Free A River Town by Thomas Keneally

Imelda, we must come to an accommodation I suppose.”
    He recognised at once in Imelda that dangerous blitheness of someone about to frame the best transaction they can for themselves. “It is thrippence a day to the day school. We add on ninepence a week for boarders. For year-round boarders—we have oneother—we give a two week discount, and so that is fifty shillings a year. Can you afford that, Mr. Shea?”
    The question affronted him. His hand was already in his vest pocket. He would lay all the causes why he should get special consideration down in front of her.
    “I was hoping,” he said, “that since the child is not mine, and in view of some of my offerings to your community here, you might meet me part of the way.”
    “Does Mr. Rochester have an estate?”
    “There may be a shilling or two left when the bank’s finished. It’s a matter of doubt, though.”
    “You know how we are placed, Mr. Shea. From some parents we have to beg. We have expenses too, legal expenses, for instance. The town clerk is a member of the Orange Lodge and we are subject to more inspections and interference and legal argument than any of the hotels in town. We are the hotel of God, that’s why. We can’t and won’t soften him with a bottle of whisky every fortnight. The way things are now it would be in all frankness hard for us to take Lucy, even though the situation cries out to mercy. We have to give our preferences to the Catholic poor, who unhappily abound and are in many cases themselves orphans.”
    Bugger it. Going against his nature, he had already debased himself enough and to no good effect.
    “Of course I can meet the child’s fees then,” he told her.
    Generosity the chief revenge. He had his now. He felt a serenity at such a moment which he could not obtain by any other means.
    “It is payable at a term in advance,” said Imelda, a miser for Jesus’ sake. “That’s sixteen shillings and sixpence ha’penny for the first term, Tim.”
    Tim hunted in the other pocket of his vest and found two ten shilling notes. He handed her both notes.
    “Perhaps you could give me a receipt at some stage, Mother.”
    “You are always in our prayers, Mr. Shea, and your lovely little wife.”
    Bloody sight littler than you anyhow, Imelda. Just the same, what a bloody grocer this woman would have been! Savage’s Emporium wouldn’t have touched her. She would have pursued debtors along the riverflats of Euroka, into the cedar camps of theHastings Range and amongst the swamps of the lower Macleay. Men coming out of the scrub with grime on their foreheads and an axe on their shoulders to be bushwhacked by big Imelda with her cashbook.
    “You may want to give Lucy a few shillings too for expenses,” Imelda suggested.
    “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Tim, going for his pocket again. He hoped that from the point of view of some abstract critic, which was partly himself and partly a subscriber to a progressive age, he did not look too much like a willing peasant, being sucked dry by a hungry Faith. He wanted this unseen critic to accept that he was acceding to Imelda as a matter of grandeur, of style. Because he did not want to live meanly.
    Largely drained of cash, he said good-bye to the child in the corridor. No kisses. He opened her hand, then clasped it in both his, and when she opened it, she found five shillings in it.
    “Take good care of that, miss,” said Imelda looking on. “It will be quite safe, Mr. Shea. We expel without fear or favour for theft.”
    She opened the front door for Tim, but as soon as he was through she shut it softly, and the conventual silence closed like an ocean over Lucy Rochester’s mute head.
    So now, lighter and prouder, he still had to face Kitty. Pee Dee was bending his head down and stealing some grass through the convent’s picket fence.
    “Get it into you there, Pee Dee old son,” Tim told him. “Eat her grass. Fifty bobs’ worth.”
    Missy, just like Lucy, made her