The prisoners, p.23
The Prisoners, page 23
Marlow came striding up and Tench said, “Ah, good. See if you can snap this spear shaft off, lad, and then get Mister Leach onto the litter. Have a care how you do it.”
Edward Abbott yielded his place to the convict, and the two officers moved out of earshot.
“Wasn’t Leach under orders to sail with your advance party for Norfolk Island?” Tench asked curiously. “On the Supply’s next voyage there?”
Abbott nodded, his blue eyes troubled. “Yes, he was – though he was doing his damnedest to get one of us to exchange with him. He had some ploy in prospect with Johnny Boddice... er... that is John Macarthur, sir. I’m not sure what it was – a partnership in a land grant wangle, I think, or something of the kind. You know the governor’s policy regarding our officers.” He sighed. “Well, the poor fellow won’t have to worry about going to Norfolk Island now, will he?”
“No, that he won’t. He’ll be deuced lucky if we can get him back to Sydney Cove.” Watkin Tench picked up the discarded musket, his mouth tightly compressed. He had never liked Jeremiah Leach and he did not greatly care for his prospective partner either but ... this was unfortunate and he found himself wondering why Leach should have chosen to go back to the village alone. Glory hunting or some less worthy motive, perhaps? There was no way of telling and, in any event, it was not up to him to delve any deeper.
But the governor, who set such store by the maintenance of good relations with the Aboriginals, would be greatly displeased by what had happened. Undoubtedly it would mean another punitive expedition.
From somewhere in the bush at his back he heard the strange bird the natives called a kookaburra emit its high-pitched cackle, sounding for all the world like demented laughter, and suddenly irritated, Tench thought longingly of his impending return to England. Another nine months or perhaps a year of this and then ... home. Home, God willing, before he became infected by this place and as demented as its infernal birds.
Marlow came to stand woodenly at his side, his dark, gypsy face devoid of expression. “The officer’s dead, sir,” he announced. “Shall we bring his body back with us?”
“His body? I ... yes, we must bring it... him back for burial.” Watkin Tench caught his breath and then said, “God rest his soul,” his voice as flat as Marlow’s had been.
Abbott glanced uneasily at the still figure on the litter and responded with a constrained “Amen.”
Chapter XI
Jenny heard the news of Jeremiah Leach’s death with curious indifference. Ned was now her sole concern, and his behavior was so erratic and unpredictable that she was kept in a state of constant anxiety. At first he had been an ardent lover, eager to please and acquiesce in anything she asked of him, but all too soon he began to take their relationship for granted, treating her with a casual possessiveness she found unbearably humiliating.
With the return of the Supply from Norfolk Island at the end of February, bearing Captain Hunter and the officers and men of the wrecked Sirius, Eliza and Charlotte achieved their hearts’ desire. Their seamen, William Read and Robert Webb, obtained permission to wed them and each was granted one hundred twenty acres of land between Rose Hill and Mount Prospect. With their departure, all the work of the garden fell on Jenny and Melia. Ned, claiming that he was fully employed on the government fishing boats, did little to aid them, and to Jenny’s chagrin he seemed – despite the example set by Eliza and Charlotte – more determined than ever to avoid the ties of matrimony. Her application for part of the land granted to Tom Jenkins depended on her marriage, and although she warned him that if she did not marry, she would be forced to abandon her claim, Ned was adamant.
“A plague on it, Jenny, I’m not cut out to be a soil-grubber,” he objected. “And if I wed you, that’s what I’ll be condemned to, sure as fate, with no chance of getting away from this damned hellhole! But I am going to get away; I’m going to escape from here if it kills me. I’d as soon be dead as spend the rest of my days here, so you may as well make up your mind to it!”
He was obsessed by the desire to escape, and unhappily, the work to which he had been assigned served to encourage his hopes. Aware of Jenny’s disapproval, he was secretive concerning his plans, but from the occasional hints he let slip – or confided to Melia – it was evident that there was a scheme afoot among the fishery workers to steal a boat ... a scheme in which Ned was deeply involved.
Such attempts had been made in the past, but almost all had ended in failure, and Jenny was not seriously alarmed on Ned’s behalf until, going down one evening in early March to watch the unloading of the day’s catch, she was shocked to see Johnny Butcher in the crew of the first boat to tie up at the wharf. He recognized her after a moment’s frowning scrutiny and raised a hand in greeting. Later, when the unloading was completed and Will Bryant, the convict superintendent, dismissed his crew, he came strolling over to join her, a pleased smile curving his lips.
“Remember me, Jenny Taggart?”
Jenny had not set eyes on him since the night that he and his companions had raided Tom Jenkins’s cabin, and she studied him with a certain hostility, noting the changes that time had wrought in him. His skin was deeply tanned and he still had an air of devil-may-care arrogance about him, but he was thin to the point of emaciation and the marks of fetters showed red-raw on his wrists and ankles, indicating that they had only lately been removed. Clearly he had been compelled to give himself up and had paid dearly for his few weeks of freedom in the bush.
“Well,” he prompted. “Do you remember me?”
“Yes,” Jenny admitted warily. “You’re Johnny Butcher. I remember you – have I not cause?”
“Aye, that you have, lass. But you’ll not hold it against me, will you?”
“Why should I not?”
“Because I’m begging your forgiveness,” he offered gravely.
Of what use was it to bear a grudge? Jenny hesitated and then, with a reluctance she could not hide, shook her head. “You didn’t get to Timor, did you?” she challenged, recalling the boastful claims he had made as justification for the raid and, when it came to that, for his companions’ brutal attack on poor Tom. “You never made your escape, for all your bold talk, so it was all in vain. You –”
Johnny Butcher cut her short, his voice low and intense. “It was not in vain, Jenny – we’re going to Timor, never fear. Our sailing had to be delayed because some of our plans went awry and we could not stay in the bush any longer. Starvation and those bloodthirsty Aboriginals beat us. They killed Jack Mercer and Toby Locke, and Black Caesar and Jim Clarke were taken by the lobsterbacks so that only left Nat Lilley and me. We had to give ourselves up when we ran out of powder and shot – we had no choice.”
“And you were flogged for your pains,” Jenny suggested, still bitter. “Flogged and fettered! Yet you go on talking of escape.”
He flashed her his arrogant smile. “We chose our moment to return – the governor declared an amnesty to celebrate the colony’s third year. They kept us in fetters for a couple of months but they didn’t flog us, praise be! And then Will Bryant had us assigned to his boat, all nice and legal. So we’ll be going any day now, granted a modicum of luck. There’s only one thing lacking now – a compass. But Will knows where he can lay hands on that.”
“Will Bryant?” Jenny echoed incredulously. She thought of Ned and drew in her breath sharply. Was it with these madmen that Ned intended to make his bid for freedom, she wondered dully. Was he, too, mad enough to believe that he could reach Timor in a small boat, across three thousand miles of ocean? She had not supposed that any of the men who had raided Tom’s small holding would be among the escapees and, least of all, that Will Bryant, the trusted convict whom the governor himself had appointed to superintend the fishery workers, would be party to the venture. “Is Will Bryant going with you?” she asked, a catch in her voice.
Johnny Butcher nodded. “Of course – he always was.”
“But he’s married – he has a wife and children here!”
“Aye, so he has ... and he’s bringing them with us.”
“He must be out of his mind!” Jenny exclaimed, shocked. She hesitated, biting her lower lip. But she had to know, she told herself, and asked uncertainly, “And Ned – Ned Munday – is he going with you?”
His bold blue eyes met hers in thoughtful question, then he shook his head. “Not if I can help it. Oh, he wants to right enough, but I don’t trust him to pull his weight. Munday’s an idle rogue, unreliable and out only for himself – we can do without his kind. Although Will Bryant –” He broke off, frowning. “None of this will go any farther, will it, Jenny?”
“No,” she assured him. “Of course not.”
He beckoned her nearer, and she came, conscious of the strong magnetism he possessed. She had felt it, all those months ago, in the hut at Rose Hill, she remembered, but then her anxiety for poor Tom and her fear of Nat Lilley and his companions had deadened her response to it. Yet he had made an impression on her, even then; certainly she had never forgotten him and, had the circumstances been different, would have been pleased to see him again.
“Will is putting Munday to the test,” Johnny told her, lowering his voice. “If he fails it, he’ll not be coming with us.”
“Putting him to the test? What do you mean?”
“I can’t tell you that.” His strong brown hand reached out to take hers, drawing her yet closer and, to her own surprise, setting her heart beating wildly. Confused, she attempted to free herself, but he kept her hand imprisoned, looking down into her face, his own suddenly grave and pensive. “Jenny, this is no madcap venture, I give you my word. We shall make it to Timor, never fear.”
“But it’s so far,” she demurred. “How can you hope to go so far in a small boat?”
“Aye, three thousand miles. But” – Johnny’s smile returned, mocking her doubts – “we shall have charts, a compass, and a quadrant, and I’m a fair hand at navigation, like I told you before. We’ll be close enough to land for most of the passage to enable us to take our bearings and replenish our water and supplies. And we’ll have a good boat, the best there is. It may take us three or four months but what’s that, what are three thousand miles, if there’s freedom at the end?”
Like Ned, Jenny thought wretchedly, whose only dream was of escape, Johnny Butcher did not care how high the risk was or count the cost of failure. He had paid it more than once already and now ... now he was again putting his life in the balance. His life and Ned’s, if they permitted Ned to join them – and, despite his opposition, she had little doubt that they would. Will Bryant was a friend of Ned’s; test or no test – whatever that might entail – Bryant would speak up for Ned. He –
“Come with us, Jenny Taggart,” Johnny suggested unexpectedly! “Why don’t you? Mary Bryant would be glad of another girl’s company. And as for me, why” – heedless of who might be watching them, he took her in his arms, his hard, muscular body pressed against hers – “I’d be for taking you – aye, that I would! I’ve fancied you since the first time we met.”
“Oh, please!” Jenny struggled against him. “Let me go, I – let me go, Johnny!”
He laughed. “Nay, I’m serious – I mean it, lass. If it would set matters right for you, we could wed be fore we sail. Hell, what’s there to lose? We’d get home from Timor – don’t you want to go back to England?”
Breathless, she whispered, “Yes. But there’s Ned. I ... let me go. Please, I –”
He stiffened and released her. “What’s Munday to you, plague take him? I asked you to join us, I offered to wed you, did I not?” His tone was harsh. A hand beneath her chin, he forced her to look at him. “Or did he ask you first, Jenny? Is that it?”
A wave of color flooded Jenny’s cheeks. Ned hadn’t asked her either to wed him or to join the escape attempt, she thought wretchedly. Until now she had supposed that no women were to be included. Tears came to ache in her throat, and it was all she could do to hold them back.
Johnny Butcher swore softly and vehemently, but then his anger faded. He laid his hands on her shoulders quite gently, and there was a gleam of what might have been pity in his blue eyes. “I thought his girl was the dark lass – the one they call Melia Bishop,” he said. “She’s been with him a time or two when we’ve been talking over plans with Will and the others.”
Aware of this, Jenny nodded but said nothing, and he went on, “You made a grave error, choosing Ned Munday, Jenny. He’s no good to you and I swear he never will be.”
“I – I’ve known him a long time,” Jenny managed. “Since we were children. And he came out here in the Neptune – I had to take care of him. He would have died if I hadn’t.”
“And you don’t fancy the idea of him coming with us to Timor?” Johnny suggested. “You want him to stay?”
Did she? Jenny wondered. Did she really want Ned to stay? “I don’t know,” she confessed. “If he’s made his mind up, I would not try to keep him here against his will. But for his sake –”
“You could settle it by coming in his stead, lass. There’s still time, and I still want you.” The look in his eyes told her that this, at least, was true, and for a moment she was tempted. What, after all was said and done, had she to lose? Was shipwreck more to be dreaded than the drudgery of this place? The new life she had tried so hard to build was still only a hope, growing fainter, and compared with this man, what had Ned to offer? Not even loyalty, it seemed, and certainly not love. Yet ... Jenny drew in her breath sharply. It was Ned who dreamed of escape, not she. If she accepted Johnny Butcher’s strange proposal, would she not be robbing Ned of the one chance he had?
She started to tell him so, but he silenced her with a raised hand. “Think on it, Jenny.”
Without waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel and went striding purposefully away across the wharf.
In the hut he shared with Jenny, Ned took the locket from its hiding place and went to the door to examine it the better in daylight. It was a good piece, he decided, eyeing it critically, and she had cared for it well – not a single stone was missing from the circle of brilliants by which it was surrounded. He opened the frame carefully and removed the faded scrap of blue ribbon it contained – God knew why the little fool had chosen to frame so torn and tarnished a relic! Sentimental reasons, probably. He let the ribbon fall and was closing the delicate catch on the locket when Melia came to stand beside him, emitting a little gasp of dismay.
“Ned – that’s Jenny’s locket! The one thing above all others that she treasures. What are you doing with it?”
He thrust the locket quickly into the pocket of his trousers. “I gave it to her,” he retorted defensively. “And I need it.” He had not expected Melia or, indeed, Jenny herself to be here at this hour; normally they put in an hour’s work at the fishnets just before sunset, prior to cooking the evening meal, and he was disconcerted, aware that Melia would reproach him if she were to guess his intentions.
“Why do you need it?” Melia asked. He shrugged, and she said accusingly, “You stole it, didn’t you?”
“And if I did? I can put it to better use than Jenny does, plague take it!”
“What better use?” Melia persisted.
Net laughed and put an arm round her slim waist. He was aware of the attraction he had for her but aware also that Melia was ashamed of the feelings he could arouse in her, and was fiercely determined not to yield to them. She was a lady born, he thought derisively, and fastidious. No unwashed convict soil-grubber or drunken marine for the Lady Melia; but he himself, because he was always clean and well shaven and could ape the manners of the gentry when he chose, had a certain appeal, even to her. But she was loyal to Jenny, bound to her by the strong bonds of a friendship forged in adversity, and on the few occasions when he had ventured to take liberties with her, he had sensed her inner conflict. He could snatch a kiss and feel her hunger, her desire, but in an instant it was stifled; she would turn on him resentfully, and he, wise in the ways of women, would make a jest of it, pretend casualness and pass it off thus, leaving her feeling both guilty and unsatisfied.
He held her to him now, his mouth seeking hers, and for a moment she let herself relax against him, and desire flamed in them both, mutually and swiftly communicated. Then Melia thrust him away, her cheeks flaming, and Ned, in no way disconcerted, roared with unseemly laughter and left her to what, he knew, would be a torment of her conscience. At least, he told himself smugly, his ploy had caused her to forget the locket, and by the time she remembered it and told Jenny, it would be long gone.
Will Bryant was waiting for him in Cockle Cove, the skiff he kept for his own use drawn up on the sandy beach. He was a tall, good-looking man, a fisherman by trade, and anxious that they should not be observed, he came at once to the reason for their meeting.
“Here you are,” he said and counted five gold sovereigns into Ned’s hand. “That’s the agreed price. But Detmer Smith’s a slippery customer – make sure he doesn’t cheat you.” He issued crisp instructions to enable Ned to ascertain that the instrument he was to buy was in working order and added warningly, “Better do this right, Ned lad – we can’t leave till we get that compass. And if you slip up, Johnny and Nat say you’re out. They don’t want to take you along with us anyway, as you very well know.”
Ned nodded sullenly. “Bad cess to both the bastards then! Why don’t you leave them behind?”
“Because Johnny’s the navigator – the only one we’ve got,” Bryant retorted impatiently. “I can handle boats but I can’t plot a course to bleeding Timor. All right – off you go. Smith’s expecting you, and Nat and Johnny will be waiting for you here when you get back. Give them the compass and the charts and then make yourself scarce – they’ll take the skiff and stow it away.”
