A World Apart (26 page)

‘And, dear madam, might I enquire the quantity of land you may wish to purchase?' The little man sitting at his battered desk looked up at the couple.

‘One thousand acres. I understand you require details of my account at the Bank of New South Wales.' She pushed the paper towards him, adhering to the script suggested by her friendly neighbour.

‘On the South Coast, you say?' the clerk asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Permission granted.' He murmured without looking up, then scribbled a signature on the paper Eliza had completed. ‘You should now proceed to the South Coast as soon as practicable, and select your land. You may wish to avail yourself of the surveyor retained by Mr Alexander Berry. Mr Berry was among the first to take up South Coast land. He has substantial resources there — fifty thousand acres of prime land. Wharves, jetties, farms for raising dairy and beef cattle, a factory for making butter and cheese, vineyards, vegetable gardens, plantations…'

‘Thank you. I shall take good heed of your advice, sir.' Eliza nodded to the clerk and looked towards the door. This time, when Mr Cathcart extended his arm, Eliza took it as they stepped from the dingy office out into the brightness of the morning.

‘Dear Mrs Bentleigh!' Mr Cathcart seemed even more excited than Eliza. ‘So you must make the voyage to the South Coast! Perhaps we will become neighbours there too?'

‘Thank you, Mr Cathcart.' She waited for his inevitable proposition.

‘Er, Mrs Bentleigh. Forgive my extremely impertinent question. But…would you like me to take you to the South Coast? Show you the ropes, so to speak? So that you can make a somewhat more informed decision regarding your land?'

He looked towards her. Eliza risked a sideways glance to study his expression. Was he the eager swain seeking approval from the maiden who had captured his heart? Or was he merely a kindly neighbour extending a helping hand to a perplexed newcomer? She decided that his look was perhaps halfway between the two. Thus far, his manners had been exemplary — nary a hint of excessive familiarity, but the ever-present friendly helpfulness of neighbour for neighbour. As she hesitated, he spoke again.

‘In all seriousness, I think you should be at least a little acquainted with the region before you select your thousand acres. Who knows, but you may decide to take up land next to my pathetic hundred acres. My holding may be small, but it includes a stretch of fertile river flats, close to Mr Berry's thriving farms.' At Eliza's smiling invitation, he continued.

‘As I walked the boundary of my land, I fell to digging out handfuls of soil and running it through my fingers.' He mimed the process. ‘It was black, rich, crumbling; perfect for vegetables of every description. I heard that Mr Berry has experimented with growing wheat, sugar cane, tropical fruits, tobacco — whatever will give him a good return. You heard the clerk's enthusiasm, Mrs Bentleigh, did you not?'

‘Indeed I did. The prospect of such wealth…intimidates me a little, I must confess.' They walked in silence for a while, a silence Eliza needed. Her brain had lurched into a whirlwind. She saw a mansion nestled against a gentle green hill — a mansion somewhat larger than the Great House. She saw a network of fields and plantations stretching to the southern horizon, the escarpment looming to the west. And all this perhaps a day's walk from the beach where she and Susannah had survived in their cave for months, not more than a year before.

For once, the hand of Fate had generously opened itself to Eliza Downing of Marley, Dorset. And one day, one day… No. She must stop dreaming of Harry. Her mind ignored this reprimand. She pictured Harry arriving at her Great House, eyes wide at its splendour. She, in coach and four, driving Harry for miles round her estate, marvelling at the fields, the forests,
the villages — home to the peasant folk who toiled to create yet more wealth for the humble Dorset maid.

‘Thank you, Mr Cathcart.' Eliza's thoughts now slid into place like a knife slips into its sheath. ‘I should be delighted to take your advice. And I should be equally delighted to accompany you next time you visit your land.'

What had she committed herself to? First she must take a sea voyage with a presentable young man who, her womanly instincts told her, may already fancy her, then spend time with him in a wilderness far from civilised Sydney Town.

‘Why, I should thank
you
, Mrs Bentleigh.' There was no doubting his excitement. His smile hinted that his heart was at least a little smitten. ‘I, er, must go tomorrow. Matters of business. What say you to walking home past the docks? Like as not, the
Lady Jane
is moored there now, loading cargo for its return to Coolangatta.' Responding to Eliza's raised eyebrows, he continued. ‘You will recall, Mrs Bentleigh, will you not, that I am lately returned from there? Our meeting of yesterday. As I marched home with that heavy sack on my back.'

‘Indeed, but — '

‘The early bird catches the worm, Mrs Bentleigh. My South Coast neighbours tell me of a likely rush to buy land there. As I said, all the land within a day's ride of Sydney Town is sold. Or given in grants to their cronies by governors, present and past. Now the word is out. The South Coast land is prime land. Some call it The Garden of New South Wales. Rich black soil, abundant rains, wide rivers, verdant forests. Have you heard of the red cedar?'

‘No. Pray tell me.'

‘Red gold, they call it. Tall stately trees, the timber a rich red, yet easy to saw, to shape into beautiful furniture, or to line the interiors of elegant buildings. Why, there are ports springing up all along Australia's east coast. It seems that wealthy Englishmen have taken a liking to red gold. So men of enterprise are now mining it, and lining their pockets at the same time.' He paused, took in Eliza's fascinated silence. ‘And I should imagine that the land available for your selection carries a goodly amount of the said red gold. It is, after all, near the Shoalhaven River, where red cedars have been harvested since 1810.'

A two-masted barque came into view as they neared the docks. ‘Ah, the
Lady Jane
,' Mr Cathcart beamed. ‘Let's go aboard.' Eliza needed no encouragement. She brushed past his outstretched hand as he waited at the foot of the gangplank, swiftly exercising her ‘ladies first' prerogative.

‘A lady passenger? Alone?' The captain's eyes rolled.

‘Mrs Bentleigh is but newly widowed.' As always, Mr Cathcart came to her aid. ‘She has funds. Funds she wishes to invest wisely, Captain. And she is of the opinion that some South Coast land may suit.'

The captain nodded and smiled, presumably seeing Eliza as a source of future income as she regularly took passage to the South Coast, and would likely later ship goods to and from her land.

‘The owner's cabin, Mrs Bentleigh?' he offered. ‘It's all we have of a private nature. I'll lop a little off the price for you. Seeing as how you're a lady, a recently bereaved lady and all. We sail at dawn tomorrow. Must catch the ebb tide.'

Three mornings later, the
Lady Jane's
passengers disembarked at a small jetty near the mouth of the Shoalhaven River. Mr Cathcart had somehow arranged for Mr Septimus Bolton, a surveyor, to take them up river in his pinnace. As they boarded the little boat, he lowered the sail and took up the oars.

‘It may be a mite shallow. Ebb tide is flowing as we travel. And it be only an hour or so to your land, Mr Cathcart.'

Eliza watched agog as the boat made its way upstream against the tide. Here and there, pillars of smoke rose across the land on either bank. At their base she discerned men working — sawing wood, throwing branches on the fires.

‘Government men,' Mr Bolton offered. ‘Clearing good land for wheat, I shouldn't wonder. That be Mr Berry's land. And you knows about Mr Berry.' Eliza nodded. Mr Cathcart had already told her of the ambitious ship's surgeon who, it was said, would stop at nothing to advance his dream to be the most prosperous landholder in the colony.

‘Government men?' Eliza asked, puzzled.

‘Convicts. Only we must not use that word. Disrespectful. You should know, Mrs Bentleigh, that buyers of land must take a quota of government men to work on their land. One man for every hundred acres, though oftentimes landowners want more. The authorities in Sydney Town wants to be rid of them and the expense of their food and lodgings. And the landowners wants to employ them on the land — they are gold in the landowner's purse.'

‘If I buy land, I must take convicts, er, government men, to work it?'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

‘And what of government women?'

‘Yes, indeed. Though many government women work in Sydney Town as maids-of-all-work. You must know, ma'am, that the town is become awash with rich men who build big houses to attract suitable brides. It has become a marketplace for comely young women to shop for a suitable husband. The options of those women may be…comprehensive.'

Eliza looked away. It was all too obvious that she was one such woman. And now, in perhaps weeks, she would become mistress to a gaggle of convict men and women.

‘Excuse me, ma'am.' The hitherto silent Mr Cathcart turned to her. ‘If I may say so, you look nervous.'

‘Indeed I am. The prospect of all these comings and goings. Employing government men and women — how will one…?'

‘But surely back in England you had servants in your house? Learned to manage them, reward them, punish them?'

‘Er, I had a lady's maid come housekeeper.' Eliza must think on her feet, create a world with which she was utterly unfamiliar. ‘A Miss Fogerty. My parents took care of…household matters.'

‘Ah. I forgot. You mentioned that you sailed to the colony as companion to a lady of property. By way of an adventure, you said. Then, after being rescued from your untimely shipwreck, you met your husband-to-be. Poor fellow, to have died so soon after he wed a beautiful young bride.' Eliza nodded silently, somewhat alarmed at the admiration which fired Cathcart's gaze. At least it confirmed that he had believed the tales she spun as they spent time together round Sydney Town over past days. ‘You had not yet, at your tender age, become a lady with a household of servants to run.'

‘No.'

‘Well, then. If I may be so bold?'

‘Please. Continue.'

‘In a few weeks, the house on my land shall be built and ready for occupation. I intend to retain a few government men — their quarters are already built. And I should like to suggest
that I stand in your stead here in the Shoalhaven. Advise on the building of your house, select your servants, keep a neighbourly eye on them. Until you learn the ropes, as it were.'

‘Oh, Mr Cathcart! You wonderful, wonderful man!' Shocked at her passionate outburst, she leaned away from him as they sat close in the small boat. But not far enough. He reached for her hand, took it, would have kissed it if she had not whisked it away.

By the end of the day, Eliza had agreed to buy the parcel of land suggested by the indefatigable Mr Cathcart. All day, he had guided her steps across river flat, through forest, and up craggy escarpment. Unsurprisingly, her land adjoined his modest block. Then she signed a paper handed to her by Mr Berry's surveyor, paid him the handful of guineas he requested, and climbed aboard the
Lady Jane
, followed by her ever-attentive neighbour.

The following months passed in a flurry of planning, shopping, negotiating, as Eliza visited her Shoalhaven property. Always, Mr Cathcart greeted her cheerily. Always, he bid her stay in his modest house for the day or two the
Lady Jane
unloaded and loaded cargo. Always, she slept in the neat attic room he had said was expressly built for her. Her days were oftentimes spent inspecting the progress made on her own somewhat more grand mansion.

Always, at the end of the day, he invited her to dine with him. She watched as a humble maid silently served cuts of roast wallaby, or perhaps lamb, along with generous selections of vegetables and rich gravy. Sometimes Eliza accepted his offer of wine, daring only to sample her glass with a few sips. She knew — all women knew — that many a man employed wine simply to take advantage of naïve women. Not that Mr Cathcart had ever behaved as other than the perfect gentleman.

‘I must tell you, Mrs Bentleigh, that my gardens grow apace,' he mentioned over dinner one evening. ‘Why, a fortnight gone, I shipped a dozen sacks of corn to Sydney Town on the
Lady Jane
, and they sold for a handsome price.' He sipped his wine. Silently, the maid topped up his glass and withdrew. ‘And I have planted a dozen acres in wheat. I paid dearly for the seed, but, come harvest, I expect a return perhaps a hundred times what I paid. Sydney Town grows apace. Its people need bread. And my wise neighbour Alexander Berry, he has an instinct for what he must grow to make the greatest profit. Already he has quit planting sugar cane, put the pasture to raising more dairy cattle.'

Often, as the evening drew on and Eliza needed to head to her bed, she watched the gentle, kindly man as she bid him goodnight. And yes, oftentimes, she observed the flicker of longing in his eyes, the hint of sadness in his smile, as she departed. Would he propose one pleasant evening after they had shared yet another sumptuous dinner?

The building of her mansion proceeded, not without its fits and starts. When the foundations were in place, ready for the walls to be erected, a flood surged down the river, eroding portions of the footings. The builder advised the construction of a stout stone wall to protect against future floods, apologising for the additional cost. She nodded, and he proceeded. The funds required hardly dented the fat balance in her bank account.

The flood subsided, and she marvelled as her mansion grew. The flock of assigned government men and women planted and weeded, milked and mowed under the wise direction of Elijah Smithers, the overseer she had hired soon after she bought the land. Oftentimes she felt the urge to follow her government women to the cow bales and help them milk her dairy herd. She resisted. Eliza Downing, peasant girl from Marley, had magically transformed.