The moon was full and rising into the eastern sky, snuffing out the blazing stars as its cold pale brilliance poured upward; one could read by it easily when it was overhead. Not a cloud in the sky and the only sounds the gurgle and gush of the spring, water pelting away downhill, a great murmur from pines, the skreek-skreek-skreek of a pair of white fairy terns in black silhouette against the silvered heavens. He lifted his head and inhaled the night, the clean purity of it, the comfort in its loneliness, the distance, the utter peace.
On Sunday after divine service he would write to his father, to the Cousins James and Jem Thistlethwaite to tell them that he had managed to make a home for himself in this southern immensity. He had hewn a niche, helped by a little gold, for which he had to thank them. But gold or no gold, he had hewn it with his own hands and his own will. Norfolk Island was home now.
In the meantime there was a box to examine before Kitty and Joey Long took it into their heads to chop it up for kindling or use it to hold mulch for the garden. Rather than walk up the cleft, he walked down it; Joey’s tiny house was just inside the Queensborough road boundary of Morgan’s Run along the edge of the track down to the main house. Joey and MacGregor were his sentinels, his first line of defense in case of predators. Not that he expected any yet. But who knew how many and what kind of convicts His Excellency would send here as his task over there in New South Wales grew ever harder?
Having found a cleared patch in the moonlight he began to attack the box with a chisel and a small hammer, tapping quietly; sure enough, once the heavy border was removed, the space between inside and outside skins sprang into sight as white lint wadding. Not many minutes later the box was in pieces and he had amassed ?100 in gold. Removing his trowsers, he piled the coins into their middle, gathered up the fragments of wood, put the trowsers on top of the pile, and walked back to his house. Kitty had said it was not luck. For himself, he was never sure whether he had luck or the grace of God. Though was there any difference?
When building his house he had thought of this eventuality; around the back and against the western slope he had randomly chosen one stone pier and constructed it with a hollow center. No one knew, and no one would know. Retaining twenty of the coins, he put the other eighty into his hiding place, then padded silently inside and into bed. Kitty murmured, purred; MacTavish’s tail thumped against the blanket. Richard patted the dog and folded Kitty’s back into his front, stroked her flank and closed his eyes.
The hat box was still on the chair when Richard went to work in the morning; it sat reproaching Kitty as she moved about the room, dusting, washing, tidying books, preparing the ingredients for a cold lunch; too hot to eat the main meal in the heat of the day, and perhaps if she took Joey and walked into Sydney Town she could find Stephen, persuade him to join them for a hot supper.
Oh, how thoughtful Richard was! The remains of the box were stacked in the kindling heap to one side of the front door, chopped to precisely the right size to start the stove fire-too hot to light it now, she would wait until mid afternoon, then bake bread. This typical kindness from him gave her pause; already outside, she turned back to look into the room and at the hat box. Sighing, she went back to pick it up and started the walk to the Queensborough road. Joey was chopping pines; Richard was determined that he would clear enough of Morgan’s Run to plant several acres of wheat and Indian corn next June, and though Joey could not saw, he could fell timber competently. MacGregor warned him of her advent-no danger of dropping a tree in the wrong place with MacGregor on duty!
“Joey, do you mind walking me to Sydney Town?”
Puffing, the simple soul looked at her with adoration and mutely shook his head. He snatched his shirt off a nearby branch and donned it eagerly, then the pair of them set off toward Mount George, MacGregor and MacTavish frisking around them.
“My own errand is to Government House,” she said, “and while I do that, Joey, find Mr. Donovan and ask him to come to supper this evening. I will meet you here. Do
Government House was in the throes of huge alterations and additions. Men were crawling all over it, Nat Lucas was barking instructions and the others were very quick to obey. It was a stupid convict took his time over work for the Commandant himself, and surprisingly few convicts were stupid. These renovations were of a temporary nature; Commander King had still not made up his mind whether Government House should remain on its present knoll or move to the other knoll where Richard said the original gardens had been. Never having been to Government House, Kitty did not know whether as a convict she ought to find a back door, or whether all traffic went to the front door, facing the sea.
“Who are ye looking for, Kit-kat?” Nat Lucas asked.
“Mrs. Richard Morgan.”
“In the kitchen house. Around there,” he said, pointing and giving her a wink.
She walked along the side of the main house to the separate building which housed the kitchen.
“Mrs. Morgan?”
The stiff, dark-clad figure hovering over the stove turned, the black eyes widened; a young convict girl peeling potatoes at the work table laid down her knife and stared with mouth adenoidally agape. Staggering a little, which seemed peculiar to Kitty, Lizzie walked to the table and gave the girl a thump. “Take that outside and do it!” she snapped. Then, to Kitty, “What d’ye want, madam?”
“I have brought you a hat.”
“A hat?”
“Yes. Would you not like to see? It is very splendid.”
Kitty looked absolutely blooming, belly protruding a little, fair skin shaded by a wide sun hat made of a local strappy grass (the convict transports had contained far more milliners than farmers), fair hair straggling in fetching wisps from beneath its brim, fair lashes and brows giving her face a slightly bald look that somehow managed not to be a disfigurement. Plain she was, but plain she definitely was not. Gossip had told Lizzie that Kitty Clark was beautifully shaped these days, was far from the thin scrawn she had been when Mrs. Richard Morgan had marched up the garden path. Well, now she could see for herself, which was no comfort. Nor was that bulging belly. Waves of sorrow and disappointment swept over her-where was that bottle of medicine?
“Sit down,” Lizzie said curtly, then gulped furtively from a medicine bottle, its contents catching her breath.
Kitty held out the hat box, smiling gravely. “Please take it.”
Taking it, Lizzie sat on a chair, untied the tapes, lifted the lid. “Ohhhh!” she sighed, exactly as Kitty had. “Ohhhh!” Out it came to be examined, held, gazed at raptly. Then, so unexpectedly that Kitty jumped, Lizzie Lock burst into noisy tears.
Calming her took some time; in an odd way she reminded Kitty of Betty Riley, the tough older servant girl who had led all four of them to disaster. “It is all right, Lizzie, it is all right,” she crooned as she stroked and patted.
There was a small spouted kettle on the hob and an old china teapot on the table. Tea. That was what Lizzie needed, tea. A search unearthed a jar of tea and a jar containing a huge rock of sugar together with a sugar hammer; Kitty made the tea, let it steep, chopped off some sugar, then poured the steaming liquid into a china cup and saucer-how well equipped Government House was! China cups and saucers in the
“I have just been given my notice,” Lizzie managed to say through hiccoughs and tears. “Mr. King has just told me.”
“Here, drink your tea. Come, ’twill make you feel much more the thing, truly,” coaxed Kitty, stroking the black hair.
Lizzie mopped her eyes with her apron and stared at her nemesis ruefully. “Ye’re really a nice little girl,” she said, the tea beginning to warm the other contents of her stomach.
“I hope I am,” said Kitty, sipping daintily. Why did tea taste so wonderful sipped from a china cup? “Do you like your hat?”
“As ye said, it is a very splendid hat. Major Ross would have whistled and told me I looked like a queen in it, but Mrs. King will only
