Is Elizabeth alluding to this evening after dinner, or is she warning me that she will not always be here? I marvel at my friend’s courage, and wonder if I could live under sentence of death, never knowing whether my next breath might be my last. I summon up a smile, knowing there is nothing I can say. Briefly, desperately, I hope that the cure is working, but Elizabeth’s sadness tells me that she considers her condition hopeless.
‘To return to your question, Alice: who would I choose?’ Elizabeth thinks for a moment. ‘I know Jack Cartwright is keen. He most particularly asked if you would be here when Mama invited him.’
My heart sinks. ‘My parents seem to think I should encourage him.’
‘You could do a lot worse. I should think there is a far greater prospect of a happy future with Jack Cartwright than with your convict.’
‘Sshh!’ Alarmed, I look around the table. But everyone is busy eating; no-one is paying any attention to us. I cut into the slice of lamb on my plate, my mouth watering at the rich scent of the roasted meat.
‘Why are Cormac and Padraic O’Brien shut up in this hellhole anyway?’ Elizabeth asks. ‘What have they done?’
‘They are political prisoners.’
‘Is Padraic the man they call Paddy? I have heard the convict labourers in the fields talking about him. He is a true patriot of Ireland apparently, forever going on about Ireland’s rights while complaining about the injustice of his sentence.’
‘It was unjust,’ I say. ‘They were mistaken for Irish rebels and shipped out here. Cormac admits to feeling sympathy with the Irish cause but he denies any wrongdoing.’
‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Elizabeth surveys me with some amusement. ‘Don’t you get taken in by that Irish blarney,’ she warns.
I bow my head, feeling miserable.
‘Cheer up,’ she says. ‘A living, breathing officer in your arms is worth far more than a convict in chains condemned to a dreadful existence on Norfolk. I doubt your father will give Cormac parole, or anyone else for that matter. It is not his way. Don’t waste your life waiting for someone you cannot have, Alice.’ She picks up her knife, cuts into the meat on her plate and takes a small, dainty bite.
‘Perhaps we shall leave and someone kinder will take my father’s place. Perhaps Cormac may yet walk free.’
It is the only hope of happiness I have, other than stealing further moments alone with him.
‘I wouldn’t count on it. Really, Alice, you should rather show some interest in an officer or a civilian. Who knows, someone else might well capture your heart even when you least expect it.’
‘Perhaps.’
I don’t believe it for a moment, and am anxious to change the subject. As I cast about for something to say, I notice that Elizabeth has hardly touched her food. Instead, she is pushing it around her plate, surreptitiously covering the smaller bits over with a slice of meat.
‘You should eat more,’ I say.
‘What is the point?’
It is the closest my friend has come to showing her despair. I feel annoyed with myself for indulging my own misery when she has by far the greater burden to bear.
‘The point is that you need to keep your strength up,’ I say briskly. I take a breath, wondering if I dare go on. ‘It will help you fight this terrible disease. You must get well. I need a companion here or I shan’t be able to bear it.’
I look at Elizabeth, willing her to understand. She gives me a rueful smile, then picks up her knife and fork and begins to eat the meal in front of her.
A toast is drunk to Mr and Mrs Robertson, and dessert is served. We are waited on by convicts, and once again I note the difference between their demeanour and that of the convicts down at the Settlement. How can my father be so blind as to believe that he is in the right and that Mr Robertson is so wrong as to warrant dismissal?
True to her word, Elizabeth murmurs her apologies and disappears once we rise from the dining table. I try to follow her, but Mrs Robertson puts her hand on my arm to stop me.
‘Elizabeth needs to rest in the evenings,’ she says, drawing me out of the room. ‘Besides, the gentlemen have arrived. They await us in the parlour. Some of us enjoy a game of whist. Do you play cards, Alice? Would you like to join us?’
She looks relieved when I say no. I suspect she and my mother have been matchmaking together. I follow my hostess into the parlour, where several tables have been set up and cards laid out. At our appearance, the gentlemen rise. Some are in uniform; others, the civilians, wear suits. All wear an eager expression as we walk in. I notice that my mother steers my father to another card table once she sees where the Robertsons are to sit.
I join Susannah and the Robertson girls at the far end of the room. I am about to sit in one of the comfortable chairs when I notice Jack Cartwright bearing down on me with a determined expression on his face.
‘May I have a private word,’ he says. ‘I have something in particular that I wish to discuss with you.’
At once I fear the worst, but I can hardly refuse. We withdraw only a few steps; I am determined to make sure we stay in full sight of everyone. I do not want anyone to misconstrue our conversation. Susannah is about to follow us but Jack puts up a hand and shakes his head. Her face clouds over in disappointment. I feel sorry on her behalf for she has taken great trouble with her appearance tonight. I am pleased when a young officer hastens to her side and, I think, compliments her, for she shakes her head and laughs, and seems to blush.
‘I am a great admirer of yours, Miss Alice,’ Jack says, reclaiming my attention. ‘Perhaps you have misunderstood my high regard for you?’
Speechless, I stare at him. My mother’s words come into my mind: He does not strike me as a man who gives up easily.
‘I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to spend more time with you, in the hope that you may come to value my company as I value yours,’ he continues. ‘May I speak to your father? May I ask his permission to call on you?’
‘No!’ The word comes without thought, although I regret my lack of tact when I see how I have wounded him. His expression reminds me of a whipped cur. ‘I mean …’ I stop and draw a breath to give myself time to think.
Should I encourage Jack’s attention? Should I use him as a cover for where my real affection lies? Perhaps it would allay suspicion if anyone else has noticed me looking at Cormac. It is unfair on Jack, but if I cannot have Cormac, perhaps he would be my next choice. The idea of making a life with anyone but Cormac revolts me, but Elizabeth has given me sensible advice and I know I should pay heed to it.
‘I mean,’ I continue, ‘this is all very sudden. We hardly know each other.’
‘That is why I wish to spend more time with you. There is so much I would like to know about you.’ Jack hesitates. ‘Your love of music, for example. I saw how much playing the violin meant to you when you braved your father’s wrath to join the convict band. And I think he was wrong to drag you away. I would have liked to hear you play for a lot longer.’
‘Thank you.’
I appreciate Jack’s compliment. More, I appreciate the fact that he has the courage to mention the incident when everyone else apparently considers it best forgotten. But more than anything, I give him credit for supporting me over my father. It shows an independence of mind that differentiates him from the other officers, and I value this in him.
‘I do indeed love to play the violin,’ I say. ‘And I hope there may be other opportunities for me to play — with my father’s permission, of course.’
‘Then I hope I may be among your audience when you do.’
I doubt it, not if I have my own way. But I will not share my plans with Jack.
‘If I play in public, I am sure you will be present,’ I say instead.
‘And if I were to call — would you play for me alone?’
I look at Jack’s anxious expression and wish with all my heart that it were Cormac asking me the question, for I would have no hesitation in answering.
As it is, I am mindful of Elizabeth’s advice. Besides, I do not want to appear uncivil.
‘I am badly out of practice, but yes, I shall play for you if you wish.’
‘Are you saying that there is hope for me to pursue my suit?’ Jack’s face radiates happiness.
Hating my duplicity, I nod. I console myself with the thought that, even if there is no future for Cormac and me, at least I can give someone else the gift of hope. And I set myself to show an interest as Jack draws up a couple of chairs and begins to question me about our time in Van Diemen’s Land, and to tell me about his own family and his early life. It is a welcome change from the self-absorption and fawning flattery of the other officers, and the evening passes pleasantly in his company.
My parents interrogate me on our way home. I am glad to be able to answer truthfully that yes, Lieutenant Cartwright has expressed an interest in me, and agree that yes, we spent quite some time conversing.
‘I hope it will come to something,’ Mother says. ‘Because you will cause talk otherwise, Alice.’
‘I have said only that I would like more time to come to know him,’ I say. ‘You would not expect me to make a hasty decision to spend my life with a stranger, Mother!’
‘I wish he wanted to court me.’ Susannah is cuddling a sleeping William in her arms as she speaks. ‘He’s so handsome. You are lucky, Alice. I think you should say yes.’
I know how much it costs her to say this, and I feel a rush of affection for my sister. I give her arm a quick pat to let her know that I understand. ‘We shall see. I need more time.’
It is true that Jack Cartwright has an agreeable appearance. What I have also discovered is that he is modest and unassuming, especially when it comes to talking about himself. And yet he has a keen sense of fun, for he kept me entertained with stories of hunting goats, rabbits and wild pigs on Phillip Island; and an adventurous fishing expedition out beyond the reef, where one of the officers, instead of hooking the kingfish he was after, snared and tried to land a large shark, almost upsetting their boat in the process. He made me laugh, and also made me forget for a little while that I am trapped here and that my real love is hopeless.
I feel guilty again at the thought of deceiving Jack, yet console myself with the thought that he might yet win my hand if my parents insist on the match. Elizabeth is right. If my fate is inevitable, I could do a lot worse than Jack Cartwright. But I know also that any ring Jack might give me will be a poor substitute for the ring I have already received.
NINE
The diary slipped from Allie’s fingers and fell to the floor with a thud, waking her. She picked it up and looked at her watch. It was late. She didn’t need her mother to remind her that it was a school day tomorrow. Reluctantly, she placed the diary under her mattress and switched off the light.
The image of a young woman spitting blood into a handkerchief came into her mind. So many of those old diseases were now curable with antibiotics and other treatments, but in Elizabeth Robertson’s time tuberculosis was a killer. Did she manage to beat the disease? Did she marry and have a good life? Or did she die here on the island, and leave Alice alone after all?
If so, her grave might be found in the local cemetery, along with the excavated sawpit where the mutineers were to be buried. Allie had passed the cemetery a couple of times but she hadn’t gone in to have a proper look, although it seemed to be quite an attraction if the busloads of tourists were anything to go by. She made a mental note to visit it sometime, just to see who or what she might find there.
She was tired, but her mind buzzed with questions. What was Alice going to do about Jack? She seemed to like him well enough; was even coming around to the idea of marrying him, although she was quite clearly falling in love with Cormac. Did Alice take Elizabeth’s advice and marry Jack? Was that why she’d left her diary and the hair ring behind in the commandant’s house?
Allie closed her eyes, telling herself that she’d find the answers to all her questions in Alice’s diary; she just had to be patient.
But Allie’s patience had worn very thin by the time she was finished with school, homework and chores the next day, and was finally able to retreat to the privacy of her room and retrieve the diary from its hiding place.
Thursday
Days have passed without a sighting of Cormac. Tension is high on the island and my father’s mood reflects his concern. I do not dare mention music or the treatment of the convicts for I know either topic will unleash an angry tirade. And so I bide my time and pray that Cormac will keep out of trouble.
The gallows has been set up in one of the yards of the new gaol, and I know that the grave dug by Cormac and the convict gang will soon be filled. To comfort my lonely, aching heart I creep off into secret corners to while away the time weaving my hair into a ring of bright gold.
Tuesday, 13th October: Judgment Day
At last, it is over! Listening at Father’s study door, Susannah and I hear him tell Mother that the judge has pronounced sentence and it has been carried out without delay. In front of witnesses, the twelve mutineers that were found guilty have been hanged and their bodies taken by three bullock drays to the cemetery.
‘That fool Rogers wanted them buried in hallowed ground and with full rites, but I made sure they were buried quickly, Catholics and Protestants together, before he and the priest had time to interfere.’ There is a grim satisfaction in Father’s tone. ‘I had some of the convicts excavate a disused sawpit outside of the cemetery’s boundary especially for the purpose. That is where these wretches lie, their grave mound a warning to all to repent before it is too late.’
I feel a growing sense of disconnection from my father as I hear him speak. This is the man I have loved and admired all my life, yet he is turning into a monster right before our eyes. How can he be so loving to his family and so very cruel to everyone else? I feel I no longer know him. Worse, I no longer respect or admire him. I cannot love him as a daughter should.
Friday
The judge has left the island and things are settling down at last. The earth is covered over by a mantle of green as seedlings respond to the warmth of the spring sunshine, although a careful inspection on one of my walks reassures me that there is still much work to be done in the garden. I can only hope that my father will agree to supplement the convicts’ rations once the vegetables reach maturity, for there will be plenty enough for everyone if the produce from Longridge and Cascade is included. As always, I hope to see Cormac when I am out, but there is no sign of him.
A sudden wild storm has swept through, lashing everyone and everything in its path and destroying the garden. The roads have become a network of puddles; even the ducks look miserable. There is no hope of venturing outdoors, but being confined day after day scratches my nerves to screaming point. It is an effort to remain civil to my family.
The incessant rain slows to a drizzle and finally stops. I venture outside to sniff the weather. It is cool and there is still a slight spit of rain, but I am delighted to note that the convicts are hard at work in the garden once more, repairing the damage caused by the storm.
My spirits lift in excitement. Is Cormac among them? I have almost given up hope of ever seeing him again. I peer more closely, then run to fetch my sketchbook and the ring I have woven from my own hair. I collect my cloak and bonnet to keep out the rain, and move quietly towards the door that will lead me down to the cellar and outside to freedom.
‘Where are you going, Alice?’
Susannah has turned the corner into the passage before I can dodge out of sight to avoid her. She waits for my answer.
I put a finger to my lips to hush her. ‘Out,’ I whisper.
‘Can I come too?’ she whispers back.
Without waiting for a reply, she is already hurrying off to fetch her cloak. I sigh as I weigh up my options. I can forbid Susannah and provoke an argument that will attract the attention of my mother and signal the end of my excursion. Or I can abandon the prospect o
f meeting Cormac. No, that I cannot do! But perhaps there is a third option.
I look sideways at my sister, deciding to take a chance. ‘You may come,’ I say.
But Susannah has already settled her cloak over her shoulders and is walking down the cellar stairs. I follow her down and outside into the cool, damp air. I take a deep breath, enjoying the freshness after the stuffy confines of our home.
‘Where are we going?’ Susannah asks.
I indicate Father’s allotment below, and begin to walk downhill towards it.
‘You are not going in there with the convicts, are you?’ Susannah’s steps falter. ‘Father would not approve.’
‘No, we are walking past, that is all. I may do some sketching if I find a pretty view.’
It could be that Cormac is not even in the garden. It could be that I am concerning myself over something that might not happen. But I have to make sure; I cannot bear just to walk by. I scan the convicts, looking for him. My pulse quickens as I see that he, too, is looking out for me.
‘Why is that convict staring at you?’ Susannah asks.
‘Probably because he has not seen a woman in a long while,’ I answer glibly.
My stomach gives a sickening lurch at the thought. Have I unwittingly identified the reason that Cormac is paying attention to me? Then I remember the urgency of his kiss, and raise my hand to touch the outline of his ring at my breast. No! It is more than that, so much more.
I slip into the bushy hedge beside the fence, pulling Susannah in after me.
‘What —’
My finger against my sister’s lips stops her question. ‘Sshh,’ I warn, as I stoop to put my eye to the spyhole.
‘Alice! What are you doing?’ Susannah hisses.
I ignore her and watch Cormac. He has already moved closer to the fence since I first spied him. Now he is inching closer still, spade in hand, and making a show of digging out weeds.
Susannah pokes me in the ribs. ‘Give me a turn. I want to see them too.’
A Ring Through Time Page 15
