The governor watched him shrewdly. ‘Problems?’
‘If it rains before the roof’s on, it could hold up the building for months.’
‘Better get it on then.’
‘Easily said.’
Damned fellow was after something, Crabbe could smell it. Pots of money and still looking for favours. True of everyone, these days.
‘Have a word with your builder.’
‘I have. He tells me there’s a shortage of craftsmen.’
Ah, so that’s what it was. Interesting – no one could solve that problem but him.
‘What’s his name?’
‘The builder? A ticket of leave man called Ira Thornton.’
Now that was very interesting.
‘You’ve spoken to me about him before, I think?’
‘I did mention him to Your Excellency, yes. If you remember, he –’
‘Quite.’ Crabbe turned away before Jonathan could finish. He enjoyed being arrogant with thrusters like Hagwood. Too big for their boots, the lot of them. Over his shoulder, he said, ‘We’ll pay a visit to your house, later, eh? I’d like to have a look around.’
Hagwood was reluctant, ‘It’s nowhere near finished, Your Excellency.’
Crabbe waved his hand. ‘No matter.’
Hagwood wasn’t the only private person building in the colony. They were all using convict labour, which made it odds-on that some of the materials were being stolen from government sites. Word of a snap inspection would soon get around. It would keep people on their toes, remind them that George Crabbe was not to be taken too much for granted, for all his jovial ways.
It would also give him the chance to have a look at this fellow Thornton.
An idea was ticking in the back of his brain. Thornton wanted a pardon, did he? Well, they would see, but only if Thornton proved to be careful, safe. That was critical.
*
Shortly after luncheon, the governor’s party strolled along the riverbank to Hagwood’s house.
Crabbe was enjoying his day. All the way up from Sydney Cove, the countryside had been green and pleasing. Little danger of drought this year. Plenty of game – he had seen mobs of kangaroos at several points along the banks.
Must organise a hunting party, he thought. Good sport, and fresh meat was always welcome.
Parramatta was looking well, too. Hagwood’s place would be the most imposing, by far, but several lesser houses were going up along the river. The town was growing, too, stone buildings taking the place of the old ramshackle timber structures. Crabbe liked stone buildings. They gave the colony an air of permanence. That was important. As long as people thought of New South Wales as a temporary convict camp, that was what it would remain. Stone buildings represented security, the future.
All in all, he thought, he had done well by the colony. Pity he couldn’t say the same for himself. He was, relatively speaking, a poor man and his service had not enriched him, as it had others. Running out of time, too, if he was going to do anything about it. He had no ambition to go from King’s representative to pauper … He would have to give it some consideration, he thought. Well, that was one of the reasons he was here.
Crabbe paused at the top of the rise. Below him, the bare bones of Hagwood’s house rose against the delicate green of the countryside. Around it, men scurried like disturbed ants. Judging by the bare ribs of the roof structure, Hagwood was running out of time: no wonder he was concerned. With deliberate malice, Crabbe turned to him and said, ‘You’d better get that closed in if you don’t want everything soaked when the rains start.’
‘I was hoping Your Excellency might be able to help me with that.’
Crabbe laughed high in his nose. ‘Not much at clambering over roofs, I’m afraid. You’ll have to get hold of some tradesmen. A few tilers, that’s what you need.’
He strolled on, brown eyes sparkling. The reference to tradesmen had been well-judged, he thought. Being governor could be such a pleasure on occasions.
Stiffly, Jonathan said, ‘If Your Excellency would agree to allocate …’
Crabbe spoke through him. ‘This convict fellow of yours … What’s his name? Thornton, that’s it. I want to meet him. Let’s have a word with him, shall we?’
*
Ira Thornton saw the group of resplendently uniformed men picking their fastidious way through the hurly-burly of construction and turned urgently to his young foreman. ‘Solly, where be that timber we got from government store?’
Solly scratched his head beneath the red bandanna he wore over his long, lank hair. ‘We used some of it a’ready.’
‘The rest, tha damned fool.’ Impatiently. ‘Where is it?’
The youth looked bewildered. ‘Stacked out the back …’
‘In the open?’
‘Course not.’ Indignantly. ‘Lose the lot, we try anything like that. In the lock-up under the terrace, with all the tools and that.’
The governor, Hagwood at his elbow, was almost on them.
Out of the corner of his mouth, he said, ‘Make sure it stays out of sight, or I’ll have thy guts.’ He turned. ‘An unexpected honour, sir.’ He bowed his head, the steel-hard eyes humbling themselves before Crabbe’s plump dignity.
‘Thornton, is it?’ Crabbe said shortly.
‘That’s right, sir.’
He had never set eyes on the governor before. He examined him surreptitiously. No wig, his own hair tied back, no sign of grey in the brown. A big man, running to fat, but harder than he looked from a distance. Knowing eyes. Arrogant chin. A man to watch.
‘You are building Mr Hagwood’s house for him?’ Crabbe said.
‘Aye, sir. That’s right.’
‘Show me around, won’t you? You come, too, Hagwood.’ As though Jonathan were the guest and not the owner of the house.
Crabbe stood on the terrace where Jonathan had promenaded the previous day. ‘Good view,’ he said. ‘Excellent.’ He walked to the edge of the terrace where the stone railings were still to be installed and looked over the parapet at the ground six feet below. ‘What’s under here?’
A tremor slid through Thornton’s belly. ‘Storerooms, sir.’
‘Keep everything locked up, do you?’ Crabbe asked.
‘Have to, sir. Soon disappear if we left it lying about.’
The governor’s eyes snapped angrily. It had been the wrong answer. There was a lot of crime in the colony but he obviously did not like to be reminded of it.
Hastily, Thornton added, ‘O’ course, sir, if I may say so, it’s remarkable how little crime there is around here. In the circumstances, like.’
‘Circumstances?’ Crabbe stared at him haughtily.
‘Seeing as how most folks hereabouts be convicts, sir.’
‘As you are, you mean?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Wishing he had never raised the matter.
The bulbous eyes inspected him. ‘Ticket of leave man, that it?’
‘Tha’s right, sir.’
‘Wanting a pardon, no doubt.’
Thornton said nothing.
The bulbous eyes swelled further. ‘Well? Do you or don’t you?’
‘My dearest wish, sir.’
Crabbe breathed down his fleshy nose. ‘Tell me, Thornton, why do you deserve a pardon?’
‘That’d be for the governor to say, sir.’
Crabbe gestured impatiently. ‘How can I say one way or the other if you don’t tell me?’
Thornton took a deep breath. ‘Well, sir, what I did, I stole cloth. I’ll not deny it. It were there, I took it and I were caught.’
‘Nothing wrong with that.’
‘Nowt wrong at all, sir. Only thing is …’ He hesitated.
Crabbe stared at him. ‘Speak up, man.’
‘It were a mistake, sir. That’s what I be sayin’. An error of judgment.’
Crabbe laughed. ‘Being caught is always an error of judgment.’
‘Not being caught, sir, begging thy pardon. The theft. It’s summat I�
��ve never repeated, sir.’
‘No opportunities perhaps?’
‘Not that, sir.’ Politely, blood seething.
Crabbe studied him. ‘You’re telling me you’ve stuck to the letter of the law ever since?’
‘Yes, sir. That I ’ave.’
‘I’ve heard a few things about you.’ The governor looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Not all to your advantage, let me say.’
‘Allus people willing to put in a bad word, sir.’
‘Possibly. On the other hand, Mr Hagwood speaks highly of you.’ He turned to Jonathan. ‘Agree with what he’s saying, do you? Think we’ve got an honest man here?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘I’ve always found him so.’
‘Hmm …’ Crabbe seemed to ponder. ‘I like a man with initiative. So long as it’s the right kind of initiative, eh?’ He laughed; dutifully, Thornton laughed along with him. ‘All the same, a pardon …’ Chin lifted, eyes wide, he challenged the convict. ‘A pardon’s a great privilege, you know. One false step and you’re done. Well, well, we’ll see, eh? Good day to you.’
Crabbe strolled away, Hagwood hovering one step behind him.
As soon as he was safely out of earshot, Thornton seized Solly by the forearm. ‘Get some of thy lads downstairs. On t’ double. All the sawn timber we got in t’ store, I want it cleared out right now.’
The youth turned startled eyes towards him. ‘What do you want done with it?’
‘Stick it down in that patch o’ woodland. No one’ll see it there. Anything else in there been nicked?’
Solly thought. He was thin and pale, despite the long hours he spent in the sunlight; his dirty hair like brown string hung on either side of his face. His fingers pulled nervously at his underlip.
‘There’s glass,’ he said. ‘Some o’ they brass door fittings. Hinges and such.’
‘Get it all out. Anything’s got no business there. Dump the lot down in the woods. An’ jump to it!’
‘You reckon anyone’ll come looking?’
Thornton tapped his nose. ‘Happen I’m wrong, but I don’ aim to stand around with my finger up my bum waiting to find out.’ He took Solly’s chin in fingers as strong as pincers. ‘An’ move thy arse, unless tha fancies a trip to Norfolk.’
Solly’s eyes met Thornton’s pale ones. ‘Don’ reckon I do,’ he said.
‘Then move it!’ Thornton shoved him away so that he staggered and nearly fell. ‘Now!’
*
On the path back to the settlement, Crabbe beckoned Henry Bliss to join him.
‘I want you to send a corporal and half a dozen men to search Hagwood’s house. Immediately, mind.’
Bliss stared at him. ‘Search the house …’
‘The government store’s been reporting stock losses. I ask myself where that fellow Thornton’s getting his materials.’
Not only Thornton, Bliss thought. If the governor’s suspicions were justified, Hagwood himself might be implicated. ‘If Thornton’s been stealing, he surely won’t be stupid enough to keep the stuff at the house?’
‘You never know. There are storerooms under the terrace. Tell them to have a look there. If you find anything, bring Thornton to headquarters. Bring him anyway,’ he amended. ‘I want to have a chat with him.’
*
‘Tha can tell yon scurvy bastards to keep their hands to theirselves …’ Ira Thornton’s angry voice echoed around the regimental office.
‘Shut your face, you,’ the corporal growled. ‘The major wants a word …’
‘Why not ask me while he was over to the ’ouse, eh? Could have asked what he liked there. No call to go dragging me off in the middle of the afternoon. Time’s wasting.’
Thornton could afford his show of rage – just. Solly and his men had cleared the store not ten minutes before the search party arrived. The soldiers had obviously had their instructions. They went straight to the storerooms and searched everywhere, carting buckets of plaster and lime outside, covering themselves and their uniforms in dirt, growing more angry as it became obvious there was nothing there to find.
‘Not a bloody thing,’ Thornton said, working on his indignation, enjoying himself. ‘So what’s tha dragging me over here for?’
‘Shut your gob,’ the corporal told him wearily. ‘The major wants to tell you what’s up, he will.’
‘Wasting my time for nuthin …’
A voice shouted from the inner room.
‘Sir!’
The corporal leapt to his feet in a clatter of boots and went and opened the door.
‘Send him in,’ Bliss said.
The corporal jerked his head at Thornton. ‘In there, on the double. And keep a civil tongue in your head.’
Thornton stood in the doorway to the room. His heart was jumping. He was more alarmed at being brought here than he let on. He hoped it didn’t show.
‘Come inside and shut the door.’
He did as he was told and stood in front of Major Bliss’s desk. It was large, mahogany by the look of it, but Bliss was large enough himself not to be dominated by it. The white-painted walls were bare. There was another closed door in the wall behind the desk. A window overlooked the barrack square. Through it, Thornton could see a troop of red-coated soldiers sweating their way through a drill session amid the frenzied screams of a drill sergeant.
His eyes returned to the man seated behind the desk. Bliss took no notice of him and Thornton felt anger stir inside him. Easy, he cautioned himself. A bit of lip to the corporal is one thing. Don’t go talking smartly to the commander of the bloody New South Wales Corps. Not if tha wants to keep the skin on thy back.
Anger and frustration were nothing new. He had lived in the system all his life. Nowt he could do about it – not yet, any road. He stood patiently, feelings locked away behind his shuttered eyes, waiting for Major Henry bloody Bliss to tell him why he’d been brought here. Major, no less, he told himself. Commander of the New South Wales Corps. Tha’s movin’ up in the world, lad.
At last Bliss pushed the papers to one side and looked up at him with dislike.
‘Thornton,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir.’ Humble, eyes watching, not too obviously, the red face on the other side of the desk.
‘The governor wants to see you.’
Thornton blinked. ‘Me, sir? What about, sir?’
‘No doubt he will tell you that himself.’ Bliss sounded angry – there were currents here Thornton did not understand.
Bliss got heavily to his feet and walked to the inner door. He opened it a foot, thrust his head inside and Thornton heard the murmur of voices. Bliss straightened up and looked at Thornton across the desk.
‘In,’ he ordered.
Thornton swallowed. There was sweat on his forehead, in the pits of his arms. He walked around the desk and past the figure of the major into the inner room. The door closed behind him.
It was a smaller room but well furnished. Governor Crabbe sat in a high-backed chair, hands resting peacefully on its padded arms. He looked up as Thornton came to a halt in front of him. He studied him for a minute in silence.
‘Want a pardon, do you?’ he said abruptly.
Thornton’s heart leapt. ‘Aye, sir. I do that.’
‘Might be possible. Provided you and I come to an understanding. Think we can do that, eh?’
‘I’m sure we can, sir.’
‘Hmm. Possibly. Possibly.’ Crabbe studied him again, the florid face revealing nothing. ‘I have a proposition to put to you.’
ELEVEN
‘Boats have been arranged to take all the guests up-river to Parramatta,’ Elinor Goodall gushed breathlessly. ‘There’s to be a full orchestra. Perhaps even fireworks. Everyone in the colony is going. They say it’ll be the biggest occasion since settlement.’
Jane Somers sniffed. ‘That shouldn’t be difficult. Of course, one can always rely on the Hagwoods to show off.’
Elinor’s vapid eyes widened. ‘Surely you will be going?’
&n
bsp; ‘I dare say we’ll put in an appearance.’ Nonchalantly. ‘My father says we owe it to society to be seen at these things.’
Her parents had no intention of missing the ball. Neither did she – Cash Tremain would be there. She had thought of talking her father into inviting Cash to join their party but had decided against it. It was too soon. After the way they had danced together at the governor’s ball, and again at the reception on the Spanish ship, people would be talking. She knew it and so would he. She didn’t care what people thought but he might, and she didn’t want to frighten him off.
Not that he had shown any sign of it so far.
She remembered the farewell party aboard Descubierta, the night before the Spanish squadron had left to continue its voyage through the Pacific.
Rowing boats had taken the guests out to the flagship. It had been a warm night, brilliant with stars. Lanterns hung in the rigging of both Spanish ships. Across the dark water, the vessels shone as though illuminated by a thousand fireflies.
A gangway and landing platform had been secured to the side of the vessel so that guests could board without difficulty. Don Allessandro, the Spanish commodore, was on deck to receive his guests as they arrived. Hook-nosed and smiling, resplendent in a uniform of crimson and gold and wearing a sword in a golden scabbard, he bowed low over each lady’s hand before the visitors were whisked away by stewards wearing wigs white with powder.
More lanterns had been set out on the deck, with chairs and a space for dancing, while forward a group of musicians was tuning its instruments. Below, supper had been laid out in the stern cabin.
Jane and Cash met at the supper table.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I believe all I ever see you doing is eat, Mr Tremain.’
‘Surely not all?’
She smiled. ‘And dance, perhaps.’
‘Possibly we can renew our acquaintance on the dance floor,’ he suggested. ‘If you have any dances free, that is.’
‘One or two,’ she admitted. She had left all her dances free deliberately, but she was not going to tell him that.
They were joined by a tall man in his late forties with a full face and complacent mouth. He was wearing a dark coat, a buff waistcoat rich with embroidery and was carrying a plate of food in his hand.
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