by David Field
Daniel gave instructions that the first hut was to be completed that evening, with an internal wall that would create two rooms, then walked back to the mess tent. He stood at the front flap and waited until Mary caught his eye as she bent over the large pot she was scrubbing out. She walked out of the tent wiping her hands on an apron cloth.
‘If you’ve come for my dumplings, I have to disappoint you. We just put the baking fire out, so you’ll just have to go hungry until tomorrow.’
‘It’s not that,’ Daniel explained. ‘Not that I don’t fancy your dumplings,’ he added hastily, inwardly cursing his clumsiness with words whenever he was talking with Mary. As Mary grinned back at him, he explained all about George, Rachel, the existing daughter and the baby she was expecting. ‘This is a real opportunity for you to better yourself in this dreadful place and if you discharge your duties well, who knows where you could finish up?’
‘Married to an officer myself, you mean?’ Mary asked under lowered eyelids.
‘Like I said — who knows?’ Daniel blushed. ‘I can’t do any more for you than I have already, so it’ll be up to you how you progress from here.’
Mary’s face fell as she took in the import of his words. ‘Are you telling me that I’ll not be seeing you again?’
For the next week, Daniel deliberately spent more time at the quarry that had been opened up a mile or so away from the main camp. There was now a need for large building blocks for the governor’s mansion on the south side of the cove and the rock strata out at what was called the ‘Brick Field’ was deep and plentiful. The masons were able to supervise the splitting of long sections vertically off each outcrop by hammering wooden pegs down into it until it split. Then they took their hammers and cold chisels and cut it into heavy sections that were approximately three feet high and two feet thick, which were then carted down the slope to where the new mansion was beginning to rise from its base in the firm rock a few hundred yards back from the high-water mark. The waste rock that came with each cut was also carted away, to be tipped into the sea at the shore’s edge in order to make a deep-water wharf at which ocean-going ships could be moored.
Daniel had other reasons to be at the quarry. While he was supervising the work, he was not required to stand in front of the hut into which George and Rachel had moved with their daughter, who was now being nursed by Mary. She’d been eagerly employed by Rachel and every day Mary could be seen around the outside of the hut, carrying her tiny charge in her arms and walking up and down in the warm sunlight, seemingly content with her new duties. She’d waved Daniel over the first time and cheekily reminded him that he was not getting any younger and should be thinking of having one of his own.
He found himself horribly confused, but strangely excited, by her references to settling down, and her guile in expressing things in such a way as to sound as if she were offering herself to him on a plate. He had only once lost his heart to a young woman and the pain of rejection had hit him so hard that he had taken the King’s shilling and found himself on board a navy frigate heading west. Heaven only knew what might happen the next time, and this beautiful young Irish girl was too good to be true. He dared not let their relationship develop, only to find that he was rejected again, with nowhere to run to this time.
Satisfied that the quarrying was proceeding well enough, he walked down the slope and into the forest area to the left, in which there should have been a dozen or so men felling trees. It was curiously inactive, with no customary ‘thunk’ of axes, no sound of sawing and no cries of warning as pines and other trees came crashing down into the lower foliage. Then he became aware of a chorus of raised voices and saw a group of convicts in a circle a few hundred yards into the trees. He sensed that something was not quite right and quickened his pace, calling out to Private James Milward, who was watching what was going on in bewilderment, but had his bayonet fixed and pointed at something on the ground.
Daniel reached the group and looked down at a native youth, aged probably in his late teens or early twenties. He was leaning up on one elbow, staring fearfully at the end of Milward’s bayonet, while several of the convicts appeared to be threatening the man with their axes.
‘What’s going on?’ Daniel demanded.
‘This savage, sir,’ Milward told him. ‘The men caught him trying to steal an axe. I’d have shot him, but we’ve been ordered to conserve our powder. Do you want him bayoneted?’
‘No,’ Daniel replied, ‘for several reasons. The first is that we can hardly expect these people to behave towards us other than savagely if we behave like savages ourselves. The second is that we don’t know how many more of his tribe are hiding in the bushes and thickets all around us. We are less than twenty in number and between us we have only two muskets and a handful of axes. Do you want to take that risk, Private?’
‘No, sir,’ Milward replied, as he brought his musket back into the upright position.
The young native’s eyes travelled from the tip of the bayonet to Daniel’s face, as he awaited his fate, having clearly identified Daniel as the leader. Daniel walked up to him and leaned forward with an outstretched hand. The youth took his hand and Daniel pulled him to his feet.
‘Friend,’ Daniel said.
The youth smiled, then took off like a startled deer into the forest, leaping through the large bushes as if they didn’t exist.
‘Consider my debt repaid,’ George said to Daniel as he walked towards him outside the quarry the following morning.
‘What do you mean?’ Daniel asked as he wiped the sweat from his brow, then replaced his tricorn hat before the sun could burn through to his scalp again.
‘Major Ross wants you placed on a charge for your failure to kill a native who was attempting to steal our valuable equipment. Private Milward was forced to tell the whole story when one of the convicts spread the word about your seeming dereliction of duty. Seems that our Major doesn’t want to see any of our neighbours left alive and he’s quietly raging that you let one go. I told him that you didn’t want to provoke a skirmish while we were seriously outnumbered, which is the way Milward told me the story. To cut another long story short, Ross has left the punishment to me, so consider yourself punished.’
‘And how did you come to be in my debt anyway?’ Daniel asked.
‘That new nursemaid you sent us — Martha. She’s quite the ticket, according to Rachel, who’s taken to her like a duck to water. Seems they come from the same part of London, which was of course a bonus, but apparently Martha’s already got Roseanna eating out of her hand — literally — and Rachel’s very grateful to you. As, indeed, am I.’
‘I’m not sure we’re talking about the same person,’ Daniel replied, confused. ‘The girl I sent to you is called Mary and she’s from Ireland. Did you finish up hiring someone else?’
George stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. ‘Is that what she told you? My good man, her name is Martha Mallett and she’s from Shoreditch.’
‘Are you sure?’ Daniel demanded, a sinking feeling developing in the pit of his stomach.
‘Of course I’m sure. You don’t think I’d invite someone to live in our hut without checking out her background? I consulted the convict records in the governor’s possession and she’s Martha Mallett, a convicted thief, pickpocket and swindler, from Shoreditch, in London.’
‘But she sounds Irish,’ Daniel objected, now far from sure of his ground.
‘She was also an actress, according to Rachel,’ George explained. ‘In fact, what makes her so agreeable to Rachel is the way she can imitate all sorts of characters at the drop of a hat. She had Rachel in positive hysterics by pretending to be the governor’s wife — a high-born lady with hoity-toity manners and a runny nose. She also does a nice line in costermonger slang, should you be interested.’
‘And she’s a thief, you say?’ Daniel persevered, his anger mounting by the second.
‘A pickpocket,’ George elaborated. ‘And a swindler. She fi
nally got transported rather than hanged because she amused her trial judge with the story of her last exploit, when she apparently got a bishop to part with his under-drawers. How droll can that be?’
Daniel’s face set like the sandstone rocks all around them, as he looked round at George. ‘May I ask another favour of you, George?’
‘Ask away,’ George agreed, still chuckling.
‘Keep that damned whore out of my sight!’ Daniel bellowed, as he stormed off up the quarry entrance.
3
By the end of February, the governor’s house had been completed. It was a large building, constructed principally from the prefabricated frame that had come out with the fleet, supplemented with local timber that a ship’s carpenter had carefully hewn into floorboards, internal panelling and room dividers. For the governor of an entire colony, it was a modest enough affair, but compared with the simple huts into which marines and convicts had been consigned as fast as they had been constructed, it was a veritable palace.
It would not, in any case, be the final abode of the governor, who was taking a daily interest in the sandstone blocks that were rapidly being placed on top of each other further round the bay, in order to form the second stone-built edifice in the colony, in which he would eventually take up residence. But it was the first house of any size and the governor ordered a general celebration, partly to acknowledge the progress that had been made and partly to lift the morale of the convicts. There was to be music, dancing and feasting, and an entire ox had been slaughtered in order to feed the multitude — or, at least, those who came early enough — while loaf after loaf had been baked in the newly constructed oven in the mess tent. The alcohol was strictly limited to one tot of rum per male and one glass of ale per female, but the natural gaiety of the occasion caused many to behave as if they were drunk.
Daniel had opted to continue living in an officer’s tent, refusing all offers of a hut in the same settlement area in which the other officers had taken up residence. He was determined to keep away from any possible contact with Mary — or was it Martha now? — after the way she had deceived him. He had been drawn into a similar web by his former employer’s older daughter, Alice, who had led him on with smiles, winks and knowing looks, while all the time allowing her father to negotiate a more suitable match with a wealthy trade associate. When Daniel had plucked up the courage to declare his love, she had pretended to be honoured and had even contrived to cry, but had firmly advised him that she was to be betrothed to another.
He had been led on again, he realised, and if he was ever to know happiness with a woman, he would have to harden his heart against their simple but effective guiles. Martha had used him to obtain more favourable circumstances and God knew how many other men she had similarly deceived. He had no hope of escaping her delicious web if he allowed himself any further contact with her; his only hope was to avoid her completely and take the first opportunity that presented itself to leave this dreadful place where physical proximity and shared hardship led inevitably to ill-advised liaisons.
It was in a dark humour that Daniel ducked under the flap of the tent that he shared with several other marines and stepped out onto the area of beach where the celebrations were being held, late in the afternoon of what had been a hot and sultry February day. The sky, as he gazed south over the cove, was as black as his mood. The sullen black wall of cloud that was slowly drifting towards him seemed to be gaining strength by the minute, with an occasional lightning flash ripping through it.
There were couples dancing wherever he looked and his ears were tortured by the raucous cacophony of several fiddlers — and an accordion player — each playing for the amusement of a dancing group. But each of them was playing a different tune, in a different key, at a different time, and from a distance the overall effect was like being in a madhouse, with demented demons shrieking out a tuneless dirge to please their Satanic master.
Daniel skirted round a couple who were writhing and grunting in the sand and further down the beach Daniel could clearly make out the distant figures of George and Rachel, with Martha standing alongside nursing their daughter. Rachel was seated on a rock, fanning herself against the strength-sapping humidity, while George stood chatting to Major Ross. A few feet away was the governor himself, proudly surveying the proceedings and nodding condescendingly at the antics of his prisoners. Daniel sneered at their pomposity and allowed himself one more glance towards Martha.
She looked up at that moment and jerked her head in a gesture of invitation for him to join their group, but he looked away. Daniel wanted nothing to do with any of them. He stalked off down the beach, stepping round groups of revellers and clusters of helplessly drunk convicts who had obviously contrived some way of obtaining extra grog.
The storm was only minutes away, he noted, as he looked up at the sky. The black had turned to a dark grey and in the far distance, over where they had dropped their first anchor in Botany Bay, the sheets of rain were already lashing the coastline. He finished his food and began to walk back towards his own tent, intent on getting under cover before the storm hit, but just then there was a huge flash, followed almost immediately by a deafening bang. The rain began to descend in one continuous sheet and the gale sweeping across the bay began to lift up the skirts of both convict women and the few ladies in attendance, clearly no respecter of rank or dignity. Instinctively Daniel looked across at where he had seen George’s party in the rocks and saw George take the child from Martha and shepherd the group against the driving rain towards the newly constructed governor’s house, where they clearly intended to take shelter.
Martha had hesitated and then begun to run after them. She appeared to stumble over the outstretched legs of an insensible drunk and fell heavily into the sand. A flash of lightning hit the beach only yards from her and sand spun into the air as another massive bang threatened to shatter Daniel’s eardrums. He raced across the beach to where Martha lay, her face wreathed in pain, clutching her shoulder. The bonnet she had been wearing earlier had been blown away and her long black hair was drenched by the rain. She caught Daniel’s eye as she lay there and the imploring look on her face was more than he could bear.
Running the last few yards towards her, he lifted her onto his shoulder and staggered back up the beach, to where he could see an opening of sorts in the rock face. It seemed to be some sort of natural cave and he laid Martha down on the ground as gently as he could, then examined her shoulder through her gown. There were no bones sticking out, so it was probably just a sprain, although a painful one, to judge by the way she had winced when he touched it. He sank back onto the sandy rock beneath them, regaining his breath.
‘Once again, my knight in shining armour to the rescue,’ Martha said without a trace of any Irish accent. Daniel simply grunted and when Martha leaned over to kiss him, he rolled away with an expression of displeasure tinged with disgust. There was a long and awkward silence before Martha spoke again. ‘George told you, didn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Daniel replied bluntly, keeping his eyes firmly on the rock above his head. There was another awkward silence, then Martha reached out a hand and place it on Daniel’s chest in a comforting gesture. Daniel brushed the hand away and Martha sighed heavily.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Sorry for what, precisely?’ Daniel replied bitterly. ‘Sorry for misleading an officer of His Majesty’s marines in order to acquire better conditions, or sorry for pretending to be Irish?’
‘Both, I suppose.’
‘I’ll give you this much,’ Daniel conceded, ‘you were very convincing. Had me fooled anyway — perhaps you should have continued your stage career, instead of stooping to theft and false pretences. Anyway, I’ve learned my lesson.’
‘Daniel, please,’ Martha begged him, a trembling tear in her voice. ‘Let me explain the whole story to you, then perhaps you won’t be so angry with me.’
‘More of your skilful lies?’ Daniel asked, the hurt still evi
dent in his tone.
Martha sighed again. ‘I concede that I’m a very good actress and that I had you fooled. But that was only the way it began — since then, believe me, no one’s regretted my deception more than I have.’
‘Because you got caught out, you mean?’
‘Are you going to listen to me or not?’ Martha asked, now obviously a little annoyed by his ongoing coldness and cynicism.
‘We’ve got nothing better to do while this storm’s raging,’ Daniel replied, ‘so you might as well relieve the boredom with another of your stories. But please spare me the Irish accent.’
‘Gorblimey, guv’nor,’ Martha fired back in a perfect imitation of a Cockney barrow boy, ‘does yer want the trufe, or sumfink else?’
‘Spare me all the theatricals,’ Daniel replied, although he couldn’t hold back the smile at her talent for impersonation, ‘just tell me the truth insofar as you’re capable. For a start, I take it you did steal that comb? Pickpocketing is another of your specialities, is it not?’
‘It was my comb, originally,’ Martha explained. ‘That woman on the deck of the ship who was calling me a lying — well, a liar anyway — stole it from me in the first place, on the journey down to Portsmouth from Newgate Gaol. She and two other women held me down while she took it from me, then it was booked in as her property once we got on board the ship and it took me until that morning to get the opportunity to take it back off her, while she was dancing on deck and it fell from her head.’
‘But you didn’t have the comb on you when they searched you.’
‘Didn’t I?’
‘Well, did you?’
‘Of course — it was hidden between folds of my long hair. Those old biddies only searched my clothing.’
‘Ever the skilful pickpocket with swift hands,’ Daniel observed with a lingering trace of censure. ‘If you’re such a good actress, why did you need to resort to thieving?’
