Holly smiled back. ‘Toned down, anyway.’
Connor gave an elaborate shrug. ‘I am what I am.’
‘Then why be shy of publicity this time? It’s not your style.’
He didn’t respond immediately, seeming to weigh up how much to say. Finally, he reached a decision. ‘If you agree to stick to the treasure I’ll cooperate.’
‘That’s why I’m here. The treasure, the AIDS research program which, incidentally, Quinn is prepared to feature on its own, pirates generally, that sort of thing.’
‘Nothing about me?’
Holly wouldn’t go that far. ‘Anything I write will be run past you first. How’s that?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll tell you a story.’
Got him! ‘Should I start the tape?’
‘If you like.’
A waiter hovered and they each ordered a light lunch and coffee.
‘Three hundred years ago,’ Connor began, ‘this whole area was crawling with brigands and cutthroats from just about every seafaring nation in the world.’
‘I know.’
The interruption drew a brief frown. ‘My story concerns only one of them. An ancestor, Captain William Maguire.’ He paused, waiting for comment. When she remained silent, Connor continued. ‘He was born in the latter half of the seventeenth century into an Irish aristocratic family, but being the youngest son, he could only hope for a settlement and a modest allowance. As was the custom in those days, William was expected to take up the cloth and join the priesthood. I guess the prospect didn’t appeal to him. The lad ran away and went to sea. He must have been a bit on the wild side though, because within a very short time he’d gone from legitimate sailor to pirate.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘I’ll get to that. William began his predatory adventures in the Caribbean, but as soon as he had command of his own ship, set off for the west coast of Africa. He was obviously very good at what he did and became exceptionally wealthy.’
‘Is that where your family fortune originated?’
‘Some certainly benefited from his activities in this part of the world.’
‘Not a fact you’d want generally known, I imagine.’
Connor shrugged. ‘Doesn’t bother me one way or the other. I wasn’t there. Not many wealthy families could withstand a vigorous investigation into where their inheritance came from.’
‘Doesn’t it make you just a little uncomfortable? You said it yourself, brigands and cut-throats. They didn’t stop at theft. They murdered and raped as well.’
His dark eyes were unreadable but she sensed it might be a sore point. ‘As I said, William Maguire headed for the warmer waters of the Indian Ocean and established a semi-permanent base here in what was then called Maurice.’
‘The Sea of Zanj.’
‘You know about that, do you?’
‘I had a thing about stories of the Arabian Nights.’
He grinned lopsidedly and a dimple appeared.
Holly had to force herself not to gaze at it. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘It’s interesting. Far more so than simply following me around the place.’
She let that go. Besides, he was right, it was interesting. ‘Please go on.’
‘The British East India Company had a Captain Mackra commanding their ship, the Cassandra. When William Maguire started to plunder every trader that passed his way, the Poms fitted out a fleet and placed Captain Mackra in charge. After several close encounters with his pursuers, William decided to lay up in Madagascar for a while. But Mackra found him and the chase was on again. It was only Maguire’s skill as a seaman that enabled him to avoid capture. Eventually he settled here, more or less permanently.
‘For a spot of rape and pillage no doubt?’
‘More like trade and running repairs.’
Holly raised her eyebrows and he inclined his head, acknowledging her point.
‘What year are we talking about? Mauritius was still Dutch then, wasn’t it?’
‘No. The Dutch left in 1710. The French arrived in 1715. William settled here five years after that. It was another two years before French colonialists started arriving in any great numbers.’
‘I read a bit about the history of Mauritius on the flight. It seems to have been passed around quite a lot.’
‘Correct. This island has had a variety of colonial masters. Every time it changed hands, so did the name.’
‘Can you remember them? It’s good material for the tape.’
He nodded. ‘Arab seamen discovered it in the tenth century. They called the island Dinarobin but made no attempt to settle here. Then the Portuguese came along and called the island Ilha do Cerne.’
‘Swan Island. I like that.’
‘You speak Portuguese?’
‘No. But it’s sort of like Spanish.’
‘Spanish then?’
‘I can muddle through.’
He raised his eyebrows appreciatively. ‘A lady of many talents.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Not a lot. Virtually no-one actually lived here. About a hundred years after the Portuguese found this place, the Dutch arrived and claimed it for the Netherlands. They named it Maurice after the then Prince of Orange. The Portuguese didn’t seem to mind, no-one contested ownership, and the Dutch set up a base station for their Dutch East India Company ships.’
Holly chipped in. ‘They brought in slaves from Africa too.’
‘Yes. For labour. They established sugar cane and tobacco here.’
‘Exit the dodo.’
‘No. Not straight away, and it was not strictly the Dutch who were to blame. The Portuguese had found them to be almost tame. And why wouldn’t they be? They lived undisturbed on an island with no natural predators. Because there was no need for escape, pigeons, parrots and doves had virtually lost their ability to fly.’
‘The dodo was a kind of pigeon, wasn’t it?’ Holly asked, thinking briefly of the article she planned to write about Justin Parker. No harm in killing two birds with one stone. She grinned inwardly at her own pun.
Connor nodded. ‘About the size of a turkey. They were killed for meat and sport. The Portuguese even tried exporting them to Europe but none survived. Monkeys and hogs, released on the island to ensure a steady supply of food, loved to eat dodo eggs. So did the rats that escaped off the ships. The poor bloody bird didn’t stand a chance.’
‘But the dodo disappeared during Dutch occupation, didn’t it?’
‘Yes. Only because they did nothing to protect it.’ He gave her an approving glance. ‘You’ve certainly done your homework.’
‘I’m a journalist. What would you expect?’
‘I’ve met some pretty thick members of the profession.’
Despite herself, Holly grinned outright. So had she.
Connor continued. ‘The territory wasn’t all that profitable and the Dutch simply lost interest and left. When William Maguire first arrived, he found the island deserted, save for a few other pirates who’d set up house here, a couple of hardy settlers and the slaves. As cut-throat a bunch as the onetime sailors may have been, they were frightened to death of the marrons . . .’
‘The slaves?’
‘Yes.’ He fished a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘Do you smoke?’
‘Only when I’m on fire.’
He put the packet back without lighting one. ‘Enter the French. Once again, the island had a name change. Île de France. This time the place was used as a way station for the French East India Company. About ten years later, immigrants started arriving from France. They developed the existing sugar and tobacco plantations, built a sugar mill and established an infrastructure of roads, ports, medical care, all that sort of thing.’
‘The French East India Company collapsed, didn’t it?’
‘Late in the eighteenth century.’ He nodded. ‘The British navy claimed numerous islands in the Indian Ocean but, so
far, they hadn’t bothered with this place.’
‘But your ancestor, William, was obviously dead by then. Did he stay here?’
‘He took a fancy to the area around Grand Port. Lived to a ripe old age, too. He’s buried there.’
Holly remembered the conversation she’d had with Quinn. ‘Do you know anything about a self-proclaimed pirate king in Port Louis?’
‘After William’s time, but yes, Robert Surcouf was his name. He created a sanctuary for the pirates. Literally hundreds of them settled on Île de France. Bloody awful place by then. They liberated the slaves then released bloodhounds and hunted them down for sport. The poor devils didn’t stand a chance. Some made for the centre of the island where they were reasonably safe, planting a few of their own crops but basically living a hunting and gathering existence. A few of the women, perhaps to save their own skins, married pirates. It was a common enough practice back in those days. William had also taken a slave wife. Being married and having children didn’t seem to slow him down though. He continued to loot any ship passing. It was only about fifty years after his death that the British East India Company had had enough and sent in the Royal Marines.’
‘Hang on.’ Holly’s brow furrowed, trying to remember. ‘The Treaty of Paris in 1814 gave Britain Île de France, Rodrigues and the Seychelles. Am I right?’
‘One hundred per cent.’
‘Good. We seemed to flash through a few centuries there. I just needed to get my bearings. So the Brits changed the name again?’
‘Back to Maurice. Though they insisted on calling it Mauritius. A lot of the French settlers were deported back to France. That included the pirates. Most were executed, although some returned with a full pardon.’
‘And many buried their treasure before leaving.’
‘Everyone did, whether they were sent away or not. They didn’t trust the marrons, the British or each other. Taking their fortunes with them just wasn’t an option.’
‘So you think there are still places here where buried treasure . . .’ She broke off. ‘It sounds a bit far-fetched. Surely it’s all been found by now?’
‘More than likely. There’s just one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘William Maguire kept a journal. It was supposed to have been sent home to Ireland just before he died, to his sister, the only person in the world he felt he could trust. Unfortunately, life hadn’t been all that kind to her. She lived well enough, on the family estate, but was – how can I put it – emotionally and mentally –’
‘Gaga,’ Holly offered pointedly.
He smiled. ‘Politically incorrect, I fear.’
‘So what?’ She shrugged. ‘It sure as hell beats playing footsy with words.’
The waiter returned with their meal and fussed around the table for a while. When he’d gone, Holly said, ‘This journal. I take it you have it now?’
‘Correct.’
‘How did you find it? For that matter, where did you find it?’
Connor speared a piece of tomato with his fork. ‘The Maguire clan has its share of historians. The family tree is comprehensive and up to date. My mother keeps in touch with dozens of my father’s distant relatives who she’s never even met. She’s obsessed with keeping tabs on the Australian Maguires. It’s a disease with her.’ The tomato found its way to his mouth and he chewed reflectively for a while. Swallowing, he went on. ‘I took time out earlier this year –’
‘When your second marriage broke up.’
He blinked but did not otherwise comment. ‘I went to Ireland, to the family estates.’ The smile was sardonic. ‘It was quite an experience.’
‘Not all good by the sound of things.’
‘Some good. The Irish make loyal friends and dedicated enemies.’
Her eyes invited an explanation.
‘One side of the family welcomed me with open arms. The other regarded their antipodean relative with the deepest of suspicion, although they were scrupulous in their efforts to hide it from me.’
‘Why? Why the hostility?’
‘It goes right back to William and a cousin of his called Kavanagh. Yes,’ he added, when he saw her look of disbelief, ‘back to the eighteenth century. I told you they are a dedicated lot. Not one of them knows the truth but for generations they’ve managed to keep the feud alive. As recently as seventy-odd years ago, a girl from one side of the family had the misfortune to fall in love with her cousin from the other. Her parents were so shocked they had her committed to an asylum where the poor creature eventually went mad. That’s how real it still is.’
‘That’s insane,’ Holly burst out.
He grinned. ‘You’re not listening. The girl went insane.’
‘Sounds like a bad B-grade movie.’ ‘Is there any other kind?’
They were getting off the track. She redirected their conversation. ‘Which side of the Maguires are you from?’
‘It gets kind of convoluted but I’m directly descended from William’s side.’
‘From William himself?’
‘No. From his brother, the eldest son, Gilchrist.’
‘Oh.’
‘You sound disappointed.’
Holly shrugged. ‘Tying you in with a pirate would have been good. Nice story angle.’
‘Sorry. Gilchrist, as far as I can tell, was landed gentry. Probably as boring as hell.’
‘So where did you find the journal?’
‘In an attic.’
Holly waited.
‘The house belonged to the wrong side. Kavanagh’s family.’
‘Ah. And I don’t suppose you told them by any chance?’
‘No.’ His eyes challenged her. ‘I didn’t know what it was then, and anyway, I didn’t like them.’
She paused, fork halfway to her mouth. ‘You didn’t like them?’ she repeated slowly.
‘I’m a Maguire,’ he excused himself.
Holly’s food waved in the air. ‘That’s it? You justify blatant theft because they were the wrong Maguires?’
‘They stole it from William’s family.’ Connor must have realised that his excuse sounded petulant. ‘Well,’ he amended quickly, ‘the journal was entrusted to someone for delivery but that person inadvertently handed it to the wrong family. They should have given it back. It’s part of William’s history, not theirs.’
‘You said a while ago that William was supposed to have sent the journal back to Ireland. I take it then that he didn’t.’
‘He couldn’t have. He’d hardly have sent it to the wrong family. Besides, there was a note tucked into the front from someone called Aroon saying she was sending it back to Ireland for safe-keeping. The date on it was 1873. That’s over a hundred and twenty years after William died.’
‘And Aroon was?’
He shrugged. ‘Haven’t a clue.’
‘I thought your family tree was up to date.’
‘Not the Mauritian side, not William’s descendants.’
‘Okay, so the journal stayed here until the middle of last century and was then delivered to the wrong side of the family.’
‘I’m guessing a bit, but it seems likely. And I’m also speculating that whoever received the journal read it and then hid it away without saying anything to anybody.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Stories they told me when I was there, obviously handed down through generations, that bore no resemblance to what William had written in his journal.’
‘What exactly were you doing poking around their attic?’
‘When my mother heard I was going to Ireland she suggested that I ask both sides of the family for any information that might help her fill in a couple of remaining gaps in our family tree. No-one over there thought it strange. They were probably relieved that I was occupied and nobody had to spend too much time entertaining me. Took me to the attic and told me to help myself. I don’t believe that the present generation have any interest in what’s up there. Judging by the cobwebs and
dust, no-one had been in the attic for decades. It’s my guess that nobody knew about the journal.’
‘But why don’t you like them? It’s got to be more than old Maguire feuds.’
Connor considered his answer for some time. ‘I didn’t actually like either side very much. The whole damned lot of them are inbred, arrogant and selfish.’
Holly’s eyebrows went up.
‘It’s true. Not one of them had a nice thing to say about another. Not even those on the same side of the family. I don’t know how they can stand being around each other.’
‘Still, you took what doesn’t belong to you.’
‘They don’t need the money. Look, call me a perverse Aussie if you like, but the idea of snatching William’s treasure from under their noses appeals to me.’
Holly was beginning to feel irritated. Connor Maguire would, no doubt, receive a huge amount of positive publicity if he did find the treasure and donate it to charity. The public would never know that his generosity was driven by a desire to pull a fast one over his Irish relatives. She forced her thoughts back to the interview.
‘So did William’s journal explain what really happened between him and Kavanagh?’
‘Oh yes. When William arrived in Maurice to settle, Kavanagh was already here. Kavanagh stole William’s ship and sailed to Bourbon, leaving William and two others stranded here. The Dutch had deserted but the French were yet to settle. Life must have been very hard.’
‘Wait.’ Holly wagged her finger sideways. ‘Go back a bit. Where is Bourbon?’
‘It’s the name the pirates gave to Réunion.’
‘Okay.’
‘Kavanagh lived the good life on Bourbon. He gave up pirating when he was in his early forties and returned home to Ireland. His contribution to the Maguire coffers ensured that future generations would be well cared for. He told the rest of the family that William had been killed.’
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