Ironbark (15 page)

At the approach of the overseer mounted on his black stallion, Daniel masked his angry thoughts.
No doubt
your
belly is full. A fine meal cooked by your pathetic rag of a wife. Pork and wine bought with money you pocket selling the government rations meant to feed
us.

Rumour gave the man many names, including Iago and James, but he was widely known by the title he earned after he ordered an Irish lad to be flogged with fifty lashes. His victim had cursed him with his dying breath, ‘As God is my witness ye are the Devil Himself!' Since then the overseer had flaunted this title with pride.

Daniel jumped to attention along with all the others – even seasoned bullies cowered in the overseer's presence. Daniel's eye was drawn to the man's sensual, aquiline features, the glossy hair and beard that seemed cut from the same dense black as his horse's mane. Daniel knew from experience that the voice was never more dangerous than when it was soft with sarcasm.

‘I see all you Miss Mollies are devoted to your labours. Didn't I order you to remove those stumps? You'll have the ground furrowed by tomorrow for crop planting.'

There was an uneasy rumble of assent. The Devil Himself sighed as if he was forced to carry the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

‘You'll work through the night,' he said with quiet menace. ‘No water for you laggards till the job's done.' He turned and looked directly at Daniel. ‘I appoint you to see that these sods carry out my orders, Daniel Browne.'

Daniel flinched but mumbled agreement. Inwardly he was appalled.
Why does he single me out? Surely he knows how the men hate me. He may intend it as a mark of favour, but I'd have a better chance to survive those bullies without it.

When the Devil Himself rode off, Daniel was suddenly aware he was the focus of the men surrounding him. Many had long ago
abandoned any vestige of humanity. Forced to conceal their hatred of the Devil Himself, they were now openly channelling their rage at
him
.

Avoiding their eyes, he pushed through the crowd and hurried to the paddock where he had been ordered to work. He examined his ‘artist's hands' with despair. They were calloused and raw, the nails split and rimmed with blood, the palms swollen after weeks of wielding a virtually useless pick to free giant tree roots. He began to swing his axe in a rhythm that distracted him from the pain of his aching back as fresh rivulets of sweat ran down his chest to his loins, darkening the old sweat stains on his trousers.

When he heard his name spoken in an excited whisper Daniel looked up in irritation at the cheeky face of Will Martens, who was leaning on a spade as if enjoying a holiday in the sun.

‘You deaf? You heard the overseer's orders. Hold your tongue and keep working.'

Will edged closer to disguise their conversation. ‘Meet me tonight. I have a plan I promise will hold your interest.'

‘You? You're all talk. Your mouth will be the death of you.'

Will furtively took a peach from his pocket and handed it to Daniel. It was the first one Daniel had seen in a year. The last he had tasted was at the Plews's house. Saranna had hand-fed him slivers of the delicious juicy fruit. Her heart in her eyes as she quoted, ‘Sweets to the sweet …'

‘Go on, eat it,' Will urged. ‘Ain't poisoned.'

Daniel eyed the peach with suspicion but hunger overcame him and he sank his teeth with relish into the ripe flesh.

Will looked smug. ‘I've been moonlighting. Acting cockatoo for a pair of bolters who took up arms. I always get back here by dawn. So the Devil Himself is none the wiser.'

‘Then you're an even bigger idiot than I took you for. He knows everything!'

Will pressed on. ‘The lads pay me in food and a few spare coins. I've got quite a taste for the life. Freedom. Nothing like it!'

‘More fool you. Get cracking and do your share of labour. I'll not risk my neck for any daft escape plan of yours.'

‘Not even to buy fresh drawing paper?' Will's eyes teased him with laughter.

Daniel was angry to hear his art dismissed as a joke. ‘Shut your face. I've got my own way of doing business.'

Will walked off and Daniel re-doubled his work efforts. But his shrinking belly felt as if it were being gnawed by a rat.

• • •

A few days later, trudging wearily towards his cabin after a day and night of work Daniel was halted by the unmistakable sound that always made his blood run cold. The lash. A flogging.

He knew what to expect. The Jonstones were said to be due back any day after attending the Governor's Ball in Parramatta. Until then the overseer took control. By law he was meant to send errant convicts before a magistrate, but the Devil Himself enjoyed the power of ordering illicit floggings. In Jonstone's absence the overseer was a law unto himself.

Daniel heard the regular rhythm of the lash echoing through the bush as he drew closer to the source. He was sickened by the fear that one day he would be the lash's target. As usual there was a crowd of assigned men ordered by the Devil Himself to witness the flogging to deter them. But this time something was wrong. There were no screams. If the victim wasn't crying to God or hanging unconscious from the flogging post surely he must be dead.

Through a break in the trees Daniel saw that this prisoner was young, his legs defiantly astride as he braced himself against the steady rhythm of leather thongs whipping his back. Sweat matted his hair and coated his body. Although blood welled up from his ‘stripes' not a single sound passed the young man's lips.

The crowd of assigned men shrank back from the victim's splattering blood.

As he drew closer, Daniel recognised the prisoner's piercing black eyes, the olive-skinned body with the heart tattooed on his chest. Who else but Gem Smith could bare his teeth in such a ghastly grin as if he was welcoming each stroke of the lash? Unable to bear the look on Gem's face, Daniel moved to the rear of the circle of prisoners.

The Devil Himself sat stony-faced in his saddle, forced to confront what was clear to every man in the crowd. He could wait till Doomsday and never hear the Gypsy beg for mercy.

Finally the hated soft voice ordered the scourger to cease. ‘His silence bores me.'

Daniel tried to remain invisible when Will made the first move to cut the victim free. Gem was determined to walk unaided. He smiled at his overseer with charming insolence.

‘Failed to amuse you did I, Mr Iago?'

Daniel was shocked by the Gypsy's courage.

The Devil Himself stiffened but refused to lose face.

‘Two hours to lick your wounds, Gypsy, then it's back to work. That's the price you pay for bolting from Gideon Park.' He turned to face his assigned men. ‘The same goes for you bludgers. Return to your labours!'

Like a disturbed ants' nest they scattered in all directions, except Daniel who backed away but remained to watch, camouflaged by the trees. For one moment he was tempted to break his cover and rush to Gem's aid but that would mean breaking his ironclad rule – never to be involved in any man's troubles. So he remained hidden.

He saw that Gem had been left to lie face down in the shade of a tree. Will Martens ran to him with drinking water and a bowl of salt.

‘Brave bugger, I'll say that for you,' Will said as he gingerly sponged the bloody welts that cross-hatched Gem's back. ‘I take it this is your first flogging?'

Gem's voice was dark with hatred. ‘And I guarantee it'll be my last, pal.'

‘Steel yourself. I'm going to pack your wounds with salt. It'll hurt like buggery. Can't avoid scarring but it will stop infection from setting in.'

Daniel saw that in Will's presence Gem dropped all bravado, giving in to each application of salt with a muffled groan.

‘Your hands are as gentle as a girl's, Will Martens.'

‘Hey, make no mistake,' Will said quickly. ‘I may be small like a girl but I can out-ride and out-shoot the lot of you. I ain't no convict's wife!'

Gem gave a wry laugh. ‘Don't worry about me, pal. My taste don't run to boys. I have eyes for no one but my own true love.'

‘Married, I take it?'

‘For life. A Romani lass with hair that shines like a blackbird's wing. And blue eyes a man'd die for.' He grimaced with pain. ‘You're doing a fine job. I'm in your debt.'

Daniel noted Will Martens was unusually hesitant. ‘It's not fair to beg a favour at a moment like this but one day you might care to teach me a few bare-knuckle fighter's tricks – how to handle men bigger than me.' Will shrugged, ‘Which means just about every man in the colony!'

Gem held out his hand for the boy to shake. ‘My pleasure, pal. You can count on it.'

He gave an involuntary groan as he moved to a sitting position to drink the water.

‘I'd best return to work. Can't let the Devil think he's broken me!'

As Daniel watched Gem doggedly return to work, he felt shamed by his failure to come to the courageous Gypsy's aid. He slipped away to his hidden store of paper, intent on capturing the scene he had just witnessed. The white-hot rush of creation promised him it would be a remarkable piece of work.

• • •

The following day Daniel was surprised to be reassigned to far less arduous work – tending a section of the garden close to the two-storey sandstone Georgian mansion that was the Jonstones' country residence.

He felt grateful for this rare chance to be alone in congenial surroundings. The flowerbeds reminded him of a transplanted corner of England. The serenity was broken by the noisy arrival of the master's mud-splattered family coach. It drew up sharply before the front portico to allow the prematurely stooped Julian Jonstone and his pale, fragile wife to alight. They were said to be cousins and Daniel saw their features were indeed identical. Without pausing to break step, the master ordered an assigned woman to carry his little daughter Victoria to her room.

The sudden flurry of activity intrigued Daniel as a stream of servants rushed to unload crates full of exotic fruits with tantalising aromas. Assigned men ran to the cool room to liberate carcasses of beef and lamb – food that was a memory to Daniel.

A second carriage arrived with its roof piled high with luggage. Three young men jumped out and unloaded cases that seemed to hold musical instruments. One man carried a cello as tenderly as a father holds his child.

Musicians!
Daniel was excited by the promise of an assembly – brilliant costumes, dancing, a glimpse of the outside world to translate into art. He desperately wanted to get close enough to observe it. Yet if he were caught spying on his betters he would be flogged. At the thought of that, perspiration broke out on his face and ran down his neck, but he kept on working.

The next arrival was the most splendid English carriage he had ever seen. Coachman and footman were garbed in blue and gold livery, white periwigs under tricorn hats – outlandish costumes in this remote bush setting but their grandeur was not diminished by the fine coat of dust that covered them from head to foot.

Daniel had a sense of awe when he saw the coat of arms on the carriage door partially obscured by mud. It was well known that the Jonstones moved at the highest levels of society in Sydney Town. Could this carriage be bearing the governor himself?

It revealed someone even more exciting. He was transfixed by the young woman who alighted, dressed in silk that shimmered as she spun around like a doll on a music box.

Daniel had trained his eye to absorb rapidly the details of any face he wished to draw but never in his life had he seen anything so exquisitely beautiful.

As if conscious of the intensity of his gaze the girl turned to meet his eyes, giving him a secretive, knowing smile. Then she entered the Jonstone house on the arm of her travelling companion, a richly dressed gentleman.

Despite the risk of discovery, Daniel ran to his hidden hoard of paper and began to sketch the young woman, burning to see her again to study her beauty. He was confident he had captured her coquettish eyes, the provocative pout of her red mouth. But the nose wasn't right. Was it tip-tilted? And there was something very odd about the intricate coil of her lustrous black hair.

• • •

The sound of a soprano singing a German love song drifted on the night air. It attracted Daniel like the siren call of the Lorelei, the legendary enchantress that an old salt had warned him led sailors to their doom. Climbing up into an apple tree Daniel skinned his leg but a bloody knee was a small price to pay for a ringside view of the ballroom. Dancing couples whirled past the open French windows like patterns in a kaleidoscope.

He caught his breath when the diminutive beauty he had glimpsed that morning drifted out onto the terrace, fluttering a black lace fan as delicate as a spider's web. Positioning herself on a seat to take advantage of the breeze, she drank from a crystal goblet.

Her black hair was elaborately piled in a knot on the top of her head and decorated with feathers and a jewelled comb, a single long curl had escaped down one cheek. Plump, snow-white shoulders rose above the lace décolletage of a black satin ball gown, its bodice and skirt embroidered with bouquets of gold and scarlet flowers. Daniel was charmed by the way she pouted, then with an irritable swish of her skirts made her way down to the lawn. He was alarmed to see her heading straight towards the apple tree. Another few steps and she would discover him.

Her smile was a tease. ‘What have we here? A young man hiding in a tree. I saw you in the garden this morning. You couldn't take your eyes off me. What's your name, boy?'

‘Daniel Browne, Ma'am. Please, you mustn't talk to me. Master wouldn't like it.'

‘Nonsense. No one tells
me
what to do.' She emptied her glass and Daniel suspected she was slightly tipsy.