‘But then we were to lie. We were to say that Captain la Pérouse was angry and that we needed Captain Phillip’s help, a safe place in the colony where there were other women who could help Maman, and a safe home on land, without the dangers of a ship where my mother and I were the only women on board. To say that Maman was enceinte . . . pregnant.
‘And that,’ said Elsie even more quietly, ‘was the truth. Maman was going to have a baby, and I a brother or sister. And it was true too that the baby would be born before we could reach Mauritius. Maman would be safer in the colony. Maman and I knew no English, except a few words, but Papa was fluent.’
‘But how would you be able to tell the French about our cannons and forts from Port Jackson?’ I asked.
‘Captain la Pérouse would send a ship for us from Mauritius. We would stay in the colony less than a year. We would return to France as heroes, bringing the knowledge our country needed to keep our ports and ships safe from the English, when war came between our countries again. As war did come, Barney,’ she said, her eyes dark and solemn. ‘Always, it seems, forever, there has been war between England and France. Perhaps there always will be.
‘So we set out for Port Jackson. Maman and I wore dresses again that we had kept in our trunks — Maman and Papa had known that one day we might be put ashore and Maman and I would need to look like women again, in a land where it was not easy to make new dresses. We carried a bag each with clothes, some food, our notebooks and sketchpads and a flower press. We left early in the morning, in the grey light, for the ten miles to the colony over rough country and around the coves would take us all day to walk.
‘And that is the last I saw of Captain la Pérouse, and the ships that had been my life and my home and my adventure for the past two and a half years, and the men who had treated Maman and me well, even when they knew our secret.
‘We walked. Our legs wobbled, for Maman and I had been at sea so long, and we were weak from lack of exercise and fresh food too. But still we knew we would be able to reach the colony before the night. Captain la Pérouse and Papa had discussed sending guards with us, but the Indians had not attacked while we had been in Botany Bay and they seemed so few, and the presence of guards might make Governor Phillip suspect the truth — that we did not truly need refuge, but wanted information.’
‘That you were spies,’ I said.
She nodded.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to think. Spying! Trying to trick Governor Phillip by appealing to him as a good man. And he was a good man — still is a good man, if he’s alive in England. Governor Phillip would have said yes.
It was wrong to trick a good man! She saw my thoughts on my face.
‘It was for our country,’ she said quietly. ‘To save lives if the English attacked our ports, our ships.’
‘But what if the French attacked us because of what you told them?’ I met her gaze.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know what we were going to do might make war more likely, not less. But I did not know that then. I believed that what my parents thought was right must be good. And to them it was. Papa would have fought the English in a battle. He would have taken English lives, if he could, just as the English kill the French. This was service for his country too.’
‘Go on,’ I said. I still didn’t know what I felt. But there had to be a lot more to Elsie’s story. Because even I would have heard of a French family arriving in the colony, and so would the Johnsons and Governor Hunter. And if people in the colony had known there’d been a girl on the French ships, Mr Johnson would have guessed who Elsie was straight away and even why she did not speak.
‘It happened at midday,’ she said. ‘The shadows were short, almost vanished, as expected in this latitude. Maman and I were scared, a little, but also happy. She kept stopping at every new plant, wanting to take a sample. It had been so long since she had been able to see plants growing on land, not just flowers or leaves brought onto the ship. But Papa said we must keep walking, that there would be months for her to study all the plants of this land when we were living in the colony.
‘But there was one that made Maman cry for joy, a bush with red . . .’ Elsie shrugged. ‘I do not know the word in English — calices roses-rouges.
‘Papa laughed and said, “Just one then,” and Maman took out her book and charcoal to sketch it before she picked it for the press. Then they attacked.’
‘The Indians?’ But even as I said it, I knew it would not be Birrung’s people. They attacked only in revenge. ‘Convicts,’ I said flatly.
She nodded. ‘Three men. They surprised us, coming from behind as Maman sketched the bush. Two of the men had knives. They clubbed Papa, and then they stabbed him.’ Elsie’s voice was not as musical now. ‘He was dazed and bleeding, but he still fought and hard. One man held my arms. He dragged me away. I could not understand what his companions were yelling — to help them kill Papa I think, to help them capture Maman, for Maman had a knife too, and knew how to use it. The man who held me cuffed me on the head, and I bit him to the bone. He let me go. Papa yelled, “Jeanne, run! Run!”
‘And I obeyed,’ said Elsie. ‘I left my parents there with their attackers, because I was a girl and small. Because I could not help, but would make it harder for them to fight back. I ran and ran, holding up my heavy skirts.
‘The sun was hot. My head still rang. I needed water, for I’d drunk nothing since the early morning. I found a rocky shelter and waited, hoping to hear Papa call. It grew dark and I still waited.
‘I do not think I slept. My head hurt. Even the stars seemed to whirl too much in the sky. I wanted to be sick, but when I retched there was nothing to bring up. And when the birds sang out the dawn I crept back to find my parents.
‘They were not there, but I could see the blood. I could see the marks where bodies had been dragged away. I followed the drag marks, and then I found their bodies, bashed and covered in dried blood, hidden under a giant fig tree in a gully, though I did not know it was a fig tree then.
‘I could not think. I could not even cry. I sat with them, thoughts whirling around. Maybe it is a mistake and if I shut my eyes, they will wake up. Maman will laugh with me and sing, and Papa will tell me what stars we should look for tonight and why some leaves change colour in the autumn and others do not.
‘I held their hands. I kissed their cheeks. But their skin was cold and they did not wake up, even though I waited all the day.
‘I still had no water, and the men had stolen our bags and food. My head still hurt too. I tried to think what Papa would have me do.’
She shrugged. ‘I do not know what happened then. I fainted, I think. When I woke, I was at an Indian camp by a stream, with strange smoke in my nostrils, waved at me by an old woman with wild black hair. She gave me bitter water from a bark container and I drank, not just because I was so thirsty but because even though she was black and her hair so wild, the drink tasted like the herbs my mother brewed.
‘I was weak for days, I think, or even longer. I drank, I slept, I ate. I knew I must go back to Captain la Pérouse and tell him what had happened. Captain la Pérouse could ask for refuge for me from Governor Phillip, as a girl without a mother. I could still be a spy for my country, for Maman and Papa. That was all I could do for them now.
‘The Indian women were so kind to me,’ she whispered. ‘So very kind. I pointed south and to my skin, to show I needed to find the white men who had a camp down there. The women shook their heads. I thought they meant they would not take me. I cried, I pleaded. Even though they didn’t know my words, they understood.
‘And so they brought me to the bay, and then I understood as well. For Captain la Pérouse had already sailed away.
‘I lived with the Indians after that. I did not dare approach the colony. I had no English to ask to be taken to Governor Phillip to beg him for refuge. If those convicts saw me, wouldn’t they try to kill me too, in case I accused them of murdering my parents?
<
br /> ‘The Indian women rolled my dress up small and tied it with bark twine so I could carry it. They rubbed charcoal on my skin and in my hair so that from a distance I would not look white, if convict men should see us.
‘I tried to keep count of the moons so I would know the months and could be near the colony when the ship from Mauritius came to rescue my family. I learned how to catch and skin an o’possum or goanna, how to swim and catch a duck and hunt for honey.’ Elsie smiled a little. ‘All the things Birrung taught us, I knew so many of them already. I think she recognised me, the white girl who had lived among her people.
‘I lived with them until the plague came, the one that killed so many of the Indians but not the colonists — and not me. One morning the old woman who had first tended me had sores on her skin. By evening she was dead. The next day others had the sores. The sick screamed for water, burned with fever, tried to bury themselves in the damp sand. They died, one by one, so fast. I brought them water. I waited for the plague to kill me too. I had read about what happens when plague attacks a village, how almost half can die and nothing can be done.
‘Those of the family I was with who still survived said we must travel far away so the illness could not catch us. We must go west. I knew a little of their language by then and understood their gestures.
‘But I could not go west. I could not leave the harbour. I had to keep watch for sails from France or from Mauritius, as the captain had promised. If I left with the Indians, I would never get back home. And so when they left, I lived alone, among the rocks above the colony. I put on my dress, for modesty, in case someone found me, for while from a distance I might be taken for an Indian among the other women and girls, no one who saw me alone would think I was. I gathered oysters in the dawn and dusk, when no one from the colony might see. I drank from the small gullies, ate wild figs and herbs.
‘But I had no fire, so I could not cook meat or roots or grind seeds to make the bread the native women cooked.
‘Day after day I watched. My body ached with hunger. My eyes ached with crying. It had been lonely among the Indian women, although they had been kind. But now their laughter had vanished from the harbour, along with their fishing canoes and the children diving for mussels.
‘Day after day I sat up among the rocks, listening for footsteps or voices, in case other convict men found me. Day after day I watched the blue sea and the horizon. But no ship came. Not French, not English. No ship at all.’ Her eyes met mine again. ‘For Captain la Pérouse, the ships and all the men had vanished. But no one knew it then, and certainly not I. He never reached Mauritius at all.’
I sat there quiet, waiting for Elsie to go on. She could see how sad I was for that little girl Jeanne. I didn’t need to tell her.
‘No one would ever know my family had been left behind,’ said Elsie softly. ‘The captain’s records and letters had been given to Monsieur Hunter to send back to England before we left camp, but Captain la Pérouse would not have written down that information in case the English read it. My parents’ families in France must believe that all of us died, even if they do not know how.’
Elsie watched me for a moment, her face expressionless. ‘And then you found me, Barney,’ she said quietly. ‘Curled up under one of the rock ledges, trying to hide. I was so scared, for I was too weak to run away. You . . . you said something. I didn’t know what it was, but your voice was so kind and your face was kind too. And suddenly I stopped being scared, stopped being alone, for I had you.’
I tried to remember what I had said. ‘What are you doing here?’ I think it was. ‘Are you alone, like me?’ Because I’d had no one to protect me from the convict men either, those who’d bash me for my rations or just the fun of it, brutes who’d rather steal than work.
‘You brought me water,’ said Elsie softly. ‘You gave me a piece of cheese you had in your pocket.’ She smiled faintly. ‘It was the most horrible cheese I had ever eaten, but the best also. And that night you took my hand and led me to the collapsed hut, where we hid until Birrung and Mr Johnson found us.’
I sat silent, remembering those days, the beginning of the best life I could ever have. At last I asked, ‘Why didn’t you trust me enough to talk when you learned some English words?’
She looked at me solemnly. ‘I was an enemy, Barney. A spy. I had heard the English and Russians on shore, or who had visited us on board at the ports we stopped at, try to speak French. Even if they had the right words, they did not sound the same. I knew it would be the same with me. I sound French even now I can speak English, do I not?’
I’d never heard any Frenchie speak before. I nodded anyway.
‘By the time Birrung rescued us, I knew no ship would come for me. And the Second Fleet brought the news that England and France were again at war. No French ship could come to Port Jackson in wartime; nor could I even write a letter for the ships to take back to England to send to my parents’ families in France. And then Governor Phillip left. Major Grose and Major Paterson hated Mr Johnson so much — what would they have done if they knew he looked after a French spy?’
She coughed again, a little, but somehow she looked better, not exhausted, as if her story had been a heavy rock she’d had to carry all these years.
The firelight flickered on her face. Outside, the shadows lengthened. It would soon be time to close the shutters and light the candles and slush lamps.
‘So,’ she said at last. ‘You know my secret now. What should I do, Barney? What should I do now?’
I looked at her, the Elsie I had always known, just a bit paler now, resting on the cushions on the chair and stool.
But I hadn’t known Elsie at all . . .
She gazed at me seriously. ‘Barney?’
And I realised I did know her. I’d known her all along. The Elsie who had survived all by herself in a colony of rags and thieves, just like I had. The Elsie who wouldn’t give in, even cold and starving, both of us having to hide to keep safe.
This was the Elsie who’d been Birrung’s friend and didn’t care that she had dark skin, who’d climbed the rock with her and found bush honey and native fruits; the Elsie who’d kept a secret for nine years, who had made a good life for herself, learning to understand and even read and write another language as fast as Birrung had.
The Elsie I loved.
But Birrung had chosen to go back to her people. What did Elsie truly want?
I tried to find the right words to ask her. But before I could, she said, ‘Barney, may I ask you two questions?’
Her voice didn’t sound like any I’d ever heard. Yet this was the way my Elsie should talk, with that hint of music and words just a little different.
I tried to find wonderful words to give to her too. But all I could come up with was, ‘Yes.’
‘Do you hate me because I am French? Your country’s enemy?’
I had the words for that right enough. ‘Of course not! France and England mightn’t even be enemies again by now. But even if they are, it wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t ever matter. You’re you, and I’m me, and our countries are at the other end of the world and can do dumb things like fight each other . . .’ I ran out of words.
‘But our home is here?’ Elsie’s face had the beginnings of a smile.
I nodded. ‘What is the second question?’
‘When we are married, may I be a botanist? May I collect new plants out at the farm and send them to the Royal Society in England? The men scientists would not pay attention if they knew they came from a woman,’ she added. ‘But I could sign myself E. Bean. Or you could pretend they are from you. But the world needs to know about all the wonders here.’
I stared at her. ‘Elsie, I ain’t even asked you to marry me. I’m going to,’ I said quickly. ‘Just hadn’t got to it yet.’
‘I thought that was what you were going to ask me when you arrived,’ said Elsie sombrely. ‘That is why I shook my head. Because I couldn’t marry you until you knew my secret. And I was afra
id that when you did, you might hate me.’
‘Then you’re a donkey,’ I said. Then I saw that calling a girl a donkey wasn’t the best way to propose to her. So I got down on one knee. I felt a bit of a donkey myself, but I wanted to do things properly for Elsie.
‘Elsie Jeanne, will you marry me?’ I asked. ‘And collect a million plants at our farm and send them to the Royal Society in London?’
‘Yes,’ said my Elsie.
CHAPTER 8
A Wedding
Mrs Johnson and Elsie made me new trousers and a jacket for the wedding, and Bill too. You should have seen Bill’s face!
‘Them’s the first new clothes I ever had,’ he said, looking at his reflection in the river. ‘Except for convict issue, and they don’t count. Do I look like a toff?’
‘A right toff,’ I said, though it wasn’t quite true. Real toffs have long superior noses like rams do, and they know how to shave better than Bill, with no cuts and no tufts of hair left behind, or maybe their valets do their shaving for them.
But I thought we looked pretty fine.
Mr Johnson gave me a bookshelf he had made himself. I’ve treasured that bookcase all my life, because Mr Johnson, what with all his duties and kindnesses to so many, had gone without sleep, late into the night or early in the morning, to make this for me, and gave me books to fill it too. Mrs Macarthur gave Elsie some pale blue silk to make her wedding dress. ‘Every bride should wear silk,’ she said, and her look dared Mrs Johnson to argue.
I bought a wedding present for Elsie too. Not just the ring, a silver one the blacksmith made, melting down three silver pieces I’d earned whaling. I also gave her a gift that Mr Johnson found sketched in one of his books. I got the blacksmith and the carpenter to make it.
I wrapped it in a nice tanned o’possum-skin rug and gave it to Elsie the week before the wedding.
The Johnsons’ kitchen was full of steam from boiling puddings. We were having the wedding feast out at the farm, but the cakes and puddings would all go there by boat.
Barney and the Secret of the French Spies Page 5