‘Now, Fanny,’ she said, ‘when you meet Captain Spencer you must promise me you will on no account stare at his forehead.’
‘His forehead?’
‘Yes. The poor Captain suffered a horrid accident aboard ship. His forehead was hit by the ricochet of a cannon and he was terribly injured. Papa says it’s quite miraculous he escaped with his life. His poor powder monkey was blown to … Ah, here we are. We’ve arrived.’
Set above three steps, on a little rise facing eastwards towards Charmouth, Cobb House looked directly out to Lyme Bay and the sweep of the ruined sea wall. To one side was a conservatory and beyond that a field in which grazed a number of sheep. We were admitted by a maid into a small elegant room where Mrs Spencer rose to greet us, surrounded by what seemed to me a very considerable number of boys. Unused to a brood of children, I shrank a little as I followed Mama, but she pushed me forward.
‘This is Fanny,’ she said.
‘What a pretty little thing you are, Fanny,’ said Mrs Spencer. ‘Such beautiful fair hair.’
As I dropped my curtsey, two girls with black curls burst into the room.
‘Now, my dear, here are Augusta and Lucy. This is Fanny, girls.’ Mrs Spencer patted my head. ‘They will take you to see the lamb they’re rearing.’
I followed reluctantly. The older girl, Augusta, walked sedately ahead along the corridor while Lucy danced beside me, staring quizzically at my dress and every aspect of my person. We passed outside into an orchard where a lamb came bleating towards us, nuzzling and worrying at the girls’ skirts.
‘Stop it, Blanche,’ said Lucy.
‘Will she bite?’
‘Of course not. She has no teeth yet.’
‘Put your finger in her mouth,’ said Augusta, ‘and feel how she sucks on it.’
Tentatively, I held out a finger which Blanche seized between her hard little gums. With my free hand, I patted her woolly head and smelt her reassuring mix of wool and heat. ‘I wish I had such a pretty lamb.’
‘If you have a field for it, I’m sure Papa would give you one.’
‘We have only a garden,’ I said.
‘Then she would eat all your flowers,’ said Augusta, ‘and I daresay your mama would be cross.’
I stood, tongue-tied.
‘How old are you, Fanny?’
‘Seven.’
‘I’m just nine and Gussie is ten and a half.’
I mustered my meagre resources. ‘I was born in 1824,’ I said. ‘On the twenty-third of November, the very night the Great Storm shattered the Cobb.’ I did not add that my birth had not taken place in Lyme.
‘Then you must be lucky,’ said Lucy. ‘I’m lucky, too, because I’m a seventh child. How many brothers and sisters do you have?’
Unwilling to speak of William, I shook my head. ‘None.’
‘Only one of you!’ said Lucy. ‘Why, that’s no family at all. There are nine of us living and two in the churchyards in Portsmouth and Malta.’
‘Where are all the others?
‘Mary Ann is calling on a friend, and you saw the little boys in the drawing room,’ said Augusta. ‘Our eldest brothers, Hugh and Edward, are at the boatyard with Papa.’
‘And when you meet Papa,’ said Lucy, ‘you must mark the great wound on his forehead. He was hit by a boatswain’s oar in a jolly boat.’
‘But I thought,’ I said, unguardedly, ‘he was injured by an exploding cannon.’
Augusta laughed. ‘He loves to embroider the story to make it more daring, but it is certain it was an oar. We had it from Mama, didn’t we, Liza-Lou?’
I felt a passing relief for the shattered powder monkey of Mama’s story. Then, ‘Why do you call her Liza-Lou?’ I asked.
‘Her real name is Eliza Lucy. But she’s Papa’s favourite and he has shortened it to Liza-Lou.’
‘But why do you not like the name Eliza?’
‘It sounds so harsh. Like an elderly great-aunt.’
For some time we stood in awkward silence.
‘I daresay, if you’re an only child,’ said Lucy, ‘you must be very spoilt and petted.’
‘Lucy!’
I was stung. ‘I’m not spoilt,’ I said.
‘Stop it at once, Lucy, or I shall tell Mama.’
‘Well, you seem very timid. I suppose you’re never disobedient.’
Augusta took my arm. ‘Take no notice of her, Fanny. She’s jealous because you’re wearing such a pretty frock.’
I thought of my magic spells with their pilfered ingredients. ‘I am disobedient. Sometimes.’
Lucy looked at me challengingly. ‘Then come with me and scrump strawberries.’
‘You know we’re entirely forbidden to touch the strawberry beds, Lucy. If Papa finds out, you’ll get a whipping.’
‘Oh, pouf,’ said Lucy. ‘Of course he won’t find out.’
‘I’m not coming with you.’
‘Well then, you can keep cave. Come on, Fanny.’
I was torn. By nature law-abiding, I admired boldness in others and Lucy seemed to me the epitome of daring. ‘I …’
‘You are not to take Fanny on a stealing expedition.’
‘Nonsense, Gussie. Fanny is longing to come.’ She turned to me. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘I … I …’
‘There. You see.’ And, grabbing my hand, Lucy towed me to the far end of the orchard where several lines of green hummocks were studded with fat red berries.
‘Quick. Pick some. These are the ripest.’
Feeling keenly the disgrace of being apprehended but even more afraid of Lucy’s scorn, I crouched down, plucked a single strawberry and crammed it hastily into my mouth.
‘Be sure not to spill any juice on your frock or we’ll be discovered.’
I found my tongue. ‘Perhaps … perhaps your sister will …’
‘No, Gussie never tells tales. Hurry. Take just a few more before someone sees us.’
We wiped the traces of juice from our hands onto the grass, then made our guilty way past the conservatory and back towards Gussie, waiting at the end of the path.
‘Now I see you’re not a milksop,’ said Lucy, ‘shall we be best friends?’
I was flattered by this. I had friends at school but none as audacious as Lucy. ‘Yes, I—’
‘Then, to seal our friendship, we must make a solemn promise to be friends forever and, after that, we must cross our hearts and spit.’
‘Spit? Here?’
‘Yes, before we reach Gussie.’ She stopped and drew herself up. ‘Fanny,’ she intoned, ‘I give you my solemn promise to be your best friend forever. Now, you must say it.’
I was awed by the gravity of the occasion. ‘I give you my solemn promise to be your best friend forever,’ I whispered.
‘And cross your heart, so, then, spit.’
She crossed her heart and, like a tobacco-chewing sailor, blew a line of spittle onto a row of poppies.
I looked round anxiously, summoned up saliva into my mouth and aimed it at Lucy’s feet. Instead, it hit a low pane of the conservatory, where it trembled for a minute before sliding down the glass.
‘Well, it will do,’ said Lucy. ‘And, after all, it’s the crossing your heart that counts. Look, here’s Gussie.’
‘If Mama finds out you took Fanny stealing, Lucy, she’ll be exceedingly vexed,’ said Gussie. ‘It’s very wicked of you.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said, eager to please my new best friend. ‘This is not the first time I’ve stolen something.’
Lucy looked impressed. ‘Have you been caught?’
‘No.’
‘I have. And whipped.’
This greatly elevated Lucy in my eyes, and I gazed at her admiringly, seeking for a way to further my own newly acquired status. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve stolen many times and’ — I beckoned Lucy and Gussie closer — ‘I have seen’ — I lowered my voice — ‘a real witch.’
‘What! Here in Lyme?’ Lucy clutched my arm.
I no
dded. ‘Lyme is full of witches.’
Gussie’s eyes were fixed on me. ‘But where was she?’
‘In Jericho.’
Lucy’s reaction was entirely gratifying. ‘You’ve been to Jericho, Fanny? But … it’s by the tenements …’
‘You surely didn’t go alone?’ said Gussie.
‘No, I went with Ellen, our kitchen maid.’
‘How brave you are. Weren’t you afraid?’
I looked directly at Lucy and shook my head. ‘No,’ I said, ‘because I had morsels of bacon in my pocket, and witches can never abide the smell of bacon.’
This account of my daring was abruptly cut short as a small boy ran up to us. ‘You’re to come at once, girls,’ he said importantly. ‘Papa wants to see you in his study.’
In seconds, my feelings of bravado evaporated and I saw that even Lucy looked uneasy. ‘Do you think he saw us at the strawberry beds?’ she muttered.
We shuffled indoors and crept nervously into a small, map-lined room filled almost entirely by a large desk.
‘This is Fanny, Papa,’ said Gussie.
Fixing my eyes on the floor, I dropped a curtsey.
‘Well, now,’ said the Captain, ‘you are a pretty miss. And as fair as my good girls are dark. Let me see if you have your mama’s blue eyes.’ And, placing his hand under my chin, he turned my face up towards his. I sucked in my cheeks and resolved not to recoil. Half of his forehead was of ordinary skin, weathered like that of all sailors, but the other half seemed to be made of a livid shiny substance, resembling most an uncooked piece of meat. Below this, no eyebrow grew to match the other; in its stead, a promontory of twisted scarring jutted above what I saw, with relief, was a perfectly normal eye, matching its mate. Briefly, he locked his eyes with mine. Then he released me. ‘Run along now, girls,’ he said. ‘Fanny’s mama is waiting for her in the drawing room.’
The sun still shone as we walked home along the Cobb. The Punch and Judy show played on in its striped booth. As Mama and I stopped to watch, the crocodile’s jaws suddenly emerged and Dog Toby, sitting in his ruff at the side of the stage, began barking to warn his master. We laughed with the rest of the crowd as Mr Punch beat the crocodile with his slapstick, and its long green mouth snapped closer and closer to him. Mama noticed the bottler making his way through the throng.
‘We must go now,’ she said. ‘I have no small coins for him.’
And just as she spoke, the crocodile seized Mr Punch, pulling him off the stage, and poor Dog Toby’s mournful howls followed us all along the Cobb.
AUCKLAND, 1846
Most mornings, just before dawn, I was awoken by an outpouring of birdsong. Accustomed to the harsh, shriller cries of the native birds in Albany, I found this melodious chorus entirely delightful. It began with the dulcet single note of a bell, then was joined by more and more chiming calls. As I lay listening, these ceased and gave way to a medley of other birdsong. On several occasions I had tiptoed to the window to try to observe the originators but had seen only the inquisitive little fantails darting through the trees, swinging upside-down to pick insects from the trunks. I was accustomed to their friendly presence in the garden and their noisy cheet, cheet, cheet as they shadowed us in the branches above our heads.
The gardens immediately around Government House had been planted with English roses which flowered abundantly, their scent drifting agreeably about us as we sat every fine morning on the veranda. Further away were stands of native flax and a number of tall cabbage trees, some with trunks more than twenty feet tall, and all with long, narrow leaves up to three feet long sprouting from their tops. Beyond the cultivated area of the garden lay an expanse of ‘bush’, the evergreen trees and plants that made up the greater part of New Zealand’s vegetation. Even such a small area as that at Government House was dense and dark and seemingly impenetrable. Below the canopy of the trees, mosses underlay the large spreading ferns, and creeping vines twisted through and round, the whole giving the impression of an abundance of all shades of green, with here and there the flash of a white flower.
‘But,’ said Lucy, observing me as I tried to sketch my surroundings, ‘it’s almost impossible to capture how sinister it looks, especially after rain. There are all manner of rats and lizards and spiders hiding in there. So don’t on any account decide to explore it, will you?’
‘What I’d really like to see are the birds that sing so beautifully in the mornings.’
‘Those are bellbirds and tuis. There are some here, but to see them properly we should visit the Domain. We can go on an outing there this afternoon. It affords a most beautiful view of Auckland and the harbour.’
We set out in the cart, the sky bright blue above us, the wind soft and mild. All traces of the previous day’s torrential rain had entirely vanished. The rough track led up the side of a long hill to a high point above the town. After about twenty minutes, Lucy stopped the cart and we stepped out. ‘I hope you’ve brought your sketch book,’ she said. ‘We can look for native birds and you’ll find all sorts of new and different plants here as well. I often— Why, whatever’s the matter?’
Without thinking, I had clutched violently at her arm.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ she asked.
A short distance away from us stood two men. At first glance, in their frockcoats, they appeared to be nothing other than ordinary gentlemen strolling together on the track. But at the sound of Lucy’s voice, the taller one had turned towards us, revealing a hideous purple countenance disfigured by deeply carved lines, and displaying below the jacket a short skirt, apparently composed of strips of linen and reaching only to his naked knees and tattooed lower legs. He was unshod, his large splayed feet resting bare on the ground. As he looked at us, my hands flew to cover my face.
‘No!’ I cried out. I felt myself sway, grow faint and slip to the ground. I heard again my mother’s ghostly voice in Rio. ‘Take care, my darling girl, take care.’
I came to myself on the chaise in the drawing room, Lucy dabbing at my forehead with a moistened handkerchief. ‘You’re safe home now,’ she said, ‘but you gave me such a fright.’
I struggled to recall where I was and what had happened. ‘I don’t remember …’
‘Why, as we stood in the Domain, you suddenly cried out and caught at my arm, then you fell down in a swoon, and if it hadn’t been for Te Toa and his friend who were standing nearby, I don’t know what I should have done. They lifted you and settled you in the cart, then Te Toa accompanied us here on foot while his friend went for the physician.’
‘The physician?’
‘Yes, he’s already been and examined you. He says you need rest and light nourishment.’
I was silent for a time, then I said, ‘Who was that man? The one … so strangely attired?’
‘Why, that was Te Toa. He’s one of the chiefs of the Northern region, friendly towards the settlers and the government. He supports the Treaty.’ She smiled at me. ‘Now, I have a surprise for you. We’re to hold a dinner. In your honour. And it’s the Governor himself who suggested it; it’s a mark of his esteem for you. In general, you know, he considers it an extravagance to entertain. There, what do you think of that?’
Still confused, I tried to rally myself and match her evident pleasure.
‘We’ll ask just those people whose society I’m sure you’ll enjoy,’ she continued. ‘The Selwyns, Sir William and Lady Martin, Captain and Mrs Rough — he’s the harbourmaster here, a tiny little man who always wears white kid gloves. And Colonel Wynyard and his wife, General Pitt and his eldest daughter, and’ — she wagged an admonishing finger at me — ‘Lieutenant Cowan … who’s told my husband that you met on the boat. The Governor says he’s most desirous of seeing you again.’ She laughed. ‘You’re so secretive, Fanny. I hope he’s handsome.’
For some time, absorbed in arrangements for the dinner in my honour, Lucy seemed much happier.
‘I’m quite disappointed,’ I said. ‘You’ve often mention
ed Mr Heke and even pledged me an audience with him but I’ve not yet met him. Surely he must be invited to this grand dinner?’
‘I think not! And I’m not sure he’ll do as a husband for you, Fanny. I fear he would insist on tattooing your lips and, besides, I discovered he already has a wife.’
‘Have you met her?’
‘Yes. After the battle at Rua-peka-peka, when Heke and Kawiti were taken prisoner, my husband ordered they be treated well and properly fed, but Ingrams was indisposed and no other servant was available so I went myself to the barracks with food and other necessaries for them. And Heke’s wife, Harata, the daughter of the chief, Hongi Hika, arrived there shortly afterwards and demanded an audience with my husband.’
‘And were her lips tattooed?’
‘Yes. And her chin. It’s the mark of all Maori chieftainesses. But I shouldn’t like you to have to fight her. She was beautiful but extremely belligerent.’
The day of the dinner was fine, with a cloudless blue sky.
‘Such luck,’ said Lucy. ‘We can promenade on the veranda before dinner. Oh, I’m so delighted my husband proposed this celebration. We are only fourteen but just think what fun we’ll have.’
By five o’clock, all was ready. The Governor, in his dress uniform, joined us on the veranda.
‘You ladies look most elegant,’ he said. ‘And here comes our first guest, perfectly on time.’
Lieutenant Cowan strode towards us and bowed. ‘Governor, Mrs Grey.’ He bent over my hand. ‘And Miss Thompson. What a great pleasure to meet you once more. How are you enjoying New Zealand?’
‘Very much, but I’ve been so occupied with seeing my sister again I’m just becoming acquainted with Auckland. I hope to see more of the country later.’
‘It’s a singular place. Very wild and beautiful. Quite unlike anything at Home.’
A Crooked Rib Page 4