The Hanging of Mary Ann

by Angela Badger

  The dark gods must have heard for, bad as times had been, they soon became even more desperate. Burnt to a cinder by the pitiless sun and chilled by icy nights, the heavens looked down on a ravaged countryside. The last willow sacrificed for fodder, the surviving beasts driven up to the mountains and even the water in the well turned dark and brackish. The sun beat down mercilessly on that expanse which had once been Lake George.

  Dust now rose where water had glinted in the sunshine. Cattle, sheep, kangaroos, wild turkeys, wallabies, pigs, goats - a whole mixture of creatures scavenged over the acres and many left their bones bleaching in the sun. Where yabby and eel and cod had multiplied in the depths not a single puddle remained.

  Then a fresh disaster gripped the land, a plague of grasshoppers descended. They devoured any remaining patch of greenery and, worse still, the carefully tended vegetables in the backyards disappeared under the relentless tide of insects devouring, breeding and dying. In some places their dead bodies piled up two feet deep around the dried-out lake, and the stink that filled the air made Lake George a place to be shunned.

  No sooner had the grasshoppers ravaged all that remained than sickness followed. Measles, scarlet fever and whooping cough swept through the tiny communities all around. Already decimated, the numbers of Canberri and Nunghawal who had remained were cut down even further.

  Gaunt cattle on the properties huddled in any patch of shade, mere shadows besmirched with brown dust. Skeletal, dirty, desperate-their only value lay in being boiled down at a shilling a time for glue or tallow.

  The daily round for the beleaguered settler centred around saving their water supplies. Many of those without wells had already taken the road to the city, braving heat, fearsome potholes and clouds of dust as they took their chance with any bushranger who might bail them up. Turning their faces away from the lake, they deserted those cruel acreages.

  Those who could do so left the land, but some had invested all they possessed and had no choice but to stay and husband any remaining resources. Fricasseed possum and quail on toast became a luxury and any creature fair game, even the bony crows weren’t shunned.

  “Reckon them over there’d be dead and gone but for they crows!” Job pointed to the Irishwoman’s hut across the river. “I seen ‘em with me very own eyes, out with the nets, find some rotting carcass and fix them nets in position and next to no time they’ve got their dinner hopping straight in after the bait.”

  “Well, all power to them, Job. They’d never have the wherewithal to leave that hovel. ‘Needs go when the devil drives’. There’s plenty of hungry mouths under that roof. All those young lads and no work.”

  “And that there girl taking after her ma,‘tis said. Like as not no better than she ought to be.”

  “Desperate times, Job!”

  “Like ‘tis said in the good book,” muttered Job.

  William made no reply. Over the months his oldest hand was becoming more and more morose.

  “You can’t read; how do you know, eh, Job?” Mary Ann spoke up. She was holding the twine as he tied up some sacks in the barn.

  “Don’t need to. Mr Sowerby said…”

  “Hurry up, Job,” William snapped. He didn’t feel in the mood for any more dire predictions.

  “What did Mr Sowerby say?” Mary Ann persisted. William Sowerby being such a powerful preacher, his words universally respected. Whenever he journeyed from Goulburn to the outlying villages his sermons drew crowds eager for comfort.

  “He said we’re all sinners. Says so in the good book. And the Lord sends the plagues on the sinners, and it’s all just as he said.”

  “That was a whole world away, in Egypt, wasn’t it Father?”

  William nodded. “Hurry up Job. We don’t want to be here all night.”

  “Praise the Lord!” Job refused to be silenced. “We’ve had the first plague when the fishes come up dead and floated and we’ve had a plague of flies alright.”

  “If I’m right,” William put in drily, “the next plague warns of boils and blains though I’m not sure what a blain is. Well, you can’t say we had that!”

  “Oh, can’t I? What about all the sickness that’s keeping the blackfellows in their camps and the fever’s goin’ through the properties. They reckon all the littl’uns in Gundaroo is comin’ down with it. And haven’t we had them grasshoppers?”

  “It says locusts in the Scriptures.”

  “Near as no difference. I tell you we’ll have the darkness before we’re finished and then the worst of all.”

  “What’s that?” Mary Ann asked.

  “Last plague’s the death of the firstborn. Firstborn calves, firstborn lambs, firstborn sons.”

  “Come father, we need some help with those buckets.” One glance at her father had been enough. Over the years he depended more and more upon his eldest son. Now his other sons had gone, only Charles remained. Watching over the scattered properties of the family had become Charles’ occupation and William Guise fretted at the young man’s long absences from home.

  She cursed the old man under her breath. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut.

  As William wearily followed her up to the house he tried to shake off his servant’s prediction. Why had such disaster overtaken the land? Never before had he connected the events of the last years with any such pattern as Divine Providence. Could it be? His spirits were still at a low ebb the next day when Charles returned on one of his brief visits.

  “Mary Ann’ll have to go up to the city. I’ll take her up to Hannah,” Charles urged his father. “How many months have we endured this? The house is a burden. You’ve enough to do keeping the horses and the pigs and the chickens watered. All the rest, the orchard and the garden. It’s nothing but a burden Father. What is the point of running the pair of you into the ground? You can camp out alright, you’d be fine here with Grand-père and Job to fetch and carry, but Mary Ann’s a different kettle of fish. She must leave, this is just not right for her.”

  But that was not to be.

  “I’m not leaving Bywong, Papa. I’m staying and that’s the end of it.” Mary Ann stalked out of the room, leaving them nonplussed. Then she put her head round the door, determined to make her point. “Leave so much to die in the drought? The orchard would be the first to go, then there would be the vegetables and Grand-mère’s roses. And the chickens? Who’d make sure they were shut up? Job’s got a head like a sieve. Then there’s the calves, would he remember to shut them away before milking? Leave all that to fall into nothingness?”

  Mary Ann wagged her finger at them, a broad smile on her face. “Remember what you always say, Grand-père? A de Guise never goes back on his word? Well, you’ve heard my last word.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “’Tis said over Bungendore way, land’ll never recover from this ‘ere drought,” Job muttered as he filled up a bucket from the well. “They says there’s cracks opened up that big you’d never believe. Forty sheep was lost down one of ‘em. Here, Miss Mary Ann, gimme me that pail, and sit yerself down for a spell.”

  “I heard that too,” William stepped off the verandah and picked up a bucket.

  “’Tis said old Cap’n Rossi’s sent the last of his sheep to be boiled down.”

  “Oh. Speaking of the Rossis, they are going to give a ball for the whole neighbourhood. I met Frank yesterday coming back from Bungendore, he said he hoped we’d all be there.”

  “A ball!” Mary Ann exclaimed. “A ball! Yes, he talked about that when we met him ages ago. When Grand-père and I went up to Hannah’s.”

  “Time flies, Mary Ann, that was nearly two years ago,” her father reminded her. “Seems the work on that ballroom got held up due to our drought, only just finished now.”

  “A real ball! How wonderful! But who’ll be going? There’s hardly anyone left round here.”

  “Such a deal of money in new pockets these days. There’s newcomers buying up the properties cheap, always hoping the drought will end. There’s pl
enty of folk around still. Gold, that’s what it is. People say it’s the making of the country now. I wonder. Gold’s the new wealth of this country, not wool. Some say there’s new chums down in Melbourne lighting their cigars with pound notes. But even so, there’s always people hereabouts. There’s plenty come down for the hunting this time of year, like they often do. People like to get out of the city once in a while.”

  “Just think. A real ball!”

  “Not, I trust, like the one they held in Gundaroo a few years back?” William frowned to himself. He’d only been there as young Elizabeth had some fancy to listen to the fiddler and watch the dancing. Children, old men, anyone who could stand on their two feet after all that drinking. What a shocking night! They’d not stayed long.

  That country ball scarcely deserved the name - a noisy mass of people throwing themselves about as the lone fiddler scraped away. Children leaping around with their relatives, the usual young men eyeing the girls and couples shyly taking to the floor.

  A very old man had walked around the room asking anyone who cared to dance with him. The trill of the fiddle had kindled a long dormant spark in his ancient frame. His eyes shone and his feet tapped as he held out his hand time after time for a partner. No one followed him on to the floor. He didn’t give up though, didn’t retreat to his wrinkled isolation; instead with a rueful shrug danced out across the room all on his own. Time rolled back for him, with the stiff elegance of many years he spun out the measures and whirled his solitary way around the room. With flushed cheeks and smiling lips, his face glowed as the music took him back to his youth, to a time when he held his love close to him once again. Surely someone would be brave enough to take to the floor and keep him company in his dreams.

  William for a moment knew how empty those arms must feel. He’d turned away and sighed. In the end we are, each and every one of us, on our own.

  Balls nowadays weren’t worthy of the name. Mary Ann was far too young for the mixed sort of gathering this might be. She’d soon see for herself.

  “No, Papa, I’m sure it would be nothing like that. The Count would never let such things happen under his roof. A real ball!”

  “Of course you are right.” Her father could not help but smile. Who could grudge her such delight? “This will be a great occasion. An orchestra from Melbourne and all the ladies remaining in the neighbourhood have been invited and asked to bring parties. Naturally Elizabeth and Henry’ll come over and stay.”

  Mary Ann’s excitement steadily mounted until by the time her sister arrived she could barely contain herself.

  “Do you think they’ll have ices? They have ices in Sydney these days, Hannah told me, though I never saw any. A real ball! What did you wear to your first real ball?”

  “I had a respectable frock for the first thing, none of this silly nonsense you brought back from the city.” Mary Ann was twirling around in front of her sister. “Can’t imagine what Hannah was thinking of letting you go out into company dressed like that. Perhaps she thought it suitable for Barrack Street but you certainly can’t wear it here. It’s quite shocking, and what’s more I was a mite older than you.”

  “I know, I know, but naught can be done about that, can it? Still we can do something about my dress, some lace’ll fix all that up. Won’t take a minute to make it quite respectable.”

  “And that hem can come down, just a smidgin,” Elizabeth observed. “It’s quite a pretty dress, I grant you that, but it certainly needs to be toned down a little bit. Keep still a moment, I’ll fetch the pins.”

  “I can’t wait, I just can’t wait. But what if no one asks me to dance? What shall I do Elizabeth? What if I just sit there the whole evening? Oh the shame of it!”

  “Come now, my Henry’ll take you round the floor and I daresay Dr Morton and his wife will be there too. We’ll all be round you. You’ll find most of the neighbours as well I’ve no doubt. What a shame Charles won’t be home in time but I’m sure Papa will oblige with a couple of turns too.”

  “Oh, Papa! He wouldn’t even know how to dance.”

  “Don’t you be so certain. I can remember when Mama was still with us they cut a fine pair at any party. You’d be too young to remember. Your papa could probably still dance you off your feet.”

  “And will there be those little cards for people to write in, you know, you read about them in the journals, just to make sure you get the right dance? And what do you think the Palmer ladies will wear? They can afford anything they want. They’ll be there won’t they.”

  A ball, Grand-père mused as he listened to his granddaughters. The mere mention of a ball in days gone by had sent his dear departed wife fluttering off to the dressmaker. Once their first struggles were over and prosperity came to the Guise family there had been many a dinner and a ball. Satin slippers, feathery fans, velvet wraps and white gloves. Those were the days he sighed to himself, that first flush of success and their years in Barrack Street. How different life had been once they moved away from the city.

  Balls and picnics and race meetings had been part of their lives once upon a time. They had worked hard and played hard. Close on the heels of all those memories came a chance remark which still resounded down the years. A girl never forgets her first ball’. Perhaps Frank’s ball would mark the beginning of a new era for everyone, maybe it would be a landmark.

  He could only hope it would be nothing like some of the country balls he’d seen. Why give them the name of a ball at all? Merely a bacchanalia of bumpkins eagerly eyeing the drink, sweating in their Sunday best and huddling together until one or the other summoned up enough courage to take to the floor.

  At least Frank de Rossi was a man of breeding. His generosity and hospitality were legendary in the region. He would never tolerate rowdy behaviour, decorum would be observed.

  Even if times had not been so hard, the ball at Frank de Rossi’s would have been the talk of the neighbourhood. Many fine stone houses had been built when times were good but none of them boasted a ballroom.

  Although ladies of quality mostly did not choose to dwell permanently in the country they had always spent part of the year on their properties, moving down from Sydney or up from Melbourne to join their husbands in the new land of promise when the season and the weather suited them. But when the fortunes of those who settled in the area changed many no longer bothered with the journey.

  Numbers of properties went on the market, some weren’t sold but left in the hands of an overseer, some just left untended. After all, if things picked up the land would still be there. Fences could fall down, huts could crumble and roofs could leak but the land remained. Land was where the value lay. They had their options.

  Options to suit many a settler, but not the Guises, they were a tenacious family. The Guises had always stayed together. Perhaps it was the closeness of the migrant, the obstinate determination to succeed and their dependence on each other, perhaps it was the great love which had bonded Grand-père and Grand-mère. Whatever the reason the Guises held on to their properties and certainly held on to each other.

  Mary Ann clutched at her father’s arm as they mounted the flight of steps leading up to the de Rossi’s verandah. A servant waited to usher in the guests. A servant who moved awkwardly and stepped carefully as he’d been temporarily relieved of his flannel shirt and moleskins and boots and was now splendidly arrayed in a white jacket with big brass buttons and everything to match.

  Out of the corner of her eye Mary Ann caught sight of women laying out supper in the dining room. Their flustered faces glowed in the candlelight as they arranged the platters and tossed the lily-white throwovers across the table, over the expanse of silver and crockery. Beeswax sweetened the air in the hallway and swags of gum leaves added a pungency all their own.

  “Slow down, slow down,” muttered Grand-père as he hurried to keep up with the others. “We’ll get there soon enough.”

  “Wait for your grandfather,” admonished William as he hesitated and grasped
the verandah rail.

  Not for the first time William felt a twinge of discomfort. For the last few months a heaviness had gripped his chest on occasions. Now he had to stand still and catch his breath.

  “Take my arm, Papa, just mind your step!”

  Common sense told him that he should sit down, tell the others to go and let him be for a moment, sit down with the old man and take the weight off his feet, but rational thought does not rule when uncertainty surfaces. William frowned. How could he, the head of the family, admit to any infirmity?

  It must be all that worry over the drought, the debts or maybe a twinge of one of those ailments of later years which so soon become chronic. Nothing to worry about!

  “It’s certainly a magnificent place. Right down the back, sir, that’s where the ballroom is. What a construction!” Henry called over his shoulder.

  “Come on, Papa, come on!” Mary Ann turned back and took his hand.

  “Let Gran’pêre catch his breath,” but in truth it was he, himself, who took a few quick gasps.

  Momentarily they paused. A passage stretched in front of them and through an archway at the far end the bright lights of the ballroom beckoned. They could only wonder at the magnificence displayed before them when they finally stood on the polished boards. Pillars cunningly painted to resemble marble stretched up to the high ceiling where silver stars and a fat, white Man in the Moon gleamed down from a midnight sky.

  At a loss for words, the party stood and stared. The burnished wood of the floor shone like glass, reflecting candle sconces set every few feet along all four walls. A small group of musicians tuned their instruments upon a raised stage, against a backdrop of apricot velvet drapery. Chairs lined the walls, not the square wooden chairs which everyone used each day but neatly upholstered articles of furniture with curved backs and graceful legs and seats of the same glowing velvet. All around, from picture rail to skirting, the walls were painted a delicate cream and garlands of greenery framed each window and doorway.