The Unmourned

by Thomas Keneally

  ‘Sound advice. Something to think on, at any rate. Do you object to discussing this further with me in due course?’

  ‘No reason why not, I suppose.’

  ‘Excellent. This morning, though, I fear we are spending our time with those beyond reading, beyond understanding of most things. Halfwits, some call them. But then they’re not lacking a certain intelligence. They’re just not very keen on engaging the world, you see. It would hurt them were they to come into any contact with it. So here they stay. They have long served their sentences but have nowhere else to go. I hope you have the stomach for this?’

  ‘I’ve the stomach for whatever is required of me,’ said Hannah, drawing herself up to her full five feet in height.

  ‘Forgive me, I can see I have offended you. I didn’t mean to imply that you are squeamish, or weak. I simply wish you to be prepared. They’re not violent – not generally. But they are … disconcerting, I suppose you could say. At any rate, there’s only two of them. One each, eh?’

  ‘And what will we be doing with them?’

  ‘Just sitting with them, really. Soothing them, giving them greater peace of mind. I like to think that somewhere, under the madness, as long as I am there they realise they have not been fully abandoned.’

  They were outside a wooden door. It didn’t look particularly strong – none of the doors here did. Mrs Nelson drew a ring of keys out of her pocket. ‘Remind me to return this to its place in the superintendent’s lodging, would you, please?’ she said as she selected one and inserted it into the hole.

  The room was small, sparse, but remarkably clean – Hannah had heard stories of Bedlam and other asylums, places where the insane drifted to the floor like dust. And most of those lurid tales included at least some mention of an overwhelming smell, the stench of humans who were beyond caring whether they offended anyone else’s nostrils.

  This really didn’t smell, though, at least no worse than anywhere else in the Factory, in the colony for that matter. And the floor was clean, as clean as could be expected. There weren’t too many surfaces for dust to gather on anyway. The room contained two beds, and one woman.

  ‘Good morning, Lizzie!’ Rebecca Nelson said, with the same delighted tone she’d used to greet Hannah. ‘Where on earth is Pamela?’

  ‘She’s pretending to be asleep,’ said Lizzie. ‘She’s been pretending since last week – they came with our breakfast, I tried to wake her. She just stared at me. I gave her a slap, then, told her not to be so rude. You always tell us how important manners are. She kept it up, though. Kept staring, kept refusing to eat, even when I put some of her breakfast in her mouth. Then they came and took her away. Maybe they’re punishing her for being naughty, for pretending too much.’

  ‘I see. No one told me … Well, I keep forgetting I’m not part of the staff here. So you’re by yourself now, Lizzie.’

  ‘Yes, until they bring Pamela back.’

  ‘Lizzie, dear, I don’t believe they will be bringing Pamela back. Have you been lonely?’

  ‘Hard to tell, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so, Lizzie.’

  For all of the childishness, Lizzie was perhaps the same age as Hannah, or a touch younger.

  ‘And they’ve be treating you well?’

  ‘They aren’t treating me at all, missus. No treats. Not like the fair at Tyburn.’

  Hannah had only been to England once – when she was held on a prison hulk pending transportation to the colony. But she’d heard of Tyburn – a notorious place, where hangings attracted huge crowds, and the crowds in turn attracted merchants who sold all sorts of treats. That was a world away, and years ago.

  ‘Well, Lizzie, I have a treat for you,’ said Rebecca. ‘I brought a friend for you to meet. This is Mrs Mulrooney. She’s housekeeper to one of the governor’s clerks.’

  From the arch of Rebecca Nelson’s eyebrow, Hannah assumed that what she did next surprised the woman – she went and sat on the bed next to Lizzie and said, ‘Good morning, Lizzie. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  Lizzie gaped at her, seemingly astonished. Then she opened her mouth wider and began to wail.

  ‘You’re like them,’ she screeched. ‘The ones who took him, and they’ve come for me now, haven’t they? All this time I was wondering, I thought I’d escaped, but I haven’t, have I? They’ve sent you to get me!’

  With that, she hauled back one shoulder and slapped Hannah across the face with all of her admittedly diminished might.

  Rebecca Nelson darted to the bed, dragged Hannah away by the shoulders.

  ‘Lizzie, there is no call for that! I’ve brought you a friend, and you’re not being very friendly, are you?’

  ‘Why, Eddie, why did you do it? I trusted you, Eddie. Why did you?’

  The name – the odd, unclaimed name – brought on a frightening change to Rebecca Nelson. Her even features, which seemed to have been designed to convey polite neutrality, twisted and contracted until her face was all flashing eyes and snarl. Then she, too, drew back her hand and struck Lizzie.

  ‘You will address me as Mrs Nelson,’ she shouted.

  Lizzie lay back on the bed, holding her cheek where Mrs Nelson’s hand had connected, breathing out small whimpers.

  Mrs Nelson inhaled deeply, smoothed her skirts. Her features dissolved back into neutrality before her mouth arranged itself into a sympathetic smile. She knelt beside the bed and began stroking Lizzie’s hair.

  ‘You’re distressed, Lizzie. No one is taking you anywhere, you’re just confused. We’ll leave you now. Leave you to calm down. And perhaps the next time I bring my friend you’ll have a few more manners about you, will you? Rest now. I’ll send someone in with some water shortly.’

  She shuffled Hannah towards the door and closed it, taking care to lock it securely.

  ‘My dear, I am so sorry! Are you all right? There’s something of a bruise there, coming up.’

  ‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Mrs Nelson. I am somewhat hardier than I look. Simply surprised.’

  Hannah did not mention that her surprise arose mostly from Mrs Nelson’s attack on Lizzie. She had seen this kind of thing, mind you, plenty of times. The mercurial nature of the rich when they felt a liberty had been taken. She had not expected to find such changeability in Mrs Nelson. But there you are, she thought, making assumptions like Mr Monsarrat. You hardly know the woman.

  ‘You know you mustn’t take the slightest notice of anything she says, no one does, all she comes out with is a demented stream of unconnected sentences,’ said Mrs Nelson. ‘I know it’s hard to ignore them when they’re accompanied by a slap, but if you’re the extraordinary woman I believe you to be, you may be able to forgive poor Lizzie.’

  Hannah had no hesitation in forgiving Lizzie. What was giving her pause was the surprisingly lucid nature of Lizzie’s speech, for all that Rebecca thought she was rambling. It was true her words bore no resemblance to her current situation, but they retained a kind of sense.

  ‘Do you know what she was talking about?’ she asked. ‘Why did I disturb her so?’

  ‘Perhaps it was the Irish accent. She lost family in a rebellion there, I believe. Seems to have made her destitute, you see. Forced her onto the streets, into prostitution.’

  Then Mrs Nelson seemed to catch herself. ‘Forgive me again. You are such a steady person it slipped my mind that you were transported. I hope …’

  Hannah was astonished to have a gentlewoman apologising for offending her sensibilities, especially one who had just dealt so brutally with a lapse in decorum. In the eyes of many, Hannah knew she was thrice damned – a former felon, Irish and a woman.

  ‘Nothing like that. I stole to feed my baby,’ she said. While true, the statement sounded far more hollow even to Hannah’s ears than it once had. Its power had been eroded by its use as a justification by every female convict with a baby. But it must have had some resonance with Mrs Nelson, who nodded. ‘Everyone does what she must,’ she said. ‘As did Liz
zie. Not condonable, but understandable.’

  Hannah had rarely heard anyone freely express such views, and it was particularly odd coming from one who had just struck a woman for familiarity and using the wrong name. But that was the quality for you, a high-handed goodwill which evaporated in the face of a slight. It was the opinion of the majority that a great many people suffered hardship and loss but not all of them turned to crime.

  ‘You seem to have an uncommon understanding of them … of us,’ said Hannah.

  It was intended as a compliment – Hannah liked to think that those she intended to insult could not mistake her intent – but Mrs Nelson’s lips parted slightly, then pursed, while she looked at Hannah, confused at first, then lowering her eyebrows, which gave her face a look of pinched offence.

  ‘I am nothing like these women. I share no history with them; I have no basis for any special understanding. It’s common among the convict class to confuse charity with something deeper. A simplistic view, of course. Please do not dishonour me by conflating my kindness with some sort of bond.’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry, I meant no offence,’ Hannah said. Although to tell the truth she had taken a small amount of offence that Mrs Nelson would feel somehow diminished by anything more than a superficial association with a convict. Or a former one.

  She knew she had succeeded in masking her irritation when Rebecca’s face softened, and her mouth relaxed into a smile. The change was rapid, jarring. Hannah had not viewed Rebecca as changeable, but it seemed there was a hazardous unpredictability within her. Hannah would need to be careful.

  ‘I’m so glad you understand,’ Rebecca said. ‘You’ve seen what I have to deal with, all the work that needs doing, and I would hate to lose your help.’

  ‘You show great patience,’ said Hannah, hoping she sounded sincere. ‘Perhaps Lizzie reacted as she did because she has no distraction, no choice but to dwell on what she’s lost. Perhaps if she can rage at me – from a safe distance – it will bring her some measure of consolation. I would be willing to visit her again, if you thought it would help.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Mrs Nelson sounded unsure. ‘For now, though, we will return to the superintendent’s lodging. You and I have much to do.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘Yes, of course. You are going to help me find a way to teach letters more effectively.’

  Hannah spent the first half of their transit across the yard wondering if she dared ask the most pressing question the morning’s events had thrown up. She did not want to risk offending Rebecca again. But if she decided to ask no questions, she would get no answers, and Rebecca’s reaction might prove more telling than any verbal response.

  ‘Mrs Nelson, I wondered – why did Lizzie refer to you as Eddie?’

  Rebecca frowned again, but this time seemed more perplexed than angry. ‘I’ve never heard her do that before. Maybe it was her husband’s name. I wouldn’t set too much store by it, my dear. You never know what she’ll come out with.’

  ‘Can it be, though? If it was her husband’s name, would she not have said it before now?’

  ‘Perhaps she has,’ said Mrs Nelson. ‘Perhaps she has screamed it into the night when there’s no one to hear. Really, Mrs Mulrooney, I find it best not to follow people like Lizzie down their tangled paths. There’s no telling what horrors they lead to.’

  Chapter 10

  Mrs Mulrooney’s tea was by far the finest Monsarrat had ever tasted, and was largely responsible for maintaining his sanity in its current – although sometimes he felt questionable – condition during his confinement at Port Macquarie.

  ‘Very odd, to be honest,’ Mrs Mulrooney was saying. Her hands were working independently, using a knife to remove the skin of a potato while she leaned forward in her seat to allow the peel to fall into a small bucket. ‘Exceptionally familiar, for one thing. I’ve never had a gentlewoman speak to me that way, with the exception of dear Mrs Shelborne, and that was only after a period of acquaintance. The woman’s met me twice and she’s treating me as a friend.’

  ‘Possibly she’s a good judge of character, then.’

  ‘Don’t you be thinking you can flatter me into failing to notice that you haven’t finished your tea, Mr Monsarrat. But while she seems delighted I’m there, she takes huge offence at the implication that we might have something in common. And she hit a woman – a madwoman too. It’s off, that’s all. It’s not right.’

  ‘Despite the oddness, do you think you can continue to put up with her?’ said Monsarrat.

  ‘Indeed, for she has my interest. She was the soul of patience until the madwoman called her Eddie, then she cracked her across the face. She claims not to know anything about the name, and possibly she doesn’t, but it certainly seemed to disconcert her. I intend to find out why.’

  ‘I am glad to hear you say that.’

  Mrs Mulrooney was very good at taking someone’s measure, better than just about anyone Monsarrat had met – and he considered he was no slouch in that department himself. Perhaps that was why he was disturbed by her attitude towards Sophia – her reservations made it harder to ignore his own. And perhaps that was why her tea was not sliding down his throat as easily as it usually did.

  He had said the other night, slightly ruefully and half-seriously, that he would miss their evening discussions after he and Sophia married.

  ‘Well, I would be very surprised if I miss them, Mr Monsarrat,’ she had said.

  ‘Oh. I see. Well, I hope my company hasn’t been too much of a burden on you.’

  ‘Don’t be an eejit, you ridiculous man. Of course I would miss our talks were they to end. However, I very much doubt that they will.’

  ‘They might have to for a time. I imagine Sophia will want my undivided attention. Of course you will always have a situation here, with us – I could not do without you and you know that very well, but when Sophia and I marry there might need to be some adjustments.’

  ‘And I’m well aware of that myself. What I was getting at is that I think the chances of you marrying her are small. And I consider that to be all to the good.’

  Monsarrat was shocked. A small amount of tension was to be expected between them, he supposed – they had both played such crucial roles in different parts of his life that they no doubt felt they had a claim on a piece of his soul. And God save him from strong-tempered women, despite the fact he seemed to surround himself with them. But they also tended to be people of character, and Hannah and Sophia were no different. He’d had full confidence that what he saw as a minor crinkle, their antipathy, would be ironed out with the passage of time. This declaration from Hannah Mulrooney spoke of an acrimony which went beyond that.

  ‘Why do you think that Sophia and I will not marry?’

  ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Mr Monsarrat. She’d be a lucky girl, so she would. But I don’t believe you’re enough for her, you see.’

  Monsarrat nearly choked on his tea.

  ‘For the love of God. It wasn’t a slight against your manhood, Mr Monsarrat. I’d never do that to you, knowing how delicate your pride is.’

  He opened his eyes as wide as he could, aping surprise. ‘I thank you for your consideration. It is uncommonly kind of you.’

  And that, of course, earned him another swipe with the cleaning cloth.

  ‘What I meant,’ the housekeeper said, ‘is that madam craves respectability. Marriage to a steady clerk – one who has a colonial offence against his name, as well as his original one – may not bring her to sufficient heights on the social ladder. You seem to be the best she has right now, but I would not doubt for a moment that she is searching for a better prospect, one perhaps with a greater income and less of a criminal taint.’

  ‘I really must ask you to stop speaking like this, Mrs Mulrooney!’ he said, sharply enough for her to take a startled step backwards.

  He felt immediately guilty at alarming her, annoyance at himself for feeling guilt, and further irritation with her for introducing hi
m to such a noxious stew of emotions. Still, he made sure to speak somewhat more gently. ‘I don’t know what Sophia has done to offend you, but you are accusing her of the most appalling, calculated marital strategy.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll stay silent on the matter,’ she said, ‘and hope to be proved wrong.’

  The problem was, he thought, Hannah Mulrooney was rarely wrong.

  * * *

  Rebecca’s husband, David Nelson, was known as hard-nosed but honest.

  From what Monsarrat knew of Quakers, he assumed Nelson approved of his wife’s philanthropic activities at the Female Factory. Possibly had even suggested them. And it could do no harm for Monsarrat to be seen to be supporting these activities.

  So he wrote to Mr Nelson, introducing himself and offering the services of his housekeeper for a full month to assist Mrs Nelson in her endeavours. He knew the offer would be accepted with alacrity and didn’t wait for a response. The next morning he walked Mrs Mulrooney to the Female Factory and delivered her to Rebecca Nelson.

  Back, then, through the Factory gates, past the bell on its filigreed stand, around the same height as Monsarrat himself, which told the women when it was time to wash, to work, to eat, to sleep. Which had failed to tell the superintendent it was time to die.

  He asked the guard whether McAllister was here. Thankfully he wasn’t. Clearly the leader of the management committee felt he had done enough managing for the present.

  Just in case McAllister or some other worthy did present himself, Monsarrat checked the cuffs of his coat, flicking away a leaf which had drifted down and got caught in one of them. As no greater authority was currently present, he would assume the role himself, he had clearly decided, and pretend to be comfortable while doing so.

  In this bell-regulated place, the women had not yet heard the peal which would tell them to pick up their hammers. They were gathered, instead, in tight knots around the Third Class yard. When Monsarrat had first seen them, they had seemed simply appendages of the one, rock-breaking organism. Now, at what passed for leisure here, their individual characters asserted themselves.