In a Great Southern Land

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘You’re safe,’ he said again, and Eve noted that his eyes were very kind.

  ‘Is she awake?’ came another voice and she turned to see a dark-haired woman entering, carrying a tea tray. She put it down and rested her hand across Eve’s forehead then took her wrist to feel her pulse. ‘Much better,’ she concluded, satisfied. ‘Must see if we can’t get you to eat something, girl. Would you like some toast?’

  Eve nodded then looked back at the man who was smiling at her now. ‘You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Do you remember what happened?’

  Eve nodded again, blinking away images of black walls of water and the anguished countenance of the captain going down with his ship.

  ‘Did…anyone…else…?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, lass,’ he said very gently but the words slammed straight through her heart. The captain. Arthur. Amanda. ‘We’re… er, not sure who you were travelling with or who may be looking for you now. Have you any family you’d like us to contact?’

  Eve stared for a moment as the shock and sorrow registered then slowly shook her head. There was no-one else who would know if she were dead or alive. No-one who would care.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  No-one who would even know who…or what she was.

  ‘I…’ Eve began to speak again but her mouth was dry.

  ‘Let’s get something to drink for you first. Are you hungry?’ the woman said. Eve nodded and allowed her to help her sit up slowly and prop her up with pillows so she could eat.

  ‘Our storekeeper Parsons said it was in the news that you were headed to Adelaide,’ the man said.

  ‘Fifty-seven souls…’ the woman tutted but the man gave her a warning look.

  ‘Do you want us to send word to anyone there?’

  Eve shook her head again and ate slowly as the ramifications of her new situation dawned on her. Yes, grief dragged at her heart but the will to survive was still strong and at the fore. Another new beginning, came the thought, on a new shore.

  Amanda’s blue muslin hung by the window next to a vase containing a single red rose and something began to tick in the back of her mind. There was no-one who would need to be told of the death of a sea captain and his wife, either.

  ‘I’m Liam, by the way, and this is Eileen.’

  Such familiar Irish names. So painful to think they could have been common in her life if Kieran had lived. Her very own family.

  ‘What’s your name, lass?’ he asked again.

  Eve closed her eyes as if to stop the enormous twist of fate from arriving but already the words were forming, as if unbidden. For she couldn’t be Eve Richards anymore. She couldn’t choose a convict existence, a life in chains, her baby left to dire and uncertain fates. She was already a sinner, a convicted thief, by any other name.

  ‘Amanda Cartwright.’

  And now a thief of someone else’s life.

  Forty-One

  Melbourne, January 1855

  ‘Kieran. Kieran Clancy,’ Liam emphasised, not that it seemed to be of much use. He’d searched painstakingly in Melbourne this time, going to every boarding house, pub, gaol and hospital, and now even the prison hospital, as grim a place as ever he’d been, but it was still a possibility and Liam waited. Yet again.

  The man ran a thick, stubby finger down pages of names but eventually came to the end with no match made. ‘Sorry, sir, he’s no’ here.’

  Liam nodded and sighed before thanking him and moving off, wondering where else he could possibly look today. He’d been in town for over a week and not only was he feeling despondent, he was feeling homesick, not just for family and land this time. That lonely chasm inside had been filled this summer as the loveliest girl he’d ever met made her place in his home. And his heart.

  As her belly grew his longing to marry her grew too, to give her a place to start again, but the death of her husband was still so fresh he held back on declaring his affections, unsure if they were returned in any measure anyway. For now it was enough just to watch her move and to listen to her cultured voice that made even the most ordinary of sentences beautiful. She was too good for him, he knew, the widow of an English sea captain no less, but he would end up asking for her hand anyway. He’d regret it for the rest of his life if he let the opportunity to marry Amanda Cartwright go.

  She didn’t know the reason for his trips, he and Eileen having decided it would be best not to mention they had a brother who was probably involved in the stockade and still missing. She was a genteel lady, after all, and it would be enough of a challenge getting her to marry him as it was; a criminal in the family wouldn’t improve his chances. Eileen was sympathetic to his cause, having long worried about his bachelor state, and she seemed to like Amanda’s company. It softened her, having another woman to talk to, and in all the future looked bright for the Clancy clan if only Kieran could be found.

  Looking up at the prison hospital walls he wondered for the thousandth time where his brother could be, wishing with all his heart he could bring him home.

  He was still convinced he remained here, somewhere on this earth, firmly believing that Kieran was stuck somewhere, for whatever dark reason that may be, and Liam’s own life felt stalled until he could get to him; as if he was walking in circles, unable to move on. He’d always been patient where Kieran had been impetuous, but it was wearing very thin now. Too much lay unresolved.

  It was hot and barely any relief could be found in the slight breeze that ran through the bars in the wall. He wondered why they bothered with them here. It wasn’t as if any of them had the strength to climb down and escape, although every day he was gaining his back now. And every day his determination to get out of here was growing too.

  Kieran Clancy walked over to those bars now, mostly to get away from the groans and wails of the man in the bed alongside him who’d been in agony since he’d arrived the day before. The poor blighter had some kind of problem in his groin area and Kieran pitied him, of course, but the noise made this echoing hellhole even more unbearable than usual.

  Kieran forced each step, clenching muscles that had wasted away these past months to make it to the window to look out at the courtyard below. Freedom lay waiting and he could almost taste it now, each fraction of healing bringing him closer to that precious state.

  He’d been shot close to his throat as he’d raced towards the stockade and the redcoats had taken him with the other seriously wounded back to Melbourne with them. Not that he remembered anything. All he knew was the painful recovery that had followed when, for the second time in his life, he’d nearly died at the hands of oppression. The injury had rendered his neck swollen and the subsequent infection that had near killed him meant he’d not been able to use his voice for months, a fact that had so far spared him being officially charged.

  It also meant no-one knew who he was. Or where.

  Kieran had mimed for pen and paper on numerous occasions but prisoners weren’t granted such luxuries. They were barely even treated for their injuries and illnesses and the woeful lack of sanitation in the place meant you were lucky to survive a stay in here. At least he’d managed that so far and now he was focused on his next challenge, for his only hope for release lay in finding his voice. Without that he couldn’t tell his family he was even alive, let alone protest his innocence and be acquitted, or charged. And without it he couldn’t be free.

  Kieran rubbed at his beard, bushy on his now-thin face, and began to exercise his throat muscles as he stood, trying to coax more sound than the mere grunts that had begun to form these past few days. It was painful but he persevered, focusing on the scene below to distract him from the discomfort.

  A man was walking slowly across the cobblestones, seemingly deep in thought, and Kieran deeply envied his ability to walk out of here and get on with his life. He was determined his turn would come. He would find his voice and he would speak his family’s name, for the woman he loved needed that name too, and his baby who would soon be born. Never had
the word ‘Clancy’ seemed more valuable to him than now: when he was fighting to claim it out loud.

  Just then the man in the courtyard looked up and over at the windows where Kieran stood and a surging wave of recognition moved through him. He grabbed at the bars, too late as the man turned away, heart thumping and his throat straining in agony as he tried to call out, but the only sound was a dragging and pitiful rasp.

  Liam, his brain screamed. I’m alive! I’m here!

  But Liam walked away and the words fell silent against the slumped shoulders of his brother’s retreating back.

  I am Kieran Clancy.

  Forty-Two

  Warrnambool, February 1855

  Eileen knew without Liam saying anything he didn’t have any good news but the children jumped all over him anyway, oblivious.

  ‘Uncle Liam! Uncle Liam!’

  ‘Did you get me a present?’ asked Matthew, ever hopeful.

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact…’ Liam pulled some boiled sweets from his pocket and they clapped their hands.

  ‘Matthew Murphy, your manners are disgraceful,’ Eileen admonished but she smiled at how much they adored him. Sadly, if conveniently, they’d stopped asking about Uncle Kieran months ago and Eileen sincerely hoped they wouldn’t bring him up in front of Amanda. He was going to be a difficult family member to explain. Not that she was ashamed of him; she was proud of her brother and would have been proud of him if he’d been involved in the Eureka Stockade too. She came from too long a line of rebellious Irish men and women who’d stood up against the Crown for her not to be sympathetic to the cause.

  It was just that Liam was so obviously in love with Amanda and, as kind and lovely as the girl was, she was also finely raised and her brother would need every possible societal advantage they could wrangle to marry her.

  Watching her pretty face as she greeted Liam now, Eileen acknowledged that she definitely liked Amanda too but there was something about her that niggled. A scar on her face that she said she got from falling over as a child, marks on her wrists that she said came from a horse and cart accident. And there was a general aura of preoccupation about her that Eileen couldn’t help but pick up on, especially as Amanda was so often deeply lost in thought. But whatever her secrets, her character seemed genuine enough. Besides, any woman carrying her recently deceased husband’s baby was entitled to brooding and, in fairness, she was probably still in shock. It was likely far too soon for her to see Liam in a romantic light but Eileen was certain she would eventually. He was just too good a man to ignore, surely.

  Then again, she was biased.

  Liam had always been such an easygoing, intelligent and gentle brother, never giving her a moment’s worry, unlike Kieran of course. Eileen’s heart ached as she thought of him and she would corner Liam alone as soon as she could manage to get him away from Amanda, who he was now chatting to with a look of adoration on his face. She certainly looked beautiful, despite her large, swollen belly, and her eyes had lit up at the sight of him, which was a good sign. But that could wait.

  ‘Liam, can I have a quick word?’

  ‘Now?’ he asked, looking reluctant.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Back in moment then,’ he told Amanda with a grin and Eileen walked away from the house with him, towards the fence line where Rory was mending the gate.

  He waved over. ‘Any luck?’ he called.

  Liam shook his head as Eileen handed him his mail.

  ‘There’s no news in there,’ she told him as he picked a few out. ‘I’ve read them all.’

  Liam rolled his eyes. ‘Well, I know I should tell you to keep your nose out of my private business, but I suppose that’s too much to ask right now.’

  ‘Yes, it is. And it was too tempting not to read them when I had them hidden under my pillow.’

  That justified it well enough, although he defended Amanda straight away. ‘She wouldn’t pry like that.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t taking any chances. Anyway, forget your mail. I’ve something far more important to discuss,’ Eileen told him, seizing her chance. ‘I think I’ve found a real opportunity to find out what happened.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Eileen held out the paper Parsons had given her yesterday. ‘They’re putting them on trial next month, all thirteen prisoners from the stockade. People say there’re massive crowds going because so many are against them being convicted.’

  ‘Really?’ Liam pored over the story, scanning quickly.

  ‘Anyone who knows anything will be at that trial, Liam. It’s our best shot.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right about that. I’ll go and see what I can find out.’

  ‘Good lad,’ she said and he grinned.

  ‘Now, I’m getting a bit too old for that, am I not?’

  ‘Force of habit,’ she said, smiling herself at the slip. ‘Sometimes I forget you’re all grown up.’

  ‘Aye, that I am, Eiles,’ he said, as they walked back to where Amanda stood waiting, holding out his tea. ‘That I am.’

  ‘What are you up to in here?’

  Eve jumped as Eileen walked into the kitchen and she closed the newspaper rapidly. ‘I…I was just catching up on the news.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought that politics interested you much,’ Eileen said, placing a basket of potatoes on the table and getting out a pot to wash them.

  ‘Why would you say that?’ Eve replied, pushing the paper aside to help her peel.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, a lady such as yourself wouldn’t be a fan of the rebels, I’m sure.’

  Eve frowned, wanting to defend them but then again, why should she? The Eureka Stockade had ruined her life. Why she was even reading about them was beyond her but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Anything that had touched Kieran touched her still and she doubted her grieving heart would ever be able to see it any other way.

  ‘I’m a fan of justice,’ she said, ‘and I don’t believe men should be convicted for standing up for their rights.’ That much was true, but choosing to do so over marrying the woman you supposedly loved was another matter altogether. Grief wrestled with anger then and she swallowed them both. What was the point in feeling either?

  ‘I’m betting your husband didn’t see it that way,’ Eileen said before pausing mid-peel. ‘I mean being a naval officer and all. Sorry to mention him.’

  Eve dipped her head as the captain came to mind, standing stalwart on the ship, his eyes locked on the woman he adored before they perished at sea. The woman Eve now said she was.

  She didn’t worry she’d ever be found out she was masquerading as Amanda Cartwright; the lady had no living relatives and no friends to speak of after such a sheltered life and all that she owned had been lost at sea, save the house. The few people who knew her were back in that tiny town of Ballan and Eve knew she’d never return there now, although she’d told Eileen she’d sent a letter ‘home’ to sort out her affairs.

  No, it wasn’t being found out by evidence that concerned her, it was the fear of her own guilt one day tripping her up and leaving her cast out once more. Perhaps these kind people would never have reported her as a shipwrecked convict to the authorities, had she originally told the truth, but if they found out now she knew they’d certainly never trust her again. And she would end up having to leave, pregnant, penniless and alone.

  ‘He…he didn’t approve of what they did but then again he didn’t understand their reasons, I suppose,’ she said, choosing her words with care. ‘I’m guessing many of them felt they had no other choice than to rebel.’ No other choice, save marriage and a child.

  Eileen looked at her in surprise. ‘Aye, very true, Amanda. Very true. We’ll make a Clancy of you yet.’

  Eve froze, her eyes locking on Eileen’s, and she had the halfcrazed thought that her guilty mind was being read at the use of the name. ‘What…what did you say?’

  ‘A Clancy,’ Eileen told her, smiling fleetingly as she dropped a freshly peeled potato in the pot. ‘It�
��s our family name, well, Liam’s still anyway. Haven’t we ever mentioned it before?’

  Eve continued to stare, just managing to say ‘no’.

  Eileen shrugged as she scrubbed at the potatoes. ‘I suppose you only hear me saying Murphy but that’s Rory’s surname of course. We women give up too much when we marry, don’t we? Not that I minded,’ she added quickly, ‘it’s a natural state, to have a partner in life.’

  Clancy. The word spun through Eve’s mind, darting about like a moth around a lantern. Then the first names spun with it: Eileen, Liam. She forced herself to ask the question, past a tightly constricting throat. ‘Is it…just the two of you then? Siblings, I mean.’

  Eileen paused before responding. ‘Aye,’ she said, but there was a strange tone in her voice and Eve couldn’t quite believe her. Nor could she possibly leave it alone.

  ‘You hesitated.’

  Eileen sighed, putting the potato she was holding aside. ‘We haven’t wanted to mention it but…we have another brother. He was involved with the miners at the Eureka Stockade and we just thought a well-bred lady such as yourself wouldn’t quite… understand…’

  ‘U…understand…?’

  ‘Well, he’s missing at the moment and we’re trying to find out where he is; we’re worried sick, to be honest. That’s why Liam keeps going away, he’s searching for him.’

  ‘Searching…for…?’

  ‘Kieran.’

  Eve felt all the blood in her head drain and she could barely think at all now, only to realise his family didn’t know he was dead. They still had something denied her forever: hope.

  ‘I’m sorry now, that I didn’t tell you upfront,’ Eileen prattled on. ‘I should have trusted you, I suppose. I just thought it might make you look down on us; the gentry have always treated we Irish with disdain, especially when rebellion rears its head and Liam…and I, well, we are fond of you, you see. We want you to stay here, with us, if you can forgive us for being dishonest, Amanda.’

  Her own dishonesty hung in the air on the name and Eve struggled to bear it.