Killigrew and the Incorrigibles

by Jonathan Lunn

  ‘Plummy for you. What do you need me for?’

  ‘You want to come, don’t you?’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘Wyatt wants to go.’

  ‘Wyatt is in the old gaol with the rest of the gaol-gang.’

  ‘You’re going to get him out.’

  ‘I was afraid you were going to say something like that. And if you turn up at Cascades with Wyatt and me in tow, what do you think the arch-lagger of that whaler’s going to have to say when he cools us? “Hop aboard, boys, the more the merrier”?’

  ‘That’s why you’re going to fetch anyone else you find in Wyatt’s cell in the old gaol.’

  ‘There are ten men in that cell! If the arch-lagger balks at three extra passengers, what makes you think he’s going to feel any happier about a whole crew of us?’

  ‘He isn’t. But if there’s a dozen of us, he’s not going to be in a position to argue, is he? Especially not when we’ve got Swaddy, Fingers, Bludger and Croaker with us.’

  ‘Bludger Imrie and Croaker Norris? That does it! Take me back to my ward! I don’t want any part of this.’

  ‘You’re not being given any choice, Sol. You can spend the rest of your days in this hellhole, but Wyatt and I are escaping, and we’re doing it tonight. If you don’t help us, I’ll put it about that you’re one of Price’s dogs.’

  ‘You bastard! You would, too!’

  ‘Stop complaining, you old fool, and off you go.’

  ‘What? Ain’t you coming with me?’

  Jarrett shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go to Government House to fetch Fallon. I’ll get the keys to the old gaol in case you have difficulty in picking the locks. We’ll steal Price’s carriage and meet you outside the old gaol in exactly one half-hour. Be waiting in the courtyard with Wyatt and the others.’

  ‘How am I supposed to get past the screws? You know I ain’t a croaksman.’

  ‘Climb over the wall at the back. That shouldn’t present any problems for the man who broke out of Port Arthur.’

  ‘The man who broke out of Port Arthur was seven years younger than I am.’

  ‘Then you’d better hope he hasn’t forgotten any of his old skills in the intervening time. Because if you fail tonight, may God forgive you. Ned Wyatt won’t.’

  * * *

  The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight as Mrs Cafferty passed, startling her. She stopped abruptly, and realised that light was shining from under the door to Price’s study. She listened, but heard no voices. Presumably he was working late, presenting her with an ideal opportunity. If she was going to act, she had to act now; the longer she left it, the harder it would become to do what she had to do.

  She pushed all thoughts of Killigrew from her mind. It was not easy – yet she knew if she had succumbed to his advances, she would never have had the strength to carry out the plan which had brought her to Norfolk Island in the first place. The realisation that she had had the will-power to resist his charms somehow gave her the courage to push ahead with her plan.

  She hurried upstairs and slipped into her room. There she lit an oil lamp and by its light she took her turnover pistol from her pocket, checked it was primed and loaded.

  She opened the door a crack and peered out. The landing was dark and deserted. She slipped out of her room and eased the door shut behind her. The heavy tick-tock of the grandfather clock was the only sound in the house apart from the beating of her own heart and the snores emanating from the bedroom Robertson was sleeping in.

  She descended the stairs, paused with one hand on the door to the library, took a deep breath, and entered.

  Price was at the desk with his back to the door, so intent on his work he did not hear her come in. She closed the door quietly behind her and coughed to get his attention.

  He turned sharply, and the monocle dropped from his eye when he saw the pistol in her hand. He stared at her in astonishment. ‘What in Hades…?’

  ‘Does the name Francis Holland mean anything to you, Mr Price?’

  ‘Francis Holland? No. Why? Should it? What the devil is all this about?’

  ‘I’m not surprised you don’t remember; so many convicts must pass through your hands, it must be difficult to recall them all. But I had hoped you’d remember Francis. Perhaps if I tell you a little bit about him, it will jolt your memory.

  ‘Francis Holland was an ensign in the Forty-Fourth Foot. Amongst his other duties he was given responsibility for the funds of the officers’ mess: quite a responsibility for such a young man, but he bore it admirably, until, that is, fifty guineas were found to be missing. Francis denied all knowledge, of course, and when his brother officers gave him the chance to do the honourable thing, he refused, insisting on his innocence. So the colonel, in disgust at his cowardice, had him court-martialled, regardless of any scandal which might ensue.

  ‘Francis was found guilty of embezzlement and sentenced to transportation to Van Diemen’s Land for fourteen years. He served four at the penal settlement at Port Arthur, and because of his exemplary record while there, the commandant gave permission for him to serve as indentured labour at the farm of a local landowner. In the Huon River District. Your farm, Mr Price. Now do you recollect?’

  ‘Oh, you mean Frank Holland? I knew he was an embezzler, of course, but not that he’d been an army officer. Still, I remember thinking there was something odd about him. He wasn’t like most of the other convicts I employed at the time; or many that I’ve known since.’

  ‘But you treated him the same as the others, didn’t you? And one day, when he was too ill to work in the fields, you accused him of malingering and had him flogged. A sick man, and you gave him fifty lashes!’

  ‘I made a mistake…’

  ‘A mistake which cost an innocent young man his life!’

  ‘So what? He was a criminal. A thief. The fact he was born a gentleman only makes his crime all the more disgraceful.’

  ‘Shortly after news of Francis’ death reached the officers of the Forty-Fourth, one of his fellow officers shot himself. He left a suicide note in which he admitted to stealing the fifty guineas to cover some gambling debts. Following a full inquiry, Ensign Francis Holland was exonerated of all blame and his name restored to the regimental roll of honour. But they couldn’t bring him back to life. They couldn’t bring him back to life because you, John Price, had taken it upon yourself to deprive him of his life. You set yourself up as judge and jury over him, and killed him as surely as I’m about to kill you.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I didn’t know! Convicts malinger all the time, how was I supposed to know he was genuinely sick? They’re all the same—’

  ‘But that’s just it, isn’t it, Mr Price? They’re not all the same.’ She took a deep breath, the hand gripping her pistol steady although her heart was fluttering with fear.

  ‘All right; what’s this got to do with you?’ Price refused to be cowed. ‘Was he your lover? This was more than ten years ago – you must’ve been what, thirteen, fourteen?’

  ‘I employed no deceit to obtain this position. There was no need to. You did not think to ask me what my maiden name was.’

  The colour drained from Price’s face. ‘Holland?’

  She nodded. ‘He was my elder brother, Mr Price. The best friend I had in all the world. And you murdered him.’

  Price swallowed. ‘If you shoot me – even if you succeed in killing me – you’ll never get away with it. The sound of the shot will bring the servants running. Do you think you can escape this island undetected?’

  ‘I don’t intend to. Two barrels, Mr Price: two bullets. One for you, and one for me. You see, I lost all interest in living seven years ago, after my husband died in my arms in the snows of the Khyber Pass. Since then, only one piece of unfinished business gave me a reason to go on living. When I saw your advertisement in the Seneca Falls County Courier it was like the answer to a prayer.’

  ‘Then you’d better make certain of me with
one bullet.’

  ‘I intend to, Mr Price. One shot through the heart should do the trick. Don’t worry, I’m an excellent markswoman—’

  The door opened and little Emily Mary entered the room in her nightgown. Not understanding the significance of the pistol in Mrs Cafferty’s hand, she regarded her father and the governess with saucer eyes. ‘Mrs Cafferty? I’m thirsty!’

  ‘Get out, Emily!’ yelled her father. ‘Get out now! Wake the servants!’

  ‘Papa!’ Unused to being shouted at, Emily started to cry.

  ‘Run!’

  Sobbing, the girl ran from the room.

  ‘All right,’ Price told Mrs Cafferty calmly. ‘If you’re going to shoot me, get it over with. Just don’t do it in front of the children, that’s all I ask.’

  She drew a bead on his chest, and hesitated. She thought of Emily Mary, and the other children and their mother. Could she rob them of a father and a husband, the way she had been robbed of her own husband by a Ghilzai sniper, or of her brother by Price’s brutality? Where did the cycle of violence end?

  Right here, she told herself. It ends when you rotate the lower barrel of the pistol into position and fire the second bullet into your own skull.

  But she could not do it. It was not a fear of death that stopped her, but the realisation that if she killed Price she would be judging him. She would be no better than he was.

  Tears welled in her eyes and she lowered the pistol.

  Price stepped forward, forced her gun hand aside, and drove a fist into her stomach. She doubled up in agony, and he twisted her arm behind her back, clawing the pistol from her grip before he threw her to the ground.

  ‘You murderous bitch! I ought to kill you right now…’

  She rolled on her back to find him standing over her with the pistol levelled at her face. She saw murder in his eyes, and instinctively kicked up at his hand. The pistol was knocked from his grip and skittered across the floor to come to rest out of sight under the desk. She tried to crawl after it, but he caught her by the ankle and dragged her back. She rolled on her back to defend herself, and he sat down astride her waist, his hands reaching for her neck, when the door opened and Malachi Fallon entered with Price’s convict-butler, Jarrett.

  ‘Well!’ Fallon remarked in amusement. ‘Not quite the picture of wedded bliss we were led to expect, Mr Price!’

  Price had frozen with his hands halfway to Mrs Cafferty’s neck, so that they hovered over her breasts. He quickly folded his arms and leaped to his feet. ‘This is not what it appears…’

  ‘Don’t worry, we don’t mind if you want to roger your new governess,’ said Fallon. ‘Perhaps under different circumstances I’d have no objections to giving her a tumble myself. But at the moment I’m more interested in your keys.’

  Price blinked. ‘My keys?’

  ‘The ones to the cottage where Cusack sleeps at night.’

  ‘Cusack…? What in Hades do you want to see him for at this time of night?’

  Fallon transferred his cane to his left hand. ‘We’re after rescuing him,’ he explained airily.

  ‘The devil you are!’

  ‘If that’s the way it has to be…’ Fallon reached inside his coat and drew out a revolver. ‘The keys, Mr Price. Don’t be telling me you haven’t got any. Jarrett here tells me you keep a spare set in the drawer of your desk there.’

  Price looked genuinely bewildered. ‘There aren’t any keys to Cusack’s cottage.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me! D’you take me for a fool?’

  ‘It’s true, I tell you! Why should we lock him in at night? We’re on an island, damn your eyes! Where could he go?’

  Jarrett coughed into his fist. He was a smooth-faced man somewhere in his forties, with his hair grown down to the collar of his blue ‘trusty’ jacket as if to compensate for the way it receded from his forehead. ‘My apologies, gentlemen,’ he said. Despite his convict status, his voice was urbane and plummy. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been guilty of a small subterfuge. Mr Price is quite correct in stating that we don’t need keys to get into Cusack’s cottage. But we do need keys to get into the old gaol.’

  ‘The old gaol?’ said Fallon. ‘Cusack’s not in there.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Jarrett. ‘But Ned Wyatt and the others are.’

  ‘You double-crossing son of a bitch!’ Fallon turned the revolver on Jarrett. ‘Freeing Wyatt and that scum was never part of our deal.’

  Price lunged for Fallon’s revolver. Without taking the gun off Jarrett, the Irishman swung the cane in his left hand at the side of Price’s head. The commandant went down as if pole-axed.

  Jarrett crouched over Price and felt for a pulse in his wrist. ‘He’ll live.’

  ‘You sound disappointed,’ Fallon said with amusement. ‘Now tie the lass up and gag her, and let’s be away. That ship won’t wait for ever.’

  Jarrett crossed to the window and took down one of the cords for tying back the curtains during the day. ‘On your feet, ma’am,’ he told Mrs Cafferty. She stood up and he tied her hands behind her back.

  ‘Not like that,’ said Fallon. ‘Tie her to one of the chairs.’

  Jarrett shook his head. ‘She’s coming with us as a hostage.’

  ‘We don’t need a hostage.’

  ‘This ship… is it a steamer?’

  ‘Of course not. What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Well, that sloop you arrived on is a steamer.’ Jarrett took two more cords from the windows and bound Price, gagging him with his own handkerchief so he could not raise the alarm when he came to. ‘If we try to sail away from here without a hostage, what’s to stop the Tisiphone from steaming after us and blowing us out of the water?’

  ‘We’ve got plenty of time to get away from here before the sun rises, as long as we go now. Once we’re below the horizon, they’ll never find us. Besides, she can’t ride with her hands tied behind her back.’

  ‘We’ll take Price’s carriage. It’s all ready. We’ll drive down to the old gaol, as cool as you please, free Wyatt and the others, cross the island to Cascades Bay, get Cusack and signal the ship to send her boat in to pick us up.’

  ‘You’re crazy! We’ll wake the whole garrison!’

  ‘Wyatt’s got it all worked out. If we do it properly, we’ll be gone long before anyone realises anything’s amiss.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to Wyatt already?’

  ‘Naturally. It was his idea. Who do you think runs this island? This sadist?’ Jarrett kicked Price’s recumbent body half-heartedly. ‘It’s not often we get a chance like this. Why waste a whole ship on one man? Look, Fallon, if you want to go without me, you can. Maybe you can find your way to Cascades Bay without my help, maybe you can’t. But I’m not leaving Norfolk Island without Wyatt.’

  ‘You owe him that much personal loyalty?’

  Jarrett grinned. ‘It’s not a question of personal loyalty, Fallon. I know Wyatt. If I escape from this island and leave him behind, he might just find some other way to escape. And then he’ll come and hunt me down. And when he’s done for me, he’ll be coming after you.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of some petty coiner.’

  ‘This isn’t just any bit-faker we’re talking about. This is Flummut Ned Wyatt. In London his name’s uttered with the kind of hushed reverence most people reserve for the Devil. Except that the Devil doesn’t exist, so no one is truly scared of him. But Ned Wyatt is very real…’

  The door opened and Killigrew walked in. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘I heard voices and—’ He broke off when he saw Price unconscious on the floor and Mrs Cafferty with her hands tied behind her back. ‘Oh-ho!’

  Fallon turned the gun on him. Killigrew kicked it from his hand and it flew across the room. Fallon swung his cane at Killigrew’s head, but the lieutenant caught it in his right hand. He held it fast and tried to tug it from Fallon’s grip, but the Irishman gave the silver head a twist and withdrew two and a half feet of razor-edged steel. Killigrew raised the emp
ty ebony casing to defend himself. Fallon sliced it clean in two with a single blow of his sword, and held the point at Killigrew’s throat.

  Jarrett snatched up the fallen revolver and covered him also.

  Killigrew dropped the remains of the ebony casing. ‘Ah.’

  ‘Ah indeed, Mr Killigrew,’ said Fallon.

  ‘Are you all right, Mrs Cafferty?’ asked Killigrew.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied, astonished to find that she sounded a lot calmer than she felt. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly she was in a daze: one moment she had been planning to assassinate the commandant of the most notorious penal colony in the world, the next she was being held at gunpoint by a Young Irelander and an urbane convict.

  ‘You’re after Cusack?’ Killigrew asked the two men.

  ‘Amongst others,’ said Jarrett, opening one of the drawers of the desk and taking out a large bunch of keys.

  ‘Now hold hard!’ protested Fallon.

  Jarrett waggled the revolver at him. ‘Time we renegotiated our contract, I think.’

  While Jarrett and Fallon confronted one another, Mrs Cafferty tried to catch Killigrew’s eye.

  ‘Now I’ve got the revolver, perhaps I should leave both you and Cusack on this island,’ said Jarrett.

  At last Killigrew took his eyes off Jarrett and met her gaze. She flicked her eyes towards the double-barrelled pistol that lay beneath the desk. When she glanced back at him, he was still looking at her.

  ‘You don’t know the signal that will bring the boat in from the ship,’ said Fallon.

  Mrs Cafferty tried again. This time, when she flicked her eyes towards the desk, he followed her gaze, but his face remained impassive and he made no attempt to move. Fallon still had the point of his sword held unwaveringly at Killigrew’s throat. Perhaps the lieutenant could not see the pistol from where he stood.

  ‘And you don’t know the way to Cascades,’ Jarrett was saying. ‘Let’s face facts, Fallon: like it or not, we need one another. A fair deal: Cusack for Wyatt and the others. Either that, or we stand here arguing until the sun comes up and it’s too late for anyone to escape.’