The River Charm

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘One of the executors of your father’s estate told my father that your mother had been difficult to deal with,’ Will murmured reluctantly. ‘That she was . . . well, you know.’

  Charlotte shook off Will’s hand. ‘My mother has always fought for what she thinks is right. The executors drove us from our home, refused to pay us our allowance and tried to take us away from our mother. Is it any wonder she was difficult?’

  Will looked shamefaced. ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte,’ he said, his shoulders sagging. ‘I have been a little preoccupied.’

  He paused, then continued with a rush, ‘You see, my father has been in poor health for the last few years, and I have taken over running the family business concerns. However, with the ongoing economic depression, so many people are unemployed or spending less money, so the business has not been thriving.’

  Charlotte nodded, feeling mollified. ‘Mamma says that the income from our estates has dwindled drastically over the last four years because of the depression. The tenant who was leasing Oldbury went bankrupt and was unable to pay the rent. The house has been lying empty and neglected.’

  Will sighed, shaking his head in agreement. ‘It is happening all over the colony. Many of the leading businessmen have gone bankrupt . . .’ He eyed the path ahead. ‘I am applying for a licence to run an inn at Macquarie Street in Liverpool – The Liverpool Arms. I must make it a success. If I cannot turn the business around, Father will be declared insolvent. The shame would kill him.’

  Charlotte looked at Will. He suddenly seemed so young and vulnerable with the weight of his family’s expectations on his shoulders. She was only fifteen. He was only eighteen. She felt like they were children playing at being adults in a complex, harsh world.

  ‘My whole family is depending on me,’ Will said. ‘If I fail we will lose everything – our house, our land, our reputation.’

  She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘You will make a success of the business, Will. The depression must end soon.’

  Will smiled at her, his face still strained. ‘It will be difficult for me to get up to Sydney once I am running The Liverpool Arms,’ he explained. ‘As father keeps reminding me, it is more than a full-time occupation running a hotel. There is no time for anything else.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Charlotte, her heart sinking.

  Mamma and Emily were waiting at the end of the gardens, near the gate that led towards Woolloomooloo. James was throwing sticks into a nearby pond, while Louisa was trying to catch a dragonfly in her hands. Mamma looked enquiringly at Charlotte’s pale face and Will’s stiff posture, but she did not comment.

  ‘Would you like to join us for a family lunch, Mr Cummings?’ asked Mamma. ‘We are just having a simple roast, but you have a long drive ahead of you back to Liverpool.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Will replied. ‘That would be delightful.’

  There was an awkward pause, as Charlotte couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘The children and I were just talking,’ Mamma began. ‘We were thinking that once you are married, Charlotte, perhaps we should move back to Oldbury?’

  Charlotte’s heart beat faster. She twisted the pearl ring on her finger.

  ‘Move back to Oldbury?’ Charlotte’s voice croaked.

  ‘Well, you will be living at Liverpool, busy with your new life,’ Mamma explained, smiling. ‘The house at Oldbury is empty, and it is nearly time that James began to learn how to be a farmer. It will certainly be a lot more affordable for us to live in the country than here in Sydney.’

  ‘It will be wonderful to go home at last,’ Emily sighed, clasping her hands together under her chin. ‘Although we will miss you so much, Charlotte.’

  James ran up to Charlotte. ‘Did Mamma tell you we will be going home soon?’

  ‘That is good news,’ Charlotte agreed. Even to herself, her voice sounded hollow.

  It was late afternoon, several weeks later, and Mamma was cooking in the kitchen. It was the new servant girl’s day off, so Mamma and Emily were preparing the meal. Emily was peeling potatoes while Mamma was dressing a leg of lamb with butter, lemon and rosemary. In the corner, James was reading a book on Greek mythology. Louisa was sitting in a chair, topping and tailing the beans with a sharp knife.

  Samson lay across the doorway. He wasn’t supposed to be in the kitchen, but he believed that lying in the doorway didn’t count. Charlotte stepped over him and dropped her new bonnet and gloves on the dresser.

  ‘Mmm – that smells delicious,’ Charlotte said. ‘I haven’t had Mamma’s roast leg of lamb for an age.’

  ‘That’s because you are never home,’ Emily said, sounding aggrieved. ‘You are forever gallivanting about Sydney Town with your friends or your fiancé.’

  ‘It is an exciting time in a girl’s life being engaged,’ Mamma explained. ‘It is nice that the Cummings are up in Sydney for a few days. How did you go shopping for your trousseau with Miss Cummings today?’

  ‘I didn’t go after all,’ Charlotte said, looking embarrassed. ‘I had a headache.’

  ‘Too many late nights, I suspect, my dearest. You have been on a whirligig of social engagements this past week. Please try not to overdo it.’

  ‘I cannot wait until the ball at the Cummings villa to celebrate your engagement,’ Emily said. ‘Mamma and I have started making a new gown for me to wear. It is pink with pale-green ribbons.’

  Charlotte paused, took up a knife and began to peel a potato in a single, sweeping cut.

  ‘Actually, Mamma, there was something I wished to speak to you about,’ Charlotte confessed, her eyes on the long curl of potato peel.

  ‘You have not quarrelled with Mr Cummings, have you?’ Louisa teased, pointing a bean at Charlotte. ‘Not after he gave you all those lovely presents?’

  Charlotte glanced at Louisa and frowned. ‘I told Will today that I could not marry him,’ she explained, her voice thick.

  ‘Oh, Charlotte!’ Mamma exclaimed, wiping her hands on a linen towel. She came and hugged her daughter against her. Charlotte breathed in the soft, familiar scent of her mother mixed with lemon and rosemary. ‘I am so sorry. What made you change your mind?’

  Charlotte glanced around the warm kitchen, with its blazing wood fire and her beloved family grouped around their household tasks.

  ‘I have been thinking about things,’ Charlotte explained slowly. ‘I’m not sure I really understand why, but it just didn’t feel right.’

  ‘You were not put off by his family, were you?’ asked Mamma. ‘I know you said Will’s mother did not seem terribly pleased with the prospect of you being engaged?’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘I am sure she and Harriet are most relieved. Mrs Cummings would adore me if I were a wealthy heiress – especially now Mr Cummings has lost his fortune.’

  A look of pain crossed Mamma’s face. Charlotte took her hand and squeezed it.

  ‘So why have you broken your engagement?’ asked Emily.

  ‘Will has been so tense about the new inn and working so hard,’ Charlotte explained. ‘He says it is almost certain now that his father will be declared bankrupt after all these years of hard work. The whole family must depend on what he can earn.’

  ‘Oh, that is a dreadful shame,’ Mamma sympathised. ‘But I would not let that deter you. You are both young and can work hard to get established.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ Charlotte replied, shaking her head. ‘I’m not afraid of hard work. Actually, it was when you said that you would move back to Oldbury after the wedding. I imagined you all living at Oldbury without me, and I realised that I wanted to go home too.’ Charlotte started peeling another potato. ‘I suddenly felt that both of us are too young to get married just yet. I remembered what you said about making a bad choice that I might regret my whole life.’

  Mamma brushed a wisp of loose hair from Charlotte’s f
orehead. ‘That was a hard decision, dearest.’

  ‘But I am to be your bridesmaid,’ Louisa wailed. ‘And wear a long dress with pink roses in my hair.’

  ‘I’m sorry, poppet,’ Charlotte apologised. ‘I’m sure I will get married one day when I’m a little older, and you and Emily can be my bridesmaids then.’

  Emily exchanged glances with Charlotte and smiled.

  ‘I have missed you,’ Emily confessed.

  ‘I’ve missed you all too.’

  27

  Return to Oldbury

  April, 1846

  The carriage drawn by two bay horses swept up the driveway, between the avenue of elm trees with their blazing golden foliage.

  Mamma leant out of the carriage window, her black eyes dancing with excitement. ‘Thomas, would you mind stopping for a moment, please?’ she asked.

  The new coachman, Thomas McNeilly, obligingly pulled the horses up beside the overgrown hawthorn hedge.

  Mamma climbed down out of the carriage, followed by Charlotte, Emily and Louisa. They were all rugged up against the autumn chill, with dark woollen travelling dresses, thick cloaks and straw bonnets. James jumped down last, followed by Samson.

  ‘There it is,’ Mamma whispered.

  Through a gap in the hedge they could see the honey-warm stone of Oldbury in the distance, nestled among the green-and-gold foliage.

  ‘We’re home,’ Emily murmured. James leant down and picked up a handful of dirt and pebbles from the roadway and squeezed it in his fist.

  A sense of excitement bubbled up inside Charlotte. At last, they were finally here.

  Charlotte glanced back at Thomas McNeilly. He was a handsome, dark-haired Irishman with a thick brogue. Mamma had employed him to help with the farm, drive the carriage and tend to the horses.

  ‘Must be grand to be home, miss?’ Thomas asked with a grin.

  ‘Marvellous,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘It has been a long, long time.’

  ‘Come on,’ Louisa called, pulling at Charlotte’s arm. ‘Stop talking. Let’s get there.’

  ‘Good idea, poppet,’ Mamma agreed.

  They all clambered back into the carriage, which rumbled over the creek crossing, through the garden gateway and into the front carriage loop. Charlotte felt tears of exhilaration well up. She blinked rapidly and surreptitiously smudged them away with a gloved finger. Mamma blew her nose on her handkerchief and took a deep breath.

  The grounds were overgrown and a cow was grazing in what had once been the rose garden. Up close, the house looked forlorn – the paint peeling and the front windows cracked. Thomas pulled the horses up and opened the carriage door.

  Mamma led the way up the front steps and opened the double French doors with a large key. Silently, they wandered into the vestibule. The house had lain empty for years. All their remaining furniture was coming down slowly from Sydney by bullock dray. Inside, the wall­paper was peeling and stained by the damp. Large cracks ran through the plaster.

  They wandered from room to room, checking the upstairs bedrooms, the empty cellars, the derelict dairy and kitchen. Charlotte felt a mixture of jubilation to finally be home, tinged with sadness that their once-graceful estate was in such disrepair.

  Thomas carried in the carpetbags from the carriage. ‘Where would ye like me to put these, ma’am?’ he asked.

  ‘Just here in the drawing room is fine,’ Mamma replied. ‘I think we will camp in here together around the fire until the furniture arrives.’

  ‘Aye, ma’am,’ replied Thomas. ‘To be sure.’

  It had been a long, uncomfortable two-day drive from Sydney, with the anticipation mounting as they neared Berrima and then Oldbury itself.

  James and Thomas collected wood and made a fire in the sitting room grate. Charlotte began preparations for a damper to bake over the coals, while Emily made tea in a quart pot.

  Mamma sat down on the floor at her battered writing desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, a bottle of ink and a metal-nibbed pen, and she began to write.

  ‘What are you writing, Mamma?’ Charlotte asked, mixing the flour and water in a tin pannikin.

  Mamma smiled, her face softened and transformed, her eyes sparkling with energy. ‘I am writing a list. Tomorrow we will clean all the rooms on this level, then we can work on the upstairs bedrooms. There is no money to repair the building just yet, but we can make it quite comfortable.’

  Charlotte and Emily exchanged a smile.

  ‘When the furniture is delivered, we can start on the garden.’ Mamma slipped her hand in her pocket and unconsciously rolled the smooth, brown pebble between her fingers. ‘James, we will make a fine farmer out of you yet.’

  Charlotte stood up and wiped a smear of dust from her dark-blue travelling skirt. ‘I’ll go out into the garden and see how it looks,’ she announced. ‘Come on, Samson – walk time.’

  Samson jumped to his paws, his whole body wriggling with excitement. Charlotte ruffled his silky ears and grabbed her cloak. They wandered out through the back door into the courtyard, then further back towards the stables and outbuildings. The vegetable garden was overgrown with weeds. In the stable yard, Thomas was grooming the two bay horses, brushing them until their coats gleamed.

  Charlotte came and leant against the stable wall, breathing in the comforting smell of horse sweat and old hay. Samson pushed his nose against Thomas’s leg, begging for a pat.

  ‘He’s not a shy creature,’ said Thomas with a grin, rubbing Samson between the eyes.

  ‘Only to people he likes,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘He usually takes longer to get to know people. He’s decided you can be trusted.’

  ‘Well, tha’ is a relief, at any rate,’ Thomas replied. He jerked his thumb back towards the house. ‘It must ha’ been a splendid place once.’

  ‘Yes,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘And it will be again if my mother has her way.’

  Thomas untied the horses and began to lead them away.

  ‘Oi’ll let them loose in the ol’ orchard,’ he said. ‘’Tis full of grass.’

  Charlotte wandered along beside Thomas, her eyes soaking up the sights – the tumbledown fences, the long grass choking the garden beds, the familiar paddocks and the abandoned outhouses. To the east, past Gingenbullen a single spiral of smoke curled lazily in the air. Charlotte wondered if Charley and the Gandangara clan might be camping there.

  Thomas clicked his tongue softly as he let the horses go. The orchard was indeed lush with grass, and the gnarled apple trees were laden with rich, red fruit.

  ‘The apples are ripe,’ Charlotte cried in delight. She stretched up to a branch and picked one. ‘It will be apple tart for supper tonight.’

  Suddenly, Charlotte scrambled up the tree and onto a low-lying branch, just as she had done when she was a child, to pick some of the higher fruit. From her vantage point she could see back towards the golden house, the distant waterhole choked with white waterlilies and then behind her towards the forest-covered mountain of Gingenbullen. Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘It is part of me,’ whispered Charlotte to the tree trunk. ‘And I am part of Oldbury.’

  She was overflowing with hope, joy and relief. No matter what happened now, no matter how much hard work it would take to restore Oldbury, this was the start of a wonderful new stage in her life.

  ‘Are ye all roight up there, miss?’ Thomas asked, sounding concerned. ‘Can I help ye down?’

  ‘Catch,’ Charlotte cried, raining a shower of fruit upon Thomas. He laughed and caught the apples deftly, one by one, stowing them in his hat. Samson barked with excitement, chasing an apple that Thomas missed.

  Charlotte jumped to the ground, her skirts and petti­coats flying. ‘We’re home!’ she shouted, throwing her dark head back against the sky. ‘We’re home at Oldbury, together.’

  28

  Afterwards


  Present Day

  Aunt Jessamine paused. ‘So the Atkinsons returned to Oldbury just before James’s fourteenth birthday, when Charlotte was seventeen,’ she explained.

  Millie sighed, the spell broken. She pushed her hair back behind her ear, the gold charm bracelet jingling. ‘That was a wonderful story, Aunt Jessamine.’

  ‘I had heard parts of their history over the years,’ Mum added. ‘But I had never heard the full tale.’

  ‘Well, lots of the history is documented, and lots of it has been passed down as family folklore, so who knows what the real story was?’ Aunt Jessamine confessed.

  ‘But the story doesn’t end there,’ Millie reminded them. ‘What happened when they all grew up?’

  Aunt Jessamine rubbed her hands together. ‘Well, Charlotte fell in love with the charming Irish coachman, Thomas McNeilly, and they eloped. She was married on her nineteenth birthday. They lived at Oldbury, then on their own farm near Berrima for many years. Charlotte and Thomas had six surviving children, but eventually they moved away to Orange, where Charlotte established a school. She lived to a ripe old age, a true matriarch, continuing to paint and write to newspapers and in journals until she was in her eighties.’

  ‘I hope she was happy,’ Millie whispered.

  ‘I’m sure she had her fair share of happy and sad times,’ Mum said, ruffling Millie’s hair.

  ‘What about Emily?’ Bella asked. ‘Did she marry too?’

  Aunt Jessamine sighed. ‘Emily married a farmer called James Johnson when she was twenty-three. She died ten months later, after the birth of her first child. The baby survived only a few months.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Millie felt tears welling in her eyes and she tried to blink them away.

  ‘Louisa lived with her mother up in Kurrajong and at the cottage at Swanton,’ Aunt Jessamine explained. ‘Louisa scandalised Kurrajong society by riding out through the mountains on her botany excursions wearing men’s trousers! Absolutely shocking behaviour for the times!’