A Crooked Rib (9 page)

For several days, a ridge of land smudged the horizon and a great cheer rose from the entire ship’s complement when the Captain of the
Buffalo
announced that we should soon arrive in King George’s Sound and then at Princess Royal Harbour. ‘King George’, ‘Princess Royal’. Such familiar, comforting names. I felt a rush of expectancy as our ship passed through a narrow inlet and entered a large sheltered body of water which, to my eye, very much resembled the expanse and form of Lyme Bay. We strained to see the town or any evidence of habitation, but the land seemed almost deserted. No jetty extended from the shore; the only buildings were a few makeshift dwellings and what seemed to be a small army barracks. A sparse knot of people had gathered to watch our arrival. Echoing my mounting dismay, Hugh said, ‘But where is the town?’

‘And where are the houses?’ demanded Lucy. ‘I can see nothing but those ugly huts.’

‘Calm yourself, Liza-Lou,’ said Uncle. ‘The town and its houses are not visible from here.’

‘But how are we to get ashore, sir?’ asked Hugh.

‘Hush,’ said Aunt. ‘At least we are here at last and I, for one, will be heartily pleased to be off this ship, however far away the town may be.’

‘I think the bay is a little like Lyme,’ I ventured.

‘Nonsense, Fanny,’ snapped Lucy. ‘It doesn’t resemble Lyme in the least. Where are the shops and the Rooms? There’s not even a church that I can see. I believe it has no civilisation at all.’ She turned to her papa. ‘How
can
you have brought us to such a horrid place?’ she demanded, and burst into hysterical weeping.

I saw the pulse in Uncle’s injured temple begin to throb.

‘We are all tired after such a long voyage,’ said Aunt. ‘Take your
sister below, Hugh, until she’s a little more composed.’

‘I shall never be composed in my life again, and the moment I’m of age I shall return to Lyme.’

‘Look,’ said Gussie, craning out over the rail, ‘the sand is white, like marble.’

‘An excellent sign,’ said Uncle. ‘Capital.’

The
Buffalo
dropped anchor and two jolly boats rowed out to take us and our possessions to a number of carts drawn into the shallower water. ‘We’ll be temporarily housed in Albany-town,’ said Aunt, ‘but Papa has already purchased Sir James Stirling’s house at Strawberry Hill, only a mile or so away. Such a pretty name.’

‘I wager there’ll be no strawberries and no dwelling either.’

‘Lucy, I’m becoming exceedingly vexed with your constant complaining.’

‘Stop it at once, Lucy,’ said Gussie. ‘Can’t you see that Mama is tired? In her condition, she shouldn’t be upset.’

I felt a stab of fear and pulled Gussie aside. ‘What is the condition Aunt is in?’

‘Why, Fanny, has no one told you? We’re soon to have another brother or sister.’

Panic seized me. Before I could stop myself, I heard my own voice saying, ‘Will she die?’

‘Of course not. Whatever gave you such an idea?’ Then, comprehending, she put her arm about me. ‘Mama has borne eleven children already and you see she’s quite alive and well.’ She blotted my tears with her handkerchief. ‘Just think, Fanny, how wonderful it will be to have a dear little baby brother or sister.’

I recollected Louisa’s yellow face. ‘Or perhaps … the baby will die.’

‘I think it very unlikely. Let us wipe your eyes again. There, that’s better. Now, let’s think of some names for this new little baby.’

‘If it’s a boy,’ I said, ‘and if I could choose, I should call him William.’

We were handed down from the
Buffalo
, rowed to the carts and arrived at the shore with our lower parts wet and dripping. Sprawled
to dry on the glittering white sand, we watched as load after load of our possessions was brought from the ship. Trunks of clothing were dumped next to furniture, books, huge sacks of flour, rice and sugar wrapped in oiled cloth, kitchen and farm implements, plants, bushes, even several large fruit trees. Finally, the livestock was disembarked, the goats and sheep bleating, the chickens and ducks squawking and quacking, the cows lowing desperately. The ram butted at the sides of his prison with determined ferocity and I prayed the slats would hold.

Despite this cacophony, Lucy fell asleep on the sand. I dozed beside her while the older Spencer children talked.

‘Whatever are those?’ asked Mary Ann, as assorted wooden rectangles were propped beside the ram’s cage.

‘Frames for windows and doors,’ said Edward, panting as he started out again for the jolly boat. ‘And there are doors and glass to go in them, and tiles and slates and—’

‘And even the carriage,’ put in Hugh, sitting down for a moment beside Mary Ann, ‘though that, thank goodness, won’t arrive till the
Captain Stirling
puts in and it’ll be of no use at all here. There are no roads anywhere.’

‘There are certain to be better roads over the ridge at Albany-town,’ said Mary Ann.

Hugh looked discomforted. ‘There’s something I must tell you.’ He paused. ‘There
is
no other town here, only those mean dwellings we saw from the
Buffalo
.’

‘
What
? That rough little settlement is surely not Albany?’

‘I’m afraid it is.’

‘But … there must be some mistake. Papa has brought us here for our betterment. You’ve heard him say so many times in Lyme.’

‘Whatever he may have said in Lyme, I’m as sure as I’m sitting here that this is all Albany consists of. There are only twenty-seven inhabitants, just nine meagre houses, a barracks and a miserable little gaol. When Captain Sadler went to seek provisions for the
Buffalo
, he found the people so improvident he could get nothing but water. It seems they were in hopes of our ship being able to supply
them
.’

‘But what are we to do? Where will we sleep?’

‘Mama is to be housed with the garrison commander’s wife, but
for tonight and I suppose for some time,’ said Hugh, ‘the rest of us are to sleep in tents pitched near the barracks.’

‘In
tents
?’

‘Papa has borrowed them from the garrison commander.’

Our tents stood together a little further down the beach from the soldiers’ quarters, and we were permitted to make use of the barracks’ foul-smelling earth closet. We were obliged to crawl into the tents through a flap of material. ‘Look at our beds,’ said Lucy. ‘Merely coverlets laid on sand. I shan’t be able to sleep a wink.’

‘Nor I,’ I said, loyally.

We woke in the morning to dazzling sunlight and the buffeting of the tent in the wind. As we struggled outside, Uncle, Hugh and Edward appeared, mounted on a horse and two mules also borrowed from the garrison commander. Poor Thunder, too weak to be ridden, had been temporarily quartered in the garrison stables.

‘We rode out early to Strawberry Hill to examine the premises,’ said Uncle.

‘It’s a very pretty name,’ said Gussie, carefully. ‘Is it a … pretty house?’

Uncle said nothing, but Hugh answered for him. ‘It is no house whatever,’ he said. ‘Just a small wattle and daub cottage, ramshackle and sagging in every direction, with two small shacks nearby in similar condition. The servants and the men from the
Buffalo
will help us shore up the main dwelling immediately and then we’ll see to the others.’

‘So it’s very fortunate,’ said Uncle, ‘that I had the foresight to bring timber and roofing from Lyme.’

‘But very
un
fortunate,’ said Lucy, ‘that you didn’t have the foresight to ascertain the condition of our new home.’

I had only once before seen Uncle in one of his worst rages. Now he snatched up his riding-whip and advanced towards Lucy, shouting
incoherently, the damaged half of his forehead glowing scarlet. Hugh and Gussie rushed to either side of him, clutching his arms in an attempt to restrain him.

To my astonishment, Lucy remained where she stood, staring boldly at him. ‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘Whip me. I’ve spoken nothing but the truth. If the truth is an offence, then punish me. I’m suffering enough already. What is a little more pain to me?’

Gussie knelt on the sand and clasped her arms around her father’s knees. ‘I beg you, Papa, leave Lucy alone. What will poor Mama say if she knows you’ve whipped her?
Please
, Papa.’

‘Get up, Gussie,’ said Lucy. ‘If my father wishes to flog me like a common Jack Tar, so be it.’

She held her father’s gaze.

Uncle faltered, stopped and threw down the crop. ‘Hugh, Edward,’ he shouted, ‘we must begin work at once. I’ve no time to waste on an impudent girl. Come.’ And he sprang onto his borrowed horse.

Lucy bent down and picked up his whip. ‘You will need this, I think.’

Snatching it, Uncle brandished it at her, but in a half-hearted manner, then he circled his horse and the three of them rode away.

Gussie sighed. ‘Stop it, Lucy, or we’ll be in even worse straits. For the rest of today, I implore you to stay out of Papa’s way.’

It was five days before we children saw our new home. We set off on foot in procession along the dusty track from Albany and after an hour arrived at Strawberry Hill. On a plateau beside a river, halfway up the slope of a squat outcrop, sat a low four-room cottage with a steep roof of thatch.

‘It’s so
small
,’ whispered Gussie.

We peered through the windows at the cramped rooms; there was no elegant drawing room, no parlour. Attached to the back wall was a tiny scullery and beside it a rudimentary outdoor kitchen, open entirely to the elements. Pitched by the back door, a large tent served as a dining-room, incongruously housing Aunt’s walnut table and chairs, and her handsome sideboard. Since one room had to be used to store Uncle’s building materials, only three rooms
were left for our habitation. The biggest, at the back, was Aunt’s; one front room would hold us four girls, two to a bed, the other the younger boys. A small hut, at some distance from the cottage, was the women servants’ quarters and a larger cabin housed the men.

‘The house is simply a hovel,’ said Lucy. ‘How
could
Papa be so cruel to us? Our lovely house in Lyme …’

Gussie began to weep. ‘It’s quite the most dreadful place I ever saw.’

I, too, started to cry, though more for the loss of my own home than the condition of the one I was about to inhabit, but Lucy was too angry for tears. ‘I shall never, never forgive Papa. I don’t believe he cares for any of us.’

‘I keep believing I’m in a nightmare,’ sobbed Gussie, ‘and that when I wake up I’ll find myself back in dear Cobb House. What will poor Mama say when she sees our new home?’

While Aunt had been lodging in Albany-town, none of us had seen her. We were all feeling the lack of her calm presence.

‘Mama will be here soon,’ Hugh said, ‘and, as there’s nowhere else for us to live, we must make do with this. Come, Gussie and Fanny, dry your tears. For Mama’s sake, we must all put on brave faces.’

Uncle galloped up on his borrowed horse. ‘The servants are to line up in the usual way,’ he ordered. ‘Is there water in her ladyship’s room?’

I glanced at Aunt’s maid, Helen. Her grey hair was dishevelled, and her usually immaculate gown was crumpled and stained. Lucy had told me that Helen was a widow, rescued from poverty by Aunt, and so devoted to her mistress that she, like some of the other servants, had chosen to accompany us to Albany. She seemed drawn and exhausted but she gave a deep curtsey. ‘Yes, Sir Richard.’

‘You children will stand over there to greet your mama.’ He glared briefly at Lucy. ‘I trust you find your new home congenial enough, Liza-Lou?’

Hugh nudged her.

‘It will serve,’ said Lucy frostily.

‘Hugh and Edward are to stand here with me to hand down the chaise. Now, form a semi-circle to each side of the door, family to the
right, servants to the left. Stand tall, stand tall.’ A general inspecting his troops, Uncle rode along the assembled half-circle. ‘Robert, you are fidgeting. Be still.’

‘He’s not used to this heat, Papa.’

‘Thank you, Mary Ann, but I shall be the judge of his conduct, not you.’

Now we could hear the rattle of the cart wheels, the laboured breathing of the mule and the slow plodding of its hooves over the stones.

‘At-ten-tion!’ bellowed Uncle as the cart finally came into view.

It contained only a small chaise, the legs of which had been lashed to the shafts with ropes to secure it. Over it had been erected a parasol which swayed at a giddy angle with each movement of the cart but afforded at least a modicum of shade. Half-sitting, half-reclining on the chaise was Aunt, looking hot and extremely stout. We watched silently as, from her half-prone position, she surveyed her new home. Uncle rode forward and dismounted, Hugh and Edward fell in behind him, and we all waited to hear what she would say.

‘Why, Richard,’ she said, ‘how charming it is. See, Lady Stirling has planted roses by the door.’

Uncle seemed to expand. ‘It’s a little … smaller than we’re accustomed to,’ he said, his humble tone quite different from the one he used to us children or the servants.

‘I daresay when we’re properly settled it can be enlarged.’

‘That has been my intention from the outset.’

Aunt smiled at us lined up for her inspection. ‘My children already look so healthy. And here are all our loyal servants … why it’s almost like home. Now, Richard, I feel I am ready to descend from this cart.’

Each day the sun dazzled in the sky until it sank in a blazing disc of orange and scarlet. Long creeping shadows stole briefly about us, then a thick black fog descended, stranding us in a haunted darkness, prey to witches and prowling evil spirits. A cacophony of night noises began, and unknown shapes flitted and bounded through the gloom. On our third night at Strawberry Hill, we saw, moving noiselessly
across the area behind the cabins, an army of strange ghostly figures. They stood upright on huge haunched back legs, two small arms dangling before their chests.