He squared his shoulders and walked on over the crest of the slope until the beach was out of sight. There were no trees here. The wind blew cold, bending the reeds and coarse grasses across the marshy desolation that confronted him. Patches of standing water reflected the sky. He saw a number of marsh birds circling, their cries coming thin and anxious on the wind. He saw a band of natives moving swiftly across the empty landscape.
There were perhaps a dozen of them, walking across his front. They were several hundred yards away but he could easily make out the pointed outlines of the spears they carried. He could not see whether there were any women in the party.
It took him ten minutes to get back to the beach. He looked back several times on the way but saw nothing. Perhaps they had turned back, perhaps not. There was no way of knowing.
Doggett was standing on the beach, a little apart from the rest of the men. Cash went quickly to him.
‘Natives.’
Doggett’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where?’
He gestured. ‘Up there. They weren’t far away when I saw them.’
‘How many?’
‘About twelve.’
‘Headed this way?’
‘Hard to tell.’
Doggett slapped Cash on the shoulder, giving him a wolfish grin. ‘Make a change from seals.’
‘They weren’t threatening,’ Cash said. ‘I’m not even sure they saw me.’
‘They saw you, you can bet on that. Tell you something else,’ Doggett said, ‘every native is threatening. Every goddamned one. The first governor they had here, he tried to make friends with them. Tried the soft approach. What happened? He got a spear in his shoulder. Said it was a mistake,’ he sneered. ‘Sure it was, and he made it. The only way to deal with these people is kill them. That way there can’t be no mistakes.’ He shouted for the mate. ‘Mr Beckett, word with you, if you please. On the double.’
It took an hour to organise the war party. Cutlasses for each man; only Doggett and Cash had firearms. Whether any of his men could navigate or not, Doggett was obviously not prepared to trust them too far.
They made up two parties of five, leaving the rest to guard the camp and boats. Doggett led the first party up the slope that Cash had followed; the rest, under Beckett, scaled the cliff at the far end of the beach in order to come at the natives, if they were still there, from the rear.
Cash went with Doggett. He felt uneasy about the whole business. He had warned Doggett because they might be attacked. Now Doggett had organised a hunting party.
The swampland where Cash had seen the natives seemed deserted. The men spread out, ten yards between each man, and walked cautiously forward, weapons ready in their hands. The other party was heading towards them from the far side of the plateau. There wasn’t much cover – reeds and grass, none of it more than a foot high, interspersed with rock and water. There was no possibility of anybody hiding there.
They saw nothing: no tracks, no sign of anyone.
Doggett scratched his head. ‘You sure you saw them?’
‘Positive.’
‘What were they doing?’
‘I told you. Walking. In that direction.’ He pointed.
‘I don’t see how twelve of them could leave no tracks,’ Doggett said.
‘Why don’t we look where they were heading? That may show us something.’
They explored along the edge of the plateau. The harsh grasses ran out along a narrow point of land that separated the bay from the curve of vertical cliffs where the breakers creamed like suds and the seabirds wheeled and called.
Doggett looked over the edge of the cliff and turned away. ‘Nothing down there, that’s for sure.’
A hail from one of the men took them over to him. He had found a path that skirted the edge of the cliff for a hundred yards before disappearing over it and along a narrow ledge that was barely visible from the cliff top. On the muddy ground they saw the recent imprint of bare feet.
Doggett looked at the sun; it was not more than a hand’s breadth above the horizon. ‘If we’re going after ’em, it had better be now.’
‘Why not leave them alone?’ Cash asked. ‘We’ll be gone by morning. They’re doing us no harm.’
‘Sure they’re not. And mister, I’ll tell you something, I’m going to make it my business to see things stay that way.’
They went down the path in single file, walking as silently as they knew how, saying nothing, scarcely breathing in their efforts to remain absolutely quiet.
There was no cover. The path was a line drawn across the steeply slanted slabs of wet rock that fell almost vertically to the sea. Not a leaf grew, not even moss. The thud and wash of the breakers came up to them, a sound Cash had grown used to over the past weeks but that now added tension to the pursuit.
‘Where the hell does this damn path go?’ Doggett breathed softly, frustration louder than his voice.
The path disappeared beyond a vertical fold in the cliff face but there seemed no breach in the wall that continued uninterrupted for at least a mile to the next headland.
‘Must be a cave.’
‘Only one way to find out, I guess.’
They went on, moving cautiously over the pebble-strewn path. Lose footing here and there would be no stopping before the beach.
They reached the turn of the cliff. Sure enough, the path continued out of sight. A square-edged outcrop of rock crossed the path at the very point of the turn. On one side the sheer cliff rose several hundred feet above their heads. On the other, emptiness.
Of what lay ahead they could see nothing.
Doggett and Cash stood ten yards from the outcrop and considered what they should do.
‘Gotta go over the top,’ Doggett said. ‘No other way.’
‘We’ll be a sitting target for anyone on the other side.’
‘No help for it though.’
‘If we go on.’
Doggett scowled. ‘You deaf, mister? We’re going on. You can bet your life on that.’
‘Perhaps that’s exactly what we are doing,’ Cash said.
He was tired of talking. He walked forward and climbed up on top of the outcrop. He had time to see the path continuing in front of him before a flash of violent heat seared the side of his throat. He swayed and fell backwards. He landed heavily and a blow to the back of his head carried him away into darkness.
*
‘Surely you must have seen who it was?’ Outrage and concern warred in Maud Clark’s expression.
Cuddy shook her head. ‘I never seed ’im,’ she said for the hundredth time. She knew without being told what would happen if she talked. People like her knew that from birth.
She couldn’t have spoken about it, anyway. It had been too horrible. Not the blows, not even the rape. She wasn’t new to either of them. The way he’d knelt down afterwards and prayed for forgiveness – praying for her, what’s more, as if she’d done anything – that had turned her up, good and proper. Sick, that’s what it was. But what really hurt was knowing that Jack, after all, was no better than the rest. Trust … She should have known better.
‘I never seed his face,’ she told Maud Clark again. ‘He grabbed me, next thing there was this cloth round me ’ead and he’d got me on the ground.’
‘But if you didn’t try and stop him …?’
‘Couldn’t, could I?’
‘… why did he bash you?’
‘How he gets his jollies, i’n’ it?’
Cuddy looked at Mrs Clark. She was a convict, too, she ought to know how these things were. Mind you, you shouldn’t expect too much. She’d heard Mrs Clark had been in service back in England. You had to live on the streets to know what life was really like. Somewhere like St Giles, where Cuddy herself came from. You learnt plenty in a London slum – but neither in St Giles nor anywhere else had she come across anyone like Jack Tremain.
‘I wish the captain was here,’ Mrs Clark said. ‘I don’t know if we should report it or not.’
&nb
sp; ‘I di’n’ set him up,’ Cuddy said, ‘if that’s what you’re thinkin’.’
‘I never thought you did.’ A lie, but never mind.
‘That’s what they’ll say, though, i’n’ it?’
‘They might,’ the housekeeper allowed cautiously.
‘Sure to, you ask me. Nah, say nuffin. That’ll be best.’
She could tell Mrs Clark was relieved. Besides, what was the point? Nobody would believe her, or do anything about it if they did. Only Cash might, and she couldn’t ask it of him, even if he didn’t know about his brother.
*
‘We are going out,’ Jane told Elinor when she called on her that afternoon. ‘There is someone I wish to see.’
They walked up the hill together.
‘Is Mr Tremain back?’ Elinor a-twitter, as always.
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘Then who?’
‘The girl Cash brought down with him from Parramatta.’
‘The one we met that evening? But surely …’ Now Elinor was affronted. A-twitter or not, she had a well-developed sense of what was proper and what was not.
‘The girl who worked as a harlot in the tavern at Parramatta.’ Jane enjoyed being specific. ‘That one.’
‘But why?’
‘I think it might be amusing.’
Mrs Clark and Cuddy herself seemed to entertain as many reservations as Elinor but Jane persisted and had her way.
‘I would like to know more about your life before you came here,’ she told Cuddy.
The three of them were in the little sitting room at Captain Tremain’s cottage. Jane and Elinor sat in the two chairs, Cuddy stood facing them.
‘Nuffin to tell,’ she said. She was sulky, not understanding what all the fancy talk was about and hating both it and them.
Jane was not to be put off so easily. ‘I understand you were working at the tavern at Parramatta before you came here.’
‘Yair.’
‘I fancy I have seen it. The building by the bridge, is it not?’
‘Yair.’
‘And what did you do there?’ This was the key question. She had not planned to ask it so soon, but the disapproval on Elinor’s fat face had provoked her into changing her mind.
‘This ’n’ that. Nuffin special.’ If Jane was not to be put off, Cuddy was equally determined not to talk.
‘I am sure you can do better than that.’
‘Nuffin to talk abaht. Nuffin you wants to ’ear, come to that.’
‘But it is!’ Jane was passionate. ‘I really do want to learn. To … understand. We are sisters, you andI. How can I help you if I do not understand?’
‘Nobody asked you to ’elp.’
‘Is it not our Christian duty to try to help each other?’
Cuddy wasn’t at all sure about that. She said nothing.
‘The marks on your face,’ Jane persevered. ‘They look fresh.’
‘An accident.’ She wondered how long she would be able to keep her temper under this cross-examination, how long this nosy woman would stay her friend if she did not.
‘Because, you see, if someone assaulted you – one of the convicts, let us say – I would lay a complaint on your behalf, if you would like me to. The authorities will listen to me. My father,’ Jane explained complacently, ‘is an important man in the colony.’
Cuddy’s face remained shut. ‘It was an accident,’ she repeated.
Jane was disappointed. She had not expected her friendly overtures to be rejected, and it showed. ‘The marks on your face when we were here before,’ she asked, claws in her voice, ‘were they caused by an accident too?’
Cuddy thought she had probably heard that story from Cash. ‘That was a bashin’,’ she said. ‘That was why Cash brought me ’ere.’
She used his first name deliberately – something she would never have done to his face – because this stupid nosy bitch was annoying her and she wanted to see how she would react.
‘Mr Tremain told me something about it,’ the nosy bitch said, nose in air.
So much for friends.
‘If there’s nuffin else …?’ Cuddy said.
‘What?’ A little crossly.
‘I got work to do.’ An explanation, of sorts; the tone take it or leave it.
Jane was at a loss. The chat had not gone as she had hoped. She had thought the girl would tell her everything, pour out her whole sad story. She had looked forward to it. She fancied herself in the role of confidante to a fallen woman, provided she was clean and sober. She would have shared her unmentionable secrets, been understanding and forgiving of them. She had visualised consoling her, explaining that the past was past and would not be held against her, certainly not by Jane. She had looked forward to gratitude. There had been neither confidences nor gratitude.
An afternoon wasted.
She stood. ‘We shall leave you to get on with your work, then.’
Walking back down the hill, inwardly seething, Jane thought, when Cash comes back, I shall make sure he gets rid of that girl.
*
Gough arrived in Sydney Cove on a day of heavy rain. It had been an uncomfortable journey and he was glad to see the end of it.
They had lost one man but brought half a dozen of the ringleaders back with them. Dead men walking, so far as Gough was concerned. They would soon go to join the eight others who had been killed trying to escape the soldiers. Serve them right. Order would be maintained, even if he had to hang every man in the colony.
It was dark by the time he trudged up the hill. Behind him, the lights of the harbour glimmered across the water. The hill was alive with the familiar buzz of cicadas, the wailing call of the night birds. It was good to be home.
He hadn’t seen Maud but she would have had word he was back. She would be waiting for him.
She had the door open before he was halfway up the path, her face bright with smiles.
He stood in the entrance, dark eyes blinking in the light. He smiled back at her as he came indoors and dropped his knapsack on the floor. He kicked the door shut behind him. At once she was in his arms.
‘Gough,’ she murmured, her lips all over his face. ‘Gough …’ She laughed and stood back, smiling up at him with eyes sparkling with unshed tears. ‘I were that worried.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘Anything could have happened to you.’
‘Things happened, but not to me I’m glad to say.’ He freed himself from Maud’s arms. ‘Girl still here, is she?’
‘I sent her to bed.’ She frowned. ‘Oh Gough, I don’t like for to trouble you soon as you get home, but the most terrible thing happened to her.’
She told him of the attack.
‘Was it a genuine assault?’ he wondered. ‘Not up to her old tricks, you don’t suppose?’
‘To begin with I thought she might have been but now I don’t think so.’
‘What made you change your mind?’
‘She really does seem to be trying, like. I don’t see her going off like that.’
‘And of course she’s no idea who did it?’
‘She says she never saw him.’
He shook his head disgustedly. ‘A man rapes her and she doesn’t even see him?’
Maud was defensive, now, protective of the girl who had been violated, perhaps, by a man. ‘She said she had a cloth over her face.’
‘Cloth?’ He was irritated, conscious of the disadvantage of his gender in such a situation. ‘Didn’t bring it back with her, I suppose? Why can’t these people understand if they won’t talk we’ve no chance of catching the culprit?’
‘She doesn’t want her throat cut as well, does she now? You sit down and I’ll get you a drink. Want some food?’
‘Not all I want.’ Smiling at her, gender no longer a disadvantage.
‘Food first,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll see.’
‘We’ll see, right enough.’
He took off his belt and heavy red jacket and let them b
oth drop to the floor. He sank down in the chair and kicked off his boots. Maud brought him his drink. Luxuriously, he stretched out his legs and let the weight of the day drop away from him.
*
Later, Maud lay with Gough in the small bedroom in the little cottage in this strange new country and thought back to the big old house where it had all started.
She had gone there to work as a child. She remembered walking with her mother through the park to the house, the driveway under the elms a sea of hissing red, leaves blowing in the wind. The October sunshine had been thin and cool. There were deer in the park, like dappled shadows.
She couldn’t help remembering, feeling the past, even now, with Gough come safely back to her. She saw the black pits of his eyes looking down at her in the darkness, his voice saying ‘Far away, aren’t you?’ His voice was tender but perhaps hurt, too, and she hugged him to her breast, feeling the hard body pressing on her, filling her, the skittering, jumping response gathering, rising like bubbles in the blood. Her arms were round him, her legs were round him, tightening him into her, holding him, holding it all, and she laughed breathlessly. Where else should I be?
She had waited with her mother in a room dark brown with panelling, a faint, disapproving smell to it like cooking and old papers and Mrs Paynter sharpening her stern eyes. ‘She can start tomorrow.’ Housekeeper, she was.
The surge rising, back arching, yes oh yes, fingers grasping thighs thrusting dying away oh God come on I can’t bear it come on, rising again, dying, the eyes watching her, her breath panting, eyes staring in the sweat-slick dark until control slid away and she cried out.
Crying ‘You ungrateful girl.’ Face swollen with outrage. The accusing silver bowl, the pointing finger. ‘Her ladyship’s bowl. After all her kindness.’
She hadn’t even wanted the bowl. She had done it to be with Alan, who had taught her everything she had ever had of life and love. Alan, good with words and other things. The under footman.
‘What does it feel like to be under the under footman?’ he had asked her.
Laughing, showing off like always. Enjoying her, enjoying everything in life. Enjoying his own smartness, cocky with it.
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