Admonition

by Chris Throsby

  He came back about half an hour later, by which time I’d found my way around the kitchen and made us some breakfast. It was his turn to be hungry. I guessed he hadn’t eaten before he went out, but unlike me the night before, he did stop eating long enough to talk. The first thing he said of any consequence was to ask me if I slept alright. I told him I had, which wasn’t a lie, but then I expected him to say something about why he’d fallen straight to sleep. Instead, he started talking about the farm again and how he hoped I’d find time, where he’d failed, to grow a kitchen garden. I said I’d try but warned him that I’d never grown anything before. In fact, I told him, living in London all my life, I’d never seen a vegetable growing and I only had the greengrocer’s word that they came out the ground. He laughed and carried on talking about how his flock was growing and what things I might try to grow. I left other things alone, deciding I’d wait and see what the night brought.

  But that night was exactly the same, so was the next; in fact, for a whole week, things remained unchanged – we’d go to bed and almost before I was lying down, I’d hear the sound of Ellis snoring. After a week, I was beginning to think it was how things were going to be and the following day there weren’t any clues that that night would be any different. So I was almost asleep when I first felt Ellis move, and he was on top of me before I was fully awake. When I opened my eyes, he was looking down at me, and there was no more passion there than he might show if he was examining one of his sheep, and I wouldn’t have been sure of his intentions if they hadn’t been pressing hard against me. By the time he lowered himself onto me I was wide awake, but barely half a minute later, his body tightened and as I tensed against him, he collapsed, a choked groan forced from his throat.

  He rolled off me and we lay there, neither of us speaking, the silence only broken by Ellis’ fast but slowing, breathing. When it returned to normal, he spoke out of the dark. It was the first time either of us had said anything since we got to bed.

  “That’s what you were expecting, wasn’t it?”

  As we lay there in the dark silence, I knew he was waiting for a reply, but I was thinking about how it had been with Tom. I thought about his hot breath and his slobbering all over my face. I thought about all his sweaty humping and bumping on top of me and the smell from his day’s work which ’cos it was warmed by his night-time, what should I call it?… his night-time labours, was overwhelming. And he’d do that every night if I didn’t catch hold of him first. I tried to tell myself I enjoyed it; whether or not I did was something I don’t think mattered to Tom. But the truth was I didn’t enjoy it, and what’s more, I didn’t see how any girl could. So when I thought about what had just happened with Ellis, I only had two thoughts – he’d been quicker than Tom and at least he hadn’t stunk of dung. So when I finally answered him, I told him,

  “I don’t think I was expecting nothing. If that’s what you want to do, I’m your wife now and I ain’t never going to try to stop you, but if you don’t want to, that’s alright with me as well.”

  Ellis raised himself on one elbow. Through the darkness I could see he was looking straight at me when he said,

  “Do you really mean that? You don’t mind if we do or if we don’t?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. Ellis was looking into my eyes. I think he was trying to see if I was really telling the truth. He stared at me for what seemed an age, but then he must have seen what he was looking for ’cos he lay back in the darkness and said,

  “I’ve never thought much about it before, never needed to, but I think if it’s alright with you, I’d rather spend my days working on the farm and my nights sleeping.”

  I was glad that Ellis had said what he said and from that night on, we grew into a partnership where we worked together on the farm. I even had some success with the kitchen garden, and while we cared for each other, probably more than most married couples, we just didn’t do those things in bed married couples were supposed to do.

  We had an understanding on more than just the bedroom. Ellis spent most of every day either tending his sheep or clearing scrub from what had been Combe Acres. I kept house and tried to grow some vegetables – I had a bit of success for a couple of years with a few carrots, but mostly I did no better than Ellis had. In the first year, we found we worked well together and both of us worked on turning his old mud hut into a barn. But most of all, we always talked a lot, not only about the farm and Ellis’ hopes and plans for the future, but also about our lives back in the old country; some happy times, but many more bad ones and we both were certain we never wanted to go back. Days, turned into years and little changed except that, for me, each day passing meant there was one less remaining on my sentence. But everything changed a couple of years before my sentence was up.

  Summers were always hot and dry, but even though the stream on Jack’s place was reduced to a trickle, there was always enough water for both his and Ellis’ sheep. That had been until last year, when for a couple of weeks before the rain came, we survived on the brown water, thick with sludge, drawn from a borehole Jack had dug and shared with us. The sheep managed to survive by licking the moisture from the underside of rocks they disturbed in the stream bed; it had been a close thing but all the sheep survived.

  But this year was worse – much worse. Things went much the same as they did the year before – it hadn’t rained for at least six months when in mid-December, the water in the stream, which had been barely a trickle for weeks, finally stopped altogether. As he did last year, Jack dug another borehole and the sheep found enough moisture in the stream bed to survive. But a few days later, we all thought Jack had wasted his time. The day started with a clear blue sky just as it seemed to have done forever, but the first sign that things might turn out differently happened in the middle of the day. We spotted a few timid grey clouds appearing on the horizon, and by early evening the sky was so dark it might have been the middle of the night. We were all happy ‘cos we knew what was coming, and right enough, as we sat eating our evening meal, the heavens opened and we thought the drought was over. But that wasn’t how it turned out. In fact by morning not only had the rain stopped, but the ground was bone-dry and the sky was blue and cloudless again. It’s true that for a day or two there was water in the stream, but by the third morning it was dry again. The sheep were back to kicking over stones in the stream bed and we were all back to drinking whatever Jack and Ellis could pump from the borehole. Every day we hoped the rain would come back and each day when it didn’t, we told each other it was bound to be with us by the end of the month. We had no real reason for thinking that way. It was just that when we were all down after the rain came and went again, Jack had shown us his wife’s diary from last year. In it she’d written in large letters, “RAIN ARRIVES AT LAST”. It was her only entry for 16th February, but as the date a year later came and went and we still had no rain, I remembered that on the opposite page the entry for the next day read simply: ’Rain still falling. I think we’re going to be alright now. Close shave though, I don’t think the sheep would have lasted much longer.’ The next day, as if to prove that her prediction might well have been right, Ellis told me we’d lost three overnight.

  After another ten days, things were desperate. There was little water for us and none for the sheep: only a few of them were still alive. Ellis, who had always told me his thoughts about everything, grew quieter and quieter with every day that went by without rain. When less than fifty sheep were still alive, Ellis took the remainder and put them in his barn, though they still had no water, at least they were out of the sun.

  But without water there was little chance of them surviving and after three more days, only fifteen were still alive. The following evening, when Ellis returned from the barn, he told me five more were dead. I’d been getting used to him saying almost nothing, but telling me about those sheep was the only thing he’d said to me all day – and that wasn’t the only
way he behaved differently. Without saying nothing, he’d disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with the remains of the rum he plied Jack and Dan with all those years ago. I’d never seen a drop of strong liquor pass his lips and that bottle was still half full when Ellis brought it from the kitchen. But about two hours later, the bottle was empty and a very drunk Ellis was slumped, I thought unconscious, across the table.

  As I said, I’d never seen him like that before, but I’d seen enough drunks in my life to know – at least I thought I knew – that the best I could do was to leave him where he was to sleep it off. So that’s what I did and it was ten minutes later I had my back to him when he grabbed me. He took me completely by surprise, otherwise I’m sure, especially the state he was in, I would have been able to resist him. But as it was, he dragged me into the bedroom and forced me onto the bed, face down. Pushing my right arm painfully up my back, he told me he’d break it if I tried to resist. I know it might sound stupid, but it was only then I realised what he was doing. As he started to pull up my dress, instinctively I tried to twist around, but as I did, an excruciating pain shot up my arm as Ellis increased the pressure.

  “I told you I’d break it.”

  His voice, now thick and slow from the drink, also sounded desperate. I sensed he was unbuttoning his trousers and knowing I couldn’t resist, I waited for the inevitable – but it never came. It seemed like forever but was probably less than a minute before I realised what his problem was. I shouldn’t have laughed I know, but I couldn’t help it. I think it was relief mainly, but when he heard me laughing at him, Ellis let out a roar of frustration, spun me over and with all his might delivered a slap right across my face. Though he hadn’t knocked me out, I was stunned and just lay there while he swore at me. Getting no reaction from me, he stumbled out of the room trying to sort out his trousers as he went and I heard him pick up his shotgun – I was sure I was done for. But instead of coming back into the bedroom, I heard him opening the front door.

  As I regained my senses, it dawned on me what he was going to do. I also knew it was a kindness ’cos even if they had water now, it was unlikely any of those remaining ten sheep would survive – they were all too far gone. So I lay there and waited for what I knew must come.

  I didn’t have to wait long, because barely a minute after Ellis left, the first shot rang out, followed moments later by the second. Normally, as the slaughter began the other sheep would have bleated in panic, but there was an eerie silence as Ellis, rifle re-loaded, shot the third and the fourth; the remainder were either too weak to protest or were just ready to die. I lay there and listened as three more pairs of shots put the last six out of their misery. It dawned on me then that now he’d killed the last of his sheep and at the same time put an end to all his hopes and dreams for the future, he would return to the house and that it was unlikely his mood would have improved. But this time I decided I’d make sure he wouldn’t catch me by surprise.

  I left the bed and hurried through to the main room. Even, thanks to Ellis’ attentions, with my right eye closed, I could still see well enough with my left to find the metal rod we used as a poker. Taking it from where it was propped against the wall next to the fire, I went and stood behind the door and waited for his return. But it was then I heard the eleventh shot ring out, and somehow I knew I’d just been made a widow for a second time.

  Admonition

  From Beyond the Grave

  On the morning of the 27 October, we drove to St John’s, but before Lieutenant Granger went inside to await the arrival of his bride, he handed me over to the Factory Supervisor.

  Arriving back at the Factory I felt lost. My hopes and plans for after my release had been dashed when Lieutenant Granger told me he wouldn’t be needing me in Morpeth. Now, already unhappy, I faced a hard final three months in the Factory. I was toying with the food they’d given us, realising that was something else I’d have to learn to put up with again, when I heard a loud and familiar voice outside. I pushed my way through to the door, but before I got there, it opened and in she stepped. For a moment she just stood there looking at me, but then she let out a shriek and before I knew it, I was wrapped in her arms.

  It was wonderful to see Mary again. She looked older and the New Holland sun hadn’t done her any favours, but she still looked fit and healthy. We talked and talked. It was like we’d never been apart and it was plain to see she was still the single-minded Cockney I was parted from all those years ago. She teased me as I told her about the lieutenant and then she told me all about those twelve years on a sheep farm with her husband, Ellis, and what had become of him. But what she told me when later that night we found a space to sit quietly together ended by giving us the main reason we’re sitting here celebrating now.

  It was difficult not to be overheard, but Mary looked all around and when she was sure no one was listening to us, she pulled me closer and spoke barely above a whisper.

  “Do you remember the ship that brought us to New ’olland, the Sydney Cove?”

  It may have been nearly thirteen years since we landed but, as I told her, we’d spent six months on that ship. Most of the time the two of us shackled together in the hold, and I was hardly likely to forget it. She laughed at that, drawing the attention of a few. But they soon looked away again and she continued.

  “In that case, you’ll remember the ship’s surgeon?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, two months ago, I’d only just arrived back at the Factory, he ran into me. He’d been here the week before looking for you, and the Supervisor told him that you’d been sent to the Sydney Garrison and he would have heard if you’d been moved on. But when Kit, that’s the surgeon’s name, visited the Garrison, they told him you’d gone with your lieutenant (she was still teasing me,) when he was seconded to a dredging project in Newcastle. Kit said he didn’t have time to find you then and still get back to Sydney Cove before his ship left. So he came back here, intending to leave this letter for you with the Supervisor.”

  She handed me the letter; I didn’t recognise the handwriting, although the seal looked familiar.

  “But before he went to his office, he checked the register and remembered me from the Sydney Cove.” Lowering her voice even further, she breathed, “He knew you and me was friends, so when I told him I was going to be free soon, he asked if I could try and find you and give you the letter; which of course, I told him I would.”

  I smiled and said,

  “That’s turned out to be easier than you thought.”

  She smiled but otherwise ignored me. It was obvious what she had to say next she thought was too important.

  “He introduced himself, said his name was Kit Carlyle.”

  She waited for my reaction, but when she could see the name meant nothing to me she whispered, now so quietly I had to lean forward to hear her and to read her lips in the dark,

  “The name Carlyle doesn’t mean anything to you?”

  I thought for a moment then slowly shook my head.

  “Your husband’s solicitor?”

  I’d actually forgot that me and Jabez had married. Mary just stared questioningly at me, waiting for a reply. Then it dawned on me.

  “Of course, Henry Carlyle. You don’t mean to say him and the surgeon are related?”

  “Were related; father and son, but I’m afraid old Henry’s dead.”

  I could tell she was excited by what she still had to tell, but she managed to keep her voice low as she said,

  “And that’s who the letter’s from. But here’s the thing. Kit said he’s put all of the money in the New South Wales Bank and when you’re released, it’ll all be yours. He wouldn’t tell me how much mind, but he did say it was left you by your late husband.”

  I now realised why Jabez had been so anxious for us to be married. He wanted to be sure there would be no challenge to me inheriting his estate. I didn’t know how much there might be, but Mary had twice said Kit had talked of ‘all the money’. What
I was certain of was that any money Jabez had left me would have come from the salt smuggling. So however much there was, I had to keep quiet about it because, married or not, if the authorities ever found out where it came from, it would all be confiscated. So even though I was desperate to know how much he had left me, we’d have to wait until they let us outside in the morning when it would be easier to find a quiet spot where we wouldn’t be watched. Mary didn’t argue. She later told me I’d made her happy enough by talking about both of us reading the letter.

  It was getting very late, so we decided to try to get some sleep, although by then most comfortable places had been taken. Lying down was impossible, so we propped ourselves up either side of a pillar. Sleep was equally impossible and I spent the long night just waiting for daybreak and the chance to read Henry’s letter.

  Mary

  Back at the Factory

  After Ellis’ suicide, the authorities took me back to the Factory and to tell you the truth, I didn’t mind. The land was barren and silent apart from the occasional birdsong or call of a wild animal and with no prospect of replacing the sheep; just surviving would have been hard for me. What’s more, I knew with only about four months of me sentence left to run when I returned to the Factory, I’d just serve out my time and then see if I could find a farm that needed a housekeeper. Anything else a farmer might want, I’d be a free woman so we’d ’ave to see. What I did know was that anything was better than returning to England. As it was, things turned out differently from how I imagined; in fact, they turned out very different.

  After I heard that extra bullet fired, I froze to the spot. I knew Ellis might have failed to kill one of the sheep with his first shot and needed a second to finish the job, but it was another thought that held me, and I was trying not to think of it. When a few minutes later he still hadn’t appeared, I told myself he was probably getting rid of the carcasses.