LINGER AND DIE
by Neil Brooka
Part ten (chapters nineteen and twenty) of my steemit weekly(ish) serial
And for those who came in late, click here and check my blog to start from the start.
CHAPTER NINETEEN – THE LOOSE END
Mary kept her eyes locked upon the trooper's scuffing his boots, up the wide street, and felt for the shape of the pistol in the bag by her side. His inconsistently stuttering pace was making it hard for her to time each leg of her pursuit. Whenever the momentum of his pace changed she was forced to dive for whatever cover she could find in the sparse Williamstown streets.
Quickly becoming exhausted, Mary made another break from cover. The trooper sighed, thrust his hands in his pockets and stopped in his tracks to turn on his heel. Mary threw herself behind a half-rotten barrel, half resigned to the idea that he had seen her silhouette against the tan crust of the street. Crouched like this she remained as still as was possible and listened for the trooper's footfalls as he retraced his steps back to Nicholson's Place.
After what seemed like an appropriate period of time, Mary emerged from her hiding spot and caught sight of the trooper rounding the corner of a small outhouse. In a trice, she exploded to her feet. She needn't have exhausted her breath. Peering around the corner of the outhouse, struggling to regain her breath, Mary found herself looking out upon the bay. Before her was a grassy knoll leading up to a small cemetary. A little further on stood a wooden semaphore tower overlooking the shoulder of the anchorage. Mary scanned the area and found the trooper making himself comfortable upon one of the gravestones. Looking out to sea, he stretched out his legs and set about filling his clay pipe with tobacco.
For what felt like an age, he sat, occasionally pacing around the stones, occasionally throwing the odd loose rock from the point. It was not until Mary heard the church bells again that the trooper displayed any interest in moving from his spot. The wind carried the final toll of bells rippling overhead. Her quarry moved to his feet and rubbed his hands together. This time he made off in a different direction, skirting the smattering of shanties along the foreshore with enough skip in his heel to easily betray his bearing. He was heading in the direction of the pier.
With a spurt of foolish confidence Mary made to cut her pursuit by sprinting past a shack, then around what looked to be a series of large sheds crammed with wool-bales. Peering up an alley separating one store-house from the other, she waited for the trooper to pass. Instead she heard distant voices, followed by a squeel of iron. Then nothing. Creeping back along the narrow corridor of salt-eroded wrought iron, Mary became aware of what she at first assumed to be the sound of poultry. Pressing an ear to the wattle and daub wall of a small shack she'd passed earlier, however, quickly transformed the sounds into voices – to the clinking of glass, to laughter and droning conversation. Moving further up the building, Mary edged an eye around the corner to where she assumed the entrance would be, on the ocean facing front. With another squeel of metal the trooper materialised from the shack. He looked to be disappointed with himself, slapping his pockets and racking at his forehead. Then he began to walk again. Mary slipped back into the shadows, waited for him to pass, and continued on with the hunt.
The further the trooper walked from the main drag of Nicholson's Place, the sparser the housing became, until it was almost impossible to remain in pursuit unseen. She was just upon the verge of thinking she'd lost him, when, breaking cover from a fence, she saw him upon the verandah of a small, stout, whitewashed cottage with a well kept flower garden. It did not look like the kind of place a man such as this might live.
Eventually Mary made the decision to creep up to a windowsill, but this plan was thwarted when the trooper burst from the front door again and strode quickly in her direction. In a trice she leapt behind a great red gum, edging around its girthy trunk as the scrunching of his boots passed by. If there was any time to find Caesar it was now. Holding her skirts, she dashed the distance to the cottage, threw caution to the wind and knocked hard upon the door of the cottage.
"Anyone home?" she called with a confident thrust of her voice. Did he have a wife? A family? “Is there anyone at home I say?” She looked over her shoulder. The streets were deserted. The door rattled in its frame as she called and knocked louder still. After a time it became obvious that the place was empty. With a cattish slope of her brow she peered through the open shutters of a glassless window frame. The small kitchen was empty. In a single movement she mounted the windowsill and climbed through to the kitchen within.
"Caesar?"
A sulphur-crested cockatoo pierced the air with an obnoxiously raucous screech. In the few short silences that followed, between the rhythmic nail-on-slate birdcall, a low thumping sound could be heard pounding up through the floorboards. She crouched down. The thumping came again. Walking like a chicken, she made her way along the boards to follow the sound to its source – by a stout little door slightly sunken into the floor. A key hung plum upon a string from its handle. She yanked it off, unlocked the door and descended the five steps into the shallow cellar.
Light came in through the gap-toothed weatherboard upper walls of the half-sunk cellar. In the gloomy conditions Mary could make out a messy work bench scattered over with mildew ruined papers, articles, rusty tools and ephemera. Along the opposite walls were stacked countless bottles and damp-ruptured sacks. But in the middle of the dank space, sitting like a centrepiece in a museum of horrors, sat Caesar. His eyes were wide and his Adams apple jumped beneath an overflowing mass of torn up old rags. Mary reached into her satchel to feel the grip of the pistol. Caesar groaned. Taking a knife from the table, Mary sliced the belt that held the gag in place and stepped back to let Caesar spit up the wet ball of filth upon his bare, bloody chest. His eyelids were heavy with fatigue and his voice flashed her mind back to memories of cold ocean water weighing down upon her lungs.
"Water..."
Mary uncorked one of the bottles that had been stacked against wall and took a swig for herself. It was ale. At least it would be sterile. She put it to Caesar's cracked lips and let him drink a small amount before cutting the rest of his bonds.
"Lost my shot," crowed Caesar between gulps of the watery beer.
"I know. The trooper gave it right back to us, the silly beggar."
"I don't remember ..."
"You were out cold – and he was armed and we were out of powder," she lied, “but we followed the two of you from a distance. We told him you'd stolen the shot from us.”
"And he gave it to you?"
Mary smiled back in turn, her arm snaking down into the bag for her pistol once more.
"Didn't think you'd come after me ... Though I was done for –" Caesar's words were cut short by a luxurious burp.
"What would you have us do?" Mary pushed him before her towards the door. In the same movement she retrieved her pistol. Two steps and she had it by her side. One more step and it would be pointed square at Caesar's head. Only one shot ...
A shadow broke the light coming in from the jagged wooden upper walls.
The pistol found its way back behind her dress.
"It's Ned," wheezed Caesar. “the trooper – he's come back.”
"Hold the door," said Mary, “while we think of something.”
Caesar limped up the steps and sat against the door while Mary wondered what good he might do in his condition. Remembering the key, she locked the door from the inside and moved back to allow Caesar to lean in. Moments later they heard Ned pacing about the kitchen. He seemed agitated. Soon enough the light beneath the cellar door dipped with his proximity.
"Fuck," they heard him mumble. “Where's the keys?” After a fashion he answered himself. “Ma must have taken them, the old crow –” But now Ned seemed to have frozen.
Someone was knocking hard at the front door. Mary looked to Caesar.
"Mother," cursed the trooper.
"Ned, it's Tulip here, open up. You're under arrest."
"Under ... Mother?"
Mary edged over to see if she could spot anything through the cracks in the cellar's upper-walls.
"That's Tulip," she hissed to Caesar. He was accompanied by a handful of constables and a redcoat brandishing a long bayonetted musket.
"We know of the massacre you prat," came Tulip's voice again.
They heard Ned rattle out a laugh that saidso what?
"I want this town surrounded," Tulip was saying to someone else. “A man and a woman came in and were seen together before church this morning. We found Johnny, the dozy pratt, but the woman's still around here somewhere.”
"Caesar," whispered Mary, “listen to me.”
"What?"
But Mary had already crept back down the short flight of stairs and was making for the desk upon the far side of the cellar. Ignoring the arguments being stoked by Tulip and Ned, Caesar picked himself up to follow. In the time it had taken him to limp across the cellar, Mary had already retrieve the ink and paper from her satchel and was desperately scuffing around the bag for her pen.
"Caesar, I've got nothing but my wits, and my chances are slim, but yours might be wider to be rid of this situation." Having found the pen, she dipped the nib and began scratching words into the fibre.
Caesar had seen her place the pistol upon the desk. He picked it up and looked at her, then down to the words he could not read. "What's your meaning?"
"To run. Just you."
"Why?" he said it slowly, glancing up at the cellar door as the voices beyond grew louder. “Were you going to shoot me?”
"Listen Caesar I need you to do exactly as I tell you. Ifyou manage to get out of this we all might yet stand a chance."
They heard Ned try the cellar door. Tulip's voice boomed down with startling clarity.
"Come along Ned –"
"It wasn't me, I swear it. I – I know who it was though –"
"Well you can explain it to the governor."
"But – I can explain. It was the nigger."
"What are you talking about?"
The locked clicked open. He must have had another key. Caesar spun, aiming the pistol at the ever widening crack of light. The door was now open enough to see Ned's back. Mary shook Caesar's shoulder. She had finished writing, not one, but three short notes.
"They'll probably take me and Johnny to Sydney for sentencing." Mary pushed a wad of paper into Caesar's pocket. “You need to watch the pier. They'll probably move us to Melbourne but they'll brings us back here for transport. If my plan doesn't work we'll be taken to Sydney where we will be hanged. If you see that happening you need to get this letter off toThe Patriot. Their offices are next to The Shakespeare Hotel.”
"I know the place," said Caesar. “What do the letters say? What are you talking about?”
Instead of answering his question she proceeded to tell Caesar where their camp could be found. Ned and Tulip continued to shout at each other from above.Get outside, Ned, this instant!
"What about the gold?"
"We buried it. We'll get it when Johnny and I are free."
"But what if they –"
"I think I can get Latrobe to release us. Listen – you've got to make a run for it," she pointed at Caesar's hand that had the note in it. “You'll be our insurance, but you must get away.”
"Yes, but what if –"
Mary did not allow him to finish. Instead, to Caesar's horror, she took the gun from his limp grip, strode up to the door and into the kitchen beyond. By this time Ned and Tulip's argument had taken itself outside. But not for long.
Look out!
"Oy, Tulip you fat fuck. How fast can you run?"
"Get after her lads."
Caesar heard the commotion where he stood as it dawned on him. Mary was using herself as human bait to lure away Tulip's men. She had forced his hand. He bounded into the kitchen, only pausing to take a heavy cleaver that was lodged in a thick chopping board. As he yanked the thing from its place, he almost knocked over an ornate ceramic pig. He caught it by reflex from the bench and heard the rattle of coppers.
"Get after her lads, that's right, be gentle for goodness sake!"
Caesar stepped into sunlight. Tulip and two constables were after Mary, who was sprinting down the road. Ned had been left on his own, hands cuffed where he stood. He turned to see Caesar standing there with the cleaver and the piggy bank.
"How did you – " Ned stammered, “– hey! That's me mam's –”
Caesar flipped the cleaver to its blunt edge and wound back his arm for a backhand.
"Gotcha'yer slippery eel," said Tulip, legs astride a struggling Mary. “That's the catch right there lads –”
"What happened to Ned?" one of the constables was saying.
Ned, the trooper, lay motionless upon the ground. Across his face his purple gash was already beading with fresh blood.
"You vicious bitch," laughed Tulip. “Cuff her lads, I think we've got a real wild one on our hands and no mistake.”
"Look, sir. Fell out of her pocket," one of the constables was holding up Mary's tightly folded scrap of paper.
The front of it read simply:For Latrobe. Tulip took it from his associate and tucked it into his pocket.
"Get her on her feet."
With eyes like a possums before a bushfire – beady and glistening with fear – Johnny stood twisting his fingers before stumbling back to make room for Mary. The door slammed and the two of them exchanged glances – two sheep shawn of their elusive dreams – in the bricked-in meat curing room of The Ship Inn.
There was nowhere to sit. The entire room was caked in black soot. Johnny wiped the streaks from his face, but could not speak lest his palsy voice betray a deeply frayed inner countenance. Mary inspected the heavy iron door before moving onto the stoking hatch. Crouching down to peer through the grating, she saw the thick grey fabric of the constables trousers standing guard in the coal room beyond. There was no escape.
"They got you too?" Johnny finally managed somewhere between a whimper and a prayer. “Well we're done for then. God almighty we're done for.” He slammed hard into the wall and slid down, his pants riding up so that his sickly white shins glowed against the deep black scum on the floor. A sob escaped. And another.
"Calm down Johnny."
"We're going to hang. The trooper I clobbered ... you killing Lynch ... and they'll probably pin that poor wretched Duffy family upon us both to boot."
"Quiet down –"
"God. Oh Jesus be good to me."
"Shh ..."
Mary had a frozen glint in her eyes that was focussed somewhere between the floor and her nose. She held up a finger and pointed to the metal door they had come through. Johnny followed suit and the two of them, ears pasted to the metal, strained to hear the words coming from somewhere beyond.
"I swear it was him."
"One man? Try harder, Ned."
The two eavesdroppers looked at one another, their faces resonant with comprehension. Tulip's Lincolnshire rumble was unmistakable. The high-English voice that followed was not.
"You and your little tin-soldier posse got all skew whift that you were had by a couple'a convicts, and you went on a rampage."
"No!" Ned sounded genuinely hurt.
"Were the blackskins not forthwith," came Tulip, “in giving you the information you wanted?”
"All's I know is: when I got there the nigger had shot one of em and so I was able to nab him before he could stuff his carbine full of powder again."
"What was Mary doing in your cottage, Ned?" came high-English.
"I don't know nothing about that."
A silence followed so that all Mary and Johnny could hear was their own tired heartbeats.
"Might I enquire ... did this Caesar chap have anything on his person? Any – valuables?"
Johnny and Mary's eyes snapped together.
"That's Latrobe," mouthed Johnny, “the new superintendant.”
"Naw, just the gun and a load of shot. Strange really, that he had that much. Was loading my horse down."
"Tell me about this shot," prodded Latrobe, now fully at the reigns of the interrogation.
"Was nothing. Got rid of it, didn't I. Too heavy for the old nag."
"You – you threw it away?"
"I found the source of it, sir –"
"Go on."
"Twas a coupl'a lead beaters got bailed by him. That's why he had so much of it. They said they'd had all their wares nabbed. So I did a good turn and returned 'em."
"These lead beaters, what did they look like?"
Johnny's legs were already begging to buckle at the line of inquiry's implications.
"Two men. I didn't see the face of the smaller one. Come to think of it, the big one kept his dust handkerchief on. I guessed they was skittish from being bailed."
"Was it a particularly dusty day?" swatted Latrobe.
"Er – no. It'd been raining see? And –"
"So there was really no need for the mask."
"They was skittish."
"Do you think that maybe the smaller of the men could have been a woman in disguise?"
"Huh?"
"What did the dray look like?"
They heard Tulip clearing is throat. A chair shifted.
"Stamped with the name of their outfit – was lead shot – no, dead shot metallurgists or something. Cart was all bright colours; red and yellow and green. Very bright as I remember."
"And –"
In the pause that followed, Johnny's arse hit his heels.
"The paint was running," said Ned. “From the rain – the paint had streaked.”
"That's enough ... Enough. Get him out of here," creaked Latrobe.
The sounds of Ned being escorted from the building overpowered the mutterings of their captors. At this point Johnny had more or less given up listening, but still Mary remained to push her head against the grating, desperately trying to comprehend the faint vibrations that might give her some clue to the extent of their activities known.
A small portion of Johnny's mind, still too submerged in fear and hopelessness to really latch on to, found it curious that a strange excitement had played across the countenance of his companion – at the hints that Latrobe had rumbled their gig. It was thatsomething in her look that made him, almost unconsciously, place his ear upon the wall to listen again to the narrative of his impending death.
"If you two would tell me where this line of questioning is leading –"
"Hush now Tulip –" said Latrobe, apparently interrupted from some unheard council.
"Excuse me, but I am Chief Constable and I'll have no corruption –"
"I don't think you understand the severity of what has gone on here."
"What is there to it? All that lead and tin my informant told me was in the coffin dray – they were obviously fixing on passing pewter for silver shillings."
"And why would Caesar have a bag full of lead shot?" came Latrobe’s tired reply.
"Maybe – maybe he was going to start up his own racket."
"No."
The high-English voice of the third man said: "But what can be done?"
"They'll hang for murder," replied Latrobe. “We can get them on that wrap easy.”
"What if they talk?" said the third man.
"What's there to talk about?" barked Tulip.
"Tulip, some privacy, please?"
"If you lads are keeping anything from me..."
"What?" snapped Latrobe. “You'll have us sent down? Why not focus on dealing with that miserable Captain Maconochie back there – cheer him up for god's sake.”
"He's got nothing to be cheery about ... lost an entire hulk."
"It matters not," came high English. “The hulk was headed to New Zealand. I can tell you right now, Tulip, that New Zealand is part of the empire. ”
"Downing Street got their act together did they?"
"Aye," replied the third man, “and we'll have that ship and her crew back soon enough. Maconochie is a good man.”
"But he lost a ship!"
"He is a friend of ours," crooned Latrobe.
"Like that rat crimper we caught on The FireFly?"
"Careful Tulip."
"Leave us," said the third man, “and give the captain a room. He has beaten himself up badly enough.”
"But hewill be punished sir?"
"He will be sent to oversee Norfolk Island. No one wants that wretched job and old Maconochie is somewhat of an expert on the new ideas of convict husbandry –"
"And look where that got him."
"– and so I thought – with lessons learned – that he might atone for his sins by cleaning up Norfolk's act. Those prisoners upon the Valhalla were due to be sent there. I'm afraid they'll all likely be killed by the marines when they take New Zealand for the King; so no one need hear of Maconochie's shame needn't they?"
Tulip said nothing.
"So if you wouldn’t mind, Tulip," suggested Latrobe, “we would wish to interview those two upon the morrow.”
"With me sitting in of course," said the third gentleman.
"Naturally," barked Tulip before slamming the door behind them.
Mary looked to Johnny, who now seemed a little more interested; maybe because they were going to be interviewed at all; or maybe it was the fact that if he had remained upon the prison hulk he'd have ended up just the same – or worse.
"I can still hear them," hissed Mary, attempting to stoke Johnny's emotional sobriety, “they're murmuring though ... I can't hear.” At this point Mary became aware of a change in pressure in the room. Iron squealed and the door opened hard upon her head.
"And what do you think you two are doing?" Tulip's cudgel was unhooked and ready.
"Lachlan, might our guests be re-located to quarters further than eavesdropping permits?" He leaned in, sweeping the great club from Mary to Johnny to mime a gash across their throats. “Tch, tch my Tulips. It sure will be a shame to see you both hang.”
CHAPTER TWENTY - BLIND MAN'S BLUFF
It was only at the governor's command that they were to remain at The Ship Inn in Williamstown. Having been moved from the smoke room into the cellars to sleep, Mary and Johnny's hammock-cocooned forms now stood wavering in the light of a single dieing flame.
While the orange tongue of fire sputtered in its own juices at this early hour of morning the whites of Johnny's eyes flashed hate into the valley walls of canvas his head lay wedged between. He had spent the night like this, stewing over the unfairness of it all – at that rotten luck around every corner since arriving at Williamstown. An image of Johnny's old jailer and warden, Captain Maconochie – a man he somewhat respected – lashed at his mind like a damp whip. Just thinking of it made his stomach turn at the misfortune. And Tulip ... if he had not blundered into the Bucket of Blood, none of this would have happened. Johnny's head turned in the darkness to where Mary lay sleeping in her hammock. She claimed to have been arrested only moments after himself – as if to blamehim – as if it had beenhis fault. What if, in fact, it had been her that had been caught? Mary had been with the anglican congregation. Of course. Why, Tulip must have been there too. He must have seen her. Johnny clicked his fingers. Mary's dress rustled and her hammock creaked as she readjusted herself. Content with this explanation he drifted off, relieved somewhat of the burden of blame in his paranoid fantasies.
"Johnny."
Johnny fell from his hammock in a hurricane of twisting canvas. "What?" he snapped, bouncing upon one leg as he attempted to repel himself from the infested cellar floor.
Mary pointed to the ceiling of floorboards. Someone was moving about in the Ship Inn above.
"I think it must be morning," she said. “I've been meaning to ask you –”
At this point Johnny had sat himself back into his hammock and was presently attempting to knead his wits back into action.
" – How did they catch you?" Mary had said the last two words quietly.
"The only way they'd catch anyone," grumbled Johnny “By accident.” His thoughts drifted easily back to his roll call of insecurities upon the matter.
"What did you do with that gold piece you had?" came Mary.
"I – managed to toss it – into the ocean – when I was on the pier looking for information." Johnny ended the tale abruptly.
"Damn."
"Damn?"
"It might have helped. I think I might have a way –"
Johnny didn't care much for whatever it was Mary was driving at so it didn't particularly bother him that her scheming was interrupted by keys against the door. He looked up at her startled face with indifference and crawled back down into his hammock. Two persons entered. He continued to stare at the ceiling. If he was going to be hanged they could carry him about themselves. Upon hearing the two sets of boots making their way toward him, he turned on his side and wrapped the edges of canvas tightly around his head.
"All right my little petal, come along." Tulip placed a hand, with almost obscene timidity upon Johnny's shoulder. “Come along, now, a tantrum won't do you no good.”
Mary stood by the far wall, arms crossed, biting her lip as Johnny hauled himself to his feet to go with Tulip and the constable. He turned his head to catch her eye as he walked through the door. It was not a look of solidarity. Johnny followed the two men obediently, only stopping when Tulip became waylaid by another constable. Johnny stood while the men talked, eyes to the boards, lips fixed and drawn. Tulip was lamenting the fact that there were no government buildings and that the magistrate would to coming that evening. Apparently the governor himself had deemed himself and Mary too important to be locked in the drunk tank. These words seemed to wash over Johnny at first. His eyes rose to look at Tulip's yellow topped riding boots. The governor was here on account of himself? But surely it was on account of the newly found Maconochie, and the fact that they would be desperate to keep the loss of the Valhalla from the public. His eyes lowered at another confirmation that he would not be allowed to live.
"Well?" chortled Tulip.
They had entered a small office room where two men stood with their backs turned in consultation with one another. One was Mr Latrobe, the other, presumably, was the governor. It sparked hope in Johnny that he might beg for clemency. The two men turned to take their seats behind a large and authoritative desk.
The first thing Johnny noticed of Gipps were his thick eyebrows and his razor burned cheeks framed by shortly clipped sideburns. His wave of hair was sleeked back into a thin helmet and made him look as though he'd fletched himself for maximum flight through an endless sea of affairs. Latrobe, by comparison looked a lot friendlier, with lighter eyebrows, freer hair and a mouth well worn by comaraderie.
As pathetic and as humble as Johnny tried to make himself, not a flicker of recognition came his way from either of the men as they took their places before him. Tulip took a seat between Gipps and Latrobe, dragging himself forward so that his chest touched the wood. He cleared his throat to snap Johnny from his leering stupor.
He remembered the question. "John English," he replied.
Gipps honked out a laugh and slapped his knee.
"You're joking," said Latrobe, looking from Johnny to Gipps and then to Tulip in disbelief.
Gipps continued with a few more rigid guffaws and shook his head. In a moment of dumb servility Johnny grinned in the only way he could before the man holding balance between life or death. Gipps's vague smile turned back to a grim inflection.
"A strange name for an Irishman," said Tulip matter-of-factly. “Now how's your memory of the events at The Bush Inn?”
"Just how many Bush Inn's are there in this great land anyhow?" Gipps laughed again over Tulip's irritated ear.
"A lot, sir," said Tulip without turning. “We're talking about the one before The Black Forest, up Mount Macedon way.”
Gipps said nothing so Tulip continued:
"Trooper Ned Argyle and Berty Best – publican of The Bush Inn – both testify that it was you that locked us in before freeing the dangerous negro called Caesar. So, on top of escape, you now stand accused of the bludgeoning to death of trooper O'Rielly."
"Or maybe it wasNigger?" offered Latrobe.
"I... I don't know for sure," began Johnny hopefully. “The trooper was dead when I got there.”
"Nigger," repeated Latrobe softly. “My dog that you took from me. You took to calling her Nigger?”
Johnny bit his tongue. Latrobe had murder in his eyes.
"You deny freeing Caesar then?" said Tulip.
"I – "
"What is your relationship with Mary Draper?" spat Latrobe, holding Mary's crumpled note in his white-knuckled fist.
Johnny said nothing.
"What happened," continued the superintendent, “after the three of youhumiliated Constable Wright's men at The Bush Inn?”
Tulip turned in a spasm of irritation to his superior. Latrobe fished something from his pocket and lurched forward to slap it hard upon the table.
"Where did you get this?" he said.
Tulip glanced at the towering figure of Latrobe by his side before examining the roughly hammered gold ingot upon the table.
"It was found upon the persons of one Jeb O'Haggarty," explained Latrobe. “Caught him boarding The Fire Fly – the steam ferry to Melbourne. Just so happened he was off to claim a bounty on the story of Gipps's arrival and the arrest of Maconochie. Intended to sell his tall tales to our good friend Mr Short.”
"Bob Short?" said Gipps. “That name rings a bell.”
"Bob Short is Mr Fawkner's idea of a joke," explained Latrobe. “He uses the name to write letters in the Gossip column of that rag of his –The Port Philip Patriot.”
At these words a look of abject horror smoothed itself upon Gipps's brow. So Latrobe had very narrowly stopped the whole Maconochie story from going to press. Taking his companion roughly by the elbow, Gipps dragged the superintendent to the corner of the room and set about a vicious bout of whispering.
"Gentlemen?" Tulip grunted after a fashion.
"This Mr O'Haggarty – Jeb – says you gave him that nugget." Latrobe returned to stand over Tulip's back as he pointed down to the ingot. “He mentioned you having had more of them to trade?”
Johnny looked to be on the verge of tears.
"He's down for murder," protested Tulip. “Where's laying simple thievery on him going to get us?”
"What is your job as the chief constable, Mr Wright?" Gipps sat unmoving, hands in his pockets, boring a hole into Johnny's forehead.
"To uphold the law, to –"
"And to see justice is done?" offered Gipps. “What of the poor sod to whom this gold belongs?”
"Well Johnny? Where'd you get it?" demanded Tulip. “Go on. One last good deed before you stop by the gates of heaven?”
"It might be beneficial to your sentencing," suggested Gipps, inspecting his fingernails.
"I don't think..." began Tulip. “Can I speak to you in private sir?”
But Gipps ignored him: "Tell us where you found the gold, and you might not hang."
"It is an evil thing to give false hope to a condemned man," protested Tulip. “Worse is an outright lie.”
Gipps stamped his heel in annoyance and Latrobe took a seat. Johnny could only gawk at the free and easy contempt that Tulip apparently held for the highest authorities in the land.
For what seemed like a long time nobody said anything.
"Take him back," said Tulip, “and fetch Mary.”
A constable escorted Johnny from the room. Behind him he heard Tulip begin: "What do you mean by ..." before the constable pushed him out of earshot. Walking swiftly through the cellar door, he climbed silently back into his hammock.
Mary, who had been furiously pacing over her plan, found herself being hustled from the make-shift cell. On her way out she attempted to catch Johnny's eye, but it was of no use. Her burly escorts had her off her feet and up the stairs before she could so much as open her mouth.
"Ah, Miss Mary Draper," said Superintendent Latrobe.
Gipps now sat much further behind Tulip, half obscured by shadow. Hands steepled, he appraised Mary's character while Tulip appraised her forged sovereigns he still had from their first encounter in Melbourne.
Latrobe played with the envelope, keeping it close to his chest, waiting for Mary to notice. In fact it had been the first thing she had seen upon entering the room. Since its conception it had been all she could think about. Her refusal to give Latrobe the satisfaction of acknowledgement gave her a psychological edge she knew she must maintain. The fact that Latrobe had clearly read the note meant the fuse had been lit. It was the ember of security she had been praying would make it through the night in tact.
"We have a witness," said Tulip when Mary's escorts finally removed themselves from the office. “Trooper Ned Argyle saw you shoot dead Mr Bill Lynch.”
Mary turned to Tulip and told him the truth. That she had killed Lynch in self defence and that the Duffy family had been murdered by the very same man.
"Poppycock," cried Tulip. “Caesar killed that family –”
"If you're talking about the pocket watch," interrupted Mary, “he found it next to a fire Lynch had stoked by his hut. I'm sure that if you will send some people over, you shall find the remains of the Duffy family in its ashes.”
Latrobe scoffed and turned to Gipps with a knowing look. Tulip said nothing.
"Let's talk about gold," said Latrobe casually as he scratched his chin with the corner of Mary's note.
"I read about it inThe Patriot," replied Mary with a grin. “Something about wolfram?”
"I'm not sure how that rubbish got out," said Latrobe, shooting a grim look to Tulip. “I think the key thing is,” he paused briefly, sucking his lips into his mouth before launching his next attack, “you're no forger, are you Mary?”
Tulip snuffed Latrobe's attack beneath his rippling jaw: "If you think I leaked that claptrap to Fawkner's press..."
"I heard from Mr Newcombe, at the bank," continued Latrobe, “that it was a pretty poor copy, but a copy none the less – ingenuine gold.”
"Newcombe's a leaky old tub," mumbled Tulip. “It was him suggested it might be wolfram and not gold. Could only have been him that blabbed toThe Patriot.”
"Newcombe is one of the most propitious men I've known, " said Latrobe down his nose to the red-faced Chief Constable.
"I bet he is."
"And I'll not have any slander put down upon him!" Latrobe turned back to Mary. “Now, Mary, where did you get the gold?”
"You really want the truth?" said Mary with a sly glance toward Tulip. “Because I don't think you'd want that at all would you, Mr Latrobe? Mr Gipps?”
The two named men said nothing. Tulip turned to them as if for explanation.
"Wouldn't want to spark a mad rush –"
"That's enough, Mary," crooned Gipps. “Take her back below.”
Tulip's affront-smoothed brow turned to his two superiors, as if having been deprived of some great treat.
"What the devil are you boys playing at?" he cried.
It was the last Mary heard.
"Well? What did they lay on you?" said Johnny as the cellar door slammed behind Mary's back.
She had been just about to tell him when the door exploded open. Mary turned in time to see Gipps bursting through. Latrobe followed at a more leisurely pace and stood by the door with his hands behind his back.
"You know what?" wheezed Gipps, waving about the letter Mary had addressed to Latrobe. “I don't care what you say in court. I'll see to it that the press doesn’t get a whiff of what goes on inside that room ... and the judge? I bet he's used to all sorts of stories –excuses.”
"But, Mr Gipps," said Mary calmly, “if we hang, Caesar sends Fawkner a letter. What do you think I was up to, allowing myself to be caught so that he could run free?”
"I don't believe you," spat Gipps. “And I do not believe that this Caesar, would have had the honour.”
"Neither did I," said Mary. “He doesn't know where our stash is ... on top of that, he can't read. If we die, he needs to get back digging.”
Just now swift footsteps were heard upon the blue-stone steps leading down to the cellar. Latrobe, who had been calmly standing by the door, twirled around to the approaching chief constable, and Mary saw that he had been fingering a small pistol behind his back the entire time.
"What are you lot talking about?" growled Tulip. “These are my prisoners and I demand to know what's going on, damn it!”
"Come now, Mr Wright –" crooned Gipps.
"Out," said Tulip. “The both of you. I don't know what you're up to, but I won't allow any more of it.”
Gipps's face hardened and Latrobe slipped the pistol back into his pocket.
"I'm serious," squawked Tulip. “Is - there - something - I - should - know - about?”
"Good lord. I hope I'm not interrupting anything gentlemen."
Tulip flinched at the hand that had appeared upon his shoulder, but Gipps had already sidled past him and was now acknowledging the stranger with a nod.
"I'll see you up to for a drink?" said Gipps, with another nod to the stranger.
"Naturally." said the man, who looked to be in his early forties. “Ah, you must be Mr Latrobe.” He stepped past Tulip to present himself to the new superintendent. “William Lonsdale, magistrate, at your service.”
In the lamplight William Lonsdale's self-important gammy eye shot a few oblique glances toward Mary and Johnny. There was a lazy kind of calm to his countenance, and it was only from the corner of his seagull shaped lips that his overly comfortable power made itself known. He had the look of a man who had made his breaks through correct alliances in high places and knew it to the point of wallowing.
"I'm afraid I've dived head first into this job," said Latrobe with a shake of Lonsdale's hand, “and as a matter of fact I was just going to ask Tulip where I could meet the master of the city.”
Lonsdale's face darkened. "Come to take my job, have you?"
"But, but I am no magistrate, sir!"
"I have always been the unofficial superintendent," and then his face broke into a smile, “and I shall be grateful if you might ease my burden!”
"But of course sir, of course!" gushed Latrobe, shaking Lonsdale's grasp with vigour. “Perhaps you might offer your wisdom in this case? I trust you have heard of these murderous creatures?”
Lonsdale's twinkling eyes passed over Johnny and Mary like a cold ocean spray, one after the other.
"And a strange case it is, too," he said, “that the Governor himself should insist upon the point of them being locked away down here?Bizarre, one might say. Utterlybizarre.”
"It does make some sense, Mr Lonsdale," explained Latrobe. “Both of them are to be tried for murder, and you know a humble magistrate such as yourself cannot deal with cases of the like.”
The figure of Tulip remained still in the dancing lamp light of the cellar, watching on like a dog at the heels of his true master.
"Humble?" Lonsdale laughed before flashing an eye to the two prisoners. “Keep'em close in Williamstown, eh? I suppose old Gippsie wishes to transport them to Sydney himself does he?”
"That was the drift I caught, sir."
"Now, now, there's no need to call me sir! Why I welcome you as a brother. We servants of the queen must stick together mustn’t we? Old Tulip not giving you any stick is he?"
"It's funny you should mention that," said Latrobe with a painted smile.
"Ah, don't worry about him. He's the most earnest man I know when it comes to sticking by the law."
"Strange," said Latrobe softy, “considering his brutish history.”
For a split second the words seemed to turn the room to ice.
"Nonsense," barked Lonsdale. “Why the man was a bit of a rascal in his youth – but a genial rascal none the less. I've lot of respect for Mr Wright.”
"Of course," said Latrobe. There was a short silence. “And now,” he concluded, “I must remove myself from this dingy oppression. Shall I see you upstairs for a pint?” Latrobe made a gesture for Lonsdale to ascend the steps before him.
"It would be an honour," said Lonsdale. “I shall see you directly – once I've had a word with our prisoners and to Mr Wright, if you please.”
"Cer – certainly sir." Latrobe shot an uncertain glance toward the two convicts before nodding his head as if to reassure himself of something.
The four figures of Johnny, Mary, Tulip and Lonsdale, listened to Latrobe's boots clacking on the stone steps to the warmth of The Ship Inn above.
"Well, well, well," said Lonsdale finally, giving a meaningful glance to Tulip. “It would seem someone up above is keen to see these two survive the wrath of the mob. Why ... if the Governor Gipps didn't have this curious bee set about in his bonnet you should all be set in stocks. Very fortunate indeed.”
Mary and Johnny said nothing.
"I very much agree sir," said Tulip.
"Theyshall be sent to Sydney to stand trial for murder before Justice Willis. The both of them." Lonsdale turned to leave.
It was a simple as that. The decision had been made official.
"Please sir," began Mary, “would you ask Mr Gipps to review my letter of clemency?”
Lonsdale considered Mary for a second before a subtle, yet pitying rigidity came over him. "It breaks my heart to see ... " he trailed off, twisting his feelings toward more palatable territory. “You will find that optimism is not conducive to this country's humour. I think – I feel you will find resignation a much more realistic and infinitely less disappointing fit in the present circumstances. Wouldn't you agree Mr Wright?”
"Makes no difference to me, sir. Nor how they present themselves to the very Lord himself."
Mary made a sharp movement toward Lonsdale. Tulip's own arm shot out like a snake. The balled up note went flying.
Lonsdale picked it up and smiled: "The convict's handkerchief? Not yet soggy, I see." He handed it back.
Tulip made to snatch it again. "Get out of it," but missed her arm. “She was passing you a note!”
Mary mashed the scrap of paper down her bust. Bribe or blackmail, she had seen Lonsdale's recognition in the attempt. He had rejected it with proprietous mercy.
"Of what are you in need to say so badly as requires a note?" cried Lonsdale. “I hope it was not a bribe. Speak up now or forever hold your tongue.”
Tulip leaned in.
"You had been saying something about a plan? Other than relying upon the negro to carry out your threats, of course."
Mary had spent the entire day pacing up and down through her options, but at the end of it she had to concede: they were now, indeed, at the mercy of Caesar. Latrobe had called her bluff, and only time would tell how he'd react to Caesar's move.
"Why not let Tulip see your bribe?"
"I'm afraid there is only so much that can be done," she finally replied, seemingly ignoring Johnny's question. “Tulip would not only call our bluff, I wouldn't put it past him to blow the whole thing open wide. Latrobe and Gipps can see this. They're not stupid. Damn Tulip! They've called our bluff because they know we won't let Tulip in.”
"But why not!?" screeched Johnny. “What difference would it make?”
"Aye, what difference. We've nothing to lose now – but here's the thing. If we let the world know, for example, and had the fortune to find opportunity to escape between transport and now, the hue and cry could be made public and we wouldn't last a day free. If, however, we hold our tongues and manage to escape, the last thing they'd want to do is put a price on our heads for joe public. Didn't last time did they? What ever happened to that? Nothing. Only Ned knew about a twenty gallon reward – because he was there when Tulip got all over exited after The Bush Inn bail up. Not a whisper since. It's a card we've got against them only in freedom. If we blow it this instant we may as well hang ourselves with our hammocks here and now."
"But if Caesar delivers your letter a rush will be sparked regardless."
"Aye. Which means we need to think of something else between now and our voyage to Sydney and the scaffold. Of course they could have caught him already. Or maybe – if they don't catch him by our transport date – they shall cave in. Either which way, not telling Tulip gives as a window. I regret having given Caesar that note in the first place. It still would have worked as a bargaining chip, but I had no way of knowing – and still don't – if Tulip would be honest and foolish enough to leak. Something tells me he would be."
Johnny deflated like an old balloon, but his eyes continued to search for an answer. "If a rush is sparked Latrobe's city will evaporate," he chanted to himself, rocking back and forth. “There'll be no one to work the land ...”
"It wouldn't be such a bad thing." Mary slumped upon her hammock.
"No, but to those in power that demand labour for their profits? And that Judge, Lonsdale mentioned –"
"Willis?"
"– Couldn't he be bribed?"
"I don't think so," said Mary. “I've heard things about this Willis's character. Suffice to say he's not the kind of personality to accept a bribe lightly. I suppose we could try.”
"There's still Caesar," said Johnny. “Do you think he'll even carry out your instructions?”
"I don't know," said Mary to herself. “It wasn't to go this far.”
Johnny looked at her and sucked his lips and kneaded his head.
Later, when Tulip came to visit them for one last time, a strange expression – of probing curiosity – seemed to be squirming beneath his surface expressions like a cut snake.
"It seems you lot are in quite a bit of demand," he said. “Fawkner's been demanding his illiterate hacks have access to yer gobs, but Gipps won't have it. Seems to have rattled him, this entire affair.” Tulip intercepted Mary and Johnny's exchanged glances with a cynical laugh. “What could be so important? Ha! It'll be a quiet courtroom with Willis at least, and if anyone won't put up with ...” He paused to regain control of his temper. “Gipps has shut down the public gallery ...”
"There'll be no press?" warbled Johnny.
"… although, If there's one way to inflame them ..."
The bluff had been called with such alarming speed and fury that Johnny was now having trouble even swallowing. And who would believe their story anyhow? A life of ease and plenty for the first to strip Australia's surface bare? Johnny sat upon his hammock and cradled his head.
"Never in all my days," lamented Tulip, his eyes begging for an explanation.