The Hanging of Mary Ann. Angela Badger
again. “She’s right,’ he nodded towards the mare, “just a pebble in her shoe, that was all… have you made your mind up, sir?”
“Perhaps one night in an inn would be acceptable. This weather’s not going on for ever. It’ll probably only last one night.”
An inn! Mary Ann had never set foot in such a place. A hint of wild goings-on, drinking and carousing hung about the mere mention of those establishments. There was an inn at Collegdar but even her brother avoided the place, and the only other inn near Gundaroo was owned by a French man rumoured to be in league with the bushrangers. He’d give his accomplices the nod if anyone of substance stopped by. Word travelled fast, there were no secrets on the Wool Road down to the coast or the highway to Sydney.
Disappointment tweaked at her when Job reined in the horses outside the Bogong Inn. Such an ordinary place! Almost snug as it nestled under a forested hill. A horseman must have just arrived as the ostler had started to lead a handsome bay gelding round to the stables.
“I’ll look at the place first.” Pain contorted Grand-père’s features as he struggled to pick up his stick which had fallen to the floor.
“Let me go.” Mary Ann put a hand on his arm. “If it’s really nasty and dirty you’ll have had all the trouble for nothing. Let me go.”
“What could you tell about a place?” retorted her grandfather.
“Papa told me to be a help. How can I help if you won’t let me!”
Her quick reply brought a smile to the old man’s lips. You’d not keep a Guise down, that was for sure. Blood counts.
Mary Ann brushed down her bodice, smoothed her dark curls and motioned Job to follow her. In truth she felt quite nervous, inns on the whole having unsavoury reputations. But now was not the time to be timid. Holding her head up high she nodded to the servant by the door as though visiting wayside inns, and far more salubrious establishments, was an everyday event for her.
This inn proved indeed as snug as its appearance had promised. A fire crackled in the large room serving as entrance, parlour and dining room. From the rear of the building the sound of male voices came loud and clear. That would be the bar, Mary Ann decided. She stood at the table and waited.
She sniffed the air. Wood smoke, lavender and a tantalising hint of roast meat. “That’s nice, Job,” she said over her shoulder without looking round. “I can’t smell a single bug here.”
“And I am sure Mrs McCready, will be most flattered by your recommendation.”
She spun round and found herself facing a tall, broad-shouldered man with a saddlebag clutched in one hand and a pair of boots in the other.
“Sir!” Momentarily shaken from her confident poise she glanced around the room but could see no servant or even any other person than Job who remained respectfully in the background, perhaps the words must have come from him.
“May I introduce myself, Frank de Rossi,” he put down the boots, but not the saddlebag, and gave a slight bow.
“I was looking for the landlady.”
“Ah, the admirable Mrs McCready, our hostess, she’s busy in the kitchen, I believe.” Picking up his boots he smiled at Mary Ann, “I’ll ask one of the maids to send her to you…and may I assure you, this is a most excellent inn. You will not find better this side of the city and you can be assured not a single bedbug has ever crossed its portals.”
“I doubt there’s a better inn this side of Sydney,” observed Grand-père later that evening as he sipped at his port and for a few moments forgot the throbbing pain in his knee.
“Just my very words to your daughter earlier this evening,” Frank de Rossi raised his glass and looked across at Mary Ann who had left the table and now sat with her crochet by the fire.
“My granddaughter, sir, granddaughter. My son William’s girl. Not that he doesn’t have plenty of girls. Giddy things that they are…all married off now, excepting young Mary Ann of course. She’s got a head on her shoulders, she’s accompanying me to the city…a trifling operation’s needed…a trifle…then we’ll be home. Tell me, how’s your father…haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in years.”
“Father’s in the best of health. Busy as the day is long. I have had to make the journey home, Corsica that is, as you know, and he says he scarcely missed me! He says his own travelling days are over so I have to attend to matters over there. He’s starting to build our new house at Rossiville.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of that. Talk of the countryside. They say he’s even putting in a ballroom!”
“That’s right, sir. Father’s got an eye for the future. He says one day the Limestone Plains’ll have a society like Sydney. That ballroom’s taking all his time and attention at the moment. Hardly started the house yet, but one day it’ll be there.”
“Can’t see the sense of that. Where are all the people coming from?
“He’ll be hard pressed getting enough for a ball! Half the ladies never live down on our properties they prefer to spend their days in Sydney or Melbourne… like my daughter Hannah where we’re bound. Couldn’t wait to follow her husband to the city life.”
“Ah, times are changing, sir. This is such a new country, give it time.”
“Well, I doubt I’ll see much alter in my lifetime, different for you young’uns. I’ve seen enough changes already in my day. When we first came to this country this was still a wilderness. Who’d have imagined I could ever travel in my own coach from Gundaroo to Sydney. ’Twas horseback for us and naught else. First sight of the Lake I ever had was from the saddle. Now here we are, spending a night under a decent roof and ready to be on the road again, first thing.”
“And no bedbugs I assure you,” Frank de Rossi glanced across at Mary Ann with the hint of a smile.
She sniffed. He didn’t need to remind her!
“There’s inns and then there are inns!” muttered Grand-père. “You said you’d tell me that story about a man being nearly murdered at an inn. What happened, Grand-père?”
“Oh, another time, remind me again.”
“The evening stretches before us, sir… what better way to spend it than listening to an interesting tale.” Frank de Rossi leant over and filled the old man’s glass.
“Just an incident, something that happened when I was new to the Colony, something which made a great difference to me at the time, but that’s all in the past.”
“Go on, Grand-père, tell us.” Mary Ann put down her crochet hook and joined them at the table. “Grand-père’s stories are famous. No one can tell a story like him and he remembers just about everything.”
Frank topped up his own glass. A log crackled in the fireplace as a piece of wood flared sending a shaft of light across the girl’s face. Her dark curls cascaded over her features as she leant her elbows on the table. Her face was hidden but to Frank it seemed he had known every feature for ever. For the first time in many years his heart beat to a quickening pace. Had they ever met before. Certainly not, but perhaps in another life, another time, another world their paths had crossed. He shook his head at the absurdity of his thoughts… and yet he savoured for a moment the happiness of a lonely man who has wandered and searched and finally stumbled upon all that he had ever longed for.
“New to the Colony, I was. New and green but I soon learnt, same as we all do. Every man for himself. It’s always been so, then sometimes a chance comes that you can’t ignore.”
“Just as my father said, almost the same words,” Frank muttered.
“But old Francis came with a silver spoon in his mouth, didn’t he. Your father had a Government, position,