‘Oh God, Cash,’ she said, ‘I’m that glad you’re home safe. I ain’t hardly thought of nuffin else, not for days.’
He sat in his chair; she fussed about him, bringing him a drink, taking off his heavy boots.
He said, ‘Tell me what’s been going on while I’ve been away.’
‘Nothing much,’ she said. ‘Two pigs escaped when they was bringin’ ’em down the wharf. Proper performance that was.’
He sipped his drink, glad to be home again. ‘As long as it’s only pigs that escape and not convicts I suppose we mustn’t complain.’
‘Couple of convicts made a dash for it. Off a work party up Parramatta way.’
‘Catch them?’
She nodded. ‘I ’eard Lieutenant Hagwood ordered ’em both two hundred lashes.’
Barbaric, he thought. Two hundred lashes could kill a man.
‘Is that all you’ve got to tell me?’ he said. ‘Pigs and convicts? Nothing very exciting in that.’
‘Birkett,’ she said.
‘Nobody flogged him, I suppose? More’s the pity.’
‘Gettin’ himself wed.’
‘Well, well. And who is the lucky lady?’
‘That new girl. The one wi’ the rich dad. Virginia Carter.’
THIRTY-TWO
Cash went to the Carters’ house at ten o’clock the next morning. He was angry: with Carter for his unprincipled blindness; with Virginia for permitting herself to be browbeaten into what, he was convinced, could only be the most catastrophic of marriages; with himself, for being unable to keep away. He had no rights in the matter. Carter would be perfectly justified in having him thrown into the gutter.
A servant opened the door. Cash told him to tell his master he had called and would be grateful if he would see him. The man closed the door, leaving him standing in the street. When he came back, he said that Mr Carter was unavailable.
‘Tell him that I need three minutes of his time. No more. It is very important that I see him. Tell him I shall not go away until he can see me.’
The servant looked about to say something but must have thought better of it. He closed the door again. Cash waited. After five minutes the man returned to say that Mr Carter would see him now.
He was escorted to a little room and left there. A small window faced a storage shed. A chair stood against the wall. There was no other furniture. Through a closed door, he heard the murmur of voices. He waited.
After fifteen minutes that seemed like fifteen hours, the door opened. A young man he did not recognise stuck his head out.
‘Mr Carter says to come in now,’ he said in a peremptory manner.
It was a different room from the one he had seen before; this was a working room with a plain desk and filing cupboards set against the wall. An engraving of the Hooghly River faced a window that overlooked the harbour.
There was nowhere to sit. Cash stared at the top of Carter’s head as he bent over writing notes in an impatient hand. The quill pen scratched in the silent room. The young man – a clerk, presumably – leant against the wall, grinning and picking his teeth.
Without looking up, Carter said, ‘Ye wanted something?’
‘When you’ve finished.’
The pen scratched on. Cash stood and waited. Eventually Carter laid down the pen and stared at him, eyes like ice. ‘Well?’
‘I think it would be better if we spoke in private,’ Cash said.
‘I prefer otherwise.’
‘It’s about your daughter.’
‘I had assumed as much. Tell me, Mr Tremain, how can anything to do with my daughter be any of your business?’
‘It is none of my business …’
‘Just so. In which case …’ He went to pick up the pen.
‘… but you are aware of my feelings for Virginia.’ Desperately, conscious of the clerk’s leering presence at his back.
‘I am aware ye made a most improper approach to her that she, quite rightly, rejected. Ye then had the impertinence to trouble me about the same subject and I sent ye about your business. Despite that, ye’re here again now. I’m aware of both those things. What I am not aware of is whether ye’re brazen or simply dull-witted to keep coming back where ye’re no’ welcome.’
No one could say Cash hadn’t asked for it but it was not in his nature to take it without striking back.
‘Perhaps you are also aware of the nature of the man you intend Virginia to marry?’
‘That will be enough o’ that. The understanding between my daughter and Mr Birkett has my full approval.’ His brogue rolled like gunfire.
Cash felt sick with humiliation and despair. The fact that he was so utterly in the wrong made the feelings worse. He stared down at the pugnacious little Scot. ‘And what is the basis of your approval, sir? Mr Birkett’s character or his pedigree?’
Carter’s face went red as the shaft struck home. ‘Mr Birkett is a gentleman, sir! Which is gey more than you can say of some!’
‘Birkett is a drunken lout, as anyone living in the colony will tell you. One day, unhappily, if no one kills him first, he will become a baronet. Perhaps that looks a great thing to you, Mr Carter, but your daughter will have to suffer the consequences of what I can tell you now will be a calamitous marriage. I pray possession of a title will give her sufficient consolation.’
‘How dare ye come bursting in here and make such remarks …’ Carter was stammering with fury. With his skin the colour of port wine, he looked ready for a seizure.
‘Hardly bursting.’ Cash took a deep breath. Fighting with the man would only make the situation more impossible than ever. He decided to try one final appeal. ‘I am sorry, sir. I did not come in here looking to quarrel. I withdraw my remarks. But surely, Mr Carter, you would not acquire a business without asking questions first. Should you not do as much when it is a potential son-in-law?’
Carter said, ‘Virginia’s future is none of your concern. Your presumption in offering me advice on the subject is outrageous.’
‘I am concerned only for your daughter’s happiness.’
‘A concern for something, I’ve nae doubt.’ His eyes were malevolent. ‘Though whether it’s my daughter’s happiness or your own pocket I’m not so sure.’
Cash stiffened. ‘Until now I’ve given you the benefit of assuming you have your daughter’s best interests at heart, Mr Carter. I realise now I was wrong to do so. It is obviously something for which you have no concern at all. I apologise for wasting your time.’
Carter was on his feet. ‘That remark, sir, is offensive!’
Cash bowed once, stiffly. ‘I am delighted to hear you say so. Such, I can assure you, was certainly my intention.’
Carter jerked his arm at the clerk, spluttering. ‘Throw this man out.’
The youth made to move. Cash looked at him and he stopped. Cash turned back to Carter. ‘I am leaving. It’s entirely your choice whether I go peaceably or not. But if any of your servants lay a finger on me, I’ll not answer for the consequences.’
He turned and slammed out of the room and down the hallway to the front door. The manservant who had admitted him came out of a side door, saw his expression and ducked back out of sight. Cash threw open the front door and stalked out and down the steps to the roadway. His hands were trembling. He could feel his face congested with rage.
He needed company. He needed a drink: a bottle. Temper simmering in his head, he walked towards the Corps headquarters building. His father had made them both honorary members of the officers’ mess. He would drink there.
*
Two days later, shortly after dark, a thin man in a black suit arrived at the side door of an unpretentious house on the waterfront three minutes’ walk from Ira Thornton’s warehouse.
He knocked softly. The door opened and he slipped through. Inside the house it was dark. The man stood motionless until his host opened an inner door to reveal a room lit by the flicker of candle flame.
‘In ’ere, lad,’ Thornton
said.
It was a small room, its single window close-curtained. Thornton sat in an easy chair. He did not offer a seat to his visitor. ‘Problems,’ he said.
The man – thin, nervous hands, eyes dark and shadowed in the bony face – looked at him.
‘If there is anything I can do, Mr Thornton …’ The man had an educated voice with an Irish lilt to it – Seamus Duggan had been a Dublin lawyer before an addiction to gaming and a conviction for fraud had brought him to the colony for seven years. He had completed four of them and with Thornton’s help had recently been granted his ticket of leave. A ticket of leave was a halfway house to a pardon but could be revoked at any time. Duggan could not afford to offend his sponsor and both men knew it.
‘Still fancy the odd hand o’ cards?’ Thornton asked genially.
One of the conditions of his ticket of leave was that he should not gamble but Duggan knew there was no point in denying it: Thornton’s eyes and ears were everywhere in the colony.
‘A quiet game of an evening between friends,’ he said. ‘No harm in that, is there now?’
‘No ’arm at all. Specially when tha wins.’
‘Skill.’
‘Skill’s no good without the cards.’ A searching look from the pale eyes; a smile like a gallows. ‘I ’ear tha mostly wins.’
Their eyes met.
‘Has anyone been complaining, Mr Thornton?’
‘What’s to complain about, eh? Makin’ conversation, that’s all we be doin’.’ Thornton scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘Must be tricky, tryin’ to organise a real game, eh? With people willin’ to play for worthwhile stakes?’
‘You’ve put your finger on it, Mr Thornton. The few people with money don’t gamble. The ones who do have nothing to gamble with.’
‘I can think o’ one feller likes a flutter.’
‘Who would that be?’
‘Young lad called Thomas Birkett. ’eard he were offerin’ to play whist at ten guineas a trick at the Judge-Advocate’s ’ouse a few weeks gone.’
Duggan raised his eyebrows. ‘I wonder would he be having that sort of money?’
‘’is dad ’as, back in England.’
The Irishman shook his head. ‘England’s no use, Mr Thornton. We need players with money here.’
One of the candles was smoking. Thornton got up to snuff it. ‘I might be willing to buy any IOUs he might sign,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘For cash.’
Duggan flashed sharp eyes at him. ‘At what discount?’
Thornton returned to his chair. ‘Full value, lad. No discount.’
Duggan pondered. ‘He might win.’
‘’gainst a man o’ your skill? And luck? I’ll not believe that.’
‘How much would you be willing to stake?’
Thornton said, ‘I’d say up to ten thousand guineas.’
Duggan pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. ‘Will he go so high?’
‘’andle ’im right, I reckon ’e will.’
‘And where might I get hold of this young man?’
‘I ’ear he likes to visit Jessie’s place, now and then.’
‘Does he now?’ Duggan said softly. Jessie’s was a tough house, one of many in which Thornton had an interest. It was frequented by convicts and soldiers who favoured the rougher end of the market. ‘Not the sort of place for a young man hoping to live to be a baronet.’
‘He’d better live so long,’ Thornton said. ‘Got plans for ’im, I ’ave.’
‘I’ll see what I can arrange.’
‘Right. One more thing I wants you to do, as well.’
He explained what he wanted.
‘Remember,’ he said, ‘no threats. Just spell it out. But make sure you put the fear o’ God into ’im.’
Duggan nodded. ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult by the sound of it.’
‘No one see you come ’ere, I ’ope?’
‘Never a soul.’
‘Best get on with it, then.’ He walked Duggan to the door. ‘An’ remember, we’ve not spoken.’
After Duggan had left, eeling into the darkness as swiftly and silently as he had come, Thornton returned to the lighted room and drew back the curtains. Now there was nothing to conceal he preferred to see out, even at night, to feel that he was in physical contact with the harbour that began not ten yards from his window. He liked to believe that nothing could happen out there on the water without his being aware of it.
He had had his eye on Birkett for some time. Daft young fool, he thought, settling himself in his chair. Not a brain in his body but his connections might prove very valuable in the future.
Thornton’s vision extended far beyond the colony. Back in England, that’s where the power was. In parliament. If you wanted to control affairs in the colony, you had to have some influence in parliament. He would never get there himself, of course; not a chance, with his background. But there was the possibility of having someone there to do his bidding, which came to the same thing. Thomas Birkett, one day soon to be baronet, was the man for the job.
Couldn’t trust him, mind. Lying lummox with no more brains than a bee. Tha’ll ’ave to make sure he’s well and truly tied to tha coat tails, lad, before tha can rely on him, Thornton told himself.
He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. Through the window, the lights moved in slips and slaps of gold on the black lazily-shifting waters of the harbour.
Ten thousand guineas had a good ring to it. It should be enough to buy any man’s loyalty, certainly a man like Thomas Birkett. And a monthly allowance, after his father was dead. Say two thousand a year? And a thousand in the meantime? Cheap at the price.
He stood, walked to the two candles and snuffed them in turn. The room was plunged into darkness. He stood by the window, hand on the cool glass, staring out at the harbour. He had papers awaiting his attention but for the moment they could wait.
Power was trembling within him. In his body, his brain, his fingertips. There was no limit to what he could do. He was grateful for his harsh upbringing, the spell as a convict. Memory of those days honed his steel to a finer edge.
If you were a convict, if you had been one, everything was permitted to you, precisely because nothing was. Where there was no belief in justice or the system, everything was possible. The floggings themselves were nothing. Oh, they weren’t insignificant, but they changed nothing. They did not even degrade, because the only way you could be degraded was by yourself. What they did was give you a different attitude towards what other people called morality. Evil, as a moral judgment, did not exist. Neither did goodness. There were positive actions – those that achieved what you wanted – and there were negative actions – those that didn’t. Nothing else. The end justified the means. Always. To pretend anything else was to deny nature.
Thornton stood at the window, breath blooming on the glass, eyes rapt, staring into the tunnel that led to a future both dark and glorious. He had no friends, nor needed them. Temporary allies, of course. People he could use. He was alone with the darkness of his vision. It was all he needed. He had no use for fancy houses. He wasn’t interested in climbing the social ladder, of wasting money entertaining fools who sneered at you behind your back. He was happy to leave that sort of thing to people like Jonathan Hagwood. He needed neither man nor woman in his life. His vision of the future was everything.
*
Duggan arrived at the farm next day.
There had been rain. The sky was overcast and puddles lay in the ruts along the track. The smell of freshness and moisture was pleasant after days of drought.
From the door of the hut, Duggan turned to look admiringly at the newly fenced paddocks, the corn, the potatoes, the lines of young fruit trees. At the bottom of the hill, the surface of the river reflected the light from its dun-coloured surface as it ran silently between its banks.
‘Does the heart good to see a place well run, so it does,’ Duggan declared, smiling his agreeable smile.
‘How long have you had it now?’
‘Coming up to a year.’
Jack’s skin was burned dark by the sun. His sleeves were rolled high on arms made hard by days of toil in the open air. If, by contrast, Duggan looked out of place with his dark clothes and face the colour of milk, he showed no sign of being aware of it.
‘You’ve done wonders in that time. Of course, you don’t often leave the farm, do you?’
Jack looked at him. ‘I’m too busy for chitchat. If this is a social visit …’
‘Not altogether,’ Duggan said easily.
‘Say what you’ve got to say then, and let me get back to my work.’
‘Fair enough.’ Duggan’s hangman eyes ranged once again over the farm before settling on Jack’s face. ‘Mr Thornton is concerned by some of the reports he’s been getting.’
‘Stop talking in riddles,’ Jack said impatiently. ‘If you’ve something to say, say it.’
‘Girls get beaten up, Mr Tremain, it’s not too serious. Nature of the job, you might say. When they die it’s another matter. The last girl died. A child, as you will recall.’ A pause. ‘Mr Thornton asked me to say he was sure something could be worked out.’
‘He would like to be friends, I suppose,’ Jack said sarcastically.
‘And what’s wrong with that? Mr Thornton has a great understanding of … human foibles.’
Jack turned his back and stared up-river towards the town. Red coats shone in the sunlight as two soldiers marched a group of convicts across the bridge. ‘What does Thornton want in return for this offer of friendship?’
‘Your brother has a lot of business interests, I understand. From time to time you must hear what’s going on, I suppose.’
‘You’re saying Thornton wants me to spy for him?’ Jack turned. ‘On my own brother?’
‘I’m sure Mr Thornton would look on it as a friendly gesture.’
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