He shook his head, glanced at his pocket watch. He had maybe a quarter of an hour before Eveleigh left for the night and would demand Monsarrat did the same. It would have to be enough.
As he looked down at a sheaf of papers he had already laid out, he noticed that there was, in fact, one link, a factor they all shared: the ship the convict had arrived on.
Monsarrat had come here in the hold of the Morley. There had been no women on his ship. Nor did he look for Hannah’s ship, the Minerva, as the Factory hadn’t been built when she arrived. As for the other ships, he hadn’t the faintest clue where to start. So he simply started wherever his eye fell. And as he ran his eyes up and down the list of ship names, flicked through page after page to find where the reports of the human cargo of one ship ended and the next began, one vessel’s name snagged at his eye.
Nemesis.
The name, if he recalled his conversations with Mrs Mulrooney correctly, of Rebecca Nelson’s Irish wolfhound. And with his classical education, he knew Nemesis was also the name of the Greek goddess of divine retribution. Having nothing more to go on, then, he started flicking through these records. After three or four pages he met a woman called Edwina Drake. The manifest listed her as 21 years old. Her occupation was set down as ‘governess’. She stood 5 feet tall – the same height as Hannah. Her skin was described as clear, her eyes blue. And her hair was listed as red.
She had been transported fifteen years ago for stealing cutlery, with a sentence of seven years.
The piece of paper had nothing further to say about Miss Drake, and nor did the others he had managed to peruse by the time he heard Eveleigh’s footsteps at the top of the stairs leading down into the cellar. ‘Mr Monsarrat, finish up, if you please. I intend to leave within the next five minutes, and you will be doing the same.’
‘Very well, sir,’ Monsarrat called up. ‘I’ll just set these files to rights, and I will be right up.’
He did exactly as he said he would do. But one piece of paper, now folded tightly, did not find its way back into the midst of its fellows, instead leaving the governor’s domain in Monsarrat’s pocket.
Chapter 28
Monsarrat kept no intoxicating liquor of any kind at his small house. No rum, no wine. He rarely drank – although in his younger life he had occasionally done so to excess – and Mrs Mulrooney had never touched the stuff, and never would.
Yet suddenly Monsarrat wished he had access to a cellar to store grog instead of documents.
He was not happy, when he got home, to find himself alone. He had been sure his housekeeper would be back by now. If there was anyone who could look after themselves, of course, it was she. But there were some circumstances no one could rise above, some dangers no one could deflect, and he tried hard to stop the corners of his imagination from suggesting possibilities.
He sat at the kitchen table, spread the page on Edwina Drake out before him, read it over and over. He wasn’t sure why he was doing so – there was very little nuance in it, the sparse list of ship, crime, occupation and physical description. He didn’t expect to find new information, and he didn’t.
He had not realised how worried he was becoming about Mrs Mulrooney’s whereabouts until he felt the loosening of relief as he heard her making her way up the hallway, through the back door and into the kitchen.
She sat down heavily opposite him. ‘It’s been a trying night, Mr Monsarrat,’ she said. ‘I find myself not quite up to making tea.’
‘Of course! Would you like me to make some for you?’
‘Would you? I’m sorry. But I could use the solace of it, and for once it’s a solace I find I’m unable to provide for myself.’
Monsarrat got up, knelt so that he could use the bellows on the dwindling fire, careless of staining his trousers. Hannah Mulrooney’s strength had become, for him, one of life’s constants, and he would do anything to see it return, stained clothing or not. Once the fire had grudgingly started, he put the kettle on the hook above it.
As he worked, she told him about her conversation with Lizzie.
‘I don’t mind admitting, I’m a little frightened, Mr Monsarrat. Grogan – the driver – will have told her that I took longer than would be expected of someone dashing in to pick up a forgotten sewing basket. So if it was her, and she thinks I’m behaving suspiciously – well, I wouldn’t have thought her capable of doing harm to me, but then before tonight I wouldn’t have thought her capable of what I now believe she did to Mr Church.’
‘You mustn’t worry, really. You will be safe – I’ll make sure of it.’
He set a cup of tea in front of her, moving the paper from the files out of the way.
‘What’s this?’ she said.
‘It’s a page from the list of women sent to the Factory from the ship Nemesis. I suggest you examine the details for Edwina Drake.’
Mrs Mulrooney was a new enough reader to preen slightly at being asked to peruse a document for herself. She took it primly, held it out at arm’s length to enable her eyes to focus on the cramped script in the low light. After a moment, she set it down again.
‘Rebecca Nelson was a governess, you know,’ she said.
‘Yes, you told me.’
‘And her hair – well, you know about that, too.’
‘Yes. The age seems about right. The eye colour, the height. None of it is any guarantee, of course. But it does seem rather coincidental. You noted the name of the ship?’
‘Yes, I did. The same as her wolfhound. I always thought it was an odd name for a house dog, to be honest. I intended to ask her the meaning of the word, actually.’
‘Some use it as though it means enemy, which of course it doesn’t,’ said Monsarrat. ‘It’s more an invocation to revenge.’
‘I can understand why she would want vengeance on Robert Church. But why now? If she was in the Factory for so long …’
‘Yes, and I wish we had a means of finding out how long precisely she was there. I know that Church was there for a long time. It’s conceivable he could have taken up the post while Edwina Drake was an inmate. And if Edwina Drake is Rebecca Nelson, then she may have received some unsolicited attention.’
‘I’m sure he put her through all sorts of horrors, as he did with the rest of them. It was his chief enjoyment in life, from what I understand. But now, of course, we need to decide what to do.’
‘At the moment, I believe we should do precisely nothing.’
‘You can’t mean that, Mr Monsarrat! Not with Grace O’Leary facing probable execution.’
‘We have until tomorrow, don’t forget. I am not Mr Eveleigh’s most favoured employee at present, but he is a man of his word. And making an accusation like this, against a person like this – it has not the merest hope of standing, not without more to back it up. So for now, as I said, we do nothing. I will see what I can uncover in the morning, and then we can make a decision.’
‘I may be able to find a little more out tomorrow at the Factory, as well.’
‘Hannah, I think it is unwise for you to go to the Factory tomorrow. To go anywhere near Rebecca Nelson.’
‘But if I don’t arrive, as I have every day before this, won’t she know, then, with certainty that something is wrong?’
‘As soon as she talks to her driver, she will be suspicious of what you’re up to.’
‘Very well then. I’ll stay here. Perhaps you could arrange for a message to be delivered to her. Pleading illness, or some such.’
‘I’ll do that. And you promise me that you will stay inside and not answer the door. I’ll do my very best to discover what I can. Although how to accomplish it, I have no idea.’
* * *
The next morning Monsarrat set out half an hour earlier than usual. He had an errand to run before appearing, seemingly blameless, before Mr Eveleigh.
It had been a week now since he had last entered the Prancing Stag, and since then he’d avoided even walking past it. It was an inconvenient time, too, to call, as th
e respectable were still preparing for the day, and the less respectable dribbling home. But it was very possibly a good time to find a nightwatchman breakfasting before going to his rest.
His knock went unanswered long enough to make him wonder if after all he had chosen the wrong time, until he heard light footsteps approaching the door.
Sophia had clearly been up for some hours. Her hair was perfectly pinned up, her dress perfectly pressed, with an expression floating between mild annoyance and curiosity.
In an instant her face tensed. ‘Mr Monsarrat. How may I help you? You don’t mean to tell me you require lodging?’
‘Nothing of the sort, although I do thank you for the offer. I’m here to enquire, as it happens, after a guest of yours.’
‘You may need to make your inquiries at another time, then. All of my guests have either already departed for the morning or are still in bed. Save one.’
‘Would I be correct in assuming that one is Ernest Holford?’
‘And what business have you with Mr Holford?’
‘I simply wish to interview him for a possible position should his current employer no longer require him. And as I’ve never interviewed a nightwatchman before, I wasn’t sure which time would be most convenient. I chose this one.’
‘I see. And would you welcome a prospective employer arriving unannounced at your house while you were at your breakfast?’
‘I imagine that would depend on who the employer was. Now, you’re very kind to be so jealous of your guest’s privacy; however, I’d like you to announce me. Perhaps Mr Holford himself can decide whether he welcomes a visit.’
Sophia nodded briefly, left him standing on the doorstep as she went inside to confer with her guest. She reappeared a moment later, gesturing with her head towards the parlour.
‘Thank you,’ said Monsarrat. He received no reply, nor did he expect one.
Ernest Holford was a barrel-chested man, short and stocky, and the sleeves of his coat were tight enough around his upper arm to make Monsarrat suspect he was more than equal to anyone with designs on Mr Nelson’s merchandise.
‘I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast, sir,’ said Monsarrat.
‘Don’t be, I can eat as well in company as alone. Sit. Miss Stark mentioned you might be looking for a watchman.’
‘I understand you’ve been very successful at Mr Nelson’s warehouse, and I don’t wish to lure you away from your employment there. But on occasion we have need of someone with your abilities at Government House, and with Mr Henson’s blessing I thought it might be wise for us to get to know each other.’
‘Might as well. I’ve not been in Parramatta long, and I’m happy to meet as many people as possible, you included.’
Monsarrat inclined his head. ‘So, tell me – where were you before this?’
‘In Sydney. I was employed by a number of ship owners to guard their cargo as it came onto the docks. Have you ever been on the docks in Sydney, Mr Monsarrat?’
‘Indeed, though not for some time.’
‘Then you’ll know what a mess it can be down there. People getting off ships, others trying to get on. Convicts wailing and crying, soldiers trying to control them. Merchandise being unloaded and back loaded, publicans buying rum by the barrel, merchants buying cloth by the bale. And thieves, of course. There are always thieves.’
‘So presumably you were there to prevent them from attaining their objective.’
‘Yes. And I was successful at it. No merchandise walked off a ship I was guarding, unless it was paid for.’
‘And you’ve had similar success at the warehouse, I hear.’
‘Yes, although not straight away. Bits and pieces still bled out, although not at the rate they had before.’
‘A great concern, I’m sure. I know they had some rather fine porcelain there recently.’
‘Yes, and it was the small items that seemed to go. Small and valuable. Silver plate. Cutlery. The porcelain you mentioned.’
‘But then it stopped?’
‘Yes, then it stopped. Not before time – I was beginning to worry, I have to tell you. No one went in or out, you see, yet things still vanished. Enough to make you believe in phantoms,’ Holford said, reflexively crossing himself.
‘And you say no one came in or out? No one at all?’
‘No. Apart from Mr Nelson, of course, and occasionally his wife. Lovely lady – have you met her? She would bring me a pie sometimes. Or some bread. Said she was concerned for my health, working those hours. And I don’t mind saying, those bits and pieces were very welcome, too.’
‘I am sure they were. So apart from the times she delivered you the food, there really was no one near the warehouse?’
‘Ah, sometimes she’d go in. Say her husband had allowed her to choose some fabric for a gown, or that she wished to select a new brush or some such thing. Then she let herself out by the side gate. I looked forward to her visits, to be honest. Lonely work, this.’
‘I’m sure it is.’
‘But Mrs Nelson’s been busy at the Factory of late. She goes there to do good works, you know. So there’s been no pies. Wonderful what she’s doing with those women – she must have the patience of the Blessed Virgin herself. But, though I feel selfish saying it, I do miss the victuals.’
‘Well, I shall leave you to those you have,’ said Monsarrat. ‘Thank you for your time.’
Holford nodded, unable to express himself verbally due to the large quantity of bread he had just put in his mouth. Bread that, Monsarrat noticed, had been taken from a rather fine platter. Silver, with a design of grapes and vines, one ornate handle at each end.
Sophia was waiting by the door, and doubtless had been listening to the entire conversation. She wore her pinched expression, which did nothing to accentuate her beauty. Come to that, now that he looked at her, Monsarrat found her features rather sharp. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before.
‘I must say, your establishment is looking far more genteel than I remember it,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ Sophia said. ‘I do try – one will never be accepted here unless one acts like one already is accepted.’
‘Well, the longer I am in Parramatta, the less inclined I am to act like some of those in the box pews each Sunday. But of course each of us must proceed according to our own instincts. And yours, when it comes to domestic decoration, have always been rather fine. Augmented now, I see, by the addition of a lovely silver platter.’
Sophia said nothing.
‘Looks like something one might see at David Nelson’s shop. Your business must be doing exceptionally well if you’re able to afford such treasures. Wherever did you get it?’
‘From a family who left. They found the Parramatta heat too oppressive and have moved back to Sydney town,’ Sophia said.
‘Interesting. You know that on occasion land deeds and the like pass at my desk. Which family, did you say?’
‘I can’t recall.’
‘Ah. Well, you have always been an exceptionally hard worker, and fatigue can play tricks with the memory, of course.’
‘I have, and there is further work ahead of me now. So if there is nothing else I can assist you with, Mr Monsarrat, I have a guest to clean up after.’
Monsarrat left her to set into order the mess in her house, while he made for the comfortable chaos of the road.
Chapter 29
Judging by the state of Eveleigh’s desk – papers still stacked neatly from the night before, a fresh blotter with no ink spots on it – he had not been there for long. Monsarrat was relieved – he was sure he would have been able to explain any lateness, but he would prefer not to have to.
He rapped gently on Eveleigh’s open door to make the man aware he was in, then took himself to his own desk and started transcribing a copy of Grace’s statement. He left out Peggy and Bronagh – hiding in the store, they couldn’t have seen anything, and he had no leisure to interview them now. Nor did he want to see them join Grace in he
r confinement, to see their sentences lengthened and their hair cropped.
The further he got into his transcription, the slower he went, his own reluctance to see the matter concluded dragging on his fingers. He was distracted by an impulse to bring Eveleigh into his confidence. But with a person as highly placed as Rebecca Nelson, and Eveleigh’s current frustration, he did not think it was the time.
So when he presented a document to Eveleigh, it was a list of land grants made in the last days of Governor Brisbane’s administration, for perusal by his replacement. Eveleigh glanced at it, set it aside.
‘And the statement of prisoner O’Leary?’
‘It will be with you by this afternoon, sir.’
‘Good. After that perhaps you may like to pass some time in the cellar, setting those documents to rights.’
‘I’d like that very much indeed, sir. As we know, the worst of the heat never penetrates there, and I must confess I am soothed by the process of imposing order on the mess in which those files currently live.’
‘Very well, you may soothe yourself then.’
‘However, sir …’
Eveleigh, having returned his gaze to the list of land grants, looked up again, putting his pen down very deliberately.
‘Yes, Monsarrat. There would be a “however”.’
‘My housekeeper was ill this morning, and I would as soon look in on her. I promise to confine myself to the cellar until long after nightfall to make up for it. Would you have any objection?’
‘I suppose not. Those files in the cellar are not going to slide any further into disarray for the want of your company. But I do warn you, Mr Monsarrat, if word reaches me that you are continuing to look into the Church murder, you will be confined to this office in perpetuity. And I am glad to hear that you like it in the cellar, I’m beginning to toy with the idea of locking you in there.’
* * *
Surely, thought Monsarrat, there was no harm in strolling past the Female Factory. It was on his way from Government House. If there was no guard at the gate, he might be able to duck in to check that Mrs Nelson was there and Hannah Mulrooney wasn’t.
The Unmourned Page 24
