Chapter 24

Monsarrat did not possess a horse. The major’s money wouldn’t last forever, and in any case he didn’t need one for the short distance between his cottage and Government House, both north of the river.

But now a trip to Windsor from Parramatta – the same journey that had seen him lose his first ticket of leave – became, in his mind, crucial.

After leaving a note on his kitchen table telling Hannah not to expect him home that night (there were certainly advantages to her new literacy), he was able to find a carter going to Windsor who was willing to take him for a small fee. Unfortunately the carter wasn’t returning that night, so Monsarrat would either have to find lodgings, rely on Cruden’s generosity, should he find the man at home, or walk through the night to be back at his desk tomorrow.

He told himself that it wasn’t deceptive to keep Eveleigh ignorant of his conversation with Preston and his plans to visit Cruden. After all, one was a confidential communication with a friend, the other a social visit in his own hours.

Still, he felt uneasy about the journey, and was grateful for the elongated daylight hours which November brought with it – he would have hated to be on the road with a silent carter he had never met as night fell.

The man was kind enough to deposit him outside the Cruden residence – or at least what he hoped was still the Cruden residence. He did not know whether Cruden’s pastoral activities had managed to make up for the shortfall in his magistrate’s stipend.

It seemed he was in luck, for the door was opened by one of the Cruden boys, a young man now – Will. Tall and beginning to fill out around the shoulders, with the same grin and impatient shuffle Monsarrat remembered from the schoolhouse more than two years ago.

Will employed that grin when he saw who was at the door. ‘I regret to inform you, Mr Monsarrat, that my education is now complete, so I have no further need of you.’

Monsarrat smiled back. He had wondered, recently, whether there was anyone in his world save Hannah who did not have a hidden agenda, and the uncomplicated and unapologetic larrikinism of Will was surprisingly comforting.

‘Your education will never be complete, young Cruden, and you’d profit to remember that.’

Will stepped forward and surprised Monsarrat by enfolding him in a gangly, long-limbed embrace. ‘And what is it that does bring you here, Mr Monsarrat?’ he asked, standing aside to admit Monsarrat to the house, and leading him past the rooms where the pair of them, and Will’s younger brother, had spent many hours wrestling with algebra and Latin conjugations of verbs. ‘I take it you are no longer being fed and clothed by His Majesty?’

‘After a fashion I suppose I still am. I am in the employ of the private secretary to the governor.’

‘Must be a fairly easy job, with no governor in residence.’

‘You’d be surprised to know, Master Will, that a tendency towards industry finds its own outlet.’

‘I hope never to be able to confirm that statement, Mr Monsarrat. In any case, I imagine you want to see Father.’

‘Yes, if it is convenient. And I do apologise for arriving without notice. I imagine he’s busy.’

Will’s smile faded for a moment. ‘Less so than he was. He receives few visitors, now, and turns most of them away. Nevertheless, I’m certain he’ll make an exception in your case – if only because you might still be able to curb some of my worst excesses. Would you mind taking a seat in the parlour? I’ll tell him you’re here.’

The Samuel Cruden who walked into the room a few minutes later was almost unrecognisable to Monsarrat. Still dressed austerely, still with his grey hair swept back from his temples. But thin and slow, eyes darting to the side as he approached Monsarrat, as if to ascertain whether an ambush was coming. His voice, though, was as clear and strong as it had been when it had echoed from the bench.

‘Mr Monsarrat! What a delight – it hasn’t been three years, has it?’

As briefly as he could, Monsarrat told Cruden of the events at Port Macquarie which had led him to an early ticket of leave.

‘The governor’s office! I always knew you would rise, given the chance – and if you maintained the presence of mind to get out of your own way every so often. It’s very kind of you to call. I imagine that you’ve heard my circumstances are altered now.’

‘I had, actually, sir. In fact, that’s why I’ve come.’

Cruden frowned. ‘If it’s all the same to you, Monsarrat, I’d just as soon not go over the whole business again. Should you wish to satisfy yourself as to the particulars, there are many lurid accounts in the Chronicle.’

‘Forgive me, sir. It’s not prurience which brings me here. Rather, I am currently the subject of a certain amount of attention from the agent of your undoing – and I think it is possible, even plausible, that he more permanently dispatched another man who was inconvenient to him.’

Cruden sighed, sat down, his eyes still probing the corners of the room. ‘Very well, then. I suppose you’d better tell me.’

‘You’ve heard of the murder of Robert Church, the superintendent of the Female Factory?’

‘Yes. A barbarous end, but from what I understand he is unmourned.’

‘Nevertheless, His Majesty’s government wishes his killer brought to justice, naturally.’

‘Naturally.’

‘The current suspect is a convict at the Female Factory. But – and I must ask you never to repeat what I am about to say …’

Cruden nodded.

‘It has come to my attention that Mr Church might have been in competition with Socrates McAllister in the business of sly grog.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Cruden, ‘he most certainly was. But if you’re thinking that is motive for killing the man, I doubt it.’

‘Really? With respect, sir, the last person I would expect you to defend is McAllister.’

‘Not defending him, Monsarrat. Simply stating a fact. McAllister could buy and sell Church. He’d simply need to lower the price of his merchandise – which I’ve heard was less diluted than Church’s – and Church would lose his customers in a heartbeat. No, I can’t see how he has anything to gain from the man’s death. In fact, he has something to lose.’

‘Really? I didn’t think there was anyone who would profit from Church’s continued existence.’

Cruden gave a brief chuckle. ‘Think on it for a moment, Monsarrat. Church was a monster, but an efficient one. He made the books balance, you see. I’m not sure how accurate they were but the returns always showed profit. And as long as the Factory was running efficiently, there was no need for Sydney to give credence to the less savoury rumours emanating from the place. Now, though, I understand the talk has already started – the appalling privations of the women, the forced attention of the superintendent, even suggestions that the true financial situation of the Factory might not be as robust as Church implied in the official statements. And with him gone, who would be held responsible for that?’

‘Of course. The management committee, on which McAllister sits.’

‘Yes. It is not inconceivable that there might be an inquiry. And while an adverse finding probably wouldn’t be fatal to McAllister, it would dent him. He does not like to be dented. No, I fear, Monsarrat, you will have to look elsewhere for your killer, even if your only wish is to congratulate them.’

‘The problem, sir, is that elsewhere points to a woman who I’m reasonably certain is innocent – not of all crimes, but of this one.’

‘Still, as much as I would love to see McAllister ruined, I don’t think this murder will be the end of him,’ said Cruden. ‘You may have to cast your net a little more broadly, Monsarrat. Look sideways, is my advice. Putting an unaccustomed slant on the facts can often lead to the most remarkable epiphanies.’

Monsarrat was offered the guest bedroom at the Cruden residence, and driven back to Parramatta before first light at breakneck speed in a trap piloted by young Will.

It was galling but Monsarrat had to admit that Cruden’s assessment was most likely correct. And of course there was no reason to suspect him of having a skewed view of the situation. But Monsarrat was equally certain Grace was innocent. Perhaps he was deluding himself – he had to admit that he wanted her to be so. Or perhaps he needed to take Cruden’s advice and look sideways. It would have been helpful, though, if he had understood what the man meant.

*  *  *

‘Why is it that I am the only one never to taste a square of your shortbread? I know you were prohibited from giving me any at Port Macquarie, but I’m no longer a convict. And might I point out that I am also your employer? I paid for the flour and sugar that went into that tray.’

Monsarrat sounded petulant, even to his own ears. A short sleep in an unfamiliar bed followed by a jarring ride home had made him cranky. He disliked the way he was acting. It was simply shortbread – why should a senior government official such as himself care about such a thing?

‘When this is over, Mr Monsarrat, I’ll make you all the shortbread you want. I’ll make so much of it we’ll be able to build a second oven out of it. Hopefully that will keep you from squalling.’

‘Well, I think squalling is taking it a little bit far …’

‘And I think it doesn’t go far enough. Anyway, when you hear what it’s for, I’m sure you’ll not begrudge it.’

Indeed, when she told him, he didn’t begrudge the shortbread. But he came as close as he ever could to giving her a command.

‘Tonight? Is that your intention? Truly, you mustn’t. It’s far too dangerous. Walking about at that time at night by yourself is bad enough, but gaining entry to the Factory, creeping around – you could find yourself in there on a more permanent basis if you’re not careful.’

‘That’s why I intend to be careful, Mr Monsarrat. I did not survive as long as I have without stepping cautiously. We must know what Lizzie might have seen from her window. I intend to drop a handkerchief around the spot where they found Mr Church so I can assess if it is visible from Lizzie’s room.’

‘How will you get in?’

‘Ah, well, I have a plan for that, of course.’

‘Of course. Is it something you would like to enlighten me on?’

‘As you ask so prettily, Mr Monsarrat, and as I am denying you the solace of my shortbread, I feel it is the least I can do. Mrs Nelson, you see, enjoys her superior status. She pretends not to, but it leaks out in certain little ways. Including requiring me to carry her sewing bag for her.’

‘Rather high-handed of her, I must say.’

‘Ah, I don’t mind. And the fact might prove useful, anyway. Because, you see, I intend to accidentally leave it this afternoon.’

‘Why?’

‘We usually walk out of the Factory together, part company outside. Rebecca’s driver, Grogan, takes her home. She always offers to convey me here, but as it is out of their way I have always declined. Tonight I intend to accept.’

‘I see. So we have a ride in a trap and a sewing bag languishing somewhere in the Factory.’

‘Are you aware, Mr Monsarrat, that you’re an impatient and somewhat irritating man?’

‘So I’ve been told.’

‘I’ll answer you more quickly if you remain silent. When we are closer to Rebecca’s home than to the Factory, I will exclaim over the forgotten sewing bag and mention that there are some items of value of my own in there which I would as soon not leave locked up with convicts overnight. She will, I’m sure, offer to take me back there. And I will accept, on the proviso that she be delivered home first.’

‘So Grogan will take you back to the Factory gates, and you will go up to the guard …’

‘And say I’m on an errand from Mrs Nelson, which the driver will no doubt confirm if asked.’

‘And you will enter the Factory …’

‘And take some time to find the item, of course. Naturally, I will have hidden this shortbread somewhere during the day. I’ll deliver it to poor Lizzie, take a peek out the window and will be away again. Hopefully newly enlightened.’

‘I am not at all sure that I should allow this,’ Monsarrat said.

‘Is it up to you to do the allowing, Mr Monsarrat? Would you truly forbid me from taking a course of action I have settled on?’

‘I might, if I thought you’d listen.’

‘Good man. Now, I have a task for you as well.’

‘You are aware, of course, that I already have an employer.’

‘Oddly enough, I was aware, yes. And in that employer’s office there must be all kinds of records. I wonder whether you’d be good enough, at your leisure, of course, to trawl through them for any reference to any Female Factory convicts called Edwina.’

Monsarrat couldn’t resist an occasional glance at the baking shortbread as Mrs Mulrooney told him of her conversation with Lizzie.

‘Surely you can’t think Rebecca used to be a convict,’ he said when she finished.

‘It’s those wrinkles again, Mr Monsarrat. You always overlook them. This is one we cannot afford to overlook. It may come to nothing, but I’d rather know.’

‘Very well. I’ll do as you ask. As we are talking of wrinkles – I had a chat with Dr Preston yesterday.’

Hannah Mulrooney did not approve of Dr Preston. She had seen him come to the Female Factory to examine the women, and she felt that his efforts were somewhat perfunctory, and carried out in order to receive the stipend he was paid for the work rather than out of any genuine concern for the women themselves.

Her irritation was not lost on Monsarrat. ‘I swear, Mrs Mulrooney, I’ve given considerable thought to the logic behind your likes and dislikes, and I can’t discern anything resembling a pattern. You seem to take against people for no reason, and stay against them, what’s more. What’s the poor man done in your view?’

‘More what he hasn’t done. He may be forgiven, though, if he gave you some useful information.’

‘He very well might have. In the period between Grace O’Leary’s demotion to the Third Class and Church’s death, Preston noticed more marks on the arms of the First Class women. Bruising. Always on the upper arms, possibly made by a hand.’

‘By Church’s hand, no doubt,’ said Hannah. ‘I spoke to the convict girl, Helen, yesterday. She suffered similar bruising, and worse, from Mr Church. What do we do with the information?’

‘Nothing, for now.’

‘You seem to be doing a fair deal of nothing. If you keep at it, that girl in the Third Class penitentiary will hang.’

Monsarrat was surprised to find his muscles clenching at the thought.

‘I shall give some thought,’ he said, ‘to how to use my evening. Since there will be no one home to make my dinner anyway.’