Beneath the Southern Cross by Judy Nunn Page B

Lieutenant Hookway’s wife gave her, the cast-off garments, hats and shoes. Not only for herself but for her children and her family. Her father had been proud of his red soldier’s coat; why, then, should he be so adamant about returning to the old ways? It was a much harder life. Murrumuru could make it so much easier for all of them. And she would be given money too. Very little, it was true, but they could buy white man’s things with money. It was better than begging in the streets as her brother Yenerah was doing once again, though she dared not tell their father.
    Murrumuru took a deep breath and clearly enunciated her very best phrase, the one Missus Hookway had taught her when she had reluctantly resigned from service. ‘I seek employment, missus,’ she said.
    Her announcement was met with silence, and Murrumuru hoped she hadn’t offended the Missus who was staring at her, transfixed. ‘I work good. Servant two year for army man. Lieutenant Hookway,’ she announced with pride.
    The woman was a godsend, Mary thought. In Murrumuru, she saw with instant clarity the solution to her dilemma. Thomas Kendall would be appalled to discover that one of his precious Wolawara’s kin was in servitude to her rather than living a free life. And to keep a black servant was perfectly respectable, so longas the black servant could be taught to adhere to British standards of dress and decorum, which this woman obviously could. Furthermore, to convert a black servant was considered a positive triumph, the action of a truly Christian person. And that was exactly what Mary would do.
    â€˜Murru …?’ she queried.
    â€˜Murrumuru,’ the woman answered quickly. ‘I am Murrumuru.’
    â€˜Yes. Murrumuru. A pretty name.’ She would insist the woman’s child attend the mission school regularly, and the two of them would accompany Mary to church on Sundays. Mary would be seen to be a caring and civilising influence upon the family of her servant. Perhaps, in time, she could Christianise others amongst the clan. It was certainly her duty to try.
    She would play Thomas Kendall at his own game. The old devil professed an understanding and a caring for the Aboriginal people. What had he done for them? Given them a parcel of marshy, nonproductive land so they could return to their heathen ways. Mary would do far more. So long as they abided by her rules. For any who sent their children to school, she would provide food; to any who attended church, she would give cast-off clothes; to any who showed an inclination to utilise the land, she would provide basic gardening implements.
    Not only would her treatment of the Aborigines be judged more proper and more Christian than Thomas’s, her actions would drive the old man insane. She would undermine, at every turn, his well-laid plans for his native friends.
    â€˜Yes, Murrumuru, I do believe I could offer you employment.’ The woman flashed a radiant smile, but Mary did not smile back. ‘There will be conditions of course,’ she added briskly, aware that Peg was scowling from the sidelines. Familiarity from the native woman must be firmly discouraged. ‘I suggest you return tomorrow and we will discuss the arrangements.’
    â€˜Thank you, missus, thank you.’ Murrumuru nudged her son. ‘Say thank you, Turumbah.’
    â€˜Thank you, missus.’ Turumbah beamed up at Mary. He was out of trouble and perfectly happy again. ‘Turumbah see Gran’sun James?’
    â€˜No, Turumbah. Not now.’ Not ever, Mary thought. The friendship between her son and the heathen black boy was terminatedforever. ‘I shall see you tomorrow morning, Murrumuru.’ Mary gave a brusque nod to the woman, another brusque nod to Peg and went inside. But she left the door ajar and heard Peg stride up to Murrumuru.
    â€˜You listen to me, missy,’ Peg said, ‘and you listen good and proper. You learn your