By the end of the week, a middle-aged man with a tidy moustache and wearing a top hat and a brown jacket comes to the gaol to take you away. He looks you up and down – you feel like a sheep at a market – then he signs a paper and leads you out of the cell. You cast a frantic farewell glance over your shoulder at Sarah, who is trying not to cry.
As the ox-and-cart rattles slowly away from Hobart Town, the man speaks to you, briskly but not unkindly: ‘My name is Mr Tilsome,’ he says, ‘but you will call me “sir”.’
‘Yes, sir,’ you reply immediately.
‘We’ve quite the journey back to Bothwell – two days, if the weather stays fine. Though after so many months on a ship, I don’t suppose that will bother you.’
‘No, sir,’ you say truthfully.
‘Good. Now, you’ll be working chiefly as a cleaner and scullery-maid, under the direction of Molly, our cook. If you’re a hard worker and an obedient girl, you won’t have any trouble. However, I must warn you’ – he pauses and clears his throat – ‘the natives in our parts are fearsome. Absolutely deadly with a spear.’
He sees the stricken look on your face and reassures you: ‘It’s nothing we can’t handle, of course – just a little conflict from time to time, that’s all. However, you must never leave the grounds unaccompanied, or it will be the last thing you do. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ you manage to squeak. You’ve heard of these people, who lived here before the English came. You try to imagine what they might be like. All you heard on the boat coming over was that they have dark skin and live in the bush all over the colonies. You spend the next few hours watching for any glimpses of running figures or flashes of a spear between the trees. Calm down, you tell yourself. The master said I’ll be all right if I don’t go wandering off into their lands.
When you arrive two days later, you discover that the house in Bothwell is newly built, of sandstone mined from the local quarry. It’s grand, and the newly-cleared green fields around it give you a feeling of hope – but it’s so isolated. Hobart Town seemed small and quiet compared to London, but on your long journey here you noticed there were very few houses or even passing vehicles.
The two other convicts working for Mr Tilsome – Molly the cook and Joe the farmhand – are kind enough but older than you, and they don’t tolerate any slackness, putting you to work straight away. Sadly, the master doesn’t have a horse – just an ox to pull the cart and the plough – and you don’t get to work outside often. You have a small bedroom to yourself in the attic, but most of your waking hours are spent in the laundry outhouse or the kitchen.
The master is a single man, though he has guests around often and works hard on the couple of fields of wheat that he farms. He hopes to one day establish Bothwell as a business-town between north and south, where travellers may buy their wares.
At first you spend every waking minute thinking about Sarah, or your voyage and the foal’s birth, or your da. At first, even the earth itself won’t stand still: for the first week, your bed at night seems to roll underneath you as if you are still at sea. The air smells strange out here, the sky is a bright, wild blue, and the grass is yellow. No kangaroos have come up to greet you carrying flowers, but you have seen some raucous birds feeding on seed-pods in the tangled trees, flashing like liquid rainbows through the sky.
As time goes by, these things become familiar, but although you now feel more settled here, you’re still lonely. One day, you realise that weeks have gone by where the only words spoken to you have been orders.
That very afternoon, the master announces a plan to take the ox-and-cart into Hobart Town the next day. Molly is to go with the master, to stock up on supplies not available in Bothwell, such as sugar, tobacco, candles and cloth. But not an hour later, Molly twists her ankle.
‘I think I’ll still be able to manage the journey, if I bring you along to help,’ Molly says to Joe in the kitchen.
Your mouth opens and words burst out: ‘Oh, please, ma’am, can I come to Hobart Town with you instead? I’d be such a help! I’m very strong, and Joe will be needed in the fields here – won’t you, Joe?’
Molly raises an eyebrow and snorts. ‘You’re fair keen, aren’t you, girl? Planning to slip off and escape, are you?’
‘Have a heart, Molly,’ chides Joe. ‘It’s a lonely life out here for a young lass. I suspect she just wants to see some other folk besides our own crusty selves for a change. Am I right?’
You nod gratefully.
The master consents, though Molly seems irritated by it, and three days later here you are, ready for an adventure in Hobart Town.
The master goes to a meeting in another part of town, and you trail along the bustling waterfront markets in Molly’s wake, your eyes as wide as two coins. Some of the buildings are quite grand here, even if it is far smaller than London, and the wharves are full of traffic and the clatter of hooves.
You see all types of people – convicts, sailors, well-dressed gentlemen and ladies. To your surprise, you even see someone who you think might be a
