Potato and sage soup was served. Kate glanced at the selection of cutlery laid out on either side of the bowl and hesitated. The spoon at least was an easy choice for this course. Jelly-belly stood against the far wall, as all at the table looked to their hostess to begin the meal.
‘What of Major Shaw?’ Mrs Kable enquired. ‘And the gentleman, Mr Southerland?’
‘Both men are your guides, my dear,’ Mr Kable informed Kate. ‘I can’t confirm Mr Southerland’s attendance, Mrs Kable, however I’m sure the Major will be here directly.’
‘He is quite tenacious in his duties, our Major Shaw,’ his wife responded. ‘On request from an old friend of ours in London he procured a savage’s head and had it duly shipped home.’
‘The scientific study of race and the gradations of the Homo sapiens is an interest of my own,’ Mr Kable explained to his guests, ‘and these natives are splendid examples, once one goes beyond the towns. Well, we cannot wait for the Major.’ He raised a glass. ‘There is nothing quite like Her Majesty’s At Foot for protection. To Queen Victoria.’
‘Queen Victoria,’ all replied.
‘It is barely three months since the young queen ascended the throne.’ Mrs Kable took a sip of her punch. ‘Such responsibility for a young woman, and to think four kings have preceded her reign.’
‘Let us hope she marries soon and delivers a male heir.’ The Reverend held his glass aloft and Jelly-belly re-filled it. ‘Now, let us bless the evening meal?’ Placing his glass carefully on the table, Reverend Horsley folded his hands. ‘Oh Lord, we thank you for the bountiful benefits we are about to receive, for the wellbeing of these good people seated at this table and for all those that come under their care and we ask that –’
‘Good evening.’ Major Shaw begged apologies for his lateness, oblivious to the look of annoyance on the Reverend’s face. Broad shouldered and deeply tanned with blond hair tied at the nape of his neck, he had the bluest of eyes. The two junior officers rose in greeting. Kate caught a whiff of horse and saddle-grease as he sat opposite her, and on their introduction his gaze lingered. She couldn’t recall having ever been looked at that way before. It made her quite uncomfortable and she lowered her eyes. She guessed him to be aged in his late twenties, as he explained away George Southerland’s absence.
Conversation turned to the current state of the wool industry. It seemed that pastoral expansion was increasing at a rapid rate and it was solely due to sheep.
‘Well, the British Parliament had to lower the tariff, Major. The quality of the wool grown in the colony is such that they had no choice but to recognise our ability to take part on the world stage. And here we are,’ Mr Kable took a slurp of soup, ‘colonial wool growers competing with their European rivals despite high production costs and the enormous distance to the British market.’
‘Indeed the colony is now producing at international levels, but regretfully burgeoning markets can have serious consequences,’ Major Shaw replied. A soft Scottish lilt was overlayed by a clipped English pronunciation.
‘Such discouraging dining talk, Major.’
‘My apologies, Mrs Kable, I did not come here to bore you with such matters, especially in such elegant surrounds.’
Over the years Kate had heard many a story as to the rewards that could come to the determined settler, but she’d not realised until her arrival at the Kables’ holding how lucrative an enterprise fine Saxon wool could be.
‘Certainly our wool is much sought after,’ Mr Kable enthused. ‘The climate seems to have an extraordinary effect on the weight and quality of the fleeces. I hear the softness is often remarked upon by manufacturers. But I see there is something troubling you, Major.’ He nodded to Jelly-belly, who’d been busy clearing the soup bowls and pouring pale wine from a carafe. Mr Kable waited until his glass was filled and then, having ensured the Major’s glass was also topped up, gestured for him to continue.
‘No more than usual, however, I do have unwelcome news. The Australian Agricultural Company lost two shepherds to the blacks last month. My apologies, Mrs Kable.’ Major Shaw took a sip of wine and offered his compliments. ‘I would not bring such a subject up before the fairer sex,’ he turned to his host, ‘but with our departure imminent this has bearing on your cousin’s requirements. It seems two of his promised convicts are to be reassigned to the Company.’
‘Nine men. That will leave him with nine men on the farm.’ Mr Kable placed his glass on the table with a thud as Jelly-belly began to transfer plates of stewed fish with wine sauce from the sideboard to the table. There was a salad of boiled spinach to accompany the entrée.
Kate noted the knife and fork Lieutenant Wilson selected, and followed suit.
‘There is nothing to be done, particularly at such short notice.’
‘I know that. I can hardly fight a company founded through an Act of the British Parliament.’
‘It also reduces the numbers of the party once they leave Maitland, although George Southerland has agreed to stay on your cousin’s run for a period of twelve months until something can be done about labour.’
‘Dare I say it, but I am sorry the Colonial Secretary approved Samuel’s application to lease the holding.’ Mrs Kable frowned at the fish. ‘Although as they have been squatting on that land for the past twelve months or more I suppose one must be pleased that their tenacity has been rewarded.’
‘Our holding,’ her husband gently reminded her. ‘We have a part share in the enterprise.’
‘The Secretary would hardly say no, Mrs Kable,’ Major Shaw spoke politely. ‘Samuel Hardy is of good repute, with the financial backing required.’ He acknowledged Mr Kable with the slightest tilt of his head. ‘Southerland paid the annual lease of ten pounds on Mr Hardy’s behalf.’
‘Well at least the lease is settled.’ Their host drummed his fingers on the table. ‘And how much does Mr Southerland want? For I’ve heard stories of men with Southerland’s abilities expecting upwards of one hundred and fifty pounds to work on the frontier.’
‘That is the figure he requested,’ Major Shaw admitted. ‘Southerland is much respected and he comes with his own native tracker and guide. If there is a man to get your cousin’s provisions and convicts safely northwards a second time, one prepared to stay on and manage the sheep, then it is he. Besides which, the first clip was delivered safely to market and although the wool was a little coarse and could have done with a more thorough washing, the monies are in the bank.’ The Major gave Kate a sidelong glance. ‘And of course, most importantly, he knows the way north. Mr Southerland did help select the holding.’
‘A man of skill, I agree, but the sum requested is exorbitant.’ Mr Kable looked down the length of the table to his wife. ‘I suspect Samuel will complain that I have agreed to this princely sum of money on his behalf, however we must have someone up there who knows what they’re doing.’ He directed his conversation back to the Major. ‘Apart from my own advice and that of the esteemed Mr Southerland, my adventurous cousin departed my roof after a scant three months with a copy of the Australian Settlers Guide. Such a pamphlet promotes the farmer over the pastoralist, a most ludicrous concept where he has settled. There is a push to make all our farms self-sufficient, to follow the Yankee model in the hope of becoming a great power. Grow barley for beer, tan leather for shoes? I can just imagine Sarah the cobbler, Samuel the brewer.’ He gave a huff of disgust. ‘New South Wales has grown powerful through trade and land, we buy what we need and sell what we produce and that’s how it should be.’
‘And yet they have survived and delivered their first wool clip,’ the Major stated.
Mr Kable frowned in disapproval. ‘A timely sale considering the monies already spent, and the need for more provisions.’
‘And are they well-established?’ the lady of the house enquired. ‘Do they have a decent dwelling? For the letter that accompanied Mr Southerland’s return painted a most forlorn picture. The loss of a child. The constant threat of the natives. S
arah sleeps with a pistol under her pillow, and they are so remote. And why is Mr Southerland not here in person to tell us of my husband’s cousin’s situation?’
‘He is not one for company, Mrs Kable,’ the Major replied. ‘He tells me they have a house built and a sturdy cellar cut into the side of a hill in which to store their provisions.’
‘The side of a hill?’ Kate had not meant to speak aloud, but the image in her head was stark and desolate.
Even Jelly-belly, who was busily clearing the remains of the over-cooked fish, started at her surprised tone.
Lieutenant Wilson took a sip of wine, his fingers twirling the stem of the glass as he replaced it on the table. ‘Miss Carter, you do know where you journey to?’
The diners at the table turned as one in Kate’s direction. She didn’t know what to say or where to look.
Jelly-belly took the Major’s plate, the cutlery rattling, as he looked across the table with some disbelief. ‘So you are the one to be making this trip? I must say I was not expecting a … a woman such as you.’ His gaze strayed to the scar near Kate’s eye. For the second time she dropped her chin under his scrutiny.
‘We have tried our best to dissuade her,’ Mr Kable answered.
‘Surely there would be something more appropriate, miss, some other option that would be far more suitable than leaving hearth and home for the wilds.’ When Kate didn’t reply the Major looked to the far end of the table for support, however Mrs Kable was demanding to know why the meat course was delayed and the fish entrée overcooked. Jelly-belly was all muted apology as she left the dining room.
‘Let me acquaint you with your chosen destination, miss. You are travelling northwards, across the range and the settled districts, to lands beyond.’ Major Shaw turned to his host. ‘I think, sir, that there would be some benefit to be gained in showing Miss Carter a map. She may well change her mind when she understands the extent of the journey before her, the dangers and mishaps possible, let alone what lies ahead on arrival. I must say it is no place for a woman, any woman. Quite frankly I am surprised that any female would give consideration to such a position. And then of course there is the risk Miss Carter’s presence places on the expedition, on those of us who will undoubtedly be drawn from our duties in her protection.’
Kate’s head spun at the Major’s words. No place for a woman, any woman.
‘And yet Samuel’s wife is already there,’ Mrs Kable reminded everyone, ‘enduring the hardships of settlement and in need of female companionship.’
‘There are a great many women settling on the further reaches of the frontier,’ the Reverend argued.
It was as if Kate were not even seated at the table. She fiddled with the linen napkin on her lap, aware of the Reverend looking at her. She willed herself not to meet his eyes. Not to see the triumphant, upturned lips that waited for Kate’s acknowledgment.
‘Not where Sarah is,’ Mrs Kable responded sharply. ‘We are not talking west of the mountains. Why it is positively civilised across the Bathurst plains, but in comparison –’
‘It is fact,’ Mr Kable stated, ‘that when we first came here that you, Mrs Kable, were in a similar position. We too built our home, cleared the land and forged a place for ourselves in a most precarious new world. Much has changed since then. The settlements may be further afield but the obstacles and opportunities remain the same. One cannot begrudge Samuel the same chance to partake in the production and growth of fine wool. And besides, where the settlers go, the law soon follows.’
‘It is no place for a woman of Sarah’s sensibilities,’ his wife said flatly.
‘Give them time, my dear. The rigours of their early life will be but a memory in the years to come. Wool is a valuable commodity, the very backbone of the colony, and it has already been proven that the drier inlands mean sheep are less vulnerable to diseases, both internal and external. With Mr Southerland’s guidance I hope Samuel will soon turn his dreams of cropping to the more lucrative benefit of sheep. Why, the successful settlers of New South Wales make the Old Testament patriarchs seem like beggars. In any case, Miss Carter,’ their host barely drew breath, ‘I would have thought the Reverend gave a full account of the location of my cousin’s holding.’
Once again those seated around the table waited patiently for her response as Jelly-belly sat a leg of roasted lamb on the sideboard and began to carve the meat. A younger servant brought in potatoes and long lean beans, and a plate of roasted ground-birds.
‘The Reverend,’ Kate began haltingly, ‘led me to believe that I was to be Mrs Jonas Kable’s companion. It was only after my arrival that I realised this was not to be the case.’ There, she had said it. She stared defiantly at the Reverend.
‘You thought you were to be stationed here?’ Mrs Kable waved away the claret jug and requested water as the meal was served. ‘Unfortunately, Miss Carter, I have no need of a companion.’
‘Indeed you do not,’ the Reverend agreed. ‘I apologise for Miss Carter, she is led astray by the freedom of thought so endemic in the native born.’
The meat placed before her was well-cooked, the potatoes crisp and the beans had retained their colour, but with the Reverend’s comment Kate instantly lost her appetite. She poked at the plump little bird, the corners of her mouth falling. Those of her ilk may have built this colony from the ground up, but Kate was seated with the top layer of society, free settlers of means, and while she guessed that her hosts, particularly Mrs Kable, were well aware of her birthright, Kate knew it was certainly not a subject to be mentioned in the company of these fine people. She sensed it immediately in the quiet that descended, in the intentness given to the roasted meat. Had she looked up from her own plate she guessed the Kables would be at cross-purposes, for their hostess had not been pleased to have Kate present this evening.
Across the table the Major was studying her as a watery gravy was spooned across the thick slices of roast meat on her plate. A cruet stand, each silver dish containing pepper and salt, some sauce or mustard or oil, was passed around the table. Kate declined any extra condiment, convinced her discomfort would show itself in a shaking hand and some embarrassing spillage on the pristine table cloth. If it had been polite, she would have excused herself and left the room, but Kate knew she had to stay. She had to show that she was an equal, if only in resilience.
‘So you are native born,’ Lieutenant Wilson stated politely. ‘Immigrants?’
The meat lodged in Kate’s throat. She swallowed the half-chewed mass. ‘My father was assigned. My grandparents on my mother’s side came from Scotland.’
‘The Highlands?’ The Major leant forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. ‘My own ancestors were originally from Fort William near Ben Nevis.’
‘No, the Lowlands,’ Kate admitted.
‘Ah.’ He sat back in his chair, his attention directed to the tasty meat and the sweep of mustard that he layered with some precision across his forkful.
‘So then, you were landowners?’ the Lieutenant enquired almost hopefully.
‘Yes, yes we were,’ Kate answered with some pride.
The occupants at the table concentrated on their food.
When the Australian Agricultural Company was granted one million acres in the Port Stephens hinterland, Kate still recalled the weighty conversation between her parents and the anger that they felt. The Government were purposely depriving emancipists and their children of the best lands, giving it to the very people she now broke bread with, rather than those who had laboured in its service and were now free and entitled to see their contribution rewarded.
As Kate thought of what her parents had endured, her fury grew. ‘Is it not true,’ she ventured, ‘that many of the free men and women who have come to this colony have done so because they did not succeed in the Mother Country?’ The words came out in a rush.
Mr Kable turned to her. ‘In some cases.’ His reply was stilted.
‘People unable to maintain the standard of
living once enjoyed by their aristocratic families,’ she continued, ‘and yet they look down on those –’
A racking cough gripped their host. Mr Kable spluttered and, waving his hand about, made a fuss of asking for water. Opposite, the Major caught Kate’s eye and gave an imperceptible shake of his head.
‘You have had a tiring day, Miss Carter,’ Mrs Kable said pointedly as her husband quenched his thirst.
Kate moved slices of meat around the plate. The meal was cold and Jelly-belly was hovering behind her chair, waiting to clear the dish.
‘There is no art or literature in the colony,’ Mrs Kable began, ‘no great scenery, even the simplest of things, the wildflowers for example, are hardy, mundane blooms. I fear the very sameness of this land, the general flatness that I have read extends out beyond the mountains, can never entice the poet or artist to great works.’
The guests were quick to agree.
‘My wife has the heart of a novelist.’
‘And yet there is great truth in her words.’ The Reverend dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin. ‘We of the cloth have long feared that the very lack of civilisation here is the reason why the imbibing of food and rum and the concentration on the making of money is quite overtaking society.’
‘My dear wife will agree with you, Reverend.’ Mr Kable picked at a piece of meat between his teeth. ‘For at table she often bemoans that our conversation eventually returns to the running of the farm and of production and ultimately of costs. But then isn’t this as it should be? I still recall my own arrival. The sublime solitude of this place, the verdant hills and plains as yet untouched by flocks of sheep. This colony is now seen by all across the world as a place of infinite possibility. We are, all of us, at business and we are here to grow and prosper.’ Squeezing the meat between his fingers, Mr Kable turned his attention to Kate. ‘But we are amiss.’ He popped the gristle in his mouth. ‘Here we are discussing the virtues and disadvantages of this great land, New South Wales, and we have quite skated over your own place in the world. If you have been misinformed,’ his gaze flickered briefly towards the Reverend, ‘or if you misunderstood the nature of the employ offered, then please know, Miss Carter, that you are under no obligation.’
Wild Lands Page 11