Claim the Kingdom

by John Fletcher

  Jane turned. ‘Daddy, this is Cash Tremain. We met at the reception at the governor’s house.’

  ‘So I have been informed,’ Somers said coldly, looking Cash up and down.

  On their return from Parramatta, the night after the ball, Judge-Advocate Somers and his wife had indeed been informed – by at least a dozen of their acquaintances – of the number of times his daughter had danced with this man. He didn’t want the young fellow getting ideas.

  ‘I know your father,’ he said.

  Both him and his reputation, he thought.

  ‘We are going to eat,’ Jane told Cash. ‘Why don’t you join us?’ She appealed to her father. ‘That will be all right, won’t it, Daddy?’

  Perhaps it would be a good thing to run his eye over the young man. All the same, the Judge-Advocate could not resist waiting just long enough for his hesitation to be obvious. ‘A pleasure,’ he said, eventually.

  Cash smiled. ‘I shall be delighted.’

  They sat at a table near the cabin’s huge stern window. Through the glass, they could see the light from the lanterns dancing on the quiet water while Somers proceeded to give them the benefit of his views on a number of subjects dear to his heart – the law, the state of the colony, the dastardly nature of Governor Crabbe, with whom his long-standing quarrel was nearing a climax, the conditions in France. His curled lip showed what he thought of the revolutionaries and their prospects.

  ‘No chance of a war now, that’s one thing. Next thing, they will be crying to us for help,’ he said. ‘You may depend on that.’

  Jane’s mother, several years younger than her husband, spoke only when the Judge-Advocate was pleased to include her in his monologue by claiming her support for one or other of his views.

  ‘Quite right, my dear,’ she said. ‘You are quite right.’

  She was wearing a misty-coloured dress with close-fitting sleeves and bodice, trimmed with ribbon and lace, with a narrow velvet belt around her waist. When she spoke, her eyes flitted from one person to the next like a frightened bird. Left to herself, she sat with head turned down to her plate, communing nervously with the vegetables.

  Despite his torrent of words, Somers watched his daughter closely. Jane seemed uncommonly smitten with the young Tremain boy. Unfortunate. The Tremains might well end up as one of the most prominent families in the colony, but what of it? Somers had no intention of languishing for the rest of his life in New South Wales and, when he returned to England, he expected his daughter to go with him. In any case, the father’s reputation was bad.

  He blamed himself – he should have foreseen the problems that would arise as Jane grew up, but, dammit, a minute ago she had been only a child. Now she was turning heads. He looked at his child, now suddenly a woman, trying to see her as a stranger might. The crimson brocade dress with its lace collar brought out the colour of her dark hair and eyes. Her slippered feet peeped demurely from beneath the hem. Her nose was over-long and a little pointed, perhaps, but her breasts were full, her waist slender.

  Yes, Somers told himself. Certainly no longer a child; she grows prettier by the day. No wonder Tremain’s hanging around her. I’ll have to stop it. She’s not marrying the son of a Cornish pirate and staying on in the colony, and that’s an end to it.

  ‘How are you enjoying life here?’ he asked.

  Cash’s eyes shone. ‘I think it’s wonderful.’

  ‘Going into … business?’ He had almost said trade.

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘So you have no plans to go back to England?’

  Cash laughed. ‘Jane asked me the same thing at the governor’s ball. Why is everyone trying to get rid of me?’

  Jane pouted prettily. ‘I never said that.’

  She, too, had been studying Cash over supper. She thought he looked very handsome. He was wearing a dark blue coat, lightweight and well-made, with matching waistcoat, white stockings and a linen stock. His shoulders were powerful, his eyes bright.

  I think you’re quite a man, she told Cash silently. Strong, too – no one’s going to push you around. The sort of man the colony needs. The sort of man I need. And felt warmth invade her body as the rhythm of her breathing changed.

  They had danced together three times, enough to set the gossips talking once again. They would have talked more, no doubt, if they had seen what happened as the two of them stood at the rail, shortly before the evening ended. Jane was feeling pleasantly tired, and aroused, too, by Cash’s company. They looked out at the dark mystery of the land. Below them, the water shifted, shot with blinks and gleams of light. Errant puffs of wind brought the smell of the distant sea. All of a sudden, the Descubierta’s cannon fired a salute. Everyone jumped and laughed and the gritty gunpowder smoke swirled about them.

  On impulse, she put her hand on Cash’s arm. He turned to look down at her and she stretched up and kissed him swiftly on the side of his jaw. He rubbed the spot briefly with the back of his hand and grinned, fingers covering hers.

  She had looked away, cheeks hot with embarrassment but pleased, too, that she had had the courage to do it.

  Remembering it now, she wondered what would happen to them. Everyone knew her father had fallen out with the governor over Crabbe’s decision to appoint magistrates only from the ranks of the Corps’s officers. Everyone but her father understood that it was a fight that the governor, by virtue of his seniority, was bound to win. It could mean their being sent back to England on the next boat.

  No, she thought. Once, perhaps, I would have welcomed it. Not now. I am going to stop it. You may not know it, Cash, but I am going to marry you.

  The Hagwoods’ reception – a huge new house with plenty of rooms and her parents inevitably tied up with other guests – would be just the place to put the seal on it.

  Very definitely she would be there.

  TWELVE

  On the day of the Hagwoods’ ball, Jack started to build a hut for the convict labour that had been assigned to him.

  He had brought some tools and supplies from Sydney Cove the previous evening, but there were too many to carry to the farm in one trip. He had taken some up then; now he was returning to the landing for the rest.

  He passed without a sideways glance the ramshackle tavern outside which he had had his altercation with the convict Ira Thornton two months earlier.

  Ex-convict, he reminded himself. Somehow, no one knew how, Thornton had won himself a pardon. Jack kept to himself on the farm and made no attempt to keep up with the colony’s affairs but he had heard that Thornton was regarded as a coming man. A pity they had made an enemy of him, then, but there had been no choice. It had been God’s will.

  Jack remembered how Thornton had offered them the girl. Were they not instructed to succour the weak and the helpless? Treating a fellow human like that, Thornton had deserved what he got. Jack had no regrets at what had happened that evening. The other matter – he regretted that, too, but it was different, something beyond his control. Prayer would provide the answer to that, in time, as it did to all else.

  He was lifting the bag of tools out of the stern locker when he heard a voice.

  ‘Mister … Mister …’

  He looked up, startled. A girl, dowdily dressed, stared down at him from the bank.

  ‘What do you want?’

  By way of answer, she crossed the landing stage and stepped on to the deck. The boat barely rocked beneath her weight. Someone had given her a beating. One eye was purple, the lids swollen tight together. A weeping bruise marked her left cheekbone, another her lip.

  He stared. ‘Dear Lord save us, girl, what happened to you?’

  ‘Lammed me up, di’n’t ’e?’ She spat like a cat, her clear eye spiteful.

  He recognised her at once, memories of the evening at the tavern turned suddenly into unwelcome flesh. He remembered how she had mocked him, the way she had seized his hand … He remembered the smoothness of her small breasts beneath the open shift. He had thought of her as litt
le more than a child; in daylight she seemed older.

  He took a step backwards, as from the devil. ‘What do you want with me?’

  ‘Take me with you?’

  He stared at her. ‘I’m going nowhere.’

  She seized his arm, fingers like claws. ‘Let me stay wi’ you, then.’ A salacious leer. ‘I’ll be good to you, mister. Real good.’

  He flung her hand away. ‘Keep away from me!’

  She said, ‘He’ll kill me, else.’

  ‘Who will?’

  ‘Dan ’awkins.’

  He remembered the swaying, bull-like figure, the stench of liquor. He knew he must not get involved in this. The convicts did beat their women: it was well known. Besides, he probably had reason.

  ‘You’d been with me that night, I’d have beaten you myself.’

  Her expression grew sulky. ‘Tha’s not why ’e done it.’

  He hesitated. ‘Why, then?’

  ‘That Ira Thornton, ’e made ’im.’

  ‘What’s Thornton got to do with it?’

  ‘He runs me, see.’

  ‘Thornton’s a free man now. I didn’t know he was still involved in that trade.’

  She stared up at him, head aslant to see better through her one good eye. ‘You don’ know much, do you, mister?’

  The hint of contempt stung him. ‘Why should I know what goes on between a whore and her master?’

  She stepped back as though he’d slapped her. ‘I thought you’d help me.’

  That was all, yet it turned a key within him. He found he could not walk away from her.

  ‘Why did Thornton do it?’

  ‘Somefin ’appened …’ Eyes not meeting his.

  Now, perversely, he would not accept the evasion. He took her hand, feeling the bones. ‘Tell me.’

  Her good eye inspected him. ‘Ever bin wi’ a woman like me?’

  He shook his head, admitting nothing, even to himself.

  ‘Some likes to ’urt.’ The simple words drained the blood from his face.

  Seemingly oblivious, she said, ‘Some of us was taken dahn to Sydney Cove, to look after the Spanish gentlemen. I got one of the old ones, ’e wanted to use a knife.’

  ‘A knife?’

  ‘Liked to see blood. Excited ’im, like.’

  ‘What happened?’ Lips dry, heart pounding.

  ‘Grabbed it out of ’is ’and, di’n’ I? Skewered ’im through the arm.’

  ‘And then?’

  Astonishingly, the glimmer of a smile. ‘’ell of a to-do, ’e was yellin’, I was screechin’, then Dan ’awkins come in an’ sorter dragged me off, like.’

  ‘How does Hawkins fit into this?’

  ‘One o’ Thornton’s bully boys. That Thornton, when ’e ’eard abaht it, ’e were that angry I thought ’e’d kill me. In the end ’e told Dan to sort me out instead.’ She touched her eye and smiled grimly. ‘Which ’e did.’ The smile disappeared. ‘Thornton ever knows I tol’ you abaht it, ’e’ll have me duffed, for sure.’

  ‘Duffed?’

  ‘Killed.’

  ‘Maybe I should speak to Dan Hawkins?’ he suggested.

  ‘Lam me worse’n ever, you do that.’ She shivered. ‘Besides, he’ll be sure to let Thornton know.’

  ‘Then what can I do?’

  ‘Like I said. Let me stay wi’ you.’

  He hesitated. Thornton was already an enemy. Interfering between him and this girl could lead to warfare.

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘You’ll think?’ Contempt in her voice. ‘That the best you can do?’

  ‘I’m sorry …’

  Her mouth twisted cynically. ‘Right bloody no-’oper you are, an’ no mistake. I ’ope to God no one saw me sneakin’ out, that’s all I can say.’

  He stood there, helpless. He felt guilty, but he was not going to get involved in a dispute between convicts.

  ‘I’ll pray for you,’ he said.

  She laughed, a harsh yelp of derision. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  She turned and stepped back on to the landing. He watched her limping towards the tavern. His heart should have gone out to her but he felt only relief. That story of the knife … Exaggerated, no doubt. He would pray, despite her scorn. What else could he do?

  One thing he could do was protect himself. True story or not, it did no harm to take precautions. He remembered what the girl had said to him about Ira Thornton.

  Thornton ever knows I tol’ you abaht it, ’e’ll ’ave me duffed.

  He kept a pistol in the forward locker. He fetched it, loaded and primed it, eased the hammer down and thrust the weapon into the waist of his trousers. He closed and secured the locker, picked up the bag of tools and went ashore.

  Cuddy, limping slowly, had just reached the tavern when a burly man emerged swiftly from behind the building and seized her arm. It was the man who had served them with food and drink that night in the tavern. The man who had been tough enough to control an angry Dan Hawkins.

  Cuddy hammered at his chest with her puny fists, but his great hands held her as effortlessly as a feather.

  She screeched at him. ‘Keep your bleedin’ ’ands off o’ me, Jed Smales!’

  He said nothing but transferred her weight to one hand and back-handed her with the other, once, twice, three times, the crack of his hand on her face loud enough for Jack to hear twenty yards away.

  He was running before he knew it.

  ‘Stop that!’

  The man turned, Cuddy hanging like a dead bird from his hand. Close up, he was big, hard, his shoulders filling his grubby shirt. He had a close-cropped, white head, eyes barely visible behind folds of tight, scarred flesh.

  He had to know who Jack was – he was a familiar figure in Parramatta. All the same, he did not back off. He showed broken teeth in a harsh grin.

  ‘Fancy makin’ somen of it?’

  ‘I certainly will if you don’t leave her directly!’

  Smales was twice Jack’s size and his grin broadened. ‘You know what’s good for you, matey, you’ll keep your nose out of other people’s business.’

  Deliberately, Jack put on his most arrogant voice. ‘If you know what’s good for you, fellow, you’ll not talk to your betters like that.’

  The man looked him up and down. ‘Piss off,’ he said derisively.

  He had started to turn away, apparently intent on dragging Cuddy inside the tavern, when Jack hit him. The shock jarred his arm to the shoulder; it had been like hitting the side of a mountain.

  Jed Smales did not even stagger. He blinked and shook his head, ‘Well, now,’ he said.

  He dropped Cuddy like a sack and stepped forward, shoulders low, right fist cocked. Jack took one pace back, pulled the pistol from his belt and presented the muzzle to Jed Smales’ face.

  ‘Two months ago,’ he said conversationally, ‘my brother told Dan Hawkins if he hit him he’d see him hang for it. I say the same to you. If I don’t shoot you first.’

  ‘You’d not dare.’ At least the threat had stopped him – for the moment.

  Jack pressed back the hammer. ‘Want to bet your life on it, come on.’

  Smales sneered. ‘Easy to be brave, standing behind a gun. You lookin’ for a fight, put down that pistol and let’s have at it, man to man.’

  ‘I’m not a fool. I’d never take you in a straight fight and we both know it. Besides, why should I?’

  Cuddy had managed to sit up in the dust at their feet. Her head was hanging, all cockiness knocked out of her. Blood ran from her nose to add to the mess that was her face. She dabbed at it, smearing it further.

  The sneer on Jed Smales’ face changed to a scowl. He gestured at the girl with his chin, the tight little eyes not moving from Jack’s face.

  ‘You want her, you mun pay for ’er, mister.’

  ‘How much?’

  Another sneer. ‘I ’eard you fancy rough trade.’

  ‘How much?’

  Smales showed uncertainty for the first time. He scrat
ched the back of his head. ‘You’ll have to talk to Mr Thornton ’bout that, I reckon.’

  ‘Very well.’ His heart was beating fast with excitement. He uncocked the pistol and thrust it back into his trouser band. He did not think Smales would attack him now. ‘This is what we’ll do then. I’ll take her with me. Thornton wants to speak to me, he’ll find me at my farm. You understand?’ He shot the question at him, seeking to dominate.

  ‘I understand, all right,’ Smales said. ‘What Mr Thornton will say’s another matter.’

  ‘So it is. A matter between him and me. Now, if you’ll move out of my way, we can each go about our business.’

  Smales wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Every movement of his body sent the same signal: he was aching to get Jack alone, without a pistol between them. He said nothing.

  Jack bent over the girl. ‘Let me get you out of here.’

  Dazed, not seeming to understand what was going on, she obeyed.

  They had to stop two or three times along the way to give Cuddy time to recover her strength. He was patient with her, caring, the same biblical injunction running over and over in his head. Succour the weak and the helpless … Her skin was surprisingly soft, redolent of youth.

  I’ll be good to you, mister. Real good.

  No, he told himself. That is not why I have saved her.

  *

  Cash came, as he had promised, on the midday tide.

  Cuddy was asleep on Jack’s bed; Jack was struggling with a roughly-trimmed upright, trying to manoeuvre it into the hole he had dug for it.

  Cash gave him a hand, then went into the hut to take off his shirt. He came back frowning.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’

  ‘Unexpected visitor.’ He told Cash what had happened. ‘I thought she could stay here a while until she’s recovered. Then we can work out what to do with her.’

  Cash shook his head vehemently. ‘She can’t stay with you.’

  ‘Where else? I can’t send her back. They’ll skin her alive if I do that.’