He limped into the drawing room where I was sitting alone with my needlework. ‘Ah, Miss Fanny. I thought perhaps Eliza was …’
I sought for an excuse. ‘She’s retired to bed early. She was feeling rather fatigued.’
‘Or she may be developing another crise des nerfs. May I join you for a moment?’
‘Certainly. Would you like me to ring for late supper?’
‘No, thank you. I’ve taken a little medication but, at the present moment, I have no stomach for any kind of nourishment.’
I saw that he looked exhausted, his face pallid and drained. He continued to stare at the fire for some time, then he said, almost inaudibly, ‘I have just returned from Wellington.’
I nodded.
‘The state of affairs there is most troubling.’
A silence.
‘I have no wish to alarm you by discussing such matters.’
‘I’m not easily alarmed,’ I said. ‘I should be interested to hear of the situation in the south.’
I saw his hand pressing hard against his upper thigh, a gesture Lucy had told me meant his old hip wound was troubling him.
‘May I ask, Miss Fanny,’ he said suddenly, ‘whether you’ve ever suffered from nervous affliction?’
‘No, never.’
‘Mrs Selwyn, too, has such attacks. I believe the climate here may in some way contribute to their onset … And yet Lady Martin, for all her other infirmities, seems untroubled by them …’
‘You mentioned that there were difficulties in Wellington.’
The Governor sighed. ‘The Colonial Secretary has drawn up and sent me the most ridiculous constitution imaginable. The country is to be divided into two provinces, New Ulster in the north, New Munster in the south, each with its own lieutenant-governor, and I am to be Governor-in-Chief.’
‘Surely that would ease your burdens a little?’
‘No, it would merely increase them. Only those literate in English will be permitted to vote. And, since the Maoris greatly outnumber the settlers, here in the North about four and a half thousand settlers would be placed in jurisdiction over more than a hundred thousand disenfranchised natives. It is a recipe for war.’
‘But I understood the natives’ rights are enshrined in the Treaty.’
The Governor snorted. ‘I’ve received another letter from the Colonial Secretary in which he writes that I’m to uphold the Treaty of Waitangi — except at those times when I may be forced to ignore it!’
Even in the low lamplight, I could see that the tip of his nose had begun to redden, a sign, as I had observed before, of mounting anger.
‘And, to add to these burdens, there’s been another vile murder, this time at Whanganui. When Eliza hears of it, it may precipitate a further deterioration in her health.’
‘Need she hear of it?’
‘Within a few days it will be in all of the newspapers and spoken of everywhere. It was a particularly bloodthirsty attack on a woman and her children.’
‘But I thought the natives never attack the defenceless, that they scorn such cowardly acts?’
‘In general, you are correct. But this was not in any way a usual occurrence. And now the settlers are demanding more troops to protect them and we simply don’t have the numbers needed for such permanent garrisons. The entire south is in uproar over this latest outrage.’
‘What provoked such an attack?’
The Governor was quiet for a time, and seemed almost to have forgotten my presence. I reached forward and laid another log on the dying fire.
‘It arose from a misunderstanding,’ he said at last. ‘A soldier at the Whanganui garrison was cleaning his rifle, accidentally discharged it and wounded his Maori servant. The injury was minor and the servant shrugged it off as a trifle, but someone from his tribe carried word of it upriver and a party of his kinsmen set out for the settlement to exact revenge. Then, on their way into the township, they came across an out-settler, a Mr Gilfillan, and his eldest son, at work on their farm.’
‘They attacked them?’
‘Yes, wounding Gilfillan very severely in the neck with a tomahawk. But the Gilfillans managed to get the edge of the attackers and raced furiously to their homestead, rushed inside and barricaded the doors and windows.’
‘And?’
‘The doors began to give under the furious onslaughts of the natives. Mrs Gilfillan, who knew of the Maori code of honour, urged her husband and son to escape through a side door leading to the stable and ride into the town for help while she remained inside with her other five children. She was certain, poor woman, that the natives would not harm them, defenceless as they were.’
‘But …?’
‘She was grievously mistaken. Had it been a raiding party under the command of a chief, she would undoubtedly have been spared. The chiefs’ honour is of paramount importance to them. But this was a ragged group of disaffected Maoris, and by the time they had broken down the door I’m in no doubt their passions had increased to frenzy.’ He paused. ‘The poor woman and three of her children were hacked to pieces, and another child left for dead who, by the grace of God, has now recovered.’ He seemed almost at the point of tears. ‘One was only an infant.’ He covered his eyes with his hand; his voice was so low I could barely hear him. ‘After everything the Bishop has done to promote Christian virtues … It’s too horrible. There’s no doubt it was utu, a revenge killing. When the soldier accidentally shot his servant, the bullet grazed the native’s face just below the cheekbone. On their arrival at the Gilfillans’ farm, the troops found that … a piece of Mrs Gilfillan’s cheek had been eaten … raw …’
I stared at him, appalled, and he seemed to recollect himself. ‘Miss Fanny, I apologise. I don’t know what I was thinking of to have spoken to you so. It’s quite unforgivable.’
I struggled to overcome my revulsion and speak.
‘There’s no need to seek my forgiveness, Governor. I’m naturally very shocked by what you’ve told me, but I’m in no way about to dissolve into the vapours because of it. What I most wish to know is whether it will be possible to find the perpetrators?’
‘They’ve already been apprehended. A group of Maoris, friendly to the government and horrified at the baseness of their fellows, gave chase to the murderers and seized them. Four of them have already been hanged.’
We were both silent. Then the Governor said, ‘We’re expecting reinforcements from Sydney and England. The 58th Regiment is to return here very soon.’
‘I’m sure that will heighten morale.’
‘Perhaps, if you would be kind enough … if you feel it possible … to tell a rather gentler version of this frightful story to Eliza, it might mitigate its effects on her.’
‘Of course. I’ll do so tomorrow. But for now, I’ll bid you goodnight, Governor. I feel sure you must be in need of rest.’
I was almost out of the room when he called me back. ‘Miss Fanny?’
‘Yes?’
‘I … Your company here is most welcome. I hope you’ll feel able to remain with us for a long time. You’re a very … soothing presence in the household.’
ALBANY, 1837
As Government Resident, Uncle presided over the little local court in Albany. Among the natives and the few Europeans, feuds arose from disputes about land or the shortage of daily necessities, while drunken whalers and sealers regularly fought over women. Each day, a garrison soldier toiled up to Strawberry Hill to report the goings-on in the settlement so that Uncle could write his dispatches for the Colonial Office in London. His official duties discharged, he then joined the older boys and the menservants in clearing large tracts of land for pasture. They were at this work when Lieutenant Stewart arrived to apprise Uncle of the arrival of the Alligator and of news that put Uncle in high spirits.
‘The Captain of the Alligator requests the pleasure of the company of Sir Richard and Lady Spencer, the Misses Mary Ann and Augusta, and Mr Hugh and Mr Edward Spencer to dine aboard the vessel
tomorrow evening.’
‘Splendid,’ said Uncle, and began at once to make preparations. ‘We must see to my uniform and decorations. And our means of transport. It is the greatest pity the terrain here doesn’t permit the use of the carriage.’
The carriage, which had arrived long ago, was useless on the rocky ground and languished in a large tent some distance from the cottage. The Minang were in the greatest awe of it and refused even to approach the tent, rendering vain all Uncle’s efforts to persuade them to assist in creating a flat carriage track.
‘We must show that we have not lost sight of true English standards. If we but had the use of the carriage it would afford me the dignity of my station here …’
‘Your station does not reside in such trappings,’ said Aunt soothingly. ‘See, Gussie has brought your cross and we shall have Helen polish your medals tomorrow.’
‘And my cocked hat? Are the lace and feathers in good repair?’
‘Papa?’
‘What is it, Liza-Lou?’
‘Fanny and I would like to go with you.’
‘Quite impossible,’ said Aunt. ‘You have not been invited.’
‘I’m sure if the Captain knew of our existence, he’d most willingly include us.’
‘You are not going and that is the end of it,’ said Aunt.
‘I shall ride Thunder,’ said Uncle. ‘Perhaps, my dear, Helen might decorate his bridle with a ribbon or two? Hugh, you and Edward will direct the servants in harnessing the mules to the stock cart and setting up chairs in it for your mama and the girls.’
Lucy and I watched as the menservants carried out our three best armchairs.
‘No, no,’ cried Uncle, appearing suddenly beside us, ‘not the blue chair. Look, it has a tear in the armrest. We can’t possibly use that — unless, perhaps, Helen can mend it in time.’
‘Helen and the other servants are already fully occupied with the outfitting of the girls and the preparation of your lace,’ said Aunt, drawn outside by the commotion. ‘I doubt any of them will have time.’
‘Have we no better furniture? I’m the Resident here. We can’t descend to the Alligator like peasants in tatters.’
The rest of us watched the procession set off. At its head, on Thunder, rode Uncle, resplendent in his naval uniform and his cross and ribbon of the Order of the Guelph. The sun glinted on his medals, and with every trotting movement the feathers in his cocked hat dipped and fluttered.
‘Like a rooster’s,’ whispered Lucy.
Next came the cart. Aunt sat in the armchair, facing backwards towards us, while on the upright chairs opposite perched Mary Ann and Gussie, fetching in their muslins and shawls and best bonnets. Over the cart swung a canopy constructed from unpicked oilskin mailbags, and above Aunt’s head, hoisted on a pole, fluttered the Union Jack. Hugh and Edward, each wearing one of Uncle’s old naval jackets, their mounts tightly reined in, brought up the rear. This curious convoy made its way slowly down the sloping track towards Albany, and we waved and cheered until it vanished from sight. It was almost an hour before we heard the boom of the Alligator’s guns announcing their arrival.
‘But,’ said Lucy, ‘now I see what a nonsense has been created of such a small thing, I wouldn’t give a pin’s fee to dine aboard the Alligator.’
Mary Ann and Gussie had acquired suitors, Mr Arthur Trimmer and Captain Egerton-Warburton, whom they had met at the dinner aboard the Alligator. Within a month, both young men has asked Uncle’s leave to call on us and, by the end of their visits, Mr Trimmer had sought permission to marry Mary Ann and Captain Egerton-Warburton had asked for Gussie’s hand, and each proposal had been accepted.
‘So now,’ said Lucy, ‘they’ll spend all their lives on isolated farms at the Swan River and never have a chance to return to Lyme.’
‘And what sort of lives would they lead in Lyme if they were to return?’ I asked. ‘Governesses? Ladies’ companions? Mr Trimmer and Captain Egerton-Warburton have prospects. Mary Ann and Gussie are in love with them. And our sisters have such agreeable natures they will be happy anywhere.’
‘Well, at least we are to be bridesmaids and have a double wedding party. That will be fine fun.’
‘Yes, indeed it will,’ I said, but try as I might I could not shake off my feelings of sorrow and abandonment. The Spencers were as kind and loving to me as any blood relations, yet I continued to ache for my own lost family, for our familiar house, for Lyme. Despite the excitement of wedding preparations, I became assailed by nameless fears, slept fitfully and dreamt constantly of the visit to the fortuneteller in Rio. My night visions were peopled with grinning devilish faces and evil murmurings, the ragged remnants of which clouded my waking, gradually dispersing as the day progressed but returning when I lay down to sleep. So occupied was the rest of the household in wedding preparations that my increasing withdrawal from the daily activities went unnoticed. Only Lucy, woken by my night-time tossings and feverish mutterings, quizzed me as to what was wrong.
‘Last night, you kicked me almost black and blue, then you cried out that we were in mortal danger and must sail off from Rio at once.’
‘I … I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘Well, it’s of no real matter. But if you kick again tonight, I shall wake you immediately.’ She paused. ‘It’s strange you should talk of Rio. Do you remember that old woman in the hovel where Papa took us?’
My chest tightened.
‘I could recall almost nothing after, except that I should reign like a queen, but Gussie has the most prodigious memory. Long ago, she writ down nearly every word of it and I believe she has it almost pat.’
‘I …’
‘Though not quite all. None of us knew what the old crone whispered to you at the end, before you … before we left. Papa said he could hear nothing of what she said.’
The tightness in my chest subsided a little, but I woke next morning with a pain around my heart, a dull ache of misery that clutched at me and drove me out of doors to seek some respite from it. The wind blew remorselessly; huge strips of bark hung forlornly from the trunks of the eucalyptus trees; and, as I gazed around at the utter emptiness of the landscape, I ached again for Lyme with its crowded streets, its clustered houses, its jostle of people, for Mama, Papa … Suddenly, there appeared in front of me the great mulberry tree from our garden, its canopy of branches offering me familiar shelter. I ran towards it. It dissolved like a phantom. I stared about me in disbelief; was I mad? This is a warning, I thought wildly. Since my arrival in Albany, I have not chanted a single word of my magical incantations, never concocted one of my secret spells. This is a punishment for my dereliction of duty. The pain growing in my chest is an intimation of my death. The need for a place to hide overwhelmed me, and I looked about for somewhere — anywhere — I might safely and secretly recite aloud a protective rhyme, an invocation …
Ahead of me loomed the tent in which the carriage was now housed, the tent that was almost never visited, that the Minang refused even to approach. Oblivious to the sound of scuttling rodent feet, I pushed my way through the heavy folds of its entrance and, not thinking what I did, clambered into the carriage and sank onto its dusty buttoned seat. At once I was enveloped by a familiar smell from long ago, a musty mix of leather and beeswax, exactly like the scents I had breathed in with Mama when … My heart raced … It was indeed the same smell; this was the very same carriage. Here, on this seat, Mama and I had sat together, in Lyme, and she had told me I was to have lessons with the Spencer girls. I tried to recollect her face, to bring her back to me, to remember her eyes, her hair, her voice … But I could not. She was entirely gone from me. All that remained was this carriage waft of polish and harness.
Something tight and hard in my chest broke, and I began to weep. Great sobs tore from my throat, tears poured across my face, my whole body racked and heaved. I wept for Mama, for William and Baby Louisa, for Papa, for my lost home in Lyme. I cried until I had no more tears, then exhaustion overcame me and
I lay down on the grimy seat and fell asleep.
I awoke feeling lighter than I had done for many months. My face was swollen and hot but the pain in my chest had gone entirely. I sat up and lowered my feet onto the iron step of the carriage. As I moved, I heard hissing. Coiled on the ground by the tent flap was a tiger snake.
I stood, transfixed, on the step. Beneath its jutting brow ridges, the snake’s dark eyes held mine. I could not break my gaze and dared not move or call out. Its evil forked tongue flicked in and out of its mouth. Uncoiling itself, it slithered nearer, and a narrow slit of light from the tent flap shone briefly on the dark scales of its flat, blunt head. I watched, helpless, as it raised itself up a little, its tongue still darting at me. Its neck flattened as its mouth opened, revealing a hideous pink cavern with fangs on either side. I could not utter a sound but I knew that, even were I to scream, no one would hear me. Not a soul knew where I was. The snake swayed a little. It will make a sudden strike, I thought, then I will feel the poison of its venom slowly filling my body. And then, said another voice in my head, you will be reunited with Mama and Papa in Heaven … But what of Lucy, of dear Aunt and Uncle, of Baby William? said my other self. ‘I am not ready to die,’ I said aloud. ‘Not yet.’ Life seemed suddenly very dear to me. I desired nothing more than to skip from the prison of the tent to the house, to whisper secrets with Lucy, to see William smiling at me …
The snake hissed more loudly. I stood on the step, attempting in my terror to invoke some form of miraculous incantation. Then, I heard again in my head the words of Ellen’s grandam’s spell:
They divil take they wicked soul,
And bring they cruelty down,
They divil take, thee, wicked one …
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