A Ring Through Time (12 page)

Susannah looks bewildered, but Mother gives me a sharp glance. ‘You seem very concerned about the convicts’ welfare all of a sudden,’ she observes. ‘Why is that, Alice? You never remarked upon them while we were in Van Diemen’s Land.’

I did not know Cormac then. And it was much easier to ignore the situation there. But I can’t do that any longer
.

‘Don’t you ever think of the convicts and their life here, Mother?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you ever feel pity for them?’

‘It doesn’t do to dwell on it, Alice,’ she says severely. ‘These men have sinned, and now they are paying the price for that sin. There is no more to be said about it.’

Yes, there is
. But it is clear to me that I cannot take my mother into my confidence, nor can I expect Susannah to understand. I feel suddenly oppressed, and wish fervently that I had never stopped to listen to a conversation not meant for my ears, or played my violin with a man whose music sings to my soul. But even as I think it, my
treacherous heart quickens in the hope that he might be here even now, helping to unload the ship, and that I might see him soon.

‘Shall we go back?’ I say. ‘I am interested to see what cargo the ship has brought. Perhaps there is something pretty that we might purchase from Mrs Shields.’

The chief gaoler’s wife keeps a small shop in her home, which she stocks with whatever supplies she is able to glean when ships call in — pins, needles, buttons, thread, pretty fabrics and a small selection of household goods. It is one of our few pleasures to walk out with our mother and a guard to purchase some small oddment we need.

‘The other families should be there by now,’ Mother agrees.

Taking William’s hand, she leads the way back to the carriage where the guard and convict driver await us. I smile at the driver as he offers me a helping hand into the carriage and thank him. Mother gives me a hard stare as she, in turn, takes the driver’s hand. She neither thanks him nor acknowledges him with any word or gesture as he passes William up into her arms. I wonder how I could have been so blind that I did not notice before my family’s treatment of these miserable wretches. Yes, my father has a position to maintain on the island — he impressed that on us when we first arrived. But surely we may still observe the small courtesies; an acknowledgment that these are men and not animals.

A dog or a cat, even a sheep or a cow, would receive better treatment, I think, and feel ashamed of my family and also of myself. I understand now that Cormac has changed my way of seeing things. Although he is a prisoner and bound by chains, he has unchained my eyes — and also my heart. It is a terrible realisation that I can
never go back to my old way of seeing things. And I know also that I shall not rest easy unless I try, in my own small way, to unchain my father’s eyes in turn.

Meanwhile, there is the prospect of seeing Cormac among the convicts unloading the ship and perhaps even the possibility of a few stolen words, for there is a question that I need to ask.

The officers’ families are gathered in a clearing close to the line of bullock drays, looking towards the ship at anchor and the loading platform set on the rocky reef. There is a great hustle and bustle as goods are piled into nets and lowered into small boats, which ferry the cargo across to the loading platform. There the nets are picked up by a crane and swung onto the bridge that connects the loading platform to the road. Overseers unlash the nets and transfer the sacks, boxes and crates inside to the convicts, who carry the goods to the bullock drays. One of the overseers carries a whip and seems unafraid to use it. He lashes out at one unfortunate wretch, who must have dropped a crate onto his toes judging by the howls of pain emanating from him. The convicts move more slowly than their heavy loads seem to warrant and soon I realise why: they are shackled in chains. I suppose this is to stop them making a dash for the sea and freedom.

As I accept a plate of chicken, bread and fresh greens from my mother, I keep an eye open for Cormac. I am uncomfortably aware of the hungry gazes of the laden men as they pass us by and am tempted to offer them the food from my plate. But I do not, knowing such an action would cause a riot and bring down upon my head the full force of Father’s wrath.

I recognise Padraic and my gaze sharpens as I look around for Cormac. Two overseers struggle to lift a wooden crate out of the net. They transfer it into the arms of a waiting convict, who almost drops it. I see the strain in his arms and back as he staggers across the bridge and shuffles towards the carts. To my relief, he is not Cormac. A convict moves up in line to take his place; behind him is Cormac. I wonder how to find an opportunity to speak to him. I am determined to try. I mutter an excuse about wanting to find some shade and move away as unobtrusively as possible.

‘Where are you going?’ Susannah says. She springs up to join me without waiting for my reply. I want to scream, but cannot. We settle in a spot closer to the track along which the men are shuffling with their burdens. There is no shade, but that can’t be helped. I wait, biding my time until the last possible moment, then I jump up and approach Cormac.

‘I am happy to see you here today,’ I whisper. ‘Please, tell me: what is your sentence? How long will you have to stay here?’

‘For life, unless your father leaves and Maconochie’s allowed to come back,’ Cormac replies, and shuffles on, bent almost double by the weight of the box on his back.

Devastated, I stare after him. I jump when I hear Padraic’s voice. I had not realised he was next in line.

‘Leave my brother alone, mistress,’ he hisses, his lips barely moving. ‘You’ll only cause trouble if you draw attention to us.’

He scowls at me, and labours on. I stare after the brothers, feeling desolate. A life sentence! How can I bear it? How can
they
bear it?

‘Why are you talking to the convicts, Alice?’ Susannah’s voice buzzes in my ear.

I turn quickly to hush her. ‘It was a simple enquiry, that’s all. I asked what goods they are unloading and they told me they don’t know.’

I know that Padraic is right: I risk Cormac’s safety by talking to him. But Cormac has told me it is worth the risk. I cannot give up on him; nor on my hope to intercede on the brothers’ behalf.

Susannah pulls on my arm. ‘Let’s go and talk to the Robertsons.’

I nod, glad of the distraction; glad also to have the opportunity to smooth things over with Elizabeth. I enjoy her dry wit and her wicked way with words, and the misunderstanding that seems to have arisen between us distresses me. The Robertson girls are some distance away, sheltering in the shade of a lone pine. Elizabeth is reclining on a blanket. She looks pale and out of sorts. As she notices our approach, she props herself up on one elbow.

‘Are you not well?’ I ask, remembering her absence from the dance.

Elizabeth shrugs.

It is her sister, Aggie, who answers. ‘She has a bad cough and complains of palpitations. Mama is worried about her. We all are.’

Elizabeth’s eyes flash a warning. ‘My health is not an interesting subject.’ She turns to me. ‘I saw you talking to that convict just now. Why?’

I repeat the lie I told Susannah, wondering at the nature of a community where even speaking to a convict excites suspicion.

Elizabeth surveys me thoughtfully. ‘Poor wretches,’ she says. ‘Your father is a hard taskmaster.’

‘I know that now,’ I reply, embarrassed. I feel in some way responsible for my father’s behaviour, and wish that I could feel more proud of him.

‘Father is just doing his job,’ Susannah says tartly.

Elizabeth nods. She begins to cough and turns her head aside, fumbling for her handkerchief. I watch in alarm as she bends over and gasps for breath. My fear deepens when I notice a splash of red on the hastily folded handkerchief that she thrusts into her pocket after the spasm is over. I open my mouth to say something, but Elizabeth’s frown warns me to keep silent. Instead, I launch into an apology.

‘I am sorry if I offended you the last time we spoke.’

I don’t want to go into detail in front of Susannah. Elizabeth seems to understand.

‘I think we must accept that we have differing views on certain subjects,’ she says.

‘I have heard and seen enough now to know that we are closer in opinion than you might think,’ I say. ‘But there is the question of loyalty, you see.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Susannah asks.

‘My parents are thinking of giving a party at Longridge to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary,’ Elizabeth says.

It is a successful diversion. Susannah claps her hands together, not noticing that her question has not been answered.

‘A party! Shall we be invited?’

‘Of course,’ Elizabeth says. ‘That is if your father accepts our invitation.’

‘Why should he not?’

Elizabeth shakes her head, looking unhappy.

‘Of course he will,’ Susannah cries. ‘He knows how we value any opportunity for entertainment on the island.’

‘It will be great fun,’ Aggie chimes in enthusiastically. ‘Mother has invited Captains Hamilton and Cockcroft and Lieutenants Edwards and Simmons. Mr Rowlands will also be there, and several other gentlemen too. Including Jack Cartwright, Alice.’

I put a hand to my mouth to hide my smile. It seems that Mrs Robertson and our mother share at least one thing in common: the desire to marry off their daughters.

‘I am certain it will be a great bore,’ says Elizabeth.

‘Nonsense,’ says Aggie. ‘Mr Rowlands seems quite smitten with Meg, as does Mr Padbury with Ann. You could have a beau too, sister, if you would only care to make yourself agreeable.’

‘I am not in the least interested in Mr Padbury!’

Ann’s indignant retort goes unnoticed as Elizabeth rounds on Aggie.

‘Mr Rowlands is a jackass. And so are all the others.’

‘Elizabeth!’

‘I amuse myself well enough,’ Elizabeth says, adding with a twinkle, ‘And I usually do so at the gentlemen’s expense.’

‘Elizabeth! How could you?’

Elizabeth frowns at Aggie. ‘You are most welcome to make yourself agreeable, as you call it, to any of the gentlemen who keep bothering us with their attentions. As for me, I have no plans to be married any time soon. I am enjoying my life far too much to subjugate myself to a husband’s whims and fancies.’

Aggie rolls her eyes and turns away. I look at Elizabeth, wondering how she can joke about love, about the future, when she seems so very ill. But perhaps she already knows her future and has come to terms with it. Perhaps her jokes are a way of warding off sympathy and also a way to avoid making any long-term plans. I feel an intense pity for my new friend, and great concern for her welfare.

Despite my care for Elizabeth, my gaze keeps straying towards the ship and the convicts unloading the cargo. When she speaks again, I realise that she is also watching them.

‘Villains they may be, but you have to feel sorry for their hard life. Reverend Rogers was speaking to Papa just two nights ago about his concerns over the change in management of the convicts since your father took over. So you see, Papa is not the only one to have doubts. His treatment of the convicts at Longridge has proved highly successful, yet your father has ordered that the convicts’ gardens are to be destroyed and that closer watch must be kept on the shepherds and stockmen for, in his view, they have far too much freedom. He has threatened Papa with dismissal if his orders are not carried out. We are all very worried about it.’

Elizabeth hesitates for a long moment. I glance at Susannah; she is chattering to Aggie. No-one is listening to us.

‘Perhaps you could speak to your father, Alice?’ I see the cost of this request to Elizabeth’s pride. ‘Could you ask him what his plans are for Longridge, and put in a good word for us? He might listen to a favourite daughter.’

‘Not so favourite these days. Not after what happened at the dance.’

Elizabeth laughs. ‘I heard about that. It was a brave thing to do, Alice, but foolish, I think.’

I smile. I am not going to contradict her. Besides, I suspect I detect admiration in her tone.

‘Nevertheless, could you ask about Longridge without saying why you want to know?’ she continues.

I hear the anxiety in her voice, and understand now what prompted the earlier misunderstanding between us.

‘I shall do my best,’ I promise.

I have every intention of keeping my promise to Elizabeth, but my courage fails me when, on our return from our outing, I hear the sound of raised voices coming from Father’s study.

‘You have no right to interfere with my command here!’ Father shouts. I wonder who he is talking to as he continues. ‘How dare you write a letter of complaint to Archdeacon Marriott about my treatment of the prisoners. How dare you go behind my back like that!’

I hear the low rumble of a reply, and creep closer to the study door.

‘Never you mind how I found out. There is not a lot that happens on this island without my knowledge. You will do well to bear that in mind. And you may be quite sure that I shall refute all your allegations. More, I intend to recommend your dismissal. I cannot have you undermining me in this manner.’

There is another low mutter that I cannot hear, even with my ear to the door. Father’s responding roar gives me such a fright that I jump back and almost fall over.

‘Don’t you talk to me about that fool Maconochie! It is because of him and his idiotic ideas that things became as bad as they did here. That is why I must take a firm hand with the convicts. I tell you, Rogers, I have had enough of your interference. You are as bad as my predecessor and that numbskull Robertson, and I want you off this island. I shall write to Sir William Denison and urge him to order your instant dismissal. Now get out of my sight.’

There is the rough scrape of a chair across the floorboards. I spring away from the door and scuttle down the passage into my small bedroom. After the footsteps have passed my door, I peep into the hallway. The retreating figure is Reverend Rogers. I have heard Father grumble about the cleric in the past, but it sounds as if, this time, Rogers has gone too far.