husband; then he thought about how to avoid his wife, Rebecca Crawley, who had never grown used to being exiled at the edge of the known world. She lamented her evil fate much too often for his comfort and when it had grown too overbearing he had petitioned the colonial office for a better posting. These requests were acknowledged, and that was all, for in truth the obscure posting was the result of Rebecca Crawley’s own misdeeds and had been engineered to get her as far away from the capital as possible, to put a stop once and for all to her meddling in affairs above her station.
Now, the unhappy woman arranged herself on the sofa in her once sumptuous finery, an evening dress of a heavy velvet material which draped her hips in countless folds while leaving her shoulders bare. With a weary shrug, she tossed her black hair – often dyed, now streaked with grey, but still carefully arranged to dangle curls about her narrow fox-like face – and leaned back attractively as her deep dark eyes studied the man who held the floor. His small dainty feet, shod in Bond Street leather, supported his short sturdy legs, while he pronounced on colonial policy in which the Crawleys had not the slightest interest. To distract herself, Rebecca Crawley stared brazenly at his rather coarse features, which were marred, if that was possible, by eczema scars. She wondered what had become of the world when such men as he reached a prominence of sorts and strutted about the empire as if they personally had created it. They achieved what no ambitious woman could in such a world. Look what had happened to her. Merely for taking an interest in politics, she had been exiled to the periphery of all that was modish and powerful in the world.
‘Such is my fate as a woman,’ she murmured, and sighed as she continued to stare at the man.
Sir George Augustus was one of those self-made knights who, with the Reform Act of 1832, had risen from the enfranchised lower classes, though he had yet to create a suitably noble genealogy to go with his advancement. Hence his family was completely unknown to Mrs Crawley. She, using brazen invention together with her beauty and sharp intelligence, had glossed over her own origins, which were lower than those of the knight; her husband’s family was of ancient lineage which she, supposedly a distant cousin, had rejoined through their union. Now she daintily but saucily yawned without putting a hand over her rosebud mouth while the parvenu explained how the government of the day, under some compunction from concerned Christians centred on Exeter House, had formed a committee to inquire into the conditions of the natives within the acquisitions of the empire. It had appointed commissioners to report on their wellbeing. He was one of these and had been sent to this colony as he possessed some knowledge of the natives of the Great South Land, of which the colony was the western end. The governor greeted this information with a stolid expression which revealed not even his complete lack of interest. As an old soldier, he believed that as long as the natives stayed quiet that was a good enough condition for him and for the settlers. Under the pressings of the colonial office, however, he had taken a step to elevate the natives, and to control them, through the formation of a native police detachment.
In regard to the indigenous inhabitants, his wife wished them to be out of sight as well as mind. It was she who had had her husband promulgate a decree which forbade them the environs of the town, after they had hovered about like flies around her carriage and laughed at her appearance. Of course, they were still there, snatching up scraps and demanding food; but with the native police about to begin regular patrols, those who still persisted in lurking about the town, their nakedness now covered by dirty blankets or cast-off clothing, would be driven away to distant camps. This was only good and proper, she thought, for really they had no business about the town. Such a dirty, dirty, lazy lot, existing as they always had existed at the very bottom of the scale of civilisation. Why, they had been worth only a line or two in the letters she used regularly to send home, and now not even a line. Her eyes glazed as she lost her focus on the knight who was engaged in a boring monologue which went on and on. She sighed, wishing that her hearing was impaired. All too soon, he had become part of the tedium she had to endure in this wretched colony. She closed her eyes; but alas not her ears. Annoyed, she opened her eyes to survey the creature again. He was (and she was an expert at detecting them) a rogue out for his own advancement, and thus of more interest than if he had been merely one of those bores who held to a subject from belief rather than duplicity. She sighed as she regarded him, and it was then that a scream ripped apart his monologue. It brought welcome distraction, though not excitement. It lacked the desperate appeal of a call for speedy relief from serious danger. ‘Murder, murder!’ would have been more diverting.
‘That was quite a din. Not the natives, I hope,’ observed Governor Crawley, lifting up his glass and taking a gulp of the excellent brandy his guest had thoughtfully provided. ‘They do intersperse their yabber with shrieks.’
‘Yes, sometimes they do,’ partially agreed Sir George. ‘Then, some birds make almost human sounds; I have heard the curlew scream in the wilderness like a woman in agony. But this has erupted from my sweet wife. She is not used to these new lands and doubtless it was a bat or some such nightlife that startled her. Silly little thing, she’ll be along directly with a contrite expression on her face. Now, as I was saying, the natives if they are to become a source of labour must first be civilised and Christianised. There can be no other way –’
‘That shriek from your wife ...’ Mrs Crawley broke in, keen to put an end to the native problem. ‘I have heard such commotions before and they are not exclamations of fright, far from it.’ And she smiled a leering kind of smile which the knight caught, then evaded.
‘Well, be that as it may, Mrs Fraser – who has taken a fancy to her – will calm her down. Such a capable woman. One who has seen and experienced much since suffering shipwreck upon these shores,’ the husband commented, before returning to his topic. ‘There is a shortage of labour here and there are natives enough to alleviate it. Why, you only have a single serving woman to see to your needs. In other colonies with a native population, Colonel, you have servants aplenty. They need to be put to work.’
'Yes, except the beggars won’t work,’ observed the governor. ‘If they did they would be working, for recent events have deprived us of male labourers, including my own who came with us. In fact, the situation has become so desperate that I am in the process of petitioning the colonial office for convicts to be transported here. They will provide labour enough and we won’t need to use these savages. Other colonies have derived benefit from transportation –’
‘No, no,’ Sir George exclaimed. ‘I strongly advise against it, Governor. To import criminals is not a solution, but only an addition to your problems. Use the natives. Instil in them good work habits and that is your answer. We have only to take the example of our own poor –’
‘Well, it may be an evil, but it is one that we will have to embrace. The savages are lazy and –’
‘Colonel, I have been a free settler in a penal settlement and the state of affairs I found there is not a fit subject for delicate ears. Even if a convict is sent out for a trifling offence, under the direction of his fellows he soon becomes an adept in crime. It is with the greatest difficulty that they are brought to justice. They league together and even have a vulgar language of their own and they plunder whatever comes their way. The only way to make them work is through the liberal application of the lash, and this too merely hardens them. They are the scourge of a new colony, Governor! Let me relate a trifling episode to show you what they are like.
‘It was a scene which defies description,’ Sir George began, lowering his voice from its usual high-pitched whine. ‘Church on Sunday, and I to deliver an exhortation, but was there a sign of repentance? Could you expect it from such as they? Those who were in irons came in first, pouring in, pushing, pulling and crowding each other in a horrible cacophony of blasphemy, Colonel; abominable obscenity from those who had descended to the level of beasts and so were chained as beasts. And when I began my exhortation the noise subsided, it is true, but to a low hum of voices which, as I continued, rose on occasion to drown out my words. It was a scene from hell and if you bring such creatures here, this is what you
