Huggett smiled, enjoying his authority. ‘It’ll take as long as necessary, Captain. If you miss this tide, there’s always another one.’
Pike held on to his temper. ‘Get on with it then.’
If there’s anyone still hidden away, Cormac, he thought, I’ll break your neck.
Huggett stamped across to the rail. He shouted over the side at the men still in the long boat and they began to come aboard, big men moving clumsily in the unfamiliar surroundings, their nailed boots leaving marks on the scrubbed planking. They brought with them canisters which they heaved up over the rail with difficulty and a deal of swearing.
‘What’s in those?’ Pike asked Huggett.
The ensign smiled condescendingly. ‘Sulphur.’
‘Sulphur?’
‘The latest detection device. We blow clouds of sulphur smoke through your vessel, Captain, and flush out all your stowaways. Can’t breathe, you see.’
‘And what about my crew?’
‘I suggest everyone musters on deck, Captain. That way they’ll have no problems.’
‘And my whole vessel stinks of sulphur.’
Huggett gave him a superior smile. ‘Look on the bright side. You won’t have a cockroach left on board.’
The soldiers raised the hatches and cleared the companionways. The galley was searched, the chain locker, the sails compartment. Even Pike’s cabin was not exempt. Within twenty minutes, foul yellow smoke was pouring through the ship, swirling through the open ports and hatches, floating in a dense, choking cloud above the deck. All of them, soldiers incuded, were gasping and coughing, eyes streaming, cloths over their faces. Pike waited, fearing the worst, expecting any minute to see one or more figures come staggering up from below.
There was nothing.
The smoke dissipated, shredded by the breeze. The hatches loomed open. Nothing stirred.
The soldiers stamped through the ship, climbing down into the holds, turning the forecastle upside down, moving the Admiralty charts secured in racks in Pike’s cabin.
‘Mr Huggett!’
‘Captain?’ Huggett was a lot less confident now.
‘Your men think there may be stowaways hidden among my charts?’
The racks were no more than six inches wide.
‘No, sir. Of course not.’
‘Then tell them not to interfere with things that are none of their concern. If you please.’
When the soldiers had finally given up their search and gone ashore, Pike turned to Cormac Reilly. ‘Let’s go to my cabin.’
The mate eyed him uneasily as Pike closed the door.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘what the hell was all that about?’
The mate licked his lips and smiled unconvincingly. ‘How would I be knowing the answer to that?’
‘They were a lot too confident,’ Pike snapped. ‘They expected to find something. What was it?’ And, watching, saw Reilly’s eyes flinch.
The mate was bigger than most men and harder. Silas Pike was of a size and twice as hard. He seized Reilly’s shirt front in his massive fist and lifted him on to his toes as easily as lifting a baby. ‘I asked you a question, Cormac. What’s your answer?’
‘Before God, I don’t know a thing,’ he gulped frantically.
His wide, round eyes were jumping around like fleas and Pike smelt the lie on him. He bent his head so their faces almost touched. ‘I shall ask you once more, Cormac. Why did those soldiers come on board this morning?’
Reilly’s fingers fluttered against Pike’s clenched fist. ‘Please, Mr Pike …’
Pike released him and watched grimly as the mate tried nervously to straighten his shirt.
‘So?’
‘There was a girl come round last night –’
‘So there was someone!’ Pike seized him again. ‘Where is she, Cormac?’
‘I wouldn’t let her on board.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I told them to take her away.’
‘Them?’ He shook Cormac like a rat. ‘Who was it?’ By God, he thought, I’ll kill them. Whoever they were.
‘I don’t know who it was. They came alongside just after four bells last night.’
‘Who was officer of the watch?’
‘I was. They wanted us to take her on board.’
‘And why didn’t you?’ He watched Reilly’s eyes. ‘Or did you?’
‘No! I never took her!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it didn’t smell right!’ He tried to break Pike’s grip.
Pike released him. He nodded to a chair. ‘Best sit down, Cormac. Tell me about it.’
Reilly sat gingerly on the edge of the chair. ‘They came alongside, like I said. Two men there were. And the girl.’
‘What did she have to say for herself?’
‘Nothing. That was the first thing made me wonder.’
Pike frowned incredulously. ‘She said nothing?’
‘She couldn’t. She was unconscious. The two men – I don’t know who they were – told me she’d been knocked about by someone and they were afraid she’d be killed if she wasn’t got away from the colony.’
Pike’s frown deepened. ‘Unlikely story that.’
‘Exactly! So I told them no.’
‘And they left? With the girl?’
‘Yes.’
Reilly thanked God he’d had the sense to refuse both the girl and the fifty guineas they had offered him to take her. That more than anything had roused his suspicions. It was too much. At home a man could live in style for a year on fifty guineas.
‘And you say you didn’t know who the men were?’
‘No.’ But he hesitated and Pike seized on it at once.
‘Out with it, man!’
‘I didn’t know either of them,’ he protested hastily. ‘That’s the truth, before God! Convicts, for sure. Gaol bait. But I didn’t know them.’
‘That smells wrong, too,’ Pike said. ‘Convicts sculling around Sydney Cove in the middle of the night? Security on the jetties is too tight to allow that.’
Unless it had been arranged by someone with the authority to give the sentries orders. Tremain could do it. But that made no sense. Tremain wanted Centaur safely on her way. No. Someone else. Hagwood, he thought. That’s who it was. I’ll lay bets on it. But I’ll never be able to prove it.
‘So you didn’t know them.’ Watching him. ‘But you know something, by God! I’ll ask you again, what was it about the men?’
‘It was what they said.’
‘Do I have to cut it out of you? Say it, man!’
‘They said it was on the orders of Tremain’s son.’
Pike was on his feet. ‘Which one?’
‘Jack. They said he was sweet on the girl. That he’d had a romance with her on the transport and wanted to get her away.’
‘You knew we were doing business with the Tremains, did you not, Cormac?’
Reilly quailed. ‘You told me yourself!’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about the girl?’
‘Because I didn’t believe a word of it! Not one word! A pack of lies from first to last, that’s what it was. Why should I be bothering you with nonsense like that?’
‘Better be telling me the truth, Cormac. I lose my ship because of you, I’ll be calling on you.’
‘It is the truth, so help me!’
‘Then where is the girl now?’
‘I don’t know, I’m telling you! I told them to take her away and they went. That’s all I’m knowing about it.’
Pike pondered. The soldiers had found nothing. Perhaps Reilly was telling the truth. Why did he feel he was lying then? Instinct. But instinct was not always right. He made up his mind.
‘Right. We’ve still got enough tide to get out of the Heads. Let’s get under way.’
Dear God, Reilly thought, terror gutting him, let him not find out the truth. Why, oh why, did I ever agree to let that bastard Thornton know what the captain’s plans were? If Pike finds that
out, he’ll kill me for sure.
It hadn’t seemed much, at the time. A girl or two, as much grog as he wanted, and the only payment to provide answers to a few simple questions. Where was Centaur headed? Who was she contracted to? Harmless enough. Thornton could have got the answers from a dozen dockside gossips if he’d taken the trouble to ask. But he’d wanted it from the mate – from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Then last night the skiff, the two men, the unconscious girl.
It had been impossible, of course.
‘More than my life’s worth!’
One of the men grinned, lifting a canvas bag and rattling it suggestively. ‘Fifty guineas, that’s what it’s worth. Where’s the risk? Anyone asks, you just say you don’t know nothing about it.’
‘With half the crew knowing? Talk sense, man.’
‘For that kind of money, you can slip ’em a quid or two to keep their mouths shut.’
But he refused. If Pike found out he would likely kill him. The risk was too great.
Then the tone of the conversation had changed.
‘Mr Thornton won’t be pleased if we go back and say you aren’t willing to help him. Not after he’s gone out of his way to see you right.’
Fear made Reilly sweat. Fear made him brave. ‘What’s he ever done for me? Payment, that’s all it was. Payment for the information he wanted. I don’t owe him a thing.’
‘He may not see it that way. No more your boss won’t, he hears about it.’
Oh God.
‘Look,’ Reilly said hurriedly, in a low voice. ‘I can’t do this – not won’t, can’t. It’s too dangerous. But maybe I can do something for him when we come back. Tell him that. When we come back I’ll see him right.’
‘Make sure you do.’
Miraculously, they had seemed to accept it. At all events, they had gone, and taken the girl with them. And Reilly had waited out the watch, sweating and fearful. Ira Thornton was not a man to cross but neither was Silas Pike. It was like he had said – it wasn’t that he wouldn’t help but that he couldn’t.
Getting involved with a man like Thornton, he thought. I must have been mad.
The men’s eyes watched him curiously but he knew none of them would say anything. Had the girl come on board it would have been a different story.
And now Ensign Huggett and his men.
I don’t want another morning like that in a hurry, he thought, and stamped down the deck, stamping on his terror, shouting at the crew.
TEN
‘The house must be finished in time!’ Jonathan Hagwood’s green eyes flamed. His body, rigid with fury, concealed his anxiety. ‘I will accept no excuses!’
Thornton spread apologetic hands but stood his ground. ‘I am simply telling Mr ’agwood what can be done and what can’t.’
‘I told you from the first I intend to move in by the end of this month. I insist you keep to that arrangement!’
The two men faced each other outside the shell of Jonathan’s new house. Gangs of men swarmed over the scaffolding that webbed the building but the rafters stood naked to the sky and the clouds, today as for the last week, were ominous.
‘If the rain comes before the roof’s on, it’ll be spring before you’re ready!’
For Jonathan, there was more at stake than a home to live in. The house was intended to provide the physical evidence that he had done what he set out to do – become one of the leaders of colonial society. He had organised a ball to celebrate its completion. Refreshments had been arranged, and an orchestra for dancing. Invitations had gone out. The governor himself had graciously signified his intention to attend.
Now Thornton was telling him that the work might not be finished in time.
Jonathan knew what people thought of him. He was familiar with the barely concealed smirks, the quizzical glances. What’s Johnny Boots up to, now? They would accept his invitation, of course, his free food and drink, but he was under no illusions. They not only despised him, they resented the wealth that the new mansion was intended to demonstrate. It was partly why he had done it – spending far more than he could afford – to thrust his money down their throats. Let them despise him. They could not ignore the house and, once they had accepted that, acceptance of its owner would surely follow.
If the house were not completed in time, if the ball had to be cancelled, the laughter would be heard in London.
Thornton said, ‘Every man I can lay me hands on is workin’ on the house, a’ready. There’s not enough of ’em to finish it in time, that’s the problem. It’s too big a job.’
Jonathan glared, stiff-necked. ‘Get more men, then.’
A slow shake of the narrow head. ‘Bain’t none to be got.’
Opposition, and from such a source, brought a dull flush to Jonathan’s cheekbones. ‘The colony is full of men!’
‘’appen it is. But to build this house the way it should be built, I got to ’ave men with skills. There’s plenty o’ labourers, but where do I get plasterers, carpenters, tilers for the roof? They don’t exist.’
Jonathan stared at him down the thin slope of his nose. ‘You are surely not pretending there are no tradesmen in the entire colony?’
‘There’s tradesmen, right enough,’ Thornton said. ‘Many as we can use. But all of ’em’s workin’ for t’ government. Unless Mr Hagwood can arrange summat, I can’t lay me hands on ’em.’
The pessimistic words contained a hint of satisfaction. Both men knew the problem was not the labour shortage, it was the outstanding question of Thornton’s pardon.
After the convict had first raised the issue, Jonathan had been to see the governor but Crabbe had been adamant. Pardons were like pearls, he said, seldom available and then only in exceptional circumstances. If half of what he had heard was true, Thornton should have his sentence extended rather than remitted. A pardon? Out of the question.
It had suited Jonathan not to pursue the matter. Thornton would be a lot easier to handle looking for a pardon than after he had got it. The so-called labour shortage was Thornton’s way of putting on the pressure. All the same, the house must be finished in time. Jonathan knew he had to do something.
‘The governor’s due here tomorrow. Give me a list of the men you need and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll also speak to him about that other matter we discussed. You understand me?’
A spark glowed momentarily in the depths of Thornton’s pale eyes. ‘Anything Mr ’agwood can do to ’elp will be welcome.’
It was blackmail. Jonathan would do what he must but he would not forget and, some day, he would level the book. Meanwhile, it might not be a bad idea to remind Thornton how much his chances of a pardon still depended on Jonathan’s goodwill.
‘Let’s see if these fellows of yours have been doing any work, shall we?’
Power, he thought with relish. The only thing that matters. That’s why Thornton wants his pardon. He doesn’t give a damn about the stigma. That’ll stick with him, in any case. But a pardon – and money – will give him power.
He walked through the building, ducking under planks, avoiding lines of men carrying buckets and lengths of timber. Everywhere was the sour smell of plaster, of sweat and tobacco, and the fragrant tang of sawdust. A hundred men, all yelling at once.
Thornton at his elbow, Jonathan walked out through the gaping doorway on to the foundations of the terrace that would eventually run the length of the house. The house was built high on the point overlooking the surrounding countryside. Below him, the river pressed eastwards between banks of emerald-green vegetation. Gumtrees stood about the landscape like grey ghosts.
He looked across the river at the Tremain land on the far bank. He saw they had put up a crude shanty on the upper slopes. His mouth twisted. A convict’s hutch. Hardly the place to entertain the colony’s quality. The Tremains were supposed to be gentry, of a sort. One would think they would understand the importance of style.
Back inside the house he slapped the front of his coat impatiently again
st the drifting clouds of dust, and turned to Thornton. ‘Any other problems?’
The convict shook his head. ‘If Mr ’agwood can deal with the matters we discussed, I’m sure things’ll get along right smartly.’
An understanding, of sorts.
One of the workmen stumbled and dropped a brimming bucket. Plaster sluiced across the floor.
‘Clumsy god-rotting bastard!’ Thornton’s fury sliced the air. Two quick strides and he clouted the fallen man viciously across the ear. ‘Waste any more of my time and materials, lad, I’ll tear thee apart!’
The man scrambled away, holding his ear.
Thornton came back, sucking his knuckles. ‘Clumsy fool.’
‘Give me a list of what you need,’ Jonathan said. ‘And a word of advice, Thornton. You want more plasterers, best not kill the ones you’ve got.’
*
The next morning, Governor George Crabbe came ashore at Parramatta.
The second company of the New South Wales Corps was on parade to greet him. There was a crash of boots as the ranks presented arms. Henry Bliss, who had travelled up on the previous tide, strode forward, drew himself to attention in front of the King’s representative and saluted.
Punctiliously, Crabbe returned the salute. Bliss made a fine show in his glittering uniform, he thought. Pity he still stank of last night’s liquor.
‘Good morning, Major.’ Fat cheeks quivered. ‘Let’s give these monkeys a look over, shall we?’ he said.
‘Sir!’
Bliss’s puce features did not flicker. He turned on his heel and stalked back to the lines of soldiers. Pipe-clayed belts and heavy boots gleamed in a welcome return of sunshine.
Crabbe went through the motions, strolling up and down the ranks before withdrawing for refreshments in the officers’ mess at the newly-completed barracks. A bumper of port was put in his hand as he came through the door and he quaffed it gratefully, easing the collar of his dress uniform.
The needle features of Jonathan Hagwood caught his eye and he beckoned him over.
‘Saw your new house as we came along,’ he said. ‘Get it finished before the ball, will you?’
Jonathan shook his head. ‘I would like to think so, Your Excellency.’
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