A Decision in the Domain

The Sunday following Reginald Donnelly's visit found William Jeffries making his way through the Domain with the merchant's card still in his pocket, its weight far greater than paper and ink could account for. The January heat had not relented; the air hung thick beneath the eucalyptus trees, and the harbour below shimmered in the afternoon sun. He followed the familiar path to the clearing where he and Eliza had met every Sunday since December—the hidden space they had carved from a world that would never accept what had grown between them.

She was waiting on the fallen tree, as she always was, but her expression when she saw him told Jeffries that she already knew what he had come to discuss. The card he withdrew from his pocket was unnecessary confirmation of what her face had already revealed.

Eliza took the card, her eyes scanning its surface though she must have recognised her father's copperplate script. When she looked up, her expression held something between hope and grief, the two emotions tangled beyond easy separation. Van Diemen's Land, she said quietly. Samuel Hartley. He was a good man—fair, her father said. William could build something there.

The conversation that followed laid bare truths that both had understood but neither had spoken aloud. Eliza admitted that she had encouraged her father's consideration of Jeffries—had spoken of his abilities, his potential, had suggested that he was wasted at the docks under Harbour Master Whitfield's petty authority. She had not anticipated how it would feel to plan for his success whilst simultaneously preparing to lose him.

The clearing that had been their sanctuary now became the setting for an accounting of impossibilities. A transported man could become wealthy in the colony, could earn a measure of respect, but certain doors would always remain closed. Certain alliances—the word hung unspoken but understood—would always be forbidden. Eliza's father might overlook their friendship whilst it remained within certain bounds, but he would never consent to what both of them wished for. The scandal would destroy everything the Donnelly family had built.

Jeffries spoke of refusing the offer, of remaining in Sydney, of finding another path forward. Eliza's response was fierce despite the tears that had begun to spill down her cheeks. She would not be the reason he wasted himself. She would not be the chain that kept him bound to a future he did not deserve. What they had was beautiful and real and precious, but it was not a foundation. It was a secret, and secrets eventually came to light.

The afternoon faded as they sat together, hands clasped, speaking little. There was nothing to say that had not already been acknowledged. The colony's hierarchies were not mere inconveniences to be navigated; they were the walls that held respectable society in place. A convict who forgot his station did not merely embarrass himself—he threatened foundations that powerful people had invested heavily in maintaining.

When they finally rose to part, the decision had been made. Jeffries would accept Donnelly's offer. He would sail to Van Diemen's Land aboard the Doris and work for Samuel Hartley and build whatever he could from the opportunities presented. The path forward led away from Sydney, away from the docks where he had rebuilt himself, away from the woman who had awakened something in him that he had thought permanently extinguished.

They arranged to meet one final time before the ship sailed—a last afternoon in the clearing that had witnessed the impossible flourishing of their connection. What remained to be said would be said then. What remained to be given would be given.

The sun descended toward the harbour as they parted, following separate routes through the Domain as propriety demanded. Behind them, the clearing held the echoes of a future that would never be—the ghost of a life together that circumstances had rendered impossible before it could begin.