Forgotten Fragrance (14 page)

Settling in with the ease of a born storyteller, Catz lifted his hands from the wheel and rubbed them briskly together. ‘The weather was foul. We were orf the coast, way past Port Albert. We'd bagged a big whale a couple of days before and the fires were going full blast, we were stripping the carcass, the deck was awash with blood and…'

Charlotte raised her hand to her mouth and gulped, trying not to dwell on the picture Catz painted.

‘We'd finished flensing the whale carcass and the pots burnt bright. No shortage of oil for the lamps, fires raging. There was a bump, on the side of the ship. Young Windy said he could see something in the water. We didn't believe him — only a young nipper then but I guess his eyes worked a darn sight better than ours. He grabbed the gaff and hooked it. I helped him pull it aboard. We had no idea it was a body until we landed it.'

‘And the body was Christian?' Charlotte asked, her eyes wide, her imagination painting a picture from hell. If Catz was right, Christian had been hauled from the water twice and as good as dead both times.

‘We thought he was a goner. He coughed and coughed and Cookie did the thing with his arms and the old man blew air into his mouth. We wrapped him up in canvas and left him for dead. The next morning we expected to be sending him over the side, back to the sharks, but bugger me if the little blighter wasn't sitting up and drinkin' a cup of hot rum. The old man looked like he'd found the Spanish Galleons' treasure. Said it was God's will, repaying his act of Christian charity.'

Charlotte's thoughts chased one another across an unimaginable scenario, her mind in turmoil. The ship's log said Jamie had been lost overboard off the South Australian coast and Catz maintained the South Australian coast was where they had found him. What was the
Zephyrus
doing in those waters? From all she had learned since boarding, the ship and crew spent their time in the South Seas.

‘When was this, Catz — how long ago?' Charlotte couldn't imagine anyone describing the tall handsome man on the berth down below as a little blighter.

‘Oh, let's see. Five, six, maybe seven years ago. Time gets lost when you're aboard ship.'

‘But why didn't you take him to port? Why keep him aboard the
Zephyrus
? Didn't he want to go ashore? Find his family?'

‘Argh! Stop with your questions, woman, slow down. We were in the middle of a long run, only pulling into port when we needed supplies, and by the time we did he'd got the hang of things. Took to the sea like a fish to water.' Catz laughed uproariously at his own joke. ‘He was young and sprightly wiv great balance. You could send him up the mainmast and he'd never slip, hung on like a little monkey.'

A picture of Jamie clinging to the spire of St Martin's flashed before Charlotte's eyes. ‘But how did Christian end up as the master of the ship?'

‘Now, that I've never understood.' Catz scratched his mangy hair. ‘‘Parently it was all in the old man's last will and testament. I never got to see it. It wouldn't have done much good, that readin' lark's way beyond me.'

Charlotte adjusted her shawl and gazed out at the approaching coastline. Already she could make out strips of yellow sand and the curve of a bay. The ridiculous beauty of the scenery struck her as bizarre, such a contrast to the agonising torment aboard ship.

‘Henk saw the will though and he was pretty pissed, I mean…beggin' your pardon, Miss, that's no words for a lady.' Charlotte laughed. What would Catz say if he knew how much of a lady she wasn't? ‘Said Christian didn't deserve the ship. Said he was a thieving bloody murderer and he'd been chucked overboard from one of them there transporters after his victim. Too much to manage. He couldn't prove it. Old Jonas always said the day Henk brought him proof Christian was a murderer was the day he'd hand him over. We never got the whole story. Christian said he couldn't remember nuffink. And that was the end of that.'

The solution loomed tantalisingly close. The possibility that Jamie and Christian were one and the same was, in her mind, as good as confirmed. Her hand reached for the chain around her neck and she clasped the tiny bottle tight in the palm of her hand.
My angel.
There was only one person who would use those words, who would know what it meant to her — a symbol of all their hopes through a maelstrom of grief and confusion following Elizabeth's death. All that was in the past, and now she needed to deal with the future. In the same way Jamie had cared for her in London. It was her turn now. ‘I still don't understand though — why the mutiny? Why is Henk so determined to rebel against Christian? Marcus says mutiny is punishable by death — all of you stand to lose your lives, never mind your livelihood.'

Catz rubbed his hand over his chin, stretching out the long hairs of his beard and twirling them around his finger. ‘Now it's an interesting point you make there. Been wondering about it meself. Bristol and me been talking about it.' Catz shot a look over at Bristol as if he was unsure about how much he'd say. Charlotte caught the nod passing between the two of them and waited with as much patience as she could muster for Catz to continue.

He shifted his hands on the wheel and gazed up at Jinks balanced on the mainmast and grunted. ‘When the old man was taken we hit Hobart Town to report it to the authorities. After the argument with the whale
Zephyrus
was taking on water so we had to pull into port anyways. Not something we did much. Things changed once we hit Hobart Town. Took a bit to convince them it was the whale that took Jonas but Christian had written it all up in the log. Maybe this readin' and writin' lark is useful sometimes.' Catz scratched his head again. ‘Christian gave the old man's papers over to the authorities. Then some bloke came down to the wharf with a copy of Jonas' will. Said Christian was the captain and there was to be no more whaling. Well, Henk may be a lot of things but one thing's for certain, he's a whaleman and it's all he knows. He reckons if we take the
Zephyrus
then we can go back to whaling and everything'll be fine.'

Charlotte groaned. She'd managed to avoid talking to Henk so far but it seemed he held the key to the puzzle.

‘Catz, thank you so much for telling me. I'm going to go below and see if Christian is awake and perhaps I can put his mind at ease about the past.'

Charlotte almost skipped across the deck. Jamie Christian, Christian Jamie, one and the same. If she added up all the clues she had to be right. Jamie couldn't remember enough, but she could. She could be his memory.

As she skirted the door to her cabin and reached for the latch the door flew open.

Marcus stood before her, blocking her path. ‘Where have you been?'

‘Up on deck.' She smiled, hoping to quell the rage burning in his eyes. Surely she couldn't have caused it simply by being up on deck. The man appeared deranged. Unshaven, missing both shoes, his grey hair standing up from his head like tufts of feathers and his shirt hanging loose.

‘Can I get you anything? Water perhaps, some breakfast?'

‘Come here, you strumpet.' He reached for her and grabbed a handful of her shawl, ripping it from her shoulders. As he took a step closer she edged back. He moved with surprising agility along the passageway until he leant so close that the stale alcohol on his breath and the odour of his unwashed body clawed at the back of her throat.

‘Come here.'

‘No, Marcus I…

‘The bloody crew of the ship are good enough for you. Why not me?' His words shot out with the force of a slap to her face. ‘I should have listened in the beginning. They told me convict women couldn't be tamed. Once a whore — always a whore.'

Eyes wide open, Charlotte stared in horror. ‘Marcus, I am no whore. When have I ever given you cause to think that of me?'

‘Do you think I'm blind or just plain stupid? I have offered you everything and this is the way you repay me?'

Forcibly pushing her thoughts of Jamie aside Charlotte turned her concentration to the enraged man before her. His bloodshot eyes bulged and a sheen of sweat covered his dome-like brow. ‘Marcus, come into the cabin and let me make you comfortable.'

‘Make me comfortable!' he bellowed, his voice filling the tiny passageway. He gave a snort. ‘Make
me
comfortable? The way you make that,' his hand fluttered towards the Captain's cabin, ‘that
murderer
comfortable?'

With the timber of the wall pressed into her back Charlotte tried to avoid his spittle as he thrust his face into hers.

‘Do you think I don't know what you were doing?'

‘Marcus, I have no idea what you are talking about. Please come and sit down.'

With a dramatic sigh Marcus flounced into the smaller cabin and flopped down on the chair, running his fingers through his hair. She waited patiently, hands clasped demurely in front of her, trying to settle her breathing. She had no idea what had caused Marcus' sudden outburst.

After a silence of several minutes Marcus lifted his head wearily and gazed up at her with bloodshot eyes. ‘I saw you with the man.' His hand gestured vaguely in the direction of the next-door cabin.

‘Marcus, I was nursing him. He has wounds I needed to tend. His back is…

‘It is not his
back
you're interested in!' He sprang to his feet causing the chair to fall and once more Charlotte found herself against the wall with Marcus' heavy breath fanning her face. Instinctively her hand reached for the chain around her neck, seeking reassurance.

‘Yes! You have proved it. I saw him with his face buried in your, your…bosom!' He spat the word as though a curse, then raised both his hands and stepped back. ‘Don't try and deny it. I saw you indulging your foul appetite, communing with Satan. You are no better than he. A murderer and a whore — the perfect match. I want no more to do with you. I was a fool to think a convict could be civilised.' His finger stabbed in front of her face. ‘You are ruined, my girl. Your true colours shown. I simply cannot entertain marriage to a whore. And I had thought divine guidance had brought us together.'

Spent, Marcus righted the chair and sank down once more. ‘Get out of my sight,' he spat. ‘I want no more of you. When we reach Sydney I will hand your papers over to the authorities and you can return to the Factory where you belong. God has shown me the error of my ways. Only he can offer you redemption.'

‘Marcus I —'

‘Marcus nothing. There is no more you can say or do. Get out of my sight, woman.'

Swallowing back her horror and any hope of setting the record straight, Charlotte stumbled back up onto the deck, craving the open air. Her heartbeat hammered in her head and black spots danced before her eyes. She hadn't even had the opportunity to explain who she believed Christian to be. Surely if she did Marcus would not misinterpret the situation. The horror stories of the Women's Factory made her stomach churn. How could fate send her back once more into a world she'd finally left behind?

With the wind in her face and her eyes on the rapidly approaching coastline she leant over the deck rail and peered down into the depths of the ocean. She might as well be shackled and below decks like the poor Islander girls. She was no better off than the convicts soon to be landed at Port Albert and sent God only knows where to work out their sentence. How could she have come so far and have everything pulled out from beneath her, and at the exact moment when her dearest wish might come true.

‘Missus, Missus?' Mina's sibilant whisper broke into her thoughts. She examined the hatch, battened down but not fastened. Gazing around the deck she pinpointed Henk back at the wheel. Catz and Bristol were in conversation, probably discussing Catz's revelations. Carefully she slid behind the mainmast and squatted down, her face level with the hatch.

‘Mina. I'm here. Is everything all right? Have you got food? Are they treating you well?' Since Jamie's keelhauling yesterday morning all thoughts of the poor girls incarcerated below deck had flown from her mind.

‘Yes, we are all right. We are approaching land.'

‘Yes, Mina, we are. How can you tell?'

‘Last night, Missus, when we were allowed on deck, one of the convict men told us we were coming to Port Albert and they would leave the ship.'

‘You're right, Mina, and so is he. We are approaching Port Albert and we will pull in to discharge the convicts and then we will be on our way.'

‘On our way to where?'

‘Why, to Boyd Town where you will all disembark. Did you not know?'

‘No, Missus. What will they do with us? What will happen to us?'

Did they not know their fate? Even she'd known her destination when she left the Thames aboard the
Atwich.
Did they truly not understand they were being sold into slavery as prostitutes? Mortified, she searched for a reply.

As long as the command of the ship lay with Henk then his foul racket would go ahead. Christian might regain control of his ship but not in time to save the girls. The crew were with Henk — and there was Marcus. She glanced over her shoulder to see him engaged in a conversation with Henk involving much arm-waving and finger-pointing. For a moment her spirits soared. Maybe Marcus was at long last making a stand against Henk and his dubious practices.

She made a snap decision. ‘Mina — I don't know any more other than the fact you will disembark, leave the ship, at Boyd Town. There's another day or two to sail once we leave Port Albert, plenty of time for me to find out.' The lie sat like a swelling on her lips as she tried to swallow her guilt.

‘Thank you, Missus.' Mina's fingers curled up through the lattice of the hatch cover. Charlotte grasped them and squeezed them once then struggled to her feet.

Marcus and Henk stood together. The hand-waving had stopped and they appeared to have reached some sort of agreement. Was it possible? Surely Marcus, no matter how erratic his behaviour, could not condone mutiny and slavery.