She’d said, ‘Maybe I’d sooner have the footman.’
Thinking never, not that poncy little fart but saying it, to josh him. Alan, with his damn-the-devil grin. Alan, too smart by half, caught with pheasants in his pocket.
Seven years, the bowl had cost her. She learnt later she could have been hanged. Seven years, to be with Alan. Never saw him again. Heard maybe he’d died. Plenty did.
Gough resting at her side, turned his head. ‘Far away tonight.’
Ripples still dying in her belly, one by one. ‘My love,’ she said, meaning it. ‘I never want to be nowhere but with you.’
*
Beyond the darkness, timbers creaked, the world rocked.
Consciousness seeped back behind his closed eyes. The next thing he recognised was pain: a burning flare catching at his breath, creasing his face in sudden agony.
Memory returned – standing balanced on the outcrop of rock, seeing the path scratched across the cliff face, feeling …
Nothing.
Cash opened his eyes. Pelican’s stern cabin groaned and complained as she rolled. He could feel as well as hear the swish and thud of the waves against the planking as the hull drove through the water.
He lifted his hand gingerly to the side of his throat. It seemed to weigh a lot more than a hand should. There was a bandage. Inside the bandage, the pain savaged him. Some of the pain. The rest was a throbbing ache that seemed localised in the back of his head. His exploring fingers probed. He winced and suddenly became conscious of two things – he was parched with thirst but, more pressing than that, knew, in the instant before it happened, that he was going to vomit. He did so into a bucket standing on the deck beside the berth in which he was lying, and fell back. His thirst was worse than ever, but before he could think to do anything about it, he had once more slid back down a darkening slope into unconsciousness.
Next time he woke, he felt better.
The movement of the boat had ceased. There was no sound of wind or waves, but periodically he caught the rumble of the anchor cable on the bottom as Pelican moved.
He managed to struggle to his feet and, fighting nausea, made his way to a porthole and peered out through the smeared glass. He saw the gaunt cliffs, the sloping beach of black sand, and recognised the place at once. Pelican was anchored in the inlet where they had left the first shore party on the outward trip. They had obviously returned to pick up the men before starting on the last long leg back to Sydney Cove.
The cabin door opened. Doggett’s voice made him turn.
‘On your feet again? Just as well, mister. No room for cripples on this ship.’
Cash swayed back to the berth and collapsed on it. ‘Any water?’ The inside of his throat was dry and sore but at least he could still speak.
Doggett brought him a container of water from the cabin table and held it to Cash’s mouth as, gingerly, he drank.
‘Goddamn nursemaid,’ Doggett said. He put the flask back on the table. ‘Lucky to be here at all. Know that, do you?’
‘I don’t know what happened,’ Cash said.
‘An inch to the right and you’d have been a goner. That spear ripped open the side of your neck, somehow missed the artery, and carried on out to sea. Next thing I knew you’d fallen back off the rock and hit your head a good smack on the path – damn near solid rock itself at that point.’
‘Where did the spear come from?’
‘One of those damned niggers was waiting for us,’ Doggett told him. ‘Soon as you stuck your head up, he let fly.’ He laughed grimly. ‘I got him though.’
‘How?’
It was extraordinary, like listening to a tale of something that had happened to someone else. Only the burning pain at the side of his neck and the sickening ache in his head told him any different.
‘When that spear came and you went down, I thought we was under attack. Weren’t much in the way of shelter on that path, if you recall. So I thought, what the hell, if we’re going, let’s do it in style. So I grabbed my pistol and jumped up on the rock in time to see the damn nigger running off down the path. I let fly at him – it must have been all of ten yards – and by some miracle I got him, clean through the back.
‘We weren’t going to stop there, of course. There was a level plateau behind the rock with a cave at the back of it. I got all the boys together and we charged in, everyone waving their cutlasses over their heads, just in time to see the whole gang of them climbing out of a fissure at the back of the cave. We went after them but we was too late and they all got away. Except for one.’
‘The one you killed.’
‘Not him. Another one. A girl, about twelve or fourteen, it’s hard to tell how old they are. Young enough anyway. She must have been too slow to get away with the rest, maybe the one I killed was her husband, who knows. We missed her on the way in. Would have missed her coming out, too, if I hadn’t seen her foot sticking out from behind a rock.’
‘Did you kill her, too?’
Doggett laughed. ‘That would have been a waste. No, mister, she’s still alive.’
Something in the American’s tone thrust a blade into Cash’s guts.
‘You let her go?’ Knowing the answer.
‘That would have been even more of a waste. No, mister, we kept her. She’s alive – for the present anyway. She’s here on board, in the chain locker.’
‘How do we explain her when we get back to Sydney Cove?’
‘We’ll let her go before we get back.’
Cash understood what Doggett was telling him but something in him wouldn’t let the subject go. ‘How does she get home again?’
‘Depends how well she can swim.’
‘You can’t throw her over the side!’ Outrage even through his prevailing weakness.
The smile vanished. ‘This is my ship, mister. Don’t start telling me what I can’t do!’
‘It’s murder.’
Doggett was implacable. ‘It’s war. After what happened to you, you should know that.’
‘She’s done nothing!’
‘She’s a native and a woman. Them’s the only reasons I need. The boys are a bit short of female company at present. She’ll help take their minds off their troubles.’
Revulsion joined nausea. ‘I won’t stand for it!’
‘I would say you got no choice.’
‘I’ll lay charges when we get back.’
‘You got to get back, first.’
‘Is that a threat?’
Doggett shook his head. ‘Mister, you nearly died back there. Who’s to say you didn’t? Besides, it’s too late. I wouldn’t dare take her away from the crew now, even if I wanted to.’
Cash tried to stare him down. ‘Wouldn’t dare?’
‘Every ship is a powder keg. Crews are badly paid, badly fed, treated like the scum most of them are. You try to interfere with the few pleasures they have, you’ll see how quickly they turn on you. Captains have been put over the side before this. The wise skipper remembers that. You should remember it too. They do anything, it won’t be just me. It’ll be the pair of us.’
‘How can they get back if none of them knows how to navigate?’
‘From here it wouldn’t be so difficult. You’ve seen the chart. Steer due north until you reach the mainland, then all you got to do is follow the coast. This is the real world out here,’ he said, ‘not some fairy-tale romance you dream up in your head.’ He walked to the cabin door. ‘I must get ashore, keep an eye on what the boys are up to.’
He went out and later, watching through the porthole, Cash saw the boat heading for the beach. Outside, the day was dying. The men had built a big fire of driftwood. By its light Cash could see them scurrying to and fro like ants, carrying this, shifting that, while the yellow flames flared higher in the gathering darkness and shadows flew like bats up the cliff wall.
Cash remembered the unmarked shelves of rock about the entrance to the inlet, the care Doggett had taken to con the ship through the reefs.
Pelican would not be leaving before light.
Doggett’s words ran in his head.
We’ll let her go before we get back.
In plain English, they had kidnapped the girl and would gang rape her until they threw her overboard outside Port Jackson harbour.
Depends how well she can swim.
From Sydney to the islands was over five hundred miles.
Murder, pure and simple.
He shook his head and winced as pain stabbed the side of his neck. What had Doggett said? About twelve or fourteen. Native or not, he couldn’t go along with it, even after what had happened to him. What he could do about it was another question.
Slowly, Cash stood. His neck, the back of his head, his whole body, cried out in protest. He felt a hundred years old.
He had no idea what he would do, only that he had to try. He opened the cabin door. Step by slow step, he climbed the companionway to the deck. The night air had ice on its breath. For a moment giddiness made him cling to the rail, then the world steadied about him. He bent and pulled off his shoes. The planking was cold beneath his feet but there was no other way he could move about the deck without being heard.
Cautiously, he began to move towards the bows.
On the beach, the work had stopped. The crew was gathered about the fire, their bodies silhouetted against the flames. The sound of voices and laughter travelled clearly to him across the shifting black water. The smell of meat, too: they must be roasting a seal on the fire, enjoying their last night of freedom before the long haul north. Of the men on board, he could see nothing.
The chain locker was in the bow of the vessel. To get to it, Cash had first to pass the entrance to the forecastle. Since the watch was not on deck, that was where they would be.
A lamp was shining through the open hatchway, illuminating the shrouds and the base of the foremast and sending ghostly patterns of light and darkness high into the rigging.
The sound of a voice made him freeze but whoever had spoken stayed below. Presently he summoned his courage and tiptoed past the opening. In the bows of the vessel, everything was dark.
There was a closed hatch cover, right up in the prow. Cash crouched down to examine it, half an eye and all his hearing focused on the forecastle behind him. The hasp was secured by a metal bolt. He gave it an experimental tug; it moved the barest fraction of an inch. Cautiously, he pulled it further. The dry metal screeched. He jerked his hand away as though the bolt had burnt him and froze, waiting to see if the watch had heard the noise. Nothing happened. Slowly, he relaxed, put his hand on the bolt and tried again. Again, the thin screech. He cursed under his breath.
He spat on his fingers and lubricated the bolt with spittle. He tried again. Slowly and, thank God, silently, the bolt drew back. One inch. Two. Then it was free. Cash sat back on his heels, letting out his breath in a long sigh.
Tension made his head pain worse. His brain pounded, throwing his eyes out of focus and convulsing his whole body with nausea. He rested a moment, took a firm hold on the cover and eased it back. It came easily. He stared down into the darkness below.
For a minute he could see nothing. Then, eyes growing used to the darkness, he made out the piled anchor cable six feet below the hatch. On the cable, the girl.
Her eyes and teeth gleamed, otherwise she was as black as her surroundings. She was curled up like a foetus, arms and legs tucked in. She cringed away from the opening and he thought he heard a faint whimper.
He wished he could speak to her. Although she would not understand, the tone of his voice might make her realise that he meant her no harm. But it was impossible – the watch was too close. Instead he held out his hand to her. She whimpered again and drew herself into the piled cable. It slipped, clanking. Again Cash froze. Again, no one came. No doubt they were used to the sounds she made.
She would never get out by herself. He felt frustration, even anger. If she didn’t understand that he was offering her freedom, he would have taken the risk for nothing. There was only one thing for it. He eased himself through the narrow opening into the chain locker.
She made no attempt to move away from him – there was nowhere for her to go. Now he could see her more clearly. She was young, even younger than Doggett had said, with a look of terror on her face. Long, thin arms and legs, not a stitch on her, dried blood on mouth and – yes – groin. The bastards had already been at her then.
He held a finger to his lips – surely she could understand that – and pointed at the open hatch. She stared back at him. He could not tell if she understood or not. He could think of no other way of getting his message across. He could not take her and throw her bodily into the sea.
He gestured once more at the opening, again put his finger to his lips, and left her. He levered himself up until his eyes were level with the deck. No sign of anyone. Praying his luck would hold, he clambered out and waited for his breath to steady.
There was a shadow, a breath of air at his back, a faint splash. The girl was gone.
Cash ran on tiptoes down the deck, recovered his shoes and went below.
Later, of course, there would be hell to pay.
TWENTY
‘I had never imagined the colony would be like this,’ Captain Ivor Owen said. ‘I had thought it would be a great deal more like … well, like a prison.’
‘Which of course it is,’ Jonathan said. ‘I think I can say in all honesty that there are few places in the colony that enjoy the outlook and surroundings we have here at Elizabeth Knoll.’
He got enormous pleasure from using the name that he had given his new house, in honour both of his wife and the point of land on which it stood. ‘Of course, if you really want to experience the prison atmosphere, we must arrange for you to attend a hanging or a flogging while you’re here. Or see a chain gang at work.’
His guests laughed, as he had intended.
They had been for a walk around the property before dinner. Now the ladies had left the men to enjoy a glass of port together. There were four of them – Jonathan, Captain Owen of the East India Company’s ship Pluto, recently arrived in port, Judge-Advocate Somers making another of his regular visits to Parramatta, and Archibald Carter, a square-built, grey-haired Scotsman in his early forties who had recently arrived from Bengal on a visit to the colony.
‘A prison, aye. But with opportunities to expand?’ Carter said, turning the statement into a question.
‘Undoubtedly,’ Jonathan declared robustly.
‘Restricted, I suspect, by the East India Company’s monopoly?’
Owen’s hackles rose at once. ‘My dear sir, the East India Company is the major trading force in the civilized world. Its interests are those of Britain herself. It has every right to protect those interests as best it may.’
‘Nae doot,’ Carter said drily. ‘Nevertheless, the way it chooses to do so may conflict with the trading interests of this colony.’
‘Absolute nonsense, sir!’ Owen was a strutting little popinjay of a man. Now his face grew choleric.
‘Nae nonsense at all, Captain. The Company seeks to prevent other traders from dealing directly with London by imposing a monopoly that has neither legality nor sense.’ Carter appealed to Jonathan. ‘Would you no’ agree, sir?’
Somers answered as though the question had been addressed to him. No doubt he thought it should have been. It was a legal matter after all. The Judge-Advocate was the leading legal authority in the colony and liked to remind people of the fact. ‘One might be tempted to take issue with you over the question of legality, mm?’
‘Indeed?’
‘Oh yes, I think so. The East India Company was incorporated by Act of Parliament, and the Act clearly sets out the Company’s right to a monopoly over all its Asiatic operations.’
‘Exactly,’ said Owen, gratified by the support. ‘And what is more –’
Carter interrupted, ‘New South Wales is no’ Asia.’
‘A quibble, my dear sir,’ Owen said hotly.
‘No more than a quibble.’
‘Three thousand miles to Timor, gentlemen.’ Carter looked around the table. ‘Gey far for a quibble, would ye no’ say?’
Owen said, ‘Three thousand or thirty thousand, the fact remains that the Company has placed that interpretation on it.’
Carter’s tone was drier than ever. ‘Aye, nae doot it has. One of these days, Captain, ye’ll find someone will challenge yon interpretation of yours. Then I’m thinking your Company might be in for a surprise.’
Owen tried a laugh but his eyes were hard and bright. ‘Make sure it’s not you, Mr Carter. It would grieve me to have to arrest your ship on the high seas.’
‘It would grieve me to fight ye off.’
They stared across the table, lips parted, grimacing at each other.
Jonathan intervened to head off the confrontation. ‘There is room in the colony for both the Company and independent traders. That will be true for a long time to come. Tell me, Captain,’ addressing Owen, ‘it is true is it not, that you are in the Pacific more to encourage the development of trade than to arrest ships in breach of the Company’s monopoly?’
‘Trade,’ Captain Owen said, ‘is the lifeblood of us all.’
‘Must comply with the law, though,’ Somers said. ‘Interesting point you raise,’ he said to Carter. ‘Is New South Wales a part of Asia?’
‘I fail to see it can be anywhere else,’ Owen said. ‘It’s too small to stand alone and you can hardly call it part of Europe.’
‘So long as the Company does exercise its authority in this region,’ Jonathan wondered, ‘what is the position of the ordinary citizen? If he hears of a cargo being readied for London, is it his duty to inform the Company or not?’
‘Yes,’ said Owen.
‘No,’ said Carter.
‘Judge-Advocate?’ Jonathan sought assistance from the law. ‘What are your views?’
‘Depends on the legal situation, of course. Mm.’ Somers managed to sound authoritative and uncommitted at the same time.
‘What is your view?’
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