politician to appeal to a young girl … and of course his lordship has all the charm in the world, to which is added a somewhat scandalous past.” He smiled at us in a kind of wry triumph. “It seems odd that the naughty prosper in this world and the good are considered somewhat dull.” I could see that he was certainly not going to let adversity deter him.
I think my father was inclined to admire him, too. He had always been one to look lightly on the sins of others. My mother naturally felt a great antipathy towards him and I could well understand that, after what she told me of the anxiety he must have caused her all those years ago.
I had several talks with Peterkin. He told me he had seen Joe at Frances’s Mission and Joe had given up all thought of politics. It was the only thing he could do. He would not have a chance this time, but it might be that in a few years the name would be forgotten and he would pursue his ambition. For the time being he had gone up North and was working with a company in which his father had interests.
As for Peterkin himself, he was seeing Frances frequently and becoming more and more interested in the work she was doing.
He said: “My father is not averse to this. He thinks it is good publicity to have a son who is interested in social welfare; and it makes a nice touch that I am working with the daughter of Joseph Cresswell, because as you know there have been rumours that my father trapped Joseph Cresswell into that situation. So for once I have his approval of what I am doing.” He smiled at me. “It suits me. For the first time I feel I am doing something I really want to do. My father has given money to the Mission … a sizeable sum, so that Frances is going to get that house she wants. Of course, Papa likes the press to know where the money comes from.”
“I suppose he feels it’s a sort of expiation.”
“Not him. He just feels it’s a neat touch for people to ask if the money goes to do such good service does it matter how it was come by?”
“He’s very cynical.”
“He’s just about the shrewdest and most cunning person I know.”
“And you and Frances—you don’t mind using his money?”
Peterkin looked at me quizzically. “No. I suppose we ought to. Frances and I have talked about it. Not that she thought of refusing it for a moment. Frances would take money from any source if it helped with her work. She needs that money. If you could see some of those people, you’d understand. Frances is a very wise young woman. ‘If good cometh out of evil,’ she says, ‘let’s make the most of the good.’”
I thought a good deal about them all and it was brought home to me that life is not neatly divided between good and evil; and after that I began to make less critical judgements.
After that brief visit we went down to Tilbury to join our ship which was taking ready-made garments, corn, oats, sugar, tea and coffee as well as some livestock out to Australia. There were only a few passengers so I supposed we should get to know our fellow travellers well during the voyage.
Helena and I shared a small cabin with two bunks, one above the other, a little cupboard for our clothes and a small table on which was fixed a mirror. It was fortunate that most of our baggage had been put into the hold until our arrival. My parents had a similar cabin next to ours and Jacco was sharing with another young man.
It was an exciting moment when we slipped away from the do
ck.
The Captain invited us to his cabin. He was a pleasant man with a dark curly beard, the same dark curly hair and heavy-lidded brown eyes.
“Welcome,” he said. “I hope you are going to have a pleasant voyage with us. Have you travelled on a cargo ship before?”
We said we hadn’t and my father added that he had been out to Australia, but had travelled on a different kind of ship and that was more than twenty years ago.
“Things have changed,” said the Captain. “In fact they are changing all the time. There are three other passengers besides yourselves. A young man who is going out to study something and a couple who want to settle. We should all get along fairly well. It just needs a little give and take if you know what I mean.”
“I understand,” said my father. “To be in such close proximity for so long could in some cases be rather trying.”
“We shall try to make the voyage as pleasant as possible. There are card games, and there is a piano in one of the rooms. We have a good pianist among us. We’ll make it tolerable but the main purpose of our voyage is to carry goods. That is why we are never quite sure how long we stay at certain ports, or even which ports we shall be calling at.”
“We understand all that,” said my father. “What we want is to be taken to Australia as quickly as possible.”
“Then we shall be able to satisfy you. I have invited the other passengers here so that we can all get acquainted. Ah, here are Mr. and Mrs. Prevost. This is Sir Jake and Lady Cador and their son and daughter …” He looked at Helena and added, “… and their niece.”
We shook hands. The Prevosts were a pleasant-looking couple in their early thirties, I imagined, and while we were exchanging a few pleasantries with them the other passenger arrived. He was the one who was sharing a cabin with Jacco and as soon as he came in I thought there was something familiar about him.
“This is Mr. Matthew Hume,” said the captain, introducing us.
The young man smiled as we shook hands. He looked steadily at me and said: “We have met before.”
“I thought so,” I replied. “I was wondering …”
“Frances Cresswell’s Mission.”
“Of course. You let us in when we called.”
“We only met briefly but I remembered.”
“That’s a strange coincidence,” said my father. “There are only three passengers apart from my family and one of these knows one of us.”
“It was just a case of hail and farewell,” said the young man. “I was working at the Mission.”
“I know something of it,” said my mother. “I believe it does very good work.”
His face lit up. “Wonderful work,” he said. “Frances Cresswell is a remarkable woman.”
“Well,” put in the Captain, “it is a pleasant surprise to find that you are not absolute strangers. We dine in half an hour and by that time I hope you will have decided that you are going to get along very well together during the coming weeks.”
“I’m so excited to be going,” Matthew Hume told us. “I’ve been trying to get a passage for some time. I am longing to see Australia.”
“We can’t wait,” said Mrs. Prevost. “Can we, Jim? It’s going to mean so much to us.”
By the time we went in to dinner we felt we knew each other quite well.
We sat at table with the Captain and his Chief Officer and I found myself in earnest conversation with Matthew Hume. He seemed to want to talk to me. I supposed because I was not exactly a stranger. The Mission kept coming into the conversation. He said that he had at one time thought of going into the Church and then he had visited Frances’s Mission and had been amazed by what he saw there.
“Dear Frances,” he said, “she looks to people like me to help all the time. She said she wants people with a social conscience, people who were born into the world of wealth—or comparative wealth—to give something of themselves to those who were born in less fortunate circumstances. Frances knows exactly where she is going, and as soon as I went to the Mission I began to feel I did.”
I nodded and thought of Peterkin. “My cousin feels like that, I believe,” I said.
“I have seen some terrible sights,” he went on. “Heartrending. And I’ve been to some of the prisons. That’s why I am going out here … to study the conditions of those who have been transported. I am going to write a book about it. I want to call attention to it. I think it is wrong. I think it is evil. We’ve got to stop it.”
He was fervent and he seemed to me very young. I wondered how old he was. Twenty-three? Hardly that.
“I have had the honour of meeting Mrs. Elizabeth Fry,” he told me. “She has talked to me about prisons and she has done a great deal …”
We were interrupted by someone’s asking the Captain about the ports we should call at and wondering how long we should stay at them.
The Captain said it would depend on what had to be set ashore and what taken on board. We would be informed of when we must return to the ship.
“But we should like you to obey orders in that respect,” he said. “The tides have to be considered before the wishes of the passengers, especially in ships of this kind.”
The Prevosts were talking about what they wanted to do.
“We’re going to acquire a little land,” said Jim Prevost. “It’s going very cheaply. Life was getting difficult at home. Trouble over the Reform Bill, the Corn Laws and the bad harvests. They say the climate out there is just wonderful.”
My father pointed out that in no part of the world could the climate be relied on and there were such things as droughts and plagues in Australia. He knew because he had lived there for nine years. True, that was more than twenty years ago, but the weather patterns had not changed.
The Prevosts looked abashed and he went on quickly: “I am sure the advantages will make up for the disadvantages. And I have heard that in some parts of Australia no price at all is asked for the land.”
The Prevosts brightened and my father began to talk about his experiences of farming in Australia.
So the evening passed.
Helena had hardly spoken, but she did display a little curiosity in her surroundings and I was sure the voyage was going to be of great interest.
I could not be anything but exhilarated to be at sea. The crew was friendly and ready to explain anything we asked and the weather was benign even in the notoriously hazardous Bay of Biscay.
Helena wanted to stay in the cabin a good deal. She was quite ill which seemed a bad omen when we were not experiencing any really bad weather. She said it was the movement of the ship. Jacco and I revelled in the life. We would race each other along the open decks which were rather restricted, but we enjoyed it; then we would lean over the rail and look right down into the swirling sea-green water.
There was so much to learn about the ship and we awakened each day to a feeling of excitement.
My father and mother used to walk along the deck arm in arm with a smile of contentment on their faces while he talked about his experiences as a convict for he said the journey and the prospect of being in Australia again brought it all back to him most vividly.
There were our fellow travellers, too. The Prevosts were so enthusiastic about their project and they were constantly trying to corner my father to make him tell them all he knew. One evening, when he was in a particularly mellow mood, he told them that he had been sent out as a convict, recounting the story with a certain amount of wit, making light of his sufferings so that it was quite entertaining.
When Matthew Hume discovered that my father had actually experienced life as a convict he was beside himself with joy.
“First-hand knowledge!” he cried. “That is what I am after.”
“I daresay it has changed a lot since my day,” my father reminded him. “Life is changing all the time.”
“But what an opportunity!”
He would sit beside my father, notebook in hand.
“Such a piece of luck,”
he said.
“It wasn’t for my father,” I reminded him.
He was serious. “But look. Here he is now, a man of standing, and he has gone through all that.”
“He did have an estate to go to and a title waiting for him.”
“I want the whole story,” said Matthew.
He was very earnest, a little lacking in humour, but he was a young man with a purpose and I liked him for that.
I said to my mother: “There is an innate goodness about him.”
She replied: “He certainly has reformation at heart, but it is often like that with the young. They have dreams of making this and that right and often they are not very practical. Their world is made of dreams rather than reality.”
“Don’t tell him that. He is intoxicated with his dream.”
Our first port of call was Madeira where we were putting off goods and taking on wine. It gave us an opportunity to go ashore and my father arranged for us to go round the island in a carriage. My parents and the Prevosts were in one, Helena, Matthew Hume, Jacco and myself in another.
It was a beautiful sight with its mountains and magnificently colourful flowers and it was wonderful to be ashore after being so long at sea. We were all rather merry—with the exception of Helena, but we did not expect her to be otherwise as she never was. We had a meal in a tavern in Funchal close to the red stone Cathedral and the flower market. Then we went back to the ship and very soon were at sea again.
We were a day out from Madeira. At dinner we had been more vociferous than usual, talking of our experiences in Madeira and telling each other that we must make the most of the next port of call.
We were all given a taste of the Madeira wine which had been taken on board and we were very convivial. Glancing at Helena I saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. I thought, She is not getting any better. Is she going on grieving for the rest of her life? After all, as my mother had said, if John Milward had been man enough he would have defied his parents. I wanted to say to her: “Think of the Prevosts going out not knowing what they are going to find. Think of that nice earnest Matthew Hume with his mission in life. Helena, you will have to make the best of it.”
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