Amazed, Hannah watched the buggy zoom around the Argyle street corner at reckless speed, propelled by Rosie O’Donoghue, an accomplished horsewoman and rich settler’s wife. Would you believe it? What would Hannah P make of it all? She’d be aghast. Deep in thought, she directed Charlotte into the store. Strangely, she felt no envy. Life is like a card game, she mused. You were either dealt a good or a bad hand. She did wonder however whether Rosie ever remembered her first love, Bartholomew Stubbins, and what would happen if she ever saw him again.
‘Would you like a sherbet cone?’ She asked her wide-eyed daughter, who nodded vigorously. ‘I thought you would. Come on, we will both have one.’
After they shopped, she took Charlotte down to see the big ships. It was near dusk as they walked back past Campbell’s warehouses to the boarding house. The usual larrikins were gathering in the area of The Rocks. It was dangerous to walk down there after dark, she knew. She lifted the child to her breast and hurried along, eyes avert, heart racing. ‘Evening, miss,’ a voice boomed. ‘Fancy a bit of this and that for a bit of this?’
‘Shut up, mate. She wouldn’t do it with the likes of you,’ another voice rose. ‘Shut your guts, you bastard,’ the first voice yelled and there was a sound of scuffling behind her. She didn’t look back, quickly crossed the road, eyes focused only on the front entrance of the establishment.
As she approached home, the door flew open and Edna Radcliffe stood hands on hips.’ I thought you might need some help. You’re late, young lady.’ She waved her hand towards the house. ‘I was getting worried about you,’ she continued. ‘Tell me, Charlotte, love. Did you have a good time? You did? That’s wonderful. Come on.’ She picked the toddler up effortlessly, hugging her. ‘Let’s go in the parlor and eat before all those hungry boarders of mine come downstairs,’ she added and gave Hannah a searching look. ‘When are you working next?’
Hannah followed her landlady into the kitchen and sat down wearily in a chair. ‘In the morning at four o’clock courtesy of the Matron and I don’t finish until eight at night. Oh, God, I am so tired, Edna.’
‘She’s really getting her pound of flesh, that witch. Isn’t she?’ Edna placed the child in a high chair. ‘That man of yours needs shooting, running off to sea and leaving you and this wee babe here all alone, and you having to work such long hours in the hospital.’
‘But I’m not alone.’ Hannah smiled. ‘I’ve got friends, you and Sarah and I see Rosie sometimes—’
‘But that’s nothing like having a man in the house. He looks all right that fellow of yours, from what I’ve seen but you have to pin them down. Now, you make sure you get married straightaway when he’s finished gallivanting around catching those whales or whatever they are. You know, Hannah, men are stupid a lot of the time. They need leading like a camel to water.’
Hannah laughed. Somehow, she couldn’t see Daniel being led like a camel. Even little Charlotte knew whatever was taking place must be funny and gave a charming giggle.
‘You are quite right, babe.’ Edna eyed the child lovingly, ‘I see you agree with your old granny.’
‘I . . . we intend to marry after he gets back, ‘Hannah said, rubbing at her eyes.
‘And when’s that, pray?’ Edna snorted. ‘Is it this year or the next?’
‘In August but it could be September.’
‘Remind me to have a word with him.’ Edna said matter-of-factly, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Hannah Stanley, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’ve had plenty of other chances to marry and you knocked them all back. What’s so special about Daniel, anyway?’
‘I love him and . . .’ She paused, reflective. ‘He makes me laugh.’
Edna chuckled. ‘‘All right, then, that are two good reasons, I suppose.’ She gave the stew two hearty stirs before pouring it into the bowls on the table. ‘Come, now, let’s eat and you, Hannah, eat every morsel. There’s fresh bread there, too. Edna Radcliffe’s renowned Irish stew is not famous for nothing.’
The weeks dragged on interminably through to the winter, as Hannah waited for the return of the Spring Grove. 1813 was a particularly cold winter. Consistent west winds swept over the dry plains to freeze the inhabitants of Sydney Town and the fast-growing settlements of Campbelltown, Parramatta and Windsor. Charlotte caught a severe cold. Her fever rose to such a high temperature and her breathing became so shallow and uneven that Hannah became petrified with fright. Was she doomed to lose her little girl just when the future looked so bright for them both?
She had to beg a surgeon to visit. He finally arrived, a surly, patronizing individual, who gave her a bottle of some mysterious-looking liquid — one spoonful every three hours written in a rough scrawl on the label — took one of her two remaining Spanish dollars, and told her as he hurried out the door that the child’s future was all in God’s hands.
‘If that’s the case, we could have saved a dollar and prayed,’ snapped Edna Radcliffe at his vanishing back. She slammed the door behind him and turned to face Hannah, taking in the girl’s ashen face and the dark rings below her eyes. Glory be to God, Hannah’s tired and worried, she thought. ‘Sorry about me and my big mouth, still I think he knows nothing, that surgeon.’ Edna put an arm around Hannah. ‘Don’t you worry, lambkin, we’ll tend to the little mite ourselves.’ She pointed upstairs. ‘You go on up to bed and sleep.’
Hannah wanted to object but she was too tired to argue. She kissed the hot forehead of her child, stumbled to the stairs and climbed a few steps before glancing back. Edna was humming an old Scottish folk song while rubbing a lotion of camphor and eucalyptus onto Charlotte’s wasted chest. Hannah started to pray but her mind was befuddled with exhaustion. The words could not come. She staggered to the bed, and flopped on it. Before her consciousness subsided into darkness, she thought she heard the voice of her betrothed. Oh, Daniel, come home. Please come home . . .
In the morning, there was no change but Charlotte slept soundly which Edna declared promising. ‘The temperature is down a little too,’ she said, ‘and she’s sweating which is a good sign. I think we’re winning.’ She pointed at the door. ‘Go to work, miss.’
Hannah went to work her long shift. She had to work these long hours otherwise lose the job. At the hospital, her prime thoughts, while dressing wounds and emptying pans centered only on her daughter. Every lunch break — she only had one hour — she ran, skirts held up with one hand, past the men’s convict’s barracks and St. James Church all the way to George street. She’d arrive at the boardinghouse gasping for breath, her first question to Edna, who always seemed to swing open the door, always anticipating her arrival. ‘How is she?’ Reunited with her child, hugging her to her chest in love yet dread, she’d talk to the older woman for a few minutes, searching the kindly lined face in desperation for news of a hopeful change, before running back to the hospital.
‘For God’s sake, Hannah, don’t push yourself so hard. You’ll have a heart attack,’ Edna told her more than once, but she knew it was useless.
After two long weeks, the temperature dropped to normal and Charlie began to take food, at first a little soup and bread and then a morsel of cheese. She was painfully thin, her beautiful chocolate eyes sunken within the dark puffed-up surrounds of a face devoid of colour. ‘She needs milk, Hannah. ‘She waved a hand in effect. ‘We have to build her body up.’
‘I know a place where I can get some.’ Hannah replied, and by the determined look on her face, Edna had no doubts that she meant it.
A dray pulled up in front of the boardinghouse the following day while Hannah was out working. A giant of a man stepped down and carried a canister to the door. ‘Good morning, ma’am.’ His voice boomed in keeping with his huge frame. ‘This milk is for the young ‘un at no charge. I’m John Bridges, by the way, the blacksmith up there at the top of George Street and Sarah’s husband.’ He gave a wide sweep towards the cove, wiped a hand on a leather apron and held it out.
‘Well, glory be, I thank you.’ Edna ac
cepted his large calloused hand. ‘Hannah’s kept her word, I see.’
‘She always does,’ he said. ‘How is the little one? Is she still poorly?’
‘No, she’s getting better, thank God, but this’ll be a great help.’ She picked up the canister then put it down again to eye him. ‘How do you know our Hannah? ’
‘She’s a close friend of my wife Sarah. They were in the Factory together, in Parramatta.’
‘Oh, yes, that awful place. Ah, Mr. Bridges, if you do not mind . . .’
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘Please call me Edna, and you and Sarah are very welcome. Please come and visit anytime. Hannah would love it.’
‘Thank you.’ He shuffled huge feet. ‘It would be good to see young Charlotte again.’
‘Have you any children of your own, Mr. Bridges?’
‘No, not yet but we’re working on it,’ he said, looking a little awkward.
‘Good for you, ‘Edna smiled at the gentle giant. ‘Good day then, Mr. Bridges.’
‘It’s John.’ He raised a hand to his cap. ‘Good day, Edna.’
In June the Fortune arrived from England and almost everyone in the colony went to the Governor’s Wharf to see the ship berth. Hannah, Sarah and Edna stood, silent and thoughtful, as two hundred male convicts came ashore — most supporting a ball and chain — and shuffled away past the naval docks and up Macquarie Street towards the convict barracks.
A top-hat gentleman in a double-breasted frock coat caught Hannah’s eye. ‘Good morning, miss.’ He touched his hat with a gloved hand. ‘They had a good voyage out, these wretches.’ He gave her what he thought was a winning smile. ‘Only five died, you know.’
‘Wonderful,’ Hannah replied. ‘It must have been a pleasant voyage.’ The irony appeared lost on this fellow that she assumed was a government official.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it could have been worse. Remember the Neptune of the Second Fleet? But of course, miss, you are far too young to recall such a tragedy.’ He inched forward through the crowd to close with her. ‘I say, miss, I haven’t had the pleasure of—’
Behind her, Edna gave an unimpressed ‘Humph’ and Hannah felt Sarah firmly take her elbow. ‘Would you excuse me, sir,’ she smiled sweetly. ‘I do urgently have to take my leave.’
‘Of course, miss.’ He raised his hat. ‘I do trust I will see you again.’ He watched as the three women took their departure, rather abruptly he thought, and wondered if he had offended the pretty one in some way. Surely not, after all he was the Executive Assistant to the Assistant Colonial Secretary. He thought about the woman with the long brown hair. Her face was extremely handsome although her eyes appeared to be somewhat diffident when he spoke to her. Still, she was quite a catch. He’d never seen her before. Was she a settler’s wife, perhaps? Yet, there was no sign of a ring. She was certainly neatly and smartly dressed. He must make enquiries, subtle ones, of course.
July came and went and the cold winds eased from the west. The sun started to warm the land more consistently. Hannah, working shorter shifts now, the matron having mellowed somewhat in her animosity, managed to get down to the cove more often. She never grew tired of watching the majestic ships of the world come and go as she waited for the return of the Spring Grove. At Bennelong Point, she would gaze down the bay looking for the stubby outline of a whaler. She wondered if the South Head lookout would hoist the flag for a whaling ship as they did for all the others but her eyes always came to rest there, as a finality, before she retraced her steps back to the hospital or home.
Once, the unmistakable shape of a whaling ship came down the bay and she froze, biting her lip in excitement. Could he be coming earlier? Maybe they had enough blubber oil. As it drew closer she could see it was a Yankee whaler as John called them, a short, stubby ship with an equally tough looking crew lining the rails. They waved at her and she responded. The grubby-looking ship passed her to berth at one of Campbell’s busy wharves — the same one the Spring Grove had used, she noted — before she moved away to tread wearily back on the well-worn path.
Mid-August loomed and she maintained her vigil at Bennelong Point whenever she could and working the night shift in the hospital made this easier. Sometimes, Sarah or Edna, or both on occasions, accompanied her and they would sit and talk and laugh in unison, often at Sarah’s humorous stories. She had a gift for making light of even the worst of terrifying experiences. Hannah was grateful. It helped to pass the long, seemingly endless, time.
One morning, walking up George street, she froze at the sight of a figure approaching. It was the same man who had spoken to her on the day the Fortune berthed. She looked around trying to find a quick path to evade him but he was upon her almost before she could react.
‘Ah.’ He touched his hat. ‘I do declare, the mysterious lady again.’ His eyes bored into her and she noted the disconcerting wry smile on his lips. ‘I’m afraid you’re no longer a mystery, miss. I even know your name. It is Hannah Stanley, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, twirling her sun shade and wishing she could hit him with it.
‘And do you know who I am?’ He pursed his lips.
‘No, should I?’ She was playing a dangerous game here and she had to be careful.
His face reddened. ‘I’m Albert Fortescue, the Executive Assistant to the Assistant Colonial Secretary.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Hannah nodded, enjoying herself at the expense of this pompous ass with his precise, clipped moustache and plucked eyebrows. She suppressed a laugh and acted coyly. ‘Yes, I think I understand. You’re an assistant to an assistant.’ She watched his face as he digested this. It was clear that he had no idea if she was being insolent or just plain naïve. My Daniel would make two of him, she thought.
Albert James Fortescue had already decided this young convict girl was just plain naïve. Like many of her uneducated class, she knew nothing about the Government and the Colony administration. She was a headstrong little wench and rather brassy in her manner but she was also a beauty and he wanted her. What’s more, he knew everything about her background, the ticket-of-leave permit, her work, the child she conceived on the Canada and even the sailor she was waiting for so vigilantly every day down at Bennelong Point.
‘Hannah,’ he said softly, voice dripping like honey. ‘How would you like to come and work for me in my home, I mean instead of slaving away emptying slop pans? I’d make it worth your while.’ He beamed at her and then raised plucked eyebrows in query. ‘Much, much more than you’ll ever get in the Rum Hospital,’ he added.
‘And what would I be doing there?’ she asked, voice flat.
‘Why, you’d be officially a servant on the books but also my companion.’
‘You mean your mistress, don’t you?’
‘Well,’ he smirked, ‘I wouldn’t quite put it that way but—’
‘Thank you for the offer, sir, but I cannot accept. You see I’m betrothed so there’s an end to it.’ She realized by his face that he never expected a lowly convict would refuse him. Worried about possible repercussions, she made to lessen the impact. ‘I’m sure a gentleman like you, Mr. Fortescue, would respect a sacred betrothal.’ She forced herself to give him a smile. ‘I really appreciate your offer, sir, and if I wasn’t spoken for I’d consider—’
‘I think you don’t understand and you may have made a mistake.’ His eyes hardened and voice grew bitter. ‘As a convict — a Grand thief so I understand — you won’t get a better opportunity to gain employment than working for the administration but . . .’ He sniffed. ‘You’ve certainly made your point for better or worse.’ Fortescue turned away abruptly, not bothering to say goodbye, and shoved aside a passing couple in his haste.
Oh, my God, Hannah thought, I’ve gone and done it again, making more and more enemies as I go along in this rotten town. Hurry up, Daniel, she implored, please hurry and come back . . .
Strong south east winds and heavy rain began in the second week of August and turned the harbor int
o a wild turbulence of frothing water and Sydney Cove into seemingly endless mud. Somehow, Hannah hurried to the docks in pouring rain, seeking any information on the Spring Grove but to no avail. A convict from the Fortune did tell her something that chilled her to the bone. They’d come through a terrible storm back in May when crossing Bass Strait. ‘I saw waves as big as a house down there,’ he told her. ‘We were lucky to get back.’ Hannah thought about the small Spring Grove and could only pray it, too, had survived
She was sitting in the parlor with Edna sipping tea when they heard the clatter of a horse on the cobblestones and the shout of ‘whoa.’ Edna rose to peep through the curtains. ‘It’s John,’ she shouted, ‘and he looks excited.’ She shot Hannah a look. ‘I wonder who it could be.’ She left the question unanswered as they dashed down the passage to the door. Edna whipped it open. John Bridges stood, huge frame dripping wet, eyes only for Hannah.
‘Come in, John,’ Edna gasped.
‘No, Edna, I’m too wet. Thanks but no, I’ll drip everywhere. Hey, lassie, is that you peeping over Edna’s shoulder? I’ve just been down to the docks and—’
‘And what, John?’ Hannah froze, mouth agape. ‘And what, John?’ she repeated.
‘Well . . .’ A big smile spread across his homely face, ‘I thought you might be interested to hear there’s a whaler coming through the heads this minute and they put a glass on her—’
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