13

In Cheverton Manor, Esmé entreated her husband, ‘You must talk to Dr Baines about your condition, Daniel. Your headaches are getting worse.’

‘All I want is some peace and quiet. Why don’t you go and stay with your mother for the summer?’

Esmé’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You haven’t taken your medicine.’

‘It makes me tired.’ Daniel picked up his hat and jammed it on his head. It was the tallest he could find and was difficult to keep on. ‘I’ve got some business to discuss. I should know today if I’ve been appointed as a magistrate.’

‘You are supposed to be managing the estate. I was talking to Mrs Ponsonby from Croxley Farm the other day. She said our crop was planted too late, and we’ll be lucky if it’s ready to harvest before the autumn rains come.’

‘She should mind her own business. Being a magistrate is an important part of managing the estate. It brings respect. My father before me was one, and he managed the estate as well.’

‘He had a competent steward. The farm labourers are taking advantage of you.’

Daniel turned and slapped his crop against his hand, trying to hold on to his temper. ‘Stop meddling in estate business, Esmé.’

‘If it doesn’t pay its way we will be replaced when Mrs Matheson’s husband comes home.’

‘It’s not your estate, so why should you be so concerned?’

Her lips pressed into a narrow line. ‘It’s not yours either. It belongs to your brother. You’re supposed to consult with Mrs Matheson’s agent over capital expenditure.’

Daniel scowled, annoyed by her reminder of his status. ‘Leave Siana out of this. I consult with the trustees who, in their turn, advise her. I would like nothing better than to consult with her personally, but she’s gone traipsing off to Wales.’

‘And all her words about calling on each other have come to nought, for I’ve never received an invitation to visit. Anyone would think she imagines she’s a cut above—’

‘Don’t say another word against her,’ Daniel warned.

A malicious look came into Esmé’s eyes. ‘I’ve been given to understand that Mrs Matheson is with child.’

The shock Daniel felt was nothing compared to the upsurge of anger which followed it. It should be his child Siana was carrying, not Francis Matheson’s. Was there no end to the punishment she intended to inflict on him? The anger was replaced by self-pity. Siana would love him again. All he had to do was match the man his father had been. One day, she would come back to him. When she did; she would never escape him again.

He turned his back on his wife and left her without a word of farewell.

Outside the house, the day was warm and humid. It made the sore that had broken out on his neck itch. Resisting the urge to scratch it, Daniel ordered the black gelding to be saddled and brought round. It sidestepped as he tried to mount, dragging him several yards with one foot in the stirrup. ‘Hold the damned thing still, will you?’ he shouted at the stable boy, his dignity in shreds.

When he was settled in the saddle he gave the animal a touch of the crop. It surged forward, squealing with the unexpectedness of it. Daniel managed to keep his seat, but only just, as he fought to get the animal under his control. It needed a good run. He started off at a canter, then put it to the gallop, whipping at its flank to urge it on, clearing hedges as he’d seen his father do. Soon, the ginger went out of the horse and it began to foam. He waited until its breathing was laboured, then slowed it down. ‘That’ll teach you to try your tricks on me,’ he said with satisfaction.

It had been a long time since he’d been into Dorchester. He jingled a bunch of keys in his pocket as he passed the house where he’d grown up. From an adult perspective, it seemed less grand than his childhood mind had made it, but it was pretty, built as it was of pale Portland stone and with its small-paned bow windows and pink roses rambling over the porch.

He intended to make it his place of business, with a little pleasure thrown in when the mood took him, for it was big enough to entertain clients in. He wouldn’t tell Esmé of his plans, though, for she’d only interfere.

It was market day. The place was crowded with wagons, people and street vendors. Chickens clucked, sheep baa’d and horses neighed, their stench ripe in the warmth and attracting a swarm of flies.

Soldiers of the Queen’s Own Dorset Yeomanry strolled through the crowds, the silk plumes on their hats waving high. They drew the glances of the women, so handsome did they appear in their uniforms. Their presence also reassured the businessmen, who felt threatened by the occasional outbreaks of civil lawlessness brought about by the Chartist movement.

The trouble had increased since the Tolpuddle transportee, George Lovelace – now pardoned for his part in forming a union – had returned to publish his manifesto on the persecutions experienced by the Dorchester Labourers, The Victims of Whiggery. Victims, was it? The Cheverton labourers did as little as possible for their pay, Daniel reckoned.

Throwing the reins to a lad touting for business on the street and instructing him to cool his horse off, Daniel strode into the Antelope Hotel. Allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the change in light, he looked around him, smiling when he saw the man he’d come to meet. Calling for a tankard of ale to quench his thirst, he shouldered through the crowd and took a seat beside him. ‘Well, Oswald?’

Sir Oswald Slessor, magistrate, entrepreneur and wool merchant, a man with his fingers in many pies, smiled slightly and patted his pocket. ‘Your appointment has been confirmed.’

It was as Daniel had expected, for several palms had been greased in the process. The estate trustees were a voracious bunch, honest only just past the length of their fingertips. Good business sense, they called it.

‘You will need to be sworn in, but I promise you that your first case of real importance will prove to be interesting. It’s a woman called Isabelle Collins. I believe she was to be wed to your father at one time.’

Daniel’s hand jerked and ale spilled on to the table. ‘What crime has the woman committed?’

‘You haven’t heard? She’s charged with the murder of Hannah Collins several years ago. The deceased was married to Isabelle Collins’s husband at the time.’

‘And you expect me to remain impartial? Good God, man! Isabelle Collins was the cause of my mother being transported for a crime she didn’t commit.’

His companion’s forehead creased into a frown. ‘You were appointed to the bench because of your connection to Sir Edward Forbes. You will be expected to examine the facts put before you in a fair and proper manner. It wouldn’t do to remind people that your mother is a convicted felon, especially since the magistrate who heard the case has considerable influence.’

‘Gossip has it that Isabelle Collins set that fire herself.’

‘I know. Regrettably, for I liked your mother, that case has been tried and the defendant declared guilty. I have to say, Daniel, that the verdict was due partially to your ineptitude in properly cross-examining the witnesses at the time. To make up for your inexperience, a light sentence was handed down. You should have kept me on to defend her. For your own good, it’s best not to point fingers of blame, or suggest that your mother was unfairly dealt with.’

Daniel swallowed his ire. ‘Of course, sir, I understand.’

‘I hope you do, Daniel. Be discreet and doors will open to you. Do you have premises in town?’

Attacked by guilt, Daniel murmured, ‘There’s a house in the upper end of West Street, where I was raised. It’s been tenanted since my father’s death, but has recently been vacated. I’ll use that for my chambers and occasional residence, when I’m not at Cheverton.’ He checked the gold hunter watch he wore. Once his father’s, he’d discovered it in a drawer in the bedroom. It was engraved with the Forbes crest and kept perfect time. ‘In fact, I’m expecting an interior decorator in an hour, to discuss its refurbishment.’

‘Good, I’ll send my clerk round there with the details of the case when you’ve settled in.’ Slessor nodded. ‘The charge is based on a series of drawings made by a deaf mute who witnessed the crime, and the evidence of the arresting constables. It’s a case of the defendant’s word against theirs. Good luck with it. People will be watching you on this one, so make sure you’re well prepared.’

A little time later, Daniel wandered through the empty house of his childhood, an interior designer in tow.

‘Will your wife be living here, sir?’ the man asked him.

Trying to sound more modest than he felt, Daniel implied instead of lied. ‘My residence is Cheverton Manor. This house will be my professional offices. I’d like ivory embossed wallpaper in this room. And some comfortable chairs and a desk with accessories. What do you think of rosewood?’

‘A good choice, sir. May I recommend leather for the seating? Two wing chairs would be welcoming for either side of the fireplace, where you might wish to share a brandy or two with a client in the winter. Leather suggests power and opulence, and it doesn’t show the dirt easily.’

Daniel, who’d been toying with the idea of velvet, smiled a little. ‘Yes, I was going to suggest leather myself. We’ll need a chaise longue to accommodate the ladies’ skirts.’

‘Ah yes, skirts.’ The man looked up from his notebook, an oily smile on his face. ‘May I ask if you’ll be needing a maid, sir?’

‘You have someone in mind?’

The man’s eyes narrowed a trifle. ‘I know of one or two females who may be suitable. What is your preference?’

‘I prefer someone young. They’re much more . . . adaptable than older women. On the slim side, with dark hair and green eyes, if possible.’

The man smiled. ‘I know someone exactly like that. A pretty little thing, too. She has just turned sixteen and is an orphan.’

‘Is she . . . a good girl?’

‘Of course, sir. She has lived in the workhouse dormitory for several years, where my brother and his wife work. They keep a good eye on the girls in their charge. There will be a small handling fee for the girl’s release.’

Wasn’t there always! ‘I want someone who is willing, and able to socialize with my guests, on occasion.’

The man held his gaze. ‘The girl will be made aware of what her duties will entail. She will need clothing suitable for the occasion, you understand? Will you require a bed, sir?’

‘Certainly,’ Daniel muttered, grinning to himself. It would be convenient to have a girl on the premises.

By the end of the day, Daniel had spent a great deal of his young half-brother’s inheritance, including the fee charged by a house of easement in a back street – where the wondrously talented Jasmine had once resided. The slut had given him a dose of the clap in his youth, but luckily it had cleared up quickly. Jasmine was long gone, now.

But, as he said to the trustee, when the man questioned the amount of money he’d spent, ‘The Dorchester house needs to be kept in good order. And who better to keep it in order than the little baronet’s closest blood kin?’

Which reminded him. Perhaps he ought to go and see his siblings one of these days. But he might wait until Siana returned home, so he could see for himself if she’d given birth to an infant.

It was almost dusk when he set out for home. A couple of snifters of brandy had cured his headache, and his mind was clearer than it had been in months. He was looking forward to his dinner, too.

He passed the thresher on the way home, a pile of rusting junk. He should ask the blacksmith if it could be repaired. He shrugged. The labourers would only wreck it again, as they had when his father had first bought it, regarding it as a threat to their employment – although they seemed a lazy lot of swine, who didn’t want to work, anyway.

He supposed he must do something about the estate one of these days. It was inconvenient, Jed Hawkins up and leaving so suddenly to run after his mother. Had Daniel been properly informed about the work involved in running the estate, he would have insisted that a proper steward be hired. Now, they couldn’t afford one.

‘I love your mother and we intend to be wed,’ Hawkins had told him. ‘I’m going to follow her to Australia and look after her whilst she serves her sentence.’

That had been a surprise to Daniel. He didn’t know whether he approved of the liaison or not, but at least she’d be less of an embarrassment if she was respectably married.

It had been Esmé who’d prudently made sure his mother’s money was placed in his care. Not that there was much of it left now, for he’d lost a great deal of it gambling and, so far, had not recouped his losses. His luck would turn, eventually.

Daniel’s mount seemed reluctant to move. ‘Come on, you damned nag,’ he cried out in frustration and slashed it across the rump. It bucked, throwing him to the ground, where he sprawled in the dust. The horse turned to stare at him.

As he rose to his feet, a red mist seemed to surround him. Grabbing the horse by its rein he lifted his crop and brought it down hard across its back. It began to squeal as he thrashed at it, but Daniel couldn’t stop. Soon, welts appeared on its back and blood trickled from its wounds.

When he’d exhausted his temper he saw that a small crowd had gathered. Ignoring them, Daniel scrambled into the saddle and rode the gelding as hard as he could, until the breath was a harsh rattle in its throat. Then he slowed it to a canter. For the rest of the way the horse behaved beautifully, proving to him that it just needed a firm hand. Throwing the reins to a waiting servant, he strode into the manor, his mood foul.

Esmé was in the drawing room when he went in. She looked up, her face tight and drawn. ‘You were gone a long time,’ she accused.

‘Was I?’

Her nose wrinkled. ‘You smell of horse.’

How unpleasant she was. ‘Why did you marry me, Esmé?’

She appeared taken aback for a moment. ‘You know why, because I love you.’

‘Then why don’t you show it?’

‘I . . . don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yes, you do.’ He crossed to where she sat. ‘A man needs comfort from his wife. You offer me none.’

Her faced coloured. ‘You know I’m unable to bear children.’

‘A fact you and your parents conveniently forgot to inform me of before we wed. You’ve changed since then, the softness has gone from you.’

She turned her face away, murmuring, ‘That’s because you’re cruel to me, Daniel. You mock me in company, torture me with your love for another man’s wife and . . . entertain one of the servants under my roof.’

His finger found the niche under her chin and turned her face around. ‘I do it because you show me no love.’

She tried to twist her head away when his mouth covered hers, but he kept her there whilst he kissed her. She began to gag.

Withdrawing, he gazed at her for a moment, a sneer twisting his face. Then he back handed her across the face – not hard enough to physically hurt her, but to show her who was in control. Giving a yelp, she cringed away from him, then stared up at him anxiously. The fear in her eyes was entirely satisfying. He realized he’d always been too soft with her.

‘You’ve forgotten to take your medication,’ she whimpered.

‘I’ll decide if I’ve forgotten to take it. I’ll expect you in my room tonight,’ he said, and turned and walked away from her, slamming the door behind him.

Esmé knew she couldn’t refuse him. Steeling herself, she waited as long as possible before she presented herself to her husband, hoping he’d be asleep.

But he wasn’t. ‘Now,’ he said, smiling meanly at her. ‘We must do something to loosen you up. A little brandy, perhaps,’ and he slopped some into a glass.

‘You know I don’t drink spirituous liquor, Daniel.’

‘You don’t do anything.’ He surveyed her from head to foot, the dowdy grey gown and prissy cap she wore were designed to repel his advances. ‘D’you know, I’ve never seen you naked. Take your clothes off, let’s have a look at you.’

She gasped. ‘No, Daniel. It’s indecent.’

‘I’ll decide what’s indecent.’ His fist bunched the material of her gown. ‘Take it off or I’ll beat you.’

Trembling, her fingers went to the buttons. She stood there, her body exposed to his critical glance, her hands covering herself as best she could. He came to where she stood, held the glass to her mouth and tipped it. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Esmé. Drink. I’ve put my medication in it, so you’ll be nice and relaxed.’

She obeyed, choking on the fiery liquid, hoping it would make her unconscious so she wouldn’t have to experience what he intended to do to her as he reached out for her.

But it didn’t make her unconscious. It relaxed her muscles, so she was powerless to stop his debauchery of her, even if she wanted to. The loathsome contact of his lips and hands seemed to go on for ever. She couldn’t find the energy to cry out when he hurt her.

He swore horribly when he remained unaffected by her. Finally, he withdrew from her. His lips curled as he delivered the final indignity. ‘You wouldn’t be able to find employment as a whore, for there’s nothing about you designed to arouse a man.’

Her love for him teetered on the edge of hate as she dredged up a modicum of spirit. ‘Daniel, there’s something wrong with you. What are those sores on your neck? I’m calling in the doctor tomorrow.’

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, then he began to laugh.

‘Stop it,’ she whispered, backing away from him, her gown clutched in front of her in defence. ‘I’d starve rather than let you touch me like that again.’

The laughter stopped as abruptly as it started. ‘Would you, indeed?’ he said.

From time to time, supply outnumbered demand for prisoners in New South Wales. So, after a long and frustrating wait in port, the ship carrying Elizabeth was turned around to head across Bass Strait for Van Diemen’s Land.

In the women’s quarters, Elizabeth lay head to foot with two other prisoners. ‘Five more days,’ she said wearily. ‘We’re already into May. Will this journey never end?’

‘I hope there’s a doctor at the other end. I think I’ve got the clap.’

‘Share and share alike on this ship, I reckon,’ the other one muttered. ‘Sometimes, I wonder if the game is worth the coin.’

They had shared the same bunk since they’d left England five months previously. Both of her companions were London prostitutes with raucous laughs and very little sympathy for someone like Elizabeth.

‘You’re a fool if you don’t take the opportunity to earn a few comforts from the crew,’ one of them said, and the other laughed.

‘Parson’s daughter, ain’t yer? That must account fer it.’

Neither of them had found the small cache of coins or the ring Jed had given her, which were sewn into the hem of her skirt. They’d pawed through the rest of her possessions, however, taking anything they thought might be useful to them. Elizabeth had been powerless to stop them.

Slim to begin with, Elizabeth had lost weight, for as the journey had progressed the food had spoiled, and most of the time her stomach had rejected it. Her flesh was sunk into shadows under her cheekbones, her eyes were weary. Her menses had ceased too, something she was grateful for, because the smell of women who couldn’t tend adequately to their own hygiene was rank enough already. Sometimes, she thought it might be nice to die.

The flame of her hair still burnt defiantly, though. For the sake of convenience she kept it braided. But it was infected with lice, as was her body.

As usual, she spent a fitful night. Morning brought her the opportunity to snatch some fresh air. Carefully, she leaned against the door jamb, a reeking night bucket in her hand, trying to find her balance on the bucking deck, so as not to spill her burden before she got to the side of the ship and emptied it overboard. Perhaps she would throw herself after it, for she didn’t think she could stand the conditions she’d found herself in for much longer.

She’d heard that their destination was The Cascades, the female factory in a town called Hobart. Rumour said it was already overcrowded, so she wasn’t expecting much. The air smelled wonderful after the closeness of the women’s quarters, and the breeze was brisk and invigorating against her skin. The clean smell made her dizzy for a moment. Finding the opportunity she tottered to the side and stood upwind, throwing the contents of the bucket into the sea. Seagulls dived as it dispersed and she gave a little shudder. Then she saw it. Land! They were sailing parallel to it. Thank God, thank God!

She forgot dying. Instead, she thought of Jed Hawkins, a good man who loved her enough to offer her the respectability of his name. She thought of Susannah too, who was being cared for and loved by another. Then she thought of Daniel, her son.

Why hadn’t she noticed the weakness of his character before? What had driven him to trick her out of her money, then betray her in court? Somehow, she would survive this. She would demand an explanation from him. Her spine straightened. No, she most certainly would not give in to despair now. She had too much to live for – and Jed would not be too far behind her.

Suddenly, a wave reared up in front of her, as grey as dishwater and flecked with little pieces of brown seaweed. The deck canted and she lost her balance. Tumbling over and over she slid into a hatch, then somersaulted down some stairs. There was a crack as the bone in her shoulder snapped, and the pain of it made her scream. Her head flopped against something unyielding and hard, and the day became dark and quiet.

When she woke, Elizabeth didn’t know where she was. She was not on the ship, for the restless motion of the past few months had ceased. She felt rested, but her head throbbed and her tongue was so dry it clove to the roof of her mouth.

For a moment, she imagined she was in her own bed and was waking from a dreadful dream. Then she felt the thrusting pain of her shoulder and knew she was fooling herself. She lay there for a while, trying to make sense of the alien sounds. The click of a door latch, the clanging sound of tin against tin and the low, muffled grumble of a man’s voice.

Opening her eyes was a slow process. The penetration of light pained them and the lids seemed to be glued together. Finally, she managed it. She could see that she was in a room with high windows.

She groaned with the thumping ache of her head. A man came across, stared down at her. ‘Ah, you’re awake.’ He held up some fingers. ‘How many?’

Her sight was blurred a little, but she could get by. ‘Three. Where am I?’

‘The female factory in Hobart Town. Let me take a look at that head.’

Someone knocked at the door and it opened. A minute later there was a shuffling sound. ‘I’ve brought Piper, sir. The boys gave him no trouble. Do you want my report now, sir?’

‘Unshackle him. I need him to help process the new female prisoners, and would prefer to hear the report from him, first-hand.’

There was a metallic rattle of keys in the background as the man’s fingers kneaded firmly at the sore spot at the back of her head. ‘Hmmmm,’ he said. ‘The skull could be fractured.’ He turned his head slightly, speaking to someone behind him.

‘How did you find the lads at Point Puer?’

‘One of the boys nearly died from the flogging he received from one of the warders. It was too savage and he wasn’t fit to begin with.’

His voice was gruff, but Elizabeth thought it vaguely familiar.

‘It happens occasionally. Blood poisoning, was it?’

‘Aye, I suppose you could call it that. I’d call it attempted murder. The boy is only nine years old and he was flayed to the bone.’

‘I’ll talk to the warder. At least the lads have been separated from the adult convicts, now. That’s progress. And if I were you, I’d keep opinions like that strictly to yourself, for it won’t bring you any favours. Come round here, man, I’d like to see what you make of this. This female fell down a hatch on the ship bringing her here. She sustained a fractured collar bone and a heavy blow to the head, and has been unconscious for several days. In that time the swelling has subsided a bit, but she’s fevered. She’s just regained consciousness.’

Gentler fingers probed at Elizabeth’s aching head. The man’s eyes were preoccupied as he felt the swelling. His hair was dark, grey at the temples, and unkempt, as was his beard. He wore some coarse prison garment, but it was clean. Another convict, she supposed, but what was he doing in the female factory, and why was he examining her?

‘There’s no discharge from the ears. The swelling is localized and should subside of its own accord. I would say she suffers from severe concussion of the brain from the force of the blow.’ He didn’t look at her directly. ‘Are you having any trouble with your vision?’

‘It’s blurred a little.’

‘That should clear up in a day or two.’ He turned to the man in charge. ‘The patient should rest for several days with her arm in a sling to allow the collar bone to knit, and a strict eye should be kept on her recovery from the coma.’

‘And the fever?’

‘Not serious. An infection caused by parasites, I’d say. She should be deloused and kept isolated, in case she’s been bitten by the fleas of plague-carrying rats.’

Elizabeth watched him give a faint grin when the other man took a step back, holding a linen handkerchief in front of his nose. It smelt faintly of lavender.

‘Good. Exactly what my diagnosis would have been. I’ll make a doctor out of you before your sentence is served, Piper, just see if I don’t. You seem to have an aptitude for it.’

‘It’s extremely good of you to say so, considering I’m already more qualified than yourself,’ he said, his manner so dry that Elizabeth stared hard at him.

Where did she know his voice from? She put a hand on his arm, made a noise. He looked directly at her then, and he frowned. His eyes were grey, like those of . . .? Was she dreaming? ‘Francis?’ she whispered. ‘What are you doing here, and why is that man calling you Piper?’

His mouth stretched into a smile that was totally recognizable. ‘Elizabeth? Oh, my dear, you’ve lost so much weight I hardly recognized you.’

‘I could say the same for you.’ Tears began to tumble from her eyes. ‘I was afraid I’d never see those I love again. Now, I see your dear, familiar face, and it gives me hope.’

The other man stepped between them, his eyes sharp as he gazed down at her. ‘Am I to conclude that you know this prisoner?’

‘Of course I know him. He’s Dr Francis Matheson, and he’s wed to my dearest friend.’

‘I see.’ The assistant surgeon looked agitated as he turned towards Francis. ‘In view of this development, it seems I have urgent business to attend to with the commandant. In the meantime, you will be separated from the female prisoner and placed in charge of a warder. No doubt, the commandant will want to question her and there can’t be any suspicion of collusion between you. You understand, uh . . . Piper?’

‘Matheson,’ Francis prompted, a smile splitting his face apart. ‘Dr Francis Matheson.’

The assistant surgeon grinned. ‘Ah, yes . . . well, that remains to be proved, Doctor.’

Elizabeth could have sworn she saw tears glinting in Francis’s eyes when he whispered, ‘Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m for ever in your debt. How long is your sentence?’

‘Four years. But you, Francis . . . it’s obvious you’ve done nothing to warrant being held here. I will swear on the bible as to your character if it will help to obtain your release.’

But Francis wondered. The commandant was a cautious man, not easily convinced. He would probably demand proof, not just take Elizabeth’s word for it.

As it was, Francis was granted a conditional pardon by the prison board, which meant he was a free man, but couldn’t return to England until his innocence had been proved.

He stayed in Hobart as the guest of a Quaker family until Elizabeth was well enough to travel, then having nowhere else to go, he had her assigned as his servant and set out for his brother Will’s property. All they had was a spare set of clothes and a blanket apiece, provided by the prison. The Quaker family had provided him with food for the journey.

Will’s property was set in hilly, wooded country, a day’s journey north of Hobart, and another day to the east. It was a long walk, through rugged country. They slept in the wild, their rest disturbed by strange barks and snuffles, and a procession of small animals that shuffled through the undergrowth.

Francis was pleasantly surprised by the property, which consisted of a low, sprawling house built of wood, several cabins and some stables. Land had been cleared around the house, trees had been felled and horses grazed on the lush grasses. It was isolated, surrounded by thickly wooded country.

They were greeted by a man holding a rifle. ‘Name your business.’

‘I’m Francis Matheson. My companion is Elizabeth Ayres.’

‘Assigned?’

Francis nodded. ‘My guest, nevertheless.’

The man stared hard at him for a moment or two, then relaxed and held out his hand. ‘You have the look of your brother. I’m Bart Stowe. This is my wife, Jean. We own the adjoining property and were partners with your brother in a logging business.’

Francis bowed to the worn-looking woman. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’

She blushed, her hand going to her hair in an unconscious feminine gesture. ‘Our eldest son worked for William. He’s been looking after the place since Will died. You’ll find it in good order.’

‘I’m indebted to you. Why the gun?’

‘It’s wise to take precautions. The logging is done by assigned convict labour. Sometimes they escape and band together.’ Bart Stowe gazed around him, calling out, ‘You can come out now.’

There were three sons, strapping young men of various ages. A girl named Emmy smiled at Elizabeth. About eight years of age, she resembled her mother with her dark eyes and brown hair.

‘I’ll show you the house,’ Jean said, smiling at Elizabeth, for she seemed genuinely pleased to have some female company, and the fact that Elizabeth was an assigned convict didn’t seem to bother her. The two women walked towards the low building, talking together, Emmy skipping after them. The action seemed so normal after their former hardships.

Young though she was, the girl reminded Francis of his own daughters. He blinked away his tears as he was filled with a great yearning to see them again.