aboard one. Probably some of the guards went home after their stint in Australia was up, but even most of those chose to stay and make a life for themselves in the colony. And the convicts... Well, everyone dreamed of going home, but a passage was far too expensive. That was the harshest part of the sentence they’d received for their crimes. Five years in prison for theft was one thing if your family and friends were waiting for you when you were released, but once you’d been transported to the other side of the world it was likely you’d never make it home again.
‘I did. I’d only just disembarked the ship this morning when I heard you screaming.’
Alice shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The wounds on her back were throbbing and as the temperature rose little beads of sweat were forming and trickling down into them, making the pain worse.
‘But you said it was your first visit to England?’
‘It was. I was born here. My parents made the journey while my mother was pregnant.’
‘But they weren’t...’ Alice hesitated—most people settled in Australia were ex-convicts or guards, but a few families had decided to make the colony their home out of choice ‘...convicts?’
Mr Fitzgerald laughed and Alice saw the way his eyes crinkled, the flash of white teeth and something tightened inside her. Pushing away the feeling, she looked down at her hands, focusing on the chapped skin, cracked from all the time spent working in the laundry.
‘No, not convicts, just dreamers,’ he said fondly. ‘My father believed Australia to be the land of opportunity and for him it was true.’ He paused, looking at her with a broad smile. ‘You’re very adept at that,’ he said.
‘At what?’
‘Deflection. I still know next to nothing about you.’
Alice hadn’t even realised she’d done it. Keeping as much of herself private as possible had become second nature to her over the past few years. The less people knew about you, the less ammunition they had to hurt you with.
She opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by Mr Fitzgerald pulling on the reins and abruptly jumping down off the cart. She peered after him, trying to work out what had made him stop so suddenly. Inside her chest she could feel her heart hammering and a coil of icy dread snaking through her stomach.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her voice shrill.
‘Come here,’ Mr Fitzgerald said quietly.
She glanced at the reins, wondering how far she would get if she grabbed them and rode off. There was no reason for Mr Fitzgerald to stop the cart out here in the middle of nowhere. No good reason.
Alice shuddered as she remembered the men on the transport ship, the arms holding her down, the warm breath on her neck. She would never let another man have the opportunity to attack her again, even if it meant committing another crime to get out of the situation.
Mr Fitzgerald glanced back at her, frowning slightly, but then turned away again, his attention focused on something at the side of the road. Alice hesitated. It could be a ploy, a way to distract her, but as he moved to one side she saw him crouch down next to something brown and furry.
Carefully, trying not to open the wounds on her back any more, Alice stood and climbed down from the cart, too, crossing to where Mr Fitzgerald had knelt down by the side of the road. They’d left Sydney behind them and were now on a dusty road winding through farmland on the Sydney plain. It was the furthest Alice had been from the city since her arrival in Australia and as she walked across the road she was struck with the beauty of the land sprawling out in front of her.
‘She’s injured,’ Mr Fitzgerald said as Alice crouched down beside him. ‘Looks like the work of a dingo.’
‘A dingo?’
‘Large native dog. They’re a pest to livestock, vicious, too, and they love kangaroo meat.’
Peering over his shoulder, Alice saw the kangaroo. It was large and would have been almost comical looking if it wasn’t for the blood matted in its fur. She could see it wasn’t breathing, there had been no movement since they’d hopped down from the cart, and she wondered what exactly Mr Fitzgerald was hoping to achieve by stopping.
‘Come here, little one,’ he murmured, leaning forward and lifting a brown little bundle out from the kangaroo’s pouch.
‘A baby?’ Alice asked in surprise.
Mr Fitzgerald nodded, handling the small animal with care as he stroked its furry little head.
‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve got you. We’ll keep you safe.’
Alice watched as he stood and shrugged off his jacket, wrapping the baby kangaroo in it before holding the bundle out to her.
‘I c-can’t...’ she stammered.
‘Of course you can. I’ve got to drive the cart.’
‘What if I hurt it?’
‘Did you have any animals growing up?’ he asked.
Nodding, she remembered the beautiful collie her older sister had brought home one day. ‘A dog.’
‘And did that dog ever have puppies?’
‘A couple of litters.’
‘Think of this just like a puppy. He just needs a little love and attention, handle him carefully but he is a sturdy little joey.’
Alice reached out and took the little animal, feeling its warmth through the fabric of Mr Fitzgerald’s jacket. Carefully she set it on her lap once she’d climbed back aboard the cart and gently stroked its fur. At first she could feel him trembling, but after a few seconds the kangaroo seemed to relax under her touch and snuggled in deeper on her lap.
‘Time to go home,’ Mr Fitzgerald said, urging the horse forward. His hand brushed against her thigh as he rested the reins down and Alice stiffened. She glared at him, trying to work out if it had been deliberate or not, but he seemed oblivious, staring out into the distance as if he were soaking up the view for the first time.
‘Mr Fitzgerald,’ Mrs Peterson’s delighted voice called out from the doorway of his house and George could see the older woman had to hold herself back to stop running to embrace him.
‘You are a sight for travel-weary eyes, Mrs Peterson. I am glad to be home.’
‘We’ve missed you, sir. We’ve missed you sorely.’
George hopped down from the cart just as the lumbering form of Mr Peterson rounded the corner, a bright smile lighting up his face.
‘You should have sent word. I’d have been at the docks to meet you if I’d known you were coming.’
The couple had been convict workers assigned to his father’s farm many years ago. They’d served out their sentences,
