His breath was short in his throat, his mouth dry, his forehead wet with sweat.
What would they do to him if they caught him?
It wasn’t to be thought about. Why take such risks? There were plenty more girls where that one came from. He was tempted to turn the skiff around now and go back, but that was impossible. The arrangement had been made and he had to discharge his part in it.
He scanned the shore. Everything was still. Maybe they hadn’t been able to get away. Maybe the brother never got the message. Maybe …
A faint whistle came from the rocks. His heart leapt. He whistled back softly, letting the skiff drift closer to the shore. A figure showed at the edge of the beach.
He pushed the water gently with the blade of one oar, taking care to make no sound. The stern of the boat grated on the coarse sand. He sat, eyes stretched and round in his head, watching the darkness, fearful of a trap.
A shadow stirred at the edge of the beach. The figure of a man scrunched across the sand towards him.
One? Where was the other one?
‘They aren’t coming,’ his father said.
*
After the reception was over, Jonathan Hagwood had a private word with the governor while Elizabeth waited in the rapidly emptying reception room.
Ten minutes later Jonathan came out, his face white with fury.
‘Where are the girls?’
‘Mrs Goodall came for them.’
‘What are we waiting for then?’
They walked through the warm evening to the cottage they were using until they could get their own place built. Jonathan did not speak but his tight lips and narrowed eyes showed he was still furious. Elizabeth knew him too well to say anything. When he wanted to talk he would.
The breeze had dropped. The air was close but stars shone out of a clear sky. There was no sign of rain. The lights of the settlement reflected peacefully in the still waters of the cove. The dust muffled their footsteps and the clamour of the cicadas on either side of the path was the only sound apart from the murmur of their own voices.
‘My sister says that conditions in France are chaotic,’ Elizabeth said. Letters from home had arrived on Bellona.
Jonathan grunted. ‘It’s what happens when you let the mob take over. Pray God they never let things go so far in England.’
She looked up at him. ‘Do you think it’s likely?’
‘Who knows what frightened men may do?’
She frowned. ‘Frightened?’
‘Of course frightened,’ he said disagreeably. ‘The trouble in France is a good deal closer to them than it is to us.’
‘You think the unrest could cross the Channel? Surely not.’
‘It’s what they’ll be afraid of. I sometimes think the British government is frightened of everything. This nonsense about liberty and equality is a contagion. It needs to be stamped out at once or it will spread. Once it’s out of control it will be too late. Yet all the government does is talk about it.’
Elizabeth glanced at him. Normally they discussed events in Europe and England casually, knowing that whatever happened there was of little direct concern and in any event was months out of date before they heard of it. But tonight Jonathan was in a filthy mood.
‘By this time, of course, Louis may have reasserted his authority and put the insurrections down,’ she said.
‘Perhaps, but I doubt it.’
‘If anything were to happen in England,’ Elizabeth wondered, ‘what effect would it have on us here?’
‘It depends on what happens.’ He laughed briefly and without humour. ‘I suppose if England suffers a revolution like they’ve had in France, the next transports will be packed with our friends. Somehow I can’t see it.’
They walked on a little way in silence.
Jonathan said, ‘I’ve arranged to see a builder in Parramatta tomorrow. I’m told he’s a hard man but interesting. He’s a convict,’ he added casually.
‘A convict!’ They lived surrounded by convicts, but meeting one socially, even on business, would be a new experience.
‘I believe he could be very valuable to us. Not only in building.’
‘He sounds very mysterious. What’s his name?’
‘Thornton. Ira Thornton. I’d like you to come with me so that we can discuss the house with him.’
‘I would like that very much.’
Jonathan’s ill-humour returned. ‘Not that he’ll build it the way we want, of course. That would be too much to hope. But at least if we discuss it with him first we may be able to prevent the worst mistakes.’
‘Of course.’
‘If we leave early, we can be back again in time for dinner.’ An animal of some kind rustled in the scrub beside the path. ‘If we make a start on the building straightaway, we should be able to move in within two months at the outside. Possibly less.’ He looked around distastefully at the rows of houses. ‘One cannot live as one would like in these surroundings,’ he said. ‘On the other hand, we must make sure the house is built properly. I don’t intend to squat out there in a mud hut.’
‘I see the Tremain boys have arrived,’ she said cautiously.
He grunted but said nothing.
‘They’ve already made an impression.’ She told him about Jane Somers’ reaction.
‘The girl needs a strap,’ Jonathan said.
‘Did you see that other new arrival?’ She smiled in the darkness. ‘All dressed up like a peacock?’
‘Thomas Birkett? He’s the son of a baronet. He’ll inherit the title one day.’
‘So he told us.’
‘You spoke to him?’
‘He came and spoke to us.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Drunk. He was an unpleasant young man. I am thankful Emily is still far too young for such things. Elinor Goodall was all over him, of course.’
They reached the house and walked up the path to the front door.
Hagwood said, ‘Why are the lamps not lit?’
The faint light from the settlement reflected off the glazed windows but the house was in darkness. He put his hand to the latch. The door opened. They went indoors.
The sitting room was dark. Jonathan stumbled over a chair and cursed under his breath. He found the tinderbox and lit one of the lamps. Yellow light flooded the room. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes against the sudden glare and went quickly to close the door against flying insects.
They looked around the room. Everything was as they had left it.
‘Where is that damn girl?’ Jonathan wrenched open the inner door. ‘Rosina!’
A moment’s silence, then a stir at the back of the house and the girl Rosina came scurrying, yawning and rubbing her eyes, a scared look on her face. She was fifteen years old and wore a crumpled dress that had once been white; her string-coloured hair hung over her eyes.
‘Oh sir, I’m that sorry …’ She looked close to tears.
‘The children‚’ Elizabeth said, ‘are they all right?’
‘Oh yes, mum. They bin asleep all the time.’
‘How can you tell when you’ve obviously been asleep yourself?’ Jonathan demanded sharply. ‘What the devil do you mean by it? The house in darkness and no one to greet us when we return!’
He glared at her. The fool was trembling – trembling. It gratified him briefly but not enough. A girl who behaved like this showed lack of respect. She would have to go. He looked at Elizabeth. ‘If there is anything I cannot abide it’s a slovenly servant.’
Rosina hung her head, wringing her hands together. ‘I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m that sorry, sir.’
‘A little late for that. We shall be moving to our new property at Parramatta shortly. I don’t intend to take anyone who isn’t totally reliable.’ He turned away. ‘I shall send you back to the convict lines in the morning.’
Rosina wailed. ‘Oh sir …’
Jonathan felt Elizabeth looking at him. He knew she thought he was being too harsh. Coming
on top of everything else that had happened that evening, the idea filled him with fury. Mouth pinched, green eyes like blades, he turned on the child. ‘Be quiet! I’m not prepared to put up with this nonsense the moment I walk through the door! Get to your box and be thankful I don’t take you back here and now.’
Rosina fled. The sound of her bawling faded.
Hagwood said, ‘I shall lock her in. Who knows what she may get up to, otherwise?’
Elizabeth looked at him assessingly but said nothing.
‘I take it you do not approve,’ he said angrily.
She shook her head. ‘Of course she was in the wrong. But she is only a child, Jonathan. No doubt she will learn from this, if you allow her to.’
He lifted his chin. ‘You think we should give her a second chance. That is what you’re saying?’
He had never been able to intimidate his wife. ‘It will not hurt us to be … merciful.’
‘That’s what we were discussing on our way home. Leniency is too often interpreted as weakness.’
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re saying there will be an uprising if we allow Rosina to stay?’
A mistake – Jonathan could not abide mockery, even of the most gentle kind. His jaw tightened.
‘She goes to sleep with the lamps unlit and the door unlocked. With the children alone in the house. In the middle of a convict settlement. Who knows what she may forget another time?’
Elizabeth tried once more. ‘She’s been with us a year. You don’t think that should mean something?’
‘Certainly.’ He stared at her down his long nose. ‘It means we have probably been very lucky.’
*
Tremain stood over the skiff, his outstretched arm like the limb of an oak, his heavy hand grasping the prow of the little boat. In the moonlight he looked enormous.
‘Listening to the spirits of the land. That’s what you said.’ He spoke softly but Cash felt the words sink into him like barbs. ‘What are you really doing?’
‘You know what I’m doing,’ Cash said.
‘I warned you about picking up strangers. You said you wouldn’t. So much for your word.’
‘He’s not a stranger. He –’
‘Is a convict.’ Tremain’s fury engulfed him. ‘You dared go against me in this?’
Moonlight turned his father’s face into a skull, robbed of all expression. The big hand released the prow of the skiff. The fingers tightened into a fist, the knuckles gleaming like white stones. Cash shut his eyes, expecting a blow, but none came. When he opened them again, Tremain had not moved.
‘Get my boat back to the beach. Now.’ The words, so quiet he could barely hear them, were harsh with cruelty. ‘Get up to the house. I shall be waiting.’
*
Silas Pike came aboard Centaur from the boat that had brought him out from the jetty, his hawk eyes everywhere as he climbed over the rail. Everything seemed in order: the decks clean and tidy, the rigging taut, the anchor watch at their posts.
He turned to Cormac Reilly, the mate, who was waiting for him in accordance with his standing orders. ‘Everything correct?’
‘All correct it is, sir.’ Reilly was a big man, heavy in the shoulders, with a scarred, shaven head set like a cannonball on a neck thick with muscle.
‘No one try to board us?’ Pike asked.
‘Sir?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean! Convicts. Escapees, that’s what I’m talking about.’
Reilly shook his head. ‘There was a rowing boat moving about the cove, an hour gone, but nothing came near us.’
‘Better be sure you’re right, Cormac.’ Pike watched the man’s eyes. ‘I was talking with the governor tonight. He seems to think convicts are getting away on visiting ships. He tells me he’s going to have a search of all vessels before they’re allowed to clear port.’ Was it the light, or had the mate’s eyes shifted a little? ‘I wouldn’t want him to find anything aboard this ship.’
‘I’ll carry out a thorough search in the morning, sir.’
‘Do that.’
Pike didn’t give a damn if they shipped out with half the convicts in the colony. Getting crew was always a problem and a convict could haul a rope as well as the next man but, with the governor threatening to have vessels searched, it wasn’t worth the risk. Apart from the chance of losing his ship, Pike wanted to do business with these people, not antagonise them. The convicts would have to look to other vessels.
His eyes met the mate’s. Male convicts might be useful on deck; female escapees had other uses. Security in the settlement was not tight and convicts were always escaping. By the look on Reilly’s face, he thought it wasn’t impossible that one or two women might be on board now.
‘When you’ve finished your search, Cormac, I might have a look round myself. You understand me?’
Reilly nodded. ‘You’ll find nothing.’
‘Make sure I don’t.’
The hull moved beneath their feet, creaking gently as the tide turned. Under the water, the anchor cables rumbled peacefully and were still.
‘How’s the barometer?’ Pike asked.
‘Steady.’
Pike rested his hands on the rail and stared out across the black water. ‘Not a breath of wind.’
Reilly changed the subject. ‘When do we sail?’
‘Not for a day or two yet.’
His conversation with Hagwood had got nowhere. Formality or not, until Hagwood had cleared it with the governor it seemed he was not prepared even to say what sort of cargo he had in mind. Eventually Pike had lost patience and walked away.
As he was leaving he had walked into Tremain.
The Cornishman had taken his arm. ‘I’d like a word. Tomorrow, if it’s convenient.’
‘Where?’
In a settlement this size, eyes everywhere, there was no hope of keeping a meeting secret.
‘I’ll come aboard.’
A talk with Tremain could be more profitable than wasting time with Hagwood. What little he knew of the Cornishman he liked. He was the sort to speak his mind: you knew where you were with him.
My sort of man, Pike told himself. Another one who doesn’t give a damn about rules and regulations. I’ll have to watch him though. He shrugged. What difference? You had to watch everybody.
He turned and went below.
*
Back at the house, Cash and Jack sat sullenly while Gough stood over them, heavy fists clenched on his hips.
The flickering candlelight played on the surfaces of the furniture and cast heavy shadows in the corners of the room.
‘Stupid fools …’
Fury and contempt warred in his voice.
There was a bottle on the table. Tremain wrenched out the cork, slopped spirit into glasses. The glug of the liquid was loud in the silent room.
Roughly, he thrust the glasses at them.
‘Drink.’
Cash took his but Jack shook his head. ‘No.’
The fist clutching the glass did not withdraw. ‘I didn’t ask you yes or no. I said drink. Or do you want me to pour it down your damned throat?’
He was capable of it and they all knew it. Jack shrugged and took the glass. His long fingers held it cradled in his lap.
‘Drink!’ Gough’s voice was harsh, his eyes implacable.
The orange flame of one of the candles quivered. Shadows, black and enormous, leapt and swayed about the walls of the small room. Outside the house, the night pressed itself against the glass of the uncurtained windows.
They drank. The fiery liquid burned in Cash’s chest and he blinked, feeling his eyes fill with tears.
Tremain looked at him. ‘Get to bed.’
Cash flushed. ‘I don’t want to go to bed yet.’
‘I don’t care what you want.’
‘I’m not a child –’ Anger rising.
Tremain stared him down. ‘On today’s showing, I take leave to question that.’ Contempt slashed like a razor. ‘I�
�ll talk to you in the morning. Now, get to bed!’
Cash stood up with a jerk, face red, lips trembling with fury. ‘I planned what happened. I’m staying.’
Gough’s eyes were watchful in the dark face. Beneath the red uniform jacket, his heavy shoulders were hunched. He flexed powerful fingers. ‘If I have to carry you, I will.’
Cash couldn’t take his father, not yet. They both knew it. He slammed his glass down on the table.
‘Goodnight,’ he said to Jack.
He stamped out. The door crashed behind him.
Tremain turned to his older son. ‘Now for you.’
*
Lying in bed, Elizabeth Hagwood listened to her husband’s steady breathing as he slept at her side and thought about the scene with the girl Rosina.
To Jonathan respect and fear had always been two sides of the same coin. If Rosina had feared him she would not have fallen asleep. The fact that she had done so therefore proved her lack of respect … Elizabeth sighed and turned over.
So sensitive to imagined slights. It was how Jonathan’s mind worked. Perhaps he would think differently in the morning, she hoped without conviction. She would prefer Rosina to stay, if she could talk him into it. She was sloppy and inefficient but so were all the convicts and the children liked her.
It was unlucky that Jonathan had been in such a foul mood. At least she had got him to tell her what had upset him.
He had been to see the governor about a cargo he wanted to arrange for Silas Pike. He had anticipated no problems but it appeared that the dispatches from London had not been confined to the question of land grants. Henry Dundas begged to inform His Excellency that the Home Office disapproved of serving officers in the Corps engaging in trade. All such activity was now prohibited.
Even before that he had been in a temper. At supper, he had been almost incoherent about the way Gough Tremain had taken over the reception after the governor’s announcement.
‘Damned hooligan …’
His fury had been out of all proportion to what had happened. Gough had always been the chink in Jonathan’s armour. Even when they had first met on the Neptune, the daggers had been out. Then he had suspected Gough of making advances to her. Worse, he had accused her of encouraging him, which she had not.
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