A Ring Through Time (11 page)

‘No, Alice. He won’t listen, he won’t understand. All he’ll do is punish you for talking to me. And punish me for talking to you. Please, you must promise you won’t say a word to him about me.’

I stay silent, mulling over the possibility of going through my mother to reach my father. I am almost sure my mother will understand.

‘Promise me!’ Cormac whispers fiercely.

‘I promise,’ I say, but cross my fingers behind my back. If the opportunity arises to say something to my father, I shall take it. ‘But Cormac, if you think of anything I might do to help you and your brother, you must promise me in turn that you will tell me.’

‘Indeed I shall, and I thank you for your care. It is true I would do almost anything to leave the island.’ Cormac’s voice becomes pensive. ‘Do you know, Alice, sometimes I lie awake in my hammock at night and listen to the waves crashing across the reef; waves that come from across the world where men are free and misery such as this is unknown. And I dream that one day a tidal wave will sweep over the wall and wash me away. The sea is my friend, Alice. For me, it means escape — and freedom.’

‘But you won’t try to escape, will you?’

I am instantly alarmed, for I have heard that those few who have attempted escape in the past have either died on the treacherous reefs that surround the island, or else have been captured and hanged.

Cormac looks up at me; the twinkle is back in his blue eyes. ‘I’m not so foolish. I know the penalty if I’m caught. Besides, I have a good reason now to wake up in the morning and start a new day for I have the hope that I may see you, fair Alice, and perhaps we may even have the chance to talk. But I must leave you now, because I’ve run out of plants and excuses to be over here. I shall try to return tomorrow. I’ll come for as long as you wish to see and talk to me.’

‘I shall always want to see and talk to you, Cormac.’ I keep watch as he walks off, then linger, not wanting the suspicious guard to see me leave. To pass the time, I make a quick sketch of the convicts at work. It is not very good, and so I try again with a subject closer
to my heart. Cormac. How I wish I had the skill to capture exactly those laughing eyes, that tender mouth. Despite my dissatisfaction with my efforts, it is some consolation to think I can take Cormac’s portrait home with me, although I shall have to keep it safely hidden. I add a few more pencil strokes to suggest the loose smock and straw hat he is wearing, and then peer through the hole once more.

The convicts are all hard at work and the guard looks half-asleep. Judging it safe to leave, I walk further along the hedge line so that I may emerge some distance away. Without looking back, I hurry home, hoping that I have not been observed by the overseer.

Before I enter the house I make ready my excuses in case my absence has been noticed. I shall say I was out taking the air, or perhaps that I was in my bedroom all along, writing my diary. I cannot show anyone today’s sketches! But I make a mental note always to take my sketchbook with me in future, and to draw a few scenes as an excuse for being out. I am no artist; these few sketches I have attempted attest to that. All the more reason, then, to keep practising!

Allie quickly turned the pages of Alice’s diary, curious to see if Cormac’s likeness was hidden there. The next page was covered with Alice’s handwriting, as was the page after that. Disappointed, Allie turned the diary upside down and shook it. A loose page at the back fluttered free and she snatched it up.

Alice had been telling the truth when she said she was no artist, Allie thought. The head was out of proportion to the chest, the nose slightly too large for the face. And yet Allie had
no trouble in recognising the subject, for it could have been Noah who stared out at her from the page. Laughing eyes, tender mouth … She was looking at an old-fashioned version of her schoolmate.

Allie blinked at the likeness. Her eyes felt gritty with tiredness, her mind swirled with impressions and emotions evoked by the diary. She couldn’t take in any more, not tonight. Carefully, she inserted the sketch into the back of Alice’s diary and then hid the book under her mattress, safe from prying eyes. She turned out her light.

Noah’s face came into her mind. Her last thought, before she fell into an exhausted sleep, was to question why he was wearing that smock thing and a funny hat.

‘Dad, how did we inherit Alice’s violin?’ Allie asked as she walked into the kitchen the next morning. Her parents were sitting at the breakfast bar.

Her father frowned. ‘Who’s Alice?’

Just in time Allie realised the minefield she was venturing into. ‘I don’t know,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I think I dreamed about her last night. She was playing the violin — my violin. So I wondered if she had any connection with our family?’

She looked hopefully at her father, but he shook his head.

‘I’ve never heard of another Alice in our family,’ he said.

‘So where did my violin come from then?’

Hugh Bennett buttered a slice of toast as he thought about it. ‘I’m not quite sure,’ he admitted, reaching for the
marmalade. ‘We’re descended from a William Bennett. Perhaps it belonged to him.’

Alice’s baby brother? Perhaps he had shared his sister’s love of the violin. Allie helped herself to cereal while she pondered her next question.

‘Do you know if William had any brothers or sisters?’

Her father smiled at her. ‘If he did, I don’t know their names. It’s good to see you taking our family history so seriously, Allie. You’ve never shown much interest before.’

‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’

Allie sat down and began to eat. She couldn’t risk asking any more questions, but perhaps Alice’s diary would provide the answers. She looked at her father. She couldn’t tell him the truth about John Bennett yet either, not without showing him the proof. But she wasn’t going to share the diary with anyone until she’d read through all of it herself.

‘Ready for school?’ Catherine Bennett asked as Allie pushed her chair away from the table. She frowned as she noticed her daughter’s shoes. ‘There’s a hole in your sneakers.’

Allie shrugged. ‘I’m doing a lot of walking these days. That’s why I need wheels.’

‘Until that happens you’d better have some new sneakers.’ Catherine thought a moment. ‘I don’t have any meetings this afternoon. Wait for me when the buzzer goes and we’ll go shoe shopping.’

Allie sighed. All she wanted was to get back to Alice’s diary. But it would have to wait. ‘Okay,’ she agreed.

It felt strange seeing Noah at school now that she knew so much more about his family. In a way it made her feel closer to him, as if there was an invisible thread connecting them. Even though he continued to ignore her, Allie sometimes caught him sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking — just as she sneaked glances at him. But on the one occasion their eyes met and she risked a smile, he immediately turned away without acknowledging her.

Once the buzzer sounded to mark the end of the school day, Allie joined her mother at the car. She felt like a little kid as her schoolmates roared off on their bikes, either alone or in pairs. No-one her age relied on a parent for a ride. She just hoped none of them would be hanging around the shops.

To her relief, the duty-free shops were crowded with tourists rather than locals. But when they returned to the car with the new shoes, Catherine Bennett said she needed to call into the supermarket. Allie’s heart sank. ‘I’ll walk home,’ she said.

‘Don’t be silly. It won’t take long.’

Catherine started the car before Allie had a chance to argue. When they arrived at the mall, Allie saw a number of students milling around the entrance.

‘I’ll wait in the car,’ she said quickly.

‘No, come and help me find what I need,’ her mother said, and strode off, leaving her no choice but to follow.

She tried to ignore the smirks of her classmates as she walked past. A quick glance confirmed that Meg wasn’t among the group. And neither was Noah.

Allie’s discomfort increased when a couple of littlies sang out a loud greeting to their teacher as she and her mother walked past the bakery. It’s like having your own cheer squad, Allie thought crossly, as she realised that their voices had attracted the attention of Noah and his mate Pont, who were standing at the counter. She was conscious of Noah’s gaze as she hurried past, and kept her head down to hide the tide of red creeping across her face.

The two guys were lounging outside the bakery, scoffing iced buns, when she and her mother emerged from the supermarket. Noah stopped eating for a moment. Without meaning to, Allie smiled at him. He gave her a reluctant grin in return.

Oblivious to the exchange, Catherine Bennett walked on, pushing the trolley full of groceries. Yielding to an impulse, Allie waited until she was out of hearing. ‘Noah, did Paddy or Cormac ever mention Alice … er …?’ She stopped, not wanting to add Alice’s surname.

‘Alice?’ Noah thought about it. ‘No, why would they? There were only male convicts here. You heard what Ms Elliott said.’ He frowned. ‘And why did you call him Paddy? His name was Padraic.’

‘I just thought he’d have a nickname, that’s all,’ Allie said quickly.

It was disappointing that Noah’s family didn’t seem to know anything about Alice either. Was that because her relationship with Cormac had never gone any further? Why not? She’d seemed pretty keen in her diary. A sudden thought sent icy fingers crawling up Allie’s spine.

‘What happened to Cormac? Why do people think they’ve seen his ghost?’ she asked.

Noah’s gaze hardened. ‘Because he died here. He was hanged without trial by John Bennett after being accused of something he didn’t do.’

Shocked, Allie stared at Noah.

‘But what do you care? You think John Bennett’s the greatest, don’t you?’ Noah pushed past her, dragging Pont along with him.

Speechless, Allie watched them go. Surely Noah had it all wrong. She could only hope that Alice would spell out the truth of what had really happened in her diary. She couldn’t wait to get back to it.

But Allie’s plans to hurry home were foiled when her mother insisted on stopping off for a coffee, followed by a browse around a craft shop. Once home, she demanded that Allie give her a hand with putting away the groceries and preparing dinner. Conscious of a pile of homework still waiting for her attention, Allie reluctantly decided that the diary would have to wait for another day.

It wasn’t until the following night that she was able to extract the book from its hiding place under her mattress and immerse herself in Alice’s story once more.

Wednesday

The wind kept me awake in the night, along with the roar of the surf crashing onto the reef. Even so, I am up early, concerned that the foul weather will keep the convicts away from the vegetable garden. But the storm has blown over and the sun is shining, although the white-capped waves tell me that the sea is still turbulent. As soon as I am able to get away, I hurry to fetch my sketchbook.

Questions run through my mind. I want to know all about Cormac and his family. What part of Ireland is he from? I know how long the brothers have been on the island, but what is their sentence? And is there any hope of remission? I wonder if it might be possible to find out from my father, without letting him know why I want the information. My spirits sink as I recall Elizabeth’s assertion that my father is all too ready to add extra time onto a sentence, and for the smallest infraction of the rules. I know I am jeopardising Cormac’s safety by returning to talk to him, but then I remember how deeply
my words affected him. I cannot deny him that comfort when he has made it clear that he wishes to see me.

Once outside, I head towards the far end of the bushy copse. I shall not risk walking to the allotment in so direct a line again. I glance over the wall and stop. There is no-one there! Are the convicts not yet started on their daily tasks? But I have already seen evidence of them going about their business in our home. Father keeps the convicts working from dawn until dusk, while the sun has now risen quite high in the sky. It seems that no work will be done in the garden today. Utterly downhearted, I retrace my steps.

Susannah erupts out of the doorway as I approach the house. ‘Where have you been?’ Without waiting for my answer, she continues, ‘I have been looking everywhere for you. I was afraid you were going to miss our outing.’

‘What outing?’ I could not care less about some new entertainment; my spirits are sunk low with disappointment.

‘We are to take a picnic up to Cascade Bay,’ Susannah says with relish. ‘Father has had word that the brig has been sighted at last. It was blowing too rough to come in at Kings Town so it has sailed on to Cascade. Some of the convicts have gone up there with the bullock carts to help offload the stores. We are to take the carriage, and a picnic lunch, to view the waterfall, and also to watch them unload the cargo.’

‘What fun!’

I hardly know what I am saying, I feel so cheered by Susannah’s news. Surely this must be why the convicts are not in the garden today. If they have been sent to Cascade, then perhaps Cormac will
be with them and I shall have a chance to see him again, and perhaps even speak to him.

‘What shall I wear?’ I ask my sister, looking down at my smart blue gown with its lace-edged collar. I wanted to look my best for Cormac, but it is hardly suitable attire for a picnic.

‘Why are you so dressed up anyway?’ Susannah asks.

I am annoyed then for calling attention to myself. ‘I was planning to pay a call on Mrs Butler,’ I lie.

Susannah looks instantly suspicious. ‘Without Mother? Why?’

I shrug. ‘Just somewhere to go, something to do.’

‘Well, you will probably see Mrs Butler at the picnic. Everyone is going — the officers and their wives, and all the children. Even William is to come.’ Susannah claps her hands in glee. ‘It will be just like our picnics in Van Diemen’s Land!’

I doubt it. Not with the possibility of seeing Cormac at stake. But I say nothing, and rush to my room to change. Another gown? A skirt and blouse? Finally I settle on a cream-coloured dress with long fitted sleeves, patterned in stripes of royal blue, the same colour as the ribbon on my bonnet. Is it too dull? I pirouette anxiously in front of the small mirror, taking comfort from the fact that the full skirt emphasises my small waist. As I decide it will have to do, I hear Susannah call me. I snatch up my sketchbook and leave the room.

We climb into the carriage and Mother gives instructions to the convict driver to move on. Father is not with us, preferring to travel to the site with his men. I wonder if Mother feels some relief at being outside too, for there is colour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Next to our feet is a large basket. My mouth waters as I imagine the
feast within, but then I feel ashamed as I recall the salt meat and maize porridge that make up the convicts’ daily rations. I imagine their food is almost inedible but, judging from the men’s skeletal appearance, I suppose it would be squabbled over and gobbled up, no matter how unappetising. A thought strikes me: if Cormac is there, perhaps I can slip him something to eat.

‘Do you like being here on Norfolk Island, Mother?’ I ask, yielding to a sudden impulse. I have the notion that perhaps it is not only the prisoners’ spirits being squashed here.

She settles William more comfortably on her lap, and rubs her cheek against his soft bright hair. ‘It is your father’s duty to be here, dear.’

‘But what about you?’ I persist. ‘Do you miss your home in Kent? Your family?’

Mother’s eyes mist over. I have the horrible feeling she is going to cry. I have never seen her weep before and regret that I ever started this conversation.

She gives a little sniff and regains her composure. ‘Yes, I miss my family. And I miss the misty mornings and the gentle light; the beauty of spring daffodils and bluebells, the deep green of summer, and the golds and reds of autumn. Most of all …’ She hesitates, glancing quickly at the convict who is driving us and the guard who sits beside him. ‘Most of all, I miss the freedom I used to have, being able to go shopping along the High Street, or call on friends, or ramble through the countryside picking berries and wildflowers,’ she says quietly.

‘Why don’t you ask Father to give this up and take us home?’ says Susannah. ‘I should like to go back to England.’

‘You were only a baby when we left, you can’t possibly remember what it was like!’ I say.

Even I, four years older than Susannah, have only a dim recollection of our old home. The memory of our nightmare voyage to Australia is far more vivid: months cooped up on a stuffy boat that heaved and tossed upon the sea; feeling sick and worried in case we caught one or other of the diseases that raged below deck. My most pleasant memories are of our home in Hobart Town and our life there.

My mother gives a weary sigh. ‘Your father will not leave the island. He is on a mission to save these lost souls.’

‘By beating them into submission?’ I say.

‘What gives you that idea?’ She frowns at me. ‘Your father knows best how to treat the convicts. You will do well to keep your opinions on these matters to yourself, Alice. You have already displeased him with your behaviour at the dance.’ Her mouth thins into a tight line.

I wonder if she is blind and deaf that she cannot see for herself what is going on here. And yet, I realise, I had managed to ignore the situation quite as successfully as my mother until I heard the convicts talking.

‘Oh, phooey,’ Susannah pipes up. ‘Must we talk about these sorry men when we are on an outing and supposed to be enjoying ourselves?’

‘You are quite right,’ Mother says. ‘Look around you, girls. See how beautiful this island is.’

It is indeed beautiful, I concede, as we wind our way north along the rough convict-built road that threads around and between the
green folds of hills. We enter a patch of dense forest. Sunlight sifts through the branches of the giant pines that grow everywhere on the island, sending shafts of light to dapple pools of gold on the needle-strewn earth. Twining vines lace through trees and tall ferns in the cool, dense undergrowth. There is a scent of moss and moisture in the air. A soft cooing comes to my ears. I look about and spy two emerald doves scratching through the leaf litter in their hunt for grubs. Above our heads, white terns flit among the tree tops like small, elusive angels. I close my eyes for a moment, breathing in peace and serenity.

From the forest we emerge into rolling pastureland where cattle and sheep are grazing. A large dewpond shines like a silver mirror in the sun, providing water for the animals. I marvel at the tranquil scene, so different from the tumult of Kings Town.

We have not travelled this way before, and from our vantage point I look with interest upon the three long prisoners’ barracks, weatherboard cottages and other buildings that comprise part of the settlement at Cascade. I spy a well with troughs beside it, presumably for the men’s ablutions.

Like Longridge, Cascade is an agricultural settlement, set up to grow cereals and vegetables to help feed the colony. Elizabeth told me that flax was once cultivated here, for the manufacture of cloth and canvas, but the plants had proved unsuitable for the purpose. Flax still grows wild around the island, but there are also lime, lemon and guava trees in abundance, along with Cape gooseberry bushes and sugar cane — food that augments the diet of those convicts who tend the sheep and cattle here and who have earned the privilege of being entrusted with this extra freedom.

We begin to wind our way down through the green hills, the road ahead now affording the occasional glimpse of sea shaded in colours of turquoise and blue. The water sparkles with diamond-bright lights in the sunshine. As we near the coast, I see the brig. It is moored beyond a rocky ledge that juts out of the sea. There is a crane fixed at one end, with men swarming all around. The brig’s crew is unloading the cargo while convicts and their keepers cart the sacks and crates across the wooden bridge that connects the landing rock to the shore. A line of open carts stands by on higher ground, transport for the goods that will be taken to Kings Town. The bullocks shift restlessly within their yokes.

I try to make out the men’s faces as our carriage turns, but we are too far away to see them clearly. To my dismay, our horse and carriage does not stop, the driver whipping the horse onwards.

I turn to my mother. ‘I thought we were going to watch the ship being unloaded?’ I am trying hard to hide my disappointment.

‘And so we are, but we are going to view the waterfall first,’ Susannah answers. ‘Don’t worry, Alice. They will be hours unloading that old ship. You won’t miss anything.’ She pokes me in the chest and laughs. ‘Are you hoping they will unload you a handsome beau from Van Diemen’s Land?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I say, but I blush under Susannah’s keen scrutiny. She cannot know how close she has come to guessing the truth. ‘There are beaux aplenty already on the island, but I don’t care for any of them.’ I am anxious to keep my secret from both my mother and my sister.

‘You have not had enough time to get to know anyone properly,’ Mother soothes. ‘Do not be too quick to dismiss future prospects, Alice. It is time you settled down to being a wife … and a mother.’

Susannah and I both groan in unison.

‘If I were a wife, I should make sure my husband found employment anywhere else but a penal colony,’ I retort.

Mother’s mouth tightens and I’m immediately sorry that I spoke so thoughtlessly, even though I meant every word.

Susannah is oblivious, more intent now on looking for the first glimpse of the cascade that gives the bay its name. ‘Where is it?’ She is bouncing on the seat in impatience as the carriage finally comes to a stop.

The guard indicates a tract of marshy ground ahead, bound on both sides by green hills. ‘This is the course of the waterfall, miss.’

‘But I can’t see anything!’ Susannah scowls in disappointment.

‘You’ll see the waterfall if you cross over here and follow that track, miss.’ The guard points in its direction, before jumping down to unfasten the steps.

Susannah accepts his helping hand and, without waiting for us, hurries towards the stream that threads through bands of rushes, straggling ferns and vines bedecked with large purple flowers. I follow more slowly with Mother, leading William by the hand. He squirms in my grasp, wanting to run after Susannah, but I keep tight hold, fearing that he might decide to run along the water course and disappear right over the edge.

There is little to see here. Resolved not to miss out on her treat, Susannah heads for the track that the guard indicated. I
am reluctant to follow, for the path is narrow and looks steep and slippery, and I fear for William’s safety. But at the suggestion he might be left behind, his face turns red and his lips tremble. I grab his hand once more before he can start to bellow and we set off after Susannah. I have to admit that the climb is worth it. The waterfall plummets over the black rocks of the cliff face in a continuous roar, throwing up a plume of white spray.

‘Oh!’ Susannah clasps her hands together and jigs around. ‘It looks just like bridal lace! Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘Indeed it is. Careful!’

I take a hasty step forwards to grab hold of Susannah who has moved closer to the edge in an attempt to see the full reach of the waterfall. I drag her backwards, and together we all walk along the edge a little further, hoping for an even better view of the cascade. I stand in silence for a moment, enjoying the beauty and tranquillity of the scene.

In the distance a pod of sleek dolphins leap gracefully through the water. How I envy their freedom to go where they will and without care. How I wish things were different and I did not have to go back to Kings Town.

Visions of a small bark hut nestled among pine trees run through my mind. I imagine preparing a meal harvested from the small vegetable garden I have carved out of the forest. Unbidden comes the image of a tall Irishman with laughing eyes. Perhaps he milks the cows and tends the pigs and fowls in an enclosure at the back. When he comes inside, we talk and laugh, and play music together. How happy we are, alone and free in this small corner of Paradise.

‘
No!
’ This will not do. I may be of an age to find a husband, but Cormac is beyond my reach. My father would never permit such a match.

‘No what?’ Susannah asks.

I hadn’t meant to say the word aloud, and I silently berate myself as I try to think of an explanation. ‘I was just wondering if this waterfall is ever a temptation to those poor wretches in the prison,’ I say. I notice my sister’s bewildered expression. ‘I mean, I wonder if they are ever tempted to throw themselves off the ledge, to bring an end to their misery. I’m sure I’d be tempted, if I was them. And then I said no. Because suicide is an offence against God,’ I add piously.