The Schoolmaster's Daughter Read online

  DEDICATION

  To my grandmothers, whose stories are with me always,

  and to my grandsons: may your lives contain

  the most wonder-filled stories ever told.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Marooned

  Chapter 2: Castaway

  Chapter 3: The Beach

  Chapter 4: Stranger!

  Chapter 5: Mrs Zebediah

  Chapter 6: The Harris Plantation

  Chapter 7: The Schoolmaster’s House

  Chapter 8: At the Market

  Chapter 9: School

  Chapter 10: The Teaching Apprentice

  Chapter 11: Revolt

  Chapter 12: A Good Girl’s Duty

  Chapter 13: New Voices in a Silent House

  Chapter 14: Travels by Book

  Chapter 15: The Pattern of Days

  Chapter 16: A New Nation

  Chapter 17: Angus!

  Chapter 18: Alone

  Chapter 19: The Butterfly

  Chapter 20: The Beach

  Chapter 21: Gazing at the Stars

  Chapter 22: Reading More Pages

  Chapter 23: Sugar Town

  Chapter 24: Secrets

  Chapter 25: A Dutiful Daughter

  Chapter 26: Doing What Jane Would Do

  Chapter 27: Papa Decides

  Chapter 28: Life Through the Mirror

  Chapter 29: Another Life

  Chapter 30: The End of Term

  Chapter 31: Storm

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  A new nation, old tragedies, the long reach of love, and the power of poetry . . .

  Two souls join two hands together,

  Haul the treasures of two lives forever,

  Pain for months, or for a day,

  But even holding pain you’ll say,

  ‘I am glad that you have been with me.’

  Rejoice that love is never free.

  CHAPTER 1

  MAROONED

  JANUARY 1901,

  NORTHERN NEW SOUTH WALES

  The ship quivered in blue jelly as Hannah leaned on the rail: blue sea around them, blue sky above, turquoise waves nibbling at the hull. ‘Waiting to die, waiting to die,’ the waves muttered. ‘You’re all marooned here, waiting to die.’

  That’s what Mrs Talbot, in the cabin next to theirs, had cried out last night till her husband had hushed her: ‘We’re just waiting to die!’

  It should have taken the Cecily McPhee just two days to get Hannah’s family from Sydney to Port Harris, and another day to take the rest of the passengers to Brisbane. Instead the ship had been stranded on a sandbank for eight days now. The arms of the bay shimmered around them, close enough to make out trees, rocks as sharp as sharks’ teeth, and a curl of white beach, too far to reach in safety.

  Hannah licked her cracked lips. Water, water everywhere, she thought, just like in the poem ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’, but never a drop to drink.

  She gazed at the heat-shimmered sky, trying to find her own words.

  ‘Waiting to die,’ she declaimed softly to a seagull, perched on the rail.

  ‘But no tears to cry

  No water to spare

  Despite our despair.’

  The seagull flew away, which was all her poem deserved. It was probably the last poem she’d ever compose, but its words evaporated instead of wriggling into her mind like the words of ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ did. If she died here she’d never get a chance to be a poet.

  She moved over as Angus came to stand on tiptoe beside her at the rail.

  ‘Is that a shark?’ he asked hoarsely, pointing to a dim shape slicing the water.

  Hannah couldn’t tell if he was scared or excited. ‘I think it’s a stingray. It looks like the drawing in Papa’s book.’ It hurt her throat to talk. But talking was better than simply waiting to die of thirst.

  ‘Do stingrays eat people too?’ Angus asked.

  Hannah studied the flattish creature as it flapped lazily past the ship. ‘I don’t think so. But Papa’s book said their tail is dangerous. Maybe they sting.’

  ‘Could it fly up and sting us here?’ Angus seemed more interested than frightened.

  It wasn’t likely, but Hannah didn’t want to say no just in case they did. ‘Come on. Let’s sit over there.’

  She clambered up onto one of the big crates in the shade of the ship’s funnels, then held out her hand to help Angus up too. Most of the cargo was down in the hold — supplies for towns in northern New South Wales and Queensland, as well as the passengers’ luggage — but the overflow had been tied up here on the deck.

  ‘Overloaded,’ Papa had muttered, when Captain Jacobs had announced that last week’s storm had pushed the ship too close to the coast. Even the engines, which had seemed so powerful all the way from Sydney, weren’t enough to move it. The Cecily McPhee had settled more firmly on the sandy bottom as each tide had come and gone, day after day.

  ‘Hannah?’ Angus said. ‘I’m thirsty.’

  Hannah licked her dry lips again. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it.’ Fresh water was rationed to a cup a day now.

  ‘I want to get off!’

  ‘You know Captain Jacobs says it’s too dangerous,’ said Hannah wearily.

  Even if the ship’s small boat took them safely past the surf, they’d be stranded on the tiny beach. Port Harris was half a day’s sail away, and Captain Jacobs said the rainforest jungle and steep cliffs that stretched along the coastline might be impassable. And there wasn’t any fresh water marked on the map till Port Harris’s river. No fresh water, no shelter, no help . . .

  They could only wait for a ship to appear so the captain could set off a distress flare. But the shipping route was further out to sea, away from the sandbanks and islands that only appeared at low tide.

  ‘I want to go home!’ wailed Angus.

  Hannah wrapped her arms about him. I want to go home too, she thought desperately. But they had no home. The tiny schoolmaster’s house down south now belonged to the schoolmaster who’d replaced Papa. Their new home lay up the coast, beyond the waves and the dense green headlands, at Port Harris. Schoolmasters went where they were sent and their family went too. Till they were marooned . . .

  Hannah blinked as Mama emerged from the hatch, carefully holding two tin mugs.

  ‘Mrrra!’ The ship’s cat twined around Mama’s legs then vanished in a streak of orange and black. It would be thirsty too.

  Mama strode across the deck towards them. She’d left off her stays in the last few days of heat and her white frock fell loosely about her body, but for some reason she’d put on her buttoned boots instead of the Indian slippers she’d worn since they’d boarded the ship. Her face was so shaded under her hat and veil it was impossible to see the scar rippling across her right cheek. ‘Never stand too close to the fire in your nightdress,’ Mama had told them over and over, because that was how she had been burned. The fire had spat out a spark, and she would have died if her brother hadn’t rolled her in the hearthrug.

  Mama held out a mug to each of them. A whole mug of water each!

  ‘But we’re not supposed to have any more till tonight!’ exclaimed Hannah.

  Mama smiled wearily. ‘Drink,’ she said softly. ‘Papa will explain what’s happening. But sip slowly,’ she added, as Angus began to gulp his water. ‘There’s more when you’ve drunk that.’

  Hannah took her own cup, too thirsty to ask questions. She let the water sit in her mouth, then swallowed a little, letting it soothe her throat, before sipping again, as Papa’s top hat emerged from the
hatch followed by Papa himself in his waistcoat with its pocket watch. He looked as neat as if he were walking down a city street or in the schoolroom. Only his shirt looked slightly crumpled. He had run out of clean shirts three days ago. Mama had washed them in seawater, but their iron was down in the hold with most of their luggage.

  ‘The captain is going to take us ashore this afternoon,’ he announced.

  ‘What? But he said—’ began Hannah.

  ‘Don’t say “what” like that. Use proper sentences,’ Papa said to her. ‘Captain Jacobs has had to accept that rescue is unlikely. There’ll be another storm late this afternoon and maybe tonight too. The barometer’s dropping.’

  ‘Isn’t that good?’ asked Hannah. ‘The waves might push us free.’

  ‘He’s afraid the ship might break up or roll over and sink, if it can’t manoeuvre. He’s the captain, so we have to do what he says on his ship.’

  Hannah nodded. Of course they had to obey the captain, just like Mama had to do what Papa said, and Papa had to do what the Department of Education said, even if they only gave him small schools and not a subject master’s position as he deserved. And the Department had to do what the Minister for Education said. That was how the world ran.

  Papa looked at the waves splashing onto the distant beach again. ‘The ship’s boat is only meant for six people. The crew will take us ashore in two boatloads. There won’t be room for luggage.’ He found a reassuring smile. ‘Women and children first. I want you to go below and put on your boots and coats. It will be cold on the beach tonight, especially in a storm.’

  ‘But what about my books?’ demanded Hannah.

  Papa shook his head.

  ‘I want Monkey,’ said Angus stubbornly.

  Mama hugged him, then put her arm around Hannah too. ‘Monkey doesn’t weigh much. Put him under your shirt to keep him safe.’ She looked at the waves again. ‘Perhaps we should just wear underwear under our coats. We could slip our coats off if . . . if we need to swim to the beach.’

  ‘But we can’t go out in our underwear!’ said Hannah, shocked, just as Papa said, ‘That’s hardly appropriate, my dear.’

  Hannah looked at the rolling waves, the tiny crescent of pale sand, the sharp-faced cliffs. Suddenly the ship’s quivering deck seemed the only security in the world. And now they had to leave it.

  CHAPTER 2

  CASTAWAY

  Seagulls screamed above the small boat as Billy Boy used a pole to push the boat away from the ship then hauled at the oars with Mr Foster, who combined the jobs of first mate, cook and engineer. Angus huddled between Hannah and Mama. Mrs Talbot whimpered behind them, her married daughter, Mrs Feehan, holding her hand.

  The boat began to bounce towards the bay.

  ‘We’ll be right, Mother,’ whispered Mrs Feehan.

  ‘If Captain Jacobs knew what he was doing we wouldn’t be here now,’ snapped Mrs Talbot.

  Back on the ship, another passenger, Mr Vandergeld, was still yelling at Captain Jacobs. ‘But my trunk, sir! It is essential we take it! Make a third trip back to the ship if necessary!’

  ‘We will make a third trip if we can,’ said Captain Jacobs shortly. ‘Everyone has had to abandon their luggage.’

  ‘But this is different, sir . . .’

  The voices grew fainter. Her family’s possessions were on the ship too: Papa’s desk, the china and silver tea service that had been a wedding present to Mama, all their books, clothes, linen; even the bed she had slept in all her life.

  She glanced back at the ship. She could see Papa standing next to Mr Talbot at the rail, still wearing his top hat, but she couldn’t make out his expression. He had seemed calm and confident when he kissed their cheeks goodbye. But Papa said a gentleman never showed emotion in public.

  The sky kept its relentless blue as the boat drew slowly closer to shore. The beach looked even smaller, and the rocks as jagged as smashed toffee. The air tasted like hot salty soup and the sea spat in Hannah’s face. But they were nearly there now . . .

  The boat suddenly swayed in the water. Billy Boy swore, then muttered an apology to the women, who politely pretended they hadn’t heard.

  Ladies weren’t supposed to show they were scared either. Hannah lifted her chin and tried not to be afraid. The surging waves ahead of them seemed bigger with each stroke of the oars.

  Mama grasped Angus as the boat tossed in the growing swell. He clutched Monkey with both hands.

  The boat lurched again. Mrs Talbot shrieked.

  ‘What’s happening?’ cried Hannah.

  ‘Hush,’ said Mama, holding her tight too. ‘Let the men row.’

  ‘I only asked—’

  ‘Shhh,’ Mama said. Hannah could hardly hear her over the smash of waves.

  ‘Pull to the right! The current’s taking us onto the rocks!’ yelled Mr Foster. ‘Pull!’

  Both men heaved even harder on the oars, as the waves gripped the boat. Waves were stronger than men, Hannah realised, but men with skill might manipulate their strength.

  ‘Pull right again on the count of three!’ shouted Mr Foster. ‘One . . . two . . .’

  The boat surged forward with the force of a wave behind it. The beach was close enough now to see the foam on the sand. For a second Hannah thought the boat would make it safely to the shore. Closer . . . closer . . .

  All at once the boat seemed to drop. Hannah glanced behind. A wave surged above them, larger than any she had seen before, its white top towering over the boat.

  And then it crashed. She didn’t even have time to draw a breath. The world was water, foaming white and full of sand.

  She held her breath automatically, one hand clutching Angus’s coat, the other the boat’s seat, aware of Mama still grasping Angus too. Then, miraculously, the water vanished, as the wave swept to the beach. She breathed salt air.

  Safe? No! The boat was full of water, sagging, lurching. Another wave rose behind them.

  ‘Jump!’ yelled Mr Foster.

  Out into the roiling, foam-flecked water?

  Mama had already tucked her skirts around her waist. She leaped. The water reached to her hips. She leaned against the side of the boat and held out her arms.

  Hannah grabbed Angus by the shoulders and heaved him over to Mama. She took a final look at the whirling, swirling surf, then jumped out too. Water to her waist, pushing her to the beach. She staggered one or two steps, almost to safety . . .

  Suddenly the water sucked backwards, pulling her and her heavy sodden dress and coat back into the ocean. Even the sand she stood on was sucked away. She fell, gulped saltwater, struggled to her feet again. But the waves were too strong, her dress too heavy. She slid back further, desperately trying to stay upright. Then Mama’s hand found hers.

  Hannah gazed at her frantically. Angus clung monkey-like to Mama, but her other hand held Mrs Feehan’s, who in turn held Mrs Talbot’s. One woman wasn’t strong enough to beat the waves, but four of them together had a chance.

  The line of women stumbled and struggled towards the shore, the receding wave grabbing their skirts, trying to pull them back. Hannah pushed her boots deep into the sand. One step, and another, only just managing to stay in place as the sand again gave way.

  Then suddenly the water surged towards the beach again. They staggered forward half a dozen steps before the wave ebbed, but the water was shallower now and every step took the women closer to the shore.

  Then the water was gone. Hannah managed a few steps further up the sand to freedom, then collapsed onto the beach. She shut her eyes, letting darkness take her for seconds, minutes, days . . .

  ***

  ‘Hannah!’ someone called.

  Hannah opened her eyes. A tiny crab, no bigger than her little finger, regarded her curiously, then scuttled away.

  ‘Monkey is safe,’ said Angus tremulously, holding the sodden toy close to his chest.

  ‘Oh. Good.’

  Papa said a lady always used proper sentences with a subject and ve
rb, but the sea seemed to have swallowed Hannah’s grammar. She lifted her head as a wave washed across her water-logged boots, then struggled to her feet.

  Mrs Feehan sat further down the beach, clinging to Mrs Talbot, who was crying softly. Hannah looked desperately for Mama. Mama had been holding her hand! She couldn’t have been swept away.

  No, there she was, helping Billy Boy and Mr Foster. They’d dragged the boat along the beach to a rocky inlet, protected from the waves. The three of them pushed the boat back into the water. The men jumped in and began to row back out to the ship, using the calmness of the inlet to get past the surf.

  Mama leaned forward, catching her breath, then stumbled back to Hannah and Angus. She had lost her hat. It was strange to see her bare face out of doors. The part of her face that was usually covered with her veil was white, while the rest of her was tanned.

  ‘Come on,’ Mama said, panting. ‘We need to get dry before nightfall.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ breathed Hannah. Was there a house here after all? Or even a fisherman’s hut?

  She gazed around, but all she could see was sand and cliff and a wall of vine-hung forest behind the beach: no path, no stream. The only footprints on the sand were the seagulls’, and their own.

  Mama pointed to an overhang in the cliff, beyond the reach of waves and spray. Hannah struggled to her feet and followed her.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE BEACH

  An hour, or a year, later the women sat huddled under the overhang in their petticoats and chemises, their dresses and coats hung to dry on spears of driftwood wedged in the sand. Angus sat in his drawers and singlet, his shirt and trousers hung up too, Monkey on his lap.

  The air was as hot as a steam iron sitting on the stove, but it felt sticky and damp too. How could air feel wet without it actually raining? But when Hannah touched her dress it was almost dry.

  She gazed out to sea. The giant waves had dropped, leaving the bay curiously flat, as if someone had ironed it. We should have waited till it was calm, she thought. Maybe Captain Jacobs was wrong and there won’t be a storm at all.