The Governor's House

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘Though who will pay the undertaker’s fees I do not know. There is a lawyer in town. Hoskins. Whether Dr Morgan dealt with him I cannot say. Nor whether he will be prepared to discuss the doctor’s affairs with the late doctor’s former employees. Who presumably can expect nothing from the will, even if there is one.’

  Having brushed aside the problems of Aberystwyth, Dr Talbot mounted his horse and trotted away down the drive.

  ‘Well…’ Catherine blew air from her puffed cheeks.

  ‘Mrs Beedle used to work for the Talbots,’ Mr Moffatt said. ‘Never had a good word to say for either of them.’

  ‘There’s twenty guineas in one of the drawers in the doctor’s bedroom,’ said Mrs Amos. ‘He told me about it once but I don’t know I would feel right about taking it.’

  ‘It’ll pay for the undertaker,’ Catherine said. ‘I’m sure the doctor wouldn’t mind if we used it for that.’

  ‘There is another matter,’ Mr Moffatt said. ‘A question of the constables.’

  ‘You’re thinking now the doctor’s dead they may be paying us a visit,’ Catherine said.

  ‘It’s not that Mr Moffatt and me is involved,’ Mrs Amos said. ‘Not personally, I mean.’

  ‘Of course we are personally involved,’ Mr Moffatt said. ‘I would argue that very strongly. Now the doctor has passed on, the three of us represent all that is best of Aberystwyth. It is up to us to support the tradition, Mrs Amos.’

  ‘I meant only they won’t be carting you and me off to prison,’ Mrs Amos said.

  ‘But I’ve still got time to serve so they’ll take me, sure enough,’ Catherine said. ‘The question is what we do about it.’

  ‘I was thinking perhaps Mr Jackson might have some suggestions,’ Mr Moffatt said.

  ‘I’ll go and see the lawyer first. Perhaps he’ll help us.’

  Vain hope: Mr Hoskins looked down his lordly nose. ‘I cannot assist you. My professional responsibilities preclude my discussing the deceased’s affairs with anyone but his principal beneficiary.’

  ‘But the doctor is dead and we don’t know what to do.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘But not sorry enough to help.’ She, too, could look down her nose when circumstances warranted it.

  ‘Only one thing for it,’ she told Sheridan as she mounted.

  Thirty minutes later she arrived at Jackson’s Landing. Mungo Jackson was in, which was lucky since he told her he’d been mustering cattle since first light. She gave him her sad news.

  He took her hands in his. ‘I am very sorry. You must be desolated. Dr Morgan was a fine man.’

  ‘He was that.’

  Mungo led her into the house and went to get them something to drink while Catherine sat looking at the view down the creek. Its beauty helped ease her pain.

  ‘I never get tired of looking at it,’ she said when he came back. ‘But I have a problem I need to discuss with you.’

  He put a glass of wine in her hand and she explained.

  ‘I was hired out to the Morgans as a probation passholder. Now the doctor’s dead I’m a convict on the loose. They won’t like that.’

  ‘He never arranged to get you a ticket of leave?’

  ‘He was afraid I might walk out on him.’

  ‘How many years do you still have to serve?’

  ‘Five more.’

  ‘And you think they’ll lock you up rather than hire you out to someone else? Someone like me, for example?’

  ‘They won’t do that. Hiring out stopped when they did away with probation,’ Catherine said. ‘I’m a convict without a master and a convict has to serve her time. Of course they’ll lock me up. What else can they do?’

  ‘It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s the law.’

  ‘Then maybe we should speak to a lawyer.’

  ‘I already did.’ She told him how Hoskins had behaved. ‘Sent me off with a flea in my ear,’ she said.

  ‘Did he indeed? We’ll see about that. Hoskins is my lawyer too. He won’t try that nonsense with me. He’ll tell me if there’s a will and who inherits the house. I’ll ask him about your problem too.’

  There was something else Catherine thought she had to tell him. ‘The doctor asked me to marry him,’ she said.

  ‘What? When did he do that?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said I would think about it.’

  ‘What was there to think about?’

  She looked at him. ‘You shouldn’t need to ask.’

  He looked at her thoughtfully then pointed through the window. ‘You see my hoy down there? You’ve never asked what I use it for.’

  ‘It wasn’t my business.’

  ‘I want to tell you. I use it to fetch supplies from Hobart from time to time. But it has another function.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Rum is widely used as currency, especially among ex-convicts, yet the duty on rum is high. I have never thought it right that they should have to pay the government to use what is essentially cash.’

  ‘So you have helped them a little.’

  ‘Or sometimes a lot.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘So you know I am not only a bushranger. I am also a smuggler.’

  ‘And so?’

  ‘So I am not a person ever likely to settle down. For me that would take the spice out of living.’

  ‘Nobody is asking you to settle down.’

  ‘In time you would.’

  ‘You are very sure what I will do and won’t do.’

  ‘You are a victim of your biology like everyone else. Most women want children and children need a settled life. I do not believe that would suit me.’

  Hurt and indignation brought tears to her eyes. ‘You don’t need to keep telling me that. For you nothing is forever, right? But you’re wrong! I love you, Mungo, and always shall, yet I’d made up my mind to accept Dr Morgan because of how you feel about…’ somehow she forced the tears back ‘… about children and… and a settled life, but don’t you go telling me how I feel, either now or in the future. I would’ve married him, Mungo, but Dr Morgan is dead and I am free.’

  ‘From what you tell me unlikely to remain free for long,’ Mungo said. ‘Unless we can think of a way to stop them.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘Good question.’ He began to pace about the room, muttering to himself and trying to work things out, while she watched. He stopped and turned to her. ‘I suspect Arthur Dunstable is planning to marry Miss Delamere,’ he said.

  She was startled by what seemed a change of subject. ‘Never! He’s got no money – you told me so yourself. Without a fortune they wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. Anyway, what’s that got to do with keeping me out of gaol?’

  ‘Bear with me. At the moment Arthur Dunstable has no money, yes. But he thinks he will soon have heaps of it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The fool was boasting about it after you ladies left us at your dinner party. His ship Antares should be arriving in the Derwent within the week. His entire fortune – the little he hasn’t gambled away – is tied up in her. But the interesting thing about Antares is her cargo. A large quantity of silver coin for the Hobart treasury.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘He didn’t name a figure. But he claimed enough to keep the colony in funds for a year at least. And he stands to make a fortune out of the delivery if it arrives safely. I thought you might prefer that not to happen.’

  She looked at him, blue eyes wide. ‘What are you saying to me?’

  ‘It’s very simple. We are both bushrangers.’

  ‘I suppose that’s right, even though I only went with you once.’ She thought about it. ‘Somehow it seemed more like a game.’

  ‘I doubt Arthur Dunstable thought it was a game.’

  ‘Cat Haggard the bushranger. How strange…’

  ‘Now I’ve told you I’m also a smuggler
. So I thought: why not be a pirate, too?’

  ‘Antares?’

  ‘Why not?’

  She couldn’t believe he was serious. ‘You intend robbing the Tasmanian treasury?’

  ‘Certainly not, my Catherine. I intend to pirate Antares and offer a percentage of the cargo to the government in exchange for a free and unconditional pardon for you. And that is how we keep you out of gaol.’

  ‘It’ll be the rope for both of us, we try anything like that.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I believe they will understand that fifty per cent of the cargo is worth a lot more to them than your neck or mine.’

  ‘Fifty per cent? What happens to the rest?’

  ‘A percentage to the needy, as always. A bribe or two. The rest to you. We cannot let you loose on the community without an adequate fortune.’

  ‘We’ll need sailors to sail her.’

  ‘We shall and they’ll get the ship. It’ll be a good thing for them. What they do with her afterwards will be up to them.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I get the adventure and the knowledge that I am helping a woman for whom I have the highest personal regard.’

  Mungo smiled and drew her to her feet.

  She thought: There is only one way this is going to end. Not that she was unwilling, quite the opposite. And Dr Morgan, who in other circumstances would certainly have disapproved, was dead.

  ‘What will Agnes think?’

  His smile broadened. ‘I have arranged for Agnes to be otherwise engaged.’

  Later they went to see the lawyer. Fat Mr Hoskins puffed and prevaricated and talked about professional confidences but in the end, as Mungo had foreseen, gave them at least some of the information they needed.

  Yes, there was a will. The property would go to Dr Morgan’s brother. There were pecuniary bequests to Mr Moffatt and Mrs Amos.

  ‘And Miss Haggard?’ Mungo said.

  ‘Accumulated wages for Miss Haggard. He must have set them aside for her under the old probationary system. Nothing more. But I know that Dr Morgan had been planning to make a new will. As to the problem of Miss Haggard’s incarceration, the law is clear. I fear I cannot help you there.’

  ‘Not that it will matter, if things go well,’ said Mungo as they left Hoskins’s office. ‘But it’s good to know he had intended doing something for you.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ Cat said.

  ‘You can bet on it,’ Mungo said.

  Either way it was too late now.

  With Antares due within the week there was no time to waste.

  ‘You’ll have to stay here,’ Mungo said. ‘Go back and the constables will be sure to pick you up.’

  ‘But Mungo, I have to tell them what’s happening. And they’ll need money to tide them over.’ She twinkled at him. ‘If you can let me have some.’

  ‘Better I send one of my men.’

  Catherine wouldn’t hear of it. ‘They know me. I like to think they trust me. I owe it to them, Mungo.’

  ‘Then let me send someone with you.’

  ‘No need. I’ll manage.’

  He understood although he wasn’t happy about it. ‘Take care,’ he said. ‘And make sure you come back straightaway.’

  ‘You let me worry about that,’ she said. ‘You work out how we’re going to pirate Antares.’

  Mungo saw her off then spoke to two of his men.

  ‘Dirk, I want you to go after her. Try not to let her see you but keep an eye on her, make sure she comes to no harm. And Vincent, you head on down to the docks. See if you can find any of your old shipmates who might be interested in a spot of piracy.’

  They touched their caps. ‘Right on, Cap’n,’ they said. And left.

  He still had a cattle station to run. Mungo was not a gentleman squatter; he liked to get up to his armpits in every aspect of the business. For the rest of the bellowing day he and his men branded calves and gelded some of the young bulls: a messy, bloody challenge that he enjoyed. In mid-afternoon a squatter from the other side of the Derwent turned up out of the blue, hoping to negotiate a deal for horses he wanted to buy, but Mungo, having named his price, would not shift and the squatter went away empty handed.

  All in all it was a hard but rewarding day. The setting sun was kindling orange fire in the upper branches of the trees around the homestead and he had just gathered his Robin Hood gang to tell them his plans for Antares when Dirk came galloping back alone.

  Mungo broke off what he was saying as Dirk skidded to a stop in a storm of dust and leapt from his lathered horse. Mungo, doom in his heart, marched across to him.

  ‘Where is she? What’s happened?’

  ‘They got her, Cap’n. There weren’t nuthun I could do.’

  Dirk was close to tears; the captain had trusted him and he had betrayed that trust.

  Mungo’s face was dark with blood, his eyes flashing; there wasn’t a man at Jackson’s Landing who didn’t tiptoe around him when the furies took hold and few had seen him so angry. Yet his voice, although tight, was calm.

  ‘Tell me.’

  He had shadowed her safely all the way.

  ‘She never saw me, I’ll take my oath on that. She went into the house and was there about an hour. She was coming out when these two constables arrived in one of them growlers they use. They talked to her less than a minute then shoved her into the growler and drove off. I followed them. They took her inside the Cascades. Weren’t nuthun I could do so I come back here as quick as I could. I swear to you, Cap’n –’

  Mungo’s initial rage had turned to an implacable purpose. ‘Save it. What we have to do now is get her out. The only question is how.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The men who’d snatched Cat were the sort who liked to throw their weight about. Inside the Cascades they pushed her out of the growler, grabbing her by the arms as though she might fly away. She let them, knowing there was no point in objecting. They marched her off to a cell block – that was new since my day – locked her in and left her. Cat looked around at the walls surrounding her. So many walls in my life.

  She had never thought to see this place again. But here she was and here likely she’d be staying. She couldn’t get her mind around that, not yet, nor was in any hurry to do so. Think about it too much I’ll likely cut my throat. But she would have liked to know how the wallopers had got on to her so quickly.

  Two hours later she found out.

  ‘Visitor for you!’

  She hadn’t expected that. Hope snatched her breath. Could Mungo have come to free her?

  It wasn’t Mungo. Of all people, it was Arthur Dunstable. Who was drooling with glee as they faced each other across the interview room table.

  ‘Got you at last. I’ve been so looking forward to this moment.’

  She put on her best lady-of-Aberystwyth voice. ‘I do not understand what you are telling me.’

  ‘I saw you passing and tipped off the constables.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Maria Hack?’ Smiling, smiling, while his teeth gleamed.

  It came as a shock, no denying it, but Cat stayed firm. ‘Maria Hack? Is the name supposed to mean something to me?’

  ‘She left me, you know. After the raid. But before she went she told me who you were.’ He laughed, glee frothing like bubbles. ‘And to think I’d sat at dinner with you and not known. All credit to you, I suppose. Not that it’ll do you any good. Not with Maria as a witness. She don’t love you, you know. By no means. And with you safely locked up, why shouldn’t she? A bushranger and a convict? They’ll hang you higher than Mount Wellington for it, you can be sure of that.’

  A cold hand was squeezing her heart but she closed her mind to it. ‘I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about,’ she said.

  His sharp fangs would have torn her flesh, had it been possible. ‘They should have topped you last time. If they hadn’t wanted breeding stock for the colonies they’d have done it, too. Well, better l
ate than never. That’s what they say, isn’t it?’

  ‘I have no idea why you are here,’ she said.

  ‘So that when they string you up you’ll know who put the noose round your neck.’

  They’ll hang you higher than Mount Wellington.

  She had a horrible feeling Arthur Dunstable was right.

  Later, when the prisoners were let out of their cells for exercise in the yard, a drunk, yelling and singing, was brought in. Silas Good, one of Mungo’s men and not given to booze.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Cat asked.

  ‘There’ll be a rope over the wall tonight,’ he said.

  Maybe there was hope after all.

  * * *

  It was dark and cold, with a nail paring of moon. Cat waited in the shadow of the building. Somehow – she didn’t know how – her cell door had been left unlocked but she was beginning to fear it might not help her. The wall surrounding this block was too high to climb unaided and the promised rope had not arrived. Along the top of the wall a crusting of broken glass glistened frostily in the starlight. Time passed.

  A flicker of movement, an uncoiling thread of darkness flying through the star-bright air. A rope had been flung over the wall and now hung motionless, its tail reaching the ground. This was it. Cat’s head moved cautiously as she looked from side to side but all was still. She took a deep breath, ran as silently as she could across the yard and began to climb.

  She reached the top of the wall, teetering as she tried to avoid the broken glass. A man’s voice yelled behind her.

  ‘What’s going on up there?’

  A rifle shot would knock her off the wall as easy as blinking. She stared down but it was too dark to see what lay below. No help for it. The thought of the gallows steeled her nerves. She launched herself into space.

  She landed in a heap. Bruised and shaken, she staggered to her feet. A hand grabbed her arm.

  ‘You come along ’o me, my darlin.’ Alfred Dark was one of Mungo’s men; she recognised his voice. ‘The captain will be right glad to see you, so ’e will. But let’s get movin, or likely we’ll both end up inside.’