An Unconventional Heiress Page 22

  Moll went to the corner of the room and came back with a large pannikin full of yellow liquid.

  ‘You heard him, drink this.’

  There was no point now in defiance—and the evil-looking stuff might help her to sleep. The strong liquid scorched her throat so much that she almost gagged on it, but pride reasserted herself. She would not be cowed or show fear or dislike of what was happening to her, so she drained the pannikin to its last disgusting dregs and handed it back to Moll, thanking her for the drink.

  She had hoped that the vile stuff would help her to sleep and so it did, but not before, her head buzzing and reeling, she had an apparently incongruous memory of Governor Bligh’s portrait. The puzzle as to why she should remember such a thing was solved when she recalled saying to Alan Kerr, on that night months ago in Government House, ‘I’m not likely to partake of that, Dr Kerr,’ when he had told her, while standing before Bligh’s portrait, about the convicts’ habit of brewing illicit whisky.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ever since John Langley had told him that Sarah was going home to be married, Alan Kerr had tried to believe that either he had never loved her or he loved her no longer. He had steeled himself, as her departure grew more imminent, to a lonely future in which his work, and his work alone, would have to satisfy him. After all, he now had a role in life, a duty to perform for the people of the colony, and this would have to suffice—but he knew in his heart that it would not.

  The day before the Rising he had made up his mind that he would try to see Sarah for one last time, to repair the breach between them that he had created, and to make one last effort to propose marriage to her. Never mind that she was already promised to another and that it was not a gentleman’s part to trouble her with his own offer. Well, I’m no longer a gentleman, he had thought, I’m an ex-felon, but I have my rights and one of them is to make an offer to the woman I love.

  Alas, the following morning had brought the Rising and Sukie’s news that Sarah was in danger. The thing that had distressed him most was all the time which he had wasted by refusing to see her—and now…and now…he might never see her again. This dreadful thought ran through his mind over and over again while he followed the trail through the undergrowth that her kidnappers had taken.

  He rode along it until the bush became so thick that it was impossible to continue on horseback. Prince Charlie, his big grey, had helped him to make good time, but now he must dismount, and leave him to try to find his way back to Sydney. His horse might deserve better of him, but he had no choice. Alan slapped Prince Charlie on his rump and started him on his way.

  He slung the pack containing the rest of his food and water on his back, resting for a few moments before setting off on foot. The moon was high in the sky when he breasted a gentle rise and saw before him a clearing where a fire was burning before a number of shacks. Two men were acting as sentries and patrolling the surrounding area. He had reached the rebels’ camp.

  Was Sarah there, still alive and hopefully untouched, or should he journey on? He had come so far that, if he were to return to Sydney to get help, Sarah might well be dead before a rescue party could reach her—or the rebels, taking Sarah with them, might have moved on.

  No, as with his horse, Prince Charlie, he had no choice. He must remain and try to save her himself. There was also the hope that Tom might have managed to persuade the military to come after them. He dropped to the ground, and crawled nearer to the shacks, using the remains of the bush as protection. A number of the rebels were sleeping in the open, but he was too far away to tell if any of them were women.

  He crept on towards a cluster of small trees, which stood at some distance from the sentries, where he would be able to lie down and sleep without being seen. There was nothing he could do until daylight when he might be able to discover whether or not these were the rebels who had kidnapped Sarah. Hard though it would be, he must try to sleep himself in order to be ready for anything in the morning.

  In the early dawn the noise from the little camp aroused him from his uneasy slumber. In the hope of seeing Sarah, he crawled forward once more but, again, not so close to the shacks that he might be detected.

  He recognised many of the men whom he had seen around Sydney. Kevin Riley was particularly prominent, and it was was clear, from the scraps of conversation which floated across, that he was the leader. His hopes for Sarah’s safety rose a little: he knew Riley to be basically decent. On the other hand, pushed to the limit as the rebels were, mercy for any man, woman or child might be in short supply.

  Lying hidden and unmoving in sight of the camp, he kept watch and tried to work out how he might save his love—if saveable she were.

  Back in Sydney, Tom’s return with the injured Carter and the news of Sarah’s capture had caused an immediate furore. He drove straight to the Langleys’ home and confronted John with Carter, whom the pair of them carried to bed. A crying Sukie was sent for Mr Wentworth, the surgeon who had been helping Alan and Drew to care for the injured soldiers.

  ‘And Sarah?’ John asked hoarsely.

  ‘Captured,’ said Tom, briefly. There was no point in wasting his breath on a man faced with such dreadful news.

  John sank into a chair, his head in his hands. He looked up at Tom. ‘God forgive me. What will they do to her?’

  ‘Kill her—or worse. Probably both. She’ll be a hostage, but when they hear that Ryan was shot in cold blood…’ He did not finish.

  John rose. ‘We must see O’Connell at once and ask him to send some of his men into the bush after her.’

  Tom pushed him back into his chair, walked to a side-table with a tantalus in it and brought him a tumbler of spirits. ‘That’s been done. I saw Pat Ramsey on the way here. He’s gone to tell O’Connell. The trouble is that he’s likely to set Sarah’s needs against the safety of the colony. He won’t send any of his troops into the bush until he’s sure that the Rising’s over and all the leaders are smoked out.’

  If John had not been so distraught, he would have noticed how much Tom’s speech had changed. The slang, the Yorkshire mannerisms, the thieves’ cant had all disappeared and he spoke to John as Alan or one of the officers would have done.

  John swallowed his brandy in one convulsive shudder. ‘But the Rising is surely over now.’

  ‘They’re searching the town for rebels, house by house. O’Connell’s pride is involved. He’ll take a terrible revenge on all those whom he thinks are involved. They’ve captured one of Ryan’s lieutenants, Quinn, and they’ve been flogging the names of the dissidents out of him.’

  John shuddered again. ‘I owe you an apology, Dilhorne—and Kerr, too.’

  Tom turned to go. ‘I don’t want it, Langley. Remember what I said to you earlier. If aught has happened to Sarah I’ll see that you pay for it—and there’s more. Alan Kerr has gone into the bush after her and you’ll pay for his life, too, if he doesn’t return.’

  He was bone weary and to deal longer with John Langley would only tire him more. He had other errands. There was O’Connell to see; if he would not do anything to rescue Sarah then, by damn, he would raise a small force himself and go after her and his friend.

  All through the long hot morning. Alan lay in the shade, just outside the camp, waiting to catch a glimpse of Sarah. He was rewarded when she came out of one of the shacks, carrying a bucket of slops that she slung into the bush not far from where he lay. A few yards further on and he would have been drenched in ordure.

  He was relieved to see that, although she was hot and dishevelled, quite unlike the Sarah he knew, she did not look or behave as though she had been mistreated. Far from it. She appeared again, a little later, carrying a basket of washing. A thin, shrewish woman followed her, berating her for some supposed misdeed.

  To Alan’s amusement Sarah dropped the washing basket, put her hands on her hips and fired a volley of words back at the woman. He was not near enough to hear what she was saying. The thin woman thereupon aimed a slap
at her, which Sarah neatly dodged. Their embryo brawl was stopped by Kevin Riley, who pulled them apart and shouted at them impartially.

  Neither woman looked at all abashed. Sarah picked up the washing, carried it to some bushes not far from where Alan was hiding and started to spread it out on them. When Sarah moved nearer to where he lay, he decided to make use of this opportunity by wriggling his way forward as stealthily as possible and tossing a small stone in her direction.

  When the stone hit her foot Sarah looked about her in alarm, mixed with anger, thinking that it had been thrown by one of the women intent on making her life a misery. When a second, larger one struck her ankle she looked down—to find herself staring at Alan, lying prone on the dust.

  Fortunately she was so surprised to see him that, rather than cry out, she was rendered speechless. Alan put his finger to his lips to warn her to be silent while rapidly running over means of safe communication with her in his mind.

  Once she had recovered from her surprise Sarah’s quick-wittedness stood her in good stead. She continued to spread out the washing very slowly while moving to a spot where she stood between Alan and any possible watchers.

  Thanks to a good night’s whisky-induced sleep, she had recovered a little from the previous day’s shocks and was beginning to hope that she might yet escape from her dreadful predicament. The hostility of the other women was disturbing, but she would not quail before it, not she! She might be a fine lady, but she would give as good as she got. The tough, fighting spirit that had made her life so difficult in polite society stood her in better stead in this enclave of outlaws.

  What a wonderful surprise it had been to see Alan’s beloved face peering up at her through the undergrowth. How in the world had he managed to find her? No, she would not waste time thinking about that: for the present she must concentrate on what he was whispering to her. She could hardly hear him because he dared not speak up for fear of being overheard, but she managed to make out that he was telling her that she must not try to escape until nightfall.

  Because Sarah was taking a long time over what was a simple task, the watching Moll decided that she must be practising a form of mute defiance. She ran towards Sarah, began to scold her for her slowness, and then attempted to drag her away. Sarah, partly out of anger at being man-, or rather, woman-handled, and partly to direct attention from Alan, reacted by fighting back with renewed vigour.

  She wrenched herself out of Moll’s grasp and slapped her face. Moll thereupon screeched at her and caught her by the hair. The two women wrestled together again, Sarah pushing Moll further and further away from where Alan was hidden, until Kevin Riley, attracted by the noise and the ironic cheers of the watching men, burst out of the shack where he had been working.

  ‘Are you two cows at it again? If you don’t stop it at once, I’ll give you both a beating.’

  ‘Come on, Kev,’ called one of the watching men. ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. Let the two Jills carry on with their mill. My money’s on the fine lady.’

  ‘I don’t want the goods damaged,’ shouted Kevin. His angry glare took in a defiant Sarah, her hair now down to her waist, her face red, who had taken the opportunity of his intervention to aim a last defiant slap at Moll before she was pulled away from her.

  ‘By God, madam, I thought that we’d caught a lady, not someone who’d go ten rounds with The Game Chicken. I can see why Nellie thinks so highly of you—but we’ve no time for tantrums here. Remember what I said. The next time you two hens start a mill, it’s a beating for both of you.’

  Alan, lying in the undergrowth, was full of admiration for his fighting Sarah. He guessed, correctly, that she had started the brawl to divert possible attention away from him. He could only hope that she would not go too far and try Riley’s patience too much. He lay quite still until the crowd dispersed before wriggling back into full hiding again.

  A couple of the men bundled Sarah into one of the shacks and Moll into another. Neither of them were allowed out for some time. Sarah, sitting on the floor and told to be quiet, now had time to wonder when Alan had discovered that she was missing and, after that, how he could have found her, seeing that she and her captors were deep in the bush. Was it possible that Carter had not been killed after all, but had somehow managed to send word to Alan that she had been taken prisoner by the rebels?

  She was not foolish enough to believe that her salvation was assured now that Alan had found her, but for the first time she allowed herself a little real hope. Mingled with that hope was her fear for him. What the rebels might do to him if, by ill chance, they found him, did not bear thinking of.

  The day seemed endless. In the late afternoon she was allowed out of the hut to help to prepare the dinner over an open fire. Her tender hands—further softened by doing the wash—made this painful, and Moll, who had become her chief persecutor, cuffed her around the head when she was slow to lift the hot and heavy cauldron from the fire.

  Mindful of Kevin’s threats, Sarah accepted this abuse in order to avoid a beating that might weaken her and make escape impossible. Every time the sentries paced around the edge of the clearing, which they did at infrequent intervals, often passing near to where Alan was hiding, she was fearful for him.

  Unknown to her, while dinner was being ladled out, he had inched even further away and was now lying concealed in a gully where he had hidden his reserves of food and water to shield them from the heat. His thoughts were not all of Sarah, although she was never far from them. He was hoping that Tom would have alerted the military, and might even have enlisted some of his own men so that either, or both, might be on their way to save him and Sarah. He dozed a little in the afternoon heat, hoping that Sarah, too, had had an opportunity to rest, preparatory to an attempt at escape.

  After the meal and in the cool of the gathering dusk Kevin Riley called all the inhabitants of the camp together into the open to tell them that he was resolved that they should all avoid capture for as long as possible.

  ‘We would have moved on before,’ he announced, ‘but we have been waiting for O’Brien and Power to come from Sydney to tell us what happened after you were compelled to retreat to our base camp.’

  These two, together with several others, had been left behind, pretending to be among those who had refused to join in the Rising, with orders to follow with the latest news.

  ‘If necessary,’ he went on, ‘we shall move to quarters further into the bush, and then, if further danger threatens, we shall make for the Blue Mountains and try to cross them.’ This last was the counsel of despair. Many convicts had made for the Blue Mountains, but none had ever returned.

  Alan, who had crept back to the spot where Sarah had hung out the washing, heard this in some dismay. He could see her standing quite near to him. She was obviously being guarded by Moll and another woman, which made it unlikely that she would find an opportunity to escape. Worse than that, if the rebels made for the Blue Mountains then the chance of their being caught by the military were greatly reduced, but their hopes of ultimate survival were low.

  While he was trying not to let these dismal speculations trouble him too much, Alan heard the noise of an approaching party hurrying along the trail by which he had come. For a moment his hopes soared. With any luck this might be the military coming from Sydney to rescue Sarah, but the nearer the noise grew it became apparent that the newcomers were few in number so it was more likely that what he was hearing was the arrival of the rearguard from Sydney which Riley was expecting.

  He was right to think so. Half a dozen men ran past him, shouting urgently. The camp, grasping that they were friends and not enemies, shouted back at them. Riley called vainly for order. It was plain to Alan that his control over his followers was diminishing, throwing Sarah into even greater danger. Riley’s cries were at last heard and obeyed and the rearguard’s leader, Finn O’Brien, began a coherent account of the latest news from Sydney.

  ‘It’s all up, lads. They shot down poor Ryan and flo
gged Quinn to death, but not before they’d whipped the names of many of us out of him. That swine, O’Connell, damn him to hell, has rounded most of us up. We just managed to get away before they found us and before we left we heard that he’s sending soldiers to catch those of us as is hiding in the bush. That bastard Dilhorne and a blackfellow are tracking for them.’

  The reception of this news was what might have been expected. Confusion reigned for several minutes as shouts for vengeance and curses against the military mingled with the calls of Riley for order so that their instant departure might be organised. The whole party milled about, shaking their fists and waving their weaponry—such as it was—cursing God, the military and Governor Macquarie. For a moment even Moll and her partner forgot Sarah in the general cry for vengeance.

  The moment that she grasped that the uproar, allied to the gathering dark, offered her an opportunity to escape, Sarah slipped backwards into the bush, making for the spot where she had last seen Alan. When she reached him he put out his hand and together they ran away from the camp as fast as the bush would allow them, hoping that it might be some time before it was discovered that she was missing. Their only delay was when Alan picked up his iron rations, praying that in the general mêlée the rebels would have little idea of the direction which Sarah might have taken.

  It was just as well that Sarah disappeared when she did. Riley continued to question O’Brien, asking why it was that the military were so soon aware that the rebels had a camp in the bush.

  O’Brien shouted back at him, ‘It was that bastard Dilhorne again and his bloody friend, Kerr. They went looking for Sarah Langley when they heard that she was coming from Grimes’s Farm yesterday morning. They found her half-dead driver and Dilhorne took the news of her capture straight back to Sydney. Have you still got the bitch, and what are you going to do with her?’