First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  ‘God’s teeth, Mary, but you are beautiful.’

  His mouth straightened and he grasped her shoulders, gently pulling her toward him. He kissed her lips, with no great passion, gently but with increasing pressure, half expecting a rebuke, or resistance. None came and he was surprised that she returned his kiss, hesitantly at first, but with growing strength and a hint of innocent desire and her hands took hold of his head, until they separated, to take a long breath. He shook his coat, and picked up his hat. Mary looked at her chest, as if that would be enough to silence the beating of her heart that he must surely hear. He took her hand and led her back to the lane wearing the broadest smile.

  ‘I have very much wanted to do that for a great many days now.’ He glanced side-ways at her, noting her slightly reddened cheeks, and the only just discernible tremor of her fingers. She did not answer immediately, and he thought, perhaps I have offended her. Surely not, he judged.

  ‘That was lovely, Jack; truly lovely, but please, I beg you, not again, not yet my dear. I cannot, would not, do more’

  He faced her. ‘I should apologise for that, say I am sorry but by God, I am not!’

  He was beaming with a delighted expression. ‘However, if I have offended you I am sorry, but I confess I do not regret it, not a jot!’

  She fluffed the skirts of her dress, and said, ‘Dear Jack. I am not offended, but perhaps I am troubled. You and your brother have, may I say, a certain reputation. Now sir ‘but me no buts’ if you please dear man. It is true and you do know it. It is also true that I am drawn to you, that must be obvious, but I have no desire to become another Vizzard conquest. Our friendship... it means all to me, please believe me. It is simply that I must be cautious. You do understand that, do you not?

  He did. ‘My sweet, sweet Mary. Yes, I do sense that our romance has progressed rapidly, but that is only because it must be right. That is my conclusion.’ He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She smiled, and her features relaxed.

  ‘Please be patient with me. I had no thought that we should ever... well, you understand my meaning I think.’

  He would be patient. He had to be, for now there was much for him to think on.

  9

  The Sermon

  Barnwood’s eyes were rarely far from Mary, who edged closer to Jack seeking the reassurance of his shoulder. The vicar’s hands were white as he gripped the edge of the pulpit, its elaborate front intricately carved from local beech wood and heavy with the sheen of decades of waxing. A shaft of sunlight, throwing a spectrum of colour from the stained-glass window, one paid for by Henry Vizzard, illuminated his face so that his eyes were narrowed, adding to an aura of menace that Jack sensed in the man. A worm of concern crawled into his brain about this vicar. He stared coldly at him, forcing the cleric to look at him and avert his eyes from Mary.

  The vicar had quickly read the banns for Giles and Louise, as though he had no ecclesiastical interest in the matter, and was now addressing his congregation on the evils that were plaguing the county. He urged that villains be brought to justice and be incarcerated in gaols; thieves and murderers were to be shown no mercy as ‘honest citizens’ continued to have their homes violated and ‘decent folk’ could not safely travel and be about ‘their lawful business.’

  As he spoke, the pitch of his voice rising and falling, small spots of spittle gathered in the corner of his thin mouth. He declared that ‘rapists’ and ‘violators of women’ be hunted down and receive the full consequences of their ‘hideous depravity’. He made a plea that ‘the Lord’s innocent children’ be protected, from the horrors of drink-sodden parents.

  Henry was nodding agreement but to Jack the sermon lacked any real sense of humanity or understanding of modern society. Trite rhetoric and vain piety, he thought, of the kind that he had heard before. The vicar was a hypocrite. Jack had been saddened to hear, a matter of weeks after taking his place in college, of the death of the previous incumbent, Benjamin Coaley. Reverend Coaley had baptised all the Vizzard children, and had been a much-loved leader of the parish. Jack stared coolly at Barnwood with no emotion showing on his face, conscious of Mary next to him, and a hundred pairs of eyes in his back. He touched her hand and felt her move.

  The man is a fool, or worse, he thought to himself. What does he know of the despair of a man who cannot put food on the table for his family; who can do nothing to aid a sick child, who cannot find employment. He had seen the contrast with his own eyes; his family wanted for nothing and yet thousands were hungry. The farms struggled to produce crops each year as the labourers left the villages in search of higher wages in the cities of Birmingham, Bristol and London.

  Not a matter of wonder, thought Jack, with a farm labourer earning five shillings a week. A wool brusher in any of the ten mills in the valley could earn twice times that, more if he learned a real skill, such as a mule spinner or wool sorter. What did this man do to truly alleviate suffering, to aid his flock, he asked himself. He began to look at the man in the pulpit, beyond the robes, and see him as a repulsive creature.

  Jack Vizzard did not countenance violence to innocents and had little sympathy for a proven murderer, but for the hundreds of unfortunates cast into the gaols that were already overcrowded, riddled with disease, with all hope removed and dignity gone, he could and did feel compassion. These men and women were frequently convicted for little more than seeking food for their children and themselves. They resorted to all manner of activity just to keep them fed and clothed. Moreover, once there, he thought, prospect of release was virtually none. He had seen the beggars on the streets, often old or maimed soldiers, or sailors, and had read John Howard’s study, ‘The State of The Prisons of England and Wales’, when at Oxford.

  His thinking was interrupted as he realised that his father was getting to his feet.

  ‘A sound sermon, Jack, and we should think on it over lunch.’

  Mary was smiling at him. ‘A penny for them?’ she asked. ‘You were not in full accord with the reverend, I feel.’

  ‘Ah, Mary. Our vicar has not seen the horrors we inflict on some of these people, I fear. Were he to spend just five minutes in Gloucester gaol he may moderate his view somewhat. However, I suspect that Barnwood long ago forgot his true Christian beliefs and perhaps now serves a different master.’

  Instinctively he felt an aversion to this man. An irrational thought perhaps, but real enough to his mind. He did not elaborate and Mary looked at him with an expression of puzzlement that he did nothing to answer.

  FOLLOWING THE SHORT drive through the tree-lined lanes, the carriage drew up at the entrance to Lampern House and Neave was there to assist them.

  ‘Lunch will be ready presently, sir,’ he announced to Henry.

  ‘Ready we are for it too.’ Henry Vizzard looked forward to his Sunday lunch and today it was roasted lamb, one of his favourite dishes.

  ‘Come along, Mary, we shall have a sherry before we dine and you and I can become better acquainted,’ he said offering his arm.

  ‘Oh yes indeed,’ Charlotte agreed.

  She had been discreetly observing the striking young woman that her brother was obviously so captivated by. It was apparent to her that her brother was very attracted to her, and certainly, she was a fine looking woman. It appeared to Charlotte’s eye that the attraction was mutual. Taller than she, and with darker hair, the girl carried herself with poise unexpected in one from such a humble background. The dress was plain and poor quality, but the girl within was undeniably beautiful.

  ‘You must tell us all of your family and home. Your father is employed by Marling, is he not? That must be interesting. We know the Marling family well, do we not father?’

  ‘I have had some business with him over the years and have met Fred George on occasion. A good man, if I may say, Mary. Exceedingly well thought of by his employer.’

  Henry spoke honestly, having talked with Mary’s father over the purchase of a new boiler and other machinery for installation
in the factory, and for which Henry had negotiated a substantial capital loan.

  ‘Thank you for saying so, sir.’ Mary was pleased that her father was regarded so, for she loved him dearly.

  ‘Please, my dear girl, you must call me Henry. I have no knighthood from His Majesty!’

  Henry chuckled at his own joke. He had learned recently that such an honour might well come his way, and was not displeased at the possibility. Caroline would have been proud, he thought. She would have enjoyed becoming Lady Caroline Vizzard. His late father-in-law would have also been content at last. All a very long time ago. He shrugged off the ghosts that crept to his mind.

  ‘Now, let’s find that sherry!’ Henry came back to the present and escorted Mary up the stone steps and into the house, with a glance behind he said, ‘Captain Mountjoy will be with us shortly, Neave. We left him in conversation with that scoundrel Brice, but show him in as soon as he arrives.’

  Neave knew Brice well, and smiled. The master did not know the half of it, he thought. That sherry and the fine French brandy that he drank with Brice was ‘imported’ right enough, but from contacts of Bill’s in Cornwall, not always the merchants in Bristol; but he kept his thoughts to himself and just smiled benignly and nodded.

  The hall was light but cool as they entered and Mary shuddered slightly as she walked into Jack’s home for the first time. She noticed a sweeping staircase to the right as Henry led her through a pair of doors into a lambent drawing room opposite. Fine furniture positioned carefully on a polished wooden floor, looked valuable and well cared for. The room was comfortable and ordered. A small pillar of books lay in a neat pile on the floor by a pair of worn leather armchairs.

  The sunlight caught a portrait in oils on the wall of a beautiful young woman. Mary stared at it for some moments; Jack’s mother, she concluded. A dark-haired young woman, the curls hanging loosely about her oval face with bright, cornflower blue eyes that crossed the room to penetrate into her heart, challenging perhaps, questioning and yet in a way radiating warmth.

  She caught Jack gazing in her direction, a warm smile across his face and realised in that moment that this woman exercised an influence over her son still. Hers was the feminine face of Jack’s own. His mother’s portrait showed a slender, graceful neck; it supported a simple chain gold necklace, on which hung a single stone of blue, which served to draw attention to beautiful, intelligent eyes. As she moved further into the room, so it seemed to her that his mother’s eyes watched her, the smile offering her welcome, reassurance and confidence.

  A Lurcher hound dozed by the fire that crackled in the grate beneath the imposing fireplace of local stone. The dog raised a disinterested eye and yawned as they entered, then stretched and rose from the rug and waddled with some difficulty towards them.

  Henry patted the dog on the back of the head and played gently with his ears. As he made for the decanter and glasses the dog followed.

  ‘A very old dog now is Ralph, like me. The last of my hounds, and I shall have no more. One becomes too fond of the creatures.’ Henry looked at his children; ‘Your dear mother always loved dogs too.’

  Again, he remembered Caroline, his wife of only eight years. She had left him, birthing his youngest child, the young man who now kept stealing glances at this pretty servant girl. He had never remarried and missed her every day. He looked at the portrait, as he had done countless times, never tiring of its image. Painted in Bath, during one of Henry and Caroline’s visits to the spa city, he recalled the week spent there before her last confinement. The solemn moment passed quickly as he poured the contents of the decanter into four fine glasses.

  ‘A toast now I think; to the Vizzards, and their newest friend, Mary George.’

  Henry raised his glass with a broad smile. Would she have approved of this young woman, he mused. Most probably, he decided; she had admired beauty, and Mary was a beautiful girl.

  Mary’s cheeks coloured as she raised the delicate crystal glass to her lips, the alcohol unfamiliar to her taste. She looked to Jack, his glass raised in silent endorsement.

  ‘To Mary, she will always be welcome in this house,’ was his eventual response, his voice a little lower than normal, his eyes lingering on her a moment too long. A look noticed by both Henry and Charlotte, who exchanged a glance. Charlotte commenced to talk of the local hunt, intended as a prelude to enquiry of Mary of her riding out with Jack, on which one of her friends had passed comment earlier at the church. Slightly annoyed, she was interrupted.

  The door opened and Neave appeared.

  ‘Lady Louise Ducie and Captain Mountjoy, sir.’ He announced, as Giles and his fiancée entered the room behind him.

  ‘Here we are at last, Henry. Hope we have not kept you waiting, but Brice collared me at the gate. Could not get away from the man. Charlotte, delighted to see you again. May I present Lady Louise Ducie, my fiancée. Mister Henry Vizzard, his daughter Charlotte, Mistress Mary George, and not least my close friend Jack, who you will know already.’

  ‘Oh I am so very pleased to meet you at last, Lady Louise.’ Charlotte stepped forward quickly. ‘Giles is one of our dearest friends and we are so excited at the news that you are to be wed. Come over to the window and please tell me something of your plans.’

  Charlotte gently ushered her new friend towards the window seat, chattering like a schoolgirl. ‘Come, Mary, you must join us.’ Charlotte was used to taking charge. Louise glanced over her shoulder, but could see that the men were more concerned with the decanter than talk of weddings. She declined the sherry that Neave placed on a small silver tray, and proffered to her.

  Mary looked at Louise silently. She was certainly a beauty, if perhaps a quiet girl. She saw that Louise was petite, with shining blue eyes and hair that was the colour of corn after the harvest. Her face carried an innocent, but aristocratic expression, and she wore an exquisitely finished velvet dress, the value of which must surely exceed her father’s earnings for an entire year.

  Louise listened to Charlotte with only one ear, more interested in the attractive young woman who was trying, without success, to observe without it being obvious that she was doing so.

  She turned towards Mary and regarding her with just a hint of bemusement asked, ‘I believe you are employed by Reverend Barnwood are you not?’

  ‘Yes M’Lady.’ Was all Mary could say, not at all used to being addressed by the daughter of an earl, albeit the youngest of his many daughters.

  ‘Well now, you must tell me of your circumstances, how you come to be lunching with us today. You are a, how shall I say, good friend of Jack, is that right?’ Louise Ducie spoke clearly, quietly and without obvious mischief.

  It appeared to Mary that Charlotte was a little envious of this deliberate change in the conversation, of the interest Louise now showed in a girl most would not expect to see as a guest at Lampern House. She also thought she detected an amused look in the eyes of this beautiful young woman, who sat with such poise and elegance.

  Feeling that there was no guile or impishness in the question, she talked, hesitatingly at first, then at some length of her meetings with Jack, forgetting for the moment that her audience included his sister. By the time she paused, she realised that she must surely have given away something of her true feelings for the man she had known such a short time, and who now stood with his back to her talking to his father and closest friend by the fire.

  How could she be so stupid, she thought. To have given herself away so easily, so readily, and to a complete stranger at that. And yet, at the same time it seemed so natural to do so.

  She answered other questions, about her family, her home and such, all the while feeling comfortable with Louise; less so with Charlotte, whose questions were, it seemed to her, more barbed and insidious. She countered with a polite question of her own, enquiring as to the location of the wedding, and was answered with equal courtesy.

  Louise appeared satisfied. She rose, smoothing her dress.

  ‘Mist
er Vizzard,’ she began, quickly correcting herself, ‘Henry, I for one am ready for luncheon. Do you think we might see if your cook is able to satisfy us?’

  With that announcement she approached Jack, and leaning towards him she spoke quietly, ‘She is quite captivating, Jack dear. Take care do for I sense she is much taken with you.’

  Jack inclined his head towards her, but before he could ask for her meaning, she floated away towards his father, offering her arm and intent on avoiding his enquiry.

  ‘Giles, you may sit next to me at lunch.’ Charlotte commanded and taking his hand followed Lady Louise through the open doors to the comfortable dining room, leaving her brother looking enquiringly at Mary.

  ‘Please don’t look so anxious,’ he whispered, ‘You have nought to fear.’

  ‘But I have, and I think we both know it.’ Biting her lower lip, she thread her arm through his as they followed.

  10

  A Sunday Lunch

  Sunday lunch with his family was always a pleasure for Henry. The more so today because of Jack’s presence, and the fact that his younger son was so obviously happy in the company of Fred George’s daughter.

  Henry sat at the end of the long dining table, with Jack to his right, and Mary opposite him. The table was a simple yet elegant piece of furniture by George Hepplewhite, and greatly prized by Henry. Today it was dressed with crisp white linen, a gift from a client, the owner of Egypt Mill in Nailsworth. Shield-backed dining chairs stood evenly spaced and good quality silverware, sufficient for six diners, adorned the surface, although the table would comfortably accommodate a dozen. Crystal glasses, two for each place, were shining in the bright sunlight that darted into the room, as passing clouds allowed.

  Family portraits hung on the walls, including a large one of Henry, obviously painted as a young man. Mary stole surreptitious glances at a pair of smaller ones, hanging between two large windows. The two brothers, she realised, also painted when both were quite young. She studied the picture of George, and saw a striking likeness of Jack. The same thick, dark and wavy hair, cut shorter; a strong, pronounced jaw-line, and the eyes, staring back at her, with the confident look she had grown accustomed to seeing in Jack’s eyes.