The Lace Balcony by Johanna Nicholls Page B

a clerk here, out of a population in excess of six hundred assigned men, there were sixty-three deaths last year.’ He paused and added significantly, ‘From one cause or another. Flogging, fever, drowning, quite apart from those bolters in the bush who are presumed dead. Does sixty-three deaths sound an accurate figure, O’Connor?’
    Mungo felt cornered. Aware any careless words might find their way back to Logan, he tried to sound non-committal. ‘I lost count of the funerals – Sir.’
    â€˜Aye. Well your own attempts at bolting are now past history.’ He went on, ‘I note you have quite a rounded education. The classics, Shakespeare, Goethe, Greek and Roman philosophers. Plus fencing, boxing, swimming. Aye, and a marked interest in botany and bushcraft, according to this letter I received from a family by the name of L’Estrange, on behalf of your mother. It would seem ye have support in high places, O’Connor. This gentleman, Kentigern L’Estrange, is known to you?’
    Mungo was stunned. After years of silence a letter had got through to him at last. But is this a trap to prove my real identity? I’ll take a punt on the truth.
    â€˜My mam was transported from the Isle of Mann, aged seventeen. Copped Life for aiding her brother, a fisherman, to smuggle brandy and tobacco across to England. The King’s boats had given chase. Shot her brother dead. He was unarmed, aged twenty-two. Just trying to avoid export duties.’
    Dr Gordon nodded. ‘Aye. That’s a common enough activity in Scotland for fishing boats struggling to eke out a living from the sea. But I’m intrigued as to how you came by such a fine education.’
    He’s like a dog with a bone. What does he want? My whole damned life story?
    Mungo chose his words with care. ‘My mother’s assigned master, Kentigern L’Estrange, was unusually generous. I shared his son’s lessons with the family tutor.’
    â€˜Indeed. As a result you are the best educated prisoner at Moreton Bay – more erudite than many of the military. Pity to waste all that book learning in an iron gang. I have decided to return you to the‘educated class’ to work on a special project. I have Captain Logan’s assurance I am free to choose one or two men to search for and catalogue some of the botanical and mineral specimens the Commandant discovered on his expeditions. Mrs Logan and others in this little community would be especially pleased for us to find rare specimens for their butterfly collections.’
    Butterflies! Jesus, am I dreaming? Or dead and gone to heaven?
    Mungo suspected he saw the trace of a twinkle in the Scotsman’s eyes.
    â€˜Our work will be divided between this office and field work in the bush – hence some danger from natives, who I understand are growing increasingly hostile to Logan’s explorations.’
    â€˜Two prisoners were speared to death at the wharf just before I copped solitary.’
    â€˜So I heard. You have a choice, O’Connor. Accompany me on field work or remain here – in relative safety.’
    â€˜I’ll take my chances in the bush. I could do with a bit of fresh air.’
    â€˜Fine. You will be answerable solely to me. Our work will be conducted – without interference. ’
    Dr Gordon looked over the top of his spectacles and said quietly. ‘ Mrs Logan is distant kin to my mother’s family. And I am well known to Governor Darling.’
    Mungo’s heart sank at the thought of Gordon’s dual link to those in power, but perhaps the man’s presence here and his strangely ambiguous status suggested that Darling’s support of Logan was no longer unqualified. Mungo’s spirits rose at the prospect of congenial work and bivouacs in the bush – the next best thing to freedom.
    Dr Gordon eyed him shrewdly. ‘Unlike Logan’s expeditions, my small team will have no