The Secret Fate of Mary Watson Read Online Free Page B

Cooktown. Nowadays, as the gold’s almost done on the Palmer and diggers are trying their luck at the new seam in New Guinea: food, medicine and mail to Port Moresby.’
    ‘That can’t be all,’ I say, incredulous. A mere commercial courier wouldn’t command so much respect.
    Percy takes a sip of his beer. Looks off into the middle distance. ‘He occasionally brings in Kanakas from the islands too, I believe. Recruits to work in the canefields.’
    ‘I see,’ I say, though I don’t. ‘What’s the name of his boat?’
    ‘ Blackbird .’
    I try to stifle a sudden laugh, and fail. ‘He names his boat Blackbird , and he uses it to run Kanakas! He’s obviously not blackbirding. Or maybe he is, in which case … My word, he must be a very powerful man. People in high places must owe him a great many favours.’ Something new occurs to me and I feel my eyes widen. ‘Maybe his cargo is opium. Or illicit gold.’
    Percy’s green eyes turn malachite. ‘I think your wild speculations have jumped the fence in your head. If I were you, I’d swallow them before any more escape.’
    He’s right; I’m too eager, and I’m playing what advantage I have badly.
    ‘Yes, I’m sorry. I do lead with the mouth, I’m afraid.’
    ‘I think the root cause is the nose,’ Percy says coolly. ‘I imagine it’s not the first time you’ve inserted it in other people’s business.’
    ‘You didn’t mind too much when I inserted it in yours upstairs,’ I say. ‘Are you serious about owing me a favour?’
    ‘Yes. Of course.’
    Time to raise the stakes.
    ‘I need a job. Do you know of anything on offer?’
    ‘In Brisbane?’ he asks slowly, as if leaving himself time to think something through. ‘Or … elsewhere?’
    ‘Anywhere away from landladies with pickaxes in their eyes.’
    A pardon? expression crosses his face, but I don’t try to explain. He looks at my hair pulled tightly back in its bun. My plain face.
    ‘How old are you, Mary Oxnam?’
    ‘Eighteen.’
    ‘Going on thirty,’ he adds with a wry smile. Then, suddenly, ‘Why are you here?’
    So he sees me, and raises again. I’m in the game! Now … will the truth serve?
    ‘Here in Brisbane, or here in the pub?’
    ‘Brisbane.’ Impatient. He knows I’m stalling. Time to show my hand.
    ‘Before leaving home, I went to the registry office for a copy of my birth certificate so that I could apply for work as a teacher.’ I think I see a look of doubt on his face and find myself saying, defensively, ‘I’m quite well educated. I went to school in Truro and I read a lot of books.’
    ‘I didn’t suggest otherwise,’ he drawls. ‘You seem impressively intelligent.’ The silent for a woman finishes the thought. Pity. I hoped he’d be somewhat different from the other men I’ve met.
    ‘Anyway, the surname on the certificate was my mother’s maiden name. My father hadn’t bothered to marry her until after I was born.’
    ‘Hard luck.’ He clucks his tongue. ‘Must’ve been a bit of a shock. But no reason to toss yourself out into the big, wide world with all its wilful wool-pulling. That would only make knitting your own garment that much harder.’
    He won’t let me bluff through this. I look into his eyes, weighing up how much I should say. May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, indeed.
    ‘If that were all, you’d be right,’ I tell him. ‘My father is a drunk, Percy. He’d been sober since we arrived in Australia. I thought he was resolute about making a new start. But one of the creditors he thought he’d left behind in Cornwall turned up at the pub. Papa fell off the wagon, got into an altercation. Landed in gaol. He’s always been something less than honest. Clumsily so, most often. With a tendency to use force first, reason last. I was of age, so I left. It’s as simple as that.’
    Of course it wasn’t simple at all. But there are some things I wouldn’t tell a friend, let alone a stranger. And in any case, I’ve given him