The Governor's House

by J. H. Fletcher

  The masked man pulled him to his feet, marched him into his own dining room and seated him in his own chair. One of his men came and bound his hands behind him.

  Humiliation… He watched helplessly as the scoundrels stripped the silver candlesticks from the table. In that instant a side door was flung wide. Maria Hack, a huge knife in her hand, hurled herself at the masked man. The slender bushranger at the masked man’s side seized Maria’s wrist with one hand and smashed a gauntleted fist repeatedly into her breasts. Maria fell writhing to the floor as the youth, tearing the knife from her nerveless hand, drove the blade down and down.

  They stripped the house of its valuables, stuffing the candlesticks and plate into sacks they had brought for the purpose, taking the money from the men’s pocket books, the jewels off the ladies’ fingers and from around their necks. Mungo gestured to his men and they went out through the kitchen where the servants were under guard. Mungo took a fistful of money and placed it on the kitchen table. ‘I suggest you share that out before you release your master and his guests.’

  They went out into the starry night. More men were waiting outside the house.

  Mungo spoke to one of them. ‘Are you fetching the grain?’

  ‘Done.’ The man spat. ‘There wasn’t much and it was already bagged. We’ve loaded them into the wagon. You want us to burn the barn?’

  ‘Leave it. I doubt Arthur Dunstable will be here much longer and the next owner will be glad of it.’

  ‘No!’ Cat said. ‘Remember what he did to me. Burn it! Burn it to the ground!’

  A moment’s silence before Mungo spoke. ‘She’s right. Burn it, as she said.’

  They waited until the barn was well alight. With the flames roaring high into the darkness behind them they mounted and rode away. When they were clear, once again climbing the flank of the mountain, Cat burst out laughing. Mungo had removed his mask. Now she pulled off her hat and let her hair fly free in the breeze. It was a good feeling and she was filled with exhilaration.

  Mungo was riding at her side and looked questioningly at her. ‘Happy to be out of danger?’

  ‘I used to dream of seeing him dead at my feet but tonight was better because he’ll remember it all his life.’ Her eyes met his. ‘Are you sorry he caused me to be transported?’

  ‘I shall never be sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought you had killed that woman, though.’

  ‘It would have served her right if I had. She was on the St Vincent with me. She is a wicked woman. She tried to rape a friend of mine.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Again she laughed, her hair a triumphant cloud about her head. ‘I stopped her.’

  ‘More and more I realise what a formidable woman you are,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you knew that already.’

  ‘Did she recognise you?’

  ‘I made sure she did.’

  ‘Will she talk?’

  ‘After I left her with a cut on her cheek to remember me by? After I drove the knife into the floorboards right by her head? She’ll not breathe a word. She knows I’d kill her if she peached.’

  ‘And would you?’

  ‘The world would be a better place without Maria Hack.’

  It was not a direct answer but would have to do.

  Later, after she had returned home…

  ‘Did you have a good ride, miss?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Moffatt. A very good ride.’

  ‘I was thinking, miss. Some might think it madness to ride so late.’

  ‘Do you think I am mad, Mr Moffatt?’

  ‘Perhaps a little careless of danger. Sheridan might put his hoof in a hole which you could not see in the dark. If you were thrown, how would we know where to find you? It’s not just me, miss,’ he said. ‘Others might think it strange too.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘I was thinking, miss, that if anyone were to enquire it might save needless concern if we were to say that you never leave the house after dark.’

  Their eyes met.

  ‘Perhaps that would be best,’ Catherine said. ‘But what does Mrs Amos have to say about it?’

  ‘I believe Mrs Amos and I are in one mind on this.’

  ‘As I said last night, you are both my good friends, Mr Moffatt.’

  He inclined his head but did not speak. Moments later, she was alone.

  An hour later, lying in bed, she heard a knock on the window. Her heart thumped. She got up and looked out. Mungo was grinning on the other side of the glass. She opened the window.

  ‘Are you mad?’

  He was over the sill and in the room before he answered. ‘For you, yes.’

  He was an earl’s son. He knew the names of his ancestors stretching back into history. No doubt his family home had their portraits hanging on the walls, like the ones in Dunkery Hall that Mother had told her about. They were as dissimilar as it was possible to be. She had been drawn to him from the moment she first saw him yet had never imagined they would be together as they were now, making love together and laughing together and riding together. Now they had defied the law together and brought retribution on the head of her greatest enemy.

  They stood in the dark room staring at each other and there was no past to separate them. Only the present and little by little, as she had shed the past, so she now shed her garments. She stood as he kissed her, accepting and welcoming him in a surrender that was almost ferocious in its intensity. Until at the last, after he had carried her to her bed and lain down beside her, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him again and yet again.

  Mungo left her shortly before dawn. She had never grown accustomed to the way ladies rose at noon after breakfasting on hot chocolate and sweetmeats in bed and she rose shortly afterwards. She stood by the window and breathed the morning air, body sated and at peace. After she had washed and dressed she went out of the house and down to the river.

  She relived the previous day: the gathering tension of the long ride; the invasion of Arthur Dunstable’s house and how good it had felt to see him so humiliated. Then to deal with the Hack bitch as well, returning terror for the knife she had dared draw on her aboard the transport. Best of all, the lovemaking at day’s end with Mungo looking into her eyes and telling her over and over again how proud he was of her, how brave and beautiful she was.

  A day, truly, that she would never forget. But what would happen when the doctor returned from Sydney?

  THIRTY-THREE

  It was a week after the raid and Catherine was playing with a dandelion clock, blowing it and watching as the seeds were borne away on the light breeze. She and Mungo had ridden out to make love for the first time in the open air and now lay on the blanket that he had spread in the shade of the trees.

  Catherine turned to him. ‘Mrs Switzer came to see me this morning to warn me that Dr Morgan’s house may be next on the raiders’ list,’ she said.

  ‘That is indeed very serious. Did she say where she got this alarming information?’

  ‘Perhaps she knows the leader of the gang. Met him at a dinner party, possibly?’

  ‘That is what it must be. How do you plan to defend yourself if that happens?’

  ‘I shall have to throw myself on the villains’ mercy.’

  ‘Their leader is known to be merciless.’

  ‘How terrifying. Perhaps he should pay his attentions to the Switzers’ house instead. I understand the niece is of a friendly disposition and might be most welcoming to a merciless man.’

  ‘Unhappily he is also fastidious. I doubt Miss Delamere would appeal to him.’

  ‘Despite all her endeavours.’

  ‘In any case I believe Miss Delamere has other interests now. I hear that Mr Arthur Dunstable has been paying her his attentions.’

  Catherine was surprised. ‘I had not heard.’

  ‘It would be an ideal match. The bearer of a well-known name and a wealthy spinster with noble connections: what could be more suitable? Although I fear a
recent episode might have called his courage into question.’

  ‘I doubt that would trouble Miss Delamere. If it did, I am sure she could soon find consolation elsewhere. But what about Miss Hack?’

  ‘I believe Miss Hack has moved on.’

  She looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps her wounded cheek may have encouraged her to do so.’

  ‘A strategically placed scar might prove exciting to some.’

  ‘Perhaps I should arrange one for myself? If men find it exciting?’

  ‘Some men might.’ His hand moved to her breast. ‘Others prefer the unblemished rose.’

  ‘Beware the rose’s thorns.’

  ‘They are my constant concern.’

  ‘And of course you have an impressive thorn of your own.’

  ‘I am glad you find it so.’

  ‘Although it seems a distressingly long time since I felt it.’

  ‘Distressing indeed. May I suggest a remedy?’

  ‘Please do.’

  Afterwards the sky so blue behind the white clouds, the awareness of grass and trees, of being one with all things, as ecstasy, familiar yet always new, came to usurp other sensation.

  Later Catherine told him the news they had both been expecting.

  ‘This week?’ Mungo said. ‘I had hoped for longer. We are planning another visit. Naturally I want you to come along but if Dr Morgan is returning this week…’

  ‘Dr Morgan has been very good to me. This thing we have, this wonderful thing, is for ourselves and no one can interfere in that. But Dr Morgan has been very good to me.’

  ‘I understand that and respect you for it. But what we have is not over. I also want you to understand that.’

  ‘I understand it very well.’ She gave him a brilliant smile, unshed tears shining. ‘And shall no doubt weep about it by and by. But not now. Now I shall be happy.’ She swallowed and renewed her smile, denying grief. ‘What a joy it is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To trust and know. To love.’

  He took hold of both her hands. ‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘But do not forget what I told you before, that nothing is forever.’

  ‘All the more reason to take advantage of every day we have.’

  ‘You are right. Which is why I shall be here again tomorrow.’

  She smiled at him, loving him. ‘You have a station to run.’

  ‘I shall be here again tomorrow.’

  ‘You notice I do not ask who you will be visiting next. No,’ she said as he opened his mouth to speak, ‘don’t tell me. I do not want to know. But be very careful. I could not bear it –’

  He placed his finger on her lips. ‘Danger is partly the reason I do it.’

  ‘I know that. You are a danger addict.’ Apprehension gave a bitter twist to her words. ‘As is Miss Delamere.’

  ‘I said it was partly for that reason. I also distribute what we take from the undeserving rich among the deserving poor.’

  ‘The poor are not always deserving. Some are as bad as they come. I’ve been one of them and I know.’

  ‘Of course. But there are many who do need help and that is how I assist them.’

  ‘Like Robin Hood,’ she said.

  ‘You are familiar with that name?’

  ‘Even an illiterate fisher girl has heard of Robin Hood.’

  ‘You are neither illiterate nor a fisher girl.’

  She smiled at him again, the shadow of Dr Morgan’s impending return lifted from her, if only for the moment. ‘What am I, then?’

  Their faces were close; each looking deeply into the other’s eyes.

  ‘You are my true love,’ he said.

  * * *

  Dr Morgan came home three days later with the news that his brother had made a good recovery.

  ‘That is excellent news,’ Catherine said. ‘I am glad for you.’

  ‘He asked me when I was going to marry again.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him nothing.’

  It was not a huge shock; she had not forgotten Mrs Morgan’s words on the subject. What she had not known was how she would respond; she did not know now. Of course, he had not proposed yet but she did not think he would have raised the subject if that had not been his intention. Every night as she lay in bed came the face and voice of Mungo Jackson so that she was torn as never before in her life.

  When he asks me I shall know, she told herself.

  But when he did, ten days after his return from Sydney, she still did not know what to say. She therefore did the only thing she could. She played for time.

  ‘You remember not long after I joined you I told you I was a Third Class Probation Passholder and asked you to arrange a ticket of leave for me?’

  His expression darkened. ‘I do.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do it. Do you know how terrible that was for me?’

  ‘We did not know each other well in those days and I was afraid if I agreed you might leave me. It was wrong of me, of course. I knew it even at the time.’

  ‘For the first time it made me doubt you.’

  He watched her, his face a wrinkled mask of despair. ‘So now you refuse me.’

  ‘I have not refused you,’ Catherine said. ‘First I need to think, then I shall give you my answer.’

  She told herself she would be mad to turn him down. She did not love him though she liked him well enough. And yet. Mungo’s eyes watched her from the mirror and she remembered the excitement of being with him, how even the air she breathed became a froth of exultant joy.

  She would have greater freedom with Gareth Morgan than with Mungo because the doctor loved her. Love was a cruel thing; it created light where there had been no light but was also a weapon that she could use to preserve the woman she was determined to remain.

  Mungo was a different case. When she was with him her life was rich beyond belief. When they made love he was the sea and earth and sky. He had the power to make her his slave yet had said he did not believe in love being forever. If she permitted him to enslave her, where would she be if he turned his back? That would destroy her utterly, both body and mind crying in a dark place.

  Comfort and security or the terror and enslavement of love?

  She closed her eyes and eventually fell into a troubled sleep. She woke with a bad taste in her mouth and rose to face the day.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Catherine opened the kitchen door and went out. She paused, breathing the silence. This land, so strange when she had first arrived eight years before, was now home.

  She walked up past the ice house, Mrs Morgan’s voice once again in her ears.

  You could do worse than marry him.

  She walked on through the gum trees until she reached the boundary stone. From here she had an uninterrupted view of the Governor’s House, its walls shining like gold in the morning sunlight.

  I’ve still not seen inside it, she thought. If I marry the doctor I likely never shall. Not if I don’t marry him, either. Cat Haggard the convict at the Governor’s House? That’s a joke. Yet the ambition remained. The day I’m invited there, she thought, I shall know I am free at last.

  A man in a smart red coat announces her in stentorian tones as she enters the grand reception hall. ‘Lady Catherine Haggard…’ The governor, a noble figure in a general’s uniform, gold-handled sword at his side, comes forward with hand outstretched, face wreathed in smiles. ‘Lady Catherine, what a pleasure…’ While she curtseys to the ground amid the applause of the elegantly-clad onlookers…

  She laughed to herself. Such nonsense. Yet the dream remained.

  She turned to walk back to the house. Her mind was calm, her step resolute. She knew now what she had to do. She was halfway there when Mrs Amos came screaming, her rotund figure labouring up the steep slope.

  ‘Miss Catherine, Miss Catherine…’

  It was the first time she had ever called her Miss.

  Catherine ran to her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Th
e doctor…’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I took ’im ’is tea, same as usual, and there ’e was.’

  Catherine could have shaken her. ‘Where else would he be? What are you trying to tell me?’

  The panting woman regained her dignity even as the tears ran down her face. She drew herself up and looked Catherine in the eye. ‘Dr Morgan is dead.’

  Catherine’s hand flew to her mouth. She drew a deep breath as she summoned the strength she would now need. She did not speak but put her arm around Mrs Amos’s waist. They helped each other down the slope to consider what had to be done.

  Back indoors they went into the doctor’s bedroom. He was lying on the bed with eyes open and head thrown back, as though in his last moments he, who had been looking forward to a new life in this world, had seen a vision of what life was to be in the world to come.

  Catherine sent Gladys to fetch Dr Talbot and then sat down with Mr Moffatt and Mrs Amos to discuss the situation.

  ‘What will happen to us?’ Mrs Amos asked.

  What indeed. Catherine had never known the backgrounds of either Mr Moffatt or Mrs Amos. The Morgans had never mentioned it. In the early days she had not dared ask; more recently she had not chosen to – it didn’t seem to matter. She had no doubt about their loyalty and that was all she’d ever cared about. But now, with Dr Morgan’s death, the future was unclear for all of them.

  Mr Moffatt cleared his throat. ‘It’s like this, miss. Mrs Amos and me, we’re both free to leave but that isn’t what we want. Aberystwyth is our home, you see.’

  ‘We’d better prefer to stay here with you. If we can,’ said Mrs Amos.

  It was an extraordinary testimonial, coming from Mrs Amos, but might present problems, the law being what it was.

  ‘We thought the doctor might have told you something of his intentions,’ Mr Moffatt said.

  ‘Not a word,’ Catherine said. ‘I don’t even know if he made a will.’

  She felt lost. Since coming to the Morgans she had learnt lots of things but nothing about death or its consequences.

  ‘Maybe Dr Talbot will tell us?’

  Unfortunately Dr Talbot proved unhelpful. Mrs Talbot had not been impressed by Catherine Haggard, who in her opinion had been far too open about her shameful past. Dr Talbot therefore found it politic to do nothing beyond signing the death certificate and agreeing to speak to the undertaker.