Showing posts with label Australian early days. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Australian early days. Show all posts

Monday, February 26, 2024

A sneak peek at A Troubled Heart—Tricia McGill

 

Buy A Troubled Heart here

For some reason I am fascinated with the history of this vast country of Australia where my long-suffering husband and I made our home many moons ago. So it is that my latest book is set in Tasmania when it was more or less the last place in Australia where the British Government had decided to send their surplus convicts. In 1848, my hero Finn is a prisoner of this Government at the infamous penal penitentiary of Port Arthur. The Port Arthur settlement started life as a small timber station around 1830. The settlement was hacked from the bushland and the first decade saw the growth of manufactories like ship building, shoemaking amongst others. The hospital where my hero first meets Blythe was built around the same time as a flour mill in 1842. My second favourite state, Tasmania is a beautiful and serene place, far removed from how it was in those early days of settlement.

“If a book such as this can win over a non-romance reader such as myself, I’m certain that you will enjoy it as well. My rating: 5 out of 5” Literary Gold

A Troubled Heart Excerpt:

Chapter One

Port Arthur Tasmania 1848 

Through a haze he could hear a voice somewhere above him, and although vaguely aware that someone had called his name all else was lost in pain. The sweat on his face began to sizzle with the heat—or so it seemed. As he opened his eyes a fraction of this sweat ran into their corners and began to sting as if boiling his eyeballs to add to the sawdust already there, or perhaps it was blood.

“Hang on Finn, yer silly bugger, they’ve gone to fetch ‘elp.” The speaker then disappeared and Finn tried to move, but he had to grit his teeth as a searing pain shot through his shoulder and down his arm.

Heaven knew, he’d had his share of agony and discomfort since coming to this godawful place, but this topped it for certain. To take his mind off it he tried to think of better moments in his life, but they were sparce, far back and almost all lost in time.

A sudden movement beside him in the sawpit alerted him that someone had jumped into the pit and was now leaning over him in the narrow space. “Well, here’s a fine mess you’ve got yourself into young fellow,” a kindly voice said. “How in heaven did you manage to do this to yourself? They said you was the top man, so how come you ended up down here amid the sawdust and dirt?” Patting Finn on the unhurt shoulder, he added, “I’m what’s the nearest to what can be called a doctor here today, they call me Johnson.”

Finn squinted up to see that this Johnson was not a lot older than himself, and was likely nearing his thirtieth year. His mop of unruly hair drooped over his forehead as he began to use a knife to hack his way through Finn’s shirt sleeve, and Finn gritted his teeth as the pain seemed to worsen. To add to his injury was the knowledge that he’d done this damage by his own foolishness. If he hadn’t been larking about as usual to show how handy he was with his fists, none of this would have come about. Never one to shirk from a fight, when the big oaf they called Bear started to taunt him, of course he could not back down from the inevitable.

“You’ve lost a small amount of blood from your forehead, but as far as I can see it’s just where you caught the log on your way down.” Turning to rummage about in a small bag he had at his side this Johnson fellow produced a piece of rag and then began to wipe away at the blood. “I fear the problem with your arm could be a lot worse—probably broken.” The searing pain when he moved that arm made Finn flinch and Johnson apologised. “It’s as I expected, we’ll have to get you off to the infirmary.” Patting Finn’s shoulder he said with a small laugh, “This’ll stop you fighting for a while,” then apologised again, adding, “Sorry, my attempt at humour.”

As another shape appeared above him Finn recognised it as his Scottish working mate Spence who then dropped down to stand at his side opposite the man tending him. “We’ll have to haul you up, matey, so grit yer teeth, eh?” Finn’s teeth ached already with the gritting. “How the bloody hell you managed to get yourself in this mess, I can’t work out. It’s not as if you don’t know how to look after yourself. Mucking about never did you any good, and if I told you once I told you a million times, stick to the rules.”

“’Twas that big oaf Bear, if he hadn’t delivered that mighty punch that knocked me sideways and down here, I would have beaten him to next week. Doc here says it’s not that bad—that’s right isn’t it, doc?” Finn grimaced as he tried to push himself up onto his good elbow.

“Well, honestly, I’ve seen many worse. You were unfortunate that you didn’t pick a more suitable spot for your match.”

Someone up above then tossed a rope down, ordering, “Tie it round his shoulders, Spence, and we’ll haul him up.”

Finn had a feeling he might have passed out as he was dragged up out of the pit, only just being squeezed past the huge log that they had been in the process of sawing through when the accident happened. “Guess it could have been worse, matey—if the log had fallen in on top of yer,” one of the haulers said as they lay him down beside the pit.

This cheerful observation accompanied by a chuckle did nothing to ease the guilt Finn felt. If they had been working on this one for longer and had cut further through it, the log would have fallen onto Spence, and his mate would not now be alive and kicking. He could only offer thanks that they had only started sawing a short time before his silly argument with Bear. Cursing his idiocy for allowing the big idiot to stir him so, he vowed never to be so daft next time.

As Johnson gave orders for Finn to be assisted to the small cart that stood a short distance away, Finn saw Bear standing some distance back laughing his stupid head off and Finn knew his vow would never be kept. “How long before I can get back to work, Doc?” he asked, as Johnson clicked the horse into a walk, once he’d ensured Finn was comfortably settled behind him.

Johnson laughed. “In a hurry to get back to the job, are you? I would have thought you would welcome a stay in hospital to get away from the horrible tasks set upon you?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad working out here amid the trees, a lot better than working on the new prison they are building.” There were times when Finn almost relished the tough going. “It beats the work we were set to up north by a long way, or working on the treadmill all day.”

“You came down from Sydney Town, did you, when they decided to close it?”

“Yes, and it won’t be long afore I will be a free man. Done my ten years haven’t I?”

“Goodness, ten, eh? You must have been a young ‘un when they sent you here.”

Finn chuckled. “That’s a fact. Think I was about fifteen. Never know for sure as I wasn’t certain when I was born.”

“You aren’t alone in that fact, Finn, many of the men in the prison yonder would have no idea when they were brought into this world. One good thing about it is you never have a birthdate to celebrate so don’t notice the years passing.”

Finn said nothing to that as Johnson pulled the horse up in front of the hospital. No doubt this man had never been locked away in pitch black solitude where all you had to do was count the hours and the minutes as they ticked away. Johnson jumped down, and awkwardly Finn did the same. Together they walked towards the brick structure that Finn thought was one of the ugliest buildings he had ever seen. The pain in his arm had subsided and only ached when he moved it, but he wasn’t about to say anything as a night in hospital as the doc said would not be hard to take. Anything was better than sleeping amid the stench of the other men he usually shared his sleeping quarters with.

“I’ll leave you here with this capable young man,” Johnson said after he’d explained to the fellow who met them as they came in just what he thought was Finn’s injury. With a small salute he walked off.

“Can you write?” the man who was some sort of nurse or orderly asked, after he’d led Finn into a room and told him to sit down.

“Yes, I can.” Finn felt quite indignant.  Being treated like a child irked him. “I’ve been reading and writing since I was this high.” He signalled a spot about knee high. That wasn’t strictly true for he hadn’t properly learned his letters until he was likely ten or more.

“Write your name here, then.” The orderly pointed to the page lying on a table. “What’s your sentence? Got much longer to serve, have you?”

“My time is just about up.” Finn squared his shoulders, and a twinge of pain reminded him why he was here. “Should get my pardon any day now.”

“Right ho.” The fellow peered down at the sheet of paper. “Finn O’Connor, you wait here and someone will come along and see what needs to be done.” As Finn sat on a bench, he walked out carrying the page.

The next day Finn walked out of the hospital with the proof that he was a free man tucked firmly into his trouser pocket. As luck would have it the injury had turned out to be not broken, but something to do with the shoulder joint having to be pushed back into its rightful position. The doctor who did this told him he had dislocated it when he fell. After the pain from that subsided, he was told to rest it as much as possible. So, no more fighting for some time, was the order given him. 

It appeared that when his name came before the Commissariat’s office, they realised that his ten-year sentence ended a month or so back and therefore he was deemed free to go wherever he wanted. Just one thing held him back, he had not one penny to his name and possessed just the rags that he stood up in. A young nurse had found him a shirt somewhere to replace the one the doc cut about, but it was not a lot better than the old one. There was the bundle he carried that contained his mug and plate, a worn hairbrush he’d taken from a man who died, and a picture Finn collected somewhere along the way of a place in Ireland called Kilmallock that he kept, as it looked like a nice place to live.

As he pondered what to do next, a soft mutter of annoyance came from behind him and he turned in time to see a woman take a tumble. Landing in a heap at the foot of the steps, her skirts flew about, showing a glimpse of one perfectly shaped ankle. Seldom did females of good breeding travel about alone in these parts so he looked about to see if her carriage driver was here to assist her. A small cart stood not far away, but there was no one else in sight so he went to kneel at her side, asking, “Are you all right miss?”

With a small toss of the head, she looked up at him from the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. Hair as black as night was pulled back into some sort of roll behind her head beneath the bonnet that she hastily straightened. At a guess he thought perhaps she was about twenty years of age. Not used to being this close to a woman in some time he stood hurriedly and offered a hand, feeling like the idiot he knew she must think him, while he sent up a small prayer of thanks that at least the hand was cleaner than it had been yesterday.

As she took the outstretched hand she smiled, and Finn’s silly heart seemed to do a somersault. “Just feeling a bit stupid,” she said in what Finn called a posh English accent. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

When she stood—close enough for him to feel her sweet breath on his face, he realised he still held her hand and dropped it as if it was a piece of hot coal. “Easily done,” he muttered, looking about again as he asked, “Is your driver somewhere?” again feeling foolish for obviously nobody else was nearby.

“No, I came alone.” Holding a small package aloft she added, “Simply came along to pick up this medication for the small girl who is in my charge.” Brushing at her skirts, she looked around. “Are you waiting on someone?”

“No, I have just come from the infirmary too—only this was because in my foolishness I had a fall and injured my shoulder.” Lifting this arm as if to prove it was also all right, he dropped it swiftly, not knowing what to do or say next, and asked, “Might I ask why you are not afraid of me, Miss? Most females might be inclined to run swiftly from a man alone in these parts.” A stupid blush rushed to his cheeks and he cursed his fair skin and light hair, not for the first time, as he turned away in the hope of hiding his face.

At her small laugh he turned back. “Exactly that, sir, you are alone, and I know that had you been a criminal you would most likely have been on the way back to the prison accompanied by a guard—am I correct?”

Finn stared at her. No females that he had come into contact with—and they were few and far between—had been anything like this one. “I’ve just gained my freedom, Miss, and am wondering where to go and what to do.” Feeling the need to prove the truth of this he delved into his pocket and brought out the precious paper and held it aloft.

With barely a glance at it, she laughed again and asked, “So where do you think you will decide on? It’s a long trek to Hobart where most seem to head once gaining their release.”

Another surprising statement from her. Pushing the paper back into his pocket, he glanced about. “I doubt my meagre funds will take me as far as Hobart at this time—perhaps later. I need to find employment first and foremost.”

“Ah, yes.” With a finger to her chin, she appeared to be making a decision before she said, “The family I am employed by are in need of a man capable of doing a variety of jobs around their small property, perhaps that would suit. The husband is away a lot about his business and his wife sadly hit a decline after giving birth, and therefore is scared of going out and about, so you would have to prove you are trustworthy.”

“And how would I do that, Miss? It’s a fact that we are not given a recommendation on receiving our freedom.”

With a twist of the mouth as if indicating that she was thinking about that, she looked him up and down before saying, “I will vouch for you. Sadly, your clothing gives away the fact that you have been a convict.” Shaking her head she added, “I have an idea. We will soon find a solution to that.”

Mystified that a complete stranger—and a female at that—should be so trusting, he blurted, “I could be a murderer for all you know. Why would you help me in this way?”

“I hope I am a good judge of character, and I know a bit about the past of most who gain their freedom. My Papa was a medical man. We relocated here to Port Arthur in forty-five after the hospital was built and he told me tales of men who were transported for the silliest of crimes. So, what was your crime? Steal a loaf of bread did you, or something just as trifling?” Without waiting for his response, she turned and with a wave of the hand said, “Look, I have to get back or my mistress will start panicking, so are you interested or not?” She headed towards the cart, where the horse was in the middle of a nap, its head bent.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Finn trailed after her. Surely this young female was perhaps mad or was she a gift from the gods? Without assistance she climbed aboard the small vehicle and picked up the reins as she sat back on the bench. As he joined her, she asked, “So what name do you go by? Mine’s Esther by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you, Esther.” With a feeling he had drifted into some strange other world, he added, “I go by Finn O’Connor.” The Finn part was probably fact. As for his surname, he had no idea who had called him that somewhere along the way in his growing years, but he kept it as a way to prove that he was born in Ireland. As the horse began to trot, he asked, “You said your Pa was a medical man—is he not one anymore?”

“Sadly, for me, my dear Papa, along with my Mama, was killed just last year when the carriage they were in overturned after hitting a rock.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. It must have been awful for you. Are you alone now or do you have siblings?”

After a deep sigh, she admitted, “It was the worst time of my life—and no I have no brothers or sisters. That of course is why I am employed as companion of sorts to the girl in need of the medication I was sent to collect. It’s a shame, but she is currently a sickly child and has a nasty cough.”

“So, you not only lost your parents, you also lost your home?” Although he had never known what it was to have a real family, nonetheless a place somewhere near Finn’s heart ached for this young girl who had hers snatched away so cruelly.

Without answering that, she gestured ahead to where a cottage surrounded by a few trees sat atop a slight knoll. “We have arrived,” she said as she pulled up a short distance from a gate in the fence surrounding the garden. “Say little to my mistress, but let me explain to her that you are looking for employment.” Finn nodded, still feeling as if he was in the middle of some strange dream. “Please wait here while I go and fetch you something more presentable to wear. I suppose you realise that you look far worse than a farmer’s scarecrow in those filthy rags.” The look of scorn she sent to his trousers made him realise such if her words had not.

As she walked off, he scratched at his head, knowing at least his hair and body were now clean after the nights’ stay in the infirmary. Was there no end to the oddness of this female? Where on earth would she find clothing for him? Surely not from her employer’s wardrobe?

And how could she be so trusting of a complete stranger and an ex-con at that. If he found the will to do it, he could jump onto her cart and urge the horse away as fast as it could go. Common sense kicked in just as fast as that idea hit him—the troopers would be after him in no time and it was doubtful if the guards would let him pass the place called Eaglehawk Neck anyway, where it was rumoured they kept starving dogs tethered, not to mention the guards who were reported to be no better than savages. And with no money or chance to earn some, about the only option available would be to join up with a gang of bushrangers or the like.

Then there was the matter of this girl who was close to being the best person he had ever come across. She soon returned as he stood rubbing the soft nose of the horse whose warm breath was strangely comforting. Pressing the bundle she held beneath her arm into Finn’s arms, she advised, “Go behind that tree and change, then wait for my return.” Speechless he obeyed, watching her as she led the horse around the fence, disappearing behind the house.

The trousers were of good quality, and she had even provided him with an undergarment such as he had never worn in all his adult years. The shirt he tucked into the belt of these trousers felt soft as butterfly wings against his skin. Lastly, he pulled on a waistcoat, just as she called out, “Are you ready?”

Picking up his ragged trousers and holey shirt he rolled them into a ball before going to stand before her. “I have to ask you, miss, whose togs do I have the pleasure of wearing?”

Sucking her bottom lip in she nodded as she ran her eyes up and down his length. “They were my Pa’s. As luck would have it, I was loathe to part with all of my parents’ belongings after their unfortunate death. I am happy that they fit you well. My Papa was also a big man.” Turning abruptly, she waved over her shoulder. “Come, we will go and present you to my mistress. Leave your discarded things there beneath that tree and you can burn them later.” Stopping before the doorway she said, “I unfortunately have no boots that I could get for you.”

“That’s fine. I got these from a bloke who lost a bet not too long ago.” Truth was the fellow who owned them died, and Finn had to fight a couple of the other men who were set on getting them.

“I told my mistress that I met you on the road. Say that you are seeking work and can do most jobs around the house and outside. Do not mention that you have only recently been given your freedom.”

As he followed her, Finn took in the house before them. By no means a rich man’s property, it was a sturdy cottage which he presumed had been provided for the master of the house on coming to take up his post in the area, whatever that was. As they went beneath the small porch and through the doorway, the smell of cooking coming from somewhere at the back of the house was welcoming and his mouth watered as the thought of a good home-cooked meal made him glad this girl had brought him here, if nothing else mapped out.

A small girl came from one of the rooms and eyed him warily as she demanded, “Who’s that?”

“Now Becky, don’t be rude, I taught you better manners than that. This is Finn and he is going to work for your Mama.” Wrinkling her tiny nose, the child sent Finn a frown before following his rescuer through a doorway.

A long time had passed since Finn stood inside such a building, in fact the courthouse where his sentence was announced those ten years ago was the last place where he’d come up against members of the gentry. It was obvious by the scant furnishings that these people could not be termed nobs though. Digging his hands into the trouser pockets he felt a sense of elation such as he’d never felt in his life. From convict and inmate of the devil’s own prison to an almost employed worker—and all within a matter of a day. What would Spence have to say about this kettle of fish when next he saw him?

When Esther appeared at the doorway beckoning him, he straightened his spine before following her. The woman who reclined on a sofa took him by surprise. Fully expecting a dowdy older person, she was almost beautiful, and not a lot older than himself. Hair the colour of sand was drawn back from a narrow face. Sad eyes took in his entire length from his unruly hair to his battered boots, before she said, “Esther tells me that you are handy around the house and garden, is that so?”

Deciding to be on his best behaviour, he gave her a small bow before answering, “Yes Ma’am, I can put my hand to just about anything.” Spence would laugh heartily at that lie.

With a small nod, she asked, “So why are you seeking employment with us? Did your previous employer not want your services anymore, and if that were the case, just why was that so if you are so handy?” This was said with a touch of what he thought was derision.

Glancing at Esther in confusion, he realised that he had not taken the time to concoct a story that might please this woman. She came to his rescue by saying, “Finn’s previous employer recently went back to England.”

The woman nodded as she continued to stare at him. As if coming to a decision she said, “I will not tolerate alcohol consumption of any kind while you are in our employ, is that understood? My husband will decide on a wage—if any is earned, and if you prove worthless then you will leave without causing us any fuss or bother.”

Finn nodded, while thinking how odd this person seemed to be—but then again what did he know about the upper class except they could be bullies and tyrants. “Thank you, Ma’am, I vow to do my very best.” Inside he wondered how good his best would be. And then wondered if his rescuer Esther was by now likely regretting her rash decision to fetch him here. Following on from that was the question once again of why she had been so keen to bring him here.

With a flap of the hand his new employer said, “Take him to the stable Esther, where he can sleep. He can come to the kitchen at meal times where Nelly will give him food. The only time you are to come into the house…Finn…is if we need you for heavy work that the women cannot undertake, such as bringing logs for the fire.” As if suddenly coming to a thought, she added, “And do not pay attention to our silly maid Cora who is likely to desire your interest.” She rubbed at her head then as if it was paining her, and flapped her hand again in dismissal.

Esther nodded to Finn and he followed her out, feeling the need to rub at his own head in total confusion. The child tagged behind them as he followed Esther around the house to what Finn presumed was the stable. “Mama doesn’t like you much,” the girl informed him, adding, “But I think you are probably nice—you have a funny name though.”

“Ah, that’s because it’s Irish, and I am glad you like me,” Finn said, feeling so odd he wondered how many other peculiar folks he would find dwelling in this house. Esther seemed to be the most sensible, but following on from that thought came the one that perhaps she wasn’t or why else would she have picked up a likely convict and decided to assist him in this way.

The girl skipped ahead to where the horse still stood harnessed to the cart in front of the shed which consisted of an open section where there was space for two vehicles. “Once you get settled, could you please take care of removing my horse’s harness, Finn.” Stroking the bay’s head she said, “Danny Boy here is of Irish descent much like yourself. Everything goes in there.” She pointed to the open part where, apart from a few bales of hay, there was a jumble of odd pieces of equipment including a chopper and a handsaw. “Come, I will show you where you can make yourself comfortable. I did not think it through when I invited you along, but the cook Nelly and the maid Cora sleep yonder there in the small room alongside the laundry.” Her gesture took in a small addition tagged onto the back of the cottage. “It is a small residence without room for staff.”

“Esther sleeps in my room,” the child informed him before coughing a few times and then skipping off back towards the house—obviously tired of this new addition to the household.

“She doesn’t seem to be so sickly,” Finn said, thinking that she appeared to be quite lively—as compared to some of the very poorly kids he had lived amongst in his early days before his capture.

“Her cough mostly bothers her at night, upsetting her Mama,” Esther said before opening the door to one side of the shed. Finn followed her inside to where it smelt strongly of horse and hay. Surprisingly, the space was larger than he expected. A roped off section was no doubt where two horses could be settled at night, and he wondered briefly where he could sleep. Esther answered that when she pointed to what was no more than a rough shelf, saying, “There is a cot of sorts where you can make yourself comfortable. At least it is closed off from the weather. I am afraid you will have to share it with Danny and the master’s horse and their hay and grain. Perhaps you can stuff some straw into a grain sack to make a mattress of sorts. I will see what I can fetch you for bed coverings and perhaps find you some other items of clothing.”

As if thinking this over, she turned saying, “I will leave you to take care of Danny. Once unharnessed he goes into the small yard until nightfall—there behind the shed. The master’s horse goes straight into his stall when he gets home, which is usually at a late hour.” After a quick jab in that direction, she began to walk off.

 “Can I ask you one question before you go,” Finn called after her. When she stopped and faced him, he asked, “Just why are you doing this for a man who for all intents could be a rogue and a thief?”

Sending him a smile, she surprised him once again by saying, “My father taught me not to judge a person by their past, Finn. Use your intuition he advised, for there are many types of men here in the colonies, and you will learn that not always those who are incarcerated for so-called criminal offences are the untrustworthy ones.” While he stared at such wise words from one so young, she added, “Do not prove my judgement wrong, will you?” With a small nod she walked away.

 

Chapter Two

 

Esther sat on the side of her bed brushing her hair, while she contemplated her perhaps stupid actions of the day. What had she been thinking? Inside, something told her that bringing Finn O’Connor here might turn out to be the most impulsive action of her life. “Oh Papa, please tell me I did the right and Christian thing,” she whispered. After plaiting her thick and sometimes tiresome hair that now reached almost to her waist, she pulled the coverlet over her and let out a sigh.

Becky stirred and mumbled in her sleep before turning over. The night promised to be hot, and Esther felt a restlessness such as never before, but felt sure it had nothing to do with the heat. Something about the stranger she had felt compelled to assist had awakened certain unknown feelings within her. How she wished Mama was here—she would offer wise advice. How stupid, for if Mama were still alive, she would not be living in this house, caring for a child and the girl’s feckless mother. Letting out a small sob of self-pity, she turned onto her side and stared into the darkness as she not for the first time tried to block out the horror of the day when both beloved parents left this world.

A small tap on her shoulder brought Esther out of a light sleep. Becky stood so close to her she could feel her breath on her face. “I have to wee,” she said grumpily.

Esther sighed. “Use the chamber pot. You are not a baby any more, Becky, and are capable of managing on your own.”

“Can’t see it, it’s too dark.” Her complaint was followed by a cough and a few sniffles. As always, she made a drama out of the smallest task.

“It is not dark at all for the moon is bright tonight and there is plenty of light coming through the window.”

“I’m scared of that Finn man, he might come into our room and hurt us.”

“Oh Becky, do not be silly—he is a kind man and will not harm us, and I distinctly remember that you said you liked him.” As she said that, Esther wondered just why she felt so sure that he was kind and would not hurt them. Free man he might be, but until only recently he had been locked away amid thugs and ne’er do wells, and for all she knew he had been sent there for committing some horrendous crime.

With a small harrumph Becky took care of her problem and climbed back into her small cot. Esther got up and went over to the window. The moon was so bright that she could clearly see the man who had kept her from her slumber standing over by the fence around the small paddock, and he was stroking Danny Boy’s head. They had decided to let the horse stay outside as it was such a warm night.

Later, she would ask herself just why she felt the need to slip into her shoes and with great stealth leave the room. The small wind that blew in from the sea was cool upon her face as she went across to stand at the man’s side. She was not small by any means but she came just about to his shoulder. Danny Boy snickered and put his muzzle close to her face, breathing softly onto her cheek. A few moments passed before the man called Finn said softly, “Could not sleep either eh, Miss?”

“’Tis fair hot. I often have trouble sleeping since my parents died. What about you? Was the cot allocated to you so uncomfortable?”

As he looked down on her for the first time, she recalled that she had left the house in her nightgown, and her cheeks burned as she wondered what had prompted her to come outside almost unclothed. Fighting an urge to run, she crossed her arms across her breasts, realising that they suddenly felt unusually heavy.

“I’ve slept in worse beds, believe me Esther. There is little wrong with this one.” He jerked his head in the direction of the stable.

“Did you not have a comfortable bed to sleep on in the days before your arrest? What about your childhood?”

With a small laugh he shook his head. “My childhood was to say the least a sketchy one. Mind you, I only recall a small amount of the tales related to me and have no idea if they were made up or not.”

Intrigued now, she forgot her embarrassment and asked, “You did not spend your childhood with your Ma and Pa?”

His small laugh announced how ridiculous that thought was. “I have no idea who fathered me, but I was told that my Ma died not long after my birth and along came a gypsy who took me as her own.”

Esther let out a small gasp. “And this gypsy woman then brought you up?”

“Far from it. I think I was going on two when some fancy English woman who was passing through Kilmallock with her nob of a husband decided it was no fit life for a child, and she more or less stole me away and that is how I ended up in London.”

“Goodness me, I cannot believe that she could simply whisk you away like that. Were there no laws for such abduction?”

“Oh, there were laws for the rich and noble but not for us common Irish folk.” With a shrug he patted Danny Boy’s head. “Thinking back on it, I suppose they thought they were offering me a better life.”

“And they were not?” To Esther his was a sorry tale, which left her thinking that he was probably destined for a life of crime from an early age. “And so, you resided in their house in London?”

His laugh came out as more of a soft grunt than one of humour. “And what a right disaster that was. Their two stuck up daughters hated the fact that I was allowed to sit in on their lessons, and their merry tantrums meant I barely learned more than how to add one and two together.”

“Poor man. But you must have at least learnt to read and write?” Feeling quite bewildered at such treatment that was so far removed from her own childhood, her heart ached for the boy that he was.

“Not at all. I was in about my tenth year when I could stand it no more and fled in the dark of night, taking little but the clothes I wore and a couple of their books.”

“But where did you go. I cannot for one moment imagine how a ten-year-old would manage to survive alone in a city.”

“I wasn’t alone for long, Miss, for there were many boys who lived a life on the streets of London, so in no time I had what I considered my family. There were about six of us, and we survived mostly on our wits—and thieving of course. The biggest who we thought of as our leader, well he taught me how to read and write.”

It was taking Esther some time to digest all this. About to say something more, the jingle of harness warned of an approaching vehicle. Startled she cried, “I must get back to my bed. The master of the house is coming. He may need assistance with his horse. Tell him only what you told the mistress. Oh, and go to the kitchen at dawn for your breakfast.” Leaving him standing there she fled as fast as she could, thankful she could get inside the house through the kitchen entrance.

Her employer often returned late at night, and usually took care of unharnessing his gelding. Esther stood by her window watching as the two men faced each other, obviously discussing who Finn was and what he was doing here, then the master strode to the house, and Esther climbed into bed knowing what was coming.

The mistress’s shrill cry of, “Why are you so late again?” did not surprise Esther, for he was always greeted in this way. The soft thud of their bedroom door told her he had gone into their room, and then in a loud voice he demanded why she had seen fit to take on some character who could likely be a criminal. For some time, all Esther could hear was his loud rumble and his wife’s soft cries and pleas.

How Esther dreaded ending up in such a relationship—and hoped sincerely she could find a man to offer her a love such as her parents shared. Her Papa was such a patient soul and treated his wife as an equal, for she was just as clever as he. Both of them instilled a compassion in Esther for those less fortunate.

Finn’s story took up all her thoughts for some time and when Becky shook her shoulder imploring her to wake up, it was with heavy eyes she looked up at the girl who stood coughing into her palm. “I am sorry, Becky I was dreaming. Go fetch your medicine.” As she put her feet to the floor, a soft knock announced that Cora had brought their water for washing.

“Morning Miss,” the maid chirped as she placed the ewer on the small dressing table. “Master’s gone off already.” Leaning closer to Esther she said in a near whisper, “Right barney they were having when I took their breakfast in earlier. Did you hear it?” Cora liked nothing better than a gossip.

“No, I did not hear it, and you should be more aware that what they do or say is not your business.”

Her reprimand was shrugged off by the maid who went on, “He don’t seem too happy about the new help—even though I see that Finn had his horse all harnessed and ready to go as soon as the sun came up.” When she got no response from Esther, she made a face and left.

If Mr. Franklin had already gone about his business, then Esther wondered if he at least had given Nelly instructions on the tasks she could set Finn. Shrugging, she prepared Becky and herself for the day.

Finn was sitting at the table when they went into the kitchen, and Becky went and sat beside him on the bench, staring up at him in curiosity as she asked, “Are you going to stay here or did my Papa tell you to go?”

Esther gave Finn a questioning look before taking the chair opposite him at the table. “Did he?” she queried.

Rubbing his chin, Finn chuckled. “To be honest the man said little, apart from asking where I came from and what I was capable of doing. I set his mind at rest by telling him I was no criminal set on robbing him.” With another small chuckle he cleared his bowl of porridge.

Nelly handed Cora a breakfast dish which she then placed on the table in front of Esther before going around and sitting beside Finn, so close that when he tried to move away from her, he was penned in on his other side by Becky who was now spooning up her porridge. Cora placed a hand on his forearm, exclaiming, “You are very strong, I’ll bet you can lift anything, would you like to lift me?”

Abruptly Finn rose, shaking free and climbing over the bench as he said, “Best go in now, for Nelly here told me the mistress said I was to see her about what tasks she wanted me to be doing this morning.”

Cora watched him with a dreamy look in her eyes until he left the room and then said, “Isn’t he handsome?”

“Now now, Cora, keep your foolish thoughts to yourself,” Nelly chided as she began to pour water from the huge kettle into the sink. “He’s here to work, same as you are, so get on with your chores and stop with your dopey chatter or else I will report you to the mistress. The big carpet in the parlour needs a good brush and then you can make a start on the laundry.”

Cora made a face behind Nelly’s back before scurrying off. Nelly turned to Esther and asked, “Where did you find that one?” This was asked with a jerk of the head.

“I met him along the road, Nelly, and as he was looking for work and I knew you needed more help around the place I suggested he try here.” Of course, that was not strictly true, but still Esther could not find a logical excuse for just why she had befriended Finn. After hearing his tale, she felt glad that she had taken a chance on him, for his start in life had been anything but easy if his story was to be believed. “You sorely needed someone to fetch water from the well and take care of the harder tasks needing a man’s strength.” Rising, she said, “Come Becky, we must start your lessons. It is a lot cooler today so perhaps we will sit outside. Fetch your chalk and board and we will continue with sums.”

When they were settled beneath the branches of the only tree close to the house, Finn strode towards them and sat beside Esther on the bench. “Your mistress is a rare one for sure, isn’t she?” This was said with a nod towards the house.

“I think she is a very miserable person,” Esther said softly. Becky was engrossed in her adding and subtracting tasks that Esther had set her and paid no attention to them. “I should not discuss my employers, but sadly they do not have a contented relationship. Did she give you an idea of what your tasks will be?”

Rubbing at his brow, he said, “Fact is, she was more interested in how I came to meet you and why I was in this part of the country, wanting to know more about me. I’m ashamed to say I lied, telling her that I came over from Ireland only recently.” He leant closer and whispered, “Is she slightly mad? Her hands were a-fidgeting all the time, and she seemed to have a need to touch me.”

Esther had no idea how to answer that. It had occurred to her early on in her time here that Mrs. Franklin was what her mother would have called unbalanced after the stresses of childbirth. “So, you still do not know what your tasks are?”

“She said to see Nelly, so that is what I shall do.” Pressing his hands on his knees he rose. “I’m not sure about the master of the house either. They are an odd pair of sods to be sure. But at least he gave me some idea of what I should start on. I think he was happy with me preparing his horse for the day. I gave the fellow a good brushing.” 

Esther watched him stride off. Cora was right, he was a very strong and handsome fellow. Hair as light as his was rare for a man, but it suited him. With a slight shake of the head, she realised that she was spending far too much time contemplating what it would be like to be held in those strong arms of his. This would never do—she was becoming as foolish as Cora. “Have you finished yet, Becky?” She took the offered chalk board and was pleased to see that the child was doing well at her sums. “Now, we shall do some reading.” Esther took a book of simple rhymes from her basket and patted the bench beside her.

A short time later she saw Finn toting water from the well, obviously on the way to fill the laundry tub for Cora. The girl would no doubt use that opportunity to bother him with her silly nonsense. The sudden burst of jealousy Esther felt made her give herself a shake at the foolishness of that thought.

A Troubled Heart can be purchased here: https://books2read.com/A-Troubled-Heart

 

Thursday, October 26, 2023

Excerpt from Mystic Mountains by Tricia McGill

Click this link to purchase Mystic Mountains

When I had the germ of an idea for a story about a woman who was transported to Botany Bay, my research was mainly carried out at the library (before the days when research could be done at your computer). During one of my forays at the library I found a treasure. This book was a collection of letters written mainly by women who had accompanied their pioneering menfolk to Australia. Among these letters sent home to her family in England, was one written by Elizabeth Hawkins which chronicled the hair-raising journey she, plus her large brood and her elderly mother, undertook with her husband who took on a post out at Bathurst west of Sydney. Most who travelled along that hazardous path west across the mountains in those early days were seeking fresh pastures for their flocks.

When visiting Sydney and the surrounding areas these days it is difficult to imagine what it must have been like when it was a penal colony in the 1800s. Botany Bay was an unforgiving and harsh place where the convicts who were transported from Britain were treated like the scum of the earth. Isabella is one of these unfortunates who was sentenced to seven years transportation. The trip across the ocean would have been horrific enough in those days, but then to arrive in an Australia that was little more than a collection of huts with little sanitation, plus knowing that the women would be assigned to a master when they arrived. Bella was fortunate in that the master who chose her at the docks had dreams above his station, and was not solely after a new bed-warmer. She was determined to hate Tiger Carstairs, for he was an Englishman, and she was sent to the penal colony for attacking one such as him. Their journey west across the mountains was made to follow his dream.

Excerpt from Mystic Mountains (Settlers Book One)

Chapter One

March 1818 Sydney Cove.

A wind as hot as the devil's breath sent the longboat rocking. Isabella tried not to think about her roiling stomach as she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun that blazed down on them. Fear, like some deadly snake, coiled itself around her innards, sliding viciously into every muscle and bone, every part of her body, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

The woman Isabella now counted as a true friend groaned. "S'pose we'll 'ave to get used to this heat," she muttered as she ran a hand around her nape and blew a strand of greasy hair out of her eyes. "'Tis hotter 'ere than it was on the stinking ship when we was anchored off Rio de Janeiro!"

Isabella grimaced. "That's a fact, Gracie." They had been forced to get used to a lot of things, a deep and abiding despair more than anything else.

"These blooming six days we've been stuck out on the water 'ave seemed longer than the whole bloody voyage," Gracie grumbled. "Gawd but it'll be good to get me old feet on solid ground again."

Isabella wrapped her arms about her middle and shuddered, swallowing the bile that threatened to choke her. "I don't ever want to see the ocean again as long as I live, Gracie." Much as she might wish she were back in Stepney; she would never want to repeat that dreadful voyage. A violent storm lasting for nearly two days coming round The Cape had caused such wretchedness they'd feared they would all perish. No, she wouldn't care if she never saw the ocean again.

Gracie nudged Isabella as the wharf loomed before them. "Well, girl, 'ere we go, 'ow d'ya feel, eh?"

"As if a mess of worms are wriggling about inside me, that's how."

Even when evading the constables in the alleyways and back lanes of Stepney Isabella had always felt that one day things would improve. That certainty died on the day of her arrest. Gracie had tried to give her some hope for better days ahead, but Isabella knew that a woman in her position had little hope for anything in life, least of all a bright future.

Gracie winked broadly at one of the sailors, now getting ready to stow the oars. He blew a raspberry and she chortled. Isabella had no idea how she would get by without Gracie. The older woman had been like a rock on the awful voyage. Dougal too. She saw the Scot now on one of the other longboats, which was carrying cargo. She waved and his plain face reddened as he shot her a cautious grin.

The first mate made a rude gesture. "Right, you lot," he shouted. "Get a move on. The time has arrived for you to leave this illustrious vessel. Steady now, we don't want you falling in the drink and spoiling your nice clothes, do we?" He sketched a bow. "This here's Government Wharf."

Isabella felt like pushing him into the sea, but the small moment's triumph wouldn't be worth the punishment she knew him capable of dishing out. How she hated him. Sweat trickled between her breasts and ran down her legs and she trembled as much with fear as with anticipation.

The man leered and suddenly grabbed her arm. "Now we'll see 'ow you'll manage without that Scottish dolt watching over you every step of the way. You got away with it on the ship, slut, but let's see how you like having one of those toffs putting his hands under your shift, eh?" He grinned evilly as he nodded to the men milling about on the wharf. "And not only his hands. He'll be poking on you with more than his hands, mark my words."

Isabella squirmed. "Let me go!" But he tightened his grip until she thought her arm might break.

"I will, after you gives me a little thank you kiss for being so nice to you." Before she could back off he pressed his wet sloppy mouth over hers.

He was pushed aside, and forced to let her go or head into the water, as the women jostled to be first off the boat.

"All right, all right, don't shove," one shouted, elbowing Gracie.

Gracie threw herself bodily at the first mate. "Whoops, must 'ave tripped," she said with a grin.

Isabella wiped her mouth on the hem of her skirt, and jumped swiftly onto the dock. The first mate shook a fist at Gracie and she waved audaciously. He cursed loudly.

Gracie muttered, "Just look at that Marjorie, carrying on like the doxie she is."

A buxom woman on one of the other boats lifted her skirts and shook a leg, making the boat wobble dangerously. The sailors guffawed. Some of the women made lewd gestures and shouted obscenely to the sailors as they climbed out, adding to the crew's amusement.

Isabella was silent. She would never feel anything but heartsick at being brought to this hostile land. Some women had stolen with one purpose in mind: to join lovers and husbands already transported, and these few were cheerful at the prospect of being reunited with their menfolk.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout. "That there's The Rocks." The first mate jerked his head towards the cottages and shacks sprawled on the hillside. "If any of you ladies is interested in working in the public houses and rum taverns, that's where you should head," he said, amid coarse laughter from his mates.

"Gawd, let's 'ope we've seen the last of pubs, eh?" Gracie said as Isabella huddled closer to her side. Gracie had made no secret of being a whore in London. To most of the women, whoring was the only means of supporting themselves and families apart from thieving. Isabella shuddered and Gracie patted her hand. "You'll have no need to end up over there, you wait and see."

"I hope to God I don't, Gracie." For a period back there in Stepney she had expected to spend the rest of her days as a whore. Most of the young girls in that slum had resorted to selling their bodies to save themselves from starvation.

But for good or evil, that scum of a gentleman had put paid to that expectation.

She grimaced as Gracie went on blithely, "I saw it in me tea leaves, you're gonna make yer fortune 'ere in the colony." She chuckled at Isabella's skeptical look.

"Oh Gracie, what am I going to do without you?" Isabella shook her head. The thought of their impending separation made her feel sick.

"You'll do a treat, ducks, yes you will."

"I only wish I was as certain," Isabella muttered. She'd been lucky to end up with Gracie when the prisoners were split into mess groups at the start of the voyage. Gracie had been her protector and her mentor. Not even a childhood spent foraging for sustenance in Stepney, or the violence during her stay in prison, prepared her for the hardness and cruelty of some of the thieving harlots on the prison ship. Gracie held Isabella's hand when they'd peered through the scuttle holes to get their last despairing glimpse of London, knowing they'd never see it again.

Gracie now tapped Isabella beneath the chin and grinned again, showing the many gaps in her teeth. "You'll get a good master, don't fret, then all your troubles will be over."

Isabella had a feeling her troubles would never be over.

Dazedly she watched as the boat dropped off the last woman and turned to head back to the ship for the next load of human cargo. The haze caused by the swirling dust gave the scene a sense of unreality. Sweat seemed to seep from every pore in Isabella's skin, soaking her ragged clothing, but she'd grown used to almost every form of human discomfort. What was a bit of sweat? The wind raced across the wharf, the flying dust stinging her cheeks, bare arms, and ankles.

The harbor was a cauldron of activity. Longboats ferried cargo to and from the dozen or so ships bobbing at anchor in the cove, most bound for exotic and oriental ports. At first sight of it the startling scenery had lifted the convicts' flagged spirits after weeks of endless ocean, but that first sense of exhilaration had soon dispelled.

 Gracie nudged her. "Buck up dearie, 'ere's the nobs."

Isabella tried to stop her fingers shaking as she wiped at her dry, cracked lips. Soldiers, lined up and armed, stared at the unkempt women as if they were no better than the rats that had swarmed below decks.

"Stand to one side," one of the soldiers ordered and another waved his truncheon.

"What do they think we are, a load of stupid sheep?" Isabella moaned.

"Ah well, we should be used to it by now." Gracie sighed as they all moved to where they'd been directed.

"They're looking at us as if we're creatures on display at the fair. You'd think they've never seen a female con before."

There were men everywhere, not just the soldiers. They lurked around corners and on rooftops, treating the arrival of a shipload of women as a spectacle. 

"'Tis a fact that we've been brought here because they have a shortage of women in the colony, Bella. I s'pose that lot's waiting to find out which of us they're gonna own, eh?" Gracie jerked her head towards a motley group of men standing openly surveying them, eyes gleaming.

It took some time to bring all the prisoners to shore. Isabella was close to fainting with the heat before the final boatload was set down.

 At a signal from one of the officials a gentleman came out of a building. Moving with stiff precision to the center of the dockyard, he stopped, then wiped his face on a white kerchief as he cast his eyes along the row of women. Unsmiling, he announced, "On behalf of Governor Macquarie I welcome you to New South Wales."

"God bless me, if he don't sound like 'e's really glad to see us who've come from the other side of the world at the King's pleasure." Gracie chuckled. "Nice of Governor Macquarie to send one of 'is codgers to make sure we're all 'appy to be 'ere."

"Yes, happy as larks," Isabella retorted in a sharp whisper.

"As you know," the man went on, "you have been allocated quarters or assigned masters. These good men," he gave the officials a stiff smile, "have spent many hours taking your particulars to ensure that everyone goes to an appropriate place of employment. You will show your allegiance to these masters. If you work hard to prove you are of some worth to the new colony you will earn your freedom as many others have before you." Obviously bored, he ran his eyes along the row of sweltering women. "Many of you will be in far better positions than you would ever have hoped to attain in England." He turned and strode back into the building.

Isabella blew upwards in an effort to cool herself. She'd only taken in half of what he’d said. She was a prisoner, for all his fancy words. Still, in the long run, better to work here, hopefully in some nob's kitchen, than to rot in a prison back home. Or face the hangman's noose.

Home? It was so far away and so far removed from where she stood now, that it seemed as if the years before she'd been arrested had been lived by another person. But for all their poverty she'd always known what it was to be a part of a close, loving family. Oh how she missed her ma, and her brothers and sisters.

 Isabella ignored the leering looks they received from men scurrying to off-load cargo. Her legs felt as if they would give out on her at any moment. Her bad foot with its crooked toes was beginning to ache fiercely and she swayed.

At last they were herded to where a stern government clerk sat at a table, a ledger in front of him and a pen in his hand.

Gracie poked Isabella in the back. "I 'ope I get a strong 'ansome master," she said with a chuckle. "Like that one with the gold 'air over there. Look at 'im. Lord, 'e'd do me fine. E’s been staring 'ard at us since we came ashore. Stands out from the other lot like a boil on yer nose, don't 'e? Rather a dandy, I don't mind saying so. I'll warm 'is bed any time 'e likes."

"Can't say I noticed him," Isabella lied.

"Oh no, suddenly you're blind, eh?"

"One member of the gentry's the same as the other. They can all rot in hell." Isabella shuddered. She detested them all, with their fine clothes, finicky manners, and hearts as cold as stone.

"You may sit on the ground, ladies." The officer in charge gave the order then smirked as he marched away.

"Cripes, why didn't they tell us that before?" Gracie sank with a huge sigh onto her well-padded bottom. The others followed her.

* * *

Tiger Carstairs removed his hat, then ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. Smiling grimly, he pushed the hat back on as he turned his back on the bedraggled lines of women.

What a bunch. They didn't get any better. Still, one female had caught his eye. She was a bit short on flesh to cover her bones, but there was a light of defiance in her eyes that the dreadful journey with all its degradation hadn't snuffed. She'd stared right at him from eyes as green as the sea as she'd limped past, her spine straight as a broomstick. He liked that.

Yes, she'd do perfectly.

She was young, if not very hearty, but Thelma had told him to keep his eye out for one who didn't look as if she'd be off in a flash with any man who showed up at the back door. This one hated men, if that glower she'd given him was anything to go by. So blatant was her scorn he'd fully expected her to spit in someone's eye. The sunshine had picked up glints in hair that would probably be reddish-brown after a good washing. But the wench had really taken his fancy, stirred some deep emotion. It was an unnerving sensation, peculiar in its uniqueness.

"Ho, Tiger Carstairs, after a new woman to warm your bed?" called one of the other men who'd come to inspect the new arrivals.

Tiger eyed the man coldly. Half of these poor dregs of humanity would end up as bed-warmers for this lot. Still and all, most of the females who'd landed today had whored in London and on the journey over, so the new life in the colony would hold no surprises for them.

"No, Mackenzie. Believe it or not, some of us are merely looking for women capable of keeping our homes clean and our stomachs full." Tiger looked away, watching the hustle and bustle of unloading.

Mackenzie's laughter was coarse as he walked away. Probably rum soaked as usual. Tiger sauntered over to the table where Gregson sat with his list of assignments.

"The wench there with the cropped red hair, who's to take her?" he asked indolently. "I'd like her."

"Have to wait your turn, Carstairs. She's been assigned. I have your woman already noted. Let me see..." Gregson ran a finger down his list. "Ah, yes, you have been allocated one Moira Paine."

"I don't want one Moira Paine unless it's that wench." Tiger pointed to the red-haired girl. She was staring at her feet, looking for all the world as if she was unaware of what was going on around her. Or had cut herself off from it all.

Gregson peered along the line to the woman in question. "What would you want with a scrawny wench like that, eh?" He shrugged. "Mind you, she has the makings of a beauty, I suppose."

"I care not for looks, old chap." Tiger knew he lied. "My kitchen woman needs a girl to help. This one looks capable."

"Oh aye." Gregson chuckled. "She does look capable enough." He leered, and Tiger hid a grimace of disgust. These men all had one thought in mind where women were concerned, and that was having them on their backs with their legs spread. "Hold on, old man, we're about to start allocating now."

Tiger eyed Gregson with annoyance. With a look along the line he saw that the wench in question still stared at her feet. His heart gave a strange lurch, unsettling him.

* * *

"Ah, thank the Lord, I'm gasping for a drink," Gracie said when some women came along the line with water jugs. "You cons?" she asked the one who offered her a mug.

"Yea, all of us." The woman grinned.

"'Ow d'ya find it 'ere?"

"It's a blooming laugh a minute ain't it?" She showed her toothless gums as she threw her head back in a laugh. "Mind yer Ps and Qs and yer'll find it ain't half bad," she advised, before going on down the line.

"Not bad!" Gracie blew a raspberry, then wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. "Gawd, but it's like a blooming oven out 'ere, ain't it?" She wiped the hem of her filthy skirt across her face, making streaks through the grime. 

Isabella sighed wearily. Her bad foot ached, her stomach was twisted in knots, her hair was lousy and she stank like a pile of animal droppings. The seasickness that had racked her during the long months at sea was still with her, and the ground seemed to be going up and down.

Now the fear that had plagued her since she'd been herded onto the ship so many months ago rose up to stifle her. Just what sort of master would she get? She knew she was as strong as any woman here, but they would take one look at her crippled foot and discard her as a domestic help. She'd get picked as some man's whore for certain, that was all these high falutin' nobs sought. That was how she'd got herself into this mess in the first place. By taking a knife to one of them who'd thought it was his God-given right to lay his white pampered hands on her.

With a small sob, her right palm went to her stomach. The babe had lain there such a short while. Although she'd loathed the thought of the nob's spawn resting in her womb, when the growing babe had been torn from her she had mourned its loss. It hadn't been the babe's fault; and perhaps it had been better off not coming into this cruel world.

One of the babies born on board began to whine and Isabella stared at its screwed-up face. Poor mite. Its mother, a doxie who'd worked the streets of Islington, put the child to her sagging breast.

Heartsick and afraid of what the future held, Isabella put her face on her bent knees and closed her eyes.

Chapter Two

Ignoring the others as they tossed ribald jokes about the armed soldiers back and forth, Isabella tidied her hair as best she could with her fingers. How she longed for a bath; she'd give her right arm to be able to sink herself into a tub of warm fresh clear water instead of salt water.

"All right, enough primping," a guard said, smirking as he poked her on the shoulder. "Up you get and go over to the table when your name's called. No hustling, an' behave yourselves. You never know, the guvner his self may pick you." One of his comrades gave him a dig in the ribs and they both chortled.

Isabella let the contempt she felt for him show as she picked up her bundle and slowly rose. If she didn't know she would get clapped in irons she'd spit in his ugly pig's eyes.

The women shuffled about, and the baby began to bawl loudly. Isabella spotted Dougal among the crewmen who'd just unloaded some cargo from one of the longboats. Her friend was frowning and she sent him a wan smile. He looked about, then waved discreetly, mouthing, "You all right?"

Isabella nodded warily. Would she ever be all right again? Had she ever been all right in her whole life? At nineteen she sometimes felt as if she'd lived a hundred years; most of them with an empty stomach, and heavy heart.

The woman next to her wiped a hand over her runny nose and sniffed, swearing obscenely beneath her breath as the man behind the table stood up.

"First I will call the names of the women going to Parramatta to be assigned to masters in that district," he shouted. "These females will form an orderly line over here." He waved a hand carelessly. "You will then be escorted to the master attendant's boat for the short trip upriver."

The troublemaker, Marjorie, was among the thirty or so whose names he called. As constables led them off Marjorie lifted her skirts, showing her bare bottom to the soldiers. A couple of the other women did the same. One or two of the rowdier women made catcalls and began singing a bawdy song.

The official ignored them and the boisterous calls they'd brought on. Nodding to the group of male onlookers, he called, "Now then, Isabella O'Shea." Isabella jumped. "Isabella O'Shea, come forward now!"

Gracie gave her a soft nudge and mumbled a word of encouragement. Gripping a fold of her skirt in a fist, her head held high so that no one would guess at her nervousness, Isabella stepped over to the table.

"That's me." Her clear voice showed no sign of her inner turmoil.

"Ah yes, I see you're Irish born," he read from his ledger. "You were tried on the twenty-third of May eighteen seventeen. Attempted murder!" He sneered, his slash of a mouth twisting. "Your sentence is seven years. My God, His Lordship must have been feeling soft that day."

 Isabella pressed her lips together.

"No previous convictions. Must have been the reason he was so lenient." Giving her lower half a sneering glance he added insolently, "And you have a deformation of the toes of the right foot."

Isabella lifted her chin higher. He made it sound as if she had two heads and a hunchback. "Yes, that's so," she assured him clearly, her shoulders going back until they ached.

"I'll take the useless wench." A lump of a man with a distinct Irish brogue strode over to stand beside Isabella.

She began to shake. He looked as if he'd slept in the same clothes for a year. His beady eyes reminded her of an ugly bird of prey she'd seen once in a book, a vulture, yes that was what it was called. Arms too long for his body flopped at his sides.

"Gawd, girl, you don't want that pile of shit taking you," Gracie called out. "'Ere guv, take a look at me lovely titties. Choose me instead." She pushed her ample breasts forward and leered at the Irishman.

But he wouldn't have noticed Gracie if she threw herself naked into his arms. As if the matter were decided he yanked Isabella towards him, slobbering.

Isabella dug her heels into the ground. No! She screamed inwardly. Sweet heaven—had she come through the sea journey unscathed only to end up in the bed of this son of the devil?

"Just a minute," a calm level voice ordered.

Malloy turned to face the tall fair-haired man who strolled towards them.

He had yellow-gold eyes, Isabella noticed; eyes the like of which she'd never seen on any man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with narrow hips. But her eyes were drawn to his handsome face, with a nose that was straight and elegant, a wide brow, a firm chin.

His strong legs were encased in breeches. He wore knee-high boots and his white shirt, open almost to his waist, showed a V of brown flesh covered with golden hairs. The sun glinted in them, making them sparkle. He seemed to be surrounded by a glowing aura and Isabella shook her head slightly to rid herself of the impression the man was a golden god. There was a vitality and arrogance about him that made every other man in the area fade into insignificance.

"What you want, Tiger Carstairs?" Malloy snarled.

No mistaking where this Tiger had acquired his nickname. With that mane of hair and his eyes, he bore a striking resemblance to a wild animal. At this moment he looked like a lion about to pounce on his prey. Every woman in the line had turned to watch him.

"Now, ain't 'e the finest bit of man flesh you ever laid yer eyes on," the woman now at the front of the line declared loudly, sashaying her hips and whistling through her brown teeth.

"Keep yer filthy maulers off him, Gert," Gracie hissed. Isabella turned in time to see Gracie giving Gert a jab in the ribs with her elbow. "I have a feeling 'e's not the sort to cavort with strumpets such as you, yer old faggot."

"Aw—a girl can dream," Gert sighed, clutching at the neck of her shift until her breasts almost popped out of the torn bodice.

"I have a letter from the Governor's office that states I have the right to select a female of my choice from this shipment, Malloy," Tiger Carstairs stated calmly. "So take your filthy mitts off the girl. I saw her first."

Astonished, Isabella stared at him. The boldness in his eyes as he looked her over was startling.

"I 'ave a letter from the Guvner's office," Malloy mimicked, pulling his mud-spattered trousers up with a jerk. "Sod off Carstairs, an' take your sodding letter with you!"

Isabella also glared at this Tiger. He looked as if he thought he owned the very ground beneath his feet. Another Englishman making claims on her. Another of the arrogant aristocracy. He must be a nob if he was a friend of the Governor.

Isabella cringed inside. Every Englishman was the devil's spawn. Most of the women in the line were now calling out their willingness to go with him. They could take her place as far as she was concerned. The arrogant golden-haired man ignored all the offers and catcalls as if he hadn't heard them, continuing to appraise Isabella, making her feel like a fattened calf at the market.

"The wench comes with me," the ugly Irishman claimed, his slash of a mouth twisting in a parody of a grin.

Despite the heat Isabella shivered as he wiped a drop of spittle from his chin with a filthy hand whose nails were bitten to the quick. Dirt was ingrained into his flesh. She doubted he'd washed in months, perhaps years.

"I beg to differ, Malloy. She comes with me," the tall Englishman said.

"Now, just a minute both of you," the official interrupted. "The lass has been assigned to work in the kitchens of Mr. Tonkins. It's not up to either of you to decide on the matter." With a glance at Tiger Carstairs he put up a hand and called, "Mr. Tonkins, come and collect your charge."

Isabella's knees went weak with relief when a small rotund man came forward, a cautious look on his kindly ruddy face. Obviously not of the gentry, he looked to be a tradesman of some sort, his homespun clothes plain, his boots unpolished.

But her relief was short-lived when he said diffidently, "I have no problem with exchanging my assignee with Tiger's." He gave the tall man a wary glance. "I simply want a young woman to assist my Emily with her household chores. It matters little who I get as long as she's young and able." Isabella could have screamed her outrage. With a pleading glance at him she silently begged this Mr. Tonkins to change his mind.

But Gregson said, "Very well. That's settled," and she knew her fate was set. With a long-suffering sigh the official drew a line across the page, altering names. "If you're willing to change, and Mr. Carstairs has a letter from the Governor's office, it's a matter between you. Moira Paine, come forward. You go with Mr. Tonkins."

"But, but . . ." The man named Malloy pressed his palms on the table. His face was turning purple and more spittle flew from his mouth.

Gregson, the government man, took a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face. "For goodness sake go over there and await your turn, Malloy. Now," he ordered when the Irishman dallied, a stubborn look in his watery eyes.

The giant called Tiger took Isabella's arm and began to lead her away. Amused, the guards shouted obscene remarks. He ignored them.

"Take care girl," Gracie called.

Isabella sent a smile tinged with nervousness and terror over a shoulder as she was steered across the wharf. Helpless despair filled her. This Tiger Carstairs who now owned her body and soul led her silently along narrow alleys. Raucous cries of street traders and mixed smells of cooking food and animal droppings reminded her vaguely of the back streets of Stepney.

Men and women the worse for drink sprawled on high steps in front of shops displaying red and white poles by their doors. Isabella had seen the likes back home and knew exactly what trade these shops plied. For a moment she considered breaking free and rushing over to one of them for sanctuary. Perhaps whoring for seamen was a better option than being this English gent's property.

At the end of a narrow street they went up some steep steps. When he saw that with her limp she couldn't mount as easily as he, Tiger Carstairs slowed his pace without letting go of her arm. At the top he went up to one of the assorted wagons secured there, and stopped, giving Isabella a furious glance when she fidgeted.

"Be still, woman," he ordered, shaking her none too gently.

"I'd just as soon have gone with that Mr. Tonkins," she told him haughtily, trying to get free.

"You have no say in who you go with. Tonkins now has his woman and is quite happy. Would you rather have gone with the Irishman? Yes?" he asked when she remained mute. "Perhaps I should have let him take you. Do you know what the likes of Malloy would do with you, hmm? Well, let me tell you, he'd use your scrawny body until it was fit for naught but feeding the sharks out in the cove. The last woman who went with him is now dead and buried, and probably grateful to be there, instead of being used by him."

"I might have preferred going with him," Isabella lied. "Anything would be better than being the chattel of an English pig."

His heavy golden brows drew together. "So, 'tis a pig I am is it? If you think I'm a swine then let me tell you about Malloy, wench. He's a debaucher of the worst kind. Why else do you think he wanted a skinny little wench like you? Especially one who walks with a limp and who doesn't have the strength to lift a kettle, by the looks of her." His strange golden eyes skimmed her from head to toe in open scorn.

"Then why did you pick me if you think I'm such a poor choice?"

"Heaven knows. I must be mad. I should have left you to Tonkins, or let Malloy have his way. All right. You win."

He curved his fingers about her upper arm and made to drag her back the way they'd come. "Right, let's go back. I've now lost my original woman to Tonkins, but I'm sure if Malloy hasn't made his choice yet he'll be more than willing to accept you. I'll get whatever is left. You can have the pleasure of warming that old lecher's bed until you lose every scrap of self-respect, until your body has been reduced to a sniveling wreck or you die of the pox. Come on, then, let's go," he said when she stood firm, her feet planted in the dust. "Damned if I have the time for a cripple with a foul temper anyway."

Isabella put a hand to her throat. What a beast! But then what was she to expect from an Englishman? Especially one who looked as if he'd never done a hard day's work in his life.

Tiger watched the emotions cross her face; an expressive face, with large eyes that sparkled with such animosity he could practically feel it touching him. She had a fading bruise on her chin, and shadows beneath eyes that reminded him of the sea on a fine day. Her hair, which had been chopped short with a blunt knife by the looks of it, stuck out like a nest of rats' tails.

Why in blazes was he bothering? Deep down he knew the answer to that, but it was something he wasn't willing to confront at this moment; probably never would.

 Tiger dropped her arm and turned his back on her, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his breeches. He began to whistle.

"All right. I'll come with you," she said. "But only on one condition."

A choked laugh burst from his lips. He turned and gave her a mocking stare. "You're a bloody convict, woman—you have no rights whatsoever. You make no conditions."

Now wasn't the time to let this man see how nervous she was. "I'll come with you. But . . . could my friend Dougal come to work for you too?"

There, she'd said it, even though her voice wobbled. Raising her chin in a show of bravado she forced her shoulders back. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, her ma had always told them. The worst he could do was say no, or beat her. And one more bashing would make little difference.

"Dougal's very strong and tough as old boots. He knows all there is to know about animals, especially sheep. I noticed there seems to be a lot of those witless creatures yonder on the hills." She turned her head in the general direction of where Dougal had pointed out the sheep he'd spotted from the ship's rail.

A square-tipped finger was jabbed at her nose and she took a step back. "I don't believe this! You've got the nerve of the devil, d'you know that? You've just stepped off a convict ship. Just who the bloody hell do you think you are?" 

Isabella could have sworn she saw amusement in those strange eyes of his. How dare he laugh at her?

"I'm as good as any English scum," she spat, then put a hand over her mouth, expecting a slap for her insolence.

But he drawled, "So 'tis scum I am is it? You don't know the meaning of the word if you think that's what I am, little biddy." He stared at her, long and hard, his face so near that Isabella shivered and shrank back from the mocking glint in his eyes. Then, rubbing his jaw, he stunned her by agreeing, "All right, what's his name, this lover of yours that you can't bear to be parted from?"

Isabella swallowed, her eyes widening in amazement. Dougal had never been her lover; never would be. He was just a dear friend. But best not let this man know that.

Dougal had successfully shielded her from the sickening and persistent advances of some of the crew. It was taken for granted that once at sea the female prisoners were the officers' for the taking, but Dougal, thank the Lord, had established early on that Isabella was his woman, so keeping them at bay. It had been harder to convince some of the crew members, and she knew he had fought the largest and meanest man on board, and won, to keep the others clear of her.

Dougal was not very tall, but his well-muscled body enabled him to hold up his own in a fight. Isabella dreaded to think what her fate could have been without him and Gracie to champion her. But gratitude and friendship was all she felt for Dougal.

"Jackson. His name's Dougal Jackson. You won't be sorry if you take him on, I know you won't. He's a hard worker, and he can take care of himself as well as any man. He used to be a fist fighter in London."

A glow of hope slowly began to fill Isabella. Perhaps everything would work out just fine as Gracie had predicted. At least this Englishman was listening to her. And that was something she'd never expected.

"English eh? So, how come he isn't classed as a pig alongside all us Englishmen?" Now she was certain he was laughing at her. At least while amused he wasn't contemplating taking his whip to her for speaking out of turn.

"Dougal's Scottish." She sniffed. "He worked his way over on the ship. He's after starting out afresh and that was the only way he could get here. He said he's going to look for work as a shepherd. Do you have sheep?"

"Aye, I have plenty of the creatures." He nodded, his eyes narrowed on her as if deep in thought.

A grey horse with a rounded belly and glossy coat stood patiently between the shafts of the four-wheeled wagon. Tiger Carstairs stroked a hand down its sleek neck, thinking. Isabella held her breath.

Then he said, "Stay here." He jabbed a finger beneath her nose again, ordering, "Keep out of trouble. I'll go and see what I can do about your lover."

Without further ado he strode off down the path they'd just walked, his boots kicking up dust. Very big and arrogant, he held his shoulders straight and proud. Typical English gentry; walked as if he owned the world and all in it. Well, truth was he owned her now. Biting her lip Isabella stroked the velvet nose of the horse. It blew a soft breath on her face.

How strange to be standing here free as a bird with no jailers or crew watching over her. For a moment she felt odd; like a peddler's monkey she'd once seen. It had become so used to being caged or chained that when it had accidentally gained its freedom one day it just stayed by its cage shivering and chattering, awaiting its fate. It had received a clip round the ear when the peddler returned.

Some children were scampering about nearby and one of them stopped to stare at her. A woman dressed in a severe grey frock with a high collar and starched apron, obviously the girl's nurse, pulled her away sharply, glaring at Isabella as if she was worth nothing.

Isabella poked her tongue out at the woman's back. The tart was probably no better than she was; a con. Now, how good would that be, to end up being a nanny or a governess to some wealthy nob's children. She sighed; another foolish dream. Who would employ a chit of a girl from the slums of Stepney to teach their offspring?

The children were full of beans, laughing carelessly. Even their faces looked different from the half-starved urchins populating the streets of London. These healthy, strong-limbed children were happy. Isabella guessed their exuberance was due to the confidence of not having to worry where their next meal was coming from. They doubtless wouldn't know what it was to steal to get food in their bellies.

Her attention was caught by a flock of birds, some sort of parrots. Noisily they argued over perches in a nearby tree. Their plumage was a vivid green and several shades of blue, the brightest colors she'd ever seen. The tree was strange; its branches spread wide and high, its trunk shedding its bark. There was a stark sort of beauty in its gangly shape; quite unlike the oak, poplars, and elms of England.

Taking a few deep breaths Isabella turned slowly, her face to the sun, feeling slightly light-headed. What heaven after the confining horror of the ship. This English gent who'd gone to try and fetch Dougal couldn't be all bad to have agreed to her demand.

Hold on, Bella, she cautioned. Don't go getting all soppy at this late stage. He's an Englishman. No doubt he'll have you warming his bed in short time. Likely he'll want Dougal there too. She'd heard plenty of tales on board about the loathsome acts some of the gentry tried to force the maids and lads in their service to perform for them. Of course—that was probably why he'd agreed so readily to fetch Dougal.

A thought hit her then: he'd left her here alone. She didn't have to dally like that stupid monkey. What was there to stop her making off? Glancing about, she prepared to make a run for it.

But then she chided herself. Don't be a fool, Bella. Where would you go, and what would you do? The crew had told tales of the wild endless jungle beyond the town and how a person could die of thirst in the desert that went on forever beyond the limits of the colony. Of course she could lose herself in the maze of streets here on this hill but there was little doubt what life would have in store for her if she did. No doubt her English master would delight in dishing out his punishment once he found her; which she was positive he would, with his connections to the Governor.

Might as well wait and see if the Englishman kept his word and brought Dougal back. At least Dougal would watch out for her. She and Dougal could run off together once they had the lie of the land worked out. She'd have more chance of survival with her faithful friend beside her.

A row of filthy prisoners shuffled by in a line, their odd clothing bearing a pattern of arrows. Their ankle shackles clanked and Isabella shuddered when she caught sight of raw and festering skin beneath the fetters. A few of them called out obscenely to her and the guard in charge of them wielded his weapon and shouted an order to keep moving.

Isabella swallowed as she watched until they were out of sight. Then she looked down at her own legs. At least she wasn't shackled like those poor wretches. And not locked up in some filthy cell as she'd been for months back home. Shuddering, she brushed a hand over her eyes. Nightmares still haunted her of that cell and her fellow inmates. Once the sun set her fears came back to torment her, and probably always would. The stink, the heat, then the intense cold; the fear when she'd begun to bleed and the woman beside her had yelled for the guard who'd leered at her blood-soaked skirts. If not for a kindly nun who came to offer comfort to the women awaiting transportation she would be dead now.

The heat made her sleepy. She yawned. They'd been up since the crack of dawn staring anxiously at the shore, she and Gracie whispering their hopes and fears of what would happen to them in this god awful colony the sailors had painted such horrendous pictures about. So far it hadn't turned out anywhere near as terrible as they'd expected. What was Gracie doing now? Had she fared any better or worse?

There was a flap at the back of the wagon that could be let down, but it was much too high for her to climb up there so, after giving it a bit of thought, she clambered up the front using one of the smaller wheels. She sat on the bench. All at once she felt sick, weary, and scared out of her wits. Supposing this Tiger Carstairs was as evil as most of the other gentry she'd ever come in contact with.

Twisting her fingers together to stop their trembling she looked straight ahead, ignoring the ribald shouts from a group of marines ambling by. They were obviously on their way to a tavern she could see on a corner of one of the streets nearby, a din emanating from inside its smoky depths.

A lot of time seemed to pass. Others from the prison ship came up the hill and were driven away by their new owners. Some gave her strange looks when they saw she still sat there, alone. Gracie wasn't among them and she worried over her friend.

When one of the other members of their mess came along with a stern-looking man wearing a reverend's collar Isabella called, "Did you see what happened to Gracie, Ethel?"

"The old devil walked away with her new master. I think he's a nob," Ethel shouted back before being hustled onto a cart.

Eventually just the one wagon remained.

Isabella rested an arm on the iron rail at the back of the seat and put her head on it. Despite all the hustle and bustle going on around her, her eyelids began to droop. 

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