Killigrew and the Incorrigibles

by Jonathan Lunn

  ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘No, thank you. You seem like a lovely woman, but cupid’s arrows have already wreaked enough havoc in my life, thank you very much. In two weeks’ time you’ll be taking up your new position on Norfolk Island, and I’ll be sailing on to the Fijis – to be eaten by cannibals, with any luck.’

  ‘Do you really want to be eaten by cannibals?’

  ‘As long as they remember to drink white wine with white meat. I couldn’t think of anything more ignominious than being washed down with a glass of claret.’

  ‘Now I know what your middle initial stands for: Idiotic.’

  ‘That’s me: “Idiotic” is my middle name. Now, what about you? You’re a mass of contradictions yourself, if you don’t mind my saying so. A free-thinking woman who seems willing to subject herself to the real penal servitude of being a governess…’

  ‘Financial necessity, Mr Killigrew. Ever since Captain Cafferty died, I’ve had to make ends meet as best I can.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Now I’m the one who’s prying.’

  ‘It’s all right, it was a long time ago. More than eight years now. I was very young when we married.’

  ‘Captain…’ mused Killigrew. ‘You don’t strike me as a naval officer’s wife.’

  She shook her head. ‘Army. Forty-Fourth Regiment of Foot.’

  He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to the Little Fighting Fours,’ he said, and then put two and two together. ‘Where did he die?’ he asked quietly. ‘Gandamack?’

  She shook her head. ‘It was before that, on the third day of the retreat from Kabul, when the Ghilzais started sniping at us from amongst the rocks.’

  ‘Christ! You mean you were there with him? With Lady Sale and the others?’

  She nodded. ‘He died in my arms. I suppose that must sound terribly melodramatic to you, but that’s the way it happened. It was not the way it happens in the theatre, however. Sean was in a great deal of pain…’ She looked down.

  ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to go on. It’s really none of my business.’

  She looked up at him, her eyes bright but dry. ‘There’s not much more to tell. I was still holding on to his body, with the rest of the army marching past all around us, the women and children dying on all sides, when the Ghilzai horsemen appeared out of nowhere and carried me off. It all happened so suddenly, I was terrified. I didn’t know what I thought was going to happen…’ She smiled. ‘No. I knew exactly what I thought would happen. But it didn’t. The Ghilzais handed me over to Akbar Khan, the leader of the Afghans. The next day I was joined by Lady Sale and the married officers with their wives and children; Khan had taken them under his protection. At least, that’s what he called it, but we were hostages really. But we were always treated honourably. Well, the rest you probably know.’

  Killigrew nodded. He had been in Singapore, on his way to the Opium War, when he had heard of the destruction of General Elphinstone’s Army of the Indus in the Khyber Pass. Only two men had survived: Dr Bryden and Harry Flashman, the Hector of Afghanistan. But the news that Lady Sale and the other captives were safe and sound had come months later, after the Treaty of Nanking had concluded the war with China. The hostages had spent three months at Akbar Khan’s fortress at Budeeabad – during which time the fortress was struck by an earthquake – before a sally from Jallalabad led by General Sale had inflicted a defeat on the Afghans, forcing Khan to move his hostages deeper into Afghanistan. They had been force-marched through the mountains of the Hindu Kush for weeks, until they had reached Bameean, where they had been rescued by General Sale more than eight months after their initial capture. As honourably as the Afghans might have treated their prisoners, it must have been a terrifying ordeal for a young woman who could not have been a day over eighteen.

  ‘When I got back to Calcutta I learned that my brother Francis had died; I was alone in the world. But I had no wish to become a self-pitying wretch, dependent on the charity of others, so I left India and got a job as a governess to the children of an American family in upstate New York. I worked there for five years, until the youngest of their children was old enough to go to school. That was when I saw Mr Price’s advertisement in the Seneca Falls County Courier.’

  ‘Mr Price certainly seems to have advertised widely in his search for a governess.’

  ‘Apparently his advertisements in the Australian press did not meet with much of a response.’

  ‘If it isn’t prying, might I ask why you would want to accept a position as a governess on Norfolk Island?’

  ‘I’m in need of a position; Mr Price’s children are in need of a governess. And the remuneration is generous.’

  ‘Even so… the world’s most notorious penal settlement?’

  She lowered her gaze. ‘I’ve seen brutality, Mr Killigrew. It would be dishonest of me to claim that it does not frighten me, but at least I have some idea of what to expect. In that respect, I feel I am well qualified. And as I said just now, other applicants were few and far between. If I did not do the job, who would?’ She raised her eyes to meet his once more. ‘Does that sound foolish to you?’

  He considered the point for a moment, and then shook his head. ‘No. No, I know exactly what you mean.’

  * * *

  ‘There you have it, Second.’ On the quarterdeck of the Tisiphone, Commander Robertson gestured the island they now approached from the south-west. ‘Her Majesty’s penal settlement of Norfolk Island. Nowhere in the world exists a greater concatenation of villainy, roguery and malevolence,’ he remarked to his second lieutenant.

  Killigrew smiled faintly. ‘Outside of the Reform Club, sir,’ he could not resist adding.

  Robertson glowered at him. ‘Spare me your feeble attempts at humour, Second. Mr Cavan, be so good as to go below and inform our passengers that we will shortly be dropping anchor in Sydney Bay.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Midshipman Cavan saluted smartly and went below.

  The two-week voyage from Hobart Town had been leisurely. The gash in Killigrew’s thigh had healed sufficiently for Strachan to remove the stitches; the bruises on his face were scarcely visible, and he was getting around without the crutch, hardly limping at all.

  They had seen little of Fallon or Naim during the voyage; the assistant comptroller-general of convicts had been laid low by seasickness, while the journalist only emerged from the cabin they shared to eat or to demand the latest estimate of when they would be arriving at Norfolk Island. The slowness of the Tisiphone’s progress seemed to drive him to distraction: Killigrew could only assume that Fallon was an impatient man, for his reassurance that Cusack would still be there when they arrived did nothing to alleviate Fallon’s mood.

  But if Fallon was a queer fish, the voyage had had its compensations in the form of Mrs Cafferty. Killigrew had spent most of his off-watch hours talking to her, which had helped the time to pass all the more swiftly. She had overcome her initial hostility to him when they had discovered they shared the same radical politics. She was a lively and intelligent conversationalist, and not afraid to contradict him and speak her own mind on the few things they did not agree on. He could not remember enjoying anyone’s company so much since… well, since Hong Kong. Not that he had the same depth of feeling for her that he had done for the young woman he had lost; but there was no denying he was going to miss her when they left her at Norfolk Island.

  And now they were off the coast already.

  Robertson surveyed the island briefly through the telescope before handing it to Killigrew. A volcanic plug rising up out of the northern fringe of the Tasman Sea, Norfolk Island was about five miles long and three miles wide, according to the chart. For most of its coastline, sheer black cliffs laced with streaks of red rose three hundred feet out of the sea, where breakers boomed constantly over a ring of reefs. Here and there strands of flax covered the cliffs densely, while elsewhere dark pinnacles of basalt rose up. On top of these forbidding defences was a rolling landscape of verdant me
adows and spiring pine trees, a veritable paradise according to its discoverer, Captain James Cook.

  The Tisiphone exchanged signals with the signal station on Point Ross, on the south side of the island. Having established that the convicts had not mutinied – something had happened several times in the past, with bloody consequences – and that the island was still under the garrison’s control, Robertson complied with their instructions and dropped anchor in Sydney Bay, opposite Kingston, the main settlement on the island.

  Beyond the reef, Killigrew could see a lagoon – a crescent of white sand, half-built stone pier with a boat-house nearby, some buildings of white stone with red roofs clustered around a green with a flagstaff on it. To the right of those stood three compounds surrounded by high stone walls, the central one enclosing a three-storey building that looked like a barracks. Behind these, about half a mile inland, there was another strand of buildings – a mixture of houses and barracks. All of these were hemmed in on three sides by steep hills, and on the fourth by the sea.

  The paddle-sloop hove to and dropped anchor outside the reef. ‘Boat coming out, sir,’ warned a lookout.

  Robertson had a look through the telescope and handed it to Killigrew. ‘What do you make of it, Second?’

  Killigrew looked for himself. It was a whaleboat, nearly thirty feet long, crewed by eight men wearing cork lifejackets over their chequered ‘magpie’ fatigues. Two black-uniformed guards armed with carbines supervised the oarsmen.

  An eleventh figure sat in the bows and waved to the men on the sloop’s deck. He looked to be about six feet tall, bull-necked and bow-legged, his face burned brick red by the sub-tropical sun. He wore tight pantaloons and an old-fashioned bobtail coat, with a neckerchief of black silk tied sailor-style across his broad shoulders. Looking ludicrous on top of his large, bullet-head, a small straw hat with a blue ribbon was balanced on top of his oiled, sandy hair.

  ‘Boat ahoy!’ the marine sentry challenged from the entry port.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ called the oddly dressed individual in the boat.

  ‘Identify yourself, mister!’ growled Robertson.

  ‘John Giles Price, civil commandant of Norfolk Island. Permission to come aboard?’

  ‘Permission granted.’

  The whaleboat bumped against the Tisiphone’s side, immediately below the entry port, and Price leaped for the side-ladder, climbing athletically up on deck. He looked distinctly green about the gills as he pressed a wadded linen handkerchief to his lips, before inserting a monocle in front of one of his cold, grey eyes and using it to survey the men on the quarterdeck. Finally he turned back to Robertson. ‘Have I the honour of addressing the captain of this vessel?’

  Robertson inclined his head. ‘Commander Robertson at your service, Mr Price.’ The two of them shook hands. Killigrew knew from experience that Robertson had the kind of firm grip that could leave your fingers numb – the commander was not showing off, he simply did not know his own strength – but even he winced at Price’s grasp.

  ‘…And this is my second lieutenant, Mr Killigrew.’

  Price turned his gaze on the lieutenant. ‘No relation of Rear Admiral Killigrew?’

  ‘His grandson.’

  Price nodded. ‘I remember you. Weren’t you the little boy who climbed down that collapsed tin mine to take food to the men trapped inside, until they could be dug free?’

  Killigrew grimaced, embarrassed. ‘I was very young and very foolish. At the time I thought it was just a big adventure.’

  Price smiled. ‘I met your grandfather several times. He and my father were good friends.’ He did not need to tell Killigrew that his father was Sir Rose Price of Trengwainton, a baronet of the Cornish aristocracy. When Killigrew had been a boy, he had overheard many conversations about what a young tearaway John Price had grown up to be, and how he was bound to come to a bad end unless he mended his ways. Price had been packed off to the colonies only a few months before Killigrew had joined the navy, at such short notice that everyone suspected some sort of scandal, although if there had been one, his father had covered it up very effectively indeed.

  Price gazed about the Tisiphone’s deck. ‘So, you joined the navy, eh? We often wondered if you’d follow in the family tradition.’

  ‘I think we all knew that you’d end up in a place like this, one way or another,’ Killigrew replied with a smile.

  Price stared at Killigrew in shocked disbelief, and then roared with laughter. ‘It’s good to see you’ve got a sense of humour at last!’ he said, and turned to Robertson.

  ‘The rear admiral often used to complain to my father that his grandson was as mournful as an undertaker’s mute, and forever with his head stuck in some damned book!’

  ‘I think you’ll find he’s changed considerably since then,’ Robertson said drily.

  The three passengers had come on deck now. Price recognised Nairn at once, acknowledging him with a smile. ‘Mr Nairn. This is an unexpected pleasure.’ His eyes widened and he smiled with delight when he saw Mrs Cafferty. ‘And may I be permitted to make the acquaintance of this enchanting creature?’

  ‘But of course,’ said Nairn. ‘Mrs Cafferty, this is Mr John Giles Price, commandant of Norfolk Island. Mr Price, may I present Mrs Philippa Cafferty, with whom I believe you have corresponded?’

  Price took Mrs Cafferty’s hand and kissed it. ‘Forgive me, madam. I should have known, but I was not expecting someone quite so… youthful.’

  ‘I’m older than I look,’ she assured him with a smile. ‘I have six years’ experience of working as a governess to a large family…’

  ‘I received Mr Stanton’s letter of recommendation in the last mail packet,’ said Price. ‘He speaks most highly of your abilities as a governess. Rest assured, ma’am, your competence is not in doubt. I know of no reason why I should not employ you at once; but perhaps first we ought to go ashore so you can meet Mrs Price and the children. Got to let the little woman have her say, eh?’ he added with a wink at Nairn. ‘And before you commit yourself, you should have an opportunity to meet the little desperadoes.’

  ‘There is one other matter which requires our attention before we go ashore,’ said Nairn. ‘This is Mr Malachi Fallon of the New York press.’

  ‘My friends call me “Panama”,’ explained Fallon, transferring his cane to his left hand so he could shake Price’s hand with his right.

  ‘Do they indeed, Mr Fallon?’ said Price.

  Fallon was not put out by the implied snub, merely smiling with amusement.

  Price turned to Nairn. ‘This has something to do with Cusack, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Mr Fallon writes for The Irish-American, a newspaper notorious for its pro-repeal editorials,’ explained Nairn. He smiled thinly. ‘To read some of its articles, one might be forgiven for thinking that Mr Cusack was kept in general circulation with the other convicts on this island.’

  ‘You’ll have to admit it’s understandable, gentlemen,’ said Fallon. ‘I don’t mean to give offence, Mr Price, but Norfolk Island does have something of a… well, shall we say a… reputation?’

  ‘No offence taken, Mr Fallon,’ Price replied, unconcerned. ‘This is a penal settlement, not a spa town. The desperadoes in my care are here for the benefit of the rest of society, not for their own.’

  ‘And when you talk of such desperadoes, do you include Devin Cusack?’

  ‘Let me make one thing absolutely clear to you, Mr Fallon. As far as I’m concerned, Mr Cusack is a traitor and a rebel, and if it were up to me I’d have him put in the gaol-gang, working in the wet quarry alongside the toughest villains on Norfolk Island. However, my instructions from the comptroller-general are quite specific: Mr Cusack is a political prisoner and is to be treated as such. He has a cottage to himself on the north coast of the island where he lives in considerably more comfort than the average Irish immigrant in New York, I’ll warrant.’ Price turned to Nairn. ‘Might I have a word with you in camera, sir?’

  ‘By
all means. If you gentlemen will excuse us…?’ Nairn and Price walked over to the taffrail to have a low confabulation.

  While they waited, Fallon produced a couple of cigars and offered one to Killigrew, who shook his head: he was supposed to be on duty. Fallon shrugged, returned one cigar to an inside pocket, snapped the end off the other and lit it.

  Killigrew watched Price and Nairn. The commandant did most of the talking, and his expression and gestures made it clear he was not happy about something; but the assistant comptroller-general had the last word.

  The two of them walked back to where the others waited. ‘Mr Price has generously given permission for you to interview Mr Cusack,’ Nairn told Fallon.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Under certain conditions,’ added Nairn. ‘First, you are not permitted to roam freely on the island. Wherever you do go, you will be accompanied by a constable appointed by Mr Price. Mr Price is to be kept informed of your whereabouts at all times. Second, you may not talk to any of the convicts other than Devin Cusack – except where necessary in dealing with those convict-constables who by virtue of their “trusty” status you may have cause to address from time to time. You will be permitted to talk to Cusack and to ask him any questions you may have, but only in the presence of Mr Price. You may make notes of your conversation with Cusack, but Mr Price will require to censor those notes if he feels that anything within them compromises the demands of security within the settlement. You may not pass Mr Cusack any notes, nor may you give him any gifts, money, tobacco-products or other objects.’

  ‘That all seems perfectly reasonable,’ said Fallon.

  ‘Thirdly, you will be required to sign a waiver.’

  ‘A waiver?’

  ‘Accepting responsibility in the event of any… shall we say, unpleasantness?’ Price smiled nastily. ‘I keep a firm grip on these scoundrels, Mr Fallon, but they’re as cunning as they are vicious. There have been no mutinies since I took over as commandant and discipline has never been stronger, but I would be lying if I were to give you any guarantees.’