‘Oh!’ Her mother took a deep breath. ‘Really? Going home. How wonderful! How wonderful,’ she repeated. ‘Is anyone else going with him? His mother?’
Phoebe glanced at her and then looked away. ‘Erm, I don’t think so. His mother can’t, can she? I mean, would she be allowed?’
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps not. Although the rules have been relaxed a little for former convicts. Particularly if they have been pardoned. But it is not something anyone discusses with the persons concerned,’ she added.
‘Not considered well-mannered!’ Phoebe remarked, a trifle cynically.
‘Indeed not,’ her mother rebuked. ‘I wouldn’t dream of mentioning the subject.’
Phoebe chose discretion. She knew that her mother visited Meg Hawkins at Creek Farm whenever her father was away on a voyage.
Captain Boyle, for some reason which she couldn’t fathom, disliked Meg and Joe Hawkins intensely and she was sure it wasn’t simply because they were ex-convicts, for the Hawkins were hard-working people who had made a success of their lives in Australia. Perhaps it’s because they are rich, she pondered. They are much much richer than we are, thousands of acres of land, thousands of sheep, a magnificent house and I’ve heard rumours of gold. Father wouldn’t like that. She knew with certainty that her father had an avaricious, jealous nature.
‘I wonder why he has decided to go?’ her mother was saying. ‘Mr Joe Hawkins has a sister there, I understand, perhaps he will visit her.’
‘Oh, but yes! Did you not know, Mama? Joe Hawkins’s sister was a convict too, only wrongly convicted, and a handsome young naval officer obtained her pardon and took her back to England. So romantic,’ she bantered. ‘And of course they then married!’
‘I suppose Louise Mortimer told you all of this too?’ Her mother’s tone was ironic.
‘I can’t remember who told me,’ Phoebe replied. ‘But the story has been around for years. I’m surprised you didn’t know, Mama. Papa must know. They came over on the
Flying Swan.
You remember, Papa said he’d sailed on it. He used to refer to it as a creaky old tub!’
Lucinda Boyle nodded her head vaguely, then as if pulling herself together, said briskly, ‘It
was before I came to Australia. I didn’t come out until Edwin was two.’
‘Wouldn’t you love to go back, Mama?’ Phoebe led her mother on gently. ‘Wouldn’t you like to see your own mother again before it’s too late?’
‘I would.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘But it isn’t possible. Your father would never agree. Besides, he rarely sails to England now.’
‘But Papa needn’t come—I mean, he wouldn’t have to go,’ she corrected herself hastily.
‘Whatever do you mean, Phoebe? I couldn’t possibly travel alone. It would be unthinkable!’
‘Not alone, Mama! I would come with you and we’d take a maid. Oh, and,’ she said in a flurry of excitement as if she had suddenly thought of the idea, ‘if we went on the same ship as Ralph—Mr Hawkins,’ she added mischievously, ‘he could escort us.’
‘But then, everyone would assume that you and he – !’ She stard at Phoebe. ‘You’re not – he hasn’t – ! Phoebe, is there something you haven’t told me? Your father would never agree to it!’
Phoebe lowered her eyes. ‘He does like me, I think,’ she said demurely. ‘He has a very large fortune, Mama, all of my friends are quite set upon him.’ Then she stopped her playfulness and continued in her normal manner. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘although he is very handsome, everyone agrees on that, he is rather cocksure and he does not always behave as he should, and he often drinks too much wine.’
‘Like most young men. But you like him,
do you?’ Her mother’s tone was anxious. ‘You must be careful not to have your heart broken, Phoebe, men are not always what they seem.’
‘And neither are women,’ Phoebe answered flatly. ‘But yes, I like him well enough.’ But not well enough to marry him, she mused. She turned again to the window. An Aborigine boy was tending the garden and when he saw her watching he scuttled out of view. A shadow settled on her. No, not enough to marry. I won’t be marrying anyone, she thought. Not unless I can have the one I really want.
‘What do you mean, you’d like to go to England?’ Captain Boyle stared at his wife. His face was flushed and his eyes bleary and she was sure he had been drinking before he came home. Before she could reply, he continued. ‘For God’s sake, Lucinda. I’ve just got back from China and you want me to be off again?’
‘I didn’t mean immediately,’ she explained diffidently. ‘I meant some time in the future. I’d like to see my mother again, she’s a good age now, she may not live very much longer.’
‘Humph. She’s good for a few years yet, I’ll be bound. She’ll live as long as she can just to spite us so we have to wait for her money!’
‘That’s unfair,’ Lucinda protested. ‘She was always generous when you were just a lieutenant.’
He didn’t reply immediately, but sipped on a brandy. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said eventually. ‘I
suppose the old girl might look on you more favourably if you did visit her.’
‘That wasn’t my intention,’ she murmured. ‘Blood ties are strong, and she has never seen Phoebe.’
‘Phoebe! You’d take Phoebe?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Well, I suppose that would be a good idea. Maybe some finesse might rub off on her if she was in England. She wouldn’t be consorting with convicts’ offspring if she was over there!’ He snorted. ‘Currency bastards!’
He saw the distaste on her face. ‘Well, it’s true. The whole country is overrun with them.’ He put down his glass. ‘I’m going up to change, then I’m off to my club.’
‘But you’ve only just come home – and what about supper?’
‘Supper?’ He turned from the door which he was about to open. ‘I’ll eat out. Don’t wait up for me.’
Though she was hurt that her husband should prefer the company of the gentlemen in his club to her own, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. The same relief that she felt whenever he announced that he was going on a voyage. She rang the bell. ‘Hetty,’ she said to the maid who answered her summons. ‘Tell Cook that only Miss Phoebe and I will be in for supper.’
Captain Boyle slept in his own room that night; at least, his wife thought that he had, and he didn’t appear for breakfast but came in for luncheon looking heavy-eyed and haggard. He
glowered at her from across the table and then glanced at Phoebe. ‘So what are you looking at, miss? Why are you looking so smug?’
‘I hadn’t realized that I was, Father,’ Phoebe answered coolly. ‘I certainly don’t have anything to be smug about.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Mama, did I tell you that some people I know are going to England?’
Her mother hesitated, then shook her head. ‘Really? How exciting!’
‘It will cost them a fortune.’ Phoebe sighed. ‘It must be nice to be able to afford the journey.’
Her father frowned. ‘Who’s going?’
‘Well, Ralph Hawkins for one,’ she said calmly. ‘I’m told he’s booked a berth already. He’ll be in England for their spring.’
Captain Boyle pushed his chair from the table, scraping the legs noisily on the polished floor. ‘Damned convicts,’ he muttered, rising from the table.
‘He’s not a convict, dear,’ his wife chided nervously. ‘His parents might have been but he is not.’
He shook a finger at her. ‘Don’t tell me what he is or isn’t! I know more about that family than you think. His mother is a liar and a whore and his father is a thief.’
‘Was, Father!’ Phoebe interceded as she saw her mother stiffen at the coarse language. ‘Not any more. They are the richest farmers this side of Sydney.’ She gave him a derisive smile as she taunted, ‘You don’t have to feel bad about it just
because they can afford to send their son to England.’
Captain Boyle flushed. ‘I don’t feel bad about it,’ he bellowed. ‘But they were sent here to be punished, not to make a fortune!’ He picked up a handbell and rang it furiously. ‘Fetch me my brandy,’ he demanded of the young mulatto maid who answered. ‘And be quick about it. And you, young woman,’ he said, pointing a finger at Phoebe. ‘Get out, I want to talk to your mother.’
Phoebe looked down at her half-eaten meal, but dared not protest. I’ve gone too far this time, she considered and felt remorse as she glanced at her mother’s ashen face. ‘I beg your pardon, Papa,’ she ventured. ‘I didn’t intend to be rude.’
He didn’t answer but flourished his hand that she should leave immediately. She closed the door quietly behind her and leaned against it, pressing her ear to it in an attempt to hear the conversation within.
The maid came back with the brandy decanter and looked at Phoebe in a frightened manner. ‘He’s not angry with you,’ Phoebe whispered, moving away from the door. ‘He’s got a touch of gout, that’s all.’
Captain Boyle poured himself a brandy whilst his wife stared at the mutton on the serving salver. The meat was growing cold, and fat was congealing around its edges. Her appetite was quite gone and she made a mental note to tell Cook to send the joint down to one of the Aboriginal reserves.
‘That young woman,’ her husband was saying. ‘She’s quite spoilt my surprise. Completely ruined it!’
Lucinda looked up. ‘Surprise? What surprise?’
Captain Boyle leaned over the table and pulled off a piece of pink meat from the joint. He put it in his mouth and chewed. ‘Why, what we were talking about last night.’
She waited. His humour seemed to be returning.
‘I said I’d think about this trip to England that you mentioned, to see your mother, you know.’ He eased a piece of meat from his teeth with his fingernail and she turned her eyes away. ‘Well, I did think about it. Last night at the club, and I decided that perhaps you should go.’
She looked up, hoping. Hoping that he wasn’t just playing a cruel joke on her.
‘And now that young minx has spoilt it.’
‘She wasn’t to know what you were planning, dear,’ she pleaded, and knew now that he was going to change his mind, if he had ever made it up in the first place.
‘No, I suppose not,’ he conceded. ‘She’s a thorn in my side, that young woman. I don’t know what will become of her. No man will have her, that’s for sure, in spite of her fine looks. I can’t think of one family with sons who would welcome her as a daughter.’
If she had a fortune they would, Lucinda mused. But she hasn’t. At least not until my own mother dies.
He stood in front of the unlit fireplace which was filled with fresh flowers. ‘So what I had decided was that you should go to England; and now, when I think again about it, whilst you are there you can try and marry Phoebe off to some rich gentry or other. Your mother knows the best families, she’ll know of somebody. They like eccentrics in England and Phoebe is certainly one of those.’
Lucinda felt herself grow hot. Her face was burning. Did he mean it? Would he change his mind?
‘I shan’t go of course. I’ve no wish to go back. Damned cold, wet country that it is, and I’ve plenty to do here. I can’t take the time off. No, you go, my dear.’ He smiled with an unaccustomed show of affection which made her uneasy. ‘Take as long as you want, I shall be all right on my own, just me and Edwin.’
‘You mean that we are to go alone? Without an escort?’ she stammered. ‘But how will we manage, with baggage and everything?’
‘I’ll book you on a ship where I know the captain; you’ll be all right. Why dammit, Luce! Women are travelling on their own all the time these days. Where’s your spirit of adventure?’
His eyes ran over her and she shivered. He wanted rid of her and she knew the reason why.
‘Just make sure, before you return, that you marry off your daughter and that your old mother leaves you plenty in her will.’
She swallowed and smiled. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said quietly. The journey would be hard for a woman such as her, she had hardly travelled anywhere since coming to Australia. But it would be worth any kind of hardship just to go home. Any hardship at all.
The next morning after her husband had gone out, she dressed in a sprigged muslin day dress and put on her large straw hat, for the day promised to be very hot. Already there was a heat haze shimmering over the land. She called for the trap to be brought round to the door.
‘You want me to come, Mrs Boyle?’ The Aborigine who looked after the two horses, one which her husband rode and the other which was used for the trap, tipped his hat.
‘No, thank you, Smith. I’m not going far.’ She shook the reins and set off towards the Sydney road, then when she was out of sight of the house she turned, cutting back up a side avenue which would take her up towards the rough climb which eventually led to Creek Farm.
She was hot and sticky by the time she arrived nearly an hour later. She was nervous as always, for the road wasn’t used much and it was not wise for a woman to ride alone. It wasn’t her first time, however, and she knew that Meg Hawkins drove down it regularly whenever she came into Sydney. But then Meg Hawkins was a different type of woman from her. Strong, wise and braver. Much braver.
Pulling in through the gate, she drew up
by the veranda and gave the reins to a dark-skinned boy who came to greet her. ‘Is your mistress at home?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ he grinned. ‘Missy Meg always at home. She cooking good dinner.’
The house had been extended considerably since Meg and Joe Hawkins had first come to live there. Though the front façade retained its simplicity with its open veranda which commanded a view over Sydney, two wings had been added to increase the size of the rooms and the rear extended to make a large kitchen, which Meg still supervised, and to include a dairy and a laundry room.
Lucinda Boyle climbed the steps and knocked on the open wooden door, then called. ‘Meg. Meg! Are you there?’
Meg came through from the kitchen into the cool hall. Her hands were floury and there was a smell of beef cooking. ‘Mrs Boyle!’ she greeted her. ‘This is nice. Come in.’ She noted her visitor’s flushed face and that her fair hair was wet beneath her hat. ‘It’s far too hot for you to be out! There’s nothing wrong, is there?’
‘Oh, no,’ Lucinda breathed, and gratefully took the chair which Meg offered. ‘Nothing is wrong. But I had to tell somebody my good news.’
‘And you chose to tell me?’ Meg said with pleasure in her voice.