The Gallant (12 page)

“Oh, Pat!” Relief flooded over her, and Kitty hugged him. “It’s wonderful-it’s-it’s little short of a miracle! And … we

might

find Michael still there. Captain

Broome’s brother told me that the—the good-conduct prisoners had been retained, with some of the overseers and warders, to prepare the island for its new inhabitants-the families from Pitcairn. I feel sure that Michael must have conducted himself well and-was

In the dim light, she saw her brother’s face cloud over. “Don’t be too sure of that, Kit,”

he warned.

“Why, Pat?” Kitty questioned, her bright hopes abruptly fading. “Why should I not? Michael was once a lawyer. He always had respect for the law.”

“But he always fought against injustice, little sister.

And,” Patrick added, a harsh note in his voice, “under Commandant Price, there

was

injustice, if Bishop Willson is to be believed-and I’d stake my life that he is.”

He took Kitty’s small hand in his and said, more gently, “Let’s pray that we find him, shall we?”

Kitty closed her eyes. Her prayer, silent and swiftly improvised, yet came from her heart.

Her Majesty’s corvette of war

Galah

lay at anchor in Norfolk Island’s Sydney Bay, and from her quarterdeck, glass to his eye, her captain, Commander Red Broome, watched the approach of his returning gig through the perilously narrow channel in the reef that guarded the landing jetty of the Kingston penal settlement.

Putting ashore by oared boat at Kingston had always been hazardous, Red recalled. He remembered his father’s complaints on that score, when he had been sent in command of the government sloop Elizabeth

to conduct a survey of the abandoned prison buildings, prior to the reopening of the island for penal occupation in 1825. Indeed, he reflected, since Governor King’s day there had been repeated suggestions that the channel should be widened by blowing up part of the half-submerged, weed-grown reef to permit an easier passage between ships and the shore, but little if anything had ever been done.

Successive commandants had, no doubt, preferred to retain the hazard as a deterrent to would-be escapers from the infamous jail, but perhaps now that the Pitcairn islanders were to be given the place as their permanent home, Governor King’s long-forgotten advice would be acted upon.

Red sighed, his glass still trained on the gig as the coxswain carefully steered his frail craft through the cauldron of white, hissing water and into the calmer blue-green depths of the bay beyond. His brother Johnny, he saw, was seated alone in the William Stuart Long

sternsheets, shoulders hunched in an attitude suggestive of despondency, his hat pulled down over his eyes.

Evidently, Red’s mind registered, the young Cadogans had elected, once again, to remain on shore. The

Galah

had been there for just over a week, and Lady Kitty and her brother had not returned to the ship since their arrival, seeming to prefer the hospitality of the acting commandant, Captain Henry Day of Her Majesty’s 99th Regiment, to that which the Galah

could offer.

True, Henry Day was a pleasant, friendly fellow, possessed of a pretty wife and several lively children, but … Red trained his glass on iris brother’s half-hidden face as the gig came nearer. There was no doubt about it, he thought-Johnny had permitted himself to become deeply enamored of the lovely, vivacious Lady Kitty, and her sudden rejection of his company rankled as much as anything ever had. And the more so because, during their passage from Sydney, she had appeared to offer a considerable measure of encouragement, walking the deck with him, seeking his opinion and advice, laughing with him in her charmingly irrepressible way, and gently teasing him for what she called his colonial view of life.

And Johnny had taken the teasing in good spirit, more amused than offended when she had nicknamed him “Boy” Broome, implying a certain lack of sophistication, which-had anyone but Kitty Cadogan implied it-would have had him up in arms, hotly defending himself. But as it was, he answered to the absurd name-Johnny, whose easy conquests of any woman who took his fancy had, in the past, evoked the envy of his rivals!

Red smiled a trifle wryly to himself as he took in his brother’s woebegone expression and then lowered his glass. Old Johnny had fallen hard, from the moment he had first set eyes on Kitty Cadogan on the way to the Government House reception. Good Lord, no sooner had he realized that she was to be permitted to take passage to Norfolk Island on board the

Galah

than he himself had petitioned for a berth, claiming that his newspaper had commissioned him to report on the Pitcairners’ future home!

Well, perhaps his editor

had

asked for such a report, but, Red

told himself, the idea must have come initially from “Boy” Broome and been very persuasively put forward, for time had, to say the least, been extremely short.

The midshipman of the watch hailed the approaching boat as naval custom decreed, the gig tied up alongside, and, a few minutes later, Johnny came on deck and strode across to join him, himself subscribing to custom by removing his hat.

“By your leave, Captain?” he inquired formally.

Red clapped him affectionately on the shoulder.

“I’ll recruit you for my ship’s company yet, brother-you’re shaping up well!”

“I’d be rated a landsman, and that’s all I’d ever be, Red, so you can look elsewhere for your seagoing volunteer!” Johnny protested, laughing. But his laugh was forced, and Red gestured to the distant shore, with its cluster of deserted buildings.

“You’re back early-how’s your report coming along?”

“Remarkably well, as it happens. In fact, I’ve just made something of a discovery. I found this-was Johnny held up a package, wrapped in a dingy sailcloth covering and loosely tied with twine.

“It was in one of the cells where they used to put poor devils of convicts sentenced to solitary confinement.

Someone had hidden it in the brickwork, and I only stumbled on it by chance, but-was Now there was a note of excitement in his voice. “I haven’t had time to examine it closely, but I think it’s a diary.

Certainly there are references to the late commandant, John Price. Can we go to your cabin and look at it properly?”

“Yes, of course,” Red agreed readily. “The sun’s over the yardarm-we can have a drink whilst we’re examining it.” He nodded to the officer of the watch, young acting-lieutenant Dixon. “The first lieutenant’s still ashore. Keep your eyes peeled for his signal, Mr. Dixon, and send the whaleboat to pick him up. He’ll be

bringing fresh provisions and some baggage to be loaded, so you had better rig a winch to get it inboard. I’ll be in my day cabin if I’m needed.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Dixon acknowledged.

“How about the passengers, sir-the Cadogans? Are they coming aboard this evening?”

Red glanced at his brother, brows raised in question, and Johnny shook his head. “No,” he answered, an edge to his

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voice. “They’re staying ashore till the last minute, as far as I can ascertain. The Days are giving a farewell party at Orange Grove. I —” He broke off, but went on when Lieutenant Dixon was out of earshot. “I was invited, but I declined, since it would seem that Kitty is intent on avoiding me, God knows why! If I only knew why, it would be easier, perhaps-but I don’t.

Damme, Red, they were poking about in the old prison hospital this morning when I was there, but they scarcely said two words to me! And then later, when Patrick was with one of the convict trustees, we ran into each other in the solitary-confinement block-where I found this package-and he lit out as if I had the blasted plague!”

Red did not reply. He ushered his brother into his day cabin and, dismissing his steward, poured brandy into two glasses and set one down at Johnny’s elbow.

“Drown your sorrows, Johnny,” he advised.

Moodily Johnny gulped down the contents of his glass. “She means a great deal to me, you know, Red,” he confessed. “Everything in the world, from the first moment I met her. She-oh, God, Kitty Cadogan is the most beautiful, charming, desirable woman I’ve ever known! I wasn’t even thinking of taking a wife-I’d decided I preferred my freedom to marriage, until Kitty came into my ken. But since then, devil take it, I’ve thought of little else … and I was starting to hope that my feelings for her might be reciprocated, even though I’m a dyed-in-the-wool colonial and she’s a member of the aristocracy.” He smiled thinly. “The Irish

aristocracy, as Kitty herself constantly points out.”

Once again, Red remained prudently silent, contenting himself by replenishing his brother’s glass. Johnny made no move to open the canvas-wrapped package he had found; it was almost as if, despite his earlier elation at its discovery, he had forgotten it. Instead he asked unexpectedly, “Red, do you believe that Patrick Cadogan really intends to write a book, as he claims?”

Red frowned. He had doubted the claim initially, and he admitted, with some reluctance, “Well, since you ask, the answer must be no.

He’s not the type, is he? I’ve thought about it, Johnny, and come to the conclusion that-well, that he’s made

it an excuse for coming here, a justification for his undoubted interest in Norfolk Island. And in the penal settlements as a whole. During the passage, he asked me a great many questions about the Port Arthur prison and Pentridge, in Victoria. I couldn’t tell him much about either, of course. The extent of my knowledge of penal settlements stops here, at Norfolk Island.”

Johnny eyed him thoughtfully over the rim of his glass. “You were here before, weren’t you, Red? During Price’s time?”

“Yes, indeed I was,” Red

confirmed. “When it was truly hell on earth.” His mouth hardened. “I met and talked to the Reverend Adam Rogers, the unfortunate chaplain whom Price had dismissed because he reported to Bishop Willson what was being done here.”

Memory returned and he saw again the pale, unhappy face of the onetime prison chaplain. They had met after he had attended divine service on the island, and he had watched as the convict worshipers had shuffled in, all but a handful wearing leg-irons, their faces blank masks of suffering and their voices never raised above a whisper, even when hymns were sung by the rest of the congregation.

Later, Adam Rogers had told him of the sickening punishments, the brutal floggings and the confinement in cells too small to permit the occupants to stand upright, and of men spread-eagled in the sun until they screamed for mercy … and all this for the most trivial of offenses.

“Mr. Price was sent here to restore order after the convicts mutinied under the previous commandant, Major Childs,” Rogers had said with bleak resignation. “He has done that, with greater brutality than any of his predecessors ever indulged in. There is order, without a doubt, for the convicts are too cowed and frightened to rebel. But Mr. Price is hated more bitterly than ever Major Childs was, believe me.” And he had turned away, Red recalled, to hide his tears, adding in a low, harsh voice, “I am soon to be dismissed from my post because I am, according to Mr.

Price, “too easily disturbed and lacking in discretion.” But judge for yourself, Captain Broome-you have seen the faces of cruelly tortured men in my church this morning. But it is Mr. Price the lieutenant governor believes and not myself. …”

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And as for John Price, that tall, handsome man, with his monocle and his deceptively genial air … Red turned his gaze on his brother, about to repeat the details of his previous visit to the settlement, but Johnny, he saw, was not disposed to listen.

“I

like

young Patrick, Red,” he asserted. “I like him very much, but-oh, for God’s sake, I think he’s playing a part, that he has some other, far more personal reason for wanting to come here than simply to collect material for a book.”

“If he has, then so has your lovely Lady Kitty,” Red reminded him dryly. “Have you considered that?”

Johnny shrugged. “I’ve tried to, but-you’re right, of course. Kitty has to be involved.” He leaned forward to pick up his glass, and his hand brushed against the discarded package. “We might as well look at this, Red. I don’t imagine it will tell us much that you don’t already know, but if it is

a diary kept by some poor devil of a convict, I might offer it to Patrick as material for his book!

At least it would force his hand, would it not?”

With impatient fingers, he started to remove the mildewed wrapping, to reveal some twenty or thirty sheets of coarse paper. The paper was ruled in columns-purloined, in all probability, from a convict or military roster book, Red decided, picking up a sheet to study it. The writing was small and cramped, but it was in an educated hand, and as Johnny had surmised, it appeared to be a diary, for each entry bore a date.

“Some of the pages are damaged,” Johnny warned. “The damp permeated one whole section, in spite of the canvas wrapping, and, as you can see, the ink has run badly in places. But quite a number of pages are legible, I think, in a good light.”

He shuffled through a batch of the stained papers, blowing on them gently to remove a green powdering of mildew. “There’s no clue, as far as I can see, that would tell us who kept the diary, but-let’s spread the whole lot out on your chart table, shall we, and see how many of the undamaged pages we can sort out?”

Red nodded his assent and, handling the musty papers carefully, helped Johnny assemble the find in more or less chronological order.

“I wonder why the writer went to so much trouble to hide this?” Red said. “You say you found it in one of the solitary-confinement cells?”

“Yes, that’s so. As I told you, it was hidden in the brickwork. A couple of the bricks had worked loose and-was Johnny glanced up, smiling. “I stumbled as I went in, and dislodged them. I-was His smile faded, and he picked up one of the pages and started to read from it. “Here’s your answer, Red.

Listen … this seems to be the last page he wrote, or one of the last. And the date’s clear-fifteen January, 1853: