Chapter 27

The evening was a warm one as the trap moved through the slow twilight, past cottages and slab huts which gave way to stands of gum trees, with underbrush choking the sides of the rutted road.

Hannah would have found the journey in the open trap rather pleasant had it not been for the task ahead, and the frown on Rebecca Nelson’s face.

‘Not like you, Hannah, to be so absent-minded. Imagine not realising you were no longer carrying the sewing basket!’

‘Ah, but I fear it happens from time to time. As I get older, you know, things just drop out of my head.’

‘Well, it can wait till tomorrow,’ said Rebecca, sounding wearily annoyed.

‘That’s the problem, you see. Mr Monsarrat gave me some money to purchase some butter tomorrow morning, before I arrive at the Factory. So I’d as soon not leave the basket there overnight – there are some wonderful girls in that place, but there are others, as well.’

‘True enough,’ said Rebecca. ‘Do you know where you left it?’

‘I’m fairly certain it’s in the corner of the drying grounds. I set it down there when I was helping at the meal hour.’

‘Very unwise of you. We shall turn around and get it now then.’

‘Oh, but aren’t we close to your house? I would hate to detain you. Perhaps if you were to allow me the use of your trap just for a short while longer, after you are safely home I can return to get it.’

‘Very well, then. Grogan will take you.’

Grogan had the hunched posture of someone who spent much time seated, but on hearing his name his shoulders squared slightly. She did not wish to know how he felt about having a forgetful former convict add an hour or more to his work day.

So with Rebecca safely deposited and farewelled – ‘You must take care not to do this again, Hannah. I’ve come to rely on you’ – Grogan turned the horse around.

As they approached the Factory again, Hannah was disappointed to see that she didn’t know the night guard on duty. As she dismounted from the trap and approached him he made no move to stop her, but his eyes never left her.

‘I’m assistant to Mrs Nelson, who is helping Superintendent Rohan with the running of the Factory until the permanent matron arrives,’ Hannah said.

‘Are you?’ he said.

‘Indeed. Mrs Nelson has sent me to recover something left on the premises. I shan’t be long.’

‘The superintendent says no one is to enter without his permission.’

‘I simply need to find Mrs Nelson’s sewing bag and I will be gone. Look, there’s Mrs Nelson’s driver to stand surety for me. Wouldn’t it be a shame to interrupt the superintendent’s dinner over such a trifle?’

The man looked over at Grogan. He seemed to recognise him, nodded briefly.

‘Find what it is you’re after, and then leave,’ the man said.

‘Of course, thank you,’ Hannah said. Then, leaning in she dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘I’m not entirely sure where I left it, but I didn’t want Mrs Nelson to think me half-witted. It may take some time to find.’

‘Fifteen minutes, and after that I’ll come and find you.’

Hannah bobbed her thanks and raced across the yard, dropping a small red cloth on the ground as she ran towards the staircase that led to Lizzie’s room. In an alcove underneath it was the sewing basket, which she would leave in place for now so she could pretend to be searching for it should the guard make good on his threat.

Underneath the basket was a tray of shortbread, wrapped tightly in oilcloth to deter the rats, who liked Hannah’s baking every bit as much as Monsarrat did. This she did remove, together with her shoes, which joined the sewing basket under the stairs. The odd creak was unavoidable but she did not intend to announce her presence any more than necessary.

She had the key to Lizzie’s room in her pocket, and on using it cursed the poorly fitted door, which scraped the timbers as it opened.

Lizzie was sitting on her bed in her nightdress, staring at the wall.

‘Good evening, Lizzie. I came, as I promised. I’m very sorry I can’t stay long tonight, but I can keep you company for a short while. And, look, I brought the shortbread for you.’

She placed the tray on Lizzie’s lap and the woman grabbed a fistful, crushing it in her hands while she stuffed it into her mouth.

When the pace of her feeding slowed somewhat, Hannah patted her hand. ‘Did you enjoy that?’

Lizzie nodded and smiled, showing crumb-littered teeth.

‘Lizzie, my love, will you come to the window with me?’

So they walked together to the window, Hannah supporting Lizzie.

When Hannah peered out, the patch of red cloth was clearly visible. Lizzie was looking out too, through unfocused eyes.

‘Now, Lizzie, have you seen anything from this window? Startling things, I mean.’

Lizzie frowned. ‘Eddie won’t get in trouble, will she?’

‘Why would Eddie get in trouble?’

‘I just wondered. Because I did see a startling thing. Eddie made a man lie down, you see. And she must have done a good job, because he never got back up.’

‘Can you point to where it happened?’

Lizzie tapped the corner of her eye, smiled at Hannah, then turned and moved the tip of her finger forward.

When she did, she was pointing directly at the red cloth. She noticed it, with a jolt. ‘Has someone else lain down now?’ she said. ‘Because there’s red again.’

‘No, Lizzie. No, there will be no more lying down, I promise. Would you like the rest of the shortbread?’

Lizzie nodded again, going back to the bed and sitting beside the tray as if to prevent anyone taking it.

Hannah knew that she must not spend one more moment in the Factory. She said a rushed goodbye, made sure she took the now-empty tray with her, and collected the sewing basket from under the stairs and the red cloth from the yard.

She already suspected she had overstayed. Especially when she saw the guard making his way towards her. She held up the basket to show him, and inwardly cursed. She had forgotten her shoes. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

‘I’m sorry to put you to the trouble of coming to fetch me,’ she said. ‘It’s my eyes, you see. They’re much weaker in the dark than they once were, and it took them a little time to pick out my basket.’

The guard said nothing but nodded, gesturing her towards the gate and following close behind.

She will ask Grogan, Hannah thought. She will ask Grogan how long I took, and Grogan will tell her.

For the first time since she had been in gaol in Port Macquarie, she felt fear.

*  *  *

It was clear that no one else had been here since Monsarrat had last been down to look for Grace’s letters to the governor – the place remained in a deplorable state. Some documents still bore the wax seals that announced them as unopened letters, others were torn or dog-eared, many faded to the point where Monsarrat wondered if his candle would be up to the task. And of course very few of them – save the ones he had already been through – bore any signs of having been organised in any way.

This would be done, Monsarrat thought, within days. And his likely reward would be more days down here, trying to impose some sort of organising principle onto these unloved pieces of paper. He imagined himself, in the days and weeks ahead, finding the one document which could have saved Grace. A pity it would be too late.

So, organised or not, he would have to find it tonight.

He picked up a stack of the less damaged papers, started laying them out on the table, looking for any link, and not holding out much hope that in fifteen years’ worth of documentation he could find her.

After a short while, he found the work soothing, almost became lost in organising the disorganised, imposing his will on something, even if it was just paper.

He shook his head, glanced at his pocket watch. He had maybe a quarter of an hour before Eveleigh left for the night and would demand Monsarrat did the same. It would have to be enough.

As he looked down at a sheaf of papers he had already laid out, he noticed that there was, in fact, one link, a factor they all shared: the ship the convict had arrived on.

Monsarrat had come here in the hold of the Morley. There had been no women on his ship. Nor did he look for Hannah’s ship, the Minerva, as the Factory hadn’t been built when she arrived. As for the other ships, he hadn’t the faintest clue where to start. So he simply started wherever his eye fell. And as he ran his eyes up and down the list of ship names, flicked through page after page to find where the reports of the human cargo of one ship ended and the next began, one vessel’s name snagged at his eye.

Nemesis.

The name, if he recalled his conversations with Mrs Mulrooney correctly, of Rebecca Nelson’s Irish wolfhound. And with his classical education, he knew Nemesis was also the name of the Greek goddess of divine retribution. Having nothing more to go on, then, he started flicking through these records. After three or four pages he met a woman called Edwina Drake. The manifest listed her as 21 years old. Her occupation was set down as ‘governess’. She stood 5 feet tall – the same height as Hannah. Her skin was described as clear, her eyes blue. And her hair was listed as red.

She had been transported fifteen years ago for stealing cutlery, with a sentence of seven years.

The piece of paper had nothing further to say about Miss Drake, and nor did the others he had managed to peruse by the time he heard Eveleigh’s footsteps at the top of the stairs leading down into the cellar. ‘Mr Monsarrat, finish up, if you please. I intend to leave within the next five minutes, and you will be doing the same.’

‘Very well, sir,’ Monsarrat called up. ‘I’ll just set these files to rights, and I will be right up.’

He did exactly as he said he would do. But one piece of paper, now folded tightly, did not find its way back into the midst of its fellows, instead leaving the governor’s domain in Monsarrat’s pocket.