A Ring Through Time

by Pulman, Felicity

  The overseer has been squatting on his haunches, watching the convicts go about their work, but now he leaps up and strides towards the fence. ‘Who are you talking to?’

  ‘No-one, sir. Talking to meself, I was,’ Cormac says easily, but the guard keeps coming towards us.

  I am about to flee when I realise my movement will be noticed. I quickly step to one side, away from the small hole and out of the guard’s sight. I stand quietly against the fence, holding my breath.

  ‘The rules are that you work in silence!’ There’s the sound of a heavy blow.

  I wince on Cormac’s behalf, but can say nothing. My presence would only confirm the guard’s suspicions and make things worse. I am filled with alarm as a new thought enters my mind. I have heard the prisoners talk of my father’s vindictiveness. How much worse would he treat a prisoner who dared to converse with his own daughter?

  Cormac, too, remains silent. I wait, until I hear the tread of footsteps walking off. At last, deeming it safe, I am about to step away when I hear a whisper.

  ‘Are you still there? It’s safe to talk again. He’s gone.’

  ‘I am so sorry I got you into trouble,’ I murmur. I stay out of sight, not daring to put my eye to the spyhole once more.

  ‘It was worth it. It’s been a long time since I had the opportunity to talk to a beautiful colleen.’

  I smile, amused by his flattery. ‘I expect you knew many beautiful women in Ireland, Cormac O’Brien.’

  ‘Only my mother.’

  I can hear from his voice that he is teasing me. A thought chills me. Did he once have a sweetheart? Or even a wife? I do not ask, too afraid to hear his answer.

  ‘It must be a great grief to her that you and Padraic are now on the other side of the world,’ I say instead.

  ‘Sure and I know that it is.’ The sadness in his voice touches me.

  ‘Perhaps I could write a letter to her on your behalf? Or you could write it, and I will find some way of sending it.’

  ‘My mother knows where we are, and anything I write to her would only add to her burden,’ he says. ‘But it is kind of you to offer.’ The sadness is still there as he adds, ‘You shouldn’t come here to spy on us, Alice Bennett. Your father wouldn’t like it at all.’

  ‘I know.’ Greatly daring, I add, ‘But I like talking to you, Cormac. And I love the way you play the violin. Your music sings to my heart. I wish I could listen to you all day long.’

  He is silent. I think he has moved away and I press my eye to the spyhole to check. His head is bent; as I watch, I see him knuckle away a tear.

  Appalled, I whisper, ‘I am so sorry the guard hurt you.’

  He looks at me, then turns quickly away. ‘It isn’t that.’ He picks up a plant, shoves it into the ground and presses down the soil around it. ‘It’s been a long time since I heard a kind word from a woman, or indeed from anyone,’ he mutters.

  My heart almost cracks with pity. Somehow I must try to reassure him of his worth, for it seems clear to me that this is not a man steeped in sin; not like those hardened criminals, the ‘old hands’, that Father complains about.

  Nevertheless, I am curious. ‘Why are you here?’ I ask. ‘Why were you sent to Norfolk Island?’

  I wait, somewhat apprehensively, for his answer. What if, after all, he turns out to be a cold-blooded murderer, a thug of the first degree? No! I can’t believe it. And yet he remains silent. Is he ashamed? What is he hiding from me?

  ‘I’m one of the Irish rebels who believe that England has no place in Ireland,’ he says at last, without looking at me. He is busy scooping soil into place around the small plants, giving every appearance of great industry. ‘There was an uprising quite some time ago and a number of Irishmen were seized and sent to New South Wales and to Van Diemen’s Land as punishment. The English are ever watchful now for signs of unrest. My brother and I were working in England, minding our own business and bothering no-one, when we were taken one night and thrown into prison. Yes, we sympathise with the Irish rebels, but we were not part of that band that goes around committing murder and mayhem in Ireland’s cause.’ He pauses a moment. ‘Paddy and I are innocent of the charges they brought against us at the trial, but they found us guilty and sent us here anyway. And here we’ll probably die, unless your father is replaced as commandant. So you should walk away now, and forget you ever talked to me.’

  ‘No!’ This time I remember to keep my voice low, although I want to shout the word so that all can hear it. ‘No, I believe in you, Cormac. Perhaps I can put your case to my father, make him see the injustice of it?’

  ‘No, Alice. He won’t listen, he won’t understand. All he’ll do is punish you for talking to me. And punish me for talking to you. Please, you must promise you won’t say a word to him about me.’

  I stay silent, mulling over the possibility of going through my mother to reach my father. I am almost sure my mother will understand.

  ‘Promise me!’ Cormac whispers fiercely.

  ‘I promise,’ I say, but cross my fingers behind my back. If the opportunity arises to say something to my father, I shall take it. ‘But Cormac, if you think of anything I might do to help you and your brother, you must promise me in turn that you will tell me.’

  ‘Indeed I shall, and I thank you for your care. It is true I would do almost anything to leave the island.’ Cormac’s voice becomes pensive. ‘Do you know, Alice, sometimes I lie awake in my hammock at night and listen to the waves crashing across the reef; waves that come from across the world where men are free and misery such as this is unknown. And I dream that one day a tidal wave will sweep over the wall and wash me away. The sea is my friend, Alice. For me, it means escape — and freedom.’

  ‘But you won’t try to escape, will you?’

  I am instantly alarmed, for I have heard that those few who have attempted escape in the past have either died on the treacherous reefs that surround the island, or else have been captured and hanged.

  Cormac looks up at me; the twinkle is back in his blue eyes. ‘I’m not so foolish. I know the penalty if I’m caught. Besides, I have a good reason now to wake up in the morning and start a new day for I have the hope that I may see you, fair Alice, and perhaps we may even have the chance to talk. But I must leave you now, because I’ve run out of plants and excuses to be over here. I shall try to return tomorrow. I’ll come for as long as you wish to see and talk to me.’

  ‘I shall always want to see and talk to you, Cormac.’ I keep watch as he walks off, then linger, not wanting the suspicious guard to see me leave. To pass the time, I make a quick sketch of the convicts at work. It is not very good, and so I try again with a subject closer to my heart. Cormac. How I wish I had the skill to capture exactly those laughing eyes, that tender mouth. Despite my dissatisfaction with my efforts, it is some consolation to think I can take Cormac’s portrait home with me, although I shall have to keep it safely hidden. I add a few more pencil strokes to suggest the loose smock and straw hat he is wearing, and then peer through the hole once more.

  The convicts are all hard at work and the guard looks half-asleep. Judging it safe to leave, I walk further along the hedge line so that I may emerge some distance away. Without looking back, I hurry home, hoping that I have not been observed by the overseer.

  Before I enter the house I make ready my excuses in case my absence has been noticed. I shall say I was out taking the air, or perhaps that I was in my bedroom all along, writing my diary. I cannot show anyone today’s sketches! But I make a mental note always to take my sketchbook with me in future, and to draw a few scenes as an excuse for being out. I am no artist; these few sketches I have attempted attest to that. All the more reason, then, to keep practising!

  Allie quickly turned the pages of Alice’s diary, curious to see if Cormac’s likeness was hidden there. The next page was covered with Alice’s handwriting, as was the page after that. Disappointed, Allie turned the diary upside down and shook it. A loose page at the back flu
ttered free and she snatched it up.

  Alice had been telling the truth when she said she was no artist, Allie thought. The head was out of proportion to the chest, the nose slightly too large for the face. And yet Allie had no trouble in recognising the subject, for it could have been Noah who stared out at her from the page. Laughing eyes, tender mouth … She was looking at an old-fashioned version of her schoolmate.

  Allie blinked at the likeness. Her eyes felt gritty with tiredness, her mind swirled with impressions and emotions evoked by the diary. She couldn’t take in any more, not tonight. Carefully, she inserted the sketch into the back of Alice’s diary and then hid the book under her mattress, safe from prying eyes. She turned out her light.

  Noah’s face came into her mind. Her last thought, before she fell into an exhausted sleep, was to question why he was wearing that smock thing and a funny hat.

  ‘Dad, how did we inherit Alice’s violin?’ Allie asked as she walked into the kitchen the next morning. Her parents were sitting at the breakfast bar.

  Her father frowned. ‘Who’s Alice?’

  Just in time Allie realised the minefield she was venturing into. ‘I don’t know,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I think I dreamed about her last night. She was playing the violin — my violin. So I wondered if she had any connection with our family?’

  She looked hopefully at her father, but he shook his head.

  ‘I’ve never heard of another Alice in our family,’ he said.

  ‘So where did my violin come from then?’

  Hugh Bennett buttered a slice of toast as he thought about it. ‘I’m not quite sure,’ he admitted, reaching for the marmalade. ‘We’re descended from a William Bennett. Perhaps it belonged to him.’

  Alice’s baby brother? Perhaps he had shared his sister’s love of the violin. Allie helped herself to cereal while she pondered her next question.

  ‘Do you know if William had any brothers or sisters?’

  Her father smiled at her. ‘If he did, I don’t know their names. It’s good to see you taking our family history so seriously, Allie. You’ve never shown much interest before.’

  ‘I’m just curious, that’s all.’

  Allie sat down and began to eat. She couldn’t risk asking any more questions, but perhaps Alice’s diary would provide the answers. She looked at her father. She couldn’t tell him the truth about John Bennett yet either, not without showing him the proof. But she wasn’t going to share the diary with anyone until she’d read through all of it herself.

  ‘Ready for school?’ Catherine Bennett asked as Allie pushed her chair away from the table. She frowned as she noticed her daughter’s shoes. ‘There’s a hole in your sneakers.’

  Allie shrugged. ‘I’m doing a lot of walking these days. That’s why I need wheels.’

  ‘Until that happens you’d better have some new sneakers.’ Catherine thought a moment. ‘I don’t have any meetings this afternoon. Wait for me when the buzzer goes and we’ll go shoe shopping.’

  Allie sighed. All she wanted was to get back to Alice’s diary. But it would have to wait. ‘Okay,’ she agreed.

  It felt strange seeing Noah at school now that she knew so much more about his family. In a way it made her feel closer to him, as if there was an invisible thread connecting them. Even though he continued to ignore her, Allie sometimes caught him sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking — just as she sneaked glances at him. But on the one occasion their eyes met and she risked a smile, he immediately turned away without acknowledging her.

  Once the buzzer sounded to mark the end of the school day, Allie joined her mother at the car. She felt like a little kid as her schoolmates roared off on their bikes, either alone or in pairs. No-one her age relied on a parent for a ride. She just hoped none of them would be hanging around the shops.

  To her relief, the duty-free shops were crowded with tourists rather than locals. But when they returned to the car with the new shoes, Catherine Bennett said she needed to call into the supermarket. Allie’s heart sank. ‘I’ll walk home,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t be silly. It won’t take long.’

  Catherine started the car before Allie had a chance to argue. When they arrived at the mall, Allie saw a number of students milling around the entrance.

  ‘I’ll wait in the car,’ she said quickly.

  ‘No, come and help me find what I need,’ her mother said, and strode off, leaving her no choice but to follow.

  She tried to ignore the smirks of her classmates as she walked past. A quick glance confirmed that Meg wasn’t among the group. And neither was Noah.

  Allie’s discomfort increased when a couple of littlies sang out a loud greeting to their teacher as she and her mother walked past the bakery. It’s like having your own cheer squad, Allie thought crossly, as she realised that their voices had attracted the attention of Noah and his mate Pont, who were standing at the counter. She was conscious of Noah’s gaze as she hurried past, and kept her head down to hide the tide of red creeping across her face.

  The two guys were lounging outside the bakery, scoffing iced buns, when she and her mother emerged from the supermarket. Noah stopped eating for a moment. Without meaning to, Allie smiled at him. He gave her a reluctant grin in return.

  Oblivious to the exchange, Catherine Bennett walked on, pushing the trolley full of groceries. Yielding to an impulse, Allie waited until she was out of hearing. ‘Noah, did Paddy or Cormac ever mention Alice … er …?’ She stopped, not wanting to add Alice’s surname.

  ‘Alice?’ Noah thought about it. ‘No, why would they? There were only male convicts here. You heard what Ms Elliott said.’ He frowned. ‘And why did you call him Paddy? His name was Padraic.’

  ‘I just thought he’d have a nickname, that’s all,’ Allie said quickly.

  It was disappointing that Noah’s family didn’t seem to know anything about Alice either. Was that because her relationship with Cormac had never gone any further? Why not? She’d seemed pretty keen in her diary. A sudden thought sent icy fingers crawling up Allie’s spine.

  ‘What happened to Cormac? Why do people think they’ve seen his ghost?’ she asked.

  Noah’s gaze hardened. ‘Because he died here. He was hanged without trial by John Bennett after being accused of something he didn’t do.’

  Shocked, Allie stared at Noah.

  ‘But what do you care? You think John Bennett’s the greatest, don’t you?’ Noah pushed past her, dragging Pont along with him.

  Speechless, Allie watched them go. Surely Noah had it all wrong. She could only hope that Alice would spell out the truth of what had really happened in her diary. She couldn’t wait to get back to it.

  But Allie’s plans to hurry home were foiled when her mother insisted on stopping off for a coffee, followed by a browse around a craft shop. Once home, she demanded that Allie give her a hand with putting away the groceries and preparing dinner. Conscious of a pile of homework still waiting for her attention, Allie reluctantly decided that the diary would have to wait for another day.

  It wasn’t until the following night that she was able to extract the book from its hiding place under her mattress and immerse herself in Alice’s story once more.

  SEVEN

  Wednesday

  The wind kept me awake in the night, along with the roar of the surf crashing onto the reef. Even so, I am up early, concerned that the foul weather will keep the convicts away from the vegetable garden. But the storm has blown over and the sun is shining, although the white-capped waves tell me that the sea is still turbulent. As soon as I am able to get away, I hurry to fetch my sketchbook.

  Questions run through my mind. I want to know all about Cormac and his family. What part of Ireland is he from? I know how long the brothers have been on the island, but what is their sentence? And is there any hope of remission? I wonder if it might be possible to find out from my father, without letting him know why I want the information. My spirits sink as I recall Elizab
eth’s assertion that my father is all too ready to add extra time onto a sentence, and for the smallest infraction of the rules. I know I am jeopardising Cormac’s safety by returning to talk to him, but then I remember how deeply my words affected him. I cannot deny him that comfort when he has made it clear that he wishes to see me.

  Once outside, I head towards the far end of the bushy copse. I shall not risk walking to the allotment in so direct a line again. I glance over the wall and stop. There is no-one there! Are the convicts not yet started on their daily tasks? But I have already seen evidence of them going about their business in our home. Father keeps the convicts working from dawn until dusk, while the sun has now risen quite high in the sky. It seems that no work will be done in the garden today. Utterly downhearted, I retrace my steps.

  Susannah erupts out of the doorway as I approach the house. ‘Where have you been?’ Without waiting for my answer, she continues, ‘I have been looking everywhere for you. I was afraid you were going to miss our outing.’

  ‘What outing?’ I could not care less about some new entertainment; my spirits are sunk low with disappointment.

  ‘We are to take a picnic up to Cascade Bay,’ Susannah says with relish. ‘Father has had word that the brig has been sighted at last. It was blowing too rough to come in at Kings Town so it has sailed on to Cascade. Some of the convicts have gone up there with the bullock carts to help offload the stores. We are to take the carriage, and a picnic lunch, to view the waterfall, and also to watch them unload the cargo.’

  ‘What fun!’

  I hardly know what I am saying, I feel so cheered by Susannah’s news. Surely this must be why the convicts are not in the garden today. If they have been sent to Cascade, then perhaps Cormac will be with them and I shall have a chance to see him again, and perhaps even speak to him.

  ‘What shall I wear?’ I ask my sister, looking down at my smart blue gown with its lace-edged collar. I wanted to look my best for Cormac, but it is hardly suitable attire for a picnic.