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Authors: Judy Corbalis

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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.

‘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 replacement?’

‘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?’

‘On the second of November.’

‘But that’s less than five weeks away.’

‘George sees no advantage in delaying. There’s a ship due in the last week of October so we can have the services of an ordained clergyman. Now, Fanny, you must smile and rejoice with me. This is news to cheer us all. And once we’re married, I’ll set about finding a suitor for
you
.’

‘I’m not yet fifteen, Lucy. I’ve no wish to marry.’

‘Be careful. You don’t want to end up an old maid marooned here in Albany forever.’

 

Lucy’s wedding was a much simpler affair than the festivities we had had for Mary Ann and Gussie. With barely five weeks in which to organise the celebration, it was clear that neither Mary Ann nor Gussie and their husbands would be able to travel in time from the Swan River, so I was to be the only female attendant. Hugh gave away the bride and Edward served as the groom’s best man, while Robert, Richard and William were somewhat reluctant page-boys. Aunt cried much at the ceremony but I believe they were tears of remembrance of her own happy marriage.

Since Captain Grey could not put aside his official duties, the newlyweds did not take a honeymoon but remained with us at Strawberry Hill. The Captain removed from his cabin and he and Lucy took over the larger bedroom that had been shared by Mary Ann and Gussie. I had expected that Lucy’s new status might create an awkwardness between us, but as she was still living with us, and her husband was so was fully occupied, we passed our days together much as before. Apart from discharging his duties as Resident, Captain
Grey was engaged in finishing a work begun in Perth, his
Vocabulary of the Dialects Spoken by the Aborigine Races of South Australia
. Lucy was openly admiring of his scholarship and continually shushed the little boys so they did not disturb him at his writing. And when he was free, they spent their time in collecting plants for Lucy’s new enterprise, an album of drawings and descriptions intended for Mr Brown at the British Museum.

 

We had been living in this manner for only a few months when Lucy came running into the drawing room one afternoon, waving a letter. ‘It’s from the Colonial Office in London. You’ll never believe it! George has been recalled to
England
. We’re to sail in early March.’

‘But that’s barely a month off,’ said Aunt, in dismay. ‘Am I to lose you so soon?’

‘Oh, Mama, dearest Mama, it won’t be forever. George will be given another posting and he’s certain it will be in South Africa, or perhaps even here in Australia.’

BOOK: A Crooked Rib
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