by Hope Adams
Sarah released the child and Miss Hayter gathered him to her side. They began to move away. Mr. Donovan and Mr. Davies were at the stern with Isaac Margrove. A cry went up. The captain strode down the deck, bellowing, “She’s overboard. Lower the boat. Now. Don’t delay. She may be alive still.”
“She flew! I saw her,” said Beth. “I swear it. She flew!”
Susan leaned over to look at the water swirling below. “How could anyone . . .”
The women lined up along the ship’s rail, watching the small boat that was being lowered, with four sailors. Then they were rowing as fast as any men ever did, but the sea was stronger. The wind in the Rajah’s sails was carrying her ever further away from where Emily had gone into the water.
“She’s drowned, for certain,” said Izzy.
“They may bring back her body,” said Ruth.
Lottie cried, “No, they’re turning back—look! They’re coming back without her.”
The boat was making its way toward the Rajah. Everyone watched as the sailors climbed aboard and the boat was raised to the deck. The waves raced along, lines of white crests chasing one another and disappearing behind the ship. No one uttered a word, and the women returned to where the coverlet had been left on the deck. Miss Hayter was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s left it behind,” said Phyllis. “She’s thinking of Bertie now. But nothing must happen to the coverlet. Not now it’s so near finished.”
She stroked the fabric of the sheet, then took up one corner. Dora went to another and together, in a sad, silent procession, they walked across the deck, rolling the patchwork as they went. The others stood and looked on as the bundle was wrapped in its linen sheet. Then Phyllis asked Isaac to take charge of it and put it in Miss Hayter’s cabin.
44
NOW
16 July 1841
One hundred and two days at sea
KEZIA
They stood up as she came into the room: Charles, Mr. Donovan and Mr. Davies rising to greet her. Kezia said nothing but inclined her head in their direction. Instead of taking her seat alongside them, she went to the chair where the women suspects had sat during the inquiry.
“We’ve missed you, Miss Hayter,” said Mr. Davies. “We know it’s been a hard time for you, these last few days.”
“I’m glad the voyage is coming to an end,” said Kezia. “But there are things I need to explain.
“Everything has become clearer now that we know it was Emily who attacked poor Hattie. You were told of Sarah’s crimes, but you missed—we missed Emily’s madness. I ought to have noticed it long ago and I regret that I didn’t. For she was mad, you know. She’d lost a child of her own, from smallpox, and I fear she let Bertie take that child’s place in her mind. And his name. I found out something shortly before she . . . before the end that might have convinced this inquiry she was the guilty one. If you’d known it, she’d have been facing the gallows. Death by drowning might be preferable to death by hanging.”
Charles leaned forward in his seat. “Please tell us what you discovered.”
“I was thinking of how Bertie came to the deck too late to see his mother, although Emily had been asked to fetch him quickly. So I spoke to Maud, who hadn’t been on deck at the time but was in the convict quarters when the stabbing took place. She told me that when Emily came down to fetch Bertie, she didn’t bring him to the deck at once, but first took him to the water barrel to wash his face. Maud would have thought nothing of it and, because we’d decided that only the women who’d been on deck could have been involved, had never thought to mention it.”
“And now we know the truth of Emily’s guilt,” said Mr. Donovan, “we can see that Maud’s account confirms that Emily had time to wash away any blood from her hands.”
“Perhaps,” said Kezia. “She must have reasoned that the longer she took to bring Bertie on deck, the more likely it was that Hattie would have died.”
“Would she not fear that we’d find out? That she would lose Bertie if we did?” Mr. Donovan was frowning.
“By the time she stabbed Hattie, I fear she was so deluded that she never thought of consequences. She must indeed have been terrified at first, but then she perhaps felt she could deny, and with no proof, who’d suspect her? She, alone of the convict women, knew there’d been a threat against Hattie and what it was. She’d have thought that person would be suspected, and she was right. And everyone knew her as Hattie’s greatest friend. We would never conclude that she wanted Bertie for herself. She seemed often to be irritated by his presence, though he was very attached to her.”
Mr. Davies sighed. “But there’s still the matter of Sarah Goodbourne. She’s done great harm. Taking another woman’s name, escaping her sentence of hanging . . . We must hand her over to the authorities in Hobart as soon as we arrive there.”
“No,” said Kezia, with more force than she intended. “What good will that do? Another woman will die. Has there not been enough death? Can we not be merciful? Isn’t one of the benefits of transportation that the women might be given another chance? And does Sarah not deserve great credit for saving Bertie’s life? If it were not for Sarah at the end, Emily would surely have taken him overboard with her. We must give her some reward for that, can’t you see?”
“It’s our duty to deliver justice,” said Mr. Davies.
“Your duty is to be Christian, sir,” she said, so sharply and so angrily that he stared at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. “You’re not a judge. Neither are you master of this ship. Your Christian duty is to forgive. To be as merciful as our Lord would be. Sarah’s a sinner, but she’s done a good thing and we should acknowledge this.”
“But what about her punishment? Would you not see her pay the price for the crimes she’s committed? She’s done nothing but lie to us ever since she stepped on this ship under a false name. She killed a man.”
Kezia sprang to her feet, trembling. “He had violated her. He had killed her companion. She was acting out of terror. Why don’t you understand?”
“I understand well,” said Mr. Davies. “But whatever the provocation, she is responsible for a man’s death. How can that go unpunished?”
“She’s being transported, sir,” said Kezia. “Is that not a punishment?”
Mr. Davies said nothing for some moments. Then: “It is a punishment but not, I think, a sufficient one. I would prefer Sarah to be put under guard and handed over when we disembark.”
Kezia wondered if either of the others would say anything, but no one spoke. “Then there’s nothing more to say,” said Kezia. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I will not be dining with you tonight.”
She left the room as quickly as she could, hardly able to see for the fury that possessed her. A strong desire to kick over one of the leather-upholstered chairs had assailed her, but she had gone before she could yield to the impulse.
45
NOW
17 July 1841
One hundred and three days at sea
CLARA
“Two of them,” Tabitha says. “Fish food, both of ’em. They’ll be nibbled to the bone.”
“Shut your face, you hag.” That’s Ruth, snarling at Tabitha. “Heartless, that’s what you are. How could you? Emily was one of us.”
“Bloody stabber, she was. I don’t hold with no stabbing.” Lottie purses her lips. “I’m glad she’s gone. Always did think she was too good to be true. Clinging to Hattie, and all the time only after her boy. Should’ve been saved from drowning and hanged, I say. Teaching the children and acting kind. Singing hymns with a face as nice as pie. You never know, that’s what I say, never know what anyone’s really like.”
“What about you, then, Sarah Goodbourne? You’re a dark horse and no mistake. I never would’ve reckoned you to be so fast on your feet.” That was Izzy.
We’ve been talking about Emily’s death
for some time. The other women, those who weren’t on deck, are listening to a small group of us, the lucky ones, those who saw the drama unfold. Everyone’s looking at me. There’s no escape. I won’t say I knew Hattie before we both came aboard the Rajah. Miss Hayter will have told the captain and the others that the warning on Hattie’s pillow was my doing, but among the women on the lower deck, only Hattie and Emily were aware of it. I’ll be silent about the man I killed. But I decide I will tell them my real name and how I lost it.
“Well, there’s a story like I’ve not heard before. You’re a shady piece of work and no mistake. What about the real Sarah Goodbourne?” Dwyer says, when I’ve finished speaking. “What’ll happen to her?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think of her often and feel remorse for what I did to her.”
“Our captain’ll surely give you a good character. Ask Miss Hayter to speak to him. He’s so soft on her,” Alice adds.
“They’ve fallen out,” says Joan. “Isaac told me he’d seen them and they were quarreling.”
“That’s bad!” says Marion. “She should be happy. Deserves it.”
“You’re soppy,” Rose mutters. “Soppy over the matron.”
“She helped me.” Marion sounds sad. “She helped all of us.”
“She did,” says Joan. “Some didn’t see the point of what we were doing together. You, for instance, Rose, and you, Beth. I heard the grumbles and moans when it was time to work on the coverlet. Beth, you often took up your needle with a face like a lemon.”
“I did not.” Beth is pouting. “I liked the work.”
“Could have shown it a bit more, then,” says Tabitha.
I’m quiet, hoping the attention has moved away from me but it hasn’t. Selwood asks the question the others seem to have forgotten. “You, Sarah or Clara or whatever you call yourself, answer me this.”
I turn to her and she goes on. “What were you in Millbank for, then? Must’ve done something to get there in the first place.”
I must answer her. I cannot lie any longer. I have to tell them, after all. And I tell the truth. They’re all looking at me, their mouths open. I speak for what seems to me a long time.
“They’d have had you swing for that. Murder. Even if you had reason.”
“They wanted to. Caught me and wanted me dead at the end of a rope. Didn’t matter that I was forced to do it. Didn’t matter that it might have been me lying dead if I hadn’t . . . That’s why I had to get onto this ship. I might have done anything to get on the Rajah and sometimes I’m glad it was only leaving poor Sarah Goodbourne there in my place. I told them, when I came on board, that I was guilty of stealing linen from a market.”
They look at me, half stunned. Some mouths are gaping, and all the eyes turned on me are wide with astonishment. Dwyer’s wandering one comes to rest on my face.
“Dark horse, you are, Sarah, if ever I saw one,” she says at last, but I notice that even she, who pretends to have done and seen everything, to be the most seasoned convict on the lower decks, is shocked.
I smile. “I was being raped,” I say again. “Do you not understand?”
Silence fills the space. Then Rose says, “I’ve kicked and screamed against a man many times, but never killed him. Why didn’t you just lie there? Would have been over soon enough.”
How to convey to them the white hatred that filled me? “He had stabbed to death the one person I loved in the world. I was . . . I was not myself.” At this, they nodded. Revenge was acceptable, easier to understand than outrage at being treated as a whore.
* * *
* * *
Later that evening, I happen to glance at the other side of our quarters and see Becky and Lily sitting together on the bench, eating ship’s biscuits. Lily takes one and dips it into the fatty liquid that passes for gravy, which is congealing in a bowl nearby. I don’t see them speaking to one another, but Becky senses what’s coming and opens her mouth, like a small bird knowing its mother’s brought her a worm. Lily’s looking after her. Becky is happy to be looked after. The sight of them makes me feel more hopeful.
Then I remember my own situation. I lie on my mattress, staring at the blackened wood above my head, and tremble at the thought of what they’ll decide, Miss Hayter and the others. Tomorrow, at first light, I imagine men coming down the companionway ladder and placing me under guard. They’ll hand me over in Hobart and I’ll be hanged after all, far from home.
46
NOW
17 July 1841
One hundred and three days at sea
KEZIA
Sewing by lantern light was hard, and harder when most of her attention was concentrated on remaining calm and governing the impulse to tear to shreds every piece of fabric she touched. Kezia couldn’t remember a time when everything she looked at, thought of or remembered was more painful. She was half a world away from England, her brothers and sister, Cousin George, the Queen and the gray streets. Her beloved Mrs. Pryor might as well not have existed. Here, on the Rajah, everything had turned to sadness, regret and uncertainty. Every hope she had from the voyage, every dream, had vanished like smoke in a high wind.
Only this. Only the coverlet gave her any consolation She looked at it, spread out on the bunk. It was almost done. A central panel, surrounded by squares and triangles patterned with every imaginable design, and at the bottom her embroidered dedication to the Ladies’ Committee. Kezia thought, The design has come together, but the true glory lies in the work. Every one of the women she’d chosen had stitched most diligently. The very act of coming together every single day, of sitting quietly sewing, one next to another, of knowing that what they were achieving was something of beauty: that had made them more than a gathering of individual souls; that was what had transformed them into a sisterhood. The women would be parted on landing. Some would thrive and others fail, but everyone would remember this spread of flowers and leaves, colors and stripes, dots, lozenges and her own broderie perse in the middle, with its bright birds and posies. They’d remember their contribution to its making. They’d recall their fellows with affection. They’d grown so used to stitching together, to exchanging words, laughter and outbursts of temper, they would miss the closeness when they were on dry land again.
I can’t save her, she thought, and felt a lump of misery rising in her throat. Sarah, or Clara, would be handed over when they landed. Taken to another jail and hanged, maybe.
A knock came on her door, and Kezia jumped up, smoothed down her skirt and tried to pat her hair into a more suitable arrangement. She could feel that it was coming unpinned and hastened to put it up more neatly. At last she opened the door and there was Isaac Margrove, holding a piece of folded paper.
“Captain sends his greetings, Miss, and says, will you kindly read this letter?” He held it out to Kezia and she took it from him.
“Thank you, Isaac,” she said. “Good night to you.”
“And to you, Miss.” Isaac smiled at her and left her holding the sheet of paper. She longed to know what it said and dreaded the words.
My dear Kezia,
I have been speaking to Mr. Donovan and Mr. Davies for many hours. I am writing to inform you that I have persuaded them in the matter of Sarah Goodbourne and what should happen to her.
They have come to see that saving Bertie’s life goes a long way toward making up for her many crimes. Therefore, they have assured me they will not divulge her real name or mention her to the authorities in Van Diemen’s Land, and she will be allowed to start again with a clean slate.
I would very much like to speak to you privately. Tomorrow in the morning, before you settle to your work, I will be in my cabin and I pray that you will come and hear what I have to say.
Yours,
Charles
Kezia read the letter three times. She felt overcome by near dizziness. Her hands were shaking a
s she pulled on her nightgown and knelt beside her bunk. Where were her prayers? Where was everyone she wanted to remember? All her mind, it seemed, was taken up with Charles. What would he say to her? What do I want of him? Love. I love him. The distance from England, the isolation of the ship, the precarious nature of the voyage, even with all the good luck in the world there was still danger from the unforeseeable accidents of the weather . . . All these things have changed me. She finally realized what she wanted—wanted so fiercely that she had not allowed herself to put words to the thought until this moment.
Chilled, wet sailing: the Rajah is soaked and sodden and her sails drip water onto decks that are already dark with it. The wind is keen and blows from the south, from the land of deep ice.
47
NOW
18 July 1841
One hundred and four days at sea
CLARA
“Where’s she gone?” Dora wants to know.
It’s true that Miss Hayter’s generally here before the rest of us. She’s the one who brings the coverlet and spreads it ready for us to work on. There’s not much left to do. Only sewing in the ends and making sure the edges are neatly and firmly stitched. We’ve used so much fabric, so many different patterns and colors. When I’ve left this ship, the patterns will come to me in dreams.
“She’ll be in the captain’s cabin,” says Izzy, and Rose nods in agreement. “She’s not on the lower deck and she’s not here, so stands to reason.”
“They’ll be talking about me,” I say. “Deciding what to do with me. How long till we land?”