by Tom Keneally
‘The Chronicle offices aren’t safe,’ Cullen said. ‘Your boarding house neither. And probably not here, not for long. Best I could think of at short notice. Now, I want you to sit, both of you.’
‘I’m not much for sitting,’ said Hannah. ‘More of a pacer.’
‘Missus, you can pace to your heart’s content when this is over. But now I need you to sit.’ He bowed. ‘If you would do me the honour.’ He pulled a chair from behind Donnelly’s desk and gestured her to it.
‘I can’t promise I’ll stay still,’ she said as she sat. ‘The letters, the ones going to London – did they find them?’
‘No. Mr Donnelly paid a sailor to conceal them on his person. Miss Duchamp won’t stop looking, though. She’ll have plenty of time on the way to England.’
‘She’s never going to England!’
‘Oh, she is. She booked herself a passage, leaving tomorrow. Probably wants to be in London when the letters arrive, see if there’s any hope of intercepting them.’
I was transported for stealing butter, Hannah thought. But if you have a pretty dress and the right accent, kidnap and conspiracy get you a first-class cabin.
Peter climbed onto her lap with all the assumed ownership that Padraig had displayed at the same age. She put her arms around him, and he rested his head on her shoulder. She could see dark specks moving in his fair hair, but stroked it anyway; if there ever came a day when lice were the worst she had to contend with, she’d be delighted.
It occurred to her, suddenly, that she might be a grandmother. She knew what drovers did when they got to town. Padraig might not even know. She imagined a child with red-gold hair, trailing after its mother as she hung washing or peeled potatoes. Growing up without knowing about blood and bravery on the other side of the world, the pride and the pain that it brought.
Hannah only realised she was crying when a teardrop landed on Peter’s hair.
Cullen dragged a chair over from one of the children’s desks and placed it next to her. Sitting on it, he only came up to her waist, and could easily rest his chin on his knees if he wanted to. She smiled at him, but his look of concern did not flicker.
He took her hand in his. An intimate gesture, one she knew he would not have chanced unless he thought there was a need for it. ‘You’ve heard, then. About Mr Monsarrat.’
Hannah swayed in her chair, enough to make Cullen brace himself against her to stop her toppling to the ground with Peter in her arms.
She should never have let Monsarrat go alone. For such an intelligent man, he was awful at navigating the world, avoiding the rutted parts of the road. Sometimes she suspected he enjoyed the occasional bump. Some bumps, though, were lethal. Had they shot him? Was he now awaiting trial on some obscure charge that came with a death sentence?
Monsarrat had rescued her from the shapeless days as a servant, the ones that slid into each other, melded together in their uniformity so you didn’t notice them sneaking past two or three at a time, until so many had escaped that your son was suddenly a grown man.
‘Is he …?’ she whispered.
‘Not yet,’ said Cullen. ‘At least, well, I don’t think so. But Donnelly’s been flitting about these past few hours, and he told me the colonel has challenged Mr Monsarrat to a duel. One he has no hope of surviving.’
‘Do we have time to try to save him?’
Cullen was shaking his head. ‘The duel is at dawn. An hour or so from now.’
‘But, but then …’ She lifted Peter from her lap, gently put him on the floor and started for the door. ‘We must go now, Mr Cullen. If there is to be any hope at all.’
Cullen strode to the door and stood in front of it. ‘I can’t let you, missus. It’s too dangerous. And anyway, things are already in hand.’
‘Not in mine!’
‘But in the hands of others. Mr Donnelly and our visitor will follow Mr Monsarrat.’
‘Oh yes – the visitor. Who is it?’
‘Not sure, but Donnelly was watching the road to your boarding house in case someone came looking – and someone did. Donnelly didn’t tell me who. But he said he was confident this person could save Mr Monsarrat’s life.’
Hannah was still for a moment, then jinked around Cullen and made for the door.
‘I beg you, don’t follow them!’ Cullen called.
‘I’ve no intention of doing that. Just as I’ve no intention of allowing that minx to sail away to England without cleaning up her mess.’
Chapter 27
Monsarrat did not answer Duchamp’s gesture. His arm stayed dangling at his side. He loosened his fingers. The gun fell to the ground.
Duchamp frowned. ‘I can’t very well shoot you while you’re standing there unarmed, can I?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Monsarrat. ‘Of course, it’s not exactly honourable but perhaps your definition of honour is flexible enough to allow it.’
‘Pick up your weapon, man. Don’t die a coward.’
‘No intention of dying a coward. Or a criminal. I am a ticket-of-leave man, Colonel. Even if I were to survive, I would be quickly hanged if I injured you. So if I’m to leave this place in the back of a cart, or draped over a horse, I would rather not enter eternity with a fresh crime to my account.’
Duchamp lowered his gun slightly, shaking his head. He turned to Jardine. ‘Make him pick up the gun, Lieutenant. Tie his hand around it, if you have to.’ Duchamp turned back to Monsarrat, bending his elbow to aim at the sky. It would be the work of half a moment, of course, to straighten it again when Monsarrat was appropriately armed.
‘I will not, sir,’ said Jardine.
Duchamp stalked up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘That is a direct order, Lieutenant!’
‘I have never disobeyed a direct order in my life, sir. But this order, I cannot comply with. You are asking me to force this man to wield a weapon. I will not.’
‘Then I will shoot you as well!’ Duchamp screeched.
Bancroft stepped forward. ‘Colonel, before you do, may I suggest you wait until you know who is approaching?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, we are undisturbed – that’s why I chose this place.’
‘Yes, but listen,’ said Bancroft.
Duchamp did. So did Monsarrat. Hoof beats, getting louder.
‘They will surely pass by,’ Bancroft said. ‘But best not to alert them with the sound of a shot.’
So they waited as the hoof beats grew louder, until there was a rustling in the trees around the clearing, and the sound of whinnying.
‘Best lower the weapon for now, sir,’ said Bancroft quietly. ‘There’s no need for them to know what we are about.’
‘I’d say it’s perfectly obvious what you’re about,’ said Donnelly, stepping into the clearing. ‘You do have rather a taste for duels, Colonel.’
‘Perhaps you and I had better have one,’ Duchamp suggested, ‘after I dispatch Mr Monsarrat.’
‘I’ll thank you not to do that,’ said a voice from the trees.
To Monsarrat, the voice was jarringly out of place – he had only ever heard it within the confines of a small office.
‘Far more difficult than you’d think to find good clerks here. The government doesn’t transport nearly enough of them,’ said Ralph Eveleigh, stepping up behind Donnelly, a dusty travelling cloak around his shoulders. ‘Were it not for his copperplate hand, I’d say you can do what you like with the devil. But really, his loss would make my job much harder. Yours too, before you shoot him to spite me. Destruction of government property – something I never would have thought you capable of, until I read certain letters.’
Hannah had not reached the docks as quickly as she would have liked. Peter had made a sound that called her back, the wail of a boy who could not accept another loss.
She had gone to him, kneeled, hugged him. ‘You are the bravest boy I’ve ever met.’
‘I don’t want to be brave.’
‘Ah, but you can’t help it, you see? I
t’s like your big toe – you might not notice it, or think about it very often, unless you stub it, but it is always there, and you can’t separate it from yourself.’
‘You should stay here. Like Mr Cullen says.’
‘You and Mr Cullen will stay here, Peter. Look, you can practise your writing. Do me a drawing on the board – I will look forward to seeing it when I get back. And I will be back. But your captor is about to escape, and I can’t let her.’ Hannah released him then, stood up and looked at Cullen. ‘I have to do this,’ she said. ‘What they did to us – they called it justice. And if we deserve justice, so does she. I cannot continue to breathe the air of a world that would allow her to go unpunished.’
Cullen took her hand again. Looked down at it, as though trying to read a hidden message in the calluses of her palm. ‘I will not be able to stop you. Not without resorting to actions I’m not willing to take. Not without you hating me.’
Hannah smiled, shaking her head.
‘Off with you then,’ he said. ‘Give her the thrashing she deserves. And then come back. That drawing will be waiting for you.’
‘I promise.’ Without meaning to, she reached up and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘You’re not the worst of them, Mr Cullen.’ She turned once more to him as she left. He was smiling vaguely, rubbing his cheek, while Peter looked up at him, frowning.
The sight had helped her forget her exhaustion as she ran to the docks. But now, faced with a collection of ships of various sizes, all of them being loaded and unloaded by yelling men, she faltered. A dockworker came up behind her with a cart, nearly knocking her into the water. ‘No place for women, this,’ he called over his shoulder as he passed. ‘You need to be out of the way. Work being done here.’
She was tempted to whack him, but such an action might end with her in the water anyway. ‘I do beg pardon, sir, I’ll be more careful. I wonder, do you know which ships are bound for England?’
‘Do I look like the harbourmaster?’
‘I couldn’t tell you, as I’ve never met the man. Perhaps you could tell me where he is, though.’
‘Still home with his wife, most likely. Early, isn’t it? He doesn’t get here until the hands of his pocket watch tell him it’s seven. Leaves the rest of us to do the real work.’ He trundled on, barking at other workers to get out of his way, not slowing for anyone. Including a young servant who had just come down a gangplank and was nearly knocked off her feet by the cart.
Hannah walked slowly closer, looking around. Where the servant was, the mistress might not be far away. She nearly walked past the girl, who was still brushing down her skirts. Hannah stopped, gasped and turned. ‘Emily! How wonderful to see you! I had hoped you would be the one here.’
Emily bobbed down, her eyes darting around in case any other carts were plunging towards her. ‘Yes, missus,’ she said. She seemed ill at ease: perhaps it was the prospect – sprung on her – of leaving the familiar, or a recent dressing-down by Henrietta for some small infraction.
‘You needn’t curtsey to me,’ said Hannah. ‘I’m here as a servant today, not a mistress.’
‘Who are you serving?’ asked Emily.
Hannah paused, wondering if this was worth the risk. If Henrietta was aboard and saw her from the deck, Hannah might end up entering the water and never coming out. But Henrietta would surely not involve herself in the tedious business of stocking her cabin for a long voyage. She would likely arrive in state just before sailing.
‘The same person as you,’ Hannah said to Emily. ‘You’re making everything ready for the sailing?’
‘Yes. The mistress trusts only me with it, you see.’
‘And how exciting that you are also going! To see the country where your parents were born – very few get that opportunity.’
Another risk. But having heard Henrietta complain about the tediousness of training servants, she doubted the young lady would want to spend her time in England training another one.
‘And you know it’s a terribly long, tiring journey,’ Hannah said.
Emily nodded. Her eyes shone a little in the growing light.
‘Your mistress understands this. It’s a journey she has made herself, of course, and she knows about the importance of saying goodbye. She suggested I come and talk to you.’
‘But how could she? She is in her cabin.’
Already, thought Hannah.
‘Ah, this was a few days ago.’
Emily nodded.
‘And she knew that you’d be sad to leave your family, that you might appreciate the opportunity to bid them farewell. She’s asked me, you see, to come and finish the work of getting ready to sail.’
‘But she said I was the only one –’
‘It just shows the regard in which she holds you. She wants you to have this time. There will be precious little once you’re under way, I assure you. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it – is she a bit distracted, I wonder?’
Emily leaned in, employing the whisper of a servant gossiping about her mistress. ‘She hasn’t been herself, no.’
‘It’s disconcerting on the eve of a journey,’ said Hannah. ‘So much to prepare, and the worries about squalls and storms and God knows what else. But if you hurry, you can say goodbye to Susanna and your parents, and be back here in plenty of time.’
‘Perhaps I should ask her,’ said Emily. ‘I’d hate her to think I was deserting –’
‘You could,’ said Hannah, ‘but you said yourself, she is in a bit of a mood. She might change her mind.’
‘And you’ll thank her for me?’ said Emily, and Hannah nodded reassuringly. ‘I’ll be back soon, and she can send to me in the meantime if she needs anything.’
Hannah smiled, squeezing Emily’s shoulder. ‘Of course. I’d be happy to.’
Emily glanced up at the ship once more, as though expecting to see Henrietta on the deck. She bobbed another curtsey to Hannah, then walked up the dock as fast as her skirts would allow her. Hannah looked up at the ship, wondering how difficult it would be to find Henrietta’s cabin. Two young sailors were making their way down the gangplank, jostling each other and laughing, perhaps intending one last visit to a Sydney whorehouse.
‘You lads planning on having a good morning?’ she said as they passed.
They stopped, staring at her. The kind of men who had no place in their world for a woman of Hannah’s age, unless it was their mother.
‘You’d like a bit more money to spend, perhaps,’ she said.
‘And why would you give us some?’ said one of the sailors.
‘I’ve a message I need delivered. Before you get up to whatever you’re going to get up to, go to the schoolhouse behind the baker’s. Tell the man there that his friend is in the cabin, keeping a young lady company, and won’t leave until someone arrives to escort them safely.’
The sailor held out his hand. She extracted a shilling from the little pouch. She was about to put it on his outstretched palm when she snatched it back. ‘Now, how can I know that this is not just going to be spent, that you’ll deliver the message?’
‘Perhaps you’ll pay us more when we come back,’ the sailor said.
‘Oh yes, happy to provide another shilling if you can come back with proof you’ve delivered the message. But I should also let you know, I’m here on behalf of the government.’ Not actually a lie – the government had paid her passage to Sydney – but she was getting a little concerned by how easily these half-truths slid off her tongue. ‘I’m taking care of a woman who is very close to the governor. It is imperative for her safety that this message gets through. If it doesn’t, there will be consequences for those charged with delivering it.’
‘Well, you can rely on us,’ said the sailor. ‘We best go do it now. We might be a bit more forgetful later.’
Hannah nodded. ‘A fine idea. Bright lads the both of you, I can tell. Off with you now. Don’t get into any fights.’
The sailor chuckled and clapped his friend on the back,
and they walked up a dock that had seen its share of staggering sailors returning to their ships.
The last time Hannah had been on a ship this size, she had been in its hold. She breathed in and steadied herself, not knowing how she would feel if she saw redcoats on the deck. This was a merchant ship, though – no military. Just gruff and often toothless men tightening this and checking that.
The third one she asked jerked his thumb towards the rear of the boat. Expecting the cabin door to be locked, she was not quite prepared for the creak as it swung open. She closed it behind her and stood in front of it.
Henrietta was sitting with her back to the door, writing at a tiny desk under the cabin’s open hatch. ‘You have the ink, I hope,’ she said without looking up. ‘I must have enough for the voyage. God knows what the quality is of the stuff they have on board, if they even have it. Oh, and my quilt needs mending. There’s a tiny tear, it’ll drive me mad if it’s not fixed.’
‘Yes, you do like things just so, don’t you?’ Hannah said. ‘Whether it’s a quilt or a colony.’
Henrietta spun around. ‘Where’s Emily?’
‘Gone.’
‘You wouldn’t! You don’t have it in you. Don’t have the courage.’
‘Courage enough to escape from that little room. Why would you assume I’d done something to her? No, she is gone to see her family.’
‘She would never desert her post.’
‘She would if I told her that you’d offered her the opportunity to say goodbye.’
‘Why on earth would she believe something so ridiculous?’
‘Perhaps because she is under the mistaken impression that you view her as something more than a tool.’
Henrietta stood. ‘Kindly get out of my way.’
‘I’m quite comfortable here, thank you.’
Henrietta grabbed Hannah’s shoulders, trying to drag her from the door. Hannah calmly ground her heel into Henrietta’s foot.
‘Guards!’ Henrietta yelled. ‘Guards, I’m being attacked!’
Hannah laughed. ‘No guards here. Everyone’s getting the ship ready. And when they burst in and see me? Do you know what I will say?’ She deliberately thickened her Irish accent, pruning away the flat r’s and the clipped words and the tone that contained no music. ‘We’re sorry to have disturbed you, sir,’ Hannah said, talking to an imaginary guard over Henrietta’s shoulder. ‘My mistress – she has a nervous complaint, you see. Few people know of it, and I’d appreciate it if you could keep it that way. It’s just that sometimes she, well,’ Hannah leaned forward and whispered, ‘sees things that aren’t there.’