“And it was just as well I did,” reliving the moment was reminding Daniel of how scared he’d been, “I was dozing in a ditch by the side of the road, waiting for night to fall again, when these three rode past.” He pointed the spade at the landlord, “I had no time to get away. I just had to hope they wouldn’t look in the ditch – if they did they were certain to spot me.”
He went on to say he’d been lucky because they were engaged in a heated argument about whose fault it was that he’d escaped. Anyway, he had decided there was nothing else he could do but try and find me and Mary. He’d hoped to find us at Edward’s homestead but if we were no longer there, at least find out where we had gone. So, while he’d kept well away from the road, he always kept it in view because he knew that was the way to find the homestead.
Edward interrupted at this point.
“That’s why I’m here. I wasn’t home when the boy called, but Catherine told me all about him yesterday evening. She told me he was in a terrible state and that apart from the fact that he’d obviously taken a severe beating, he also looked like he hadn’t eaten for days. That had upset her the most because, try as she might, she couldn’t persuade him to stay for some food, he was only interested in finding this place. So I thought I’d come over this evening see if he found you and see how your first night had gone at the same time. Then, when I was approaching, I saw these three trying to knock your door down.”
It was a week before Daniel told us all that had happened on that day when he burst through our door and it was an even longer time before he told us everything that had happened after we parted. In the meantime, Edward dealt with the innkeeper. All the time he’d been talking to us his rifle was always trained on him and now he turned and spoke straight to him.
“Now, I’m going to make myself very clear and you better be listening just as carefully. You know I’m a magistrate, don’t you? I haven’t asked Daniel to tell us everything you and your band of ne’er-do-wells have done to him, but I am going to ask him to tell me the names of all those who’ve been involved in your cruelty towards him. If any of them or you, or anyone else come here looking to cause trouble, he’ll be telling everything in front of a judge and jury. If you want to avoid that, all you have to do is keep away from this place and make sure this lot stay away as well.” He swung his rifle in an arc across the front of them. “Now, have I made myself clear?”
The innkeeper nodded again. He didn’t look happy but he wasn’t about to cross the local magistrate.
While his men made sure the door was secure for the night, Edward got Daniel to tell him the names of all the people who had helped the innkeeper imprison and beat him. Once that was done, he told Daniel he’d be writing to each of them, just to make sure they understood what will happen if they cause any trouble for him or us.
Finally, before he left, Edward told us he’d send two men in the morning to fix the door properly, adding that he and Catherine would be over the next evening to see how we were getting on.
When we were on our own again, I told Daniel that I’d talked to Mary and we’d agreed he could stay with us as long as he liked – it wasn’t true, I hadn’t spoken to Mary, but I was certain she’d agree if I asked her. The problem of where he might sleep was solved when he begged to be allowed to sleep in the stable. He said his experience in Morpeth meant he never wanted to sleep in a bedroom ever again.
We had been too tired to talk about Daniel that night, but in the morning whilst he mucked out and fed our mares, we had enough time to decide what we could offer him. Before he finished with the horses, the two men Edward had promised to send, arrived to fix the door and I thought we needed to be alone when I talked to Daniel about money. When I was able to speak to him, I repeated my promise that he could stay as long as he liked if, in return, he would look after our horses and those of our guests and also help us in the bar in the evening. I explained that we wouldn’t be able to pay him anything until trade picked up, so we would understand if he decided to leave. I added that whatever his final decision, I hoped he would at least stay until he was fully recovered.
As we couldn’t pay him, I’d thought he might need to think about what he should do, but he answered so quickly; he must have known what he was going to say long before I’d finished speaking and, of course, I was delighted, as was Mary.
“Adie, you and Mary have shown me nothing but kindness from the first time we met, and my only regret is that I didn’t leave the inn with you. I’d love to stay with you both and I don’t mind if you don’t ever pay me, so long as I can carry on sleeping in the stable.”
I hadn’t expected to be able to pay him until work began on the wool factory, but a surprise that evening changed everything. Before it was dark, Edward arrived with Catherine and the baby as he had promised, and with them were the four convicts who had accompanied him the night before. Catherine was delighted to see us and glad to hear what we had agreed with Daniel, but she said they couldn’t stay for long. I was disappointed they would be leaving so soon, but there wasn’t time for regret before we heard a carriage pull up outside. Daniel went out to hold the horses and then lead them round the back to the stables. The four passengers came into the inn, greeted Edward and Catherine, then ordered what turned out to be the first of several rounds. The four of them had barely sat down before two more men rode in, tethered their horses, nodded at Edward and ordered a bottle of rum. There were soon ten more people, all of whom greeted Edward and a few who said hello to Catherine as well. The Grangers left soon after, but people continued to arrive for the next hour.
It turned out that Edward had found ways to contact everyone he knew in the County and invited them to the Boar’s Head for the evening. Looking round the bar, I had to agree with Mary that for whatever reason, most of them must have turned up. The money we took that night was to be the most we took on any night until the factory opened nine months later. Much more importantly, many who were there that night came back – some not often, but a number became regulars and most of those I’m pleased to say are still with us today. We were also able to give Daniel a little money from the start, although I’m certain he meant what he said and would have stayed with us anyway.
Daniel is still with us today and I don’t believe he has ever had any thoughts of leaving. He’s still in love with Mary but seems to understand why, even though she is always kind to him, she’ll never want anything more from him. Since the factory was finished, Carrington has grown and grown and because of our plum position, even though the waterfront has filled with hopeful bars, inns and guest houses, our business has remained a success. Given that we are just two women and a boy running the most successful inn in Carrington, for some time me and Mary have expected efforts, either fair or foul, to be made to persuade us to give up the Boar. But there has been nothing, not even polite enquiries.
Edward and Catherine visited us often, bringing little Marianne with them. She walks now, and is beginning to talk a little; Adie and Mary she manages to say quite easily, but Daniel she still has trouble with, mind you that doesn’t stop ‘Yan-Yan’ from being her favourite. Seeing her face light up as soon as she spots him and how much affection he shows her, makes me hope that one day he will get over Mary and find someone else to marry and have children with.
For me, as I sit here thinking over the past two years, I realise I can’t remember when I last thought about England and the people I left behind. Mary and me never talk about it, instead spending our time discussing the Boar and how neither of us have ever been so well placed and so when I say I’m never ever going back, I know she’d say the same.
And finally, what of my name? The answer’s simple, to most who know me, my name is Adie, while Mary and me, by not mentioning Admonition, keep the curse at bay – not that either of us believe it exists of course, but you know, why take the chance?
Epilogue
Bill said she was untrue
Her baby a cuckoo
So she answered
his suspicion
Called their next one Admonition
I’ve not heard that rhyme for more than sixty years. But recently, times past have filled my dreams and this morning, as I crossed from sleep to wakefulness, they travelled with me. Many years may have past, but I remember fighting a girl called Sally who chanted that rhyme again and again, right in my face. She was older than me and bigger too, but as her lisped es’s sprayed my face, something welled up inside and I struck out. Clutching her bleeding nose, she stumbled backwards, but I didn’t stop. She’d released the pent up fury of an angry six-year-old. Luckily for Sally, Reverend Grace who was just passing on his way back from conducting Sunday morning service, dragged me off her and marched me home. My legs still stung from the slap across them my mother had given me when my father taking me by the arm, led me back to Church and made me apologise to Sally. After I made my resentful apology and now less angry, as we slowly returned home, he told me that people would always be interested in my name, but I should never let it upset me because any message it carried was meant for him not me – if only I’d listened.
For many years I’d given little thought to those I’d left behind in England, but about ten years after I was released, I received a letter from Kit Carlyle. Apparently, the Boar and the two female ex-convicts, who owned it, were becoming quite well known throughout England, so when news reached Cheshire, he took it upon himself to write and congratulate us. He also thought I might like to know the fate of some of those I’d left behind and I must admit he’d made me curious.
According to Kit, life had bought Sam Baker very little peace after my trial. It was already difficult for him and the members of his gang who were still free to avoid capture, but after the display of support Sam led at Jabez’ execution, all efforts at capture were concentrated on him alone. He knew that if he stayed in Cheshire, his arrest was inevitable, so he fled the County and headed as far south as he could go.
Reaching Kent, Sam still didn’t feel safe, even there he saw an old ‘Wanted’ poster offering a reward for his capture and he’d already decided to try and get to France. But while travelling round the coast, heading for Dover, he discovered the smuggling of gold that was centred on Deal and more importantly, the extraordinary profit made by the smugglers – but it was also in Deal that his luck finally ran out.
Sam was no sailor, but he found it straightforward finding work once the gold was landed. What he didn’t know, what no one knew, was that the publican of the inn whose cellar the smugglers used for storage bore a grudge against one of the smugglers’ oarsmen. Wrongly believing the oarsman was having an affair with his wife, instead of challenging either of them, the publican let the grudge fester. And it festered until the day came when desire for revenge, combined with gin and opportunity, led him to talk to an ambitious local magistrate. He told the magistrate not only that his inn was used to store gold, but also when he next expected a delivery. All those involved, including Sam, were caught red-handed and held in Dover Barracks until the next quarterly Assizes were to sit in the Spring. For all of them things were looking bad – they knew they could all expect long gaol sentences – but for Sam matters became a lot worse.
When he was arrested, Sam gave a false name and it was under that name, one John Brown, his likeness appeared in the Kent Gazette. It was a copy of that newspaper a Cheshire councillor was reading on his journey home from Gravesend. Of course, the paper said Sam’s name was John Brown and that he’d been arrested for gold smuggling. Back in Cheshire, for months, Councillor Weaver had seen the same image in every newspaper, noticeboard or pinned to prominent trees, and he knew with certainty that the image he was confronted with was Baker’s. He knew he was wanted for murder and was under sentence to be hung. So two months later, Sam Baker’s identity was confirmed and within days he had been returned to Cheshire and like Jabez, hung on the Boughton gallows.
According to Kit, after her husband’s murder, Elizabeth had fallen on hard times and found herself forced to go to the workhouse. In her own words, she’d been rescued by Richard Sweetman, who not only paid all her debts, but when he heard she was homeless offered her a roof over her head in his own home. They had married a few months later and as far as Kit knew ten years on, both content, they were grateful to have found each other.
Any resentments I held against Elizabeth had long since disappeared; I had Mary, I had the Boar and I knew my life could never have been as good had I remained in England. But I must admit I was glad to learn what had happened to Elizabeth. She and Richard are sure to be dead now, but I truly hope that like me and Mary, their contentment continued till death parted them.
Two years ago, Mary died and so I sold the inn and retired to live out my days here in Parrametta. I made part of the sale conditions, that for as long as it stood, the inn should always be called The Boar’s Head, in memory of the only man who, as Henry Carlyle said, as a parent may a child, truly loved me and went to the gallows to prove it. But for me it will always stand as a memorial to Mary, the only person I ever truly loved and I know, because she showed me in so many different ways, that she felt the same about me. We became lovers the first night we slept in the Boar, where we had had no choice but to sleep in the one bedroom ready for use and to share its only bed. Just as in Sydney, Mary reached for me, but this time I was neither drunk nor surprised and from the moment her lips sought mine, I responded readily. Of our customers, few knew our arrangements and of those who did, hardly any raised questions. To the handful who did, the explanation that we were just making sure we had as many rooms available as possible for paying guests, seemed to satisfy them.
Though it might have been home to the Women’s Factory, Parramatta was also the place where, walking to and from work at the town hall, I’d had my first taste of freedom and so it is also the place I have chosen to end my days. Daniel had never left us, or I should say never left Mary. So there was also never any doubt that he would stay working at the Boar for its new owner.
So now, when a weak heart is drawing my days to an end, it makes me smile when I remember what a furious little girl she was, always fighting and never quite shedding the belief that she was cursed. Now, I wish there was a way I could tell her what’s taken me a lifetime, not to mention a journey to the other side of the world, to learn; we can be unlucky, unfortunate, even oppressed by our circumstances or by those around us, but we are never affected by curses and certainly not by our name – unless of course we choose to believe it.
Admonition
Admonition Page 40