A Ring Through Time (13 page)

‘Is everything all right, dear?’ Mother swishes into the study, presumably with the idea of trying to calm things down.

I reflect on how greatly my father has changed since coming here. I never heard him lose his temper in Van Diemen’s Land, nor did I suspect how cruel he could be to the men in his care. I feel as if I no longer know my father at all. I wonder if my mother shares my feelings.

I creep back towards the study, hoping to find out if my father plans to carry out his threat against Rogers, and also against others who oppose him, such as Elizabeth’s father.

‘Damn that man and his impertinence,’ Father rages. ‘I tell you, Mary, he has to go. I will not have him questioning everything I do and sending letters of complaint to the archdeacon about me. All damned lies, of course. He has no idea how to treat these criminals.
The man has not got a brain in his head. He even had the hide to tell me I should show more lenience to those savages in the Ring.’ He gives an angry guffaw. ‘If I extended the hand of friendship to those hyenas, they would bite it off. Probably take my whole arm with it.’

‘There, there, dear.’ My mother has left the study door open and I can hear her quite clearly. ‘They cannot all be hardened criminals, surely? Did you not tell me there are some political prisoners here, from Ireland?’

My heart begins to thump.

Father gives an angry snort. ‘They are just as capable of fomenting trouble as any of the old hands. Especially that musician, the one they call Paddy. He is always complaining. One would think he had expected to find a holiday camp here rather than a convict barracks.’

‘Is he the convict who played the violin at the soiree and the dance?’

‘No, that was his brother, Cormac. He seems quiet enough. Keeps himself out of trouble anyway. But Alice had no business trying to make music with them. There are sniggers about it all over the island. She has shamed us all.’

‘I don’t think she intended it that way, dear. I expect she merely saw an opportunity to play her violin, just as she used to in Van Diemen’s Land.’

‘That wasn’t the same thing at all. She was playing with free men there, not convicts.’

‘But this convict is certainly an accomplished musician.’ Mother pauses and I hold my breath. ‘I wonder — but only with your agreement, of course, my dear — if we might ask him to tutor Alice?’

I dare not let myself hope. I clench my hands so tightly my nails dig into my palms.

‘I hardly think —’

‘Perhaps you have not noticed how unhappy Alice is here,’ Mother interrupts. ‘She misses the music and gaiety of Hobart Town. I worry about her low spirits, and believe that being able to play music again would cheer her enormously. Not in public, of course. Just in private, here with us. Would you permit it, John? I know it would make such a difference to her if it could be arranged.’

My hands squeeze tighter as I wait for Father’s answer.

‘It is not at all seemly for a convict to come into our home in order to give lessons to our daughter, Mary. I know Maconochie brought musical instruments out here, and encouraged the convicts to learn to play them, but I do not approve of the men playing music for pleasure — unless it is for our entertainment, of course. No doubt Maconochie would have allowed convicts to tutor his children — as Gilbert Robertson does even now for his family — but their ways are not mine, as you know.’

Father’s words feel like a blow. I crumple over, clutching my arms tight around myself for comfort. Gradually, I become aware that my mother is speaking again.

‘… and, of course, we have a trusted convict to look after William. No-one says anything about that. And no-one need know if Alice is being tutored in the violin. Perhaps you might consider it further, my dear? We do not want our daughter wasting away like the Robertson girl, do we?’

My mother’s footsteps nearing the door send me scurrying back to my bedroom. Once inside, I shut the door and lean against it. My whole body is shaking with emotion. It is kind of my mother to raise the possibility of what I most wish for, even though she did not succeed. Perhaps if I were to confide my unhappiness to my father, along with my regret for making a public spectacle of myself, it might encourage him to think more favourably of my mother’s suggestion. I decide that it is worth a try, and resolve to speak to him just as soon as an opportunity arises.

Thursday

My chance comes after breakfast today.

‘Father, I want to apologise once again for my behaviour at the dance,’ I begin. ‘I so badly wanted to play the violin that I gave no thought to your position here on the island, and how my actions might be viewed by others.’

Father’s only response is ‘Hmmph’. But he gives me a half-smile before raising his cup of coffee for a sip.

‘I feel sure that two of the convicts we saw unloading the cargo yesterday were the same men whose music entertained us at the soiree and at the dance,’ I continue innocently. ‘Were their crimes so very bad that they had to wear shackles? Surely the men could work far more efficiently if they were able to move freely under the loads they carry?’

Father’s smile changes to a frown. I quake inwardly under his hard stare.

‘Do not meddle in affairs you do not understand, Alice,’ he says,
and slams his cup down into the saucer. He stands up, brushing crumbs from his waistcoat.

I know I am foolish to continue but I am desperate to do whatever I can to ease Cormac’s plight. ‘Are they all just as bad as the old hands then? Do you have to treat them so harshly? When we visited Longridge with Mother, the convicts there seemed so much happier. And, although they move about freely, all seems very peaceful. No-one walks around armed all the time, as you do. Mr Robertson seems to have a very good relationship with the convicts under his charge, and I know they work well for him. Elizabeth was telling me how the crops have flourished and the yield has increased since her father took over the management of Longridge.’

Father glares at me a moment longer. Then he grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet. ‘Come with me,’ he grits through clenched teeth.

He marches me down the hallway and out of the house. The sentry salutes as we pass, but Father does not acknowledge him. ‘Your mother tells me you have been asking questions about the prisoners,’ he says, as we stride past the houses along Military Road and on towards Cemetery Bay.

A quick glance at the garden and fields tells me that the convicts are back and hard at work, but I dare not look too closely to see if Cormac is among them.

‘It is not your place to question me, but I shall show you anyway, if only to put these silly notions of yours to rest,’ Father continues. We pass the line of trees that mark the boundary of the cemetery and approach the bay.

‘There!’ He points towards a gang of prisoners on the rocky platform that stretches out into the bay.

They are bare-footed and painfully thin, and need to brace themselves against the waves that continually break and recede around their legs. Their heavy hammers sound a ragged chorus as they crash down, cracking the rocks into smaller pieces. I sense the agony behind each painful hammer blow, and wince in sympathy. The overseer cracks his whip, lashing the shoulders of the man closest to him. I notice with horror that the prisoners are hobbled in leg irons, a heavy chain looping from one to the other, keeping them tied together like animals. I imagine how the chains must be chafing their skin, the pain made worse by the wash of salt water. I swallow hard, wanting to close my eyes against the sight.

‘All convicts are blackguards, all pose a threat to our community, but these are the worst of the worst,’ Father says. ‘They are members of what is known as the Ring; dangerous criminals all — bushrangers, murderers, cattle thieves, robbers and pirates. All have just one aim: to escape from the island by any means available. These men have been here for years and they fear no-one. No risk is too great, and no life is sacred if anyone gets in their way. The other convicts live in fear of them for they have been responsible for all manner of low and despicable acts, from theft and murder to —’ He breaks off hurriedly. ‘To other acts not fit to be discussed in front of women. I am determined to break their spirits, Alice, and bring them to repentance and to God.’

‘Or to their deaths.’ I know I risk unleashing my father’s anger, but I cannot bear the sight in front of me.

‘Or to their deaths,’ Father agrees. ‘They will die here sooner or later, and it might be that they would prefer a quick death to this daily degradation. Of course, they may also choose to reform, if they so wish.’

‘And if they do, how will you know?’

Father smiles grimly. ‘I suspect there is little chance of that after all this time. But I have spies among the men. They tell me what is going on, knowing they will be rewarded for their information.’

I close my eyes. I can just imagine it: the tattle-telling in the hope of a reward, and the temptation to tell lies.
Oh, Cormac
, I mourn silently.
You have no place here, but there is so little I can do to help you
.

‘Open your eyes, Alice,’ Father commands. ‘I want you to think about what you are witnessing. On this small island, we are far away from the mainland and any help should the convicts rise against us — as they have done once already. Those wretches are still to be put on trial and punished. They will be kept in close confinement until the judge arrives to hear their case, which will be any day now. But that uprising has caused great unrest among the other inmates, and I mean to make sure that they have no further opportunity to run amok. This is why I keep the rest of the old hands hard at work and under guard. You must remember, Alice, that our struggle to stay alive is waged on a daily basis,’ he continues. ‘It is a hard struggle; harder for some than for others, I grant you, but all of it necessary.’

He points towards the men on the rocky outcrop. ‘This is the only way to get the materials we need to finish building the pier, to make it safer for the ships to stand at anchor. Someone has to do the hard
labour, and who better than these villains, who, after all, are reaping no more than they deserve. Do not waste your pity and tender heart on them. It is time you concentrated on finding a husband, so you may have a home of your own to keep you busy.’

I swallow past the lump in my throat, and blink back tears. I concentrate on a tiny robin red-breast that is bouncing along looking for seeds and insects among the grass. How merry it is; how I envy its lack of care.

‘I would rather return to Van Diemen’s Land where I might occupy myself with music lessons and playing the violin once more,’ I venture, hoping to make him understand the depth of my need so he will give me what I most want.

Father frowns. ‘I know you would like to take lessons with the Irish convict, Alice, but it is not seemly. I cannot allow it.’

I cannot give up my dream. I
will
not. I take hold of Father’s hand and squeeze it, trying to summon up the words that might convince him to allow me my heart’s desire.

‘I deeply regret what happened that night at the dance, Father, and I can assure you that it won’t happen again. But the convict who plays the violin is truly gifted. May I not have lessons with him? It would give me so much joy to play music again. If you wish, Susannah could learn too, so that we are chaperoned. Or Mother, or even a guard, could sit with us. No-one outside the family needs to know, if that is what you prefer.’ I’ll promise anything to see Cormac, and for us to play music together.

Father pats my hand. ‘I can see how much this means to you, Alice.’ He sighs. ‘Let me consider it a while longer.’

I bend my head so that he will not see how much I care, and smile my joy and triumph at the ground. ‘Thank you, Father.’

I know I should not say more lest he become stubborn and make a decision that cannot be overturned, but there is still a possibility that I may make things easier for Cormac and Paddy.

‘I heard that some political prisoners have been sent here,’ I venture. ‘Surely they have no place among criminals like those other men you told me about?’

‘I have no say in who is sent here, Alice.’

‘But you have a say in their future,’ I urge. ‘Why do you not give them their tickets of leave and let them go free?’

‘Because they are prisoners, just like any other.’

‘Are they such troublemakers then?’

I know they are not, but I want my father to acknowledge it.

‘Why do you concern yourself with the treatment of the convicts under my care?’ he asks. ‘Why do you continue to plead on their behalf when I have already made clear to you our position here on the island?’

I feel defeated by my father’s attitude, but I cannot give up without trying one last thing. Another commandant might show more mercy towards the convicts. It is all that is left to me in my wish to save Cormac, even though the thought of never seeing him again brings tears to my eyes. ‘Please, can’t we go back to Van Diemen’s land, Father? I hate it here!’

My father draws me close in a quick embrace. ‘I have a job to do. I cannot turn my back on my duty, Alice. Now, dry your eyes and put all this misery out of your head, my dear. I shall ask your mother to
invite some officers to call on us after church on Sunday. There are plenty of young men here to provide amusement and good cheer. You need to get to know them and give one or another of them a chance to win your love.’

I feel sick at the thought, but I say nothing.

We are heading for home when a gang of convicts comes into sight, marching towards Bloody Bridge. The convicts and their guard stop and salute when they see my father. The chief constable, Alfred Baldock, is with them.

Father waves a hand to dismiss me. ‘You go on, Alice. Mind you go straight home to your mother.’

I obey, but with a backward glance, curious to see what passes between my father and Baldock.

My father places his hand on the chief constable’s shoulder. I wonder at the gesture of familiarity, for Baldock is a ticket-of-leave convict and, according to gossip, utterly unsuited for the position to which Father has appointed him. It seems his experience as a convict has not softened his attitude to the prisoners’ hard lot, for he is always ready to recommend retribution for even the slightest infringement. Baldock is universally hated by everyone and I have heard several muttered complaints about him, although such whispers usually cease the moment any of us Bennetts appear. I wonder how my father can tolerate the man’s company. Perhaps Baldock is one of his spies along with all the other convict overseers, for Baldock is not the only convict to be promoted. Father has told us that gold has been found on the mainland and several junior officers have already left, in the hope of making their fortune in
the goldfields. With the growing shortage of officers, I suppose my father has to make use of those convicts who are coming to the end of their sentences. I shudder at the notion that Father’s spies might also keep watch on his family.