A Crooked Rib (14 page)

‘South Africa is very far off and even New South Wales is scarcely close to us.’

‘But we shall be in England.
Home
. You must rejoice for me, I beg you. I’m to meet George’s dear family and see all the places he’s described to me.’ She flung her arms about Aunt’s neck. ‘Dearest Mama, say you’re pleased for me.’

‘Of course I am,’ said Aunt quietly. ‘But I shall rejoice even more to see you back again.’

‘And you, my darling Fanny, say you are pleased for me, too.’

‘I am … but I’ll miss you so much.’

‘I promise I’ll write to you, all of you, every day that I’m away.’

We laughed at this extravagant vow.

‘No, I
swear
I shall.’

‘Do you know, Fanny, in all the time we were in England, I never returned to Lyme. I longed to, and my husband promised we would, but he was appointed so suddenly to the governorship in Adelaide we had almost no time to do any of the things we had planned. We spent most of our time in Bodiam with George’s family, or in London with his dear Aunt Julia.’

‘You said in your letters that you liked his family very much.’

‘Exceedingly so, and my particular favourites were Aunt Julia and George’s younger half-brother, Godfrey Thomas. He was most amusing and organised such agreeable entertainments for all the family. We often went riding and had the greatest fun together. Oh, Fanny, you would so love London! We saw all the sights and we had such a gay time. Aunt Julia is a very well-educated lady but she has no children, so she devotes herself to good works and literary matters. George is greatly attached to her and I was disposed to like her very much.’

‘And your mother-in-law?’

‘Lady Thomas was also exceedingly kind to me and took me about often with her at Bodiam. Coming from Australia, I was quite a curiosity, but it was strange to me to see what erroneous notions many people held about life there. At one soirée, a lady asked me how many times we had had to fend off the natives with our spears, and another how often we were forced to eat snake and kangaroo.’

I laughed. ‘Did you tell them about the Minang?’

‘No. I thought better of it. But Godfrey was so inspired by George’s accounts that he decided to visit Australia himself. He came to us at Adelaide before we left.’

‘I don’t recall …’

‘No. I fear I was a dreadful correspondent at that time. But as
soon as he arrived he seemed to dispel the gloom of Government House. I was charged with getting a suitable mount for him, and he and I made a number of expeditions together on horseback which afforded us both great pleasure. The very day after his arrival, we took our horses through the swampland to the beach where we enjoyed a gallop along the wet sand, though my horse, Selim, was uneasy with the surf curling about his feet and shied several times. Then Godfrey persuaded George that the three of us should ride in the countryside out of Adelaide and camp overnight in tents in the bush. I was reminded of our very first days in Albany. Do you remember, Fanny, how we were obliged to sleep in tents on the beach?’

‘Very well.’

‘And Godfrey organised parties and a ball at Government House, and George who, as you know, can be so very parsimonious, was quite convinced of the necessity for a little light entertainment.’

I observed how the more she spoke of her brother-in-law, the more animated she became.

‘Godfrey said we should consider ourselves truly fortunate to be involved in the “Great Adventure” of living in an infant colony. He believes that, in a settlement such as Adelaide, where one is thrown into the society of those whom one would never naturally meet at Home, a man of merit discovers his true nature. And when I expressed concern that my husband was so overworked, Godfrey assured me that it has ever been in George’s nature to be diligent and meticulous, and it is these qualities which render him so statesmanlike.’

‘In that, I am sure he’s quite right.’

‘But you can’t believe how much easier in manner my husband became with Godfrey present. George was determined to find some government position for him, and when his secretary left for Home, he decided that there was no better candidate to replace him than his brother, so we enjoyed Godfrey’s society until we left for New Zealand. I miss him exceedingly.’

‘It’s a pity he couldn’t accompany you here.’

‘There was no post for him. George inherited his predecessor’s secretary, a Mr Cooper.’

Recalling Lady Martin’s conversation, I kept my voice carefully neutral. ‘And was he also … lively?’

She sighed. ‘He was every bit as entertaining and full of fun as Godfrey but … my husband was … obliged to let him go.’ She turned the thin gold ring I had noticed before on the little finger of her right hand. ‘Before Mr Cooper left, he gave me this.’

‘A
ring
? Lucy, what were you thinking of to have accepted it? Surely your husband doesn’t know?’

‘Oh, Fanny, you are wearing your parochial face again. Of course my husband doesn’t know. And it was not any sort of promise or love token …’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite certain. It was a mark of friendship, he said. It belonged to his sister who died young.’

‘Then
of course
it was a token. Lucy, I beg you, be careful. Your husband is a jealous man, and if he became aware that another man was paying court to you he would have every right to—’

‘Mr Cooper was
not
paying court to me. All we did was to ride out together and take pleasure in each other’s society. It was certainly not criminal conversation, if that is what you mean. It was no more than the sort of entertainment I enjoyed with Godfrey.’

‘But Mr Godfrey is your brother-in-law. Surely you can see the difference?’

For a moment, Lucy looked sulky. ‘If my husband were more inclined to wish for my society—’

‘Stop!’ I said. ‘And think about how your actions might have brought you into real danger. It would be utter foolishness to cross the Governor.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s always possible that Godfrey may join us here now George is in want of a secretary. Godfrey’s so thoughtful, you know. After we left Adelaide, he did his best to reclaim our old Aboriginal servant, Nancy.’

‘Nancy?’

‘Yes, we took her from the Mission, though she was a far from ideal servant. But when we left, she threw aside her English clothes and lived like a savage, wrapped in a tattered blanket by the Torrens River near the old City Bridge. Godfrey said she was the picture of misery but all his efforts proved hopeless. So you see how kind he is.’

‘Yes,’ I said, my thoughts in turmoil.

In the February heat, when Lucy and I were alone together in the garden, I had fallen into the habit of dispensing with my stockings and shoes, the better to enjoy the feel of the grass under my feet.

‘Fanny, you are becoming like a native, walking about barefoot.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ I said, wriggling my toes, freed from their usual confinement. ‘Very soon, I shall adopt a flax skirt and have my chin tattooed.’

Lucy pointed a mock-admonishing finger at me. ‘That settles it! I am quite determined now on finding you a husband.’

‘You may spare yourself the trouble,’ I said, ‘I have no wish to marry
anyone
.’

‘But why not? Sooner or later all women must marry.’

‘Not necessarily. At the moment, I can see no possible advantage in marrying. I’m an independent woman with an income of my own. If I were to take a husband, my property and income would immediately become his to do with as he wished and I’d have no more control over my own life than that which he permitted me.’

‘True. But if you were to fall in love?’

‘Then I might change my mind. But, for now, I’m quite content as I am.’ I stretched out my legs on the grass. ‘And you still haven’t given me my audience with John Heke, you know.’

‘I thought we were agreed he is already spoken for. Lieutenant Cowan, on the other hand …’

‘I am certainly not in love with the Lieutenant. Or anyone else.’

‘But don’t you sometimes long for romance?’

I considered this. I was not entirely sure what was meant by romance. Courtship? Passion? The delight in another’s company? I remembered Mary Ann and Gussie and their animation in the company of their suitors. Now they were both mothers, settled at the Swan River, and had seemed on their rare visits to Albany to be quite contented with their lot. But when I recalled Lucy as she had been before and after her marriage, I felt no desire to emulate her. As far as I could judge, romance was a fleeting state, maybe even one of delusion, designed to bring about conjugal union and propagate the species.

‘I’m not sure I believe in romance,’ I said.

Lucy groaned. ‘Oh Fanny, what
am
I to do with you? If you go on like this, you will die an old maid.’

I reflected on this conversation as I lay later that night in my bed, the heat-swollen timbers of Government House creaking and rasping around me as they shrank again in the cooler night air. I thought of myself within the Spencer family, of how, though they had treated me entirely as their own, I had felt always an observer — a watcher, not a participant. But, I told myself, this had been my habit long before. I recalled myself within the embrace of my mulberry tree, eavesdropping on Martha and Joseph, spying on Ellen or Papa, studying Mama zealously for indications of her mood … And if the family mirrors the wider world, even a colony such as Auckland is but a greater reflection of the web of kinship within that first microcosm. Is this, perhaps, the reason I am so reluctant to give up my independence, I wondered, why to marry is of no interest to me?

‘Fanny, my dear,’ said Aunt, ‘I have something I must show you.’

I laid aside the sampler I was embroidering, followed her to her bedroom and waited while she rummaged in a drawer. Gazing at her pretty Empire-style dressing table, I recalled the rough box with its muslin curtain which had served for her toilette when first we arrived at Strawberry Hill.

‘Sit down here,’ said Aunt, indicating her footstool. ‘I wish to speak to you of important matters.’

I sat, a trifle apprehensively.

‘Perhaps I should have waited until you’re a little older,’ said Aunt, ‘but I feel I should not leave this matter any longer.’

She held out a long envelope, sealed with red wax.

‘This is for you, Fanny. But as your dear father apprised me of them, I know its contents. It contains a copy of his Will and the deeds to the house in Lyme. The house is let now but in November, when you attain your majority, it will be yours to do with it as you wish. You have a sizeable income, Fanny, all held in trust for you by your papa’s solicitor in Lyme. He’s a good, honest man and, when the time comes, you may have confidence in his advice.’

I stared, bewildered.

‘And here,’ continued Aunt, ‘I have something for you which I very much hope will please you. You’re a good, loving girl and, as you know, we all regard you as one of our own, but your dearest mother loved you very much and it’s fitting you should have some keepsake and memento of her. When you are twenty-one, her jewellery and effects will come to you. In the meantime, this is for you to remember her by.’

She passed me a small package.

I opened it and drew out a brooch, a cameo I recognised instantly
as a likeness of my mama.

‘Look carefully, Fanny. You’ll see it’s fashioned from a lock of hair. And, do you see, interwoven with that darker blonde lock are tiny strands of paler hair?’

‘Yes.’

‘They’re from your own hair, child. After your mama had left us, I clipped a lock from her head and a ringlet from your own and had them shaped into this piece of mourning jewellery so that you might have your mama with you always.’

Tears fell on my cheeks.

‘I have not given it to you before,’ said Aunt, ‘because I felt it might only excite more grief. But now I believe the time is right for you to have it. I know you will cherish it for your dear mama’s sake.’

‘For a wonder,’ said Aunt, ‘we have two ships in the harbour at the same time, so here’ — and she indicated a large oiled sack beside the table — ‘is another consignment of mail.’ She looked at me. ‘I think you must have a secret admirer, Fanny. There’s a large box addressed to you.’

‘There I must disappoint you,’ I said. ‘It’s from London and I ordered it myself.’

‘Gracious,’ said Aunt, ‘what
have
you been up to?’

I cannot remember when I have ever felt quite such pleasure as on opening that box, which I did first alone in my room, after begging Richard and Robert to carry it there for me. Having ascertained that the contents were exactly what I had commissioned, I was then obliged to ask them to transfer it to the drawing room where, after supper, I announced a surprise.

Lifting the lid from the wooden box, I drew out a long cardboard package bearing the name of the fashionable milliner I had gleaned from the London newspapers.

‘This is for you, Aunt,’ I said, passing it to her. ‘A present.’

‘But …’ She looked at the name printed on the lid. ‘Surely not for
me
? Are you certain?’

Opening it, she lifted up the layers of paper and gasped when she saw revealed beneath them a most fashionable bonnet of purple silk decorated with black and rose-pink trimmings. ‘Why, Fanny, I … It’s much too fine. And how beautiful.’ She stroked the silk with her finger.

‘And, there, beside it, are matching kid gloves.’

‘Fanny, my dear, I cannot possibly accept such a splendid gift. I can’t begin to think how much it must have cost you.’ She took up the bonnet and examined it. ‘Just look at the workmanship and the exquisite stitching.’

‘You must try it on,’ I said.

She shook her head.

‘Indeed you must, Mama,’ said Robert. ‘You mustn’t injure Fanny’s feelings when she has gone to such trouble for you.’

‘And
you
mustn’t injure my feelings either, ‘I said, ‘by refusing to accept this.’ And I handed Robert another package.

I felt William’s gaze upon me. ‘Alas, William,’ I said, teasing him, as I peered into the box, ‘I fear there is nothing at all here for you.’

William was now almost eleven years old and, along with his brothers, was constantly in some scrape or other. Aunt spoke often of her worries about them running wild, and her concern for their education. Since Uncle’s death, she had petitioned the Admiralty constantly for his naval pension to be awarded to her but, in almost six years, had never yet received a response. Without funds, she could not consider even hiring a tutor for the boys.

‘It’s all right, Fanny,’ said William, plainly disappointed. ‘I was not in expectation of a—’

‘Wait!’ I cried, inspecting the contents again. ‘I believe … yes, here it is.
This
is for you. And there’s another here for Richard.’

William undid the wrapping. ‘A magnifying glass. And with slides. See, Mama. Oh, Fanny, it’s magnificent.’

‘I have a fine pocket knife,’ said Robert.

‘And I a fishing rod.’

‘But what of yourself?’ said Aunt. ‘Here we are, all with our splendid gifts and you have nothing.’

‘I have a bonnet, too,’ I said, ‘and a beautiful new frock but the box is a very large one and by no means empty yet. We are
all
to have
new clothes, and there are shoes for you and me, and boots for all my brothers. Then, so that we may have a celebration, there’s a whole tinned ham, some potted meats, relishes, a tinned Dundee cake, tins of pineapple, strawberry jam and sugared plums, preserved ginger, Madeira wine and—’

‘Stop, stop!’ cried Robert, ‘it’s too much. I’m already hungry at the thought of it. Come, we must all kiss Fanny and thank her.’

Aunt drew me aside. ‘Fanny, it is so very, very good of you but I’m horrified at the thought of the cost of such extravagant gifts.’

‘You’re disappointed with your bonnet?’

‘Why, it is quite the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned, but I do not wish you to spend such enormous sums on us.’

‘I would like you to sit down, Aunt. I must talk to you.’

She looked at me in surprise but did as I asked.

‘I am rich, Aunt. Not immensely so, but I am very comfortably off and I have no need of such a large sum of money for myself. It gives me the greatest pleasure to be able to indulge you all a little. Only consider how very good you and Uncle have been to me. It’s gratifying to be in a position to repay just a fraction of your kindness.’

‘Fanny, I won’t hear any talk of
repayment
. You have been a joy and pleasure to us, the dearest of daughters. That is quite repayment enough.’

‘I am sorry to defy your wishes, Aunt, but I fear I must.’

‘Why, Fanny, you are sounding now like Lucy!’

‘I have written to my solicitor in Lyme instructing him to give notice to my tenants.’

‘You are returning to Lyme?’

‘No, Aunt,
you
are going there, with Robert and Richard and William. I have taken the very great liberty of procuring four ship’s passages for you all and of depositing a sum of money for your use in Lyme for your living expenses and the boys’ education. And while you are there, you may petition the Admiralty directly for your pension.’

‘Fanny, I … I cannot possibly …’

‘It is done, Aunt.’

For a moment, Aunt covered her face with her hands. ‘Ah,’ she
whispered, ‘Lyme, dear, dear Lyme …’ She looked up at me. ‘I simply don’t know what to say to such generosity, Fanny. And you? Are you coming with us?’

I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘
I
am going to New Zealand. To Lucy.’