The Hanging of Mary Ann. Angela Badger
A vast stretch of water with distant hills hinting at mountains beyond. Seagulls flocked overhead while brolgas, herons and spoonbills waded in the shallows and bobbing ducks busied themselves amongst the reeds. Flotillas of black swans glided across the surface while pelicans scythed their way down from the sky to land upon the water and search for fish.
In the palm of its hand the great lake held the fate of all who settled near the shores. The ancient owners had now begun to move away as the white men took over the land for themselves and their lumbering beasts. If any of the newcomers had thought to ask those who’d dwelt upon its shores for all those generations they might have learnt the real secret of Lake George and been more wary of its blandishments.
From their vantage point the two of them could see the lake glimmering in the distance. The Guise property stretched as far as the eye could see, and besides this farm there were acreages at Liverpool, Parramatta, Macquarie Fields and much else besides. But this was where the Guise family chose to make its home.
“Sit down, child, you’re making me quite giddy. Don’t stand up on that rock. If you fall you’ll do yourself real damage.”
“I can see for miles. Miles and miles… I can see as far as the river…and there’s a hut there. Oh Grand-père, there’s a girl there, she’s throwing sticks for a dog, and he’s barking and barking.”
“Sit down at once.”
“If we went past the dam and took the other path, down to the river, I could say hello.”
“No, you could not, young miss.”
“Why not? She’s bigger than me but she’d play with me, I know she would.”
At a loss for words, for a moment the old man did not answer. He stared at the distant ramshackle dwelling with a frown on his face.
“Why not?”
“Peasants! No better than tinkers! Enough! Don’t try to argue… most definitely not! Now, what were you asking? Ah…The Ball of the Yew Trees. Give me a moment while I put on my thinking cap.”
Narrowing his eyes he blinked in the sunlight. For a minute or so he sat in silence, then a faint smile touched his lips. “Yes, I remember, everyone wore green masks and the ladies had their hair dressed so cleverly it was as much as three feet high above their heads.”
“How could it?” Mary Ann scorned, “They’d never get into their carriages.”
“Oh yes, they could, Miss Cleversticks,” her grandfather laughed. “They knelt on the floor… think of that!”
“But three feet! How could it stand up that high?”
“Their coiffeuse would put a horsehair cushion on the top of their scalp and comb the lady’s hair, and possibly false hair, over it. To secure it they’d drive steel pins into the cushions. Then they’d be decorated with flowers or jewels or whatever the lady wanted. For the Ball of the Yew Trees they used sprigs of green yew.”
“What if they needed to scratch?”
“Ladies don’t scratch. Nevertheless, you’re quite right. Sometimes it must have been unbearable.
“They had long sticks with small ivory claws at the end. These reached right in so they could at least get some relief. Anyhow, stop interrupting, you wanted to know about the Ball of the Yew Trees.”
“Was it in the Hall of Mirrors?”
“Yes, the Galerie de Glace. Being such a long room the Queen commanded that an orchestra played at each end. Hundreds of candles reflected the dancers all along those looking glass walls. The paintings on the ceilings and golden scrolling round the windows turned that ballroom into a fairyland.”
“What was her dress like?”
“Let me think,” the old man paused and pursed his lips in concentration. “She wore emerald brocade with Brussels lace, the neckline was low and the sleeves slashed with velvet. Of course, everyone wore green masks. The most noble ladies and gentlemen of France had been invited. Always a de Guise would be there, close by. The Queen liked to have one of her kinsmen at her side.
“A great family indeed. De Guise is a name to be proud of, connected to every royal house in Europe, married into many a noble family in France. Such brave men, such great soldiers. Why, François de Guise became one of the most famous soldiers in Europe, François the Scarred was often called Le Balafré – twice so badly wounded he nearly died. Oh, a great family amongst all those other great families… Orléans, Bourbons, Longuevilles… the names are endless…” The old man’s eyes closed as he mused to himself. “Oh, a great family.”
“But the ball Grand-père, did you dance with the Queen?”
“The Queen had her favourites, remember I was very young, I had to assist with the guests, make sure every lady danced and any lady on her own had an escort for supper.” He paused. “Such suppers! There were boars’ heads with apples in their mouths, pheasants and quails and platters of meats arranged in all their colours so they looked more like tapestries than food. We were all so hungry by the time we went in that our mouths were watering. Because of course we had to wait for Her Majesty, and the Queen never wanted to stop dancing. Night after night she liked nothing better than the company of her friends, if it wasn’t dancing it was the opera, or playing cards, always the same friends.”
“Wish I had a friend,” grumbled Mary Ann, “I wish I had someone to play with.”
“Well, you’re not a queen, are you, or even a princess!” he smiled at her downcast face. “Her greatest friend was the Princess de Lamballes, a lovely woman with the face of an angel, kindest woman I’ve ever met. Seems like yesterday, my first day at court and me being so gauche and tongue-tied, remember I was no more than a lad. This charming lady came up to me and smiled, such eyes and hair as golden as the wheat. She held out her hand, and ladies would not usually do such a thing to a young unknown, of course, and she said, ‘Don’t concern yourself unduly, young sir, come and ask me anything you need to know.’ Ah! I think it’s nearly time for us to make for home, look at the shadows, they’re lengthening by the minute and….”
“You’ve not finished yet.”
“Oh yes, I have.”
“A de Guise never goes back on his word! You told me that. You’ve not finished yet.”
“I’ve told you about the Ball of the Yew Trees.”
Mary Ann pouted. “But it’s too soon to go back. Tell me about the Queen. Did she wear her crown when she got up in the morning? Did she wear it at breakfast? Did she say, ‘Off with his head’ if someone made her cross?”
Grand-père laughed and straightened up. “Never. She always acted according to etiquette. Remember she’d been trained to be a queen from the cradle. But like all little girls, she would have played around the palace just as you have your games out in the yard back at Bywong and now that’s enough! Time to go home. Your father will be wondering where on earth we’ve got to… and didn’t I feel the first drops of rain?”
“We could go down to that shepherd’s hut down there.”
“We could not, young miss. Even if he’s away with his flock it’s still his home. You can’t go pushing in like that.”
Flicking at the grasses with her crop Mary Ann followed him down from the hill to where their horses were tethered.
A contented smile touched her lips. She’d had her own way once again. Nothing was as exciting as her grandfather’s stories. The world that Grand-père conjured up became more real than the vast scorched plains and the distant shimmer of the lake. When life is lived in remote places there are none of the distractions of the crowd that buzzes and hums around a city dweller. When books are few and letters from the old country are months arriving, journals are pored over till the pages fall apart. There is a great emptiness that can only be filled with stories.
So