The River Charm by Belinda Murrell Page B

way.’
    â€˜Thank you, Mr Chalkley. That would be most kind of you. I would hate anything untoward to happen to the dray on the journey.’
    Mr Chalkley turned to the labourers. ‘I must remind you that if anything were to happen to the belongings of the Atkinson children, it would also be a felony, and I would have to pursue the culprits with the full extent of the law.’
    The labourers shuffled and squirmed, glancing between Mr Barton, Mamma and Mr Chalkley.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ replied John the bullock driver. ‘We understand.’
    Mamma smiled. ‘Samuel, would you be so good as to unsaddle our horses and saddle up a fresh one for yourself while I compose a letter to the laywers?’
    â€˜Yes ma’am,’ agreed Samuel, taking both horses by the reins.
    Mamma turned to the two bullockies and gave them their final instructions. ‘Farewell and take care.’
    John and Paddy turned the big team of bullocks in the confined space with some difficulty and set off on the road to Berrima with much whip-cracking and yelling, accompanied by the three constables.
    Charlotte followed Mamma inside, where she scribbled off a note to the lawyers on the kitchen table and saw to it that the message was safely on its way with Samuel.
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9
    Decision
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    Charlotte, Emily, James and Louisa wandered around the echoing rooms of the forlorn house. Louisa began to sob. Emily and Charlotte did their best to comfort her, but their eyes were brimming too. James kicked a stool that had been knocked over.
    The dining and breakfast rooms were empty; only Mamma’s paintings were left on the wall. The drawing room held nothing but Mr Barton’s favourite armchair and a small side table with a decanter of rum. The schoolroom was untouched but the study was ransacked – the desk and chair gone, papers all over the floor, many of Papa’s books taken.
    The children heard Mr Barton coming up from the cellar, carrying a small flagon of rum. He yelled at Bridget to bring him a glass and retreated to the drawing room. The children, each one lost in his or her thoughts, hid in the school­room – the only downstairs room that seemed normal.
    Soon they heard Mamma and Bridget next door in the study, tidying up the shambles.
    â€˜Let’s play a game,’ suggested Emily, trying to cheer them up. ‘We could play knuckles?’ James looked at Emily witheringly. ‘Or toy soldiers?’
    Not even this could tempt James to play. Louisa cuddled up next to Emily, thumb in mouth, twirling a ringlet around one finger.
    Charlotte strode up and down the room, thinking. What is going to happen? Are we really going to leave our beautiful home and move into a little cottage in Berrima with Mr Barton? How could we bear it!
    Through the closed double doors, Charlotte heard a crash and loud swearing from the drawing room next door, then the sound of Mr Barton staggering out into the entrance hall. A glass smashed on the floor.
    Loud shouting came from the study. Bridget screamed. There was another loud crash.
    Charlotte ran into the passage, followed by the other children and Samson, who was barking loudly. The study door was flung open. Bridget cowered against the bookshelves, her hands over her head.
    Mamma was sprawled on the floor, her face smeared with crimson from her bleeding nose. Mr Barton stood over her screaming, his eyes bloodshot and spit flying from his mouth.
    â€˜You think you can make a fool of me, you insolent woman?’ he bellowed. ‘I won’t be made a fool by you or that pack of brats!’
    He struck Mamma again, sending her reeling. Charlotte flew across the room like a dart and sprang on her step­father’s back, her arms around his neck.
    â€˜Leave her alone,’ yelled Charlotte, her rage bubbling over. ‘Don’t hurt her, you monster.’
    Mr Barton swung around, throwing Charlotte off like a discarded cloak.