The Ink Stain

by Tom Keneally

  Monsarrat had seen Jardine stand preternaturally still. Now, though, that ability seemed to have deserted the man. He stood, walked to the window. Sat. Stood again. Monsarrat, an inveterate pacer himself, found himself feeling increasingly sympathetic to Mrs Mulrooney. Entering its second hour, Jardine’s ovoid path around the rug in the outer office was beginning to grate.

  ‘You might as well sit,’ Monsarrat said. ‘There’s nothing either of us can do. Did you know? Any of it?’

  ‘I knew he hated Hallward, which put him on a par with half of the officers and administrators and pastoralists and clergy in the colony,’ said Jardine. ‘And I knew there were discussions about licensing newspapers and so on, but Mobbs rarely visited – certainly no more than you’d expect.’ Jardine sat down. There were several sumptuously upholstered chairs to choose from, but the lieutenant chose a spindly wooden one against the wall, resting his head on the flocked wallpaper. ‘Perhaps I should have seen it. But you know how men like the colonel carry on, blustering and ranting at the latest person who has displeased them.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Forgive me. It has been sometime since I slept, being too busy guarding you. I have not yet begun to grieve for the colonel.’

  Monsarrat found himself stifling an impolite yawn, blinked in the hope that the sleep-fogged world he and Jardine now inhabited would become clearer, brighter.

  ‘You very well may not have to. Highly likely nothing will happen to him,’ he said.

  ‘But something already has. The man who convinced me to leave England behind, it’s him I grieve for. Do you know, Mr Monsarrat, I was on the verge of leaving the army? Thought I’d get into farming. Comfortable cottage near a lake, pretty wife, that sort of thing. But the way he spoke about this place – he said we had an opportunity to construct a society as it should be done. We wouldn’t need to weave the old evils into the fabric – we could make whatever pattern we wanted. And we would do it through courage, honour, honesty. That man knew what he was about and went about it publicly with direct, decisive action. This skulking about, these secret deals, the splitting of hairs over whether providing someone with ammunition makes you a murderer – that is not a man I recognise.’

  The door to the office opened, and Ralph Eveleigh stepped out. ‘Gentlemen!’ he said, as though they were old friends who had arrived unexpectedly. ‘I think you had both better come in.’

  ‘Young Jack will be back on his feet in a few days, thanks to you staunching the wound,’ the surgeon said. ‘You will not be shorthanded for long, Captain Hart.’

  Hannah smiled. Her insistence on seeking out Henrietta had nearly killed this boy, and she had no wish to see another young man fall to an English weapon.

  ‘I would very much like to know exactly what transpired to put that lead in him,’ said the captain.

  They were seated in the map room, around a table littered with papers that had been hastily abandoned when the captain had heard the shot.

  Hannah had not been listening as carefully as she should have to his name. He had the kind of northern English accent Hannah tended to associate with the relentlessly practical.

  He was looking at Henrietta.

  She said, ‘I shall return to my brother, the governor’s private secretary. He will attend to the matter.’

  ‘I will attend to the matter,’ said the captain. ‘This is not a navy vessel, madam. I am responsible for its safety, and that of its crew, and I answer to the East India Company, not to the governor.’ He leaned back, eyeing her. ‘You will be leaving the ship,’ he said. ‘And if your brother wasn’t your brother, he would no doubt be sending a detachment down here to arrest you. Now, I ask you again – what happened?’

  Henrietta glared at him silently.

  He turned to Hannah. ‘And you – do you have anything to say?’

  ‘I begged her not to take the pistol. But a woman travelling alone – she said she wouldn’t feel safe without it. And then – she is a little clumsy. Has a problem with her nerves.’

  If I am going to have to lie for you, Hannah thought, I might as well enjoy it.

  ‘You wouldn’t credit it, sir,’ she continued. ‘I found her screaming last week, because she had seen a fly on a rose petal. So, well, she found a ship full of sailors disconcerting, especially for a woman in such a …’ Hannah leaned forward and put on a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Such a delicate mental condition. Anyway, she heard some sort of splash outside. Might have thought it was a sea monster. Startled her, poor lamb, and she dropped the pistol. It went off, and poor Jack has paid the price for her skittishness.’

  ‘And,’ the captain said, ‘Jack happened to be lying on the floor to catch a ball from a pistol that went off when it hit the ground?’

  ‘I think it might have hit at an angle,’ Hannah said. ‘Must’ve done. Only explanation.’

  ‘Very well. As Jack will recover, I won’t be pursuing the matter, but pistol-wielding women are not welcome aboard. You will see to it that she vacates this vessel immediately.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hannah rose, went over and put her hand under Henrietta’s shoulder, helping her to her feet as though she was an invalid. ‘Come along, my dear. We’ll get you home and tucked into bed with a nice cup of tea, and then the doctor will give you some of that special medicine you like.’

  Henrietta was too smart to rebuke Hannah for the picture she had drawn. But Hannah tried not to imagine what kind of revenge the woman would seek were she ever in a position to do so.

  Chapter 29

  ‘You shouldn’t need to take more than two or three men,’ Duchamp said to Jardine. ‘Mobbs won’t expect to be arrested, so by the time he realises what’s happening, hopefully you’ll have him in irons.’

  Jardine nodded. ‘Yes, sir. And on my return I will be resigning my commission.’

  Duchamp leaned back in his chair, staring at Jardine. ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ he said. ‘You will be punished for insubordination.’

  ‘As you wish, sir,’ said Jardine through barely open lips. He saluted, turned and left.

  ‘No, he won’t,’ said Monsarrat.

  Eveleigh and Duchamp both turned to him, astounded in the face of such a reversal of nature: a convict giving an order to the private secretary.

  Monsarrat was not sure that what he was about to say was a good idea. Jardine had treated him decently, but unless Eveleigh backed Monsarrat, he could very well end up in gaol with Mobbs. Although that would almost be worth it, he thought. Anything to salvage something good out of this distasteful bargain that Eveleigh and Duchamp had struck.

  The Duchamps’ part in the conspiracy – and the existence of the conspiracy itself – would be buried. After all, what they really needed was a killer. And they had a killer. All they had to do was introduce him to the public. If Mobbs started talking about the colonel or his sister, he would be dismissed as raving, or mendacious, making up stories to avoid punishment for his crime. If anyone asked Monsarrat or Jardine, they were both informed that they would be arrested if they answered.

  Monsarrat now understood how Jardine had felt when he mourned the superior he thought he knew. Monsarrat himself, when he had leisure, would silently keen for Ralph Eveleigh.

  ‘You are asking the lieutenant to swallow his principles,’ said Monsarrat. ‘And you will not punish him for refusing.’

  ‘Will I not?’ said Duchamp. ‘Perhaps the two of you can discuss it when you’re in the guardhouse together.’

  ‘Yes, certainly. That will give us leisure to read The Times when it arrives.’

  ‘I don’t believe you ever put those papers on a boat bound for England.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll find out in due course,’ said Monsarrat. ‘The ship has not left yet, by the way. I have until the morning to retrieve them – might be a little difficult, from the guardhouse. However, I will happily run there now, at all speed, if you agree to my terms.’

  ‘I am not giving you money, Mr Monsarrat.’

  ‘That’s fortunate, as I
don’t want any. No, you’ve done quite well out of those land grants from the governor. You will share his largesse. I happen to believe that Mr Jardine – as he will be soon – would make quite a fine farmer. You will transfer to him a sizeable amount of land – good land, mind – and organise his honourable discharge.’

  Duchamp turned to Eveleigh. ‘This is why I don’t hire former convicts. You must bear some blame, of course, for not doing more to keep him under control. But honestly, this is the end. Leave him with me, if you please, and I will make sure he learns some discipline.’

  Monsarrat held Eveleigh’s eyes. He did not know how severely he had misjudged the man. All Eveleigh would need to do was nod and Monsarrat would descend into a confinement from which there would be no release.

  Eveleigh gave a long, hard stare. ‘Do you know, Monsarrat, you are an extremely useful man, but sometimes you’re more trouble than you’re worth.’ He turned to Duchamp. ‘Mr Monsarrat will be returning to Parramatta with me, Colonel. He will not be threatened, pursued, incarcerated, or anything else. I do hope there is time to get those papers from the ship, but other copies exist, and I will not hesitate to make use of them if I have to.’

  Duchamp stood up and kicked his chair. ‘You two deserve each other.’

  Eveleigh shrugged. ‘Perhaps we do. I’ll take it as a compliment. Oh, and please don’t forget the rest of our bargain. I will be authorised to take on a second clerk, and confirmed as private secretary for Parramatta.’

  ‘Go to the devil.’

  ‘Not the assurance I was expecting, Colonel. Perhaps you’d like to try again?’

  Duchamp put his palms on the desk, pressing down. ‘I am sorely tempted, Eveleigh, to admit everything just for the pleasure of seeing you sacked and your lackey hanged.’

  ‘Except you might hang with him,’ said Eveleigh. ‘And you may not be the only one.’

  ‘Henrietta? She’s on her way to England. No one’s arm is that long.’

  So, there really were no plans to punish the Duchamps, thought Monsarrat. Mobbs would bear the guilt for the three of them, while the brother and sister would still be hosting parties long after the last editions of the Chronicle had yellowed. But because Mrs Mulrooney had needed to feed her infant son, she had been ripped from her home. Eveleigh’s bargain was not one Monsarrat would have made; it was not one he felt he could support. But he hadn’t been in the room when it had been hammered out. It had involved, no doubt, the trading of influence, some chest beating and bluster, and threats both veiled and naked.

  Perhaps Monsarrat could convince Eveleigh to do something – anything – to cause even minor discomfort for the Duchamps. Some sort of signal to them that shooting people and kidnapping children had consequences.

  But Eveleigh was stubborn. Once something was agreed, he would not unpick it without the most compelling reasons. And his time, it turned out, was short.

  ‘Well, Duchamp,’ he said, standing, ‘I wish you the best of luck, particularly without Jardine. Man of honour, by the looks of it. And those letters – they’re not at my home, nor my office, in case you are intending to send someone to check. For all the good it’d do searching for them, they might as well be at the bottom of the ocean.’

  ‘And I wish you were with them,’ said Duchamp. ‘I shan’t bother wishing you a pleasant journey.’

  ‘Never mind, we shall have one anyway,’ said Eveleigh. ‘I have arranged for a little cutter to take us up the river tomorrow morning. There is a lot for us to do, including the engagement of the second clerk who will free Mr Monsarrat to concentrate on more unconventional duties.’

  Monsarrat and Eveleigh stood at the front of the house. Monsarrat could almost feel the colonel’s brooding intent like heat from a fire, as he sat in his office and no doubt tried to convince himself he had outsmarted the men from the west.

  ‘Sir,’ said Monsarrat to Eveleigh, ‘Mobbs deserves punishment, no question, but he is not the only –’

  ‘I’m going to stop you there, Monsarrat. This decision isn’t yours, and has been made.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘In any case,’ said Eveleigh, ‘I am well acquainted with your housekeeper’s, shall we say, intractable character, and she will be most displeased with you if you don’t greet her.’

  ‘But she’s –’

  ‘Coming up the drive,’ said Eveleigh. ‘With an intriguing entourage.’

  Monsarrat turned. A cart, of the kind that would normally transport grain or lumber, was rolling up towards them. Next to the driver sat a man dressed in the uniform of a merchant captain. Next to him was Henrietta Duchamp, wearing a look of such anger that Monsarrat half expected trees to ignite as she passed.

  In the back of the cart, seemingly unconcerned by the judders that must have been travelling up through the wheels to the flatbed, sat Mrs Mulrooney. Monsarrat stared, and then began to chuckle.

  ‘I will wager that is by far the humblest conveyance Miss Henrietta Duchamp has ever travelled in,’ said Eveleigh. ‘And to be accompanied by a servant and a seaman – well, all I can say is I can’t wait to hear the story behind it all.’

  Eveleigh did not have to wait long. When the cart was still rolling to a stop, Henrietta jumped down, all high dudgeon and blue silk, and stormed up to the guard at the Government House door. ‘Arrest this woman!’ she said, pulling her arm backwards to point at Mrs Mulrooney, who looked not the least bit worried. ‘And him, while you’re about it,’ she said, nodding towards Monsarrat.

  Eveleigh gave a courtly bow. ‘Miss Duchamp,’ he said. ‘Ralph Eveleigh, your brother’s Parramatta counterpart. I don’t believe we’ve met.’

  ‘I doubt you are in any way comparable to my brother. And you appear to be leaving, Mr Eveleigh, which is all to the good.’ She turned back to the soldier. ‘Well?’

  Eveleigh glanced over at the soldier, shaking his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow that, madam. These two people have, you see, committed no crime that has gone unpunished. Unlike some here.’

  By now, the seaman was approaching, and Mrs Mulrooney had slid off the back of the cart and was brushing down her skirts. She looked up, saw Monsarrat, clapped her hands together and beamed.

  ‘I can’t say who needs arresting and who doesn’t,’ the seaman said to Eveleigh. ‘But this woman wounded one of my crew and damaged my ship. I would like to talk with whoever can make recompense.’

  ‘Oh dear, I am sorry for any inconvenience you have been caused,’ said Eveleigh. ‘Allow me to conduct you to the lady’s brother – who, as it turns out, is the only one who can order an arrest.’

  As Eveleigh and the merchant captain went inside, with Henrietta stalking after them, Mrs Mulrooney raced up the steps towards Monsarrat, barrelling into him and trying to get her arms all the way around his back. It was the first time Mrs Mulrooney had ever embraced him. He was surprised by the gesture, a little shocked and very, very pleased.

  ‘Eejit of a man, I feared you dead!’

  ‘Well, it seems you will need to deal with my idiocy for a while longer.’

  ‘Monsarrat!’ Eveleigh had returned and was standing, arms folded, at the door. ‘A clerk might be of use in here.’

  ‘Mr Eveleigh!’ called Mrs Mulrooney. ‘Can I tempt you with some shortbread when this is over?’

  He gave her a rare smile. ‘My dear, you are the only lady in the colony who knows my true weakness. For now, though, I must relieve you of your nanny duty and deprive you of your charge. I have a task for him.’

  ‘Off with you, then, Mr Monsarrat,’ she said. ‘There are some other lads I need to sort out.’

  ‘It is only because she is your sister that she is not in my brig. That, and she seems a little simple.’

  Henrietta glared at Captain Hart and opened her mouth, then shut it again after a warning look from her brother.

  ‘All I know is she nearly came to harm on your ship, Captain,’ said Duchamp. ‘Why should I not have you prosecuted?’

  ‘If an
yone should be prosecuted –’

  ‘Do you really want to pursue this, against the sister of the governor’s secretary?’ Duchamp asked.

  Hart said something under his breath. It sounded, to Monsarrat, a lot like a word he had heard other sailors employ in extremis. Hart added, in a louder voice, ‘Clearly I do not, sir, which is why she is here and not below decks on my ship.’

  ‘And you brought her here like a sack of grain in a cart.’

  ‘You, sir, should be thanking me. I have a young sailor lying wounded. I have a ship full of cargo that has missed the tide. And I have an owner to write to. Perhaps I should tell him that we are delayed due to weather. Or perhaps I should recommend he seek compensation for the late sailing – from you, personally. The contents of my letter will depend on your next action.’

  Duchamp stood slowly, clearing his throat. ‘I thank you, Captain, for delivering my sister safely home. As I’m aware you are unable to reassign her cabin at short notice, I would like you to keep the cost of her passage. I suggest you return to your ship and make ready to sail at the earliest opportunity.’

  Hart nodded, bowing slightly.

  ‘But my luggage!’ screeched Henrietta. ‘My pistol!’

  ‘Your luggage awaits you on the dock,’ said Hart. ‘As for your pistol, I do not believe you should be in possession of such an item. I have confiscated it, and it is now in the hands of someone who can be trusted to make sure it doesn’t, well, misfire.’

  The pistol felt heavy in Hannah’s pocket. It had no ball or powder in it now; it was merely a relic, a beautiful but meaningless object. She had no intention of reloading it, now or ever. And she certainly had no intention of reuniting it with its owner. She was grateful to the ship’s captain for disarming Henrietta, but suspected the woman wouldn’t remain disarmed for long.

  The lads didn’t see her at first when she looked into the schoolroom. Cullen had Peter in his lap. The boy had dozed off, slumped against Cullen’s chest, as Cullen listened to Donnelly, who was cross-legged on top of his desk.