CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When Flynn returned to the Whaler’s Arms two days later, I pulled my hands from the wash trough, wiped them on my apron and told him I would be most happy to become his wife. He took my water-creased hand in his, planting a small kiss on my knuckles.
“I’m very glad of it, my dear. I’m certain we will have a happy life together.”
The following morning I met him outside the Whaler’s, to begin a backwards courtship. Despite the heat, Flynn was dressed in a neat black frock coat, a pale blue scarf at his throat. Beneath his top hat, his grey hair was combed neatly.
Waiting beside him was an older woman in a dark dress and mobcap. She stood with her eyes down, hands folded in front of her. I smiled to myself that Flynn had thought to bring a chaperone. I had come to believe such traditions outdated after I’d been reduced to dressing under a blanket while lying on Blackwell’s floor.
Though the woman’s face was half hidden by her cap, I recognised her at once. Ann and I had made the journey to New South Wales together, crammed into the convict’s quarters of the Norfolk. She’d been taken from the ship the day we arrived. Taken, I saw now, by Arthur Flynn.
Ann’s eyes flickered with recognition. And resentment. She bobbed her head in greeting, but didn’t say a word. I wondered if my husband-to-be knew he had walked right past me on the deck of the Norfolk and not looked twice.
Flynn smiled, broad and genuine, the creases beside his eyes deepening. “I’m very pleased to see you,” he told me. “I thought perhaps a walk this morning? There are fine views to be had from Point Maskelyne.” And off along the waterfront we went, my hand folded into my betrothed’s arm, and Ann clomping along sulkily behind us.
We followed the curve of the sea up to a small stone structure on the headland. It looked out across the glistening puzzle of coves to where the Parramatta River spilled into the open ocean.
“Here now,” said Flynn. “Dawes’ observatory.”
I peeked out from beneath my bonnet. “An observatory? How wonderful.”
I thought of the astronomy lessons I’d had as a child, in which my tutor had painted a faraway world of comets and stars and planets that circled the sun. Against the limitlessness of the universe, England didn’t feel quite so far away. I was surprised to find myself thinking such things. When I’d first climbed onto the Norfolk, New South Wales had felt more distant than the moon.
Flynn smiled as I shared my thoughts. “Well of course it feels that way,” he said, as he squinted out over the ocean. “After all, one can see the moon from the streets of London. But they cannot see New South Wales.”
I felt comfortable with the man, I realised. Certainly more comfortable than I had when I’d first been betrothed to Jonathan as a mindless scrap of twenty. Back then, I’d been terrified of putting a foot wrong. I’d answered questions the way I thought he wanted them answered, and kept the less agreeable parts of my personality well hidden. But Arthur Flynn knew I had put enough feet wrong to be thrown onto a prison ship and he still wanted me as his wife.
“Where is home?” he asked me. And, “Have you ever been betrothed before?”
I told him then, in vague, broad strokes, about my marriage to Jonathan. About my inability to provide him with an heir.
Instead of the displeasure I was expecting, Flynn ventured a small smile. “Well,” he said, with a shyness that was almost endearing, “perhaps you and I will have more luck.”
I felt emboldened enough then to ask that that had been rolling around in the back of my mind since I’d agreed to become this man’s wife.
“There’s a woman I was at the factory with,” I said carefully. “Her husband threw her out and she’s fallen upon hard times. I wondered if perhaps there might be a position for her in your household.”
A flicker of disappointment passed over Flynn’s eyes. Disappointment that I’d brought my convict past to the table so early in our courtship.
He watched his feet as he walked. “I’ve no need for more staff.”
“Please,” I said, feeling my fingers tighten involuntarily around his arm. I knew, of course, that the hand I’d been dealt here in New South Wales, as in London, was better than most. And I needed to use that. But I knew Lottie was far more likely to take up my offer if it involved her working, rather than relying on charity. “She’s sleeping on the floor of someone’s kitchen, all crammed together with other women and children. She’s—”
“You’re not to go to such places,” Flynn said, his voice hardening suddenly. “I’ll not have my wife seen in such an area. Do you understand?”
I gritted my teeth. “Please. And I’ll never ask anything of you again.” I stopped walking and looked into his eyes. “It’s very important to me. If you could find a way to do this one thing, I would be forever grateful.”
Flynn rubbed his eyes, and for a moment, he looked an old man. He sighed, then finally gave a slight nod. “Very well. Just this once.”
I slid my fingers down his arm to cover his leathery hand with mine. “Thank you.”
He gave my hand a quick squeeze, managing something close to a smile.
*
Lottie was sleeping when I arrived at the kitchen that afternoon. She lay on her side, knees pulled to her chest and her body curled around Willie’s basket. I rocked her shoulder gently.
She opened her eyes. “What are you doing here?” She got slowly to her feet, twisting the stiffness out of her shoulders.
“I’m to be married,” I told her. I knew there was little point sidestepping the issue.
“Are you now?”
I pushed past her coldness. “There’s a place for you,” I said. “At my husband’s farmhouse. Work. Shelter.”
Lottie planted a hand on her hip. “I’ve told you before, Nell. I’m not one to accept charity. When are you going to get that into your head?”
“This is not charity,” I argued. “There’s work for you.” I let out my breath in frustration. “I just want you and Willie to be safe.”
“You got to prove yourself, don’t you?” Lottie demanded. “You got to make sure everyone knows how well you’ve done for yourself.”
“You truly think that’s what this is about?”
“Isn’t it?” A cold laugh. “You fell down to our level for a time, but you just got to show us all how much better than us you are.” She stared at me for a long, wordless moment before turning away and shaking her head. Frustration burned through me.
“If you change your mind,” I said tersely, “Mr Flynn’s farm is at the top end of Bridge Street. Out behind the new Government House. We’re to be married next Wednesday.”
Lottie cut me with cold eyes.
I turned at the sound of footsteps behind me. Heard my sharp intake of breath. Patrick Owen stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. His sharp blue eyes bore into me.
“Well, well. Nellie na sasanaigh. Dan’ll be pleased to hear you’re floating around.” He turned to Lottie. “What in hell is she doing here?”
“She’s leaving,” said Lottie, not looking at me.
Owen took a step towards me, without even a glance at his sleeping son. “How’s Lieutenant Blackwell faring?”
“I’ve no idea,” I said stiffly. I hated the sound of Blackwell’s name on his lips. “I’ve had nothing to do with him since I left Parramatta.”
Owen looked me up and down, as though trying to determine whether I was lying. I held his gaze, despite the hot shiver it sent through me.
“You’ve a new life here,” I said. “Why not leave the past where it is?”
He took a step closer. “Is that all the lives of a few bog-trotters is worth to you, Nellie? You think we ought to just forget?”
I said nothing.
Finally, he turned away and spoke to Lottie in Irish. She picked up the baby and turned to follow Owen out of the kitchen. I grabbed her arm.
“Where is he taking you?”
“Back to his farm.”
<
br /> “He’s taking you home?”
“For a time.”
“What do you mean ‘for a time’? What does he want?”
Lottie looked at me witheringly. “What do you think he wants?”
“And when he’s finished with you? He sends you back here?”
Lottie didn’t reply. Owen called her name.
“You can’t go,” I said, not releasing my grip on her wrist.
“Jesus Nell, would you mind your own damn business? What do you know about any of this?” She sighed, then lowered her voice. “He’s the only chance I got of a little security. One day he’s going to realise he was wrong to have let us go.”
I could hear the uncertainty in her words.
“He is not your only chance,” I hissed. “Flynn has work for you.”
Her eyes flashed with impatience.
“All right,” I said hurriedly, before she could speak. “Don’t take the position. But please don’t go with Owen.”
“I have to,” she said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Lottie was wrong. I understood. I knew what it was to follow a man down the murkiest of paths for the sake of a little security.
And so, standing there in the kitchen, with Patrick Owen in the doorway, I told her of Jonathan’s coining business and the way my desperate need to please my husband had almost led me to the gallows.
Something passed across Lottie’s eyes. It was the first time I had told anyone I was not just a tale of stolen bread. The first time I had admitted I had been sent here for life.
Lottie’s lips parted. The she looked up and down at my neatly stitched skirts. At the leather boots buckled at my ankles.
“Seven years,” she said bitterly. “You told me you got seven years for thieving. And now I learn you’re a lifer.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I knew there was no excuse for my lies. I’d just been too embarrassed to tell the truth.
Lottie snorted. “And yet you seem to be doing just fine for yourself now.”
She pulled free of my grip and followed Owen down the alley, leaving me standing alone in the corner of the kitchen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
On our second tramp around the settlement, Flynn asked, “What was your crime?”
The question was put simply, as though he were asking about the weather. But there was enough forced casualness in it for me to know he had been trying to bring himself to spit out the words.
I couldn’t blame him, of course. He was to sleep beside me in the night. For all he knew, I’d been shipped out here for murder.
As I told my sorry tale, I heard myself return to a victim, coerced into counterfeiting by my scheming husband. I felt oddly outside myself. When I’d first told this story to the magistrate in London, I’d clung to my victimhood, to my belief I’d been so grossly wronged by the world around me. Now the memory of my naivety just made me angry.
But I also knew what a precious thing it was to find a good man to marry here, and I felt instinctively that that naivety would tug at the sensibilities of fine upstanding Arthur Flynn. If I had to be a victim in order to please my betrothed, then that was what I would do.
I looked up at Flynn with wide eyes. “I was a fool,” I told him. “And I was too afraid to turn my back on my husband.”
He gave me a small smile. “We all make mistakes. Besides, what hope did you have with a man like that in your life?”
And I nodded along, yes, indeed, a hardened criminal, the worst of men, feeling more than a small pull of guilt for my murdered husband lying in his grave.
Flynn covered my hand with his. “I’d very much like you to see my property,” he said, and I felt my shoulders sink with relief at the change of subject. “I could show you around the place. You could see your rooms. With Ann in attendance of course.”
I smiled. “I’d like that very much.”
Flynn beamed, patting my hand again. “Excellent. Tomorrow then. I’ll have one of my workers come to collect you with the trap.”
And he steered me back in the direction of the Whaler’s Arms, Ann wheeling around to follow.
When I stepped through the door of the tavern, I froze. Lieutenant Blackwell was sitting at the table closest to the door. I felt a jolt in my chest. His hair was slightly overgrown beneath his cocked hat, the arctic blue of his eyes stark against his tanned skin.
At the sight of me, he stood, his face giving nothing away.
Flynn glanced at Blackwell, then back at me. “Is there trouble?” he asked the lieutenant.
“There’s no trouble,” I garbled. “Lieutenant Blackwell is… He was kind enough to offer me lodgings in Parramatta.” I felt my cheeks blaze. “Lieutenant, this is my betrothed, Arthur Flynn.”
“You’re to be married?” A flicker of surprise passed over Blackwell’s eyes, but he blinked it away quickly.
“I am,” I managed. “Yes.” My mouth felt impossibly dry.
Blackwell’s jaw tightened the men shook hands. I could tell from Flynn’s welcoming smile he had no thought of what a man usually demanded of his lodger in Parramatta.
Blackwell turned away from Flynn and looked me square in the eyes. “It’s good to see you, Eleanor.”
I tried to swallow. I wasn’t sure the emotions roiling inside me could be described as good. “Lieutenant Harper told you how to find me?”
He nodded.
A stilted silence hung between us, punctuated by Charlie thumping a liquor barrel onto the shelf.
“Well then,” Flynn said brassily. “A drink then perhaps? What do you say, Lieutenant?”
Before either of us could reply, Flynn was herding us towards a larger table in the centre of the tavern. Ann followed his lead, plopping neatly into a chair between Blackwell and I.
Flynn hovered over me. “Tea for you, my dear?”
“This is a tavern,” I reminded him. “Tea isn’t on offer.” If I was going to stumble my way through this debacle I was going to need something far more mind-numbing than tea.
He waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. I’m sure Charlie will be quite happy to boil up a kettle for you. Won’t you, Charlie?”
He grinned. “I’ve heard your wife-to-be has a liking for things a little stronger.”
I shot him a glare.
Flynn smiled thinly at Charlie. “Tea will be just fine.”
With my betrothed at the bar, I turned to Blackwell. “Why are you in Sydney?” My voice was low and far more conspiratorial than I had intended. Ann’s eyes darted between us.
“I’ve completed my term of duty,” he told me. “I’m entitled to a discharge.”
In spite of myself, my stomach plunged. “You’re going back to England.”
He had brought me a sense of security, I realised then. Even with the Parramatta River between us, it had been reassuring to know Blackwell was in the colony with me. Reassuring to know I had the eye of such a powerful man.
I knew I was being foolish. I was to become another man’s wife. Blackwell was another woman’s husband. Neither of us had a place in the other’s thoughts.
I forced a smile. “Your wife will be very pleased to see you, I’m sure.”
No response.
“So you’ve come to say goodbye.”
He looked at me with that infuriating expressionlessness I had come to know so well. I felt a flicker of annoyance. Why had he bothered coming to see me if he was to be so closed up?
“Yes,” he said finally, as though sensing my irritation. “I suppose I have.”
“When will you leave?” I tried to keep my voice light.
“I believe the next ship leaves in a fortnight.”
“A fortnight?” I repeated. “And why did you come to see me now?”
His lips parted, as though caught off guard by my question. “Because I wished to see you,” he said finally. “Forgive me. It was out of place. I—”
He stopped abruptly as Flynn reappeared at the table, two cannikins of rum in his hand. He set
one in front of Blackwell, then slid into the chair beside me.
Flynn lifted his cup. “Well then, a toast perhaps? To this fair colony.”
Blackwell smiled thinly. “And to your happy marriage.” He gave me a sideways glance.
I suddenly had no idea what to do with my hands. I willed Charlie to hurry the hell up so I could at least hold my teacup.
Flynn beamed. “Indeed.” He tossed back a mouthful of liquor.
Blackwell set his cannikin back on the table. His presence seemed to fill the room, and squeeze the air from my lungs.
“You’re stationed in Parramatta then?” Flynn asked, crossing one leg over the other.
“I was,” said Blackwell. “For the past five years.”
“And do you have many women from the factory lodge with you?”
“No.” Blackwell held his gaze. “Very few.” He looked too tall for the chair.
Flynn took another mouthful. “I see.”
“Lieutenant Blackwell is to return to England in a fortnight,” I said, far too loudly.
Flynn’s face lit up. “Really? How wonderful.” I could tell his excitement came mostly from having found a conversation topic that did not revolve around my time in Parramatta. Out came a barrage of questions that felt as though he had prepared them in advance. Which ship was he travelling on? Which route was to be taken? Was he to be deployed to Europe on his return? Blackwell answered them all as though he were being quizzed by a magistrate.
“Tea for you, Nell,” Charlie bellowed across the bar. Clumsily, I made to stand, but Flynn pressed a hand to my wrist, keeping me in place.
“Ann will fetch it,” he said.
His housekeeper shuffled to the bar and returned with a tin cup filled with lukewarm tea. She slapped it down in front of me. I peered at it in disinterest.
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