A Crooked Rib

by Judy Corbalis

There was a scurrying beneath the carriage and a rat darted towards the tent flap. In an instant, the snake swung its gaze from me, launched itself at the creature, seized it in its jaws and, slithering between the tent folds, bore it away.

  I stood watching it, shaking uncontrollably but still unable to run. It was some minutes before I reclaimed my senses, stepped down tentatively from the carriage and, stamping my feet heavily on the ground, raced from the tent back to the house. Never had the air tasted cleaner, the sun seemed brighter, or my surroundings more desirable. Happiness swept over me as I burst into the house and embraced dear, startled Aunt.

  ‘Why, Fanny,’ she said, ‘where have you been? Lucy has been looking for you everywhere. You girls are to be fitted for your bridesmaids’ dresses.’

  ‘What news from Perth and the Swan River?’ asked Uncle.

  Governor Hutt, who had come from Perth for our sisters’ weddings, sighed. ‘The usual troubles. It’s obvious the Colonial Office has no idea of our situation here … which reminds me, I’ve just had a Captain Grey call on me with a note of introduction from the Colonial Secretary. He wants to mount an expedition to explore north-west of the Swan River. He’s convinced an inland waterway system exists in the interior.’

  ‘Like other fools before him. Surely you’re not prepared to support such an idiotic venture?’

  ‘How can I refuse? And I’m not asked to fund the enterprise, merely to provide a schooner and as much information as I can. Besides, Grey is exceedingly well connected. He’s a protégé of Archbishop Whately.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Uncle, ‘connections. The cornerstones of every man’s fortune.’

  Engrossed in the journals and newspapers Governor Hutt had brought from Perth, Gussie and I were exclaiming over the London fashions when Lucy burst in on us.

  ‘Mama,’ she cried, ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell us before! Papa says you— How could you? How could Papa?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Aunt. ‘Sit down and compose yourself.’

  Lucy threw herself onto a chair.

  ‘Now,’ said Aunt, ‘please to tell me in a civilised manner what’s brought about such a childish tantrum.’

  ‘I was … I went for a walk with Papa,’ began Lucy, then, to our astonishment, broke into a storm of weeping.

  Aunt rose in alarm. ‘Has something happened to Papa?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Then you’re a cruel and foolish girl to frighten me so. Now, what is causing all this to-do?’

  Her face flushed, her hands plucking at her skirts, Lucy struggled to contain herself. She took a deep breath and, choking on her words, finally managed to speak. ‘Papa has sold Cobb House.’

  Gussie was aghast. ‘Sold it? Why?’

  ‘Because,’ said Aunt, ‘we have no need of a house on the other side of the world and the money from the sale of Cobb House will provide a great many of the things we require here.’

  ‘So we’re never going back?’

  ‘No, Lucy, and I don’t ever recall any mention of our returning to Cobb House.’

  Lucy gave way to a fury of weeping.

  I had never before seen Aunt so angry. ‘Go immediately to your room,’ she said, ‘and remain there till you’ve regained your proper temper.’

  Lucy did not appear at table that evening. At bedtime, I knocked before entering our room.

  ‘Who is it?’ Her voice was muffled.

  ‘Fanny.’

  As she opened the door, I saw her face was puffy and her eyes were red, but whether her tears were of rage, sorrow or contrition I had no idea. I said nothing as I slipped from my clothes and climbed into bed in my shift.

  ‘It’s too bad. It’s quite the most wicked thing for Papa to do.’

  ‘I don’t think you should speak so.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you, Fanny. You still have your own beautiful house in Lyme.’

  I found this exceedingly cruel. ‘How can you say that? I have no house in Lyme. Or anywhere.’

  ‘You do. It’s let by an agent at present, but I heard Mama and Papa discussing it. When you’re of age, it will be yours to do with as you like. Whereas I …’

  I was astounded by this intelligence which Lucy clearly believed to be true. ‘Poor Aunt,’ I said, ‘has been crying.’

  She ignored this. ‘It’s been a most terrible day. When Papa and I set out on our walk we climbed up to the lookout. And Papa said’ — her voice broke — ‘“I want you to mind what I say very well, Liza-Lou. It’s only to you that I intend to commit this confidence. It would simply distress your poor mama. Do you see this place where I’m now standing? When the time comes, it’s here that I wish to be buried.” I was alarmed to hear him speak so. I told him that I loved him too much ever to let him leave us.

  ‘And then Papa said, “Now you must promise me, Liza-Lou, that when I die, you will ensure that I am buried here. This is the place I have chosen. Do you give me your word?” So I gave my promise, though I heartily wished our conversation over. And then he said he had a second wish.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘That English sailors should be ordered to cut a flagpole from native timber and erect it over his grave, and the White Ensign must fly from it so that — and these were his actual words, Fanny — “I may lie below the flag under which I have so often fought.”’

  ‘You promised?’

  ‘Yes, but then I asked him why he wouldn’t want to be buried in Lyme after our return there. And he told me that Cobb House had been sold. I … I can’t remember exactly what I did. I know I ran back to the house. I—’

  ‘I think you should sleep now and tomorrow you must go to Aunt and tell her you’re sorry. But you must on no account tell her a single word of what passed between you and Uncle.’

  ‘I’ll do it for her sake, and yours, Fanny, but you must know I’m not at all sorry for what I said.’

  ‘You’re just like Uncle,’ I said. ‘Mulish and always right. No wonder he loves you the best of all of us.’

  And I saw that, in some strange way, this comforted her.

  III

  ALBANY, 1839

  ‘Now, I must tell you all of a case which will come before me tomorrow,’ said Uncle, as we sat at supper. ‘Last Friday, Lieutenant Stewart apprehended an Aboriginal woman for stealing a chemise from a washing line in Albany. He wishes me to impose a strict sentence on her to set an example to the Aborigines, but I’m inclined to be lenient with her. We’ve spent so long urging the Minang to cover themselves that …’

  Suddenly, his face contorted in a spasm, his limbs began to twitch and jerk uncontrollably, and foam frothed from his mouth. For some minutes, he struggled against the paroxysm, then the seizure abated and he fell forward, lifeless, across the table. So swift and unexpected was it, for some moments we could only stare in hopeless terror.

  Uncle was buried at the place he had chosen. We gathered in the winter cold for the service which, since Albany had no clergyman and there was no vessel in the harbour carrying a ship’s chaplain, was read by Mr Steele, the deputy district magistrate.

  ‘But when the flagstaff is erected,’ said Aunt, ‘we shall hold another service, led by an ordained clergyman.’

  Though Lieutenant Stewart daily sent a working party of convicts and guards from Albany-town to work on the farm, the house was pervaded by a feeling of emptiness; a great reservoir of energy and bustle had vanished, leaving us rudderless and drifting. Lucy did not weep as Gussie and I did, but withdrew into silence. She no longer complained about the dullness of our lives or argued her opinions with the rest of us but, ignoring my attempts to comfort her, went off for hours by herself. Sent by Aunt one day to search for her, I found her standing beside Uncle’s grave.

  ‘You should come back to the house. Aunt is worried about you.’

  ‘I must stay here, near Papa.’

  I hesitated. ‘You know that Governor Hutt arrives very soon from Perth with … with Uncle’s repla
cement?’

  ‘I can’t bear to think of anyone in Papa’s place.’

  ‘Governor Hutt will choose someone skilled and capable.’

  ‘I shall detest anyone who isn’t my dearest, dearest papa.’

  Governor Hutt took Aunt’s hand in his. ‘My dear Lady Spencer, may I offer you my sincerest condolences.’

  ‘Thank you, Governor.’

  I took in the Governor’s companion, whose military bearing made him seem taller than his six feet. His curly dark brown hair was smoothed down so that only at the sides did it escape into little quarter-ringlets. He sported discreet side-whiskers, and his dark grey eyes were set deep below a high and noble brow. Coupled with a long, straight nose and determined chin, these features at first lent his face a handsome aspect, but closer inspection revealed something of petulance to his mouth. Overall, the combination contrived to produce the effect of effeminacy, and I surmised that in his early years he had been indulged and petted.

  ‘Ma’am,’ said Governor Hutt, ‘this is a most painful duty but I must perform it. Until we hear from London, I am obliged to appoint an Acting Resident Magistrate here in Albany. I believe most sincerely that your husband would have approved of my choice. May I present to you, Lady Spencer, Captain George Grey?’

  Captain Grey moved into one of the larger cabins on our property. Aunt found his presence congenial and he was most courteous and attentive to her. It did not take long for him to win her affections and those of the youngest Spencer boys, William, who was already four, Richard seven, and Robert and Joseph, ten and eleven.

  ‘I have younger half-brothers,’ he explained, ‘of whom I’m very fond.’

  ‘Was your mother widowed?’ asked Aunt.

  ‘In the Peninsular War, at Badajoz. But when I was five years old, she married my stepfather, the Reverend Sir John Thomas. He was a widower with three daughters and a son, so I have a sister, three stepsisters and a step-brother all older than I, and, from their union, I have four half-sisters and two half-brothers. I miss them all excessively.’

  ‘Good gracious,’ said Aunt. ‘I’ve lost count already.’

  ‘It comes to twelve in all, Ma’am. Eight girls and four boys.’

  ‘Why, that’s exactly the number of my own family. But they are all the progeny of my late husband, and two, who died as infants, lie far off in churchyards in Malta and Portsmouth.’

  ‘It is a great sorrow to lose children in infancy.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I often wonder, had they lived, what manner of grown men they might be.’

  It was the first time since Uncle’s death that I had heard Aunt engage so long in conversation and, in gratitude, I determined to overcome my initial mistrust of Captain Grey.

  That Sunday, as we sat down to our usual morning service, there was a clamour in the yard. It was the Minang, returned from one of their frequent walkabouts. The men swarmed into the house and sat about on the drawing-room floor and the adjacent hallway, while the women and children clustered beneath the windows. Captain Grey, prayer book in hand, gazed at the scene in astonishment.

  ‘Is this a daily occurrence, Ma’am?’

  ‘They are come to hear the service, Captain.’

  The Aborigines regarded Captain Grey with interest and gave every appearance of following his words intently. Then, to our amazement, having finished with the Our Father, the Captain commenced to speak to them in their own tongue.

  ‘Fanny!’

  ‘I’m here in the garden, Aunt. With Robert. We’ve just collected the vegetables for dinner.’

  ‘Thank goodness. Lucy is in the drawing room quarrelling violently with Captain Grey. Listen.’

  From the window floated Lucy’s voice, her words indistinguishable but her tone excited and argumentative.

  ‘Go in at once, Fanny, and deflect her.’

  ‘She’s surely not alone with him?’

  ‘No, no. Richard and William are there, but you know how headstrong she is.’

  I pushed open the drawing-room door and entered. Occupied with lead soldiers, Richard and William were taking little notice of anything around them.

  The Captain rose and bowed.

  Lucy took my arm. ‘As you see, Fanny, the Captain and I are engaged in a most spirited argument.’

  ‘Not too spirited, I trust.’

  ‘We’ve been speaking of the mutiny on HMS Bounty, Miss Fanny.’

  ‘And Captain Grey asserts that, no matter what the provocation, the mutineers were in all respects at fault, whereas I say—’

  ‘The laws of the Navy are unequivocal. The mutineers were nothing more than pirates.’

  ‘No, no, Captain. Poor Mr Heywood cannot be deemed a pirate. And Captain Bligh was a most brutal master. Didn’t Papa himself say so, Fanny?’

  I nodded.

  ‘If standards and codes of conduct were not strictly enforced, the Navy would be entirely enfeebled, and then who would protect our High Seas?’

  ‘It is not a question of enforcement but of justice. The law should never be enforced against innocent men.’

  I determined to change the subject to something less contentious. ‘I see you will never concur,’ I said, ‘so you must agree to differ. I wonder, Captain Grey, if Lucy has shown you her botanic specimens and drawings?’

  ‘The Captain has no wish to bother himself with my modest scratchings.’

  ‘You’re in error, Miss Lucy. I should very much like to see them.’ ‘For all his air of self-satisfaction,’ said Lucy, ‘I must own the Captain has certain merits.’

  ‘Which are …?’

  ‘He believes poor people should be given grants of land. He says that as long as Irish landlords are absent and the church does nothing to ameliorate the situation there, the insurrections will continue.’

  I squinted at the tree I was sketching. ‘Oh, I have my perspective all wrong … Is Captain Grey a Whig, then?’

  ‘He says the Whig reforms have done nothing to assist the Irish peasantry, but I suppose him more a Whig than a Tory.’

  ‘Like Uncle.’

  ‘Ah yes. If only Papa were here to interrogate the Captain, they would have many a fine argument, you can be sure.’

  There, I disagreed strongly with Lucy, but I forbore to say so.

  The late September native wild flowers were blooming in abundance as we struck out on the slopes of nearby Mount Clarence for a picnic organised by Aunt and Captain Grey.

  ‘I notice you’re limping, Captain,’ said Aunt. ‘Have you injured yourself?’

  ‘No, Ma’am. It’s an old injury I sustained when I was on my expedition to seek for inland waterways north of Perth. I was speared in the thigh by a native. Several Aborigines had been stalking us for some days, and one of our party very foolishly fired in their direction, so they retaliated.’

  ‘But surely the wound should have healed by now?’

  ‘The Aborigines anoint their weapons with poisonous substances. It’s not simply the lesion itself but the toxin which prevents it from healing.’

  ‘And now,’ said Lucy, joining us, ‘I’m off to search for new specimens for my album.’

  ‘But I’m a collector of plants myself. If I may be permitted to accompany you …’ Captain Grey turned to Aunt. ‘Will you allow me to escort Miss Lucy, Ma’am?’

  ‘Certainly, but you must take Fanny with you, if she’s willing.’

  We three set off together, but I soon fell a little behind their steady pace. At one point, I lost sight of them completely, and when I caught them up, the Captain was kneeling close beside Lucy, assisting her in the digging up of a plant. As she rose, he placed a solicitous hand below her elbow to help her to her feet. I had never before known Lucy in need of help to rise, nor seen her blush. Their sparring seemed to have abated and he listened attentively as she pointed out the features and habits of various specimens.

  ‘Your knowledge is exceptional, Miss Lucy,’ he said, ‘and equalled only by your powers of observation and meticulous record-keeping.
I should like to send some drawings of what you’ve collected to my friend, Mr Robert Brown, at the British Museum. He’s a noted horticulturist and I’m sure they’d interest him greatly.’

  ‘I can’t imagine for one moment—’

  ‘If you permit, I’ll enclose a covering letter.’

  Nothing the Captain might have offered could have gratified Lucy more. I saw at once, as I am sure he did, that not merely her attention but her affections were engaged. They walked on, talking animatedly. We descended Mount Clarence, the Captain laden with Lucy’s plant specimens, she with her sketch book and I trailing behind, my head full of speculation.

  That evening, Lucy took me aside. ‘Oh, Fanny, Captain Grey is so intelligent.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And so heroic. He has such courage and high principles.’

  ‘Perhaps …’

  ‘Well, don’t you at least think him handsome?’

  ‘I’m sure he is.’

  ‘But you don’t like him?’

  ‘Not at all. I mean … I … like him well enough. Of course I do.’

  ‘Well, I have something important to tell you. Come over here beside me. Now,’ she took my hand, ‘you’ll never guess …’ She paused. ‘The Captain has asked me to marry him, Fanny.’

  ‘Marry him?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve accepted him. I’m sixteen, I’m of age, and I’m sure we’ll have Mama’s blessing. And you shall be my bridesmaid.’

  ‘But … this is so sudden. Are you in love with him?’

  ‘I greatly respect his bravery and his intellect and judgement. I shall look to him for guidance and the furtherance of my own studies.’

  As I kissed her, I felt a sense of unease. She did not bear the same bloom of happiness that had transformed Mary Ann and Gussie at their engagements. ‘If this is what you truly desire, Lucy,’ I said, ‘I’m very glad for you. When is the ceremony to be?’