Matilda's Freedom

by Téa Cooper

  How in God’s name did she know he was going to return? He hadn’t known himself. ‘If that was the case, Mother, then why did you keep pushing Eliza down my throat? Why did you insist she was the perfect candidate?’

  She steepled her fingers and gazed at him; he thought he could see the beginning of a smile on her lips. ‘Kit, my darling, despite what you might think, it is very important to me that you are happy. If you are going to take on the establishment and go against Sydney society, it is imperative that you are certain about your decision.’

  Certain?

  He’d never been more certain of anything in his life, but why in God’s name had that realisation come after he’d made so many mistakes?

  How could I have done that to her? Matilda deserved so much more. Could she forgive him?

  The smile his mother tossed in his direction held nothing of her previous malice—it was full of caring and wisdom.

  ‘I think I need some advice, Mother.’

  ‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the books. My son now finally admits he needs advice.’

  Kit took a deep breath, knowing his next remark was going to test her new-found disposition and wisdom to its limit. ‘I made a mistake—a very serious mistake.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Her fingers lifted and dropped in a repetitive pattern, her eyes never leaving his face.

  ‘I asked … I explained to Matilda that I had to marry Eliza for the social connections, to ensure our family’s continuing status in the community. But, then, I asked her to be my mistress.’

  ‘I see.’ She continued to drum her fingers.

  Wasn’t she going to say anything? Wasn’t she going to be shocked?

  ‘Not an exceptionally bright thing to say. Did you make reference to her inferior social standing and rehash my appalling statements about her having ideas above her station?’

  He nodded his head sombrely.

  ‘It appears to me, Christopher, that you may have dug your own grave.’

  No, he hadn’t. He couldn’t have. There had to be a way out of this mess.

  ‘She is a very proud woman.’

  And honest, and truthful, and beautiful, and all that he wanted in life.

  ‘I suggest you speak to her. I hope—for all of our sakes—you will be able to convince her of the error of your ways. It won’t be easy, I can assure you.’

  ‘Mother, that is exactly why I came back and what I intended to do, but …’ He waved his hand at the window.

  ‘Circumstances would appear to be conspiring against you.’

  ‘Yes, and I may have left it too late. She may be lying at the bottom of some ravine. Dead.’

  ‘Now, you are beginning to sound like me—over-dramatising the situation.’ She flashed him a mocking grin that made him feel like a child again. ‘I am sure she and the girls will be cold, wet and hungry, but I have every faith in Jem. He knows the area like the back of his hand and will have taken them somewhere safe. It is just a question of patience.’

  The one thing he hadn’t got—patience. He longed to sort out this ridiculous mess and to hold Matilda in his arms again.

  ‘The rain has stopped, and the water won’t be rising for much longer. We have been through floods like these before. It is simply a question of biding our time and keeping our spirits up. On the subject of which, I would greatly appreciate it if you would share some of Barclay’s brandy with me. I think I deserve it.’

  Kit gave his mother a sheepish grin and poured her a glass.

  Sitting deep in the leather armchair, she cradled the glass and swirled the amber liquid around, warming it with her hand. He watched, mesmerised not so much by the brandy or the fact that his mother appeared to be a seasoned drinker, but by her apparent change in attitude.

  ‘Mother?’

  She gazed at him over the rim of the glass, one eyebrow raising in response.

  ‘I am a little confused. I believed you thought Eliza was the best possible match for me and that you were keen to develop contacts in Sydney to further the girls’ chances of making a suitable marriage. Now you are telling me you think I should marry someone who—in your own words—is of inferior social standing.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Mrs Barclay drew out the final consonant and swirled the brandy once more. ‘I made a mistake.’

  ‘A mistake?’ It appeared he and his mother had more in common than he’d first thought.

  ‘I misjudged Matilda, and I realised I’m in no position to stand in the path of true love. I was lucky enough to be awarded a second chance—Barclay afforded me that. The least I can do is honour his memory by putting aside my own foolish ambitions and doing what I know he would have wanted.’

  Kit tossed back the last of his brandy and reached for the decanter. ‘But how do you know what he would have wanted?’ He stared at his mother, seeing her for the first time as a woman who had a past and with dreams and responsibilities of her own. To his horror, Kit realised he’d been a responsibility too.

  ‘Matilda is a perfect match for you, and she is best suited to help you fulfil Barclay’s dreams. She is a brave, courageous, resourceful girl, and more than anything else, represents the future. A future you both deserve. That is what Barclay would have wanted.’

  Kit lowered himself into the matching armchair opposite his mother, his glass of brandy forgotten. ‘Mother, may I ask you a question about my father?’

  ‘I think it is probably about time. To be honest, I never really understood why you hadn’t asked who your father was before now or how I happened to be fortunate enough to meet and marry Barclay. I am sure you have some memories of your early childhood.’

  ‘Yes, I do, but not many. I remember you laughing, but I also remember crowded rooms with lots of women, only women, until Barclay came along. And then we were here and everything changed.

  ‘Yes, everything changed because of Barclay. Our marriage was an arranged one, one of convenience. It suited him, and it suited me. When I arrived in Australia, I was taken to the Female Factory at Parramatta—all female convicts were in those days. As well as housing us, it was also a marriage market. Men would come and look over the girls, and if they were lucky, they might take a man’s eye. Then the banns would be called and the marriage ceremony performed the following week.’

  Kit closed his mouth firmly, his back teeth clacking together. His mother had come to Australia as a convict? He had not known.

  I am the son of a convict.

  The irony of it hit him hard, feeling almost like a blow to the stomach. He and Matilda shared more than a passion for each other—they shared a similar heritage. The only difference was that she was proud of her heritage and what her parents had achieved, but at this particular moment he was unsure he felt the same way. ‘I have to interrupt. Why were you sent to Australia? What crime had you committed?’

  His mother’s dark eyes glittered in the fading light. ‘I was a thief and a pickpocket, and I was caught, not once, but twice. I was sentenced to seven years and then transported. My only excuse for the crime is that I had to provide for you and my mother. Not that I did that very well.’ She let out a harsh bark of laughter, but her pain was evident. ‘Your grandmother died while we were in Newgate Prison, before we even set sail.’

  Not only was his mother a convict, but apparently she had also spent time in gaol. What did that make him?

  The bastard son of a convict.

  ‘And my father—who was he? Do you even know?’ Kit fought back a curl of anger as it twisted his guts.

  ‘Would it make any difference?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s a long and sorry tale, Kit, and not one I am very proud of. Your father was a brave but foolish man. We were in love and pledged to be married, but he died trying to protect me from my own foolishness. When they came to take me to Newgate Prison, he tried to stop them and was shot. Once I was sentenced, I was transported, and when we reached Sydney, that’s when they sent me to the Female Factory in Parramatta.’

  �
��What happened to me?’ How selfish that sounded. Kit slowly shook his head, unable to imagine the horrors his mother must have lived through when she had been at an age no older than Matilda. And then the thought struck him—what if Matilda already carried his child?

  ‘You, my darling boy, were lucky. Children were permitted to remain with their mother until they were four. Afterwards, they would be sent to the Orphan School.’

  ‘But you were sentenced for seven years. How did you meet and marry Barclay?’

  ‘Through the cattle market at the Female Factory. Barclay was looking for a wife at the factory, as many men did in those days, and I knew they would take you from me, so I stepped forward. What else could I do? To my surprise, Barclay picked me out. I thought having a child would be an impediment, but I was wrong. He wanted children, a son. He always said that because he could see you—what I could produce—it had firmed his resolve. Before I knew it, the banns were called, and we were married, and soon I was leaving the factory on a good behaviour bond and with a promise not leave the colony.’

  Darkness had fallen, and the sound of frogs permeated the stillness. Kit rose slowly from his chair, his mind in turmoil. He lit the oil lamp on the desk and in that soft light studied his mother’s face. He imagined her as a young woman in a strange land, her son her sole responsibility. He crossed to her chair, dropped his hands on her shoulders and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you?’

  ‘Yes, for putting me first and for providing for me. It seems to me that you and Matilda have a lot in common. You’re both strong, brave and courageous—and you have my love. I love you both very much, and I’m sorry I have never told you before. And I think the sooner I find Matilda and tell her, the better.’

  ‘And, in the meantime, I think we should go and investigate the kitchen. It has been a long time since I prepared a meal, but I feel sure it is one of those skills one does not lose.’ His mother gave him a gentle smile.

  Listening to his mother talk, he had a sudden flashback to a time before Barclay. It was a time when his mother had been the centre of his world and they had been together against whatever the world had thrown at them.

  She was right. All Kit had to do was summon some patience and wait.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Matilda sauntered up and down the veranda, gazing at the water and willing it to recede. She wanted an end to this situation. Once the girls were safely back at The Gate, she would be free to leave, to start again, and to move on from the ridiculous position she had placed herself in.

  ‘Come and sit down, Matilda. There is nothing you or anyone else can do until the water level drops. We are marooned, so we may as well enjoy the enforced relaxation.’

  Sinking down onto the timber chair, Matilda laid her aching head back against the wooden slats and gazed over the Mill Pond. In the distance, she could see a cemetery, where a giant egret was balancing precariously on the fence line and drying its wings. Bonnie was right—there was nothing she could do at the moment—but neither her headache nor Bonnie’s well-meant platitudes could stop her from planning.

  ‘Can I take you up on your offer of a bed for a while?’

  Bonnie raised one eyebrow and studied Matilda.

  ‘When the floodwaters drop I’m going to ask Jem to take the girls home and collect my belongings from The Gate.’

  ‘You know you are welcome to stay here for as long as you would like.’

  ‘Thank you. It won’t be for more than a few days. Afterwards, I’m going to ride to St Albans and pick up the coach to Sydney.’ The Bainbridges would give her a bed for a night or two. Since she hadn’t heard from Richard, she could only presume he hadn’t been able to find anyone to lease her family’s property. ‘Then I am going to move back home, back to my property, where I belong.’

  ‘But where will you live? You told me the whole place was razed in the fire that killed your father.’

  Matilda nodded sadly, trying not to remember the horrendous inferno.

  ‘The old barn is still standing. That will afford me sufficient shelter.’

  ‘But then what will you do?’

  Whatever her next move, she was certain of one thing—it would not involve any rash decisions like those that had brought her to Wollombi. She no longer had stars in her eyes. Her life required hard work, planning, acceptance of her situation, and what her father would have referred to as ‘plain, old common sense’.

  ‘Oh!’ Bonnie leapt to her feet, shocking Matilda out of her revelry. ‘I forgot to tell you that I received a letter for you. It was dropped off here because they couldn’t get across the bridge to The Gate.’

  Bonnie ran off into the house. She soon reappeared, carrying a thick white vellum envelope covered in muddy marks. She looked at it ruefully as she handed it to Matilda. ‘I’m sorry about the mud. My hands were still dirty from moving the stores from the barn.

  Matilda turned the envelope over in her hands but didn’t recognise the handwriting. Her stomach cramped; this couldn’t be good news. The only other letter she had ever received had summoned her to Sydney to deal with the outstanding taxes on the property.

  She turned the envelope over and over in her hands and then stuffed it into the pocket of her breeches.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Bonnie said, staring at her in amazement. ‘How often do you get a letter?’

  ‘Not often, but my only experience of them is that they generally bring bad news.’

  ‘But it could also contain good news,’ Bonnie suggested optimistically.

  Matilda forced a laugh, ‘Yes, I suppose you are right. It could contain good news.’ She took the handle of the small knife Bonnie was holding out to her and ran it along the fold in the envelope. Inside was a single thick sheet of paper, which she pulled out and slowly opened.

  ‘Well?’ Bonnie asked, incapable of keeping her own counsel.

  ‘It’s from Richard Bainbridge.’

  ‘Oh,’ Bonnie said, disappointment lacing her voice. ‘I thought it might be from Mr Christopher.’

  Matilda snorted. ‘Highly unlikely. He should be safely ensconced in some Sydney drawing room by now making the most of his connections.’ She winced at her own sarcastic tone. Is this what her folly had brought her to? A bitter and twisted spinsterhood beckoned.

  She looked down. Neat, copperplate writing danced in front of her eyes as she tried to make sense of the words on the paper.

  Sale of the property … do not recommend despite the more than adequate sum offered … increased gold discoveries in the area … sale of licence rights …

  ‘Matilda, are you alright?’

  ‘Barely … No.’ She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them with a snap. The words remained the same. No matter how many times she turned away and then looked back, the letter had not changed.

  ‘Sit down.’ Unaware that she was even standing, she allowed Bonnie to lead her back to the chair on the veranda and sank slowly down into it. She clutched the letter with both hands, holding it to her chest.

  ‘Now, tell me,’ Bonnie said soothingly. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved, as they say.’

  ‘I don’t think I have a problem.’ Matilda turned her gaze on Bonnie. She needed something sane and concrete to anchor herself to right now. ‘It appears that I have been sitting on a gold seam. Literally.’

  Bonnie’s nose screwed up, and her brow furrowed. ‘A gold seam. How? Where?’

  ‘My family’s property, my property …’ Suddenly, the full import of the letter sank in, and she began to laugh. ‘The letter is from Richard Bainbridge. In it, he tells me that there have been several offers made to purchase my property, but that he doesn’t recommend that I should take them. It seems that the land, although incapable of growing a crop or sustaining cattle, is very good at growing gold. There is a large possibility that there is a gold seam right beneath the property, and the offers have been made on that basis. He wa
nts to talk to me and asks me to return as soon as possible to Sydney.’

  Kit honestly believed he could not stand the suspense a moment longer. His conversation with his mother had left him with a new respect for her, and he was now full of anticipation and eagerness. Finally, the way was clear. The only hurdle was the wretched floodwaters that still lapped over the remains of the bridge leading to their property. However, the possibility of going in search of the girls and Matilda was more feasible now than it had been last night.

  Pulling the whistling kettle off the hob, Kit poured the water into the teapot. He was on cook duty. The meal his mother had produced last night had both impressed and amazed him, but not as much as the story she had told him.

  Story. It was no story but simply the truth. The least he could do was provide her with a cup of tea this morning.

  He carefully placed his mother’s favourite pink rose cup and saucer and matching teapot on the tray, all the while whistling happily to himself. Soon he would have Matilda back, as he knew in his heart of hearts that she and the girls had survived the flood.

  The heavy knock on the kitchen door startled him, and he looked up to see Jem’s gap-toothed grin.

  ‘Jem! What are you doing here? How did you get across the creek?’

  ‘Water level’s dropped enough to cross at the billabong again.’

  ‘Thank God for that. Have you got the girls and Matilda with you?’

  Jem shook his head and looked down at his boots.

  ‘Nah,’ he said, and Kit felt a shiver trace his spine. Then Jem winked at him. ‘But they’re safe and sound and dry at Bonnie’s place.’

  ‘Oh, good man.’ Kit clapped him heavily on the shoulders. ‘And Matilda’s there too?’

  ‘Yes, she’s there. Girls went up to see Tiddalik when they couldn’t get across the bridge, and Matilda and me found ‘’em up there.’