Bridie's Fire (16 page)

Gilbert regularly came to stay at his sister's cottage by the sea. Whenever he fought too much with his brothers, he was sent to Beaumer. Bridie knew he baited his brothers even more often than before, just for the chance to come and stay. As long as his other brothers and sisters weren't with him, Gilbert could spend most of his stay in the kitchen with Bridie. She would cook up fudge and marzipan and treacle pudding with hot custard when he was staying. And then there was always the chance to swap stories. If Martin Degraves was in town on business, Miss Charity would join them in the kitchen, eating fudge at the kitchen table and licking her fingers like a child herself.

One bright November morning, Gilbert came into the kitchen with a strange and beautiful fish on the end of his line. He laid it on the table, grinning with pride.

‘It's a fine creature you've hooked there,' said Bridie. ‘As beautiful as Fionn MacCumhaill's salmon.'

Gilbert drew up a stool and watched the shimmering scales fly off the fish as she cleaned and filleted it.

‘Does that mean I get a story in exchange for my fish?' he asked hopefully.

‘Perhaps,' said Bridie teasingly. ‘I don't know that a boy who puts penny bungers under his brothers' beds is deserving of stories.'

‘That was only a joke! Did Charity tell you that's why I'm here again? I don't care. I like coming here. It's not a punishment! Though perhaps you've run out of good stories and I'll have to start behaving myself,' said Gilbert in reply.

‘Oh, so you think insulting me will get the story out? There are more ways of killing a dog than by choking him with butter, Gilbert De Quincey. Can't you see I've got work to do?'

Gilbert put his hands together in a mock gesture of pleading and Bridie laughed.

‘Quickly then, I'll tell you how Fionn mac Cumhaill was the fairest boy in Ireland. And when he was not much older than yourself, the boy met a soothsayer called Fionn the Seer living beside a deep pool. Now this old Fionn, he'd heard a prophecy that someone named Fionn would catch one of the salmons of knowledge, magic fish that in their flesh had all the wisdom of the world.'

‘So did this Fionn mac Cumhaill catch one of these fish like me?'

‘Oh no. Not young Fionn, but the old soothsayer did. He caught the fish and gave it to young Fionn to prepare. But here's the rub. See, Fionn's other name was Deimne, and the old Fionn only knew him by that name. So young Fionn was cooking the fish for his master, and a big blister came up on the skin of the salmon and the boy went to push it down with his finger and the blister broke and the hot sweet juice of the salmon scalded the boy's finger, and straight to his mouth it went. And he sucked it hard to soothe the burnt flesh. And then he took the fish to his master but the seer knew something was amiss and he said to the boy, “You've not eaten any piece of it, have you, boy?” and Fionn answered truthfully, and told how he'd sucked the sweet juice from his finger. So then the old seer knew that fate had tricked him and he asked the boy if he had another name. Hearing it, the old man shrugged. “Eat the salmon yourself,” he said. “Seven years I've waited for this fish, but I'm not the one to fulfil the prophecy for all my waiting.” So Fionn ate the salmon of knowledge and afterwards he had only to put his thumb under his tooth and he had the gift of prophecy and magic counsel in all things.'

By the time the story was told, Bridie had cleaned and gutted the fish and put it in a pan to poach. She cut two thick slices of bread, one for her and one for Gilbert, and then set the fresh cooked fish between them.

‘That Fionn mac Cumhaill is like you, not me,' said Gilbert, sounding a little cheated as he crammed in mouthfuls of bread and fish.

‘And what makes you think that, then?' asked Bridie.

‘Well, you cooked the fish, like Fionn! And sometimes I feel afraid that Fate might trick me, like that old man. I wish we could know what's going to happen to us next, when we grow up.'

‘Maybe it's better not to know,' said Bridie darkly.

‘You can say that, because you're so brave.'

‘Me? Brave?'

‘Anyone who even thinks of trying to best Dora in a fight has to be either brave or completely barmy!'

Bridie laughed, but Gilbert put his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands. ‘It's true, Bridie. You're like that young Fionn, not me. I think you must be the one with the gift of magic counsel. So tell me another story, but one about your Cú, I like the stories about him best.'

And so they cleared the table together, and Bridie told him another story of Cú Culainn that sated him more than fish and bread.

The next morning, Charity asked Bridie to pack a picnic lunch, for the whole household was going into town to celebrate the opening of the new bridge across the Yarra. News had arrived that Port Phillip was to become a colony in its own right, with a full government in Melbourne, rather than being ruled from Sydney. Bridie couldn't see that it made a lot of difference, but Gilbert was as excited as Charity. He paced restlessly up and down the driveway, waiting for Martin Degraves to return in the carriage so they could all go into town. At midday, they heard the distant roar of cannons being fired and Gilbert came storming back into the house.

‘Where is he, Charity? We'll miss everything!'

Charity sat in the front parlour by the window, wearing her blue silk polonaise and bonnet, her hands folded in her lap. She'd been sitting there for over an hour, waiting patiently for Martin.

‘I'm sure that whatever has happened, Martin will explain it when he arrives. Perhaps he has had important business. You know, Gilbert, he's hopeful of a position in the new government. We must be patient.'

At two o'clock, Bridie laid out the picnic lunch on a rug on the front lawn. Gilbert slumped down angrily on the grass and picked at the little pies she had prepared.

‘Superintendent La Trobe will have cut the ribbon hours ago,' he said sulkily. ‘And then he was going to give out buns, two thousand of them, to all the children. We've missed the soldiers parading from the barracks. We've missed everything! I should have walked into town. Someone would have given me a ride on their cart or carriage. Hundreds of people drove and walked past the gate this morning. Everyone in the whole of Port Phillip is at the bridge except us!'

‘Never mind, Gil, we'll be there in time for the fireworks,' said Charity quietly.

But Martin didn't come home. When the shadows lay long across the garden, Charity took off her bonnet and hung it on the hallstand before going upstairs to her bedroom. When Bridie brought her a pot of tea in the early evening, she noticed that the pages of the book on Charity's lap were unturned and her gaze was fixed on the road.

Gilbert thumped around downstairs until Bridie persuaded him to come to the beach with her in the hope they'd see some of the fireworks displays at a distance. The sand was still warm, and small waves lapped against the shore as they sat and watched bonfires being lit all along the bay.

‘I'm sorry for you, Bert,' said Bridie.

‘Oh, I suppose it's all right. Henry and Thomas didn't see it either.'

‘And why's that?'

‘They've been sent away to school. Home, to England. They both begged Father to let them stay until after Christmas, but he said that they should have gone home when they were seven and that they'd never be gentlemen if they didn't get a proper British education.'

‘Does that mean they'll send you too?' asked Bridie, alarmed.

Gilbert laughed. ‘Mama has promised me I won't have to go. She says she has to keep one of her boys close by. And besides, Martin Degraves had a proper British education and I can't see it made him much of a gentleman.'

‘But he must be a good man in his heart, for your sister loves him.'

‘Oh, I suppose there's some good in him, but he's a blaggard for not keeping his promise.'

Bridie looked out over the dark water to the bright lights of the bonfires and found she was thinking of Caitlin, wondering if her husband left her alone at night, if he treated her well, if she had found happiness in her new home.

‘It's a hard thing to forgive a broken promise,' she said.

The summer was long and hot. Bridie had hoped that Gilbert would spend a lot of time at Beaumer, but as the months wore on, fewer visitors came to stay. The little doll's house by the sea grew stifling in the heat. For reasons she couldn't fathom, Bridie had a sense of impending disaster. It was almost as Gilbert had said, that she had been given the gift of prophecy. She pushed the idea away from her like a poisoned cup.

On a Thursday morning in February of 1851, Bridie woke to the smell of smoke. For a moment, as she struggled to consciousness, she imagined Beaumer was on fire, but when she checked the kitchen, all was still and as she'd left it the night before. She ran to the baize door and put her head around into the main part of the house but it smelt sweetly there. The smoke was coming from somewhere else. She dressed quickly and went out into the yard. Smoke lay like a mist across the garden. She hurried down the gravel drive to the gates and slipped across the road to the beach. Even though it was early morning, the air was heavy with heat and the sun itself was a dark red ball in a mahogany-coloured sky. A thick fog of smoke lay across the flat waters of the bay. The strangeness of the Antipodes struck her anew. It was as if here, at the bottom of the world, everyone was closer to the gates of Hell. The thought made her shudder and turn to run back up to the house.

She quickly prepared breakfast for Miss Charity, with the strange sense of foreboding hanging over her like a pall. Mr Degraves had been away for days, so the breakfast preparations were simple, but the heat made everything difficult. The water from the pump came out too scorching hot to drink, the butter in the butter dish turned to oil within moments of setting it on the table, and the bread dried to a rusk as soon as it was cut. But the worst of it was Miss Charity's misery. When Bridie came to clear away the tray in the breakfast room, Miss Charity looked up with eyes that were red from crying. Later in the morning, Bridie saw her sitting in the bay window of the front drawing room pretending to read, but tears were coursing down her cheeks again.

All through the day, little flecks of soot and cinder drifted down from the smoky sky and settled on everything. Bridie hung a line in the wash-house so the sheets could dry out of harm's way, but even so they were flecked with black, and every surface in the kitchen was covered with a film of ash.

That night, Bridie asked Miss Charity if she could go down to the foreshore and watch the bushfires that were raging on the far side of the bay.

‘Why don't you come and see too, ma'am? You've not been out of the house all the long day.'

They followed the path through the twisted ti-trees down to the beach. People from all across St Kilda were standing on the shore, watching in awe as the whole of the coast opposite glowed red. Huge flocks of birds, black against the red-brown sky, wheeled overhead, fleeing from the firestorms.

‘It's like the end of the world,' said Miss Charity. ‘Everything in ashes.'

‘At home, we used to build the new fire on the ashes of the old,' said Bridie. ‘My mam used to talk about the fire as a holy thing, but here it's not like that. I suppose that's why they call it the New World. Everything's just beginning.'

‘Do you think so?' asked Miss Charity wearily. ‘Sometimes, Bridie, I feel this world is so ancient that we don't fit in it at all. I hardly remember England, but I feel I carry it in my heart in a way I'll never carry this place. That's what it's like for Martin. It's so hard for him. He doesn't belong here, he's too fine for this country.'

‘Do you and Mr Degraves want to go back to England?' asked Bridie, dreading the reply.

‘No, Bridie,' said Miss Charity, resting a hand on Bridie's shoulder. ‘Don't you concern yourself with that. We'll probably all live happily at Beaumer for many years to come, and if Mr Degraves and I have to move to a smaller house, I'm sure there'll be a place for you there too. We've been very happy with your work.'

Bridie looked at her pale, elegant profile in the dusky light and felt a rush of love for her. She was so like Gilbert, even in the way she could guess Bridie's thoughts.

That night, Bridie lay awake for a long while, listening to the hot north wind turn with a roar and the cool southerly bring rain to the burning landscape. She knew Miss Charity was lying awake listening for the sound of Mr Degraves' horse on the gravel drive. Bridie found she listened for him too, praying that he would come home and make Miss Charity happy.

23

Ember prayer

Bridie prepared the recipe Miss Charity had given her with care. She took the stopper off a bottle of rosewater and tipped some of it into the small pot on the stove, adding witch-hazel and three tablespoons of honey and stirring. When the potion was ready, she transferred it to a china bowl and then carried it on a tray up to the main bedroom.

Miss Charity was sitting at her dresser. Her three younger sisters lay stretched out on the big lacy bed. Alice, the youngest, was bouncing up and down on the bed with her long hair swinging, but Constance and Emily seemed subdued. Normally there was lots of excited chatter and laughter when they got together like this. Bridie set the tray down on the dresser and waited for instruction.

Miss Charity looked pale, as if she'd already masked her face with creamy lotion. Her hands moved about the dresser in a distracted fashion, picking things up and setting them down again. Bridie crushed dried rose petals with a mortar and pestle while the sisters took turns experimenting with the potion she had brought them. Usually Miss Charity loved this sort of play; she would lead the game with her sisters, braiding their hair, letting them borrow her jewellery. But today her jewellery box lay closed and her mouth was down-turned.