Georgiana measures a length of yellow thread and slides it through the eye of her embroidery needle. Bessie enters the room carrying wood for the fire. Caroline and Georgiana remain silent as she completes her work. After she d eparts, Georgiana says, ‘Our friend Commander Maconoch ie is to be recalled from Norfolk Island, we hear, though there has been no official word. His ideas do not sufficiently deter those poised to transgress the bounds of legality .’ Caroline looks up from her knitting. ‘Y ou are in disagreement?’ ‘We have had good service from many pickpockets and vagabonds while they completed their sentences. That was the great benefit to assignment. Many learned new skills. There were a few that were lazy or impudent at first, but mostly Charles and I found little reason to fault them.’ ‘Was yours an unusual home, Geor giana?’ ‘We were allowed no leniency . We could not invite them to share in the bounty to which their labours had contributed, even at Christmas. It was the law. Mr Meredith, out on the east coast, was threatened with losing all his labour for inviting his convict servants to the family table to share in a meal. Even if a family had emigrated here and was in need of labour, they could not employ a convict who was related to them.’ ‘Are there families here awaiting the release of their loved ones?’ Caroline asks. ‘We had a servant, Mary, who confessed to me that she had deliberately been caught for a crime so she would be transported to be near her husband. But he was sent to New South Wales, and she was sent here. As soon as his pardon was given, he came to join her. They have a home in the midlands now, and several hundred she ep.’ Caroline nods. ‘We grew very fond of Alexander—Commander Maconochie—while he was here, but he caused the Governor much embarrassment,’ adds Georgiana.
Caroline knows Captain Swanst on is well pleased with the d eparture of the previous governor , though his r eplacement has turned out to be a country squire with seemingly little aptitude for the role. ‘What caused this embarrassment?’ Caroline asks. ‘Alexander was a commander in the Royal Navy. He was taken prisoner by the French, and lived in appalling circumstances for two years. His writings on that subject drew the attention of the Prison Reform Society in London, who were looking for someone who might assess the convict population here. He was welcomed by the Governor , and his r eport was duly completed after much industry on his part. The Governor signed it off. But when it was publicised in London, it caused quite a stir. The Governor declared he had never read it, and that he had been painted in a deliberately offensive way while he was simply following the orders he had been charged with upholding. It was all most unpleasant. In the London papers, critics of transportation referred to us as petty rulers and slave owners. Alexander was dismissed by the Governor but the authorities in London offered him a posting on Norfolk Island to trial his new methods.’ ‘And is there evidence of success during his tenure?’ Caroline asks. ‘Apparently many men who had no hope of ever returning to society have earned sufficient merit to be released back into New South Wales. Only one or two of some hundreds and hundreds released under his authority have reof fended.’ Caroline casts off the final stitches and lays the socks aside. Quill is growing fast. According to the marks she has been ke eping on the wall in the hallway , he has grown a full four inches since they came ashore in Van Diemen’ s Land. His feet in particular seem determined to outgrow his boots and ruin every pair of socks. ‘New South Wales,’ continues Georgiana, ‘would rather import wheat from Valparaíso than acc ept the goods of Van Diemen’ s Land tainted by convict labour. England allows our wool to rot on the wharves, making it unsaleable, when the wool that leaves here is of a better quality than Yorkshire can produce. Sydney chooses to forget who made their roads and cleared their lands. Do you know the tide of free settlers coming here has almost entirely dried up? Not a single new arrival in the past twelve months, when previously we have had thousands, but there is no shortage of new convicts. We are left to languish under this burden while Sydney continues to expand and Melbourne promises a glittering future.’
‘Perhaps we must offer something new,’ says Caroline. ‘Something unexpected.’ ‘Champagne!’ says Georgiana, laughing. ‘Oh, I am glad that you have not been dissuad ed, Caroline! I see the work you are doing, and it stirs me. How I long to join you in your grand emprise, but my dear husband ...’ ‘He disapproves?’ ‘No. He simply finds you unexpected, my dear.’ She paused. ‘And does it not concern you that you put so much industry into a place that is not your own ...’ Caroline regards her friend. ‘Dear Georgiana, I must seek your forgiveness.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because I have k ept a substantial fact from you, and I asked your husband to do the same. I purchased the cottage and the land with the vineyard when I first arrived here. Forgive me for asking your husband to maintain this secret. I did not want the speculation such a purchase would bring. It seemed much wiser to be seen as a tenant.’ Georgiana shakes her head and smiles. ‘Caroline Douglas, you are an inspiration! I wish to propose a toast. The men may well be recorded within the papers and books of this colony, but the women ... where would the world be without our ingenuity?’ ‘You do not mind my intrigue?’ ‘How can I mind when it is my husband’ s work to maintain such discretion? Your secret is safe with me.’ ‘If only I was a winemaker , or there was one I could learn this art from,’ Caroline says. Georgiana ponders a moment then says, ‘It’s possible that on Norfolk Island there might be someon e amongst all those men improved and restored under Maconochie’ s care. I am sure it is unlikely , but still ...’ ‘I suppose it is possible such a person might exist,’ Caroline concedes with measured reluctance. ‘A man who knows something of making wine. But as you say , unlikely .’
In the work Tante Henriette trained her in, Caroline did not fail to engage the kind-hearted or charm the wary, vanishing after an order was made, a transaction completed, certain items acquired. She appeared as a young man, tall, slender, small and blond, or dark, possibly Spanish, Welsh or European, but surely he was real? This is his signature upon the order. Here the confirmation of delivery . Here, look, this is the very place the item sat within a locked case. It cannot be that there is no such person. They were returning to Tante Henriette’ s through Regent’ s Park one Sunday afternoon dressed as themselves, arm in arm and both a little giddy after champagne and crème brûlée at a French shop that Henriette frequented in Drury Lane. They’d had a most successful week. It was Caroline who noticed, too late, the black carriage by her aunt’s front door. The men gathered on the street looking in both directions. She glanced behind her and glimpsed , a little way back, another man who might have been following them. Two men waiting by the apartment appeared to have spotted Tante Henriette and began walking towards them. ‘Tante Henriette,’ Caroline said, her voice low . ‘Police.’ Her aunt slipped her arm, kissing Caroline on both cheeks. ‘Walk away,’ she said. ‘Do not hurry but do not delay or look back. Do not risk yourself for me. Do what you must.’ Caroline st epped between other pedestrians into a lane at her left. She turned right and right again, waiting to see if she was being followed, and then walked quickly to the laneway behind her aunt’s apartment . There was no one about. She withdrew a key from her purse and unlocke d the stable door, entering the room of treasures. The latest wares lay covered on the central table. Upstairs, she heard footst eps and voices. Caroline took off her shoes and climbed the secret stairs to listen at the door . ‘It is a shocking allegation,’ she heard Tante Henriette declare. ‘I am a companion of Lady Darlington. I have many friends in high places who will
advise the Commissioner of your actions. Your egregious suspicions will be dismissed out of hand.’ Caroline waited until she heard the drumbeat of footst eps descending and the apartment door slammi ng shut. She raced on stockinged feet back downstairs and peered through a gap in the curtains. Tante Henriette was being ushered into the waiting black carriage. When Caroline was certain there was no one left upstairs, she entered the apartment. From the wardrobe, she quickly took a wig, a suit, shoes, stockings, hat and coat. She folded all these into one of her aunt’s suitcases. From a false recess in a drawer, she removed a metal box. She checked its contents and took a second suitcase. On her way out, she saw the inlaid chessboard sitting on the side table. She tucked it under her arm and was gone. Downstairs she worked quickly , an ear to the street outside. If it was small, she took it, wrapping in linen each precious thing. A dozen silver cake forks and matching teaspoons, two gold snuffboxes, one pair of pearl earrings, one pair of diamond earrings, two pairs of gold-and-diamond cufflinks, a silver bracelet of pearls and sapphires, eight silver napkin rings, eight silver eggcups, several small bowls of filigree silver, a diamond choker and a gold-and-enamel necklace set with diamonds, turquoise and pink tourmaline. She also retrieved the long leather cylinder containing a map of the world. When both suitcases were unable to hold any more, she squeezed them shut. At the door to the laneway , she checked for any activity . There was none. The light had faded and the lane remained deserted. She went in search of a hackney coach to assist her . At Gulliver Wendover’s door she knocked and was admitted. He sent a boy to enquire at Bow Street police station. The boy returned to tell them that Tante Henriette was still detained. Caroline called upon the forger, the widow Beck, whose services were not cheap but they were reliable. The papers, she assured Caroline, would be ready in the morning. Only when the hackney coach had returned Caroline to the house where she was governess, and the suitcases were beneath the bed, did her heart stop racing. Just after dawn, Caroline entered the kitchen. The cook was blowing coals in the oven, and bread was rising on the hearth.
‘Miss Caroline,’ she said, ‘you are up with the sparrows.’ ‘I have had awful news last night, Mrs Hollis. My grandmother in Paris is dying and has requested that I come in haste. I have spent a sle epless night, but I must go.’ ‘Aye, of course, lass,’ said Mrs Hollis. ‘You must. And good luck to you. Take care that you don’ t let any of those Frenchmen get the better of you.’ ‘I shall ke ep my wits about me, Mrs Hollis,’ said Caroline, amused at the cook’s concerns. ‘I have heard there is a service from Paddington that will take me to Dover , and from there I can cross to Calais.’ She handed the cook an envelope. ‘I have drafted a letter. Please make sure the mistress receives it with my apologies to the family, and especially to my pupils. I will send word as soon as I can of my likely return.’ ‘They will be hard-pressed to do without you, that’s what,’ says Mrs Hollis, and she was surprised but pleased when Caroline kissed her on the cheek. Out on the street, Gulliver Wendover awaited with a carriage. He stowed her trunks and suitcases and took Caroline away. Their first stop was the premises of Mrs Beck, where the requested papers were waiting. Next she asked Wendover to approach the street of her aunt’s apartment, feeling sure she would have been released by now . To her dismay, the front door was guarded. In the laneway behind the apartment, men were ferrying goods from the stables and loading them into a police wagon. She had no way of liberating Henriette now. No way of giving her the new identity Mrs Beck had created for each of them overnight. It was only a matter of time before the police searched for associates. They may already have heard of an accomplice. A young man seen with Henriette when she left a certain house. Who was Tante Henriette’ s family? If the police discovered Caroline’ s existence and questioned her, they would discover who her father was. Things would go badly . She instructed Wendover to continue on. She would leave London today and wait for word of her aunt’s release. And then she would be ready to whisk her aunt away to safety . She availed herself of Wendover ’s apartment and changed into the garb of a man. The wait until the bank opened felt as if time had conspired to
torment her . ‘I require a portion in cash and the remainder in a bank cheque,’ Caroline said to the clerk. ‘And I have a letter from my uncle who is also seeking travel funds.’ He observed the amount and regarded the young man that was Caroline. ‘Sir, I will have to pass this on to the manager .’ ‘Be quick about it,’ the young man r eplied. ‘A family emergency in Amsterdam,’ she said to the manager , who had met both Carolin e and Henriette before in their masculine garb. ‘We do not know how long we will be gone.’ ‘I understand, sir,’ said the manager. ‘I shall make all the arrangements. Would you care for tea while you wait?’ Caroline forced herself not to jiggle her foot or scratch her bearded chin. She drank tea, read a newspape r she was offered and affected the pose of one who was unperturbed, all the while her attention discreetly fixed on the door to the street. From Paddingto n, she did not go south to Dover but took a coach north to Liverpool, permitted to share the seat with the one other man while three women squeeze d together on the opposite bench. From a modest but pleasant hotel, returned to her female form, she sent word to Wendover to make enquiries. When word came back her heart dropped. Imprisoned in Millbank, awaiting trial. He added a newspaper clipping. The case is causing considerable fascination because the lady has letters of recommendation from both Lady A— and Lady D—for whom she has been a trusted companion ... It is said that the police found enough stolen goods to furnish a bazaar. It is uncertain if she worked alone. Caroline penned a brief note to Tante Henriette. Paris is so beautiful in the sprin g . I long for you to be her e, beloved. I have everything pr epar ed for your arrival. Do let me know if ther e is anything I can do to speed your travels. She signed it: d’Artagnan .
She enclosed the note in a letter to Wendover , asking him to find a way to deliver it by hand and secure a r eply . When it came, it was short. Cher d’Artagnan, Alas, it might be some time befor e I r esume my travels. Meanwhile, I wish you bon voyage. Caroline approached a contact of Henriette’ s in Liverpool and sold the gold- and-diamond cufflinks. Her identity as a widow was already forming as she ordered a black silk dress, veil and gloves, and a suitable bonnet. She bought passage to New York with a private cabin. She had been using crime to organise her life for more than two years. During the month she spent crossing the inclement waters of the Atlantic, she took out the world map and considered her options. ‘You must invent a new story ,’ she heard her aunt say .
In the reading room in Hobart, Caroline finds an advertisement in an edition of the Sydney Gazette : Henriette Colbert invites young ladies to learn French at her esteemed establishment. Tante Henriette is in Sydney! Caroline’ s heart leaps. Why had she imagined her aunt had remained incarcerated in England when it seemed every other thief was sent to the colonies? Caroline had been sure Henriette’ s aristocratic friends would have saved her from anything but the most lenient sentence. But no. Henriette was in Sydney . She would never have come to the colonies voluntarily. She must have been transported, and now she had a ticket of leave, or a pardon. Caroline deliberates for some weeks, but cannot stop considering her aunt’s fate. She writes a letter to the address of the school noted on the advertisement. No r eply comes. She writes again but several months pass and still there is no word. She goes to the colonial office in Hobart Town seeking information about a family friend whom she believed had been transported. When she returns to the office three weeks later, a letter awaits her. It is on official government stationery . There is Henriette’ s name and prisoner number . The date and the name of the ship on which she was transported. The date of her arrival in Sydney . The date when a ticket of leave was issued. And then, the date of her death. It cannot be true, Caroline thinks. She asks the clerk if further information can be ascertained as to the nature of her death. He suggests that a visit to Sydney may be the only way to secure more information. But he assures Caroline that the government records are accurate. For such a note to be in the colonial record, a death certificate must have been issued. He offers his sympathies. Tante Henriette is no longer alive. She had died four months ago, perhaps on the very day Caroline had seen her aunt’s advertisement in the newspaper . She walks up the hill towards Everlea, trying to take in this news. Arriving home, Caroline goes to the big tree and sits upon the swing.
There is nothing she can do. Her beautiful and formidable aunt is gone. Had it been an illness? An assailant? Someone she trusted? Someone she had stolen from? Perhaps Henriette had been caught in an act of theft and killed, or was discovered by an old enemy. Did Tante Henriette have enemies? Caroline did not know, but she supposed there might have been quite a few d eprived of their goods content to see an end to her aunt. Such people might feel the same way about her accomplices. Henriette had apprenticed Caroline into a clever, daring and dangerous life when Caroline had been alone and bereft. It had made Caroline’ s whole future here in Van Diemen’ s Land possible. She thought of her aunt’s words as the police had stood outside her apartment. ‘Walk away. Do not hurry but do not delay or look back. Do not risk yourself for me. Do what you must.’ Caroline had fled from London with treasures and money. She had used it to pay passage to New York and to invest in the cargo on the Alliance . She had bought the farm. She had extinguished the debt that had ensnared Quill. And at this she broke down and w ept. She could not tell Henriette of all that had happened. She could not thank her now. She would never see her again. Her aunt would never know the life Caroline was creating, the plans she had for the future. Caroline had been the only family Henriette might have relied on to help her after she was released. How she must have hated the poverty of her life then, and wondered what had become of her niece. She had been so close that Caroline might have sailed to Sydney in less than a week. There is a darker truth which Caroline we eps for. She is no longer the ingenue, the orphan, the lost girl with no one to guide her. She’d had far too much to lose if her aunt had reappeared. What would the Swanstons have made of it? An aunt imprisoned for theft on a grand scale? What if Tante Henriette had sought to embroil her anew in criminality? Caroline did not doubt that she had been a useful partner, someone her aunt could trust implicitly . Someone she had personally trained. A natural at artifice and disguise, light-finge red and good with locks, but also ad ept at planning and procuring, accounts and ledgers, and sufficiently fluent in French to deal with the merchants in Paris. Her aunt had been fearless, calculating and determined. Caroline had learned these qualities. And she too had secured an accomplice. A boy called Quill who gave her the illusion of respectability and family. Yes, she had grown fond of him on the ship, offering him the opportunity her aunt
had offered her. A different future. A bigger life. But Quill had been useful, too, as Caroline had been useful. She did not like to see this part of herself, yet here she was, in a harsher light. She remembers asking Tante Henriette how she remained a faithful Catholic in her line of work, and her aunt had r eplied. ‘ Sans dou te, quand je serai morte, je brûlerai en enfer . ’ No doubt when I am dead I will burn in hell. She looks up at the contours of the mountain, the lofty, faithless clouds, the swooping swallows, the lucent river, the slumbering vines, the susurrant leaves and the grand graceful branches above her. ‘Let me tell you about my extraordinary aunt,’ she says. Afterwards, when she is emptied of every memory she can summon, and so many regrets, she takes a ring from her finger. It is a simple pearl set in silver, stolen early in her apprenticeship, which Tante Henriette had encouraged her to ke ep. She wraps it in a handkerchief and buries it within the roots of the eucalypt, then she walks back through the golden grass to the cottage.
‘You are burdened by some matter of gravity, Captain Swanston,’ says Caroline. He has asked her to join him while they walk the vineyard. ‘I find my labours daily increase, Mrs Douglas. These are times of general distress. When it will end, God only knows. Yesterday a friend, Learmonth, was declared insolvent and, as far as I can judge, his estate will pay nothing. His debts are very large, chiefly absentees, people who have never seen this place, but all expect to be r epaid. I have had requests for the extension of credit from some of my best investors, from high-ranking civil servants and pastoralists. All kinds of property , whether stock, land or shares in companies, are unsaleable exc ept at ruinous prices. As yet we have suffered no loss at the Derwent Bank, but we cannot expect to es cape. We have reduced our dividends to ten per cent. I had hoped for better with Franklin gone, but the current regime continues its imbecility . I believe the government cof fers are empty but none will declare it.’ ‘I am sorry to hear it,’ says Caroline. ‘In Port Phillip my sons continue to expand the estate and talk of the vineyards being planted there by neighbours. Perhaps I have been remiss in not giving your endeavour more attention, Mrs Douglas,’ he says. ‘This colony needs new notions to lift it from its malaise. And it needs them enacted by people of skill and worth. Broughton saw it twenty years ago, and people still speak of the man in the most glowing terms as a winemaker . I have walked this way to observe your efforts on several occasions in the past weeks. I hope you will not think that strange.’ ‘Of course not, Captain Swanston. And I believe the new season could yet bear a crop that will prove the numbers we have seen in Broughton’ s journals,’ Caroline says. ‘But only if we can secure the services of a winemaker well versed in the varietals and climate we have at hand.’ And then Captain Swanston says the words that have almost certainly travelled to him from Caroline’ s conversation with Geor giana.
‘You would think,’ he says, ‘that in all these tens of thousands of convicts we might find one who is a winemaker . Is such a thing too much to ask? Surely we might find one man here with the necessary ability. What say you, Mrs Douglas?’ ‘It is an idea, Captain Swanston. Although it would be a risk.’ ‘I have employed many such men before, and found them pliable and hardworking. If such a person was found and made available, what then, Mrs Douglas?’ ‘Your partnership, Captain Swanston. As you say, there are people who remember Broughton’ s success. But your r eputation and in volvement would make the project successful even before we begin: New Town Park making champagne from the same vineyard that produced such popular wine.’ Captain Swanston nods. ‘You know my preference for discretion, Captain Swanston. You must be willing to have it be seen as your affair and receive, in time, the public rewards.’ ‘If I am to join you in this scheme,’ r eplies Swanston, ‘you must understand that I place a powerful trust in you on behalf of my family and my r eputation. It cannot fail.’ ‘You need have no doubt of my willingness to work hard, but it is the winemaker who will make the success.’ ‘It does concern me that you yourself have no experience in winemaking, Mrs Douglas. And if a man can be found, it is not easy to rely so heavily on the industry of a former criminal. You have no experience in that either . The situation can be intimidating.’ ‘I employed the convict women who cleared the vineyard and undertook the pruning, and those who picked the harvest.’ ‘Yes, yes, and I do not doubt they served you well. But this is someone you must align yourself with for some years.’ ‘If there is a candidate, I do not doubt your ability to intensively interrogate his character , Captain Swanston,’ says Caroline. ‘And then perhaps we must look beyond his history to our future prosperity .’ ‘Let us first find a man we believe is capable of the task,’ he says. ‘I shall enquire this week of the Convict Superintendent.’ ‘And I shall speak with the Walkers,’ says Caroline. ‘I know they continue a correspondence with the Commandant on Norfolk Island.’
‘Ah, Maconochie,’ says Swanston. ‘We knew him when he worked for the Governor here. An idealist but a good man. I doubt we will find a suitable man amongst those inmates.’ Early the following morning, Caroline visits the Walkers. Washington and Julia and their young son are in their kitchen garden. They invite her to join them for tea. ‘I have come to seek a favour,’ Caroline tells them. ‘Captain Swanston has expressed some interest in assisting with the vineyard.’ ‘He has overcome his resistance?’ asks Julia. ‘Almost. He suggests we need the aid of an experienced winemaker . But as you yourselves have learned, it is not possible to attract a suitable person from Europe while our r eputation as a place of convict slavery continues.’ ‘It is indeed the case,’ Washington agrees. ‘And so it occurs to me, despite all I have heard of that notorious place, that perhaps there is a prisoner with the necessary skills who might have benefited from your friend Maconochie’ s program of reform.’ Washington looks at her as if he has heard a particular note of music. ‘I had a letter some time back in which our dear friend mentioned a prisoner who, as I recall, was planting a vineyard on the island.’ Caroline hopes she does not blush. ‘If you would be pr epared to write to the Commandant about this, will you ensure that such a request is accompanied by an approach from Captain Swanston?’ asks Caroline. ‘I believe he referred to Maconochie as fearless.’ ‘Perhaps a little too fearless,’ says Julia. ‘Washington, did you not receive word that he is pr eparing for d eparture? A letter might not reach him before he is dispatched back to England.’ ‘I will see Captain Swanston today, if I can,’ says Washington. ‘Rest assured, Caroline, it is underway .’ As she returns home, Caroline reflects on Julia and Washington’s congenial partnership. Her thoughts wander to John Mercer and she wonders what kind of a husband he might make. Were she to become a wife, she would have to surrender many of the liberties she enjoys living with Quill and Bessie, where no one requires her to be anything but herself.