The Governor's House

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘Because you have no money?’

  ‘Mainly it’s the law. Back home, someone like you wants a rabbit for his dinner he shoots it, no trouble. A poor man does that, he ends up out here.’

  ‘Is this such a bad place to be?’

  ‘For some it’s not just a bad place. It’s hell.’

  ‘Is that how you see it?’

  ‘I’ve been lucky. I’ve no family or loved ones to miss. Dr Morgan’s been good to me but he could throw me out tomorrow. I don’t think of this place as hell but hell, for people like me, is never far away.’

  ‘Then come fishing with me,’ he said. ‘That’s what I came to ask you. Come fishing and forget your troubles.’

  She laughed yet was cross that he should ask her something that was clearly impossible; cross also with herself for wanting so much to go.

  ‘Go out alone with you in a boat? You think no one will see us?’

  ‘We won’t be alone,’ he said. ‘Agnes will be there too.’

  She stared at him. ‘Agnes?’

  ‘She looks after my house for me. You met her when you paid me a visit.’

  ‘I know who she is.’ The mention of Agnes’s name made her bristle.

  ‘You know who she is but not what she is,’ he said. ‘Agnes Yelland is the widow of a man who worked with me but who died recently.’

  ‘Of fever?’ It was an ever-present danger in the colony.

  He smiled grimly. ‘Of a bullet. Agnes has no family and no money so it is only right that I should help her. Come fishing with me and she’ll be your chaperone.’

  She stared at him as she remembered Mrs Talbot’s remarks after dinner three weeks earlier.

  … they managed to wound one of the scoundrels but unfortunately they all got away.

  Of course Agnes had to be more than simply a housekeeper; Catherine knew that. But it was also true that she did not know, and that made it easier to pretend.

  ‘Give me time to change my clothes,’ she said.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Mungo’s hoy was moored at the town jetty. Catherine looked down at the deck ten feet below her. It had an aft cabin and a forward hatch leading, so he told her, to a deep hold. The red ochre sail was stowed neatly along the boom. Of Agnes there was no sign.

  ‘You need a hand?’ Mungo asked.

  She kicked off her shoes, tied the laces together and slung them around her neck. The timbers of the jetty were slimy with weed but she swung herself over the side, her bare feet finding footholds on the horizontal beams, and in two seconds she was on the deck and laughing up at him. Only then did she answer his question.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  He swarmed down after her.

  ‘I was afraid you might slip.’

  ‘I was born to it, remember?’ She looked through the open hatchway into the cabin. ‘Where’s Agnes?’

  Mungo Jackson was busy running up the sail and did not answer her. Within seconds they were threading their way between a clutter of small craft and heading out into the river.

  Mungo had stripped off his coat and shirt and stood bare-chested, watching the sail. His skin shone as though it had been oiled. Catherine could not take her eyes off him and felt the same tightness in her throat as before.

  ‘Agnes?’ she said again.

  ‘I fear she was unavoidably detained.’

  ‘You lied to me,’ she said.

  ‘Alas.’

  ‘Shame on you.’ But did not mind at all.

  They headed upstream until they had left the last buildings behind. They anchored at the mouth of a narrow inlet. Mungo went below and returned with a bottle of wine, deliciously cold, apples, more cheese and a loaf of bread that was crisp and succulent to the tongue.

  ‘I thought we were supposed to be fishing.’

  ‘We shall at the turn of the tide.’

  ‘And now?’

  He did not answer, nor was there need. They ate the food and drank the wine. They talked a little about unimportant things and then, later, more important things.

  ‘Come live with me and be my love,’ Mungo said.

  Cat looked at him questioningly.

  ‘A quotation,’ he said. ‘Marlowe.’

  ‘Fancy,’ she said. ‘I thought it was an invitation.’

  ‘That too,’ he said and held out his hand.

  They went below to the roomy double berth and there, with the reflected light from the water shimmering on the cabin’s white-painted ceiling, they made love. Afterwards they talked again, voices soft, bodies easy, passion sated for the moment.

  ‘I come here sometimes,’ he said. ‘When I need to think.’

  ‘Thinking?’ she said. ‘Is that what we’ve been doing?’

  His hand caressed her, down and back, down and back, his fingers so gentle they brought tears to her eyes. He leant forward and tenderly kissed her parted lips.

  ‘That is when you discover the truth of a person,’ he said.

  ‘Have you discovered my truth?’ she asked.

  ‘Some of it, perhaps.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure. I’ve done things –’

  ‘We have all done things,’ he said.

  ‘And what have you discovered about me?’

  ‘Enough to know you are brave and true. To know I want you at my side.’

  ‘Forever?’

  His dark eyes engaged her blue ones. ‘I do not believe in forever. It is human nature to move on. But for now you are my woman.’

  How calmly he stated his claim. How willingly she accepted it.

  ‘Until you leave me?’

  ‘Or you leave me.’

  ‘I do not see that happening,’ she said.

  ‘What I need to know,’ he said, ‘is whether you have the same faith in me as I have in you.’

  Catherine lay on her back watching the light dancing on the ceiling and allowed herself to drift into a lazy half-dream as she surrendered to the hand that once again caressed her. Down and back. Down and back. When he took her nipples gently between his lips, touching them again and again with the tip of his tongue, she sighed and smiled and looked down at him and pressed his head against her breast.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  As once again she surrendered to the sensations that rose like the tide to overwhelm her.

  Later, when they had returned into themselves, he said: ‘It troubles me to mention it but have you considered the danger of what we are doing?’

  ‘You mean were I to fall pregnant?’ Such discussions were taboo between a man and a woman yet she found no difficulty talking about it. ‘I would love to have your child, were it not for the distress it would cause Dr Morgan who has been so kind to me. Fortunately there is small chance of it.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘There are ways to minimise the risk.’

  He knew better than press her further. ‘I have something else I would like to discuss with you.’

  She watched him, waiting for him to explain.

  ‘You saw me with my men the other day.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You must have had some thoughts about us.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Yet you said nothing.’

  ‘It was none of my business. And at that time I was not involved.’

  He smiled. ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I am.’

  ‘So tell me your thoughts.’

  ‘Are you sure you wish to hear them?’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘And if I am mistaken?’

  ‘Then I shall punish you. As I have punished you twice already today.’

  ‘You would not be so cruel.’

  ‘Indeed I would.’

  It was her turn to smile at him. ‘I thought I was looking at the gang of bushrangers everyone was talking about. And that you were its leader.’

  ‘And no doubt you were shocked.’

  ‘Did I look shocked?’

  ‘You did not. But perhaps you are shocked now that you know the tru
th.’

  ‘I know nothing. You have told me nothing.’

  He laughed outright. ‘Do you remember my saying you were smart as well as beautiful?’

  ‘I remember it very well.’

  ‘Then let me ask you a question. Are you as brave as you are smart?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  He gave her look for look but did not answer. And she knew.

  ‘You want me to ride with you.’

  ‘If it will not frighten you.’

  ‘It will not frighten me.’ She spoke boldly, knowing that with this man beside her she would fear nothing.

  ‘No other woman has done it.’

  ‘I am not any other woman.’ Catherine spoke with the pride of a woman who knew herself well loved.

  ‘Then we shall ride together and we shall be honoured to have you with us. Tomorrow night. If you are free.’

  ‘I shall make sure I am free.’ She took his hand and replaced it on her breast. ‘There is one thing,’ she said.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘You said you might punish me.’

  Now his smile and fingers teased her. ‘I said I would punish you if your thoughts were wrong, Miss Haggard. They were not wrong.’

  ‘Even so…’ She smiled up at him. ‘I am waiting, Mr Jackson.’

  ‘Beautiful, smart and demanding?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He sighed. ‘A man’s work is never done.’

  ‘I believe that is not the correct wording of the proverb, Mr Jackson.’

  ‘Commonly, no. But in your case, Miss Haggard, I suspicion I am right.’

  ‘Nevertheless I trust you will do your duty.’

  ‘Madam…’ replacing his fingers with his lips ‘… I shall.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  Late the following afternoon Catherine asked Mr Moffatt to saddle Sheridan.

  ‘I have a fancy to go for a ride.’

  ‘At this hour, miss?’

  She said something about needing the exercise.

  ‘Of course, miss.’

  She could not read his thoughts. Her body was bursting with energy after her experiences of the previous day so, impulsively, she decided to challenge him head-on.

  ‘Do you disapprove, Mr Moffatt?’

  ‘They say exercise is good for us all, miss.’

  ‘That was not what I meant.’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘I have been with the doctor almost eleven years, miss.’

  ‘Do you believe he would disapprove of my riding alone?’

  ‘I believe he would wish you to be careful.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of many things. Of bushrangers in particular, miss. People say a gang of them is active in the area.’

  ‘So Mrs Switzer informed me when she called yesterday. She told me she would send one of her manservants to guard us.’

  ‘We have seen no one.’

  ‘No. I told her we had no need of outside protection. I fear I displeased her, Mr Moffatt. Again.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘This gang you mention… No doubt they are desperate men.’

  ‘Desperate indeed, miss.’

  ‘Whom the authorities will hang if they catch them. And anyone associated with them.’

  ‘I believe that is so, miss.’

  ‘I shall make sure I am especially careful, Mr Moffatt.’

  ‘I think that would be wise, miss.’

  She looked him full in the face. ‘You are a good friend, Mr Moffatt. Both to Dr Morgan and myself. No doubt it is not always easy for you.’

  ‘We all have our lives to lead, miss.’

  ‘That is true. And I thank you for your understanding.’

  ‘I believe you may rely on Mrs Amos and myself, miss. At all times.’

  ‘And in all things?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  She rode up the lower slopes of the mountain, heading for the forest track that she had followed so recently with such momentous consequences. Following Mungo’s advice she was wearing a pair of Dr Morgan’s breeches – tight across the hips and a little short in the leg, but adequate nonetheless – and she was riding astride. They had arranged to meet at the forest edge where there would be no eyes to see them. It was a gusty afternoon of mixed sunshine and cloud and in the valley below the surface of the river was flecked with white. The wind had made Sheridan frisky so she gave him his head, cantering across the hillside with black hair flying, heart singing.

  By the time she reached the forest the light was fading. Mungo and his men were waiting in the shadow of the trees.

  ‘I have told them you are one of us,’ Mungo said. ‘We need to be friends, do we not, if we are to ride together?’

  And perhaps to die together, she thought. If fortune wills. But the thought did not trouble her.

  Mungo walked her around to each man in turn. No words were exchanged but each man grinned and nodded, and Catherine, knowing she was the first woman to ride with them, was pleased.

  ‘Let’s get on,’ Mungo said.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll find out,’ he said. ‘But there is one more thing before we leave.’

  ‘What is that?’

  He produced an old bush hat with a battered brim.

  ‘Put it on,’ he said.

  She tried it. ‘It is too big.’

  ‘When you tuck your hair inside it won’t be.’

  Next he handed her a pair of gauntlets. ‘They are too big also but will hide your hands which are too small for a man.’

  She put them on also. He nodded his approval and turned to the men clustered behind him. ‘Remember what I always tell you: not a word. A man can be identified by his voice.’

  They set out, not down the slope as she had expected but diagonally across the hill with the lights of the town below them. They rode for an hour before Mungo reined in. The lights of a large house shone in the darkness.

  ‘We are very close,’ he said in a low voice. ‘From now on let us be especially careful.’

  Cat saw the men drew their rifles from their saddle holsters. ‘What do I do?’ she said.

  ‘You stay close by me.’

  ‘I don’t have a gun.’

  She just made out his smile in the darkness. ‘Next time. If there is a next time.’

  He put on a mask and jammed his hat firmly on his head. ‘Remember,’ he told Cat. ‘Not a word while we’re inside the house. We don’t want them to know you’re a woman.’

  ‘Who owns this house?’

  He smiled. ‘Your friend.’

  She looked at him, barely daring to hope.

  ‘That’s right. Arthur Dunstable. Now, let us go.’

  Arthur sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table and stared owlishly at his guests.

  The silver candlesticks set at intervals along the table cast their golden light on those seated there, and the air was rich with perfume. The ladies’ décolleté gowns were significantly more daring than the styles favoured by Miss Jillibel Atkins; in fact Arthur’s favourite, Miss Maria Hack, was showing so much of her upper body that at first glance she might not have been wearing a gown at all.

  Arthur was drunk. Why not? Life had been tricky since his uncle’s death when he’d lost the estate through the worst of bad luck at the tables but today a wool clipper had put into the Derwent with the news that his barque Antares had arrived safely in Cape Town and should by now be well on her way across the Indian Ocean.

  Antares was a fine vessel with enough cannon to deter the boldest pirates, yet there was always a measure of uncertainty about long sea voyages. Arthur’s anxiety had been acute, because failure would mean ruin. By contrast the fee he would receive on the safe delivery of the coin to the Tasmanian treasury would restore his fortune and enable him to live once again as a gentleman should. Nor was that all. He foresaw other profitable voyages after this, and in the end the building of a fleet of merchantmen that w
ould make him rich. Antares and her cargo would solve all his problems and tonight, in anticipation of her safe arrival, he had resolved to celebrate thoroughly and well.

  His guests were drunk too. Later there would be cards and after the evening was over Maria would be waiting, her abundant charms even more in evidence than they were already.

  Arthur shouted for more wine.

  There came a violent knocking on the front door of the house.

  He frowned. ‘What the devil?’

  Silence.

  He waited for a servant to come and tell him who was visiting at such an ungodly hour but a servant did not come, nor did anyone appear with more wine.

  The knocking came again.

  ‘Where the devil is everybody?’

  Arthur flung down his napkin and leapt to his feet as the house reverberated yet again with the sound of knocking.

  ‘We’ll see about this.’

  He strode out of the room and across the panelled hallway to the door. He drew the bolts one by one – where in hell were those damned servants? – and threw the door open.

  The cool night air came in to greet him. Not only the cool night air. A masked man thrust a pistol in his face. At his back stood a group of other men with hard and determined faces.

  All the colony knew of the masked raider and his gang of cutthroats. Arthur should have slammed the door in their faces but the shock of seeing them paralysed him for a second and then it was too late. The big man shoved him to one side and in an instant the gang was thrusting its way past him into the house.

  This was terrible, impossible. He tried to grapple with one of the men, who barely broke stride, backhanding him violently across the face before hurrying on. Arthur fell, blood from his nose turning his white shirt crimson. He struggled to his feet in time to hear screams and startled oaths from the dining room. He staggered to the doorway and saw the biggest masked man covering his guests with his pistol while the others went around, methodically tying their hands behind their backs. The dress of one of the women had come down to reveal an elongated breast.

  Where, oh where, were the bloody servants?

  Maria had vanished. Trust her, Arthur thought.

  The masked man turned and walked towards him. Arthur’s courage dissolved. He fell to his knees, tears flowing uncontrollably to mingle with the blood from his nose.