The talented mrs greenwa.., p.29
The Talented Mrs Greenway, page 29
‘I am sure once Mr Bigge is shown around, he will appreciate all the work you both have done.’
‘You should prepare Mr Greenway. He will no doubt be asked to provide financial statements and dragged into the melee.’
The mere thought sent Mary into a flat spin. In his present mood Francis would not tolerate any questions about his work. It appeared the official opening of the barracks had done more than establish Francis’s reputation. Full of glee and self-congratulations, his confidence bloomed as his name began to appear on lists of honoured guests at functions ranging from the laying of foundation stones to hobnobbing with the gentry, and increasing his private commissions.
Francis now believed he had some kind of divine mission to fulfill, and his self-importance had reached new heights. Mary couldn’t relay Elizabeth’s warning.
She did, however, accompany Francis to Government House, along with everyone who was anyone, to hear Judge Wylde read Bigge’s commission, administer the oaths of office and partake of wine and cake.
Her first sight of Mr Bigge did little to allay her fears. He was red-headed, freckled-faced, with a nose as large as his self-regard and, if the tittle-tattle was to be believed, a well-matched salary, some one thousand pounds larger than the governor’s. Mr Bigge’s arrival didn’t bode well. Pleading a headache, caused by her earlier sense of foreboding, she managed to convince Francis they should leave rather than interrupt the group of wealthy free settlers courting Bigge. There would be plenty of time for Francis to make the commissioner’s acquaintance.
The first inkling of trouble arrived with Bill early one evening. It had become his habit to call in as the sun was setting, bringing little gifts or delicacies from the market, and sit playing with the children and Aggie. On this particular evening he was preoccupied, shuffling his feet, scratching at his chin, peering out into the twilight.
‘What is it, Bill? Come and sit down, I’ll make some tea,’ Mary prattled on, her words sounding hollow and forced.
Once Bill had a mug of tea cradled in his large hands, he lifted his head and fixed Francis with a steely gaze. ‘I heard from the quarry workers that the newly arrived convicts are to be sent out of town, to work for some of the wealthier landowners to develop their estates.’
Francis’s knife stalled halfway to his mouth, and he dropped the apple he was peeling. ‘They are going to do what?’
‘Send the new convicts to work for the exclusives on their land grants.’
All the plates on the table jumped as Francis slammed his hands onto the table as if he meant to vault over it. ‘What a load of bunkum. The governor won’t hear of it. He’s promised me additional labour for the fort and in return I promised it would be finished in ten weeks.’ He flounced out of the room and a few moments later the front door slammed, making the shutters rattle.
Hopefully Elizabeth and the governor were entertaining or, better still, out of town.
Bill dropped his head into his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to …’
‘I know you didn’t. Francis has a lot to deal with at the moment. He’ll be back to his happier self before long.’ The hollow ring to her words rattled her ears as she fought back the sense of doom.
Hannah huffed and puffed and mumbled about wasted food as she scraped the plates and sent Aggie out into the scullery to deal with the washing up. George and William drifted outside with the bag of marbles Bill had acquired, Frankie on their heels, and Mary scooped up Charles and Caroline, one on each hip. An early night, maybe even a peaceful one, would be a fine thing.
Several hours later the slam of the door roused her. She pulled her old pelisse over her nightgown, checked on the children and followed the sound of thumping into the dining room. The slight fishy smell of the oil lamp greeted her as she pushed open the door to find Francis foraging through the piles of paper littering the table. They looked remarkably like his costings, not anything she was permitted to touch. ‘Did you see the governor?’
He didn’t lift his head, simply grunted.
‘Is everything all right?’
She might well have lit an explosive. His head snapped up, eyes blazing. ‘No! It is not. And to add insult to injury I am to provide the Bigge man with an estimate of expenses for the government stables—the palace for horses, he called it.’
‘You spoke with him?’
‘He was dining at Government House.’
Mary clamped her lips, trying to prevent the groan escaping her lips. She didn’t dare imagine the scene that must have ensued.
Despite the upheavals and constant demands that Mr Bigge’s arrival caused poor Francis, running and jumping from one project to the next, they laid the foundation stone for St Andrew’s church and not a month later for the new courthouse. The guard house on Dawes Point was already underway and even Mary’s Gothic folly, the turnpike lodge at the intersection of George and Pitt Streets where the road to Parramatta began, took shape. Francis’s private practice continued to flourish: a house at Charlotte Place for Sir John Jamison, a cottage in Parramatta and work for merchant Loane.
He was run off his feet, as though, in a most un-Francis-like way, he was trying to prove himself.
Nothing more happened as the months rolled by except Mary’s realisation that she was once again with child, and by the time she was back to her usual self Bigge’s assault took a more personal tone. He summoned Francis and informed him that instructions would no longer be forthcoming from the governor. He, Commissioner Bigge, would be relieving the governor of the task of overseeing Francis’s work and deciding what would be built and when. Mary couldn’t imagine Francis’s response but something had gone very wrong because when she sent a note to Elizabeth in the hope that they could smooth things over she received a very curt reply stating it wasn’t convenient.
Francis’s rage exploded one afternoon before he’d even made it through the door, his body angled with tension as if forcing his way through a crowd. ‘Now the bastard is slandering me, querying various works, their progress, and demanding full costings.’
He slumped down at the table, shuffling through papers, then turned to her with a sheaf of them in his hand. ‘The man has no understanding of building principles, nor any sympathy for design. He is an uneducated heathen.’
Possibly not the case. Bill had told Mary that the man had a string of qualifications, had attended Oxford, and been called to the bar before being sent to Trinidad as Chief Justice.
‘His list of complaints this week range from delays in construction of the Female Factory at Parramatta, to deciding the schoolhouse is to be converted into a courthouse and a new charity school built nearby.
‘To add insult to injury Macquarie has turned his back on me and is suggesting that I have overstepped his original instructions. I have every intention of ignoring his remarks. I will ensure the building program continues as planned. I hear Bigge is intending to visit Van Diemen’s Land early in the new year, and we shall make a big push to finish construction in his absence.’ His determined tone sent a chill down her spine.
‘It would be prudent to attempt to keep both the governor and Bigge on side.’ Her patience shrivelled and she didn’t care who heard. ‘It’s not wise to make enemies of people who wield so much power.’
‘To be honest I cannot be concerned with this petty bickering. All I care about is the purity of my art. It is the architecture that is important.’ The movement of his shoulder, almost a dismissal, made her nerves jangle.
Perhaps she should try once more to speak to Elizabeth. She’d received no word from her for several months, since her curt note saying they would not be able to meet, though to be fair both she and the governor had spent time in Parramatta and then embarked on a tour northward. Not that she would have been in a fit state to be seen out and about; since Francis had received his absolute pardon, the decorum required was beginning to play on her nerves. Thankfully Dr Redfern still attended to her despite the trouncing he’d received from Bigge.
It was all so terribly unfair. D’Arcy Wentworth had retired as chief surgeon, and the governor had offered Dr Redfern the position, but Bigge overruled the governor and claimed that the naval surgeon, James Bowman, had already been appointed. Without a doubt the governor had had enough of Bigge’s high-handed ways because he immediately appointed Dr Redfern magistrate—or so he thought. Bigge overruled that too, saying that an emancipist couldn’t hold a position of such responsibility. It flew in the face of every philosophy Elizabeth and the governor espoused. What hope had any convict of regaining their previous position in society if the governor’s appointments were to be overruled by a man who appeared, to all intents and purposes, to be firmly tucked into the pockets of free settlers and military who had all received large land grants?
More to the point, what would happen to Francis? He had earned his pardon; they were free to apply to return to England, but she knew him well enough to understand that he would not leave his buildings unfinished. She had to speak to Elizabeth, and explain how dire the situation had become. Elizabeth counted both Piper and Redfern, exclusive and emancipist, as her friends, and they frequently dined at her table. Whatever had happened to all the governor’s brave words? Was Francis destined to be treated as a convict forever?
In a fit of despondency Mary went to see Bill. He kept his ear to the ground and heard both sides of every story from his contacts in Sydney, Parramatta and Windsor. She couldn’t wait until he called in to see Aggie and the children; she had to speak to him alone, preferably when Francis was safely out of earshot too.
Her pelisse refused to button. There was no way to mask her condition—two more months to go if Dr Redfern was to be believed, and he’d been right every other time. Instead, she dug out a set of government-issue slops. She dirtied her face and blended in with the crowd surging down George Street to the free market. Or so she thought.
‘Oi! Mary Merino.’
Mary ducked into the shadows behind Bill’s dray to catch her breath.
‘What’re you doing hiding here?’
‘I need a word, and some advice maybe.’
‘Advice. Since when did an exclusive come to a currency lad for advice, huh?’
‘Currency lad? Are you trying to tell me you’re a banker now?’ Perspiration dripped from her forehead into her eyes.
‘You’re going to have to learn the local jargon. Currency lad, or lass, is what the exclusives call us, those born in the colony. Sterling if you weren’t. Just like the coins you paid me with the first time—sterling. Those holey dollars and dumps are currency, but not sterling. It’s a title we wear with pride.’ He made a sweeping bow, his nose as good as touching her boots. ‘At your service, Mary Merino.’
‘Stop your shenanigans.’ It was as hot as Hades in the cramped space behind the dray; her chemise had stuck to her back and a river of sweat pooled beneath her arms. ‘This is important.’
‘Here, come and sit down. You look all done in. You shouldn’t be out and about in your condition. Certainly not in this heat.’
Mary blew out a puff of air. Perhaps he was right, though the heat didn’t usually get to her until well into the new year. January, February. Not yet. It was the wretched humidity after the incessant rain. She squatted down on an upturned crate propped against the wheel of the dray and wiped her face with the corner of her apron.
‘Drink this.’
Mary took the open bottle wrapped in damp sacking, and sniffed at it.
‘It’s fine, good clean Hawkesbury water, not that Tank Stream rubbish.’
The water revived her, and her mind drifted back to the reason for her visit. ‘Do you know if Mrs Macquarie has returned to town?’
Bill shrugged. ‘I can find out. I know they’re back from their traipsing around up country, but she’s been in Parramatta mostly. Tittle-tattle says the new colonial secretary, one Major Goulburn, landed a few days ago. Macquarie’s resignation has finally been accepted. Then you’ve got that Kitchen bloke slandering Mr Greenway all over town. Telling anyone who’ll listen that he’s receiving an extra five per cent on all the government buildings from the public purse. Rumour has it he’s cosying up to Bigge and has got his eye on Mr Greenway’s government appointment.’
‘Oh, that’s just ridiculous. Francis hasn’t been paid any extra on anything. He’s still receiving the same salary and rations we’ve always had, apart from a dollop of coal now and again. Not exactly what’s needed in this heat.’
‘I reckon Mr Greenway should know what he’s up against.’
Mary slumped against the wheel of the dray and her temper snapped. ‘In that case why don’t you come and tell him yourself.’ She simply hadn’t got the energy. ‘Aggie would love to see you and I’ll write a note to Elizabeth if you can deliver it. They usually come back from Parramatta when the weather heats up.’ She struggled to stand upright, gave up and held out her hands.
Bill heaved her to her feet. ‘Are you all right to walk home? I can’t leave right now but I can get someone to go with you.’ He tipped his head towards the old fellow who minded his spot when he was out of town.
‘I’ll be perfectly fine and there’s a breeze coming off the water.’
Thirty-One
1821
Bill’s news went down like a foundering ship off the Sow and Pigs reef, and Mary thoroughly regretted her delay in warning Francis about Kitchen. Standing in the middle of the room, his face purple with rage and spluttering, he gave vent to his feelings in no uncertain terms. ‘I’ve been cheated out of cartloads of money owed to me. As architect I should have been paid a percentage on all the buildings once they were completed, not a paltry three shillings a day, and I’ve had to fork out my own travelling expenses for the last three years, sixty pounds at least, even though they were promised. I shall have words with Macquarie.’ He pulled on his coat and straightened his cravat.
‘Francis, there’s something else you should know.’
His head came up with a snap, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Well?’
Mary sucked in a breath. ‘Macquarie’s resignation has finally been accepted. The colonial secretary, Goulburn, arrived with the dispatches.’
‘In that case I better get a move on.’ He reefed off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. ‘I shall present Macquarie with a list of monies owed before it is too late. I’m out of pocket for some of the earlier buildings as well. I will not be cheated.’ He stomped off into the dining room, ranting. Mary trailed along after him, the cloying heat making every step a nightmare, and any hope of smoothing the troubled waters between the governor and Francis disappearing rapidly.
Francis snatched up a sheaf of papers and read the title. ‘An estimate of Work done by the Government under the Immediate superintendence of FH Greenway. Twenty-one buildings completed or in progress, fees due to Mr Greenway as a professional man …’
He spun around, eyes blazing. ‘It’s as well I have been working on these costings. Perhaps the odious Mr Bigge has done me a favour. I have earned a measly six hundred and forty-five pounds in the last six years in addition to the generous allocation of rations for my family.’ His voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Coal, an old horse and a tumbledown government barrack better suited as a piggery.’
Papers flew this way and that as Francis continued to rummage through the piles of plans, costings, elevations and bills. ‘I need to make some final adjustments, but I expect my account to come to well over ten thousand pounds. I shall present Bigge with my reckonings and if they refuse then I shall demand compensation. Macquarie always said that I could build my own house on this site and use the materials from the demolition.’
A wave of nausea swept Mary and the world tilted as a gripping pain razed her body. She clutched the back of the chair to restore her balance and blinked the world into focus. ‘Francis, I need Dr Redfern. The baby is coming.’
As before, within three days of the baby’s arrival a large hamper arrived containing an array of delicacies and a note from Elizabeth. Aggie sat on the bedroom floor exclaiming in wonder at the contents—large juicy oranges, a tin of chocolate, wine and cake. Sadly no mangoes, but grapes, purple and green, plump and sweet, better than any she or Aggie had ever tasted.
‘There’s a note here.’ Aggie wiped her hand down her skirt and held up a folded letter with Elizabeth’s now familiar handwriting across the front. ‘Pardon me, it’s got the governor’s seal on it.’
Mary took the small, folded square and slid her nail under the wax. Aggie’s knowledge of the colony was as well honed as her uncle’s. She tilted the page towards the candle to better read Elizabeth’s note.
My dearest Mary,
Dr Redfern informed me of the joyful arrival of your son, Henry John, on the 14th inst. It struck me as an auspicious day, and I wondered if I could take the liberty of suggesting he also bears the name Valentine. It comes from the Latin, valens, meaning, as I am sure you know, strong and healthy which is everything I would wish for him …
Mary lowered the letter and smiled. Francis had decided on Henry, after the English architect Henry Holland, she suspected. She had agreed wholeheartedly but it would be nice to have a reminder of Elizabeth once she left the colony.
‘What do you think of the name Valentine, Aggie?’
‘For the baby?’ She ran the back of her hand down his cheek and his eyes flashed open. ‘I think he likes it, but I thought Mr Greenway wanted Henry John.’
‘He does but it would make a lovely addition. It means strong and healthy.’ She smoothed his downy hair. ‘Henry John Valentine Greenway, what do you think?’
