Ironbark (66 page)

‘You're dead right, Rev. I know you mean well but you're just wasting your time on me. I'm a lost cause.'

‘I doubt our Creator would agree. And I should advise you that as I am a priest nothing you reveal to me in confidence can be used in evidence in court.'

Jake outlined how he'd been convicted of helping mates who were bushrangers. He hoped this would deter the chaplain. On the contrary it aroused his interest.

‘Ah, Jabber Jabber – a young Quaker who knows his bible. I was out riding with my Roman Catholic colleague Father Dennis Declan when the lad bailed us up. He refused to take money from men of the cloth so we had a lively chat about St Matthew the tax collector instead.'

Jake realised he needed to take a stronger tack to be rid of this bible-basher.

‘It gets worse, Rev. In your eyes I'm an adulterer. I've been on the run with another bloke's wife for near two years and loved every bloody minute of it.'

The chaplain paused before adding quietly, ‘I should warn you I'm damned hard to shock, Jakob. And the woman in question is known to
me – a lady who doesn't deserve to be here. The so-called Killer Schoolteacher.'

Jake was startled and tried to stare him out. ‘I didn't say it was her.'

‘You didn't have to, Jakob. I have been around prisons long enough to recognise a prisoner's guilt or innocence as soon as I see the whites of their eyes.'

‘She's charged with murder,' Jake added quickly, ‘but she's innocent!'

Jake stared into the chaplain's eyes and defiantly placed his hand on the bible. ‘If I get half a chance, I swear to God I'll
kill
to get her out of here. You see, Rev, you're wasting your time on me!'

‘No. You need me now more than ever.' The chaplain rose. ‘God moves in mysterious ways. I marked a passage. Read it when you're alone!'

Jake felt there was nothing to be lost by throwing in a wild card. ‘I don't suppose you could get a message to Saranna Browne?'

The chaplain gave him a wink. ‘Read that, son. Then we'll talk again.'

Jake was suddenly alert.
What kind of priest is this joker?

Back in the dogbox of a cell he shared with a gentle old man who claimed he was Jesus, Jake discovered a blank piece of paper wrapped around a pencil inside the bible. Was this a trick to force him to read the bible he had successfully avoided all his life? Jake read with difficulty the verses underlined in St John's Gospel.

In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself: that where I am, there ye may be also.

An asterisk beside the word ‘mansions' had a note pencilled in the margin that read: ‘A word lost in translation. The original meaning might best be translated as
levels
.'

Does this mean other levels in this gaol? The basement? An attic?

Pencilled at the foot of the page were the chaplain's words: ‘I go to visit her tomorrow. If you have private words you want delivered to her I am at your service.'

‘Well, I'll be buggered. A priest who's a smuggler!'

Laboriously Jake began to write a secret love letter to Keziah, taking care not to use her name or his own in case his letter was intercepted.

• • • 

In a small courtyard in the gaol Jake muttered angrily as he swung his pick at the section of flagstones he had been ordered to dig up.
If you ask me it's a bloody stupid place to dig a well. What's their bloody hurry?

He suspected the pointless work was designed to keep prisoners like him fully occupied today. Everyone knew 22 October was the day set for the public hanging of Lucretia Dunkley and her Irish lover, Martin Beech. Since dawn Jake had heard the arrival of carriages and carts. The word was that Berrima's population had swelled overnight with spectators from surrounding villages ready to enjoy The Finisher hanging the murderers on the scaffold erected outside the prison wall.

Jake knew precisely what this first execution of a woman at Berrima Gaol meant.
The bloody authorities might take it into their heads to keep The Finisher in town ready to hang Kez.
Nobody else was low enough to do his job and it was only forty-eight hours before the commencement of Keziah's trial.

As he levered the stones up Jake went over every detail he had gleaned about the case. He took no satisfaction from Daniel's report that no one had shed a tear at Iago's burial in Jonstone's family graveyard, least of all Iago's wife, who had bolted from Gideon Park before the funeral. Apparently the old priest had been shocked when the first sod of earth on the coffin was greeted by a rousing cheer from Iago's army of assigned men. Iago could rot in hell. Nothing mattered to Jake except Keziah. He had one consolation. Old Lucretia had had no legal representation in a trial presided over by Chief Justice Dowling, where as Keziah was up against a newly appointed judge and she had Joseph
Bloom working on her case night and day with the Doc and Daniel.

When Jake heard a second triumphant cheer from outside the gaol walls he knew that The Finisher had dispatched both murderers. If Joseph failed, Keziah could end up standing on that same scaffold with the crowd baying for her blood.

By the eve of Keziah's trial Jake was half mad with worry. His cellmate, Gentle Jesus, lay mercifully asleep, so Jake took advantage of the sliver of moonlight that fell through the slit of window. He poured his heart into another letter to Keziah, promising her that Joseph Bloom would prove her innocence, but if all else failed Jake would set her free himself.

For the past week the prison chaplain had acted as courier for Jake's letters, having assured Jake that after Keziah read them in his presence, he had burned them.

Jake remembered the chaplain's confidential advice that an influential woman was working to have his sentence reduced. This seemed unlikely to Jake. The only woman he knew in high places was Jenny, and she'd rather die than publicly acknowledge his existence.

At the sound of a key grating in the lock Jake hid his latest letter inside his shirt but was relieved to find it was the chaplain who entered. He silently beckoned Jake, taking care not to wake Gentle Jesus.

Jake followed him down the dark labyrinth of corridors between rows of prisoners' cells. Occasionally male voices and catcalls broke the silence. Their footsteps echoed as they climbed a steep stairwell. Jake's nerves were so taut that his question sounded like an accusation. ‘Hey, where are you taking me?'

‘Don't worry. I'm the one with my head on the chopping block if you bolt. So be a good lad and stick with me, eh?'

Jake saw they were travelling down a corridor where cells on both sides appeared to be unoccupied. At the far end of the corridor, a barred window framed a slice of moon that pierced the blackened sky – a sight that caused a painful memory.
Keziah's moon. Will I ever be free to

make love to her again under the stars?

The chaplain halted before an iron door with a small grid. It looked no different to any other door, except that Jake was sure he could hear the sound of breathing.
Keziah.

The chaplain looked apologetic. ‘I'm afraid I can't allow you inside. This is the best I can do, Jakob. Sorry I can only give you a few minutes alone.'

Jake heard the sound of boots moving to the far end of the corridor and saw the chaplain's back outlined against the window as if he was intent on watching the moon rise beyond Berrima Gaol's walls.

There didn't appear to be anybody within the web of shadows in the cell. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he made out a movement on the bunk. He gripped hold of the iron bars and whispered urgently, ‘Kez, it's me!'

She rose as if sleepwalking and crossed to the grid. He realised she was heavily medicated and cursed the Doc for doing his job too well. Her eyes were ringed with dark shadows and her irises were cloudy. Her skin had already taken on a gaolhouse pallor as if she had long been kept underground, hidden from the sun. Her hair hung across her face like a dank veil that she had no energy to push back. Although he had been warned Keziah was not herself, the reality winded him like a punch in the guts. No wonder the Rev had concealed the truth.

‘Everything's going to be all right, Kez. I'll sort things out. Don't lose heart.'

Her fingers reached through the grid to stroke the short bristles of his shaven head.

Her eyes suddenly focused and registered surprise. ‘They've cut off your long hair. What's wrong, Jake?'

Jake had no idea he was crying until he kissed her fingers and saw his tears fall on her hand.

‘I'll get you out of here, darling. One way or another, I'll set you free. I swear to God I won't let you give birth in gaol.'

Keziah was clearly confused. ‘Why can't I be with you, Jake? And why does everyone say Daniel's my husband? I'm
your
woman, Jake.'

Jake only had a few minutes to impress on her what she must hide.

‘Course you are, sweetheart, but that's our secret. You must pretend Daniel's the father of our baby. Judges like things all neat and tidy under the law.' He added patiently as if to a child, ‘Remember, in court you
must
go on pretending you are Saranna Browne. You do understand, don't you?'

Keziah seemed to be slipping away from him. ‘I can't remember. I know Iago's dead. They think I killed him. Do you think I did it?'

‘You did nothing wrong, Kez. Remember that. Iago was the monster. You were only defending yourself from him.'

She looked startled. ‘I remember the muff pistol! You taught me well, Jake.'

‘No, Kez! You mustn't talk about that. Remember one thing! You are
innocent
!'

He reached between the bars to try to draw her face close enough to kiss her, but she was already drifting back to the bunk. He saw her fall asleep before his eyes.

The chaplain pressed his arm. ‘Sorry Jakob. Time's up.'

Jake felt as if his heart had been torn in two but he stumbled after the chaplain, shocked by Keziah's disturbed mental state. Had Iago's death turned her mind? Or was the Doc's medication the cause? He understood why Joseph Bloom was fighting to prevent her giving evidence in her defence. Keziah was so unstable that she would prove to be the prosecution's most damaging witness.

Back in his cell, Jake tried to go over the desperate plan he had been working on for the past week. But his cellmate was wide awake. Gentle Jesus was convinced he was the Son of God and was fervently spouting scriptures.

‘Give it a rest will you, mate?' Jake begged. ‘I can't bloody think straight.'

The old man turned over to go back to sleep. ‘I will see you in Paradise, my son.'

Jake mumbled under his breath. ‘Not if I see you first, mate.'

When the old man was finally quiet Jake went over the plan in his head. The last time he had met Will Martens the lad had revealed to him the exact location of the stone he had removed to escape from this gaol, then replaced in position so that ‘some other poor bastard' could use the same escape route. Will's last words had seemed like a joke at the time.

‘You never know when you might want to use it yourself, mate!'

In the darkness Jake silently swore on his own life.
I'll get you out of here, Kez. One bloody way or another.

Keziah awoke in her cell convinced she had dreamt Jake's visit. His dream image had looked very different, gaunt with a shaven head. In her long ago vision she had seen Jake behind that same metal grid in the cell door. Last night was no dream. She realised reality had one difference. They were both prisoners.

Could I have murdered Iago?
Keziah struggled to identify the cause of the fear that blocked her memory. Each time she mentally tried to re-open the door of Iago's cottage she walked into that terrifying black hole. This time random pieces of memory began to leap into her brain. She was overwhelmed by shame and horror, not by the realisation she had killed Iago, he deserved to die. Her shame was because her act of violence had destroyed the lives of her beloved Jake and their children.

She clung to a single thought.
The letter
. She must keep her wits about her. Tell the truth that would set Jake free. Fight those
gaujos
in court with their own law.

When the warder brought her a basin of water she washed her face hoping the shock of cold water would make her more alert. She had more than a month to go before she was due to give birth but her prison dress was already stretched tightly across her belly.

Moments later Leslie Ross arrived with a package.

‘Joseph Bloom asks you to dress your hair like the modest young wife and mother we all know you are, and Janet Macgregor says this will be most becoming on you in court. She sends you a message: “Keep a brave heart. Live to fight another day.”'

The parcel contained a rose silk gown trimmed with fine lace, the collar pinned with Saranna's cameo brooch. Janet Macgregor's gesture

was the kindness shown by one prisoner to another. Keziah forced herself to meet Leslie's eyes.

‘I am truly blessed in my friends. Forgive me, Doctor, but I don't want to take more laudanum. It gives me terrible dreams. I want to remember. I think I saw Iago die.'

‘Aye, I thought it might come to this,' he said carefully. He removed a metal flask from his medical bag and poured a beaker for her.

‘You are due in court within the hour. This is a new brand of tea from India. You English believe tea solves all problems and it will.'

Keziah gave him a wry smile. ‘I'm a Welsh Romani, but I'll try it anyway.'