collectively possessed with an abiding anxiety that they might, through bankruptcy or some other misfortune, sink to the lowest but one level, that of the labouring class.
Below even the labourer was the emancipist, though this group was perhaps the most curious contradiction in the pecking order. Emancipists could, and often enough did, rise through the bottom ranks, past the labouring class and into the ranks of clerks and tradesmen.
The sons of emancipists, if educated in a profession and if they became immensely rich, could rise beyond even the third rank. Daughters had greater opportunities, if they were pretty and properly prepared. That is to say, if they attended the Polyglot Academy, where French, Italian and Spanish were taught by Ferrari's Comparative Method. They would also need to have been instructed by Monsieur Gilbert, a Professor of Dancing, before being considered sufficiently 'yeasted' to rise upwards.
No young woman, even if she was exceptionally beautiful and possessed the most elegant manners, could think to enter society without a comprehensive knowledge of the steps in all the new dances being practised in the salons of London and Paris.
Only then, and only if she should bring with her the added incentive of a great deal of money, was it possible to rise in due course to the ranks of a first rater. But even when the children of a successful emancipist achieved such Olympian heights, their flawed lineage remained and the whispers of the crinolined society matrons would continue for the next two generations.
The bottom station was, of course, the prisoner population and it included the ticket of leavers such as Mary. Between this class and all others, a strict line was drawn. In the presence of any free person in the community, prisoners were as if struck dumb. It was considered correct, even by the lowest of the free orders, to regard them as invisible, ghosts in canary-yellow jackets who laboured on the roads or at tasks beneath the dignity even of the labouring class. And, of course, if they were assigned as servants in a household, they were expected to exercise the minimum speech required to perform their daily duties.
Mr Emmett's courage and generosity of spirit can now be properly appreciated. He, a member of the first station, not only acknowledged the existence of Mary, a convict, but consistently helped her. Emmett was also something of a dreamer for supposing that Mary might be accepted by even the lowliest of government clerks had she taken up his offer to work in his department.
The marked contrast of Lucy Emmett's attitude towards Mary should not be drawn as an example of uncharitable behaviour. To speak to a prisoner, albeit a ticket of leaver, was beyond the imaginings of a pure merino woman, a nightmarish confrontation not to be contemplated even in the most unlikely social circumstances.
Thus, the likelihood of Mary securing a billet as a clerk in Hobart Town was very much in the order of impossible. Not only was she a woman, but such a position lay strictly within the precincts of the third class whereas she was condemned to work within the lowest of the low, the sixth class. It can only be supposed that, in bringing about Mary's appointment, Mr Emmett had favoured Peter Degraves with a government contract, or perhaps waived some building dispensation for the construction of his new brewery, or even invoked a Masonic rite in his position as Grand Master of Hobart's secret order of Free and Accepted Masons.
The gamble Peter Degraves took on Mary soon paid off. She was quick to learn, arrived early and worked late, and took no nonsense from the men, who eventually came to call her, with much admiration, Mother Mary of the Blessed Beads.
It was not only Mary's skill at bookkeeping that impressed her employers, but also her plain sense mixed with some imagination. Mary was soon aware that pilfering on a building site by the labourers was costing the owners a considerable amount each month, and that the men regarded this scam as their natural right. She requested an appointment with Peter Degraves at his office higher up the slopes of the mountain, where he and his brother-in- law owned the concession to cut the timber right up to the rocky outcrop known as the organ pipes.
Degraves kept Mary waiting a considerable time before he called her into his small, cluttered office. A large cross-cut saw of the type used by convicts leaned against one wall, its blade buckled into a gentle curve. The room smelled of sawdust and the sap of new-cut wood. Peter Degraves was a tall, fair, clean-shaven man, not given to lard as were so many men in their forties. He sat in his shirt sleeves with his waistcoat unbuttoned and his clay- spattered boots resting upon a battered-looking desk.
'Take a pew, Miss Abacus,' he said, indicating a small upright wicker chair. 'What brings you to the sawmill?'
'Sir, I would speak to you about the site.'
'Ah! It goes well, Miss Abacus, the foreman says we are ahead in time and I know our expenses are well contained. You have done an excellent job.'
'Not as excellent as might be supposed,' Mary answered.
Degraves looked surprised. 'Oh? Is there something I ought to know about, Miss Abacus?'
'The pilfering, sir… on the site. It be considerable.'
Degraves shrugged. 'It was ever thus, Miss Abacus. Petty crime within the labouring class is as common as lice in an urchin's hair.' He spread his hands. 'We live, after all, in a penal colony.'
'Mr Degraves, sir, I have an inventory and we are losing materials at the rate o' fifty pounds a week, two thousand seven hundred and four pounds a year. That be a considerable amount, would you not say?'
'Aye, it's a lot of money, but I've known worse in the sawmilling business.'
'We have one 'undred workmen on the site, each earns fourteen pounds a year in wages, that be…'
'Fourteen hundred pounds and, as you say, we are losing nearly double that! Just how would you prevent this, Miss Abacus?' Degraves asked in a somewhat patronising manner.
'The value o' the material what's nicked and sold in the taverns and on the sly be one-fifth o' the market value, no more'n ten pounds.'
'And just how do you know this?' Degraves asked, removing his feet from the desk. He pulled his chair closer and leaned forward, listening intently.
'I took various materials from the site and flogged them,' Mary replied calmly.
'You what? You stole from my site!'
'Not stole, sir, it all be written in the books. It were a test to see what the value o' the materials were on the sly.'
Degraves sat back and laughed. 'Why, that's damned clever! Ten pounds eh?' He paused then said, 'Well, that's the labouring class for you, not only dishonest but easily gulled and stupid to boot.'
'Let's give 'em the ten pounds, sir, or a little more, fifteen. That be three shillings per man per week extra in his pay packet, seven pounds two shillings and sixpence per year.'
'But, Miss Abacus,' Degraves protested, 'that's half again as much as they are paid now.'
'Sir, it ain't all the men what's stealing, most is family men as honest as the day. We make the money a weekly bonus, given a month in arrears and when we've determined no pilfering has taken place.'
'No pilfering?' Degraves laughed. 'Not a single nail or plank or brick or bag of mortar! I think you dream somewhat, Miss Abacus!'
'Well no, sir. I have allowed five pounds, that will be sufficient tolerance,' Mary said firmly.
'Twenty pounds and we save thirty, I'm most impressed! Do you think it can be made to work?'
'No, sir. It will not work with money,' Mary replied.
'Oh? How then?'
'In rations! A food chit issued to the labourer's wife what is worth three shillings a week. We pay the men on Saturdays and most of it be in the tavern keeper's hands by Sunday night with the brats starving at home for the rest o' the week. If there be the prospect o' three shillings worth o' rations from the company shop on a Monday, the family will eat that week.'
'Company shop? May I remind you, Miss Abacus, I am a sawmiller who is building a brewery, not a damned tradesman! Who will run this cornucopia of plenty?'
'I will, sir! There be enough money to pay the salary of a good shop assistant if we buy prudently and sell at shopkeepers' rates, and I will keep the books.'
'And will there be a further profit?' Degraves asked shrewdly.
'Yes, sir, to be used for the purchase of books for the orphanage school, as well as a Christmas party given to them by the brewery.'
Degraves laughed. 'Chits for workers' wives, company shops, books and Christmas parties for orphans, when
