Keziah Stanley lay in the darkness on her bunk on the Harlequin unable to sleep because of her rising sense of excitement. For days whenever the weather was fine and the winds favourable they had hugged the coastline close enough to catch glimpses of the eastern seaboard of the Australian continent. Rumour onboard was they would sight the Heads of Port Jackson tomorrow!
After fourteen weeks at sea Keziah had totally assumed her new identity as the widow Mrs Smith, taking elaborate care to hide her past and future plans to prevent the Morgans from finding her. Each day, rain, hail or shine, she had remained on deck, not only to escape the fetid air below and her fellow passengers but to disguise her morning sickness as seasickness.
Keziah looked around at the figures sleeping in tiers of bunks that lined the ship’s hull. Each bunk provided barely enough room to turn over and there was only twenty-four inches headroom between bunks. After a lifetime of freedom on the open road it was galling to be confined with thirty gaujo immigrants in their section, forced to eat and wash in this cramped passengers’ mess – a communal space shared not only with women and sickly children but lusty husbands who demanded their conjugal rights during the night.
Keziah had long since devoured her share of rations but the babe in her womb reminded her she must find something to stave off her hunger pains. How long till dawn?
In the darkness she carefully drew her shawl across her growing belly. But there was no disguising breasts that strained the confines of her bodice.
Keziah sighed. If only this child had been Gem’s.
Passing the ship’s galley she saw the cook was slumped asleep. She helped herself to a hunk of cheese and a crust of stale bread and made her way up on deck.
She clung to the railing to stay upright against the ship’s roll as she searched the horizon. The first traces of dawn came with a breeze that whipped hair around her face and refreshed her spirits. She admired the nimble climb of a seaman to the crow’s nest, while others chanted their work songs in unison and expertly unfurled sails to take advantage of the wind.
There was a jubilant cry from the crow’s nest, ‘Land ahoy!’ The sun blazed with tropical intensity and Keziah gasped as the Harlequin sailed into an amazingly large expanse of harbour. She was forcibly reminded that November was late spring down here at the bottom of the world and already far hotter than many a high summer she had known in Wales.
She held her breath at the sight of the islands that lay like floating gems on the harbour. On their port side one small island shaped like a tree-covered pyramid flashed a warning light to ships. A sailor was quick to explain.
‘That be Pinchgut, Ma’am. Not long since prisoners who stole food were strung up on a gibbet at the highest point. Left to rot as a warning to other thieves.’ He added under his breath, ‘The good old days, they called ’em. I hear the authorities be more civilised now. They just chain the poor wretches alive out in the open.’
Keziah grasped the rail, weak at the knees. What if Gem had suffered that same fate?
‘There’s a big island beyond Sydney Cove, a few miles down the Parramatta River. The blackfellas call it Biloela, others Cockatoo Island. They’re building a penal settlement there for the most hardened felons – a gaol none can ever escape.’
Cockatoo Island. A pleasant name yet it somehow filled Keziah with dread. Surely Gem could not be regarded as a hardened criminal? Her eyes searched the southern cove for some sign of government buildings. Where on earth should she begin her search for him?
The sailor pointed in the direction of sandstone buildings – Fort Macquarie, Dawes Point Barracks and the old Government House. Did he suspect the reason for her curiosity?
‘Over there’s the Department of the Superintendent of Convicts. A good place to start for any interested party who wants to trace a convict friend or relative.’ His words had a comforting ring. ‘Some of the colony’s model citizens are former convicts. Australia gives many a second chance. See them fine buildings over yonder built by the emancipist Samuel Terry? He donates his brass to every cause and religion. The richest man in the colony, he is.’
Keziah smiled her thanks. One day my Gem will be like Samuel Terry. Maybe not rich, but better than that – a free man!
Keziah let out a whoop of pleasure when flocks of rainbow lorikeets swooped in vivid slashes of blue, emerald, red and gold. The fantastically high sky was like a ceiling in some fairytale mansion, its colour a mirror image of the blue harbour. The air was so sultry with exotic perfumes Keziah felt half drunk with pleasure, until she realised that when Gem saw this scene, he must have wondered if he’d ever be free to leave it.
‘I don’t care where I live, Gem,’ she whispered, ‘as long as I’m with you.’
Keziah remembered the bulge under her skirt. She added under her breath, ‘I forgot you. But you’re a problem I’ll have to solve another day.’
• • •
Keziah grabbed her carpet bag and hurried down the wharf towards The Rocks area that lay before her on the western wing of Sydney Cove. She was conscious she must count every penny she spent, but she decided it was worth spending extra coins on a safe room. She could always read gaujos’ palms if her money ran dry.
Her room in a boarding house on the uppermost ridge of The Rocks was barren but surprisingly clean. Now she could wash herself and her clothing the Romani way for the first time since she left England.
To Keziah the greatest blessing was the window because it looked across the rooftops of the squalid tenement cottages below. This view gave her a cloudless blue sky and a generous expanse of the harbour where ships sailed in and out of the bustling port.
Australia. Keziah saw her new world through Romani eyes. Despite the man-made squalor sandwiched in the alleys below her, the vast landscape bordering the harbour had an alien, lush beauty. The vitality in the air seemed to promise a bold future to anyone with courage to take hold of it.
• • •
With The Rocks behind her, she made her way through a comparatively civilised section of George Street which displayed a wide range of goods – from exotic tropical fruit and English vegetables to liquor stores, inns, fashionable clothing, antiques and pawnbrokers. Keziah was aware that much of the silverware and jewellery openly on sale in Sydney Town were English stolen goods more safely disposed of here than at Home. What a topsy-turvy world this colony was – with its new codes of morality and levels of society – and opportunities to bend the law!
When she saw rainbow-coloured parrots in birdcages hanging in the doorways of shops, their squawking sounded so plaintive she longed to buy them and set them free but knew her money must be conserved.
Fashionably dressed women promenaded with red-coated military officers who sweltered in their serge uniforms, their English complexions pink under shako helmets.
Shaven-headed convicts marched shackled together under military guard. Dark-skinned natives smoked pipes and seemed to wear any discarded European article that took their fancy.
Despite the seductive quality of this alien world Keziah had no time to linger. All that mattered was finding Gem before the babe stretched her belly and flaunted her adultery.
In the Department of the Superintendent of Convicts Keziah waited impatiently until she was interviewed. The smug clerk had a dirty rim around his collar and dropped his H’s. He was clearly more intent on studying her bosom than aiding her search.
‘This assigned convict Gem Smith, is he your husband, Madam?’
Was it to her advantage to answer yes or no? She made a quick decision. ‘A close family member. I’d be grateful if you’d look up your – what is it – Convict Muster records?’
The clerk opened a weighty ledger. ‘You Smiths must breed like rabbits.’
Keziah was angry enough to wipe the smile off his face with her fist but knew it was not wise to alienate him so she tried to sound helpful.
‘His name is G-E-M. Age twenty. Born in Wales. You can’t have too many Smiths answering that description, can you?’
The clerk worked a dirty fingernail down the list. ‘Says here Jem Smith with a J. Age: twenty-one. Hair: black. Eyes: dark brown. Complexion: swarthy. Height: 5 feet 10 inches – a tall ’un! Can’t read nor write. Tried at Glamorgan Assizes. Place of birth: Llangadfan, Wales. Religion: pagan. Crime: horse theft. Sentence: seven years. Remarks: strong build, Gypsy appearance, heart-shaped tattoo on left chest with letter K – that be for you, eh?’ the clerk smirked.
Keziah wasn’t biting. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Says he was assigned to Julian Jonstone Esquire at Gideon Park, near Lake Incognito.’
‘Kindly show me where that is on your map.’
The clerk pressed close behind her as he led her to the wall map. Keziah tried to avoid breathing in. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed for a year.
The map confused her. She expected to see the outline of an island but there was only a single strip of blue ocean down the right-hand side of it.
‘This can’t be the map of Australia.’
‘Heavens no, just the east coast, the Colony of New South Wales.’ He drew a rough circle with his finger. ‘The whole of Mother England would fit into that there little part.’
Keziah felt overwhelmed by the size of this new land, but she prompted him about Gem’s location.
He pointed out a spot on the map. ‘Lake Incognito may well be gone. Has a habit of disappearing every few years.’
She returned to the desk to regain the merciful distance between them.
‘I’ll take a chance on that. Kindly direct me to the coaching station.’
The clerk was in no hurry to lose sight of her bosom. ‘You’d be on a wild-goose chase, girl. Note here says Jem Smith absconded.’
Keziah hated to admit her ignorance. ‘You mean he’s been transferred?’
‘Bolted.’ He read the notes aloud. ‘Recaptured last March then got hisself chained in an iron gang building a road in the bush. Due to be returned to Gideon Park. Bolted again early this month. It’s likely he’s took up arms as a bushranger. What we call highwaymen at Home.’
For a moment Keziah felt she was going to faint in horror. She swayed, gripping the edge of the desk. The clerk gave her a broad wink.
‘Best you wait. Troopers’ll catch him for you. If they don’t shoot him dead first.’
Keziah stepped out into heat so intense she felt she had entered the door of an oven. She dry-retched when the babe in her womb made a sickening movement. Was she going to miscarry again? She didn’t have the energy to care one way or another.
She sank down beside the harbour wall, her head in her hands.
She felt like she had run into a brick wall. What skills did she have to survive this upside-down world? She could read, but only very slowly. Could only write her name and the alphabet. Her knowledge of herbs would be limited here – she had no idea which would grow in this sandy soil! She knew with her gift for reading Tarot she would never be hungry if she stayed in Sydney Town. But what good was that when Gem was miles away, an outlaw in the bush? He could be anywhere, unaware she had arrived.
Struck by a thought she sat bolt upright. ‘But Gem knows me. Better than anyone. He knows I belong to him and I’d follow him to the ends of the earth.’ She looked wryly around her. ‘Which is exactly where I am right now!’
Resolutely she climbed the stone stairs to her boarding house. Near the top of the ridge she gained fresh heart from a swarm of squawking white parrots that settled in a mass covering the branches of a tree. The parrots’ sulphur crests fanned out like the petals of strange flowers as they noisily conversed together.
Those parrots stick together like family. Gem is the only family I have left in the world.
• • •
That night Keziah tossed and turned as she tried to free herself from a nightmare in which the disturbing outline of an alien tree dominated a series of violent images. Red blood gushed forth from the tree’s trunk and fell upon the earth.
‘Mi-duvel! What savagery lies ahead? May The Del protect you, Gem.’
But no prayers were strong enough to wipe the image of that ghastly tree from her mind. Keziah clung to the silver amulet and her grandmother’s words that she had nothing to fear as long as she had the amulet to protect her. A gnawing sensation in her stomach reminded Keziah she had eaten nothing for hours. She climbed out of bed.
‘All right. I know you’re hungry, little one. It’s my fault you’re on the way, no fault of yours.’
Soaking stale bread in water to soften it, she chewed it bite for bite with a juicy pear. The dark velvet sky was studded with more stars than she had ever seen in her life. Their crazy patterns bore little resemblance to the constellations she had learned as a child.
Keziah ran her hand across her belly and spoke to the little soul inside her.
‘Tomorrow will bring us the answer and show us the road we are meant to take.’