Wild Lands (3 page)

‘A charitable institution?' Lesley asked.

‘For the children of convicts, yes, for free settlers some payment must be expected. But enough of this. You see the task before us. In our darkest hour, God will come to us and save us, but we must be ready, we must be prepared.'

The man walked around the narrow bed and gestured for her mother to stand. ‘Come now. You know what we talked of, Lesley. You join me in service to God.'

Lesley studied her hands and then slowly, almost reluctantly, lifted her eyes to the man who stared down at her. ‘And my daughter?' She rose from the bed, the movement spilling the hairpins to the floor. The slush lamp revealed the soft curves of her mother's body, bare beneath the thin material of the shift. Why did she not reach for a shawl to conceal her nakedness? For if Kate
could see her mother's body, then so could the Reverend. Lifting the candlestick he held it close to Kate's mother's face. The light flickered across olive skin and clear, bright eyes. Lesley Carter raised a dimpled chin.

‘You are quite unafraid.' His questioning tone was a mix of surprise and delight. ‘I wonder if it is your beauty that gives you such strength. If that be so then remember, my dear, you will fade like a wilted flower one fine summer's day. You would do best to remember that there is only one quality in a woman truly appreciated by man – dutiful obedience. You must work on that quality. You must pray to God for guidance, for stubbornness will not be rewarded on earth or in God's Kingdom. Stubbornness, disobedience and outspokenness are unacceptable, indeed quite at odds with the fragile female mind. Such behaviour may well send you into a state of flux from which there is no recovery.' He rubbed at a front tooth, licked his lips. ‘You would do well to be more pliable, more grateful.' He ran his fingers up and down her bare arm. ‘After all, it was you who begged me to take Kate in. And as we both know I have little need of a child, nor another servant. I have quite enough to contend with already with the convict class.'

‘We are free born,' Lesley reminded the Reverend politely, ‘and am I not of service to you in your work? Have I not done all you have asked of me in my dual capacity as secretary and housekeeper?' She paused. ‘Have I not done everything required to fulfil my duty, and more?'

The Reverend nodded as if calculating the shrewdness of the woman opposite. ‘Why Kate will live with us, of course.' He agreed as if this had always been his intention. Kate bit her knuckles in excitement.

‘In this very room with you,' he assured. ‘And at those times you're required,' he cleared his throat, ‘you will of course come to me as God intends.'

‘But you won't marry me?' Lesley probed.

Kate couldn't believe what she was hearing. Did her mother really want this tall, thin man with his flat nose and scraggly whiskers to take the place of her father?

‘Have we not discussed this? Have I not told you of the impediments that prevent such a union? I would have thought you would be on your knees praying to God for the light that has been shone on you and yours, thanking our Great Almighty for the bountiful benefits that have been heaped upon you since you and your daughter found yourselves alone in the world, without kin, without the providing hand of a husband, bereft of a home.' His voice rose and he held a hand in the air as if he were preaching in the wattle and daub hut that was for making cabbage-tree hats during the week and for sermons on Sundays.

‘You hope for a better match?' Lesley Carter raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Surely I deserve some assurance that my reputation, the reputation of my daughter, remains absolute? Surely you do not propose my ruination, for such a dismal state will occur with such an arrangement.'

‘I beseech you, Lord, assist this woman in understanding that she has been led to me to help in your work. If she refuses what I offer, after providing her with hearth and home, then I in turn must refuse her and her daughter.' He paused and levelled his gaze. ‘Consider this an arrangement of mutual advantage.' The Reverend walked towards Lesley and touched her breast beneath the cotton shift. ‘It is not to say that I may not change my mind,' he enticed. ‘Besides, you want what I offer. I see it in your eyes, Lesley. I see how you enjoy running this household, how the idea of a school appeals.' He cupped her breast. ‘I see how you enjoy the life I provide and you are adept at the tasks I give you.'

His hand lifted the material of her mother's shift. As it disappeared beneath a ruffle of cotton, Lesley grasped the Reverend's shoulder, leaning towards him.

Kate's eyes widened.

‘And there are other things you want, the base cravings of a woman that can only be satisfied through a servant of God.' His voice grew hoarse. ‘See how you want this union. Enter it in the knowledge that you are serving God through serving me.'

Shocked, Kate watched as her mother lifted the flimsy material of the shift over her head. It fell to the floor. ‘I will care for you and your daughter. Is that not what you want?' The Reverend tipped the candlestick. Hot wax dripped on her mother's breast and she moaned. She moaned as she had moaned with Kate's father, loudly. Loud enough for Kate to hear her parents through the thin walls of their old home. But she'd never seen them together. Not like this.

The Reverend blew out the candle and sat it on the dresser next to the slush lamp and began to undress. He told Lesley how blessed she was and then pushed her onto the bed.

Her mother waited, her arms extended above her head as if a cat stretching in the sun. The Reverend lay the pistol he wore at his waist on the bed and, dropping his trousers, slowly lowered himself onto her body. Kate was sure that he would squash her mother flat but instead she lifted her legs and the Reverend began to move backwards and forwards, like Kate had seen two of the convicts do when they thought no-one was watching. As Kate began to back away her mother turned her head sideways and looked into her eyes. Kate blinked and ran. She ran through the parlour and out into the rain and back to the warmth of the kitchen, where she curled up before the fire and cried herself to sleep.

1827 June – eight miles west of Sydney

Kate kept busy in the kitchen until their noon meal – soup and bread for her, Lambeth and Madge, roasted kangaroo with potatoes and sage stuffing for the Reverend and her mother, followed by a plate of native fruits and nuts. The cook was in a bad mood, one minute weepy and maudlin, the next sharp-tongued, with not a kind word to be said for anybody, particularly Kate. Apparently the Reverend was very angry with Lambeth, although Kate had no idea why. Kate chewed the tough bread, watching the puddles drying through the door, aware of the two women staring at her. She could tell they wanted to say something. They broke their bread into pieces and poked the dough in their bowls, all the while exchanging glances as if urging the other to speak.

Through the open door the day was clear and bright. The view from atop the fig tree would have been wonderful, but for the first time since her arrival in this place Kate didn't feel like climbing the tree, nor speaking to her father. She knew what she'd seen last night in her mother's bedroom was wrong and for some reason she
found herself hating the Reverend. The bread was a hard wad in the side of her cheek.

Lambeth spooned the remnants of the soup into her bowl instead of sharing it equally, as was the custom. The cook sniffed as she ladled the thin broth while Madge's lips quivered. Kate had seen that look before.

‘You're a wicked, evil thing you are, Kate,' Madge told her.

Kate concentrated on the bits of kangaroo floating in her bowl. Madge had been calling her a wicked evil thing ever since the cook had been scolded by the Reverend that morning. Kate knew she should answer her, but whatever she said would only cause more trouble, and Kate had no idea what she'd done wrong. She was usually in trouble for dawdling, and then the pots and pans had to be scrubbed twice over; and if she was caught wandering about outside, her meals were cut in half. This was a particular favourite as it meant Madge and Lambeth ate more. Kate wiped her nose on the back of her hand and lifting the bowl slurped up the soup. The women were still staring at her but Kate was beginning to think about other things, white fleshy things, things she couldn't easily wipe from her mind.

Finally Madge paused in her eating, one hand knuckle-deep in the soup as the bread she held grew soggy in the meat-flavoured water. Her head tilted sideways and with the movement Madge's curly hair poked out from beneath the mob cap.

‘You went in there, didn't you, Kate? Nicked Mrs Lambeth's shawl and then left it in the Reverend's parlour so he'd think she was out to steal something.'

‘Madge,' the cook cautioned, ‘remember who she is.'

‘I never,' Kate retorted; she felt her cheeks turn red.

‘Caught, you are, good and caught. But you know it won't do no good what I say, or anyone else, 'cause you're her daughter and she's with 'im. Oh yeah, we know all about it. Your mother lays with him, she does. The God-fearing man what calls 'imself the
Reverend.
Reverend
!' Madge spat on the dirt floor. ‘And your pretty mother opens her legs for 'im and says Amen.'

‘She does not,' Kate cried.

‘Lambeth 'ere will be punished for your doings. She'll be sent to the Female Factory in Parramatta with the rest of the sluts and the whores who've done wrong and they'll shave her head if she even points her little finger in the wrong direction. She'll spend her days making rope and carded wool. Isn't that right, Mrs Lambeth?'

The cook's eyes grew wide with fear. ‘I thought them women did sewing and the like there now?'

‘Sleep on piles of wool she will, eat slops that a pig wouldn't touch. I always said you'd get us into trouble, you with your native-born ways, sneaking about, thinking you can go anywhere and do anything.'

‘I never,' Kate replied, shrinking back from Madge's anger.

‘Maybe if
she
said something,' Lambeth began thoughtfully, her gaze resting on Kate. Her lower eyelids drooped so that the red inner part of the eyeball revealed itself. ‘Her mother has the ear of the Reverend, like you say.'

‘She's got a lot more than an earful,' Madge replied knowingly. ‘Turn a trick that woman can. And who would have thought it? Native born, better than us, eh? I don't think so. Lesley Carter's no different to the rest of us. In the end the only thing a woman has that's worth a spit is what's between her legs.'

The two women stared at Kate from across the table. The room was stuffy with the heat from the fire. Sweat dripped from Kate's hairline and ran down her cheek. She wanted to tell these women that they were wrong. That her mother wasn't like them, that she would never be like them because Lesley Carter was free-born.

‘Look what you've done, Madge, you've made her cry,' Lambeth tutted.

‘Go on. You could say something, you know.' Madge's voice grew soft and wheedling. ‘Help Mrs Lambeth out. She does feed you and care for you in her own way.'

‘Yeah, in me own way.' The cook leant across the table, reached out a crinkly skinned arm.

Kate pulled away from the woman's touch.

Madge's cracked smile revealed a line of broken teeth. ‘We could all be friends then, eh? You show us you're willing to help one of us and we'll be more kindly towards you, won't we, Mrs Lambeth?'

‘Yes, yes, of course.' The cook stacked the chipped bowls and wiped the table of crumbs, tipping them into the pot bubbling over the fire.

‘You being so pretty and all,' Madge continued, ‘well, how could the Reverend say no to you?' She turned to the cook. ‘Spitting image of her mother. Ain't she the spitting image of her mother? That long dark hair and them big eyes.'

Dipping the bowls in a basin of water, the cook wiped them disinterestedly with her apron and sat them on the table. ‘I've said it before, haven't I, the very same words. It's a boon it is to be a woman and to be pretty. Men will do anything for a pretty face. They can't 'elp 'emselves. Why, if you were a convict lined up with the rest of the prettiest girls ready for the choosing, some fancy soldier would drop his hanky in front of you and you'd not be desperate like the rest of us to pick it up. No, there'd be a better one for you, young Kate. There'll be a better proposal of marriage for you in the offing.'

‘Plenty better,' Madge agreed.

Kate thought of what she'd seen last night. If that's what men and women did she was never getting married. She would die an old maid with two cats for company.

‘You, Lambeth,' the Reverend commanded from the door. ‘Get your things and come out.'

The cook turned white. ‘Please, sir, I didn't do it. I was asleep in my bed, I swear, just like I told you. Ask her, ask young Kate. She gets sleepless at nights she does, sir, and wanders about, not meaning anything of it of course, sir, and she gets cold, sir, so she took me shawl, not that I mind, sir. But it wasn't me, sir. Please, sir, I've done me best for you, never done nothing wrong, served you loyal I have these three years, I swear. I've only got a year to go, sir, please, sir, a year to go.' Mrs Lambeth pressed her squat body into the far corner of the kitchen, between barrels of preserved fruit and bags of salt and sugar.

Madge and Kate moved to stand before the hearth, their faces downcast.

The Reverend gave Madge a hard look and then turned to Kate. ‘Is what Lambeth says true? Did you take her shawl and enter the cottage last night without permission?'

Kate licked at the sweat on her upper lip. Behind the man in the dark cloth suit were two soldiers wearing the distinctive red tunics of the British Infantry.

‘If you are lying, God will strike you down in your sleep. You know that, don't you, Kate?'

It was an accident. She'd only borrowed the shawl and then left it there by mistake when she'd run away. Surely God forgave mistakes.

‘Kate!'

She flinched.

‘So you've nothing to say?'

What could she say? If Kate told the truth the Reverend would certainly punish her, perhaps send her away, and if she told the truth he might guess that she'd spied on him and her mother and that seemed worse than taking Mrs Lambeth's shawl and sneaking into the cottage. Kate felt bad for Mrs Lambeth, but she pressed her lips together and said nothing. The Reverend gave her a stony stare. Kate swallowed. If God didn't forgive her Kate figured she would be a lot worse off than Lambeth.

The cook rushed at Kate, lifted a bowl from the stack on the table and hit her on the forehead.

‘Take her,' the Reverend said disinterestedly, as Kate fell to the floor.

Mrs Lambeth screamed and begged and wailed but the soldiers grabbed her and dragged the older woman through the kitchen.

‘I'll get your things,' Madge called out above the din, running into their room and reappearing with a few items of clothing bundled into a ball. ‘Take 'em and God bless.' She pushed the bunch into the cook's hands.

When the soldiers and their noisy charge finally departed, the Reverend mopped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘Well, tend to her,' he said to Madge.

The kitchen was moving in a circle. Pots and pans spun. Kate put her palms to the floor to steady herself as Madge dampened a cloth and squatted next to her.

‘It's a bad cut.' She pressed the wad of material to the side of Kate's head. ‘She needs a doctor.'

‘Clean it, bandage it and put her to bed. She's young, she'll survive.'

Kate woke lying on the pallet in the room next to the kitchen. Her right eye was blurry and her head pained awfully. It had been three days since Lambeth had attacked her. Her mother had made soup and tied a bandage around her head that she changed once a day, but the cut was slow to heal. Her head spun as she sat up and took a sip of water. On the dirt floor lay a mirror, which her mother had left. Unwrapping the bloodstained bandage, Kate looked at the cut. The edges of the wound were an angry red.

‘There you are. You'll be up and about in no time.' Madge passed her a piece of bread, grimacing at the injury. ‘Nasty that is, real
nasty. Lucky your mother had some skill with the bandage. I'm not much good with things like that. You'll have a fine scar, something to remember old Lambeth by, eh?'

‘I still can't see properly from this eye, Madge.'

‘Well, the way the world is today a person is better suited to only seeing half of it anyway.' She sat cross-legged on the pallet next to Kate's and leant forward conspiratorially. ‘The Reverend was called away this morning. It seems one of the wives has got uppity. Mrs Markham, what used to oversee the hat makers –'

‘I remember her.'

‘Will you let a person tell a story? So, it seems her husband had enough of her shenanigans and was keen to be rid of her so he put a rope around her neck and tried to sell her at the markets. Seems she didn't get one bid, she didn't. Anyways, on account of that, Mr Markham called for the Reverend and that's where he went to this morning, to their farm to give her a good thrashing.'

‘That's awful,' Kate exclaimed.

‘Aye, the poor man. They've been married for years, so you can imagine what she would have cost him in food and not one bid.'

‘Madge?' the Reverend called.

The girl moved quickly. Quicker than Kate thought possible. The Reverend waited in the kitchen, pressing a handkerchief to his brow before folding the square of material and placing it carefully in his trouser pocket.

‘Yes, Reverend, sir, I was just checking on Kate. She's coming along she is, sir.'

‘I've decided you're to have Mrs Lambeth's position.'

Madge gave a little curtsey. ‘Thank you, Reverend.'

‘Kate.' He moved to the doorway, avoiding her gaze. ‘You're to get up and start moving about. You'll not heal yourself lying about all the day and I've not the space for invalids. And you're to move into your mother's room. Tonight. That's not to say that you're to stop your daily tasks. In the morning you will help Madge prepare
the midday meal and tend the vegetable garden. In the afternoons you will work with the women making cabbage-tree hats. And you'll continue to eat here in the kitchen.' He pointed a stubby finger. ‘Children should be seen and not heard. And if there have been any unlawful wanderings as has been suggested, I would imagine that your recent injury will stymie such future thoughts.' He turned to Madge. ‘I'm partial to potato soup and we'll have the kangaroo cold this evening with a mustard sauce, and don't forget the oysters. The household deals with Wills' Groceries and Fine Produce, as you know. We've a standing order and he'll also be expecting his weekly supply of hats for the store as well. Mr Wills' man will be at Burwood Farm at three of the afternoon. He is known for trading with the natives but we can't condemn the man for that if he provides us with sustenance to do the Lord's work. Take six hats with you and don't dally, girl, and you best take one of the convict women from the lean-to for safety's sake. Mind you choose one who's already filled her quota of hats.' He turned to leave. ‘And in future you will discuss the week's menu with Mrs Carter.'