you-rather the reverse, and my paper has long campaigned for reform and an end to all transportation. But men sent to Norfolk Island or the Tasmanian
penitentiaries are hardened criminals, you must understand, considered to be beyond reform or redemption, the majority of them. They-was
The band struck up again, and as people crowded onto the floor, the rest of his words were lost in the beat of the music and the soft thud of dancing feet. Kitty grasped her brother’s arm in mute warning, and once again his expression relaxed.
“I’ll watch my tongue, Kit, don’t
worry,” he whispered. “Let’s go, shall we?”
. John Broome led the way to the far side of the ballroom, skirting the milling couples on the dance floor, and Kitty and Patrick followed him to where a small group had gathered beneath the portrait of a former governor in military scarlet.
The De Lanceys were there, and the frail, white-haired lady in the black lace gown occupied a chair, talking animatedly to those seated on either side of her, one of whom Kitty recognized as the judge who had fought at Waterloo. The other had been a passenger in the Broomes’ phaeton-a lovely young
William Stuart Long
woman, with dark hair and deep-set blue eyes, whose fashionably cut magenta silk ballgown was draped to conceal but did not entirely hide the fact that she was in an advanced state of pregnancy.
Behind her, a hand resting affectionately on her shoulder, was the redheaded Captain Broome, as pleasant looking if not quite as tall as his brother John, who performed the introductions with faultless courtesy.
“May I present the latest arrivals in the colony-Lady Kitty and Mr. Patrick
Cadogan. Mrs. Dawson, to whom we all lay claim as our aunt Abigail. Justice De Lancey, Will and Jenny De Lancey I think you’ve met-Mrs. George De Lancey, who is my aunt Rachel. My father, Captain Justin Broome, late of the Royal Navy. My brother Red-Captain Broome, Royal Navy, and his wife, Magdalen. Alexander Dawson, of Her Majesty’s Fortieth Foot …” The names tripped off his tongue, and even as she acknowledged them, Kitty became confused.
As John Broome had confided to her, it seemed that they were all related, close-knit families, descended from both convict and free settlers but with little social difference between them now, since they had intermarried and-yes, as the uniforms bore out-many of them held commissioned rank in the armed forces of the British Crown. Doubtless the rest were landowners, with vast sheep runs and palatial houses, whereas poor Michael-how had John Broome
described the wretched prisoners now being evacuated from Norfolk Island to continue their living death sentences in Tasmania?
He had said they were capital respites, hardened criminals, considered to be beyond reform or redemption …
Michael,
her beloved elder brother, whose only crime had been defiance of an unjust system that deprived the Irish people of their freedom! But they had termed it treason and branded him a traitor, for whom there could be neither forgiveness nor mercy.
Magdalen Broome was speaking to her, inviting her to seat herself, and Kitty swallowed her momentary resentment, recalled to the role she must play. But the talk passed over her head; she
managed to smile, to murmur polite and meaningless rejoinders, even to reply to questions with the right degree of evasive reticence. Let them think her shy or even gauche, so long as she did not betray herself. .
. . Patrick, she observed thankfully, had attached himself to the group surrounding Captain Red Broome and, with his accustomed easy charm, was seemingly quite at ease.
A tanned, white-haired man in civilian evening dress-evidently a late arrival-joined the party. Magdalen told her his name, which was Tempest, adding the information that he was a member of the Legislative Council and the owner of a sheep and cattle station near Bathurst, and Kitty listened, without any particular interest, until she
penitentiaries are hardened criminals, you must understand, considered to be beyond reform or redemption, the majority of them. They-was
The band struck up again, and as people crowded onto the floor, the rest of his words were lost in the beat of the music and the soft thud of dancing feet. Kitty grasped her brother’s arm in mute warning, and once again his expression relaxed.
“I’ll watch my tongue, Kit, don’t
worry,” he whispered. “Let’s go, shall we?”
. John Broome led the way to the far side of the ballroom, skirting the milling couples on the dance floor, and Kitty and Patrick followed him to where a small group had gathered beneath the portrait of a former governor in military scarlet.
The De Lanceys were there, and the frail, white-haired lady in the black lace gown occupied a chair, talking animatedly to those seated on either side of her, one of whom Kitty recognized as the judge who had fought at Waterloo. The other had been a passenger in the Broomes’ phaeton-a lovely young
William Stuart Long
woman, with dark hair and deep-set blue eyes, whose fashionably cut magenta silk ballgown was draped to conceal but did not entirely hide the fact that she was in an advanced state of pregnancy.
Behind her, a hand resting affectionately on her shoulder, was the redheaded Captain Broome, as pleasant looking if not quite as tall as his brother John, who performed the introductions with faultless courtesy.
“May I present the latest arrivals in the colony-Lady Kitty and Mr. Patrick
Cadogan. Mrs. Dawson, to whom we all lay claim as our aunt Abigail. Justice De Lancey, Will and Jenny De Lancey I think you’ve met-Mrs. George De Lancey, who is my aunt Rachel. My father, Captain Justin Broome, late of the Royal Navy. My brother Red-Captain Broome, Royal Navy, and his wife, Magdalen. Alexander Dawson, of Her Majesty’s Fortieth Foot …” The names tripped off his tongue, and even as she acknowledged them, Kitty became confused.
As John Broome had confided to her, it seemed that they were all related, close-knit families, descended from both convict and free settlers but with little social difference between them now, since they had intermarried and-yes, as the uniforms bore out-many of them held commissioned rank in the armed forces of the British Crown. Doubtless the rest were landowners, with vast sheep runs and palatial houses, whereas poor Michael-how had John Broome
described the wretched prisoners now being evacuated from Norfolk Island to continue their living death sentences in Tasmania?
He had said they were capital respites, hardened criminals, considered to be beyond reform or redemption …
Michael,
her beloved elder brother, whose only crime had been defiance of an unjust system that deprived the Irish people of their freedom! But they had termed it treason and branded him a traitor, for whom there could be neither forgiveness nor mercy.
Magdalen Broome was speaking to her, inviting her to seat herself, and Kitty swallowed her momentary resentment, recalled to the role she must play. But the talk passed over her head; she
managed to smile, to murmur polite and meaningless rejoinders, even to reply to questions with the right degree of evasive reticence. Let them think her shy or even gauche, so long as she did not betray herself. .
. . Patrick, she observed thankfully, had attached himself to the group surrounding Captain Red Broome and, with his accustomed easy charm, was seemingly quite at ease.
A tanned, white-haired man in civilian evening dress-evidently a late arrival-joined the party. Magdalen told her his name, which was Tempest, adding the information that he was a member of the Legislative Council and the owner of a sheep and cattle station near Bathurst, and Kitty listened, without any particular interest, until she
Similar Books
