The Trespass (14 page)

‘But surely New Zealand is the furthest colony of all?’

‘It is, Mamma. It is the furthest, but it is also the most likely place for someone like me to make my fortune. And bring you all there,’ he ended triumphantly, ‘to live with me.’

Asobel gave a scream of delight. But Lucretia, clutching her breast, began to weep loudly. Augusta went to find the laudanum and to Harriet’s dismay Uncle William, who still looked shocked and uneasy, suggested they leave the painful subject until the ladies had retired to the drawing room.

She and Augusta and Asobel sat drinking tea with Aunt Lucretia, who refused to discuss the matter further; she instead informed Harriet that her previous ‘morning activities’, as she called them with a significant glance at Asobel, were to cease – ‘Certainly we do not want your father to think we are taking advantage of your kindness,’ she said querulously but rather vaguely on account of the laudanum. ‘You must come calling with us tomorrow on old Lady Kingdom who noticed you, and asked after you, at the wedding.’ Asobel, understanding, burst into loud cries and was sent to bed, still weeping, still clutching her globe of the world.

But later that evening, when Aunt Lucretia had been persuaded that bed was the best place for her also, Cousin Edward brought the pile of books into the drawing room.

Even Cousin John was caught up with the excitement, while Augusta and Harriet, who had not yet heard anything of Edward’s plans, were anxiously waiting their turn. The books were laid out on the tea table, which had been cleared of its flowered cups and saucers. First Edward opened a book and showed everybody a map of New Zealand. He cleared his throat and read:

New Zealand consists mainly of two large islands called Northern and Southern. It is 95,000 square miles, approximately the same size as Great Britain and far surpassing it in soil and climate, reminding us rather of Italy and the Bay of Naples.

And then with a triumphant flourish he opened a large green book and carefully opened up a long, large, folded engraving.

‘This,’ he said, ‘is the town of Wellington!’

The first impression was of nothing more than sky and sea and space. But the artist had done his best. Fragile little sailing vessels could be seen sitting at anchor on the enclosed, calm harbour that was surrounded by hills. Tiny long canoes were pulled up at various places along the shore and small houses with some sort of thatched roof were dotted about. There were some small wooden jetties, they saw that a post office and two or three hotels were indicated, while beside a wooden flagstaff a group of oddly attired natives who did not, Harriet observed, look very savage, sat on the ground and listened to a white man telling them something. But everything was dwarfed by the sea and the immense sky that stretched out past the hills into infinity, and Harriet felt an odd, spacious loneliness emanating from the drawing.

‘This,’ Edward repeated in excitement, ‘is the town of Wellington where I am to have a small plot near
here,
and
here
– just off the map – is where I may choose my farming land.’

Augusta looked devastated. ‘That is a town?’ she said. ‘That – that
dust-hill
is where you are going?’

Nothing could dampen Edward’s enthusiasm. ‘I think it looks wonderful,’ he said, ‘with all the basic amenities that would be required, and as it is several years since that drawing was executed I expect it is bigger and more civilised now.’

Cousin John had quite forgotten to look supercilious. ‘Would the land be suitable for farming? It looks very hilly.’

‘I am coming to that,’ said Edward joyously. ‘Now won’t you all sit down and let me read something more to you? Listen, listen,’ and he began to read from another book, choosing the bits he thought most interesting for his listeners, skipping anything unsuitable:

It is impossible to conceive a state of the seasons more favourable to agriculture … bad harvest weather is unknown … there is much sunshine all through the winter and although weather charts mention gales they should rather be called fresh breezes … On the basis of all the rivers which flow through hilly country the soil bears the richest alluvial character and in some valleys the pure black or brown sandy loam lies in so thick a stratum as to appear inexhaustible … indigenous timber grows to a towering height in a perfection equalled by that of few other countries … so many wonderful native trees for housebuilding and furniture-making … many beautiful native flowers and birds … there are no snakes, frogs, or toads of any kind …

‘and Father, look, there is a lot of information about sheep, they have been brought across from New South Wales, they are developed from Spanish merinos and fleeces are
twice as heavy
in New Zealand because of the superiority of the food and the climate. And I am reliably informed that there are doctors and a hospital and even a cricket club! And Mamma will feel better when she knows that there is an English Church and a Scotch Presbyterian Church and others besides. And, Father.’ Edward’s eyes shone. ‘You heard that bit about native timbers for building – there are already sawmills in all the main settlements! That, surely, is civilisation!’ And Edward threw himself at last into an armchair, triumphant and exhausted.

Harriet was sitting forward, her eyes almost piercing him with her hunger for more information. ‘Edward, you are so lucky,’ she said. ‘It will be a tremendous adventure,’ and her cousin grinned back at her, nodding, and grateful too for some enthusiasm somewhere.

‘Why did you change from Canada to a place like New Zealand which has savage natives as Mamma said, and is so far away?’ Augusta spoke sulkily.

Her father, who was sitting beside the fire and pulling on his pipe in a distracted manner, answered gruffly. ‘He met up with those gallivanting rascals Chapman and Lyle when he got to London, and got carried away by their hair-brained schemes.’

‘Now, Father,’ said Edward pleasantly, ‘Chapman is not a rascal by any stretch of the imagination, nor does he gallivant, and you are only against him because he speaks out against the Water Boards in London and you feel that he is criticising Uncle Charles – I do beg your pardon, Harriet. And Lyle is his oldest friend. They had already been to the Canada Office and the Australia Office and the New Zealand Office and the Colonial Land and Emigration Commission and had got as much information as they could before I arrived. A lot of the really important facts they got from an emigrants’ outfitters in Cornhill; they heard news of the latest ships arriving and leaving, and the difficulties of some places over another. And all their enquiries and our subsequent enquiries showed us that New Zealand seemed the most suitable place for us to go and try our luck. As for the natives, we believe there was a little trouble about land purchases earlier but all is apparently settled now and as I say the church missionaries are no doubt a civilising influence. It is after all 1849 – the settlers have been there for well over twenty years, as you can understand by the kind of civilisation already apparent.’

‘Civilisation!’ said Augusta.

‘When shall you go?’ asked Harriet.

For the first time her cousin looked a little nervous and his eyes flickered to his father uneasily.

‘He says he will go almost at once,’ said William Cooper, ‘which is of course out of the question. I will not answer for your mother if she thinks you are to depart across the world before the festive season.’

‘At once?’ whispered Augusta in shock, tears springing to her eyes.

‘Do not treat your mother as foolish, Edward,’ said William. ‘She loves you very much and will be devastated to part from you which is only natural. She has – some ways with her that perhaps we smile at. But that maternal love which she has for you in large measure is a valuable thing and not something to be treated lightly.’

‘But, Father, I know Mamma loves me dearly, as I do her, and I do not wish to hurt her. But I have told you why it must be so soon. We agreed, you and I, that I would wait only until Alice was married. Chapman and Lyle and I have been lucky enough to secure a cabin which somebody else cancelled just as we were making enquiries, on the
Miranda,
which sets sail in three weeks. Listen to this, Father: “This well-known, remarkably fast sailing barge, 480 tons, carries an experienced surgeon, most excellent accommodation.” If we go then we will perhaps reach our destination before the summer there is quite over and so may be able to settle ourselves while the weather is still to our advantage, and then be able to prepare the land to plant the wheat that you know I have planned to take with us from our farm.’

‘You said the weather was wonderful all the time,’ said Augusta angrily. ‘Please, Father, do not let him go so soon, please!’

‘How long does the journey take?’ asked Harriet quickly.

‘It is an average of one hundred to one hundred and twenty days.’ There was a stunned silence. ‘It is perhaps fourteen or fifteen thousand miles.’

‘One hundred and twenty days on a ship? That is four months!’

‘But of course there will be plenty to do on board. I shall study, and learn up about all the things I need to know when I get there.’ But he turned again to his father. ‘Father, you must understand that I need to seize this chance? There was no cabin available for us on the succeeding ship, the
Amaryllis,
which goes three or four weeks later and we would have less chance of catching the weather. We were extremely fortunate to get the cabin on the
Miranda.
’ His father remained silent, his chin sunk into his chest.

‘Papa. What else should I do? There is nothing for me here, you and John know that, and our circumstances are not such that I could allow myself to be a burden on the family. And I could not bear to have to live in London, I could not wait to leave there. I find the atmosphere stifling, it may be considered the centre of the world but the fogs are coming down and the cholera is still seen everywhere.’

Harriet’s heart contracted.

‘The carts are still collecting bodies at night,’ Edward continued, ‘and I felt a kind of fear in people, that it has again crossed boundaries, that it is affecting all sorts of people, not just the poor. One poor fellow was taken ill in the Emigration Commission, it was terrible to see, one moment he was enquiring about travelling to Australia, the next minute he was collapsed and vomiting.’

Augusta made a faint sound of disgust but Edward seemed not to hear.

‘They called a doctor but I fear there was nothing to be done, one felt it by the terror of the people around.’

Harriet could hardly speak. ‘And Mary,’ she whispered, ‘is Mary well?’

Edward suddenly focused on his cousin. She was so pale he thought she might faint and she twisted her hands together in a way terrible to see.

‘Oh Harriet, I am so sorry,’ he said, ‘I did not mean to frighten you. Of course Mary is well, I spent much time with her and discussed my plans with her. She has sent you a letter, I should have given it to you the moment I arrived. I will fetch it immediately.’ And he left the drawing room at once.

Augusta moved swiftly to her father. ‘Papa, he cannot go. You must forbid him.’

But John answered first. ‘If we are to properly dominate these unruly places, people of our own calibre must go. Edward may just as well be there as here. And good may come of it.’

The Squire stared into the fire. ‘If I was young I would go myself,’ he said sadly.

*   *   *

When Harriet said goodnight to her uncle and her cousins she took with her to her room not only Mary’s treasured letter, but, with his permission, one of Edward’s volumes. She lit a candle and sat at the small desk holding Mary’s letter in her hand but not opening it, for fear of what she might find there. She stared at some pages of Edward’s book; then she picked up the pen and dipped it into the inkwell.

Dear Father,

I have been told of your wish that I do not teach Asobel any more. Tomorrow we shall call on Lady Kingdom whom I believe you spoke to at the wedding.

The weather has turned now, and the summer has gone.

Your obedient daughter

Harriet Cooper

And then, at last, she opened Mary’s letter.

My dearest Harriet,

I think of you there, safe at Rusholme, and I am glad. The country air suits you, darling, you looked more beautiful than ever, but I couldn’t help wishing with part of myself that you would soon be restored to me. But that of course is selfish and we know it is best that you are there.

We have seen a lot of Edward in London and I am most interested in all his plans as I know you will be too. Dinner at Bryanston Square has been a much gayer occasion with him here. Our brothers gather their frockcoats about their persons and say Edward is mad but I believe he is right to go, and brave. Father says the British government has not been much interested in emigration and the wrong class of person has hitherto travelled and given the wrong impression of the British Empire.

I have been able to maintain some of my visits to the poorer parts of the city and I feel, truly, that I am going to another world, not the world of the great British Empire with our proud dominion over the oceans. Sometimes I sit in the drawing room at Bryanston Square and I have to pinch myself to remind myself where I was only a few hours before. I think if people knew how it was, only a few miles away, they would choke on their beef. And I think again; it is only money that divides us. Oh Harriet, surely people should care more than they do! It is said that the number of deaths is, thank God, at last declining but the newspapers tell us that the death toll has reached almost 50,000. Fifty thousand people dying: can you conceive of it? But of course a large proportion of them are poor and miserable, and so people like us are able to close our minds to the figures. Sometimes I think the Queen or Prince Albert would have to be taken before people would be shocked enough to take action.

And yet the results of the cholera are there in front of our eyes. You know how Father prefers to go to St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden on Sundays. Last Sunday we had to come home. The stench, oh Harriet, they had – someone had – left the crypt open and you could see (and smell) the pile – it was a great jumbled pile, spilling over – of shrouds and ill-made coffins. Everybody was clucking and holding their noses and complaining and leaving, no thought for the dead at all in God’s house. Surely, surely it is hypocritical to speak of our Lord in one breath and not notice what is happening to people just a few streets away in the same city. How can Father not even think about this? I am well aware of the rumblings about the Water Boards in some quarters. If I stopped to think how our family has prospered I would go mad; instead I go to Seven Dials with my soap and my chloride of lime. I do not wish to be thought of as a kind, rich lady and I am well aware of the almost impossibility of having any true relationship with any of these people but I do think what we do counts for something, however small.