Convict Queen Page 15

  'He's supposed to be my husband,' she said, and sighed. 'He was the one that stole the hemp, but I got tried for it when he ran away.'

  'But he was sent here. They must have caught him.'

  'Yes, but not for that theft. He would never tell me why they tried him somewhere else, but he was given fourteen years, so it must have been something more than just a few shillings. Anyhow, I'm free of him, thanks to you. And I need never see him again!'

  *

  This voyage was far different from that on the Neptune. Captain Locke, or Ben, as he told her to call him, had heard about the notorious Second Fleet, but the details horrified him.

  'That Captain should be sent to the worst prison in England!'

  'If they can catch him.' Molly was resigned. 'Many of the men were ill when they were brought on board, they might not have survived, but he made sure most of them were dead so that he could thieve their goods and keep the extra rations to sell when he got to Sydney.'

  'He can't hide for ever.'

  'Let's forget him and the Neptune. Tell me about the whaling. How do you catch them? I saw one once which had been stranded on the beach. The natives were enjoying eating it. Is the meat good?'

  'Too fat for our taste. We sell oil, that's partly why I'm for England before going home to America. The whaling's better back home, but I'll not be sorry I came to Port Jackson where I found you.'

  Molly smiled. She was finished with William, but it seemed she could always find men in positions where they could help her. Joshua, Ted, and now Ben had all made her life better than it might have been. Only William Gough and her own William had betrayed her.

  As they sailed through the tropics Molly spent time on deck, lying in the shade of a sail the sailors had positioned for her. She relished the breeze, read some of the books Ben had in his cabin, and tried to forget the squalid conditions on the Neptune. There, she conceded, she had been more fortunate than the poor devils confined below, many of whom had never been permitted on deck. It was no wonder they had been in such distress when they landed in New South Wales.

  Molly had enjoyed her infrequent chances of reading Mr Lewis's books, and had read every word of Captain Gilbert's account of his voyage. Now she discovered the pleasure of reading novels, for these were the books Ben had in his cabin.

  'They are all by English authors,' she said one day after browsing through them. 'Have you no books by Americans?'

  'These were given to me by the captain of an English ship,' Ben explained. 'I haven't read most of them, just the one about life at sea.'

  'Roderick Random,' Molly said. 'I will read that, but I'm reading The Adventures of Hannah Snell first.'

  'Why? Who was she?'

  'She enlisted as a soldier.' Molly looked wistful. 'I wish I could have done that. Men have a much better life than women.'

  'How can you say that after the way they were treated on the Neptune?'

  'Men can have adventures, and don't have to obey men, like we do.'

  'They have to obey their officers.'

  'It's not the same.'

  'But women like you can twist a man round your little finger, without the danger soldiers face. Do I give you orders?'

  'No, you don't, but you're the first man I've known who didn't.'

  'Besides, you couldn't disguise your curves,' Ben said, hugging her.

  She giggled, and when he led her to his cabin went willingly. He was a considerate lover, and it was a pleasant change to make love in a comfortable bed rather than the thin pallet which was all Ted had possessed.

  During the rest of the tedious voyage Molly read all Ben's books. Susanna Rowson's novel Charlotte: A Tale of Truth, warned against listening to the voice of love and counselled resistance. Molly, though increasingly fond of Ben, vowed to take this advice to heart.

  The ones she liked best were Fielding's Jonathan Wild the Great, for she had a good deal of sympathy for the highwayman, and Smollett's story of a workhouse boy, Humphrey Clinker. How much more fortunate she had been, despite her family's endless struggle against poverty, to be brought up in the lovely Corvedale. But had her Mary and James been sent to a workhouse?

  Soon, though, she would make her way back there, see her children and her brothers, and if he were still alive, her father. She silently urged on the winds that were driving the Resolution towards England.

  *

  It was with mixed feelings that Molly, from the deck of the ship, saw first Plymouth and then Portsmouth harbours. Inevitably she recalled the weeks spent there, hoping in vain for an opportunity to escape, and fearful of the life she faced when she could not. Eventually, though, they came to the Thames estuary and sailed up the great river. Soon she would step once more onto English soil.

  She was somewhat bewildered by the vast number of ships moored in the Thames. Sydney harbour had rarely seen more than one ship at a time, and there were often weeks when the only boats had been the small ones used for fishing or ferrying officials around. Here the ships were so close together she wondered that they did not have collisions, or that their ropes did not become entangled when the forces of the wind or tide caused them to sway and list. The small boats that bustled to and fro did not, however, appear to have any difficulties in manoeuvring in between the larger ships.

  The Resolution moored further up the river, and on the evening after they arrived Ben had a dinner of fresh meat he had acquired from the dockside markets served in his cabin. He also opened a bottle of wine he said he had bought from a Portuguese ship.

  'It's a fortified wine, said to be delicious, that comes from a small island in the Atlantic, Madeira. The Americans like it, we ship a great deal. After I have sold all my oil I am sailing home past Madeira, and I plan to buy as much as I can there, to sell when I get home. They drank the toast to the Declaration of Independence in Madeira wine.'

  It was certainly delicious, and Molly knew she had drunk too much of it when the bottle was empty. Ben became amorous, but she expected that. It was probably their last night together.

  When they lay entwined after making love he pulled her to him.

  'Molly, marry me. Come to America with me. I'd like you to sail with me for ever.'

  She sighed. He knew she was legally married to William, but was prepared to take the chance that they would never be discovered. It was highly unlikely, and he would give her a safe, comfortable life. But for months she had been waiting impatiently for the time when she would again see her children. Briefly she wondered whether Ben would permit them to sail with him, then shook her head. Why would he take responsibility for another man's child?

  'Ben, I can't!'

  She tried to explain, and although he made every effort to change her mind, even offering to wait while she travelled to Shropshire to see her children, and promising she could return to England whenever he was trading here, Molly refused.

  Eventually he accepted it.

  'How will you manage to travel?' he asked. 'And you need new clothes, that old dress is too disreputable.'

  'It was the only one I had. I'll find a man who can give me new clothes,' she said, 'and I can walk, I'm strong.'

  'No, you won't! I'll give you money, enough to buy new clothes and travel in comfort to your old home.'

  Molly had not expected that. She thought she had paid for the journey back to England by sharing his bed. This was exceptional generosity, and after he gave her a purse, and she was able to count the coins inside, she felt like weeping. There was more than enough to keep her for several months. It was incredibly painful to say farewell to such a good man. But she had to, and finally, five and a half years since she had left England, she stepped once more upon its soil.

  *

  CHAPTER 10

  This, Ben had told her, was Wapping. As Hannah Snell had lived here, Molly decided she might try to find a lodging for tonight before she set off for Shropshire. After half an hour she gave up that idea, for she had caught sight of the gibbet on which hung two corpses. Someh
ow the reminder of what would have been her fate had she not been sent to New South Wales was frightening. If she were recognised now as an escaped convict it could still be how she ended her life. She would move closer to London town.

  The wharves were bustling with sailors and porters who were unloading goods from the ships moored beside them. Small boats were carrying more goods from ships unable to find a mooring place, which had to anchor further out in the river. The buildings, to Molly's bemused gaze, appeared all to be inns and drinking places, but they were nothing like the Sun at Corfton or the inns of Ludlow. Molly's time was fully occupied in dodging carts being wheeled along by men with no care for anyone in their path, or porters with huge loads on their heads. If she were not trying to keep out of their way she was being importuned by sailors.

  As she wandered westwards to where she could see the huge bulk of the Tower, she decided to save money by finding a gown in a pawn shop, rather than buy a new one as Ben had intended. She would also walk for as long as she could, for anxious though she was to see her children, she had been away from them for years and a few more weeks would make no difference. She needed stout boots, for the old shoes which were all she had were falling to pieces. And she needed directions. Perhaps there would be shops where maps were sold, and though she did not propose to waste money on buying these, she could discover which towns she had to pass through. With these savings she would be able to afford to bring Mary and James to London on a mail coach, for she could not expect them to walk so far.

  She had wondered whether she might remain in Corvedale, but knew that her enemies, in particular Johnny Cound, would instantly betray her if she were seen. The reward for such betrayal was twenty pounds for the betrayer and sentence of death for her. She would return to London, change her name, and lose herself amidst its teeming population.

  Soon after she passed the Tower, shivering at the thought of all the prisoners it had held, the streets became confusing, but she found a market stall selling clothes huddled away in a narrow alley, and was able to purchase a gown far better than any she had ever had. Tempted by the bright blue cotton and the wide skirt, she revelled in leaving behind the drab coloured clothes which were all she had ever worn. To her amazement the stallholder offered her a few pence for her old gown, and Molly, changing in the shelter of a doorway, thankfully passed it over. She bought herself a straw bonnet, trimmed with blue ribbon. It did not matter the blue was of a different shade to her new gown, when she was wearing them she felt like a princess.

  The stallholder told her where she might find a cobbler, and as the gown had cost so little Molly felt able to buy boots which were almost new. The woman they had been made for had been killed by a runaway horse and cart, the cobbler told her, and her husband had sold the boots back to him for he needed every penny to pay for the funeral.

  'Where can I find maps?' Molly asked him.

  'Try The Temple of the Muses, in Finsbury Square,' he said. 'Mr Lackington opened it a year or so back, and they say there's thousands o' books there. I never knew there were so many had been writ.'

  He told her how to get there, and feeling confident in her new clothes Molly walked in. Then she halted, amazed. There was a circular counter in the middle of the huge space, and shelf after shelf of books. Mr Lewis's library was mean in comparison, and in those days she had marvelled at how many books it contained. She had never seen so many books as were here, and she told herself she had to resist temptation. She could not afford to buy any. Not yet. Perhaps, when she was back in London and had found herself a job, she might indulge.

  One of the assistants came to ask if he could help, and he soon showed her a book containing maps of the main coaching roads. Her first objective, she saw, was Islington, to the north of the Circus, and after that a good road ran all the way to Shrewsbury.

  By now Molly was exhausted. The unaccustomed exercise, and the noise and bustle all around her, the carriages, horses, and shouts of stallholders, had made her head ache. She asked the helpful assistant where she might find a cheap lodging, and though he was disappointed she did not wish to purchase any of the books he had shown her, he directed her to a nearby inn which he said was clean. Half an hour later Molly, too weary to eat the ordinary pressed upon her, sank thankfully into bed and fell fast asleep.

  *

  As she ate some bread and cheese, and enjoyed English ale the following morning, Molly made her plans. The helpful assistant in the book shop had told her that Shrewsbury was about a hundred and sixty miles from London. She wouldn't need to go all the way, though. When she was close enough surely there would be signposts to Bridgnorth, and from there she could find her way easily enough to Sutton Hill, where her brothers had last been living. She doubted her father would still be at the cottage behind the Sun, and she was more likely to be recognised in Corvedale than on Clee. She might even see the famous iron bridge Joshua had told her about.

  She thought she ought to be able to walk ten miles every day, perhaps more as she grew accustomed to the exercise. And surely sometimes there would be carriers' carts that would provide her with a ride. In two weeks or so she'd be with her children again. First, though, she must buy a warm cloak. She wished she had thought of it the previous day, but she did not want to trudge all the way back to the stall where she'd bought her gown. The cost of even a cheap inn had frightened her. She could not afford that every night, and if she spent so much she might as well go on the Mail. Then she'd have too little money to get all three of them back to London. The weather was warm enough for her to sleep in a barn or under a hedge. She'd had far worse beds, but she needed a cloak partly to protect her gown.

  She was fortunate to find a market and was able to buy a cloak with a hood. It was thick, but moth-eaten. That, however, mattered nought. She wrapped it up in a bundle, with her other few possessions, and making sure she was on the right road for Islington, set off. The bookshop man had said St Albans was just over twenty miles away. It would take her two days to reach it, but as she would be finding somewhere to sleep before she came to the town, that was ideal. She had purchased bread and cheese and a couple of mutton pies from the market, and could buy food for the next few days in St Albans. Her heart bursting with both excitement at the thought of seeing her family, and trepidation at the possibility of being recaptured, she set off. It was good to be in England again, and soon she would leave the town behind and be in the quiet, sweet countryside.

  *

  It took Molly more than two weeks to reach the Clee Hills. She had not realised how sore and blistered her boots would make her feet. She ought to have bought some thick stockings too, but from having spent most of the time in New South Wales with bare legs, and often bare feet too, it had not occurred to her. She found some comfrey growing wild, and tried to make a poultice with that and some chickweed. It wasn't very successful with just cold water to bind it, but she wrapped some large leaves round each foot, tried to pad the boots with others, and resigned herself to walking more slowly. Her spirits, which had been falling as she grew closer to home, became panic. What would she do if she did not find her brothers or her children? Yet the sight of the Shropshire hills changed her mood. It was both nostalgia and regret for the years she had lost, and anxiety for those in front of her, for she dared not stay long and risk being recognised.

  She eventually reached Cold Weston, but could not try to see any of her former neighbours for fear of betrayal. It was not far now to Sutton Hill, and she could depend on her family to hide her if necessary.

  As she saw the cobblers' shop, she smiled. Her brothers could make her some new boots. She stopped and looked into the room where they worked. They had grown older, as she had herself, but they were still her brothers. Tentatively, making sure there were no other persons near enough to overhear them, she moved towards them.

  'Sam. John.'

  Her voice was so faint they did not at first hear her, then John looked up, and dropped the shoe he was sewing.

  'Mo
lly? Surely it ain't our Molly!'

  She struggled against tears. 'Aye, John, it's me, not me ghost.'

  'But where – how – we never thought ter see yer again.'

  'Well, I'm here now. Where are James and Mary?'

  'In house. Mary's cookin' supper. Dad's there too.'

  'Dad? He's here?'

  He was almost eighty, and she had not expected him to still be alive. Molly broke down then, and Samuel came to put his arm round her and lead her through into the kitchen behind their workroom.

  'There, me love, it's none so bad. Come ye in, an' we can hear all about it later.'

  She had a vague impression of a girl sitting by the table, and a younger boy beside her, but her only thought was of her father. He was sitting beside the fire, skinning rabbits. He looked much older than she'd have expected, but she was so thankful to see him. She threw herself down on her knees beside him, and careless of the rabbits buried her head in his lap.

  'Dad! Oh, Dad!'

  *

  It was some time before they were calm enough for sensible talk. The girl, who had been chopping turnips for the stew, was Mary, and she said after a while that she did recognise her mother. She was a pretty lass, with William Gough's red hair, and a neat figure with a small waist. The boy frowned, said he did not remember Molly, only that his mother and father had suddenly vanished when he was a baby, and he had been taken to Mr Heighway's house.

  'Heighway? Wasn't he Overseer?'

  'Yes,' Samuel said. 'Overseer of the poor, and he was all for puttin' young James here inter workhouse, till we said we'd take 'im.'

  Molly shuddered. This had been one of her nightmares, having her children brought up in one of those dreadful places. Since she had read of Humphrey Clinker and his experiences, the nightmares had grown worse. She turned to Samuel, tears in her eyes.

  'Thank you, oh thank you so much! I didn't steal that flax.'

  'No, we thought it had been William. But he got away an' left you to tek the blame.'

  'He got transported later,' Molly told them, with a certain degree of satisfaction. 'He came to Sydney. That's the town where we lived.'