by Anna Jacobs
She refused to look at him any more, picking up a book and holding it in front of her face.
Downstairs, Dot stopped when she heard the scream. But the bell didn’t ring and she didn’t go near her mistress if she could help it, so simply got on with her work.
If only she could find another job! She’d leave here tomorrow. But jobs were scarce at a time like this.
At eleven o’clock there was a knock on the house door.
Isabel went to answer it herself, because she’d sent the maid to bed an hour ago.
At the door stood the Vicar, his wife and a policeman. She stared at them, trying to look worried and shocked. ‘What’s the matter?’ She pressed one hand to her chest.
‘Could we come inside, my dear lady?’ the Vicar asked.
Isabel led the way upstairs, allowed Sylvia to sit beside her on the sofa and listened as they told her about the attack on her nieces.
Hiding her delight that the others had been hurt in the struggle, she fell into hysterics and had to be helped to bed. Dot was standing at the foot of the attic stairs, staring at them. Could the maid see Joseph too? Was that why the girl kept staring at her?
‘Go away!’ she yelled, unable to bear the sight of the girl. ‘Leave me alone.’ When this was all over, she’d get rid of Dot and find an older maid, one who didn’t stare at her as if she knew what was going on.
She didn’t let the Vicar send for the doctor, just asked for a dose of her calming medicine.
Sylvia insisted on staying the night and when Isabel couldn’t persuade her to go away, she tried to sound grateful and told her to use the spare bedroom.
As her bedroom door closed she sighed happily, smiling at the window, its shape illuminated by a nearby gas lamp in the street. She hoped that immoral creature was suffering, that the men were doing what she’d asked them to, that they’d hurt her.
Tomorrow she’d tell the other girls they had a week to get out of the house. They weren’t her nieces, after all.
Only after they’d left town would she bury her husband. She wasn’t having them at the funeral.
It took her a long time to get to sleep because she kept thinking she saw a man’s dark outline at the foot of the bed.
Cassandra fought desperately against her attackers, but there were several of them and they were far stronger than her. They gagged her quickly and efficiently, then tied and blindfolded her. She was carried by two of them, one at her head and one at her feet.
Where were they taking her? Why?
After a while they stopped and she heard a door open. She was sure they were now inside a building. Carrying her down some steps, they dumped her on what felt like a mattress.
Bound and helpless, she could only lie there while the men spoke in low voices nearby. She had heard someone cry, ‘Get the tallest one.’ Could this be her aunt’s doing? Were these men going to murder her? Had her uncle been murdered at his wife’s behest?
It was unthinkable. Only ... it was happening.
Shuddering, terrified, she could only wait to find out what they would do.
Footsteps came towards her and someone fastened her arms to the bed head. He untied her legs and lifted her skirt. She knew then what they intended. When she tried to kick out at him, he slapped her so hard, her head rang with pain.
He didn’t say a word the whole time he was raping her, didn’t seem to notice or care how much he was hurting her or that tears were running down her cheeks.
When he’d finished he left and she lay there weeping.
Someone else grunted and climbed on to the bed and to her horror, it started all over again.
She thought she’d die of it, but she didn’t, could only endure.
When the second man had finished she hoped they’d release her, but they didn’t. They simply left her lying on the bed, humiliated and helpless.
The tears stopped, but the fear didn’t go away.
Nor did the men.
The Minister and his wife came to the house where the three remaining sisters had been offered refuge and tried to take them to their home.
‘What if Cassandra comes back to the cottage?’ Xanthe asked. ‘We have to go there and wait for her. She may be hurt.’
‘We can’t leave you alone there,’ Mr Rainey protested. ‘Maia is still dizzy. You’re both badly bruised. What if you’re attacked again?’
But they refused to go anywhere else, walking through the dark streets with the Minister, his wife and a policeman. The town was quiet. They met no one. It was as if the darkness had swallowed up their sister, and everyone else too.
‘We’ll come round first thing in the morning,’ Mr Rainey said. ‘Don’t open the door to anyone but the police or me.’
When they were alone, the sisters went to sit in the kitchen, waiting for they knew not what.
The clock ticked away a long, slow hour, and then another, but Cassandra didn’t come back.
‘We should get some sleep,’ Pandora said at last. ‘Maia, you look as if you’re about to collapse.’
‘We can’t just – go to bed. We must be here for when she comes back.’
‘I’ll stay up and keep watch. I may doze but I’ll hear if anyone knocks.’
But no one did. The house remained quiet until morning brought people into the streets again. Before the Cotton Famine, the mill hooters would have woken everyone and the streets would have been full of hurrying footsteps. It was quieter now, far too quiet at the cottage.
As they were preparing breakfast, Maia burst into tears suddenly.
‘Stop that!’ Pandora said as she continued to sob. ‘What good will it do to cry?’
But her own eyes kept filling with tears. Something terrible had happened to Cassandra, she knew it.
The morning following the attack, the police sergeant went to see Isabel to talk about her nieces again. Her friend Sylvia was still there to support her.
Isabel looked at the sergeant in feigned outrage. ‘You mean my husband’s nieces were walking the streets after dark?’
‘They said you’d asked Cassandra to come and see you.’
‘After dark? My husband was killed walking after dark. Do you think I’d have asked any decent young woman to risk being attacked?’
‘But – they all said a lad came to the door with a message from you.’
‘Where is it? Show me the note?’
‘There was no note, he just passed on a verbal message.’
She drew herself up. ‘I did not send a message. Not after my dear Joseph—’ She broke off, burying her face, and her smile, in her hands.
‘Really, Sergeant, have you no consideration?’ Sylvia said.
‘I’d better leave. I’m sorry to have upset you, Mrs Blake.’
After he’d gone, she sat dry-eyed but pretended to shed a few tears, then allowed her friend to coax out of her what the matter was.
‘It’s those creatures. I’m so ashamed of being related to them. Oh, Sylvia, I worry all the time about what they’re going to do next. We all know why young women walk the streets after dark.’
‘We do indeed. It isn’t your fault, though. No one could blame you for what happened.’
‘They’re related to me. They have the same name. Oh, the humiliation! What dreadful thing will they do next?’
‘I’ll speak to my husband again. The matter we discussed before is still under consideration. This incident might ensure that your nieces are selected, though they might not agree to go.’
‘Oh, Sylvia, you’re a wonderful friend to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I’ll make sure they agree to it.’
By lunchtime Isabel was fed up with pretending to be so upset and persuaded her friend to go home for a while.
Only then did she allow herself to smile and give in to the temptation to waltz round the parlour, crying, ‘I’ve done it, I’ve done it! What do you think of that, Joseph Blake?’
The maid, who had come up to ask about lunch, watched in amaz
ement from the landing outside. Her mistress was growing stranger with every day that passed.
She crept back downstairs, not wanting Mrs Blake to know she’d seen or heard anything, and found something to keep herself busy. There was always something to do. If the mistress wanted anything to eat, she’d ring the bell.
But the upstairs bell remained silent. Which was one mercy, at least.
Later, Mrs Blake rang for her and gave her a note for the shop lad to deliver.
In the afternoon a note arrived for the three sisters from their aunt.
In view of your troubles, you may stay in the cottage until the end of the week, after which you must find somewhere else to live.
I. Blake
Xanthe would have thrown the piece of paper into the fire but again Pandora took charge and stopped her. ‘Don’t! We may need to prove we have a right to stay here.’
‘If it weren’t for Cassandra, I’d leave today. Surely we must be able to find a room to rent somewhere?’
‘We’ll ask around, but we’re not moving out till we have to. This place is rent free and besides ... it’s where she’ll come.’
So they stayed at the cottage, waiting, praying – and as the hours of that long, weary day passed, despair pressed even more heavily on them. If Cassandra was alive, surely she’d have come home by now?
In the afternoon Mr Studdard came to see Isabel to make arrangements for the funeral. ‘My dear lady—’
‘I’m not burying my husband until his nieces have left the town.’
‘But – you can’t leave him unburied.’
‘You can preserve the body, can you not?’
‘Um – yes. But it’ll be more expensive.’
She waved one hand dismissively. ‘That’s not important.’
‘And your nieces may not want to leave Outham.’
‘I’ll make sure—’ He looked at her strangely and she hastily amended it to, ‘I’m sure they will. The dear Vicar knows of a scheme which will give them a new chance in life. I’m not fond of them but it’s my duty to see that they’re not in want. I’m certain my dear husband would have expected me to do that.’
‘And the funeral, when we do hold it ... shall we discuss the arrangements now?’
Suddenly she’d had enough of him. ‘No. I’m arranging nothing until they’ve left town. I bid you good day.’
She buried her face in her black-edged handkerchief, not raising it till he’d gone. Then she smiled. It was working just as she’d planned.
Mr Studdard went round to see the Vicar and tell him what had happened.
Mr Saunders shook his head. ‘The poor lady is taking her husband’s death very badly. And as for his nieces, well I gather they’re an immoral lot. She’s terrified they’ll bring shame to his name.’
The undertaker didn’t contradict him, but he remembered the four young women from the funeral of the other Mr Blake. He’d thought them polite and well-spoken. Most of the young women who worked in mills were raucous and bold; these four had seemed different, had spoken differently too. He realised the Vicar had spoken. ‘I beg your pardon. What did you say?’
‘I said, I’m fairly sure the Blake sisters will agree to leave next week, then we can bury Joseph Blake.’
When the undertaker had left, the Vicar went to his desk and took out a letter he’d just received, writing a quick reply and giving them the names of three suitable young women.
Those Blake girls would be getting an opportunity to make a new life for themselves. They would be grateful for this one day. The other one must be dead by now – or lost to decent society.
The new life Reece had expected on their arrival in Australia was slow in arriving. The house Paul took them to was small, rented only, and once again Reece was expected to sleep in a shed-like construction out at the back because the two maids were occupying the sleep-out on the veranda.
He shared this space with a convict, who tended the horses and did the minimum work he could get away with on the garden. The other man wasn’t at all talkative, seeming to regard the newcomer with suspicion.
Reece didn’t complain, kept his thoughts secret and made himself useful. He was badly bitten by mosquitoes, so requested a mosquito net like those used inside the house.
‘I never thought of that!’ Francis said. ‘My dear fellow, I’m so sorry. We’ll go and buy you one this very afternoon.’ He muttered as he turned away, ‘I need to get away from this house for a while, anyway.’
On the way into Perth, Francis said quietly, ‘You must have noticed that I’m not – um, best pleased with what I’ve found here, Reece.’
‘It’s not what any of us expected, sir.’
‘My cousin has bought himself a plot of land on the coast, about thirty miles south of Fremantle at a place called East Rockingham. He says it’ll be a fine little town one day and he intends to build a spacious new home there. His land is close to the ocean, but from what he says, there’s nothing much there at present. He has the money to set up as a gentleman and he’s never been strong so doesn’t mind idling around, but I need something to occupy my time – and earn me some money. My father wasn’t as generous as he could have been.’
He breathed in deeply and let out a sigh that was nearly a growl. ‘I was misled about the Swan River Colony, Reece, and I apologise to you.’
‘We’ve not started finding our feet yet, have we? Happen things will look better once we’re settled in.’ Reece didn’t intend to take sides or criticise his employer’s relatives, but he’d been talking to passers-by, servants from other houses, anyone he met, trying to find out what the situation in this colony was really like. He hoped he’d be left on his own in Perth today, so that he could gather yet more information. People talked to him as they wouldn’t to his master.
‘Will you be all right?’ Francis asked when they arrived. ‘I feel we should look elsewhere for our land, so I’m going to ask about sites. Buying you a mosquito net was a good excuse to come into Perth and ask around.’ He thrust a piece of paper into Reece’s hand. ‘I’ve a list of things the ladies want, if you could purchase the items, and your net, of course. We’ll leave the horse and gig at the livery stables and you can have the parcels sent there.’
Reece studied the list grimly. Women’s stuff. What did he know about that?
Francis fumbled in his pocket and handed over a small purse. ‘You’d better buy yourself something to eat at midday. A florin should cover that. I’ll meet you again in three hours’ time at the livery stables.’
Reece did the shopping first, lingering if he found anyone to talk to, taking careful note of the amenities Perth offered and the types of stores that were there.
He found it cheaper to buy some bread and ham from a street seller, would have preferred bread and cheese but the man said gloomily that cheese wasn’t easy to obtain. He washed the food down with a cup of strong black tea, leaving himself with half the lunch money still. Tucking the change into his pocket, he smiled wryly. Every penny counted, every halfpenny even. People like the Southerhams would never understand that.
He had some money of his own, not much but from what he’d found out, enough to set up some sort of business. But what?
When Francis joined him at the livery stables, he looked thoughtful.
‘What did you find out?’ Reece asked, listening carefully to his employer. Farming, if done well, if the land was fertile, could apparently provide a decent income. Horse breeding was also good business, with many mounts being sent to India.
‘I shall probably breed horses,’ Francis said. Almost as an afterthought he added, ‘Oh, and they said that there’s a need for timber, so if you can get land with well-grown trees on it, you can profit from clearing it, too.’
Which gave Reece a lot to think about. He didn’t share his conclusions with his employer because Francis didn’t ask him.
Servants, it seemed to him, were not only invisible to their employers most of the time, but not expected to have o
pinions or ideas of their own. Francis was friendlier than most, but still used Reece mainly as a sounding board for his own thoughts. Didn’t these people realise how much servants saw and heard? The two maids discussed their mistress freely over kitchen meals.
He was glad he hadn’t been brought up a servant. It was no way to live. At least when he’d worked in the mill, his time after work had been his own.
He smiled up at the clear blue sky, enjoying the gentle warmth on his skin in between the downpours. If it was like this in winter, what would summer be like? Hot, people told him. But he enjoyed warm weather.
The more he learned about this place, the more determined he became to make good here. But he didn’t feel it fair to write to Cassandra until he had some future worth offering her.
It was a few days before the men set off to view the plot of land Paul Southerham had bought to build his house on. It was on the coast, south of Fremantle. They travelled in a wagon drawn by oxen, which made for slow progress, and they were going to camp there for a night or two, fishing and swimming in the sea if the weather was good enough.
In East Rockingham, Reece looked in amazement at the block of sandy land they’d come to see. Even to his inexperienced eyes, it had clearly been bought for the view, not because it was fertile land.
‘The soil doesn’t look very promising for growing things,’ Francis said at last.
‘I’m not going to be farming it,’ Paul said huffily. ‘I bought it for the views and because it’s exactly the right size. I’ll have a fine garden here one day.’
‘I can’t buy here. I need land suitable for horse breeding.’ Francis’s voice was flat and his displeasure came through.
‘I thought – didn’t you say my uncle had given you some money?’
‘Only enough to set me up for earning my living.’
‘Oh.’ Paul avoided his eyes, kicking a tuft of wiry looking grass. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Never mind. Let’s go and walk along the beach.’