The Gentleman's Garden

448 Pages·2004·1.32 MB·English

by  Catherine Jinks

Love can be a fragile refuge in a harsh and unforgiving land
CCAATTHHEERRIINNEE
JJ II NN KK SS
gentleman’s
THE
gar den
A NOVEL
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THE GENTLEMAN’S GARDEN
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CATHERINE JINKS was born in Brisbane,
Queensland, in 1963. She grew up in Papua
New Guinea and later spent four years studying
medieval history at the University of Sydney.
She now lives in Leura, New South Wales, with
her husband, Peter, and their daughter.
The Gentleman’s Garden is her fifth novel for
adults.
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CATHERINE JINKS
THE GENTLEMAN’S GARDEN
Z
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First published in 2002
Copyright © Catherine Jinks 2002
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the
publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968(the Act) allows a
maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the
greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its
educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or
body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to
Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: [phone]
Fax: [phone]
Email: [email protected]
Web: www.allenandunwin.com
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Jinks, Catherine, 1963– .
The gentleman’s garden.
ISBN 1 86508 885 4.
I. Title.
A823.3
Set in 12/15 pt Cochin byAsset Typesetting Pty Ltd, Moruya
Printed by Griffin Press, South Australia
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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This book is dedicated to Margaret Connolly
With thanks to Martin Ahern, Kim Johnston, Dr J. O. Ward
and Peter Dockrill for their assistance.
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THE GENTLEMAN’S GARDEN
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New South Wales
March 14th, 1814
My dearest Margaret,
The misery attendant upon our parting was such that I find myself
plagued by misgivings of a horrible nature. Did I express myself with
sufficient feeling? Did I convey the deep sense of gratitude, of
obligation, of devotion and attachment that overwhelms me whenever I
reflect on your unremitting kindness, my dearest, my only sister?
(Doubly precious to me, now that you are so far away!) I am cast upon
a most unfriendly shore, dearest Margaret, and without your abiding
affection feel utterly exposed to every blow that fate might bestow on
me. How I long for you. How I long for England. How wretched I am,
here at the outer limit of the world!
The voyage was unspeakable. I can hardly bear to give you an
account of it, lest I be forced to dwell on its manifold horrors. The food
was inedible, coarse and filthy; little wonder that I was ill. A putrid
fever. It came upon Charles first, some two weeks out of Portsmouth,
and I succumbed shortly after he had recovered. I believe that the
convicts were to blame. We were surrounded by convicts, hundreds of
felons, and they were all very much diseased. Five and thirty of them
died on the passage, and there is to be a medical court of inquiry held,
or so I am informed. As for my own sufferings, you should know that
my unhealthy confinement in foul-smelling quarters (occasioned by an
almost continual parade of convicts up on deck), the bad food, the
noxious air, and the fever, all put an end to my most fervent hopes—you
will know what I mean, dearest Margaret—which were raised within
a month of leaving England, and cruelly dashed before we arrived in
Rio de Janeiro. My despair can be imagined. But I am in good health
again, and live in daily expectation of God’s Greatest Blessing
descending upon me once more. Kiss the children for me, by the by, and