One morning, a change, and Jack knew that once again the prayers had failed, that God had failed, that the pulse in the blood had returned.
He worked all day, as hard as his body would allow. Digging holes for fence posts, wrenching the virgin soil into the light, probing deeper and deeper with the spade, sweat running off his naked back. Fetching the uprights, levering them into the holes, tamping the soil, fetching and securing the cross-pieces … A race, fleeing ever faster down a deserted road, fearing to look back but hearing, feeling, the demon drawing ever closer.
By the middle of the afternoon he knew, as he had known from the first, that physical labour would cure nothing.
I shall pray, he thought, but did not. His mind was filled with images spawned from hell. Prayer would be a blasphemy. Besides, prayer had failed. I am alone, he thought. I can do nothing.
The day passed, hour by hour. The night came. Physically exhausted after punishing his body with sixteen hours of physical labour, he still could not sleep. He tossed on his bed and watched the dark, peopled with dreams, nightmares, visions.
The dawn came in a bank of blood-red cloud. Weariness brought its own tranquillity. The only way to destroy the nightmare was to live it out. Not here, though, never here. Parramatta was too small. People, in time, would suspect. The house he had visited the night of the governor’s ball, that would be the place.
He worked about the farm until midday. Mid-afternoon, he closed the door of the hut behind him, walked down to the landing and took a boat down-river to Sydney Cove.
*
That evening, several weeks after Cash Tremain had left Sydney Cove for the Southern Ocean, Judge-Advocate Somers, with his wife and daughter, attended a dinner party given by the governor in honour of the officers of the East India Company patrol vessel Pluto, Captain Ivor Owen commanding, that had put into Port Jackson the previous day.
Jane was seated near the foot of the long table next to Ensign Hamish Matthieson, a junior officer on the vessel.
‘The most junior, in fact,’ Hamish told her cheerfully. ‘Or one of two.’
‘You were lucky to get ashore in that case.’
‘Grenville and I spun a coin,’ Hamish said, and winked. He seemed delighted with her company, delighted with life, a man perhaps two years older than she was. ‘I won.’
He was a breath of air from the outside world. Jane had forgotten how restricted life in the colony was.
They had been at sea for five months on a voyage from Calcutta that had taken them first in a long sweep through the islands of the Pacific before bringing them here.
‘Did you see any of the savages on the islands?’ she asked him.
‘Many. They weren’t as savage as I expected. Some of them flourished their spears at us but in most cases they were very friendly. We went ashore on several of the islands and were made most welcome.’
She slanted her eyes at him. ‘I have heard that the women wear little in the way of clothes.’
‘Nor the men.’
‘And I am told they are comely.’
‘Comely enough, certainly.’
‘More than you can say for the natives here.’ She laughed disparagingly. ‘You can have no idea how ugly they are, Mr Matthieson, until you’ve seen them for yourself. Here, of course, they go quite naked – men and women both.’
They busied themselves for a while with the food in front of them. Bewigged servants passed to and fro behind the diners, pouring wine, removing empty plates. Outside the tall windows, night had fallen and the glow of the candles lit up the long table.
The man on Jane’s right hand was older – a lieutenant, too old for his rank, with stentorian breath, a fleshy face and broken veins patterning his cheeks and nose. Throughout the meal, he had addressed himself enthusiastically both to food and drink and had spoken little. Now, however, he looked up from his plate.
‘Good to be back in civilized company at last,’ he said.
She did not want to believe him. ‘To visit these faraway places must be a wonderful adventure.’
The lieutenant drank wine. ‘Well enough if you’re young,’ he conceded. ‘Nowadays I find all the excitement I need in a well-laid table.’ And reapplied himself diligently to the cut of mutton with which his plate had just been replenished.
Jane turned back to Hamish. ‘Tell me more about how the islanders welcomed you.’
She had heard rumours of that, too. She had difficulty in believing them but would have liked to do so. She held her breath, waiting for his reply.
‘A dinner,’ he said. ‘Fruit, roast pork, that sort of thing. Much the same as here really.’
‘Is that all?’ Crestfallen. She had hoped for more than a dinner.
His bright eyes sparkled as he looked at her. ‘What else had you expected, Miss Somers?’
She was a match for him. ‘Something more … exotic perhaps?’
She had heard that on some islands the girls lay with visiting sailors without even bothering to seek privacy, in much the same way that in this society men and women bowed and curtsied to each other. Could it be true? It meant that, had this been an island society and she an islander, she and Hamish Matthieson might even now be …
That was absurd, unthinkable. But these days she often thought the unthinkable and, for a moment, almost wished she had been an island girl.
*
That evening as Jane Somers dined, Cuddy Marshall came out of the Tremain cottage and climbed the steep crest of the hill at the back of the house until she came to the path that crossed the stream and continued down the western arm of the cove.
She needed air and time to think. It was safe enough, she thought. She hoped.
Earlier that day, a respectable-looking man in a black coat had arrived, asking to speak to Cuddy.
Very polite-speaking he was, but Maud Clark had looked at him doubtfully. What did he want with the girl?
‘Just a word, missus,’ the man assured her. Black eyes were set close together on either side of a long nose. He smiled.
She decided he was harmless. ‘Don’t take all day about it. She’s got work to do.’
He waited on the step until Cuddy came out to him.
‘Day, missy.’
She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Yair?’
He smiled at her. ‘Mr Thornton sent me.’
Cuddy gasped, hand to her mouth, blood draining from her face.
‘He thought you’d like to know he hasn’t forgotten you. Be sending some people to talk to you, he said. One of these days.’
‘You git away from me!’ Terror blazed like rage.
‘I’m going, missy. But that was the message.’
He turned and walked away without another word. She had watched him, the day suddenly dark.
Cuddy shuddered at the memory as she stared down the length of the harbour to the Heads behind which, she knew, lay the open sea. She had not seen it or thought about it since she had arrived in the colony. Some people were always on about how they were going to stow away, steal a boat, sail to China, live like kings … She believed none of it. Life wasn’t like that, not for people like her. Didn’t matter where you were, there were those on top and those underneath. No prizes where she belonged.
All right, she asked herself. What are you doing, staying at the captain’s house? Trying to pretend you’re something you ain’t, that’s the truth of it.
Face it, girl, there’s only one thing you’re good for, and that ain’t a housekeeper. Neat dress, white apron, white mob cap. Yes, sir. At once, madam.
She didn’t want that.
She’d be better off living the old life. It hadn’t been so bad. Plenty of laughs and booze and not having to be on your best behaviour all the time. If some drunken fool put his hands inside your bodice, what of it? What harm did it do?
What business had Cash Tremain to take her away from something she understood, dump her here and then disappear himself? If he thought she was a toy he could pick up and put
down when he felt like it, she had news for him. She had her own life to lead, thank you very much. Much better if he’d left her to get on with it. Maybe she should do just that.
She thought about it, looking down the path. She knew where it went – down the hill to the barracks and the parade ground at the bottom. Past the convict shacks. Past Daniel Oliver’s place.
He was another one who worked for Ira Thornton. Sometimes it seemed the whole colony did. She’d heard plenty about him. Bad one, they said. The girls working for him were always getting beat up, and worse. Some of the things the marks did to the girls at Dan Oliver’s place … Dirty, filthy things. Still, that was life, wasn’t it? You survived. Even if you didn’t, who wanted to live a life like this anyway?
She could feel the old ways drawing her.
Be careful, she told herself, remember what made you run away, in the first place. Not the life, that was nothing. Not even the beatings. Come from Cuddy Marshall’s part of the world, you couldn’t expect nothing else. Being afraid, that was what had got her in the end. Being afraid what might happen next, never knowing. Like that Spanish bastard with the knife … She’d heard other stories too. Girls with their insides hanging out, girls with their breasts cut off. Sick talk. Maybe not all true. But girls disappeared, that was true. Girls got beaten so bad they died, that was true.
Thornton had said he’d punish her for running away. That was what the message had meant. No details. All the same, it had frightened her.
She shivered and walked on towards the patch of trees that marked the position of the stream. Cross that, she thought, you’re on enemy territory.
She should go back to the cottage. Even if she had wanted to go back to the old life, Dan Oliver’s place would be the last place to choose. Better off at Parramatta, but she couldn’t go there, not now. Convicts weren’t allowed to travel around the colony unescorted. She was stuck here, like it or not.
She hesitated and turned back, retracing her steps along the path. It was beginning to get dark. A man was coming up the hill towards her, white shirt a blink against his dark clothes, the gathering twilight. He came on purposefully, a man who knew where he was going.
She watched him. Chances were he hadn’t seen her. She could step off the path and he would likely go past, not even know she was there. It wasn’t the man who had called on her this morning. She could tell by the way he walked that this one was younger. Not from Thornton, either – Thornton would have sent two or three after her, not one alone.
Bleedin’ hell, she thought. If I’m going to be frightened of every man I see, I’d be better off dead. Besides, she could see the roofs of the cottages from here. Nothing could happen, so close to the settlement. Damned if I’m going to hide from him.
She took a deep breath and walked on.
He was a tall man, slightly built. Dark hair hung loose about his face. Her heart gave a thump. She began to hurry towards him, everything in her life suddenly bright and beautiful again. Drew close to him, face all smiles.
The tall man paused, his white face a glimmer in the twilight, and smiled down at her.
‘Cuddy Marshall,’ Jack said.
*
‘What is the news of France?’ Jane asked.
‘Oh, they cut his head off,’ Hamish Matthieson said cheerfully.
‘Whose head?’
‘King Louis. We spoke to an English frigate a month ago. They said the mob executed him last January.’
‘Good,’ Jane declared.
He looked at her. ‘Good?’
‘I wish something of the same sort would happen in England,’ she said, but laughed as she said it, not wanting to frighten him too much.
‘But they say France is in chaos.’
‘All the better, if it leads to something better than they had before. All these kings and dukes, what good do they do anyway?’
‘I suppose that depends who’s asking the question.’
‘This colony. People come out in chains. Yet when they get the chance to go back, most of them don’t. Here, they’ve got some chance. Back home, none.’
‘You sound quite the Jacobin, yourself.’
‘Labels,’ she said scornfully. ‘I just want to lead my own life. Even though I am a woman. That’s heresy, I know.’
‘I’ve never thought about it.’ Unsure what he was getting into.
‘Why should I be the chattel of any man? Tell me that.’
‘Does your father’ – cautiously – ‘know your views?’
She laughed, a merry peal that brought glances and, from her father, a frown. ‘Heaven forbid,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t take everything I say too literally. These ideas, they make for a more amusing evening, do they not?’
‘Absolutely,’ he agreed, but looked askance.
She saw she had frightened him after all, and remembered the last conversation she had had with the unspeakable Thomas Birkett. ‘Tell me,’ she asked Hamish. ‘Do you know Compton House, at all?’
‘I never heard of it.’ And was mystified when, once again, she laughed.
There is only one man I can talk to like this, she thought. He doesn’t agree with me but at least he doesn’t run away. I wonder how he’s doing, hunting seal. I wish, how I wish, I were a man. Only sometimes, though. Was he really doing what I thought he was doing with that convict girl the night Elinor and I visited him?
Surely Cash would never have done anything with that ugly girl? And a harlot too! The lowest thing it was possible to be. But why, she thought, is it all right for men to do these things but so bad for a woman?
She’d tried to ask her mother something about it once. Her mother had looked at her as though even to ask such things were evidence of depravity. What she had said, through all the qualifications and obfuscations, was that it was harmful for women because of their weaker natures.
The answer – if she had understood it correctly, if even her mother had understood it – had exasperated her. She did not feel herself weaker than a man, not in the way her mother meant. A woman ran greater risks, of course, everybody understood that. But why should she be judged more guilty than a man, when both of them had done the same thing? It was like everything else. If you were a woman, you were nothing.
She found the idea was making her think differently about the girl herself. She scolded herself for falling into the same trap of blaming the girl. The men were as much at fault, surely?
She made a decision that surprised her.
I shall go and talk to her, she thought. If she will let me. Find out what it is like to be a woman of that sort.
*
Jack took Cuddy on down the track until they reached the trees on the banks of the stream. She went willingly, happy to see her hero again.
He led her off the track to a place of soft level grass where earlier in the year wild flowers had bloomed amid the green. Her heart beat fast, knowing what was going to happen, knowing that this time things would be different.
He talked to her quietly, reasonably, then louder and louder as her joy turned to horror and fear. He did not know that he was ranting uncontrollably, that while she stared at him in mounting terror she could not understand a word he was saying. She sat absolutely still in the darkness beneath the trees, feeling the damp ground through her clothes, her skin creeping at the pressure of his hand on her leg, her knee, her thigh, doing nothing to prevent it, knowing herself powerless to prevent it. Minute by minute, little by little, she died, waiting for what she knew had to come.
Until Jack turned with the sweetest of smiles and hit her once, hard, across the face, and threw her down and raped her.
Afterwards, he beat her, calling her whore.
Later still, he prayed at her side, begging forgiveness for both of them, before he stood up to leave her.
‘Jack,’ she said.
He looked at her, surprise on his face, as though for the first time he realised she was a person.
‘I thought you was the answer to my dreams
,’ she said. Tears were running down her face.
He nodded judiciously, as though conceding a good point. He turned and walked away. His black clothes merged with the darkness.
She lay still for a long time, blood and tears mingling on her face. He could have killed her but she did not think of that. She felt defiled as never before in her life.
NINETEEN
Towards evening on a day several weeks later, Cash walked away from the beach where the latest seal hunt had taken place and climbed a grassy incline that led to the summit of the stark cliff encircling the bay.
There had been continuous rain and gales for days, but last night the wind had finally dropped. Overnight the seas had moderated and, by this afternoon, the clouds had blown away eastwards. The sky was clear. Visible for the first time in days, the sun sank slowly towards the western horizon, casting a golden highway across the quiet sea. Below him, on the beach, the flensing gangs were busy about the piled corpses of the seals.
Cash’s part in the slaughter was over. He looked at Pelican riding at anchor in the middle of the bay. Her hold was packed high with sealskins and vats of oil from the corpses rendered down in the boilers. There would be plenty more when they collected the small parties of men they had dropped off along the coast. Doggett had said this would be their last port of call. They would load the gear, pick up the rest of the crew and set out on the stormy journey back.
The peculiar horror of killing creatures that not only did not defend themselves but did not try even to escape was gone now. You killed as quickly as possible, not because the killing was horrible but because that was your job. All the same, it was good to get away from the stench and sound of killing, to stand on a high cliff and look out at the sea and the land and think clean thoughts. Cash was filthy – clothes, body, mind, all filthy. It was not important, he thought. He had taken it, so far. He would go on taking it. He could take a lot worse if he had to.
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