Profits would be enormous.
Jonathan nodded, concealing his excitement. ‘You would have to agree to deal with no one else. That goes without saying. And our arrangement would of course be secret.’
For the first time Thornton smiled – if it could be called that. ‘Mr ’agwood will still control the source of supply.’
‘Make sure you don’t forget it.’ Jonathan took out his pocket watch and looked at it. ‘I have to get back to Sydney.’
Thornton lifted his hand. ‘One further thing, sir.’
Jonathan frowned. ‘What?’
‘I’m thinkin’ t’ governor may have a problem wi’ a convict being partner in a tavern.’
‘You are already.’
‘Aye. But not official, like.’
‘Does he need to know?’
‘I doubt we could ’ide it from ’im.’ Thornton shook his head sadly. ‘Folks talk, sir. The word gets around.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I suspect Mr ’agwood can arrange a pardon.’
‘Only the governor can grant that.’
‘A word in his ear wouldn’t ’urt.’
‘Pardons aren’t granted lightly. What reason could I give?’
‘A youthful indiscretion? Unlikely to be repeated? I am sure Mr ’agwood can think of summat.’
‘I can try.’
‘I’d say it’s essential, sir.’
Jonathan stared at the convict. He was irritated at being put in such a position but there was undoubtedly something in what Thornton said. The governor might well have a problem with an unrehabilitated convict openly selling liquor in the colony.
He stood up. ‘I will speak to the governor. And don’t forget, I want to know what’s in Silas Pike’s mind. Not later than tomorrow.’
*
‘There she is,’ Gough said.
Jack stood on top of the hill and studied the land spread out below him.
‘Soil looks good.’
‘It is good. Those crops you saw when we landed – no reason why we can’t grow the same here.’
‘Where are the boundaries?’
‘I’ll show you.’
They walked the land together. Jack felt his spirit rise. Oh, it was good to feel rich soil beneath his feet after the months of salt water and this morning’s abortive walk in the bush. Gwen was ever-present in his mind but he was a farmer before anything else and his whole being responded eagerly to the promise of good land.
At the summit of the hill they turned and looked down at the river gleaming between its green banks. As far as they could see, the valley was lush and well watered. Only at one point, just below the trees, was the ground steep. There, a geological fault had created a granite bluff that stood high over the valley and fell vertically a hundred feet to a patch of rocky scree on the riverbank. Everywhere else, the slope of the land was gentle enough for terracing to be unnecessary. Rich, absorbent soil – erosion would never be a problem here.
Jack knelt in the rich grass. Bees buzzed about him and the smell of pollen and good earth filled his nostrils. He broke off a piece of the rich brown soil and crumbled it between his fingers.
‘Loam,’ he said. ‘Some clay but not too much. Will hold the water but still be easy to work. I wonder what its depth is.’
‘Back at the settlement the topsoil goes down over five feet,’ Gough said. ‘It’s not been planted before. Never in history.’
Jack straightened, dusting his palm against the side of his trousers. His eye followed the slope of the land down to the water, seeing, not grass but wheat, barley, maize, all rich and ripe beneath the sun, acres of potatoes such as they had seen at the landing, fields of cabbages and kale and cauliflower.
‘Hundred acres?’ he said.
Gough nodded.
‘Room for livestock.’
‘What have you got in mind?’ Gough asked, deferring to him. Jack was the expert here.
‘Cattle or sheep.’ A thought struck him. ‘Haven’t seen either, not since we landed.’
Gough shook his head. ‘The First Fleet brought a small herd of dairy cattle but they escaped into the bush and no one’s set eyes on them since. There are a few sheep from Bengal. They say their meat’s better than their wool. Otherwise there’s nothing.’
‘Maybe I should buy some Bengal sheep,’ Jack said.
I not we – Gough noticed Jack’s unconscious use of the word and was pleased. It was the first sign he had given that he was willing to identify himself with the colony.
‘I doubt there’s any to be had,’ he said. ‘Far as I know, Hagwood’s got the lot.’
He could have bought some when they arrived but he had never been a farmer and hadn’t bothered. Perhaps I should tell Pike to bring some from the Cape, he thought.
‘Perhaps Hagwood will sell me some?’ Jack wondered.
Gough grunted. ‘I doubt that very much. Lamb’s fetching two shillings a pound in Sydney Cove.’
‘I could ask him,’ Jack persisted.
Gough shrugged. ‘Ask, by all means.’ He pointed down at the river. ‘We can build our own landing, if we want. I’ve checked the bank. Tes firm enough. And being below the bridge means boats can tie up alongside our own property. It’ll make handling a heap easier.’
They walked some more. Jack measured the land with his eye, seeing white-painted wicket fences, a flock of sheep on the higher ground, a few horses, maybe a cow or two, fields of wheat, of maize, vessels loading and unloading down at the landing.
‘What do you think?’ Gough asked him.
It was what he had dreamed of. Better. It promised to bring purpose back into his life.
‘Reckon it’ll do,’ he said.
He pointed at an area of land a little below the summit of the hill. It was flat there and would be easy to build on. It was well above the river in case of floods, with a good growth of mature trees to give shade. ‘I’ll put the house there.’
‘There’s an architect among the convicts,’ Gough told him. ‘I’ll get him to come up here. Design something grand for us.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t want anything grand. Let’s get the farm established first. Plenty of time later to worry about a smart house.’
Gough was disappointed. He liked the idea of a mansion. ‘You’ve got to live somewhere.’
‘A shack’ll do for now. We’ll build a palace later.’
All the way back to Sydney, Jack’s mind was busy with plans: getting the soil ploughed for autumn planting, building himself a shelter from the winter rains that Gough had warned him would arrive from May onwards. Getting the soil ready was the first priority. The landing would have to wait. In the meantime they could land stores at Parramatta and bring them out by wagon.
‘We shall need ploughs,’ he said. ‘And horses.’
‘Ploughs we can provide,’ Gough said. ‘What do you want horses for?’
‘To pull the ploughs, of course.’
‘We use convicts for ploughing.’
Jack was appalled. ‘You use men in place of horses?’
Gough grinned. ‘Only because the women aren’t strong enough.’
Gough’s mockery was a goad. ‘I’ll not do it!’
‘In which case you’ll have to drag the plough yourself.’
‘I’ll buy horses.’
‘There aren’t any horses! Not for ploughing.’ Gough’s dark eyes speared Jack. ‘You saw the convicts working on that broken wagon. How d’you think they’ll be occupied when planting time comes round? Pulling ploughs, that’s how.’
‘It’s wrong.’
‘You’ve got to remember they’ve all been convicted of some crime or other. They either do work that’s useful, like ploughing or tree-felling, or they sit in barracks and do nothing.’ Gough put his arm around his son’s shoulders. ‘This isn’t Cornwall. Tes fine to say let’s use horses for the ploughing. If we don’t have them, what do we do? Leave the land to lie fallow? The colony’s growing. It needs m
ore food. We must use what resources we have. For the moment, that means convicts. Each farm has its allocation.’
A white bird with a vivid yellow crest clung to the branch of a tree growing out from the bank. The boat slipped past, the water chuckling softly around its forefoot, and the bird screeched raucously.
Using men to drag ploughs through the loamy soil was offensive, Jack thought, but leaving the land undeveloped was worse. He could not pull the plough unaided. Perhaps, as his father said, it was right to use the resources they had.
‘What other farms are there?’ he asked.
‘Hagwood’s got one across the river. He’s planning to move there as soon as he’s got his house built. His company is being transferred up here so he’ll be able to look after the farm and attend to his regimental duties at the same time. Other members of the Corps who’ve taken up their land allocations are all here. Plus the new settlers who came out with you. All the farms that have been allocated so far are in this area.’
‘And they all use convicts?’
‘Don’t waste your time sympathising with the convicts. Most of them have a good life out here.’
But Jack was not thinking of that. ‘Are all the farmers married?’ Watching the riverbank unwind.
‘Some. Why?’
‘Be a lonely life, up here by yourself.’
Slip a convict woman a coin, she’ll always keep you company. It was not something to say to Jack after what had happened last night.
‘What’s in your mind?’
Jack looked at him. ‘You say I get an allocation of convicts to help me on the farm?’
‘Ten per hundred acres. That’s standard.’
‘Who pays for them?’
‘The government. All you’ve got to do is to provide a shed or something to sleep in.’
‘Can I choose who I want?’
Gough looked at him, reading his mind. ‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On who you want.’
‘I want Gwen and her brother.’
‘He’s not her brother.’ Gough would go to his grave denying it.
‘Whatever.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Talk sense, boy. You know why not.’
‘No, I don’t.’ Mutinously, eyes still watching the shore.
The river had widened now. They were passing a succession of headlands crowned with trees and separated by sickle-shaped beaches of yellow sand against which the river, rich with minerals, flowed a deep chestnut brown.
‘My dear life, you’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met,’ his father declared. ‘Listen, boy, I know you want Gwen. I understand that. But you can’t have her, see? I told you, she and that fellow with her are bad news. I don’t see either of them getting their tickets of leave for a long time. Not for years.’
The blackness came down over Jack’s soul and he said, ‘I do not believe Gwen is the sort of person you make her out to be.’
‘The papers are there,’ Gough said. ‘You want to see them, you can.’ He glared at him, very fierce.
‘Maybe I should.’
‘Have you no pride?’ Gough demanded. ‘She takes you for a fool and you still want her?’
‘It’s just that she never seemed to me like you say she is.’ Jack heard the weakness in his voice, despising both it and himself, powerless to do anything about it. ‘I don’t see her doing such things.’
Cut your throat soon as look at you, the pair of them. Gough wanted to say it but did not, fearful of pushing his luck too far.
Instead, he put his hand on his son’s shoulder, bleeding for him. ‘Believe me,’ he said and turned away.
They got back to Sydney Cove at dusk.
The reflections of the lights were lambent upon the surface of the water as they turned out of the main harbour into the cove. Light shone from the lamps along the jetties, the buildings on the slopes, from Bellona and Centaur and two strange vessels, anchored further out, that had come in while they were up-river.
‘Visitors,’ Gough said. He turned to the helmsman. ‘Take us under the stern of the nearer one.’
They craned their heads to read the name as they passed beneath the stern.
Descubierta. Cadiz.
The visitors were Spanish.
SEVEN
The governor gave a ball to welcome the unexpected Spanish visitors. All the officers of the Corps and officials of the colony were there with their wives.
Gough arrived with Cash and Jack in tow. Government House was full of people. The murmur of voices came out of the crowded room to greet them as they climbed the steps from the garden and walked between two saluting sentries into the reception room.
As the three men entered, the half-dozen members of the Corps band who had been commandeered for the purpose were tuning up for the first dance. The reception area was lit with scores of candles set out on tables around the walls. Shadows flickered across the ceiling and the faces and figures of the guests, and the air was heavy with perfumes and the smell of crowded bodies. The three men threaded their way between groups of people, the ladies in rustling gowns, their escorts resplendent in uniforms of red and green and gold.
Crabbe was holding jovial court at one end of the room. He turned ponderously to greet them. ‘Gough,’ he said, ‘good of you to be here.’
‘My pleasure, Your Excellency.’
‘I’d like to introduce one of our guests,’ Crabbe said. He turned to the man who stood at his side, resplendent in a brilliantly coloured uniform heavy with braid, a scarlet silk sash across his chest. ‘Don Allessandro Malaspina, Commanding Officer of the Spanish squadron.’
Don Allessandro, a corpulent man in his forties, bowed. He was tall and deeply tanned, with a long, high-bridged nose and dark eyes.
‘What brings you to Port Jackson, sir?’ Gough asked.
Don Allessandro answered in strongly-accented English. ‘We are on a scientific expedition to the South Seas. I understand that many of the animals to be found in this area have previously been unknown to science.’
‘I was telling him about the kangaroos and kookaburras,’ Crabbe said.
Don Allessandro’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah yes. The laughing bird. And the kangaroo. We have heard of him. He hops, is that so? Not run?’
Cash slipped quietly away into the throng; talk of kangaroos and birds that laughed was not for him. There was nobody here he knew, not that he knew anybody anyway. Only Silas Pike, and he did not seem to be present this evening. He caught sight of Elizabeth Hagwood with a small group of people around her. Two of them looked to be girls of his own age. He remembered their faces from the previous function and on impulse headed in their direction. Have to start somewhere, he thought.
He stopped in front of Elizabeth. The movement of her fan paused as she looked up at him.
He bowed. ‘Mrs Hagwood?’
‘Sir?’
‘Caswell Tremain, ma’am. Newly arrived in the colony. Forgive me, I know no one here. I have been admiring you from afar. I hope you will not think me too forward in seeking your acquaintance.’
She smiled. ‘My pleasure, Mr Tremain. Welcome to New South Wales.’ She did not seem to mind the absence of formal introduction.
He realised how exceptionally attractive she was. Far too old for him, of course, and married, but it was always good to talk to a handsome woman and he smiled back at her with genuine pleasure.
‘How are you settling into life in the colony?’ she asked.
‘I dare say it will work out well enough.’
‘Do you have any plans how to keep yourself occupied now you’re here?’ Innocent question, watchful eyes.
He remembered his father’s words. ‘A bit of this, a bit of that.’
There was someone at Elizabeth’s shoulder. Cash formed an impression of dark hair, an imperious chin, smooth, creamy shoulders.
‘Are you not going to introduce us, Mrs Hagwood?’ the stranger said, smiling at
Cash.
‘Of course. Miss Jane Somers, Mr Caswell Tremain. Miss Somers is the daughter of our Advocate-General who is at present at the Court House in Parramatta.’ She turned to Jane. ‘Mr Tremain …’
‘Is the son of Captain Tremain,’ Jane said, smiling. ‘I know.’ She looked up at Cash with unfeigned interest. ‘You arrived here recently, I understand.’
‘On Bellona, yes.’
‘A good passage?’
‘A long one.’
‘We are so far from home,’ she agreed, and sighed.
‘If you still consider it home.’
She looked at him. ‘Do you not?’
‘I have heard that home is where you hang your hat.’
She was attractively dressed in a crimson silk that emphasised the darkness of her hair and contrasted pleasantly with the creaminess of her skin. She was attractive, never mind the dress, and the incisive chin hinted at a strength of character that Cash found interesting.
Two other people made up the group: another girl, vacuous and tending to fat, with frizzed blonde hair; and a man a year or two older than himself, very sharply dressed, with the manners and voice of an opinionated lout. Cash recognised him at once. They had been shipboard acquaintances on the voyage out. They had detested each other then; no doubt their feelings would be unchanged now they had arrived.
Cash nodded to him, unsmiling. ‘Birkett …’
‘Why, Farmer Tremain.’ Birkett had obviously been drinking. His voice, overloud and slightly blurred, brayed above the murmur of voices in the crowded room. ‘Managed to drag yourself away from the pigs, I see.’
Cash smiled. ‘I’d thought so. Now I’m not so sure.’
Birkett flushed. ‘What the devil …’
Cash turned his back on him. He looked at Jane Somers. ‘I believe the dancing is about to start. May I have the pleasure of the first dance?’
Jane’s smile lit up her eyes. ‘Thank you, sir. The pleasure is mine.’
They started towards the line that was forming up. Cash felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned swiftly and was filled with a pleasing anger as he saw who it was.
Birkett’s eyes glared out of his doughy face. ‘What d’you mean by that remark?’
Cash smiled at him, keeping his voice low. ‘Lay one finger on me again, you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor.’
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