Francis straightened his cravat and stood a little taller. ‘I’ve been asked to attend the farewell to Captain Gill and the celebration to mark the completion of the lighthouse brickwork. I can’t say I’ll be sad to see the back of the man; we’ve been at loggerheads since the foundation stone was laid. The governor, Mrs Macquarie and a party of friends, and a parcel of children intend to break their fast there.’
Hopefully there would be no mention of the fact that it had taken seventeen instead of nine months since the foundation stone was laid and promises made. Something she felt sorely responsible for since it had been her suggestion to incorporate a domed viewing room where the governor and Mrs Macquarie could entertain guests while overlooking what was undeniably the finest harbour in the world. ‘As it should be. The architect should always attend such occasions.’
‘Would you like to come? And William, he has been a deal of help running messages, unlike George, who seems to spend his entire time rubbing shoulders with some of the more unsavoury characters at the waterfront.’
Not quite the case. At ten George was angling for a job with the harbourmaster but feared Francis’s reaction. ‘He has a great love of all things nautical. I’m afraid we might lose him to the sea in the not-too-distant future.’ She’d hoped George would tell Francis of his plans, but they had never been close, and she hadn’t wanted to stir memories of the past. He was very much like his grandfather, her papa. ‘William and I would love to accompany you, but do you think perhaps …’ She interlaced her fingers over her growing stomach.
Francis reached for her shoulders, turned her this way and that, scrutinising her body. ‘He’s hardly noticeable.’
‘He?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. Do you?’
‘No, none at all.’ Though Caroline had proved to be such an easygoing child she rather hoped she might be carrying another girl.
‘It’s a family day. You’re fit and healthy and months off your time. I doubt anyone will remark.’
Two days later, suitably scrubbed and sporting their rarely worn and somewhat outdated best clothes, Francis, William and Mary joined the other guests aboard the government barge. Bill would be fascinated to hear of the interesting mixture of exclusives and emancipists. What a good job Mr Bent had returned to England! He would not willingly rub shoulders with convicted criminals, whether they had served their sentences or not.
‘Good morning.’ Mary nodded a greeting while Francis helped her into a seat and introduced the other passengers. What a group they were—Captain Gill, Francis’s immediate superior, James Erskine, lieutenant governor of New South Wales and commander of the 48th regiment, the Reverend and Mrs Cowper and, thankfully, Dr and Mrs Redfern. It appeared that every faction of society was represented.
Francis seemed quite at home, unfazed by his status as a convict, but Mary couldn’t control the churning in her stomach. She still hadn’t mentioned her meeting with Elizabeth almost twelve months earlier to anyone, and when Frankie had told his father he had a new friend she’d glossed over the matter. If Elizabeth greeted her, she’d have some explaining to do; worse still, what if Elizabeth had discussed their conversation, her drawings … Her thoughts took flight as the governor arrived and handed Elizabeth and young Lachlan into the barge. How very fortunate Francis had insisted only William should attend, as she had no doubt young Lachlan would have recognised Frankie, his playmate. Her wide bonnet and best clothes seemed to act as some form of disguise as far as she was concerned, or else the poor child was totally overcome by the sycophantic attention paid to him.
The moment the ropes were untied the oarsmen flexed their impressive muscles and the barge cut through the water. Francis held court, explaining all manner of architectural devices he had employed in building the lighthouse—Macquarie Tower, as it was to be known—as well as the exquisite sandstone quarried on site, and the plate glass for the light on its way from England, which would create an impressive beam seen for miles out to sea and announce to all the world that Port Jackson and Sydney Town lay ahead. Not only that, it would replace the flagstaff and old beacon fire that had to be lit and manned every night. He was truly in his element.
Once they reached Watson’s Bay, named for the harbourmaster George hoped to work for, and disembarked to walk to the carriages waiting to ferry them up Signal Hill, Mary found herself alongside Elizabeth. She nodded a greeting and received a fleeting smile in return, and then Elizabeth’s hand rested on her arm and drew her to a halt, allowing the rest of the party to move ahead. ‘It’s lovely to see you. I would very much like to meet again. Lachie and I have been spending time in Parramatta but we are in Sydney now. Can it be arranged?’
A meeting could be arranged, but not if it was publicised. Regardless of her position, the wife of a ticket-of-leave man, civil architect or not, did not rub shoulders with the governor’s wife. Imagine the rumours Captain Sanderson would put about. In his mind the military sat only one rung below the governor, way above the emancipists and serving convicts, and Mary, although a free settler, was bound by her husband’s status. ‘I should like it very much, but I don’t wish to make your life difficult.’
‘How I detest this hidebound society we find ourselves in. I insisted the governor should extend this invitation to you.’
‘Why?’
Elizabeth’s face broke into a charming smile, and she tapped the side of her nose with a lace-gloved finger. ‘Wait and see.’ And without another word she strode off, caught up with the governor, slipped her arm through his and held out a hand to Lachlan. Together they climbed into the first of the awaiting carriages.
Most strange.
Soothed by the warm summer breeze, Mary gazed out at the wonderful vista. To the east the tall sandstone cliffs rose out of the jewelled sea—fifteen thousand miles from the spot where she’d thrown chance to the wind and followed Francis. Would she ever see England again? Would Francis want to return? His star was rising, and he would make his mark on this strange new land. Her duty was to be by his side and until he received an absolute pardon the matter didn’t merit thought.
Lost in her thoughts, she jumped when William’s warm hand took hers. ‘Come, quickly. We are going to climb the tower.’ He led her back along the track, to the base of the lighthouse where everyone had grouped around the governor, a fawning Captain Gill at his side.
A round of applause greeted her arrival—not for her but for the governor, who began, in his booming voice, to read aloud an inscription cut in the building’s facade. Francis raised his chin and moved to her side.
THIS BUILDING INTENDED FOR THE DOUBLE PURPOSE OF A LIGHTHOUSE AND BARRACK IS NAMED MACQUARIE TOWER IN HONOUR OF THE FOUNDER. THE WORK WAS COMMENCED IN 1816
AND COMPLETED IN 1817.
L. MACQUARIE ESQUIRE GOVERNOR.
THIS TOWER MEASURING 76 FEET IN HEIGHT WAS DESIGNED AND EXECUTED UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF
CAPTAIN JOHN GILL
ACTING ENGINEER.
The governor beamed at the assembled crowd, but Mary couldn’t respond. It was outrageous. Why had they omitted Francis’s name from the inscription? Francis made an unintelligible growl, ran his fingers through his windswept hair and lurched away from the assembled party. How could the governor have done that? Ignoring his contribution, his design, was the hardest cut, worse than any horsewhipping.
As she reached Francis’s side the governor’s voice boomed once more. ‘This being altogether a very interesting and auspicious day I present Mr Greenway, the government architect, his emancipation dated today, 16 December 1817.’ He held out a rolled paper, neatly tied with a red ribbon.
So that was what Elizabeth had referred to. ‘Francis, how wonderful.’ She nudged him forward. ‘Go and collect it. It’s a great honour. You are a free man.’
He glared up at the tower, all seventy-six feet of it, vibrating as tight as the string of a fiddle. ‘I’d rather he’d remembered my contribution to the building. It was, after all, my design. Besides it’s only a conditional pardon, not absolute. I have to stay within government limits. Nothing to celebrate.’
What was the matter with the man? Sometimes he was so temperamental—cantankerous would be a better word. He was ambitious and clever but his provocative and irrational behaviour could destroy all they’d worked for. Goosebumps traced her skin and, terrified all the world would sense her frustration, she hissed, ‘Go, Francis. You must.’ She could feel everyone’s eyes upon them, most of all Elizabeth’s, the compassion in her gaze clear. No matter how affronted Francis felt about the plaque, a conditional pardon was a great honour. The first step on the road to freedom.
After an apparent eternity Francis took a step forward and received his certificate. The governor shook his hand, and they exchanged a few words. Francis seemed to brighten as the crowd dispersed to climb the stone staircase to the top of the tower, but he didn’t follow.
He stomped back to her, the rolled piece of paper dangling loosely from his hand. ‘It seems my name was inadvertently …’ sarcasm dripped from his lips like spilt wine, ‘… omitted from the inscription. It will be rectified.’
Mary reached for his arm, felt the tremor tracing his skin.
He shrugged her away. ‘I am to meet the governor at Bennelong’s point after they have broken their fast and toasted their achievement with cherry brandy. He intends to lay the foundation stone for the new fort … Fort Macquarie, no less, then the stone for the government stables, hopefully not Macquarie Stables. You must come too. After all, it will be a momentous occasion. The laying of the foundation stone for your first designs.’
‘Shh! Francis. Enough. What would everyone say?’
‘They will say the architect’s wife and son have accompanied him. We may not be able to publicly admit your role but it should be acknowledged between ourselves. My talented wife—what would I do without you?’ He waved William to their side. ‘Come, we will walk down to the bay and take one of the barges before the rest of the party descend.’
‘I should like that.’ The trip would give her a moment or two to recover her equilibrium.
Mary, Francis and William arrived at Government Wharf ahead of the official party. The moment she took Francis’s hand and stepped from the barge the full intensity of the December sun scorched her face.
A group of convicts sat around on the rocks on the point, possibly the best spot, making the most of the breeze blowing across the harbour.
‘I’m going to go and have a word, make sure they’ve got the foundation stone prepared,’ Francis said. ‘And the governor’s silver trowel; he likes to mark the occasion with a spot of ceremony.’
Mary shaded her eyes, searching for some relief from the sun, but unless she walked up into the Domain there was nothing. She adjusted her bonnet. ‘I’ll wait here.’ She turned slowly, looking out into Sydney Cove at the very view the soldiers manning the fort would have of any approaching vessels, and a smile twitched the corners of her lips. What a splendid sight! Spinning on her toes, she gazed up towards Government House. In her mind’s eye she could see the stables on the rise, their battlements pristine against the cerulean sky—Thornbury Castle recreated in the far-flung corner of the world. She clapped her hands, a bubble of excitement growing: her name may never be recorded but nothing, nothing could take away this moment, the sense of achievement and pride coursing through her.
‘The governor’s barge is on its way.’ Francis’s voice brought her from her reverie. ‘This shouldn’t take too long and then it’s just a quick walk through the Domain to the site earmarked for the stables. They’ve removed the old bakehouse.’ He reached for her hand. ‘How are you holding up? The heat’s fierce.’
‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’
‘There’s the governor, and Mrs Macquarie. Come, let me introduce you.’
Before Mary had time to consider his proposition Francis took her arm and led her down towards the wharf where the Macquaries waited for the other guests to assemble.
Elizabeth noticed their approach long before the governor and her face broke into a welcoming smile as she stood grasping little Lachie’s hand. Mary tried but failed to respond. How would Francis react if …
‘Ah! Greenway.’ As the governor approached, Mary sank into a curtsy, more to hide her confusion than anything else. ‘A fine day, is it not?’
‘Indeed it is, sir. May I introduce my wife, Mary Greenway.’
‘Delighted, I’m sure.’ He gave a small bow. ‘Now, is everything organised? The stone, the engraving has been completed, I believe. And my trowel, I do like to use my trowel. A way of marking the occasion.’ He took Lachie’s hand and walked with Francis away from the wharf to the cleared area where someone had hoisted a flag at the spot where the foundation stone would be laid.
Mary let out a long slow breath as she found herself standing next to Elizabeth, somewhat lost for words.
‘It seems we are destined to spend the day together. A most exciting day. I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how much I approved of the plans and elevations for the fort and the stables. Today marks a great step towards the future. How proud you must feel.’
‘I hadn’t imagined I would feel such a sense of achievement.’
‘Now Mr Greenway has his conditional pardon I hope we can meet more frequently. I was wondering about the portrait of Lachie …’ Elizabeth lifted her gaze. ‘I do believe our presence is required. Come.’
All in all the laying of the foundation stone, the desultory rendering of ‘God Save the King’ beneath the drooping flag and the long, hot traipse through the Domain to the site of the stables where the entire procedure was repeated left Mary with a confused sense of hope and impatience. If only she could wave a magic wand, but for now she simply didn’t dare believe it until the buildings were a reality.