I had my hopes up that I could get some things done without interference while Fisher was away in Van Dieman's Land, but no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than it crossed Fisher's as well and he hurriedly returned to town, leaving Mann to travel on to Hobart alone.
Since then he has be bustling about the place trying to look busy and indispensable. He has made his opinion of Henry Jickling very clear and his opinion of me even clearer. He has also been muttering darkly about "Mann's mission" and dropping hints with all the subtlety of a builder dropping bricks that he has a plan that will settle my hash once and for all. Well, we shall see about that.
In the meantime all plans I had for doing things without Fisher's interference have disappeared like will o'the wisps with two exceptions.
Whilst the half man half rabbit was away I did manage to get started on arranging for the building of a gaol. Well, I believe the polite phrase is "house of correction", but be jiggered about correction. I just want somewhere to put naughty lads and lasses so that they are out of sight and mind.
When we first arrived here prisoners were kept in the hold of the Buffalo and spent most of their time offending Mrs Hindmarsh by scaring Tiddles the cat and getting drunk with the Marines. Once the Buffalo sailed we became one of the few places in the world to have a gaol made of canvas, as we are currently using a tent as a prison. This is probably not the most efficient or effective of systems and when any prisoners yell at the Marines on guard the traditional boast of "These walls won't hold me!" they speak no more than the simple truth. I myself have seen the looks of disappointment on the prisoner's faces as they try and rattle their pannikins against the bars of the cell. The effect is just not the same when all they can rattle them against is the tent flap.
In an act of some desperation we have been left with the stratagem of chaining prisoners to logs in order to keep them from escaping. Fortunately, after Fisher's carry on chopping trees down like there was no tomorrow, logs are something we have plenty of.
Clearly this cannot continue. If we're going to take the trouble to catch felons it seems a pity not have somewhere to put them. Just letting them escape as soon as our back is turned seems a little of a wasted opportunity.
Sometime in the New Year we will call for tenders and see if we can get the thing built. And we will have to see if we can get that cunning monkey Hack to keep his money grubbing paws out of the process.
Some months ago Hack tendered for the building of the canal at Port Adelaide and submitted a costing far lower than any other. Despite my warning that he was doing the old trick of tendering low and charging high the company, all businessmen filled with financial acumen, charged at his quote like a gull on crumbs, blinded by the sparkle of the coin they were going to save.
And what happened? The canal was finished (or so we were told) and the final bill arrived. It was double the original tender and more expensive than any other price we were quoted. So no, Hack will not be asked to submit a quote for any new gaol being built.
My other accomplishment while Fisher was away was something of a personal triumph. I ordered a new kitchen for Government House. Fisher would have opposed this of a certainty and called it an unnecessary luxury and waste of public money, but damn him! I will have a decent place for my food to be cooked!
The mad poisoner Lucrezia has, up until now, been cooking on a fire built on the dirt floor of an outhouse. I have ordered to be built a kitchen with chimney and oven attached to the house. The Widow Borgia will not know herself!
Of course I need hardly add that the largest kitchens of the great houses of England would be of no avail in the effort to produce niceties if they are under the management of a mad woman. No matter the quality of the kitchen, the quality of the food depends on the quality of the cook. Here, I fear, is the fly in the ointment. Or rather, as happened just tonight, the fly in the gravy.
When I informed her of the new kitchen project she was mightily pleased and disconcertingly grinned a grin from ear to ear, showing her two upper teeth.
"Oh lawks! Ya Rexellency! If you thought I was a good cook before, you wait till you see what I might do with a new kitchen!'
As it happens I did not and I dread to think what she might do with a new kitchen.
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