Sara grew cold with the thought of how many there might be to join the disaffected. Would the underpaid labourers join the rebels, with land and livestock promised as a reward? The hope of ultimate success was vague ‒ but was it any vaguer when their friends and brothers had stormed Dublin Castle? Military discipline was lax, and all of them knew it. The danger lay in how quickly the word spread, and how many had pledged themselves, during these past months, to take up arms when it came.
The trees lining the road were like a solid menace to their safety. Occasionally they caught the glimpse of a light in a cottage, and wondered at it being there so late. There was no way of telling if the news of the rising was ahead of them on the road, or still behind them. They met no one, heard nothing.
In the darkness Nell stirred, tugging her cloak closer. ‘Well …’ she said, her tone strong and clear. ‘I don’t know how you feel, Mrs. Maclay … but, speaking for myself, I’m scared!’
With a rush of gratitude, Sara looked at the faint blur of the face opposite. If Nell Finnigan were afraid, then no one else need be ashamed of fear. Impulsively, she leaned forward to take the other’s large, roughened hand; she pressed her fingers firmly round it.
‘I’m afraid, too,’ she said.
Having admitted it, she felt relieved, but there was suddenly nothing more to say; their fear, acknowledged, seemed less terrible.
As they settled themselves back again, the carriage began a rather sharp descent; Sara leaned forward, and peered through the window. She recognized this spot, a place where the road plunged to ford a shallow stream; for the main part of the year it was dry, but now, above the rumble of the wheels, she could just faintly hear a trickle of water against a stony bed. The angle of the carriage levelled off as they splashed their way through, then tilted again when they started on the slope of the opposite bank. A shout rang out as they reached the top.
‘Halt! Whoa, there!’
For the next few seconds there was mad confusion, wild cries, and men shouting, and over it all Sara heard Edwards’ curse, and the cracking of the whip as he urged the horses forward. The carriage moved with a sudden lurch; Sara was flung back against the seat, and Nell, unable to save herself, fell on to her knees. The carriage maintained its progress for no more than half a minute. Sara knew from the way it was slowing down that their attackers were hauling at the horses’ heads. At last they were jerked to a stop. Instantly the door was flung open; a man, unshaven, smelling vilely of stale sweat, thrust his head inside. He shone a lantern on the two women.
‘Out!’ he snapped, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. ‘This is as far as ye ride, ladies.’
Furiously, without caution, Sara pushed against his shoulder.
‘Get out of here! Who are you, anyway?’
For an answer, he caught her arm and tugged. He had twice her weight, and she was dragged forward suddenly, almost falling from the carriage to the road. Nell received the same treatment; her curses added to the noise and confusion.
‘Take your hands off me, you filthy devils!’ She stood with her feet planted wide, her arms akimbo, scowling defiance. ‘A fine bunch you are, I must say! A couple of pikes and an old musket between the lot of you. Do you expect to frighten Mr. King out of Government House with that!’
A nudge from one of the despised pikes silenced her.
Andrew and Edwards, down from the box by this time, moved close to the women. A circle of perhaps a dozen men stood about them, pressing forward, hemming them in. They were an uninspiring lot, standing their ground uneasily, and only the weight of their numbers appeared to give them any confidence. There seemed to be some doubt among them still as to which one was the leader; they looked from one to the other uncertainly. But Sara could find no reassurance in this. Seen in the light of the lanterns they carried they might be unprepossessing, but she was not, for a moment, blind to the fact that they were also desperate. The circle of dirty, unshaven faces filled her with horror. It was a face such as one of these that had pressed close to her own the night of the convict outbreak at Kintyre. So long ago, now, but she recoiled in terror as she remembered. She looked from each man to the next; they seemed a little awed by what they had dared, and, leaderless, they were far more dangerous than a disciplined troop.
One of the gang took the initiative. He moved through the group and faced Andrew. His only authority seemed to be the musket he held.
‘There’ll be no harm done to anyone who behaves peaceful-like.’ He spoke with a soft Irish accent. ‘We’ll just have yer horses and yer pistol, now. And then we’ll be lettin’ ye on yer way. ’Tis a fair step to Parramatta for the ladies, I’m thinkin’. But like as not ye’ll find some cottage on the way to give ye shelter.’
Andrew, swiftly glancing about him, seemed in an instant to judge and weigh the temper of the mob facing him. Then he took a step back, at the same moment thrusting his pistol forward menacingly. With the other hand he motioned to Sara.
‘Get back in the carriage! Edwards ‒ the box!’
Both Edwards and Nell made a movement to obey, but Sara stood still.
‘Andrew, let them have what they want,’ she said, in a low tone. ‘They’ll …’
‘Do as I say!’ he said peremptorily.
She drew away from him immediately. At his words, Nell, already on the carriage step, climbed inside. Edwards began to mount the box again. Sara hesitated, her mind numbed with apprehension and terror. Andrew stood quite still, pistol levelled, looking, each in turn, into the faces about him. She held her breath as she waited for his next movement; the blood was pounding in her ears, and she felt herself groping madly at the carriage door for support.
Andrew spoke at last. His voice was as cold as if he were addressing a group of troublesome children.
‘You all know that hanging is the penalty for horse-stealing and armed robbery. You know also that you haven’t a chance of succeeding with this rising once the troops are called out.’
Complete silence greeted his words. No one stirred in protest, and there was no movement among the gang.
‘Now …!’ Andrew continued. ‘Stand away from those horses. I advise you not to add further to the list of your crimes. I promise you it will go harder for you if you do.’
The self-appointed leader fell back a step, uncertain and irresolute. He looked about him, seeking the opinion of his companions. There was an uneasy shuffling of feet, a low mutter rose from someone’s throat. Above them a little wind stirred fitfully in the trees. It was a long minute of agony to Sara ‒ the appraising of the desperate and yet fearful faces. In the intense quiet, the scraping of a boot against the ground was like the noise of thunder. The men wavered openly; their leader’s indecision had reached them all.
A few more seconds, Sara thought, and Andrew would win.
Too soon, it seemed to her, he gave her the signal.
She climbed into the carriage, craning her head to watch him. He put his foot on the step of the box.
‘Right, Edwards!’
Andrew’s sharp voice seemed to break the spell that lay over the group.
Someone shouted hoarsely from the back.
‘Is it a man ye call yourself, Matt Donovan? Sure, it’s not fit to lead a donkey ye are!’
The men parted automatically as the speaker thrust his way through. He was a huge man; his ugly face was enraged and brutish. He looked directly at Andrew.
‘Stand down, there! B’God, we’ll have those horses, whether y’ like it or not!’
There was a general shout of approval from the men. Sara heard Andrew’s voice rise above them.
‘Whip them up, Edwards!’
The shot rang out before Edwards could bring down his whip. Terrified, the horses lunged forward; Andrew crumpled, and toppled down into the road. Sara heard herself give one piercing scream, and then she flung the carriage door open. She felt Nell’s hands clutch frantically at her, but she broke free of them. Edwards was already hauling at the reins, and their sp
eed had slackened. Sara jumped clear, holding her balance for a few seconds, then falling on her hands and knees into the ditch. All the breath seemed to have left her body from the force of the impact, but she scrambled to her feet again and started to run back to where Andrew lay. By the time the carriage had finally halted, she was kneeling on the road beside him.
The circle of convicts stood back from her, watching, muttering among themselves. They made no attempt to help her, and with her own hands she turned Andrew over on his back. The bullet had smashed his temple. He had probably been dead when he hit the ground.
They took the horses and the pistol, and left quickly ‒ a quiet, nervous group, now. Sara hardly noticed their departure, except for the sudden silence it left behind. She sat on the side of the road, holding Andrew’s body, aware of nothing but the terrible stillness of the weight in her arms. Nell and Edwards held a whispered consultation, and then Nell came and crouched down in the dust beside them. Sara didn’t feel her presence there until a warm tear splashed on her hand.
She raised her head and looked up incredulously at the other woman.
‘You’re crying …?’
Nell dashed a hand across her eyes. ‘I didn’t know him very well. He didn’t take much notice of me whenever he passed through Castle Hill ‒ but I liked him.’
Sara bent until her lips brushed his quiet ones.
‘I loved him,’ she whispered.
They sat there on the road, not talking. Presently Edwards succeeded in detaching one of the carriage lanterns. With a few words softly spoken in Nell’s ear, he set off in the direction of Parramatta.
II
The mainspring of the rebellion did not live out a full day. It died outside Toongabbie the next morning, in an encounter with a detachment of troops under Major Johnston. Cunningham, the leader of the rising at Castle Hill, was killed there, with sixteen other men, twelve were wounded, and thirty captured. The remaining two hundred and thirty took to the bush. Pitchforks, reaping-hooks, pikes, a score or two of muskets, and a desire for liberty, were not enough. Through the week they surrendered in bodies or individually ‒ a ragged rebel army come to heel. When the news swept through the colony, small groups who were waiting to join up with the main movement quietly put away their arms. The rebellion was dead.
On the Thursday and Friday of that same week, Sydney, Parramatta and Castle Hill saw the executions of the ringleaders ‒ among them, Andrew Maclay’s murderer. Some of the rebels went to the flogging-posts and the chain gangs, others were exiled to Norfolk Island, or sent to that hell spot on the Coal River. His Excellency publicly commended the courage and actions of Major Johnston and Captain Abbott. Martial Law, declared as soon as the Governor had received news of the rising, was revoked. The colony drew a sigh of relief, and prepared to settle back into its old routine. Even from the men in the chain gang the spirit of rebellion seemed to have fled.
III
Sara leaned back wearily in her chair, her face turned towards the small fire that burned in the grate. Glenbarr’s long drawing-room was still and quiet now. Early that afternoon Andrew had been buried. All day long this room had seen the coming and going of his friends and neighbours, even the Governor himself had paid his formal call. David, the eldest, had been there, too, stiff and unnatural in his black suit, his child’s face fighting exhaustion and the strangeness of living through ceremonies which belonged only to an adult world. Unconsciously, he had seemed to seek his father’s support, and, not finding it, his expression had grown bewildered and half-lost.
Now they were all gone. The evening meal was over, David was in his bed this past half-hour, and Glenbarr had returned to its quiet. Jeremy was the only one who remained. He crouched on a fender-stool, his back to the fire, watching Sara’s face, the movement of her restless fingers plucking at the rich black silk of her gown. Her hair was dressed smoothly back off her forehead, and, above the black gown, its fairness was almost white. He could trace the ravages of the past week in her face; there was a look of harsh experience written there, and shadows beneath her eyes that he had not seen before.
Suddenly she spoke; her voice was tired. ‘Your sentence will expire this year ‒ you’ll be free, Jeremy. I have been thinking about you ‒ about the future …’
He answered, a questioning note in his voice, ‘Yes?’
She looked at him directly then. ‘When you’re free ‒ when the time comes ‒ I’m going to ask you to stay. I want you to help run Kintyre and Priest’s and the Toongabbie farm, as you’ve been doing.’
She stopped him with a wave of her hand, as she saw he was about to answer. ‘Yes, I know what you’re going to say. You’ll be free. You’ll want to take land and to farm for yourself. I’m asking one ‒ two years from you, Jeremy. No more than that. Stay with me just that long. I’ll pay you …’
‘We’ll not talk of payment just yet, Sara. There are other things.’
Her brows lifted. ‘Other things …?’
He gestured meaningly. ‘You surely can’t have decided to keep the whole lot on ‒ the three farms, the store, Glenbarr? And what about the ships?’
‘I mean to keep them all,’ she replied calmly. ‘They belonged to Andrew, didn’t they? Don’t they belong to his children?’
‘But you’re a woman, Sara! You can’t do what Andrew did! It’s beyond your powers ‒ your strength, even.’
Frowning, she folded her lips. ‘Do you imagine, Jeremy Hogan, that I’ve helped Andrew build up his possessions all these years, without the thought of handing them over to our sons? Was there ever a single decision he made that I didn’t prompt him? If I should sell the properties now ‒ and the ships, and the store ‒ the money is all that I’d have to give the children. And there is no sense of permanence in money alone. They need to know the feeling of possessing land. They’ve got to have possessions and roots. They’ll forget Andrew ‒ they’ll never really know him ‒ if they don’t have the things that he built up around them. I want them ‒ David, Duncan and Sebastian ‒ to look at Kintyre, and to know that it took more to build it than luck at a card-table, and a salvaged ship!’
He shook his head very slowly. ‘But you’re a woman, Sara!’ he repeated. ‘Can you control all of it ‒ the labourers of three farms, the captains of the ships, the store …?’
‘Yes, if you’ll help me, Jeremy! Give me two years, and then I’ll show them that a woman can do it. They’ll doubt it at first ‒ and they’ll scoff. But I know that I can do it!’
‘And what if I tell you that I believe it can’t be done? What if I refuse to help you?’
For a moment she was taken aback. Then she said, levelly, ‘If you refuse, then I must try to do it without you.’
He sprang to his feet. ‘My God, Sara, you’re heartless! You give me no choice!’
He paced the length of the room, paused, then swung round, and returned to face her.
‘You’ve really made up your mind about this?’
She raised her eyes to look at him as he stood over her. ‘How can it be otherwise, Jeremy? All these things are Andrew. How can I give them up? To lose them would be to lose him again ‒ to lose him a thousand times over.’
Her voice grew choked and stifled; tears were beginning to slide unchecked down her face.
‘You, better than anyone else, know what Andrew has done for me. He took me from the hold of a convict ship. Because of me he settled here. Then he grew to love the place, and his heart was here. I’m as sure of that as anything I could be. I must hold together everything he’s built up ‒ keep it intact for our children. They belong to this country, and this is where they will see their father’s achievements.’
‘And you’re prepared to do it alone?’ he asked quietly.
She nodded. ‘Alone ‒ if necessary.’
Then she bent her head, and he could see her shoulders heaving. She covered her face with her hands. Her next words were blurred and distorted.
‘I didn’t know it would be like this.
I didn’t think it was possible to feel so desolate ‒ and lost. Andrew …! Andrew …!’
Gently Jeremy put out his hand and stroked her bent head. He could remember clearly and painfully the first night he had ever spent under Glenbarr’s roof ‒ the night they had dined by candlelight off the packing-cases, and Andrew had strode across the bare boards, his face alight with the vision of the future. Then he had seemed indestructible, nothing was beyond the reach and scope of his energy and genius. Whatever he touched had been golden for him.
But now, four years later, the golden age was finished. And Sara’s sobs were a wild protest against its going.
PART FIVE
Chapter One
For three weeks after her husband’s death, Sydney saw nothing of Sara Maclay. Jeremy Hogan returned to the Hawkesbury without saying anything about her plans for the future; from Glenbarr itself there came no news. All that the servants could report was that their mistress spent her days with the children, walking with them on the South Head road, or down at the little beach; sometimes she took over the lesson hours from their tutor, Michael Sullivan, the young man who came to Glenbarr daily from his lodgings in the town. But Michael Sullivan was not to be probed for information. Richard Barwell appeared to know nothing either. From Annie Stokes came the report that Sara spent her evenings shut up in the room where all Andrew’s business had been carried out. She gave orders for a fire there each evening, and Annie, always watchful, knew that it was often the small hours of the morning before her mistress took her candle and mounted the stairs to her bedroom.
Sara Dane Page 35