Among the crowd of mourners George Brownlow observed everyone carefully, and later mingled with the family and friends.
He watched the ham being sliced and the cheese being cut up, the tea poured and the beer drawn from its cask. As he offered his condolences he could not but hear some of the muttered comments.
“Reckon old William’ll cut up real good,” Constable Nugent speculated as he stood with others from Gundaroo, slightly apart from the mourning relatives. George edged closer.
“Them girls, tidy packet for them and no doubt about it,” another chipped in with a knowing laugh.
“That Rossi won’t know his luck, time he gets back.”
Someone muttered, “Walk into a nice little fortune, I reckon. Sweet on that Mary Ann, some say. Who knows with them foreigners?”
Rossi! George’s hand twitched.
“Steady on, mate!” Constable Nugent stepped back as some beer spilled over down his jacket.
Rossi! George had never thought the older man would ever be considered a suitable suitor for young Mary Ann. What a fool he’d been! So wrapped up in his visits, his frequent chats and the satisfaction that events were unfolding in a most rewarding manner that it had never occurred to him any larger scenario could exist.
He turned and regarded them closely. The old man leaning on his stick, the well-turned out couple standing close to Mary Ann, several cousins hovering around the teapot and cakes.
The family were busy with their own plans.
“Mary Ann can spend half the year with Henry and me and half the year with Edward and Hannah up in Barrack Street.”
Grand-père listened politely to his elder granddaughter. “You’ll come and live at Woodbury, of course, Grand-père. Henry says best to get an overseer for Bywong, someone to look after the property and then…”
“Thank you but Mary Ann and I are staying on the farm.”
“But you’ll be on your own, Grand-père. Who’ll manage the farm? Dear sir, don’t consider it,” Henry Lintott insisted.
“Mary Ann and I will manage very nicely, thank you.” He snapped his mouth shut and chewed discreetly.
No one was brave enough to ask the important question – for how long?
How much longer would the old man be in this world? And what then?
CHAPTER 9
“Pretty as a picture! Just shows what love can do.” Hannah took her sister’s arm as they settled themselves in the pew, flanked by their husbands. “I just wish she’d waited a bit longer, but would she listen?”
“That’s our Mary Ann. Headstrong she is and always will be. But you’ve got to admit we need someone as’ll take the place on. These days with half the properties going to the wall, hardly had the chance to get over the drought, then it’s everyone off to the diggings. You can’t deny George’s an able man, and that’s what this family needs. Can’t credit our own family ending up like this. Charles going was the last straw and Papa well before his time too, and not to mention poor old Grand-père beginning to fail.”
“He’ll see a century yet, mark my words.”
“I don’t know Hannah, he can’t go on for ever. Our Mary Ann needs all the help she can get. I reckon that George just stepped in at the right moment.”
“I still think it’s a bit soon to marry.”
“She’s that taken up with him, thinks the sun shines out of his eyes. Lovely to see really. She’s never had much fun, has she? Still, I’d have been happier if she’d have waited a mite longer too. Mind you, there was no arguing with her. What do you think, Henry?”
‘It’s the French blood in her, that’s what the trouble is. Always a contrary lot, the French. Headstrong, that girl is. Didn’t your father want her to hold off getting wed, leastways till she had a few years more? But no, just like all them Frenchies, no patience at all. Can’t even live together in peace. Look at what they did to their own king and queen. Hung, drawn and quartered they were.” Henry Lintott had the same shadowy grasp of history that most of the Colony’s home-educated population possessed.
“Sent to the guillotine, you mean. And people are hanged, not hung. Pictures are hung, people are hanged.” Hannah Cantor was as pedantic as her brother-in-law was vague.
“Come to think of it,” muttered Edward, “you’ve got the same blood in your veins. You are just as much a Guise as young Mary Ann, stands to reason.”
She sighed to herself. Dear Edward, always going off at a tangent, never a quick thinker! “But I didn’t listen to all those tales of old Grand-père, did I? Plenty of money in the bank those days, lake been full of water for as long as we knew. Times were very different. They sent me off for schooling, not left alone with an old man living off his memories most of the time putting all those strange fancies into her head. And look where it’s led, can’t see beyond her nose when it comes to George Brownlow. Her head’s full of dreams.”
“He’s well spoken of. Turned round that property of the Pattersons, alright.”
“She could do worse.”
“Didn’t I beg her to come to us, get an overseer, leave the place? Didn’t I say, lease out the property, find a good tenant, come and live with us, or go up to Barrack Street? She’d have met more of her own kind, then she’d have had a choice and she’d have…”
“Her own kind! Where’d you find another like her? She’s half wild that girl. She’d rather be out in the paddocks than sipping tea in a drawing room. Her own kind!”
“She’d never want to leave the farm, that’s for sure. Loves every inch of it. Well, let’s hope that fellow stands by her. Mind you, she’ll always turn to us in the end I’d say. He’s got no family…never mentions kith nor kin. Can’t see any family here from his side, can you?”
“Maybe there’s family alright, but maybe ’t’ain’t spoken of,” muttered Henry.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I says, word gets around,” and Henry sagely tapped his nose, “but it don’t mean a fellow’s any the worse for it. Folks make their own way in life. Seein’ as how her pa and brothers are gone… well, she’ll be looked after at any rate.”
“What you mean is, the Guise land’ll be looked after. A windfall for a fellow like him.”
“Ssh, here she comes.”
Outlined in the doorway the bride paused for a moment before taking her first step up the aisle. Unlike her sisters, who tended towards a certain blowsiness, Mary Ann Guise moved with a stately grace, no way compromised by the simple lines of her wedding gown.
The congregation turned to look. Some smiled but some stifled a sigh. So young to be starting on life’s great journey with so little support – mother, father, brothers, all gone. Admittedly her sisters remained but they were always busy with their own lives.
“Pretty as a picture, our Mary Ann’s a credit.” Hannah Cantor dug her sister in the ribs.
Elizabeth sniffed. Her own satin gown had been trimmed with Honiton lace, she’d worn a circlet of orange-blossom with a tulle veil. And the bridesmaids! Tarlatan and touches of Maltese lace with bouquets of white jessamine. Their elegance had been more than matched by the guests. Moiré, taffeta and grosgrain rustled in the pews whilst the scent or flowers, the subtle hint of eau-de-Cologne and the faintest whiff of papier poudre wafted over the bonnets and ringlets and corkscrew curls. Now that had been an elegant wedding, befitting a Guise girl.
No doubt about it, the dratted drought had brought them all down in the world. Where were the wealthy settlers of a few years ago? Up in the city, secure in their town houses. It would take years for land prices to recover.
Where once fine silks and taffetas had rustled in the pews, now stolid bombazine and printed cotton took their place. Lace-up boots scraped upon the floor and straw bonnets trimmed with paper flowers nodded to their neighbours.
“Everyone’s pretty on their wedding day,” snapped Elizabeth Lintott as she smoothed some wrinkles out of her gloves.
“Well, ’tis love, isn’t it? You can see ’tis love.�
��
“That’s as may be.”
Love is a habit. The words nearly tripped off the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue but something held her back. Since there’s only one true wedding day in a lifetime, best not spoil it with sour remarks. But what was love? Maybe it started with that radiance which engulfed a girl and wafted her across her first threshold, but soon the silk and the flowers had to be put aside for a gown of workaday stuff and the peeling of vegetables. And what of the other? Elizabeth sniffed to herself, she had no words to describe what happened to that! The soft warmth and escalating pleasure, the sheer delight of strong arms about you and a body given up to another. Well, nine months on soon told their own story. The agony, the hours of labour and the mewling, screeching creature laid in your arms.
No, if any vestige of love continued, then it had to become a habit like any other.
“Leastways she’ll be looked after now. Won’t have to leave the place,” Henry muttered.
“Tied to the sink and the yard! That’ll be her life from now on, I declare that’s how it’ll be. She’s always been out in the paddocks!”
“She’ll be mistress in her own home at least, ’specially since the old chap’s coming to Woodbury with us.”
Elizabeth caught the hint of resignation in his voice. Grand-père did not want to stay with the newly married couple. “Wouldn’t do at all,” he proclaimed and announced he’d move over to the Lintott’s house.
“Typical of your old pa, typical,” Henry had grumbled at the time. “That’s the Guises for you. One word is his command. He never thought to ask if it’s convenient.” For Richard had simply announced that he had made up his mind and life at Woodbury was his intention.
“He’ll be perfectly happy with us.”
“He’s going to miss Bywong that bad.”
“Grand-père’s coming to live with us, Henry.” A certain doggedness had crept into Elizabeth’s voice. “It’s decided. Makes sense.”
“Oh I know that alright, and I’m not saying nay to it, but that’s the trouble with your family. Want their own way and never stop to think that others may look at matters differently.”
“Ssh, Henry… ssh!”
Grand-père led Mary Ann up to where Mr Sowerby and George were waiting. He moved very slowly but every step was certain and sure and he held himself perfectly erect. As they came to a halt he turned his head and looked for the last time at his granddaughter, for every ancient tradition dictated that this was a parting of the ways. For all of her seventeen years she had belonged to them, the Guise family. Now her loyalties would be to another.
And yet… his keen old eyes searched her face, those dark eyes, that flawless complexion, the high cheek bones and the dark sweep of her hair beneath the simple circlet. Her face was raised and her gaze only for George. Her stance proud and so happy that the old man felt a tightening in his throat. His own dear bride had looked at him in just that way, so many years ago.
“Look, here they come.” Less than thirty minutes later Mr Sowerby led the couple to the rails and they took their first steps as man and wife down the aisle.
“Well, all I can say is, I hope he looks after our Mary Ann. ’T’won’t be no easy task neither, ’cause she’s been used to having her head most times, not one to take to the bit nor the curb.”
“Things’ll be done her way or not at all, I reckon. She’ll want that property to be just the same as her pa had it and her grandpa before him. Nothin’ll change. Mark my words.”
But in that the doubting relatives were proved surprisingly wrong. Something had come into Mary Ann’s life that certainly did bring about changes. And that something was love.
CHAPTER 10
Imperceptibly Mary Ann’s priorities began to shift, slowly at first and then with a gathering momentum which embraced all her thoughts. Her first care had always been for Bywong. Bywong meant the rolling paddocks, the dam, the clumps of gum trees, the riverbank and the tall elms along the driveway. Bywong and the family had made up her universe but as life with George settled into daily reality her concerns for the acreages took second place and her concern went ever more frequently to George’s comfort, the house itself, the yard and the orchard. Mary Ann began to find all the satisfaction she needed in making the home a place of pleasure.
Time brought changes, and those changes mirrored the progression of her love. Her greatest joy lay in making a real home for him. She maintained that after a lifetime spent shifting for himself at the behest of others, the time had come for her George to have the pleasure of a proper home. Comfortless lodgings, lonely huts, draughty rooms would be but a memory.
By the time her firstborn arrived she had channelled all the energy she’d previously put into running the day-to-day work of the property into, first of all, making their daily life more convenient and comfortable, and then adding those touches of refinement which had been lost over the years as the Guise fortunes had dwindled. Glass for some of the windows which had only had shutters, then curtains to soften the glass. And the kitchen itself was not forgotten. Soon the flames glowed from behind the bars of a neat American stove - the latest.
By the time the Guise family gathered together again, this time for young Cathy’s christening, Mary Ann’s first care was for her daughter, husband and home. No longer did she ride out on the property and she even sometimes found herself leafing through the journals which Hannah sent down from Barrack Street, those long-ago despised publications full of hats and hairstyles and elegant gowns.
Every person experiences love in their own way - some dip their toes in the waters and hover at the edges, others immerse themselves and swim out into the depths. Mary Ann had never been one for caution so she gave herself completely. Love fulfilled her life. It became the sunshine that lit up the day, the moonbeam that glorified the darkness but, even more importantly, love became the staff on which she leant her whole weight.
How had she been so lucky? George took over the management of Bywong just as easily as he slipped into the saddle and guided his mare out of the yard and across the paddocks. He understood the land, he foresaw every change and dealt with every emergency.
“Well, Grand-père, seems our Mary Ann’s settled down to married life alright. All those doubts of yours come to naught’ eh?” Elizabeth Lintott whispered to the old man as she settled herself more comfortably in her chair beside him near the grandfather clock.
“Too many changes.”
“Oh, come on Grand-père, of course everyone makes changes. Trouble was, the old home’d been the same for too long.”
“Why’d she have to put all that stuff on the walls? We never needed that.”
“Come now, Grand-père, a picture or two makes a world of difference.”
“Seemed all right the way it was,” but he could not keep the trace of a smile touching the corners of his lips. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that the parlour had come up in the world. Quite handsome, was his verdict.
Sitting back on the settle he looked at his family scattered around the large room, and not for the first time wondered why he had been spared for so long, the last of his generation. The Lintotts and the Cantors, with some cousins, distant relatives and a few neighbours made up the gathering. Grand-père’s gaze moved from face to face, all so happy and fulfilled. When glasses were raised in a toast he silently mouthed to himself those other names, those others who had gone, never to return, and to make a wish that soon he might join them. Dear Elizabeth, and both their sons, and then the last of his grandsons.
“Another jam tart?” Mary Ann bent over her grandfather, “No? Can I get you a slice of cake?”
The old man smiled up at her. The transformation in Mary Ann reminded him of those early days of his own marriage. For him it had been a new country, a new life entirely; for Mary Ann it might be said her life stayed the same except that nowadays she had a husband to manage the farm and had stepped into the role of a farmer’s wife. Dairy, chicken, household, garden and orchard were
her world and, circumscribed by love, contentment glowed in her face. Grand-père marvelled at the change, but then hadn’t dear Elizabeth changed when she willingly gave up all she had ever known to share in his new world?
An overwhelming weariness enveloped him, so compelling that he almost dropped his cup of tea. The roomful of chattering relatives suddenly exhausted him.
So many years ahead for them, so many years behind for him.
Even as he looked at the walls, the pictures and the neat curtains he could still see the bark that had once made up the sides of the house and the golden light of early morning peeping through gaps in the shutters.
A tide of remembrance washed over him and pulled him back to that distant past when he’d ventured down south in search of new pastures.
To that time when he’d first ridden down from the city and seen the bounty of Lake George, when he had decided that this would be where they’d finally make their home. Besides abundant water for stock he rejoiced at the prospect of mile upon mile of open country stretching up into the foothills of the mountains where he’d be able to hunt and fish till the end of his days.
He’d already made their fortune, owned land and leases all over the Colony, but the country was becoming overcrowded in his view. Down here, on the Limestone Plains, space abounded and plenty of room remained to found a dynasty. His sons would one day build their own homes. Richard visualised all those Guise families spreading and prospering as generation followed generation. “Elizabeth, my love,” he’d hurried home to tell his exciting news. “There’s more land than you can imagine… a magnificent lake. No longer will we suffer the curse of this place. We’ll never need to concern ourselves over water again.”
“But so far away, my love?”
The Hanging of Mary Ann Page 12