‘Prussian, so I hear,’ the commandant said. He was rheumy-eyed, runny-nosed, rough rum on his rancid breath. ‘A fine military culture.’

John Myer stood there, swayed a little, his back still on fire, said nothing.

‘You’ve worn a uniform, held a musket,’ the commandant said. He could see pain twisting the man’s face and hoped his words were registering. ‘A professional soldier, and with years of experience. I’ve a proposition for you, lad.’

Book IX

BOOK IX

THE COLONIAL TIMES

February 4th, 1834

News has reached town this morning that the new schooner, the Frederick, built at Macquarie Harbour, and which had been expected to arrive in Hobart Town for the last three weeks, has been piratically seized by the prisoners left at that abandoned settlement, for the purpose of bringing the vessel to this port. Captain Taw has arrived by the mail this morning from Launceston, bringing the above intelligence. It appears that the prisoners took advantage of some of the soldiers being on a fishing expedition, when they overpowered the remainder, and took forcible possession of the vessel. The Frederick is spoken of as being a fast sailing vessel, and as the pirates have had three weeks’ start, there is little chance of their capture.

A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

Aunt Margaretha passed away that year.

On the morning she received the letter from Berlin (it had taken eight months to reach Valdivia) Elisabeth Montoya went out to the markets to buy flowers for the house. Her maid Samanta came with a large wicker basket and they filled it with white, red and yellow roses, peonies and lilies and purple bellflowers. The sky was clear and high, the sea was gentle and everything was beautiful and bright. The scent of flowers in the crisp air was intoxicating as they walked between the colourful stalls.

Elisabeth thought of her aunt. She recalled Margaretha now with love, free of any bitterness and the frustrations of her youth; and Elisabeth was sad not because of her aunt’s death (we must all die) but because for the first time she understood her aunt as a woman. One who’d lived a long life and been unloved and alone through most of it. And Elisabeth knew that she too had to bear some of her aunt’s long life.

She remembered once seeing her aunt in bed, very late in the morning (as per usual), through the door a servant hadn’t completely closed behind them. Aunt Margaretha was lying back on her many pillows, head turned to the window, exhausted it seemed to Elisabeth, and grotesquely wigless, her thinning hair revealed, her bare face pale and bloated, cheeks scarred and veined, a wreck of a woman. As her aunt had always been displeased with Elisabeth, had scolded her since she could remember, had never praised but only criticised, she was glad to see the old woman there, defeated and vulnerable.