Forgotten Fragrance (20 page)

A waft of lily of the valley hung in the air and Charlotte scrabbled after it, crawling on all fours. Marcus hauled her vertical, his fingers latched into the neckline of her dress. Stunned by the strength of the man she dangled, her feet skimming the deck like a puppet. Then he dropped her. She landed with a sickening crunch on her knees, pain ricocheting up her legs.

‘Get below. Out of my sight. You are no better than these blackbirds. Tomorrow you go to The Whaleman's Rest where you belong.'

A small shudder ran through Marcus before he stormed away, back ramrod straight. ‘See to it, Cookie.'

‘Marcus,' Charlotte screamed as her world caved in. She'd found Jamie but lost her only possession binding them to their past.

Christian slammed his head against the bulkhead relishing the pain as it rattled through his skull. With his hands outstretched he stumbled past the empty hammocks where twenty-four hours ago the convicts had rested. Stale sweat and something akin to desperation permeated the entire space. Why he'd even agreed to carry the convicts in the first place rankled. No better than Henk, he'd been lured by easy money. If he had contemplated the atrocity of life below decks he would never have agreed. Money dictated everyone's motives. He blinked into the darkness annoyed — nothing, only impenetrable blackness. Through the years he'd become familiar with every inch of the ship, knew it as well as his own hand, but caged in the darkness it became a sinister labyrinth.

When he located the hatch he rattled it, refusing to accept he had no chance of being free to roam the ship. Well and truly secured this time and no sneaky little escape route through the solid centreboard separating the two holds.

Charlotte was mere inches away from him and he wasn't able to see or touch her. Now the effects of the laudanum had dwindled and his mind had cleared he wanted to sit with Charlotte and catch the elusive images dancing across his mind, fill in the infuriating gaps. The harder he tried to place the pieces the more confusing the puzzle became.

Without a shadow of doubt Charlotte was Lottie, but who was the murdered girl in the alleyway? Henk's taunt still rang in his ears.
Murderer
. Why hadn't he swung? Charlotte would know. When he closed his eyes he could see her face, feel the silky softness of her skin, smell her. Her face had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember; now she inhabited his every waking moment as well.

Oblivious to the pain in his back Christian threw himself into the hammock. The assortment of half-forgotten memories drifted like flotsam to settle in the empty crevices of his mind.

The dead woman's face and her storm-cloud eyes, Charlotte's eyes, yet cold with no hint of sunshine. Not Charlotte. Not the skinny London urchin with the dirty smudged face or the beautiful woman who'd tended his wounds and inflamed his senses. The face he saw was rouged and painted, the carmine slash of her lips spread to her cheeks, her plump thighs, whale flesh beneath a dirty petticoat.

He turned his hands over examining the sticky mess drying on his palms and flexed his fingers. He traced the path across her neck. The pale white of her English skin smeared with the black-red of drying blood. He pulled her skirt over her contorted limbs to the top of her laced boots.

‘Elizabeth!' Christian jerked upright as the pictures interlocked and revealed the scene.

Lottie with her hands to her cheeks and her mouth gaping. The knife dangling in two fingers in front of her. ‘Jamie, why…' Her plaintive cry in the narrow laneway. The sound of running feet. A shove so hard it flattened him against the rough brick wall.

Hauled up by his coat, spread-eagled against the wall. A knee in his kidneys. His arms wrenched backwards. The snap of cuffs. The Bobby's triumphant cry, ‘Got you, boyo. Try and wheedle your way out of this one.'

Lottie's heartbroken sobs as sharp as the knife that slashed Elizabeth. His feet bumping and dragging against the cobbled stones. The darkness as the door closed on the hell that was Newgate.

‘On your feet, matey.'

Christian jumped, blinking owlishly against the waving yellow light, the knot in his stomach unravelling as he recognised Cookie's voice. ‘Got some food, bread, cheese and a bit of meat. Don't eat it all at once. You won't be getting anything else till we've left Boyd Town.'

Christian slid out of the hammock and eyed the wizened little man standing above him shuffling his feet.

‘There's some water here too.' Cookie passed the bucket with food in it down to Christian and a pitcher of water then made a move to shut the hatch.

Cookie was no match for him. He could rush the hatch and be out in a trice. He took a step forward. ‘Cookie?'

The old man shrugged. ‘Just following orders.'

‘You too, Cookie?' Christian knocked back the idea. Once above deck he'd be clearly visible to the rest of the crew. He wouldn't put it past Henk to put a bullet through him. He'd be no good to Charlotte or the blackbirds dead.

Christian didn't miss the man's shamefaced nod. ‘So be it. I would have thought you'd be the last one to condone slavery.'

‘It's got nothing to do with slavery and everything to do with money. The crew are with Henk. He's promised them what they want.'

‘And what do they want?' As if he didn't know. Henk would take the
Zephyrus
back to whaling.

‘A share, the same we've always had. The same way all whaling ships work, like the old man worked. Capt'n gets most and then down the line. Know where you stand and what to expect.'

‘Cookie, it's ridiculous. Nothing's changed about money, only the way we're earning it. I'm following the old man's wishes. You know as well as I do — he didn't want the
Zephyrus
to continue whaling.'

‘Yeah, yeah. There's no real money in passengers and a few bales of wool or casks of someone else's whale oil.'

‘And there's no morality in people smuggling — selling young girls against their will.'

Cookie shrugged again, his face closed. ‘Henk's had this planned for a while now. They're bringing in men from the islands too. The big landowners are going to give ‘em ten pounds a year and set them up as shepherds on the Monaro. Paying's not slavery. Working on a bloody ship for no wages, that's slavery.'

He was fighting a losing battle. He could hear Henk in every word Cookie spoke. If the world-wise Cookie had been swayed he had no chance of changing the opinions of the rest of the crew. ‘How far off Twofold Bay are we?'

‘Won't make it before nightfall. We'll moor offshore and go in, in the morning. The Wainwright bloke says he's got business to do — something about picking up a cargo for Sydney. He's got some deal going with Henk.'

‘And I guess you'll all be getting a cut of it?' Christian raised an eyebrow. A look of doubt flickered across Cookie's eyes. ‘And where's Charlotte? Still locked in the hold?'

‘Dunno.' Cookie shuffled his feet and made a move to close the hatch. ‘You got enough food to keep you going. I'll be back once we leave port.'

The hatch clanged shut and the sound of the wedges hammered into place was the only answer he got. Christian gave the ladder an almighty kick and sank into the nearest hammock. Henk had everything neatly tied up; however, he couldn't imagine Charlotte letting them take the girls ashore without kicking up a stink.

Christian grinned into the darkness — when she was riled she could be as stubborn as a mule with a mouth much too big for her own good. Even as a kid she'd had a big mouth. She — his head crashed against the beam above as he jumped up. Jesus Christ, he could remember the mouthful she'd given the Bobbies as they'd dragged him away. Told them to fuck off in no uncertain terms.

He hadn't seen her again, not until the hearing when he'd been accused of murdering her sister. He thought he was a goner then, waiting for the judge to declare ‘Death by hanging'. But the fence had crossed the wrong person's palm with silver and his claim he'd seen James Harrington plunge the knife into Elizabeth Oliver's throat didn't stand up. Couldn't hardly when the man tripped himself up and said he'd been in the West End that evening and he'd got witnesses to prove it — bloody idiot. What a farce. He'd copped a life sentence. A darn sight better than swinging. It didn't answer the question as to how the hell he'd ended up aboard the
Zephyrus
.

The clatter and rattle of the anchor chain signalled the ship's arrival in Twofold Bay. Frustrated by his inability to see anything Christian pushed himself to his feet and shook the hatch cover — tight as a duck's arse. The usual sounds of the crew attending to the ship filled the air and the
Zephyrus
slowed until she swung on her anchor into the wind. Captain or no captain the crew knew what they were doing.

Tiga uncovered her ears and the other girls followed suit. ‘The big noise hurts my head.'

‘It's the anchor chain,' Charlotte said. ‘It means we've arrived in Twofold Bay.' She paused — Mina would understand the implication of her words.

‘This is where we'll leave the ship,' Mina said, a tremor in her voice.

Once again noise broke out and the sound of chains groaning and the muted shouts of the crew drifted through the hatch cover.

‘What's happening now?' Tiga's big brown eyes studied her.

‘They are lowering one of the boats.'

‘How do you know so much?'

‘I've heard it before. When I went to Van Diemen's Land I arrived by ship and I lived close to the harbour in Hobart Town. I recognise the sounds.'

‘Are they going ashore? We can get away.'

‘I hope we can, Tiga. We'll have to wait and see.' Before too long they'd be shepherded above decks and put into the small boat to be taken ashore under cover of darkness. She had no idea of her fate. Maybe once the girls had left Marcus would come and get her out of the hold. She couldn't imagine him going ashore. If only she could reach Christian, free him and he could go ashore and report Henk to the authorities…

The hatch lifted and a beam of light illuminated the hold. Bristol's bearded face appeared. ‘Up here, girls. All of you.'

Charlotte stepped onto the ladder. She'd lead the way and get the opportunity to get to Christian.

‘Nah. Not you.' Bristol's blackened foot collided with her head and sent her sliding back down the ladder. ‘I only want the blackbirds.'

‘But I —'

‘You stay down there.'

Mina took her place giving Charlotte's arm a quick squeeze. ‘Thank you, Charlotte, for your kindness to us. You will not be forgotten.'

The finality of the woman's words brought a lump to her throat and her eyes pricked with tears. ‘And I will not forget you, Mina. Until we meet again. God's speed.'

With heads held high the girls trooped past her and followed Mina up the ladder. No more words were spoken. Last to mount the ladder was Tiga; she turned and threw her arms around Charlotte's neck. ‘I
will
see you again,' she whispered.

How could she be so weak? The courage and determination in Tiga's young voice spurred her to mount the bottom rung. She would follow. She couldn't stay trapped below decks while they were taken to some sordid inn to service the desires of men like Catz and Bristol. The hairs on her arms prickled and she lifted her skirts. She'd slip through the hatch before Bristol had the opportunity to close it.

As her head breached the top, strong hands reefed her out of the hold and deposited her none too gently on the deck. ‘So you're coming too, are you?'

Raising her chin and making every effort to still the pounding in her chest she glared into Henk's smirking face. ‘Yes, I am coming. If you are taking the girls ashore then you are taking me as well.' The words tumbled from her mouth before she had time to regret them.

‘Suits me. They'll pay well for the likes of you at The Whaleman's Rest. One black one, one white one — make a nice little duo for some randy sailor. Might even give it a go meself.' Henk ran his tongue around his flaccid lips then planted his hand in the small of her back and pushed her along the deck in the direction of the whaleboat.

Charlotte spun around. ‘Where's Marcus? I demand to see Marcus.'

‘Marcus is busy, sleeping off an excess. He'll deal with his business tomorrow.'

‘Where's the Captain?'

‘Don't you worry your pretty little head about him. He's out of harm's way. In case you've forgotten, I'm the captain.' To emphasise his words he rammed the butt end of his pistol into Charlotte's stomach. The air whooshed from her body and she doubled over. Before she had time to recover Catz scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. His heavy arm trapped her legs and pinned her in place despite her futile kicking and screaming.

None of the niceties of coming aboard applied now and Charlotte didn't have time to worry about her modesty. Catz dangled her unceremoniously over the deck rail, almost pulling her arms from their sockets. She scrabbled until her feet found purchase on the rope ladder then slithered down into the overcrowded rowboat.

Lined up like sparrows on a windowsill the girls shifted along until they made room for her on the timber seat. Following Henk's gesture Catz grabbed one oar and Bristol the other and they headed out across the still water of the bay.

The moon stayed hidden behind a light covering of cloud as if wary of their activities. Henk stood in the centre of the small boat, arms akimbo and balanced perfectly, a supercilious glare on his face. Shivering, Charlotte wrapped her arms around her body and shifted back between Mina and Tiga, thankful for the warmth their bodies provided.

After an eternity the boat hit bottom and with a well-practised leap Catz cleared the gunwales and guided them to the shore. The calm water drew them towards the flat sandy beach and small waves washed them into the shallows.