‘Perhaps,’ she said, averting her eyes again, ‘you might stay on when we leave, Daniel. Stay and tend the garden for the next tenant. That is …’ She faltered as the realisation dawned on her that she was all but touching on the subject of his sentence. She did not like to think about his sentence. It was far too closely related to the fact that he had once committed a crime.
He himself seemed unaffected, however.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I’ll not be a free man, not in two years. I was sent down for seven.’
‘I see.’ Dorothea cleared her throat.
‘I’ll be lookin’ at three years more when you go, Ma’am, and if I was to live ’em out in this garden, I could ask for nothin’ better. I could ask for nothin’ better than to see it grow.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Dorothea, her colour high, her nose buried deep in her book.
‘And if I live the last three years of my sentence as I’ve lived the first two,’ Daniel finished, ‘God would have served me well. I’m grateful to you, Ma’am. This has not been hard labour.’
‘A very good way to protect beans from birds, mice and slugs is to strew a layer of sawdust half an inch thick over the drill after the beans have been sown and covered,’ Dorothea read, speaking rapidly. ‘Mice never touch it; birds do not like it, and never meddle with the beans when they appear through it; and it hinders the slugs by sticking to them. What an excellent notion!’ She continued to read, her gaze fixed firmly on the page in front of her, until she sensed, by some noise or movement or shift in the light, that she was no longer the subject of Daniel’s undivided attention. Looking up, she saw that he was staring over her shoulder, out of the window.
She turned her head, and gasped.
A cluster of natives, dressed in an ill-assorted smattering of clothes, had taken up a position beside her front gate. Several of them were propped against her fence, laughing and chattering. One was smoking a pipe, another nursing a naked infant. They presented a fearsome aspect, with their wild, dark hair and shambling gait.
‘Oh dear,’ Dorothea whispered. She glanced at Daniel, who was reassuringly large. His shoulders were broad and his wrists were thick. He would have towered over any native who dared challenge him.
‘It is the Governor’s fault,’ she said huskily. ‘He is far too tender with the natives. He thinks that by building them a town, and sending them to school, he will win them over!’ All at once the dark-skinned figures began to move, and Dorothea held her breath. They ambled past the gate, along the fence, around the corner. They vanished from her sight. But they appeared to be skirting the boundaries of her garden, so she could not be easy.
‘Are they following the fence?’ she asked. ‘Daniel! Can you see?’
‘From the next room, I’ll see,’ said Daniel, and hurried into the dining room. Dorothea pursued him anxiously. They sidled to the window and peered out. The natives had paused again, this time near the kitchen garden. Leaning over the fence, they pointed and gestured. Dorothea clutched Daniel’s arm.
‘They will eat our winter vegetables!’ she wailed.
‘Ah, no,’ he said.
‘Yes! Look!’
‘They must climb the fence. Would they climb the fence?’
‘Of course they would! They are savages!’ Dorothea urged him to take action. ‘You must chase them away, Daniel! Go! Quickly! Before they steal everything!’
He hesitated. Dorothea wondered, suddenly, if he was afraid. She dropped his arm and he moved away from her, out of the room, out of the house.
Through the window she could see him approaching the natives, rather tentatively. But she could not hear what he said to them.
Oh dear, she thought. There are so many, and Daniel is unarmed. I should have told him to fetch a spade or a broom.
Whatever he said, however, did not appear to enrage them at all. On the contrary, they responded in the blithest manner possible, two or three speaking at once, with a great show of grinning white teeth and fluttering hands. They seemed to be asking questions. When Daniel replied, there was a burst of laughter on the other side of the fence. Then more questions. Then another, reluctant response.
What is he doing? Dorothea thought crossly.
Becoming impatient, she went to the back door, and arrived there to see that the natives were in the process of being dislodged. Their group had begun to scatter. Their smiles had faded. But Daniel was not responsible for this change of mood. For one confused moment, Dorothea was under the impression that he had, indeed, effected the transformation. When she heard a sharp voice, however, and saw a flash of steel, she realised that someone else had arrived upon the scene.
It was Captain Sanderson, wielding his sword. Captain Brande was following close behind.
‘You vermin!’ roared Captain Sanderson. ‘Out! Out, you curs! By God, I’ll have your lights and livers!’
Sullenly, the natives dispersed. They seemed to melt away (like the shadows they so closely resembled) before the challenge of a naked blade and the overwhelming quality of Captain Sanderson’s stentorian voice. Charles was laughing. His hand was on the hilt of his own sword, but he was bent double with laughter, and presented no great threat.
He leaned on the fence as his companion pursued the natives for fifty yards or so, shouting imprecations.
Dorothea approached him.
‘You are early home,’ she said.
‘By a lucky chance,’ he replied, still grinning, his gaze fixed admiringly on Captain Sanderson’s receding figure. ‘You might have lost your vegetables, else.’
‘Why is Captain Sanderson here?’ Dorothea’s tone was such that it caused her husband to look at her.
‘Why should he not be?’
‘I have told you why.’ She kept her voice low. ‘You know my feelings.’
‘Your feelings are altogether too sensitive,’ he growled. ‘I must consult Captain Sanderson.’
‘About what?’
‘About the letter from Greenwood, Cox and Co.’
Dorothea was familiar with the letter. It concerned a slight disagreement involving stoppages for provisions.
‘I should have thought that your Paymaster would give better advice concerning the regimental agent,’ she protested. ‘How can Captain Sanderson help you?’
‘By not continually questioning my every decision!’ Charles snapped. He was prevented from commenting further, however, by Captain Sanderson’s return. Resplendent in his uniform, Captain Sanderson was breathing heavily, and his face was almost the same shade of scarlet as his coat. He stopped by Captain Brande, wiping his forehead.
‘The impudence of those scoundrels!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ah! Mrs Brande. I hope those black rascals were not bothering you?’
‘I—I was a little concerned—’
‘As you should be, when your servant consorts with natives.’ Captain Sanderson lifted his gilded blade, and pointed it at Daniel. ‘I saw him chatting with them, brazen as can be. Shall I teach him a lesson for you?’
‘Oh no!’ Dorothea was aghast. ‘No, no, Daniel was following my instructions! He was sending them away!’
‘And making a suspiciously bad job of it,’ Captain Sanderson observed. Eyeing Daniel across the fence, he slowly sheathed his sword and added, in jovial accents: ‘If you ask me, he is pursuing one of their dusky belles. Is that not so, my fine fellow?’
Charles began to laugh again. Daniel’s glance flickered to Dorothea.
‘Well?’ said Captain Sanderson. ‘Answer me. Is it the smell of rotten fish that excites your interest?’
‘Daniel provides us with excellent service,’ Dorothea interrupted, flushing as her husband continued to laugh. ‘He has never given us cause for concern.’
‘For all he is Irish,’ Charles broke in, and Captain Sanderson slapped his thigh.
‘Is he? Is he, indeed? Then that will account for it.’ Turning away, proceeding towards the front of the house, he noisily remarked to Captain Brande that the native Irish had notor
iously primitive tastes. ‘One only has to look at their women to see why,’ he declared.
Then the two officers disappeared from sight. Dorothea looked at Daniel. She felt sorry for him; he was staring at the ground, his arms hanging loose at his sides. For such a big man, he seemed curiously defenceless.
‘In my opinion,’ she offered, ‘when it comes to delicacy of taste, Captain Sanderson compares unfavourably to you, Daniel.’
She meant this to be a compliment, but perhaps it was perceived as faint praise. At any rate, Daniel acknowledged it with a barely perceptible nod, and did not raise his eyes.
He returned to his gardening while Dorothea, with a sigh, went into the house to make welcome her unwelcome guest.
New South Wales
September 28th, 1815
My dearest Margaret,
This letter must serve as an addendum to the last, in which I provided you with all of our more domestic news. I write now only to acquaint you with certain public events of interest. You must remember my speaking of Mr Jeffery Bent, the brother of Mr Ellis Bent. You may recall that he is a man of fiery disposition, who staunchly refused to open the Supreme Court until the arrival in the colony of one Mr Garling, an attorney of unblemished reputation. Mr Garling arrived in August, and it is expected that the Supeme Court will re-open soon. But that is not the matter deserving of your attention.
From March last, Governor Macquarie has been charging a toll at the turnpike gates on the road to Parramatta. (I believe the sum to be threepence for a horse, and tenpence for every score of sheep or swine.) Until recently, Mr Jeffery Bent was not required to pay this toll, any more than the Governor himself, or Colonel Molle, or Mr Ellis Bent, who are exempt owing to their high position. But in August, the toll was once more levied on Mr Jeffery Bent—I do not know why. Perhaps his views on emancipist attorneys have soured the Governor’s feelings towards him. In any event, he has recently been asked to pay his threepenny toll, and has refused to do so, being in the habit of riding past the tollbar without stopping. It is perhaps not suprising, therefore, that tempers should have become inflamed.
Three weeks ago, Mr Jeffery Bent was riding with a friend when he approached the tollbar. The gatekeeper immediately shut the gate and slipped the chain around the post. When Mr Jeffery Bent demanded to be let through, the gatekeeper told him that he must pay his toll first. Mr Jeffery Bent (who confesses, in the privacy of his sister-in-law’s parlour, that he can become ‘rather too excitable’ when challenged without justification) declared that he would not. ‘I’ll pay no toll,’ he said, ‘I am Judge of this Colony, and if you don’t let me pass, I’ll send you to gaol!’ He then grabbed the gate, said that he would have it cut down and burned, and shook it so violently that the chain was released and the gate swung open. Whereupon he mounted his horse and rode through.
A few days later, he received a summons issued by the Superintendent of Police, Dr D’Arcy Wentworth. The summons required him to appear in person before Dr Wentworth at the Police Court, to answer a complaint brought against him by the licensees of the tollbar. I need hardly inform you that Mr Jeffery Bent was enraged. To begin with, he has no faith in the legality of the toll, for he believes that Governor Macquarie holds no legal power or authority to levy taxes upon the subjects of His Majesty the King. Secondly, he abhors Dr Wentworth. Dr Wentworth, he says, is a notorious highwayman, whose medical duties are almost entirely neglected and whose ignorance of the law renders him unfit to be Superintendent of Police. Dr Wentworth, in fact, is so abhorrent to Mr Jeffery Bent that Mr Bent ignored his summons.
The case therefore proceeded in Mr Bent’s absence, and he was fined two pounds.
Since then, he has striven to avoid further insult by avoiding the tollbar altogether. Insult, however, has been offered to him in the pages of a Government order, issued on the day he was fined, wherein the Governor not only enjoined all farmers of tolls, and all magistrates, to enforce the collection of tolls (which was his right, I suppose), but mentioned ‘an officer of very high rank in the civil service of this colony’ who had refused to pay his dues. According to Mr Jeffery Bent, this reference was very wrong. The Governor, he says, has no authority to censure at all one of His Majesty’s judges—and certainly has no right to print his reprimands in a Public Gazette, nor insert them into the Order Book of any regiment in garrison here. Mr Jeffery Bent intends to complain to Lord Bathurst about his ill usage.
As you may imagine, the incident has been very much discussed in the drawing rooms of our acquaintances. It is generally felt, among people of any standing, that Mr Jeffery Bent has been most unfortunate. For myself, I cannot help but feel that Mr Jeffery Bent’s temper has aggravated his woes. Perhaps, as he says, the toll is illegal. Perhaps, having once been exempted, he should have remained so. Undoubtedly his being singled out in a Government order was very bad. But can you admire the man’s conduct at the turnpike, Margaret? I cannot. For all that it may have been justified, I cannot like it.
Charles does. He says that, although Mr Jeffery Bent thinks a little too well of himself, he is a man of high principle and good courage. He applauds Mr Bent’s actions—no doubt because his fellow officers do the same. I find that I am much exercised as to whether I should applaud them or not. I am troubled by the notion that there are faults on both sides, though of course I have never said as much in Mrs Bent’s drawing room. She is greatly attached to her brother-in-law, and will not have a word said against him.
Your thoughts on the matter would be of comfort to me. Captain Gill, I should tell you, contends that a toll is not a tax, but something entirely different, and that the Governor therefore has every right to levy it. Would George have any opinions bearing on the issue? Please ask him. I have come to rely on the unshakeable integrity of your principles, Margaret, and know that, where I am guided by you, I shall always walk safely.
Kiss your darlings for me, and believe me to be
your affectionate sister,
Dorothea Brande
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IN THE SPRING, CAPTAIN BRANDE was once again afflicted by a troublesome sore throat—together with the costiveness and general debility that seemed to accompany this complaint. Though he was able, for the most part, to attend to his duties, they were performed in a sluggish manner from which he could derive no satisfaction. He was morose and short-tempered. He did not sleep well. He faced great difficulty when eating all but the softest foods, and was soon restricted to a diet of arrowroot, broths, soups, stewed oysters and milk puddings. He submitted to Dorothea’s prune tisanes and soothing syrups without much grace, but she forgave him his truculence. In truth, she was concerned about his health.
Then Surgeon Forster began to dose him with mercurial pills. This treatment, which had proven successful in the past, did not effect so rapid a cure upon its second application. Charles began to complain of pains in the stomach. His gums became swollen. Though Surgeon Forster declared that such symptoms were to be expected after the consumption of mercurial pills, Dorothea was not happy. She hated to see her husband so weak. When some of his teeth became loose, she appealed to Surgeon Forster, who agreed that the treatment be suspended. Two weeks after its commencement, Captain Brande’s throat appeared to have improved.
By this time, Charles was confined to the house. Though beginning to recover, he was too ill to resume his duties at the barracks, and spent most of his time lying in bed or on the drawing-room sofa, cursing his fate. He was not fond of reading. Dorothea would read to him sometimes, but she could not always be doing so, and Jack Lynch was illiterate. Moreover, though Jack Lynch was always on hand to play cards or chess, his inadequacies in this regard were very trying to Charles’s already irritable temper. Charles would not occupy himself with any pastime of a useful nature, such as netting purses, writing letters or mending pens. He was not, in fact, a very satisfactory invalid, requiring constant attention even when his complaint was boredom, rather than discomfort. Lack of occupation made him sul
len, snappish and plaintive.
Consequently, Dorothea welcomed as eagerly as her husband did every visitor to the house. Only a continual stream of visitors could keep Charles happy. Even Captain Sanderson was received in a cordial manner, for he improved Charles’s spirits, and was forever urging him to ‘get up and look alive’. Captains Sanderson, Miller and Clarke were Charles’s most frequent visitors, and, although Dorothea discovered that they did not by any means recommend themselves to her on further acquaintance (being noisy and careless), she acknowledged that they nursed a genuine regard for Charles. Only a genuine regard would have brought them to the house so often.
The Molles paid several calls, as did the Reverend Mr Vale—to whom Charles was not much attached—and Surgeon Forster. The Bents were not in a position to call, Mr Bent being very ill. Mr Bent, in fact, was so gravely ill that his wife at last resorted to a measure which she thoroughly deplored. Though in an advanced state of pregnancy, Mrs Bent had been a tireless nurse, hardly leaving her husband’s bedside. Her circumstances were such, however, that she was unable to provide unstinting care to both her husband and her children. Therefore, when Mr Bent’s condition worsened, his offspring were ‘farmed out’ (as Charles languidly put it) to various obliging friends. For twelve days, they lived with other families.
So it came about that, at the end of October, Dorothea welcomed into her home Mr Ellis Bent’s seven-year-old son, Ellis Henry—the one visitor for whose company at this time Charles Brande displayed very little enthusiasm.
It was Mrs Molle who proposed that Dorothea should take young Ellis. She herself had offered to care for Mrs Bent’s youngest child, and the remaining two had fallen to Mrs Cowper. (Mrs Vale having declared herself ‘too poorly’ to assist.) Mrs Molle’s suggestion was that Mrs Bent be relieved of the burden of her family until her husband’s crisis had passed. Mrs Molle herself, being accustomed to infants, would not be troubled by the addition of another to her nursery—and Ellis Henry, she said, would give Dorothea no cause for concern.
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