“Right, I’ll make the tea and then I’ll tell you what’s happened to me since they let me go from the Factory.”
That was more than I could take. I’d waited patiently, but now I needed to know what had happened to her and more importantly, whether our plans were affected. So I told her,
“No, Mary, the tea can wait. I want to know why you’re living rough and why you’re afraid to be seen in town.”
Leaving the kettle over the fire and sitting down, she sighed before beginning her latest tale.
"It’s simple really. When they let me out of the Factory, I had no money and nothin’ to sell apart from me wedding ring; they’d made me leave everythin’ else when they took me from the farm. But I thought if I was careful, the money I’d get for the ring would keep me ’til you got out. What a mistake that was! When I first tried to sell the ring to a publican, ’e told me that there was no gold in it. At first I thought ’e must be lying, so I then tried to sell it to a shopkeeper instead, but ’e told me the same, a fancy gold colour but no actual gold. Without any money, I couldn’t buy any food and I couldn’t afford a room for even one night, let alone a monf.
Not knowin’ what else to do, I spent the night in a wagon at the back of Government House. I would have been alright ‘en all if the wagon’s driver ’adn’t spotted me there when ’e brought the ’orse first thing in the mornin’. Before I woke, ‘e’d found the ’ouse guard an’ ‘e arrested me for vagrancy. Two hours later, I was up in front of the magistrate who gave me two weeks in the local gaol and told me on release I was not allowed anywhere wivin the Parramatta limits. In the gaolhouse, they had a map on the wall markin’ the town boundaries. When they let me out, I found this place ’ere, the nearest place to the Factory I could remember from the map, that was still outside the boundary.
So that’s it really. I’ve bin ‘ere for the last couple o’ weeks livin’ on anything I could catch. Ellis taught me how to set traps an’ I jus’ waited for your release."
“You remembered I’d be released today?”
“I remembered you were being released exactly thirty days after me.”
Smiling weakly, she added, “I couldn’t think of a better plan.”
I couldn’t help it but I must admit I was relieved. Mary might have had a rough time since she got out of the Factory, but I’d been worried she was going to tell me that for some unforeseen reason, my plans had been dashed for a second time. Relief helped me make up my mind and I said, “Right. That settles it.”
I knew it was time to stop talking and start putting our plan into action.
“We’ll steer clear of Parramatta and head for the Parramatta Road. When we get to Sydney, I’ll draw the money from the bank and we’ll find somewhere to buy some new clothes. After that, we’ll find the best boarding lodge we can. We’ll wash in hot water and we’ll use fancy soap, then we’ll dress in our new clothes and order the best food the lodge can provide.”
I grasped her hands, looked straight into her eyes and with a certainty I hadn’t known I felt, said,
“Mary, I promise you, neither of us will ever again be accused of a crime and no one will ever dare to suggest that you’re a vagrant. In fact in a year’s time, I’ll bet they’ll be calling us the finest ladies in Morpeth.”
Mary laughed and said,
“I don’t know ‘bout that, but I like the idea of soap and ’ot wa’er, livin’ out here the dirt and sand gets in every nook and cranny, if you know what I mean.”
Shifting her chemise to make sure I understood, she went back to making the tea. We didn’t talk much more then, except I had to ask her how she got the tea.
"That’s the one bit ‘o luck I ’ad – that’s if you want to call it luck. I tried one more bar with the ring and the bartender told me the same fing as the other two ’ad. I was jus’ leavin’, ready to give up, when a man sittin’ alone in a corner of the bar called me over an’ invited me to sit down.
Summin’ about ‘im made me fink ’e weren’t askin’ me to sit down for the usual reasons a man might ask a girl on ‘er own in a bar to sit down, so I did as ’e asked. Then ’e surprised me, ’e’d obviously bin listenin’ to me talkin’ to the barman cos ’e asked to see the ring. ’E took a quick glance and said,
‘Bartender’s right. It’s not worth much, but I think I could use it. Tell you what, let me keep the ring and in exchange, I’ll give you a quarter of tea.’
It wasn’t much, but at the time I fought I could prob’ly sell it on – but o’ course I didn’t ‘ave time before I was arrested. Mind you, it made gaol a bit easier when I could offer the gaoler a cup o’ tea – it was ’im who give me that old kettle."
She took the kettle off the frame and emptied it. As she put it back in her sack, she sighed and said ruefully,
“Not much to show for twelve years o’ marriage, is it? A beaten old kettle?”
But then she straightened, hitched the bag on her shoulder and said,
“Come on, what’s past is past. Let’s go and get your money.”
Reaching Sydney just as the bank was shutting, Mary, who said she wasn’t going to spend another night risking arrest, ran ahead of me to speak to the man guarding the entrance. I don’t know what she said to him, but he looked at me curiously and said something in reply; whatever she’d said to him must have worked because she called for me to hurry. We’d been walking all day and the last thing I wanted to do was run, but by then, as I was little more than a hundred yards from the bank, I managed to break into a weary trot.
Following us in, the guard closed and locked the door. There was only one other person in the bank, sat behind a desk, a notice declaring him to be the cashier. With Kit’s note in hand and summoning as much confidence as I could, I addressed him,
“My name’s Admonition Payne and I’m here for my safe deposit box.”
To my surprise, he seemed to have been expecting me. Although when I thought about it, he can’t have had many instructions like those he’d received from Kit Carlyle. With barely a word, he opened a safe set in the wall behind him, I noticed the guard had raised his rifle to provide, what I suppose passed for security, and took out a small box plus a letter. I recognised my handwriting and I was ready to provide my signature when he handed me the quill – a glance enough to confirm I was the letter’s author, he handed me the box and a key to open it. Thanking him, I picked up the box and took it to a nearby table. It was only as I put it down on the table that I realised Mary wasn’t with me. When I turned she was standing in the doorway next to the guard and when she saw me looking at her questioningly, she said,
“It’s your money, Adie, not mine.”
I couldn’t believe it. For two months, it seemed all we’d talked about was our plans for when we were released, and they all depended on this money. Now, when we were finally both free and able to make them happen, she was saying the money was nothing to do with her. I suppose I must have looked quite angry because, before I could speak, she came across and stood next to me. She didn’t look at me but mumbled,
“Sorry, Adie. I was just saying.”
I didn’t reply, just picked up the key, opened the box and there it was – £412 tied with a linen strip and a small bag of coins. Of course, I couldn’t be sure it was all there, but there was certainly more money than I’d ever seen. Taking it out of the box, I undid the strip and passed about half the money to Mary.
“You count that lot and I’ll count the rest,” I said. “We need to know if it’s all there, though Lord knows what we do if it isn’t.”
We smiled at each other and Mary said,
“Let’s just count it, shall we? Before we start to worry about any of it being missing.”
Of course there was nothing missing, so I re-tied the money and after we’d hidden it at the bottom of Mary’s bag, we made to leave. But as we reached the door, the guard spoke to Mary.
“You haven’t forgotten what you promised?”
Pulling me back from
the door, Mary said,
“Sorry Adie, I promised ’im half a crown if ’e waited for you and let us in. I know it’s a lot of money but I wannid to make sure we didn’t ’ave to spend the night on the streets of Sydney.”
I agreed with her and said so, but I thought the guard could do a little more for his money than just hold the door for us. Retrieving a coin from the bag, I indicated to the guard we should step outside. There I said to him,
“Half a crown is a lot of money for holding a door open.”
He didn’t say anything, just stood there with an expectant look on his face. But he hadn’t disagreed with me, so I carried on.
“Am I right thinking you’re soon going to be finished here for the day?”
He looked at me suspiciously, but had to admit that once he’d helped secure the bank, he’d be away for the night; he expected to be done in about ten minutes.
“Right,” I said, trying to sound certain, “we’ll wait for you here and when you’re finished, I want you to find us a shop where we can buy some decent clothes. After that, we need somewhere to get victuals and a bed for the night – I mean somewhere where two women can sleep safely in their beds.”
The guard looked thoughtful for a moment then said,
“Well, I was promised the money for keeping the door open, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I think I can find a shop for you and there is a place you can stay; I know the landlord well and I can have a word.”
It wasn’t a fair deal, but we didn’t have much choice, so I agreed reluctantly. Mind you, he was as good as his word and after taking us to what turned out to be the only shop selling women’s clothes in the area, he took us across town to an inn he knew well.
We waited while he spoke to the landlord, after which a young girl who turned out to be the landlord’s daughter, showed us to our room. The room wasn’t the luxury I’d promised, but Mary said it was still the best place she’d slept in since she was arrested in England. Before she left us, I asked the girl if she would bring us a jug of hot water and a piece of soap so we could wash. Hurrying away, the girl returned minutes later with a steaming jug of hot water, a small piece of soap as well as a towel she thought we might want.
As soon as she was gone again, we washed and changed and then, dressed in our new clothes, went downstairs and back into the bar where the landlord was waiting for us. He told us that the bank guard had already left, but before leaving he must have told the landlord something of our good fortune because shepherding us through to his private parlour, he invited us to sit at a table already laid for two. Plainly anxious to please, he said,
“I thought you two ladies would prefer a bit of privacy and I’ve got some Bengal rum if you want it; the real Bengal I mean, costs a bit more than regular rum, but to be honest, that stuff is about as rough as it comes.”
I thanked him and told him the Bengal would be fine and Mary asked him if we might have some food, because we were starving. The landlord beamed and rubbing his hands together, said,
“I can let you have a couple of beefsteaks I was keeping for me and the wife. They cost a bit more mind, but they’re yours if you want them.”
I was beginning to get irritated; so was Mary, because after I told him we’d have the steaks, she couldn’t resist looking straight at him and saying,
“Like Adie said, we’ll ‘ave the steaks but it’d be nice if that was the last time we was told summin’ was goin’ to ‘cost a bit more’.”
By the look he gave her, it was clear she’d offended him and he’d just started to remind Mary that he and his wife were giving up their dinner for us, when I heard a very familiar voice start to sing. Interrupting the landlord, I told him I was certain Mary didn’t mean to cause offence, and ignoring her scowls, asked him to delay the steaks for ten minutes. Taking no notice of their questioning faces, I left the parlour and went along the passage to the entrance of the public bar. Standing behind the door, I could hear the voice even more clearly and was certain I knew whose it was. So pulling the door open just a little, I could see the owner of the voice coaxing the men to throw her pennies. At first I thought I’d been mistaken. After all, the woman’s face was bloated and red from drink, and wherever there was flesh showing, there were clear signs of syphilis. But she was about the right height, the voice was unmistakable and as I looked closer I realised, I really was looking at the pox-ridden remnants of Lolly Hamlet.
Having decided there was nothing to be gained by speaking to her, I told myself she wouldn’t remember me if I did, I didn’t realise that to get a better view, I’d opened the door more than I meant and before I closed it again, she called out,
“Adie… Adie Payne, is that really you?”
She’d stopped singing in mid-verse and some of the men, especially those claiming they’d thrown money, were grumbling that she’d not finished their song. But Lolly was deaf to their complaints and tottered towards me.
When she reached me, I tried to hide my shock at her condition by feigning surprise at finding her in New Holland. She hugged me, the smell of alcohol overwhelming, and told me how good it was to see me. I said it was good to see her as well, but also noticed the grumbling had got louder, so I said,
“Lolly, why don’t you go back and finish your singing? Then you can join us in the parlour for some dinner.”
She looked back into the bar. It was as if she’d forgotten the men were there. With a real effort, she managed to focus on them and said,
“You’re right. They love me here, say my singing reminds them of home. I’ll give ’em a couple more and then I’ll come and find you.”
She paused for a moment, then with a sly look, added,
“You couldn’t get us another rum, could you, Adie? I need something to wet me whistle – singing is thirsty work, you know.”
I promised I’d have one sent through to her, so satisfied she tottered back into the bar. I returned to the parlour and Mary, with the sound of ‘Meet me by the moonlight’ echoing down the corridor.
In the parlour, the landlord’s daughter was waiting to know whether we were ready for our steaks yet and Mary was looking at me expectantly. I asked the girl if she could take a tot of rum to Lolly and then see if the steak might be cut three ways as she’d be joining us for dinner. After she left to give Lolly her rum and her father my request, I explained to Mary that I’d met Lolly on the Brunswick and how she’d just about saved my life.
“I think I owe her for that,” I said, “even if I’m only buying her dinner,” and then I added,
“Anyway, I want to know what happened to her after I was taken from the hulk.”
Mary was interested to hear more, so I spent the next quarter of an hour or so telling her all about Lolly and especially how she had helped me. But then the singing stopped and as it did the girl re-appeared with three steaks; her father must have known Lolly’s final number because moments later she swayed through the door, rum in hand and dumped herself in the only free chair. I explained how I’d met Mary and we’d become friends while chained together for most of the journey to New Holland. But I was much more anxious to learn what had happened to Lolly since I was taken from the Brunswick and how she came to be in Sydney – and I knew I needed to ask her before the rum rendered her unconscious.
I shouldn’t have worried because she was more than ready to tell her story. She explained that she’d served three more months on the hulk before being released. When she went back to the place she’d been living before she was arrested, someone else had rented her room, which didn’t surprise her, but when she found her old landlord and he told her he didn’t have anything else for her, that did surprise her; in all the time she rented from him, she’d never known him not to have a spare room available. She knew her children were safe with her parents, but she had no idea where they were, but her immediate problem was to find somewhere for the night and the means to pay for it. She had no choice. She went back to her old trades – the old pub, the old songs an
d the same old clients.
Things should have been fine, she said, because she made enough to keep a room for the night and to feed herself and as long as she steered clear of any toffs, she could put up with the men.
“But then this started to show.” She ran her hand over one side of her face. “I knew I had it before they put me on the Brunswick. I reckon it was that toff who give it me.”
Of course, we both knew it could have been any of her clients, but I think it made her feel better to blame him.
“As the pox got worse, so did my trade. In the end, I wasn’t earning enough to pay the rent and the landlord was threatening to throw me out.”
We’d all finished our steaks and our drinks were low, so I asked the girl when she came to clear our plates, to bring us another round. Thanks to the food I suppose, just then, Lolly looked a little more sober, so I asked how that led to her being transported.
“Well, that’s just it. I started thievin’; I had no choice Adie.”
She looked defiantly at Mary, as if she thought she was going to disapprove. But Mary just smiled and said,
“We all do what we have to, to get by, don’t we?”
Glad of the approval, Lolly spoke to Mary instead of me.
"I did alright for a while, stealing lace and silk and so on and I sold it to one of my old clients who worked in that line of business.
But then I got careless. I stole a roll of curtain material from outside a haberdashery. I got away alright, but instead of shifting it straight away, I got greedy and thought I’d get a better price for it up the West End. So the next day, roll of curtain under my arm, I was on my way across town when I ran slap into the haberdasher. I didn’t stand a chance ’cos though I dropped the roll and tried to run away, he kicked up such a row that people were grabbing me from all sides and as soon as you like, I’d been caught and marched in front of a magistrate.
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