Evangeline

I never know an instance of any female convict coming out that I would consider a fair character. Their open and shameless vice must be told. Their fierce and untamable audacity would not be believed. They are the pest and gangrene of the colonial society—a reproach to human nature—and lower than the brutes, a disgrace to all animal existence.

—James Mudie, The Felonry of New South Wales: Being a Faithful Picture of the Real Romance of Life in Botany Bay, 1837

St. John’s Wood, London, 1840

From within the depths of a restless dream, Evangeline heard a knocking. She opened her eyes. Silence. Then, more insistent: rapraprap.

Thin light from the small window high above her bed cut across the floor. She felt a surge of panic: she must have slept through the morning bell.

She never slept through the morning bell.

Sitting up, she felt woozy. She leaned back against her pillow. “Just a minute.” Her mouth filled with saliva and she swallowed it.

“The children are waiting!” The scullery maid’s voice rang with indignation.

“What time is it, Agnes?”

“Half nine!”

Sitting up again, Evangeline pushed back the covers. Bile rose in her throat, and this time she couldn’t keep it down; she leaned over and vomited on the pine floor.

The knob turned and the door swung open. She looked up helplessly as Agnes twitched her nose and frowned at the viscous yellow splatter at her feet. “Give me a minute. Please.” Evangeline wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

Agnes didn’t move. “Did ye eat something strange?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Feverish?”

Evangeline pressed her hand against her forehead. Cool and clammy. She shook her head.

“Been feeling poorly?”

“Not until this morning.”

“Hmm.” Agnes pursed her lips.

“I’m all right, I’m just—” Evangeline felt a roiling in her gut. She swallowed hard.

“Clearly you’re not. I’ll inform Mrs. Whitstone there’ll be no lessons today.” With a curt nod, Agnes turned to leave, then paused, narrowing her eyes in the direction of the chest of drawers.

Evangeline followed her gaze. On the top, beside an oval mirror, a ruby gemstone ring glowed in the sunlight, staining the white handkerchief it lay on a deep red.

Her heart clenched. She’d been admiring the ring by the light of a candle the night before and had stupidly forgotten to put it away.

“Where’d ye get that?” Agnes asked.

“It was . . . a gift.”

“Who from?”

“A family member.”

“Your family?” Agnes knew full well that Evangeline had no family. She’d only applied to be a governess because she had nowhere else to turn.

“It was . . . an heirloom.”

“I’ve never seen ye wear it.”

Evangeline put her feet on the floor. “For goodness’ sake. I don’t have much occasion, do I?” she said, attempting to sound brusque. “Now, will you leave me be? I’m perfectly fine. I’ll meet the children in the library in a quarter of an hour.”

Agnes gave her a steady look. Then she left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.