Hannah and Charlotte spent a safe, contented four months at the Parramatta vicarage where the Melvilles took her into their home more as a friend rather than a servant. They spoilt the baby passionately. Hannah did the housework and acted as companion and nurse to Mrs. Melville. Most evenings, they sat together in the cosy parlour, glowing coals in the fireplace, Mrs. Melville and Hannah sewing and talking, the baby wide-awake in her cot and the vicar puffing contentedly at a smoky briar. It was a pleasant scene and the happiest days of her life but she knew that soon, she and the babe would move on and make their own future. As a ticket-in-leave convict, she could work, earn money in her own name and walk around the village but she could not leave the area of Parramatta. She’d need approval to travel elsewhere in the colony and then, she had to have a job waiting for her.
She thought about it for some days, loath to talk to the Melvilles about her plans. They’d been so good to her and Charlotte and she did not want to hurt their feelings. The Melvilles regarded them as part of the family and she knew they could stay as long as they liked in this safe, happy haven. Notwithstanding, the urge built up inside her. She had to get back to Sydney Town. Somehow, she knew her future and that of Charlotte was back there in the big town. Besides, Rosie and Sarah were there somewhere and she hoped desperately to find out more about Hannah P and perhaps she could do something to help her.
That evening, she tentatively mentioned her intentions to the Melvilles. Mrs. Melville shed a tear while the Reverend puffed his pipe and looked thoughtful. ‘Sydney?’ He raised his eyebrows and eyed the young woman who he regarded more as his daughter. ‘You’ll need a job lined up before you can go there, Hannah.’ He stared into the glowing embers in the fireplace, pursed his lips and grew silent for a few moments. ‘You know,’ he said, gaze returning to her and then flitting across the room to the sleeping babe, ‘We don’t want to lose you, but we understand. ‘He looked across to his wife for support. ‘Don’t we, my dear?’
Mrs. Melville nodded, eyes misty. ‘Yes, but whatever Hannah wants . . .’ Her voice broke and Hannah hurried to put an arm around her, kissing a lined cheek.
‘Thank you, Margaret,’ she whispered.
Reverend Melville cleared his throat. ‘I believe that I can assist you with a job up there, now I come to think about it.’ Hannah’s eyes brightened in expectation. ‘The superintendent of the military hospital is an acquaintance of mine. We came out on the same ship together, a long time ago, it seems now. You remember him, dear?’ He waited for his wife’s nod. ‘Well,’ he continued. ‘To cut a long story short—’
‘Get to the point, dear,’ Mrs. Melville said and the women shared a secret smile.
‘Right, well, as I was saying, I’m sure he — his name is Samuel Gibbons by the way — will give you a job. They are—’
‘Always short-handed,’ Mrs. Melville finished for him, ‘and our Hannah is such a hard worker and she can cook and all. She’ll fit it with no problem.’
‘Quite so, my dear, quite so. Shall I contact him on your behalf, Hannah?’
‘Oh, yes, please, if you will and I thank you both.’ She hugged Mrs. Melville who looked about to shed more tears.
‘What about accommodation?’ Mrs. Melville sniffed. ‘Where is she going to stop? There are a lot of scoundrels in that dreadful town.’ She turned to Hannah, who sat on the arm of the settee beside her. ‘You have to be very careful.’
Hannah nodded with a wry smile.
‘I was thinking about that problem,’ the Reverend said. ‘There’s a Mrs. Radcliffe who runs a boarding house in George Street. It’s not that far from St. Phillips. She is a good Anglican and runs a tight ship. No larrikins there. I’m sure she would take you in—’
‘What about Charlotte?’ Hannah asked. ‘Would she take my baby?’
‘I don’t see why not. I could send her a note and enquire. Is that all right?’
‘Yes, it is. Thank you.’ Hannah rose, kissed Mrs. Melville and then repeated the exercise on the Reverend’s cheek. She had never kissed him before and she could see that he was pleased, if a little surprised. ‘I think I’ll go to bed now,’ she said, picking up the basket in which lay the sleeping child. ‘Goodnight to you both and thank you again.’
‘Goodnight, Hannah,’ they responded in unison. ‘Sleep well,’ Mrs. Melville added.
‘I will now,’ Hannah replied. She carried the baby to her room and sat on the bed, deep in thought. Returning to Sydney Town was no longer a dream. It was time now to make plans.
A month later, Hannah and Charlotte left Parramatta on the lighter. As it pulled away into the river, she stood on the stern and waved to the Melvilles standing on the wharf. She continued to wave until the boat moved around the bend and the village of Parramatta disappeared out of sight. A new episode in her life was about to begin, she thought.
She looked ahead past the cabin, towards the bow. The all-to-familiar figure of the lieutenant stood there, hands on hips, bellowing orders. She watched as he moved towards her, pausing only to curse and kick aside a bedroll that someone had left in the passageway. A tremor of fear ran through her. Would he recognize her? She pulled the flap of her bonnet further over her forehead and turned her head to look out at the passing forest.
‘Good morning to you, miss.’ He stood near her, touching the tip of his plumed cap.
She nodded, averting her face, hoping he’d leave. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his polished boots tapping on the boards.
He stood over her looking down. ‘It’s nice out on the water, eh?’ Without waiting for a reply, he crouched down in front of her. Now, she could not avoid his gaze. He stared her fully in the face and she could see his eyes opening in recognition. ‘So it’s you.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘Oh, I remember you all right, the cheeky wench. You’re not escaping, are you?’ He lunged to his feet. ‘If you are, I’ll arrest you.’ His eyes swept to the baby in the basket, ‘and your brat, too.’
Hannah jumped to her feet, sweeping back the bonnet. ‘Listen to me, mister,’ she said, eyes locking on his, ‘I’m a ticket-of-leave holder and I’m going to work in Sydney and I have relocation approval so lay off me. Find someone else to bully, some other poor woman, perhaps, who can’t fight back.’ She held his gaze, not caring now, even challenging.
He blinked in surprise at the attack, standing immobile for a moment before recovering his poise. ‘Well, well, big mouth, show me your TOL and your area pass.’ He spat on the deck near her feet.
She reached into the pocket of her smock and drew out John Dixon’s old brown purse. She extracted the folded sheets of paper and held them out to him. ‘There.’
The lieutenant snatched it and read the contents. His face darkened. ‘Humph,’ he grunted, glaring with rage. ‘Saved by a crummy bit of paper, are you? I wonder how you got it.’ He gave a sneer. ‘Been lifting your skirt for someone, miss? Who was it? I’ll wager it was the vicar by the look of this.’ He allowed the papers to fall through his fingers onto the deck where they fluttered away. She followed to snatch them up before they vanished overboard, and stared back at him with hatred and contempt. ‘I can still put you off this boat if you bad mouth me again.’ He turned to leave. ‘Just give me a chance and I’ll put you in the bush over there with a bunch of blacks for company. How would you like that? Huh?’ He sneered and spat over the rail. ‘Remember that.’
Hannah held her breath, silent as he swaggered away back to the bow of the boat. ‘Hey, you,’ she heard him scream at a woman cowering at the top of the companionway. ‘Get off your ass and make me some tea from down there in the cabin. Get moving.’
Hannah sat back near the stern rail and watched the eerie-looking bush glide by. She thought about the long, very long ten hour trip back to Sydney with him, her enemy, just waiting for her to step out of line but she wouldn’t bow to him. She had too much pride in her belly and besides, she was a TOL convict now and he couldn’t legally touch her. Her only problem would be if she started arguing
with him. She’d have to be careful and watch her tongue, swallow her pride a little. One day, perhaps, she would meet this bastard again under different circumstances. It gave her something pleasurable to think about as she absorbed the passing flora and fauna and the boat drifted along on its lazy way to Sydney Town and the start of a new episode in her life.
Chapter 9
SYDNEY TOWN
1811-1813
Hannah followed the well-used track to the point. Above her on the crest of the hill, the guns of the Dawes battery pointed out to sea. A soldier, colorful in red tunic, cross bands, blue trousers and knee-length leggings, gave her a keen appraisal. She allayed his suspicion with a friendly wave. He gave her a nod and she continued along the path to Dawes Point. She sat on a rock, pulled up a grass stalk to chew, and surveyed the bay. In the early morning sunshine, silver patterns mirrored on the calm, blue water. It was a beautiful day.
Across the water on the north side of the harbor, a tiny boat made steady progress over the glassy sea, a thin stream of phosphorescence trailing. She wondered if it was the dark American man she’d heard about, the fellow that ran his ferry across the harbor. Hannah leaned forward, resting a cheek on a closed fist. It was peaceful here, a place to relax and think about the past and the future. Sometimes, though, her thoughts were a jumbled mass of unpleasant images . . . the court, prison, the hulk, the Canada; vivid scenes of filth, degradation, assaults and near-starvation. Gradually these nightmares were passing and reflections becoming happier. Two year old Charlotte and she were together and she had a job even though long hours and little pay but there were many ticket-of-leave female convicts who couldn’t get a position in Sydney Town. There were few respectful jobs for women. They were either useful as prostitutes or expected to marry, work day and night and bear children. She should be thankful for the work at the hospital even though it was backbreaking and boring but it was safe.
Ships lay at anchor within the cove to her right. To the east, at the Governor’s Landing, a vessel that looked amazingly like the Canada lay abreast of the wharf. She wondered if it was another convict ship; they were regular arrivals now. To the right of the Governor’s Landing, two ships anchored near the naval yard and further east again, in the far off distance of Farm Cove, the tops of masts peeped over the land mass. Hannah was amazed how many ships arrived and left the harbor. Even in her short time in the colony — going on near three years now — the sea traffic had grown. It was getting like the Thames, she thought, boats hither and hither but then she shook her head. Get real, Hannah. It was nothing like the Thames. Just check out that beautiful blue water. Despite her intention to block out the past, images constantly returned; the farm, her lost family, Deptford, Maidstone Prison and always Hannah Porter, her dear friend with whom she’d shared those sad, terrible times. How was she coping in that horrible Newcastle place? She missed her so desperately, but, most of all, though, she worried about her own and Charlotte’s future in this hostile, wild land. Would they ever get the chance to go back to England? Then again, did she really want to go back to that life where all she had was the family that had disowned her? She was desperately lonely and she knew it. She rose, threw away the chewed grass stalk and followed the well-worn path back towards the town.
At the front of Campbell’s warehouse, the men sorting stores gave her interested appraisal before resuming their task. One cheeky young chap doffed his cap and winked. ‘The top of the mornin’ to ye, lassie,’ he shouted and Hannah smiled, nodded, and moved on to view the berthed ship. Shading her eyes against the sunlight, she read the name on the bow, Spring Grove out of Portsmouth, generating instant thoughts of England and of home.
As she stood watching, a group of seamen hurried down the gangway, laughing, chiacking and elbowing each other in spontaneity. They were a colorful lot; gaudy kerchiefs; rakish caps and hats; unruly beards and one happy fellow even carried a walking cane like gentlemen did. The old town will rock tonight, Hannah surmised with amusement and some envy. A lone seaman followed the group, dawdling down the gangway. ‘Come on, Dan’el,’ shouted one of the group. ‘I can smell the rum from here.’
‘I’ll see you in town,’ the seaman responded with a dismissive wave. ‘Don’t wait for me.’
Hannah gave him a glance before turning away with the vision... young, clean shaven, unlike most rough sailors, cap pushed to the back of unruly sandy hair, sea bag slung nonchalantly over a shoulder and a captivating grin which seemed to be directed at her. She lengthened her stride but, in her peripheral, watched his shadow as it loomed up on her left.
‘Good morning, miss.’
‘Good morning,’ she replied, stealing a glance and thinking his accent was familiar. South of England perhaps?
He touched his sooty, misshapen cap. ‘Pardon me asking, ma’am, but are you going to town?’ He swung the sea bag across to the other shoulder, the better to view her. ‘I hope you don’t mind me walking with you,’ he continued. ‘I’ve just got off the ship and I’m lost in this town’ He laughed and Hannah found herself responding with a smile. How could anyone get lost in Sydney Town? Still you had to give him credit. It was a good excuse for a chat up.
‘Where did your ship come from?’ she asked, resigned now to his presence.
‘We’ve been down in the South Seas. It’s a whaling ship.’ He gave her an appreciative look. ‘Do you like ships?’
‘Well, some of them.’ Hannah gave a wry smile. ‘There are some that are hell on earth.’
‘You mean the convict ships?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah, I think you’re right. I don’t like it but . . .’ He looked quickly out to sea, searching for the right words.
‘You probably think I’m a convict. Yes? That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? Well, I am so there we go.’ She pulled back at a flap of her bonnet and eyed him closely. He really has nice eyes, she thought. ‘Don’t look so shocked,’ she added. ‘There are plenty of us, you know and more arriving every day.’ She stopped, a little embarrassed, wondering if she’d offended him. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘My God,’ he gasped, returning her keen gaze. His thick eyebrows lowered and he looked at her keenly.
‘What is it?’ She paled. ‘What—’
‘I’ve seen you before. Yes, I have.’ He stepped even closer, checking her every feature, remembering the cheeks, the smooth round chin. ‘That day—’
‘Get away from me,’ Hannah hissed. ‘I’ve never seen you before in my life. You are quite rude, damn rude, and I ask you to leave me alone. Now go.’ She waved him away but he followed close behind her for a few yards before he suddenly reappeared beside her.
‘Look, miss.’ He held his hands apart, the sea bag sitting rather precariously on his broad shoulders. ‘Don’t be scared. I mean you no harm.’ He smiled, showing well-cared for teeth. ‘Besides, young lady, I even know your name.’
‘What?’ Hannah stopped, astonished. She took a deep breath to calm herself. ‘How do you know my name?’
He lowered his sea bag to the ground. ‘God, I’m glad to put that down.’ He smiled. ‘You would suspect there’s gold in there, wouldn’t you, but alas . . .’ He sighed. ‘Only a bundle of old clothes and my good boots, the walking out ones, I mean,’ he added, smiling again.
She condescended to return his smile, despite reservation, and wondered about this conning sailor with a ridiculous pick up line. Did she think she was stupid? ‘If you’re so smart, mister, what is my name?’
He gazed directly into her eyes, serious now. ‘Your name is Hannah Stanley.’
She gasped. ‘Where did we meet?’
‘We’ve never met, Hannah, but I saw you once before. It was in September 1810 and you and I were on that wharf over there.’ He pointed across the bay to the Governor’s wharf.
‘Oh, you mean when the Canada berthed?’
‘Yes, but on the wharf. You’d come off the Canada. There was a—’
‘Selection?’
&
nbsp; ‘Yes, the selection. You and the others were allocated somewhere.’
‘Oh, my God, it was so long ago.’ Her eyes misted and she hung her head. She looked up at him, searching his face for understanding. ‘There are so many memories and so much pain.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. I felt pain too for you and your two friends. There was a young girl—’
‘Rosie, Rosie O’Donoghue.’
‘And another thinner woman, older—’
‘Hannah Porter, my dearest friend.’
‘Whatever happened to them?’ He asked.
‘Rosie married a settler in Campbelltown. She was just fourteen going on fifteen but he’s been good to her. I saw her only recently. She’s got a two year old son and she’s expecting another child.’ She paused in reflection. ‘She’s now rich and pregnant so she’s come a long way since she came off the Canada. She’s happy and contented. God has been good to her.’
‘She is indeed lucky,’ he agreed, ‘and the other girl, your namesake?’
‘That’s not so good. She’s back in prison at Newcastle but . . .’ she beamed up at him and her face lit up with a mixture of expectation and excitement. ‘She’s coming back to Sydney in April and I hope we will see each other then.’
‘After all that time,’ he commented, nodding.
‘Yes, after three long, very long years.’ She looked at him, suddenly relaxed in his presence. ‘What do they call you?’
‘I’m Daniel Clarke from Bristol.’ His eyes glistened. ‘And I am at your service, Hannah.’
‘I think you’re a bit cheeky, Daniel Clarke. How long have you been at sea?’ she asked.
‘Since I left Bristol and I’ve been whaling for four years now.’
Hannah Page 13