Girl of Shadows (33 page)

‘Sarah, what did you mean when you said to Friday you’re not sure she really is back? Who?’

Sarah gave a reluctant sigh and swivelled on her stool. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything, but do you recall when you came to supper — last October, was it? — and Adam told you Esther thought this house was haunted? Well, it was, by the ghost of a girl named Rachel Winter. It was the reason Esther left. The poor woman was frightened witless. She couldn’t bear it.’

‘Poor woman, my arse,’ Jared said coarsely. ‘The pair of you clearly couldn’t stand each other.’

Sarah’s heart gave a little jolt of alarm, a reminder that she must be very careful. Just because he behaved like a boor didn’t mean he was obtuse. ‘That’s true, we didn’t get on. She thought I was to blame for Rachel’s spirit being here.’

Jared moved across to the workbench and leant against it. ‘Who exactly was this Rachel?’

Sarah turned again so she could see his face. ‘A girl who was transported with me and Harrie and Friday. We were very close. She died giving birth in the Factory.’

‘Who was the father?’

Sarah frowned. What the hell did that matter? Also, she most definitely didn’t want Jared connecting them to Keegan in any way. ‘We never knew.’

‘Like that, was she?’

‘We all are, Jared. We’re convict whores, remember?’

He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. ‘And this ghost went away when Esther left?’

‘Seemed to.’ Sarah manufactured a vaguely regretful expression. ‘I suppose in a way it
might
have been my fault Rachel haunted this house, but only because this is where I was assigned. Esther was just as much to blame. If she hadn’t been so unpleasant to me, and if she’d granted me leave to go to the cemetery when Rachel was buried, perhaps Rachel would have stayed in her grave.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jared seemed uneasy.

‘It was extremely unpleasant here when all the haunting business was going on. There was a very nasty sense of … resentment in the air. I can’t help thinking Rachel may have been angry with Esther.’

‘Because she stopped you from —’

‘Attending the burial. Yes. I was very upset.’ What an understatement.

‘And you think the ghost was persecuting Esther for that?’

‘And for being such a constant bitch to me.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘But then Rachel always was very protective of us.’

‘And when Esther went, so did the ghost?’ Jared asked again, as though to reassure himself.

Sarah turned back to the workbench, gave the silver bangle she’d been engraving a quick polish with a cloth and squinted at it. ‘All the strange activity stopped, if that’s what you mean. The bad smells and the furniture and everything moving around and the food going off and the creaks and rattles and bangs in the night.’

‘Good God! That’s certainly a relief to hear.’ Jared pulled nervously at his cravat. ‘Sounds like an absolute nightmare!’

Sarah raised her head and looked him squarely in the eye. ‘Well, I
thought
it had stopped, until last night.’

George Street’s new market sheds had not long been completed, replacing the bark and slab huts, rough stalls and open ground that had previously constituted Sydney’s central market. After numerous and ongoing complaints from nearby residents and shopkeepers, the livestock market had been moved south to Campbell Street in the valley below Brickfield Hill, taking its flies and noisome stinks with it, and there was talk of the hay and grain farmers following in due course. It was also quietly hoped that with them would go the less salubrious stallholders — those who sold second-hand goods, ready-made hot foods, and medical
preparations of questionable quality — leaving the George Street market to good, honest Sydney citizens shopping to simply feed families and stock store shelves.

Smirking to herself, Friday hurried towards one of the market’s many entrances, looking for something to grab to eat before her doctor’s appointment. That had been clever of Sarah. Whatever hints she’d dropped to Gellar about Rachel’s ghost reappearing must have been good ones, judging by the way his gob had been flapping open.

She spied a familiar figure about to enter one of the long sheds. ‘Harrie! Oi,
Harrie
!’

Harrie stopped and waved. She had one of the junior Barretts with her, the naughty, annoying one named Hannah.

Friday hurried over. ‘I’ve just been at Sarah’s. It’s started,’ she said, rubbing her hands with glee.

‘What has?’

‘You know.’ She inclined her head at the child, indicating she needed to watch what she said. ‘The return of our friend.’

‘Oh. Right. How is Sarah?’

‘Pretty fed up. He’s been pawing her again.’

Harrie made a face. ‘I’ve been meaning to visit but Lewis and Sam have been sick for the last two days. I’ll go in the morning if I can get away.’ She put out a hand. No Hannah. ‘Oh God, where’s she gone?’

Friday spotted her disappearing into the fruit and vegetable shed. They trotted after her but lost sight of her again once they entered the noisy, dimly lit building. The shed was two hundred feet long, about thirty wide and divided into multiple stalls piled high with fresh produce, and crowded with shoppers.

‘Oh Lord, what if someone steals her?’ Harrie fretted.

‘Wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?’

‘Don’t be horrible.’

They eventually found her in the grip of an irate-looking costermonger, her mouth and hands stained dark red with plum juice.

‘Is this your kiddie?’ the man demanded.

‘She’s … yes, she is,’ Harrie said for simplicity’s sake.

‘Well, you owe me one shilling and tuppence. She’s pinched and eaten eight of me prime plums.’

Friday laughed down at Hannah. ‘You’ll be shitting through the eye of a needle tomorrow, won’t you?’

‘Did you help yourself?’ Harrie asked.

Hannah nodded. ‘I were
hungry
.’

‘Why didn’t you stop her?’ Harrie asked the costermonger.

‘I didn’t see her, did I? She were down there in front of me stand. She’s only a dot.’

Harrie opened her purse and counted out the money. ‘Thank you for not fetching the watch.’

The costermonger humphed. ‘What do you think I am, with her just a kiddie?’

‘I appreciate your generosity.’

The man tipped his hat as Harrie dragged Hannah away by the hand. As soon as they were out of the shed, she removed a length of sturdy twine from her basket.

‘Nooo, I
hate
the twine!’ Hannah whined.

‘I’m sorry, Hannah, but I did tell you what would happen if you misbehaved.’ Harrie tied one end of the twine to the back straps of Hannah’s pinafore and looped the other around her wrist. ‘Where are you off to now?’ she asked Friday.

‘Appointment with the doctor.’

‘James?’

Friday shrugged. ‘I usually see old Chandler. I need a note for Mrs H to say I’m fit for work.’ She was fairly sure her recent bout of gonorrhoea had now passed. ‘Though it was James who sewed up the dog bite. I’ll get Chandler to check and make sure I don’t have rabies after all, though obviously I don’t. It’s been months and months and I haven’t bitten a single person. Shall I say hello to James for you if I see him?’

‘No, it’s all right, thank you,’ Harrie said hastily.

‘Why not? Christ, don’t tell me you aren’t talking again!’

‘No, it’s not that.’ Harrie wouldn’t meet Friday’s eyes. ‘I just don’t feel … up to seeing him at the moment.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Harrie. He’s said sorry, hasn’t he? Look, why don’t you just get off your bum and go and visit him at home?’

Harrie was shocked. ‘I couldn’t do that.’ She gave the twine a good jerk as Hannah bounded off after a woman carrying a litter of kittens in a basket.

‘Why? Because of Rowie?’

‘Have you had a proper look around?’ Harrie said, wrenching the conversation in another direction. ‘It’s a lot nicer with the new sheds, don’t you think?’

‘It’s a market,’ Friday said dismissively. She found shopping boring and never did it if she could avoid it. The girls Elizabeth employed at the Siren’s Arms hotel did all the shopping, and the cooking, and Friday ate whatever was put in front of her, as long as it wasn’t oysters. ‘Don’t change the subject.’ It was too late now anyway. She waved. ‘Speak of the devil.’

‘James?’

‘No, Rowie.’

Harrie whipped her head around. Approaching was a very pretty girl wearing a pale pink dress and a cream bonnet trimmed with pink ribbons. She was petite and slender yet shapely, had lovely, gleaming black hair falling in loops over her ears, and looked far better than a convict girl had a right to. Then, with a squirt of annoyance, Harrie remembered that Rowie Harris wasn’t a convict — she had a ticket of leave.

Friday pecked Rowie on the cheek. ‘Nice to see you, Rowie. How’s things with you?’

‘Can’t complain. Good to see you, too, Friday. How’s the leg?’

‘Mended. Rowie, this is my friend, Harrie Clarke.’

‘Oh, so
you’re
Harrie.’ Rowie offered her hand.

Reluctantly, Harrie took it, catching a pleasant whiff of perfume. Rowie’s palm was warm and dry, unlike her own, which was now sweating.

‘James is always talking about you,’ Rowie said. ‘“Harrie says this, Harrie did that.” It’s very nice to finally meet you.’

James? Bloody
James
? ‘Thank you,’ Harrie said stiffly.

‘How’s the …’ Friday gestured vaguely at Rowie’s middle.

‘A little better. Comes and goes. You must come and visit again, Friday.’

Rowie regularly dropped by at the Siren to catch up on the gossip, but Friday had been rather remiss at returning the courtesy.

‘You’re right, I should,’ she said.

‘You, too, Harrie. Come in the evening. I really think James would like that. In fact, I know he would.’

Harrie thought furiously, who the hell are you to know what James would like? ‘I’m really very busy. I have two jobs, you know,’ she said. Then realised how rude that sounded. ‘But, yes, perhaps one evening we could drop by.’ She wouldn’t, though.

‘That would be lovely,’ Rowie said. ‘And who’s this dear little girl?’

Hannah was picking her nose.

‘This is Hannah Barrett. She belongs to the family I’m assigned to,’ Harrie explained.

Rowie bent down. ‘Good morning, Hannah.’

Hannah ignored her, fascinated by the lump of snot on the end of her finger.

‘Hannah, say good morning, please,’ Harrie prompted, though silently she applauded the little girl’s disgusting manners.

‘Mornin’.’

‘What a sweet thing,’ Rowie said. ‘Well, I should get on with my errands. Nice to see you both. And please come and visit. James would love it.’ She gave a little wave and headed off towards the meat, poultry and dairy shed.

‘See? She’s perfectly nice,’ Friday said.

Harrie scowled.

‘Shall we visit?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just don’t want to talk about it, Friday! Not now, anyway.’ Harrie slapped Hannah’s hand away from her nose. ‘
Hannah
, will you stop doing that?’

Friday said, ‘Well, I’ve got ears when you’re ready.’

‘Thanks. I know. I know you have.’

‘Good. Now, I’ve really got to go or I’ll be late.’

When she’d disappeared into the crowd, Hannah said, ‘Harrie, has Friday got a baby?’

Startled, Harrie looked down at her. ‘No. Why?’

‘Then why’s she got her bubbies out?’

‘Oh, Hannah, don’t ask so many questions.’

Nibbling a hot potato, Friday strode down George Street, turned right onto King then followed Pitt north towards Dr Chandler’s surgery. Hearing the rattle of a vehicle approaching from behind, she moved to the edge of the road, but suddenly had to leap for her life as, in a flash of midnight-blue paintwork and a jingle of harnesses, the gig swerved directly at her, barely missing her. A hoot of harsh laughter issued from beneath the gig’s raised hood before it sped off down the street, wheels hurling up gravel. Friday launched her potato in an almighty lob, cursing the air blue as it exploded harmlessly against the oiled black canvas.

Her anger hadn’t subsided by the time she arrived at the doctors’ surgery to discover at least a dozen other patients sitting outside, waiting to be seen.

‘Hoi, wait your turn!’ someone demanded as she stamped up to the door of the little cottage Lawrence Chandler had converted to medical rooms.

‘You can wait
your
bloody turn,’ Friday snapped. ‘
I’ve
got an appointment.’

‘You get back here!’ the woman spluttered. ‘Who do you think you are?’

‘Queen Adelaide,’ Friday shot back.

The woman, a bony specimen wearing a shawl tucked into her waistband and a lumpy brown bonnet, lurched up off the ground and marched over.

‘You. Wait. Your. Turn,’ she repeated, emphasising each word by jabbing Friday’s freshly tattooed arm with a sharp finger. ‘I’ve got two very ill kiddies, one with a shocking case of blight and the other with galloping consumption.
You
don’t look poorly at all.’

‘Oh but I am.’

‘Prove it!’

Friday whipped up her skirt, revealing the ragged purple scar on her calf. ‘Dog bite.
Rabies
!’ And she bared her teeth and barked like a deranged dog.

The woman’s eyes bulged and she backed away, then turned and fled, slowing only to scoop up her two startled children.

A window creaked open and James’s head appeared. ‘What on earth is going on out here?’

‘Is old Lawrence about? I’m here for my appointment.’

‘He’s running at least an hour and a half late. We had an emergency this morning.’

Friday pouted. ‘Well, Christ, I can’t wait that long!’

‘Was that you making dog noises?’ James asked.

‘Might have been.’

James heaved a sigh and pulled out his watch. ‘I can see you now, just briefly, otherwise you’ll have to wait for Dr Chandler.’

A moment later Friday was sitting in the chair beside James’s desk. ‘I actually do have an appointment, you know.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ James said. ‘A man arrived earlier today having almost severed his foot with an axe. Dr Chandler had to tend to him, because of course the poor fellow couldn’t afford to go to the infirmary. It’s set us very much behind, but I can spare you about fifteen minutes. Providing you promise not to bark. I assume that isn’t why you’re here? It is rather late for the onset of hydrophobia. Obviously you were very lucky there.’

‘I’ve had the clap. I’ve been seeing Chandler for that. I need a note for my boss to say it’s gone so I can go back to work.’

‘
Has
it gone?’

‘Hard to say. I think so. I don’t stink any more and the burning’s stopped.’

‘Well, I heartily approve of Mrs Hislop not allowing you to work while indisposed,’ James said. ‘Not all, er, madams are as conscientious.’

Friday snorted. ‘Easy for you to say, you aren’t losing her any money. She’s been right shitty at me. I didn’t
ask
for the clap.’

James fiddled with the implements on his desk, aligning a scissors perfectly between his stethoscope and a tongue depressor. ‘I will have to carry out an examination. I cannot issue a statement of fitness without doing so.’

Unexpectedly, Friday felt embarrassed, which made her angry all over again. ‘Mrs H wouldn’t expect anything less,’ she snapped.

‘Then please recline on the examination couch.’

Friday removed her hat and lay down on the worn leather bench, her booted feet hanging over the end. ‘Skirts lifted?’ she said, determined to make James feel as uncomfortable as she did.

He set a lamp on the small table strategically placed at the end of the bench, and turned up the wick. ‘If you please.’

‘Knees up round my ears?’

‘Slightly bent will be sufficient, thank you.’

Friday did as asked. James had a thorough look, and a good sniff, but didn’t touch her. ‘Thank you, you may lower your skirts. I see no evidence remaining of any venereal affliction, and will issue a note to your employer accordingly.’

An unguarded expression flitted across Friday’s face that looked very much to James like disappointment.

‘You don’t want to return to work?’

‘No, it’s time I went back.’

But James knew what he’d seen. ‘I might as well look at the site of the dog bite while you’re here. Would you please turn over onto your stomach.’

He palpated the purple L-shaped scar on Friday’s right calf. It had healed remarkably well, testament, in all likelihood, to her general good health and sound eating habits, and to his skill with a needle and catgut, if he did say so himself. It was somewhat lumpy, but that was to be expected, and the lurid colour marred her attractive pale skin, but there was no avoiding that.

‘Ugly, isn’t it?’ Friday remarked.

‘Is there any pulling with activity? Stretching? Running?’

‘I can feel it when I stretch. I hardly ever run, though. I was thinking of getting it tattooed.’

‘The scar?’

‘Yes. I don’t want a bloody great purple mark down the back of my leg.’

‘It will fade with time, you know. Scars always do.’

Friday rolled over and sat up. ‘Well, I don’t want to wait that long.’

‘I wouldn’t recommend it. The skin is new and still very delicate. If you must do it, I suggest you wait a while.’

‘Maybe,’ Friday said, hopping off the couch. ‘Been to see Harrie lately?’

‘I’m afraid not. We’ve been extremely busy with all the dysentery going about since Christmas. And I’m not sure it’s any business of yours anyway.’

‘Maybe not, but this is. She thinks she’s seeing Rachel’s ghost. And she talks to her, at night. Regularly. Me and Sarah are worried sick.’

James sat at his desk. ‘How long has this been going on?’

‘Ages. Months and months.’ Friday tapped her head. ‘Sarah reckons she’s losing her mind, but I don’t know about that. Nora Barrett says she’s managing her duties perfectly well. Perhaps Rachel really has come back.’

James felt his pulse quicken as he thought back to his last encounter with Harrie. Her behaviour
had
been rather out of character. ‘Is she demonstrating any other symptoms of lunacy?’

‘I don’t know, you’re the doctor. You’ve seen her. What do you think?’

‘Friday, as I’ve just said, I’ve seen far too little of her of late. I’m asking you for
your
opinion.’

‘Well, there’s no need to be snippy about it.’ However, Friday recounted to him the precarious state of Harrie’s nerves, and her endless worrying and evident fatigue, but also how lately she seemed to have rallied somewhat, rising to the challenge of supporting Sarah in her time of crisis.

James said, ‘That is her forté, though, isn’t it, giving comfort to others?’

‘Christ, you make her sound like a bloody saint.’

‘In some ways she is quite a paragon of virtue.’

If you only knew, Friday thought. ‘You didn’t think that when she was drunk in Hyde Park.’

‘I had no idea she was suffering such … mental distress.’

‘No, you’re too busy tending to everyone else. Folk you don’t even know. What about plying your trade a bit closer to home, doing some good for someone you actually care about?’

‘I’d be delighted to, if only she’d —’ James stopped, reluctant to discuss his personal affairs any further. Especially with Friday. ‘This note: do I mark it attention of Mrs Elizabeth Hislop?’

Friday nodded.

‘And when would you like to be declared fit for work?’

‘Oh, now, I suppose.’

James dipped his pen into a bottle of ink, wrote the note, then rolled his blotter across the lines. ‘May I suggest the use of sheaths to prevent future afflictions of the type you’ve just suffered?’

‘You can suggest it but it isn’t going to happen. You try and get the buggers to wear them. Apparently it feels like shagging with a Wellington boot on your tool.’

This didn’t surprise, or shock, James; he’d heard such complaints before. ‘Well, please consider the possibility. I’m sure Mrs Hislop would prefer healthy employees.’

‘No, she’d prefer a popular and busy brothel. And we always make the cullies wash beforehand. It’s why our house is so clean and Mrs H can charge such outrageous prices.’

James gave up. Friday wouldn’t, he was sure, comprehend the finer points of a lecture on how venereal diseases could be transmitted. The reason Elizabeth Hislop’s establishment had a reputation for being relatively disease-free was that she didn’t allow her girls to work when they were infected.

‘And you said Harrie is still with the Barretts?’

‘Yes. Why?’

James handed her the note. ‘Good day, Friday.’

He’d make a point of visiting Harrie as soon as he could, busy be damned.

Starving now and regretting chucking her potato at Bella the Bitch, Friday stopped at a street vendor on the way home and bought some hot roast pork and pickles on a bap. It was a warm day, the kind that made you sticky and itchy under your clothes, but thunder clouds were piling ominously in the sky to the west, which likely meant heavy rain before nightfall, and then the streets would stream with filthy water and everything would be slick with mud.

She didn’t want to go back to work. It had been nice having a rest from having to lie under stupid, sweating, grunting pigs. But she had no choice; she had to make money, now more than ever. Well, at least Mrs H would be happy with her return.

She wandered down the carriageway at the side of the Siren’s Arms, licking pickle juice off her fingers, and unlocked the gate into
the narrow alleyway leading to the brothel. The cobblestones in the alley were covered with a thin film of moss, and Friday reminded herself to ask Jack to give them another scrape. At night, especially during winter, they could be treacherous. The August before, Hazel had taken a tumble and landed on her arse — she hadn’t been able to sit down for days.

Entering the brothel’s backyard, she stopped short, astonished, then shouted, ‘Oi, get out of there, you mangy bloody goat!’

The privy door banged open and Loulou emerged, rearranging her robe. ‘Who the hell are you calling a goat?’

Friday pointed.

The beast in question — a shaggy, mean-looking billy goat with wickedly curved horns — turned from its dinner of freshly laundered antimacassars hanging on the washing line and stared balefully through evil yellow eyes.

Lou shot back into the privy.

‘Get out!’ Friday whipped off her boot and hurled it. ‘Go on, bugger off!’

The boot bounced off the goat’s rump. It barely flinched.

The back door opened and Elizabeth Hislop appeared. ‘What’s all … oh!’ The door shut again.

Friday sidled around the animal, intending to herd it out of the yard, but Elizabeth reappeared with a pistol and fired it, aiming at the sky. The goat leapt into the air and scrambled for the gate, its hooves skidding on the yard’s cobbles. It left a trail of little dark turds in its wake. A moment later Friday and Elizabeth glimpsed it on top of the wall on the far side of the alleyway, and then it was gone.

Elizabeth broke open the pistol. ‘How the hell did that get in here?’

‘Same way as it got out, I suppose.’

‘Just look at my good linen. Ruined!’

Friday called, ‘You can come out now, you gutless article.’

Lou emerged from the privy, red patches high on her cheeks. ‘Don’t you dare call me gutless! I can’t
stand
goats!’ Glaring at Friday, she stomped up the steps into the house.

Friday hooted with laughter. ‘You should have shot the ruddy thing,’ she said to Elizabeth. ‘You could have served it in the pub. Goat stew.’

‘I don’t hold with shooting things,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘Gives me nightmares.’

Friday followed Elizabeth inside. ‘Serves Lou right. She’s
always
in the bog.’

‘She is not,’ Elizabeth said as she unlocked the door to her office. ‘She wouldn’t have time to work if she was. Why does it bother you?’

‘
Everything
she does bothers me.’

Elizabeth put the pistol in a drawer and sat at her desk. ‘But why?’

‘I don’t know.’ Friday flopped into a chair. ‘She just gets on my tits.’

She couldn’t tell Mrs H the real reason — that she was
sure
she’d seen Lou with Amos Furniss at the Black Rat — because she’d kept from Mrs H the fact that she, Sarah and Harrie were being blackmailed by Bella, and Lou’s appearance with Furniss could only mean she was also involved. The mystery of who had tried to break into Mrs H’s safe hadn’t been solved, either. But who else could that have been but Lou? Molly had said she’d seen her coming down the stairs as they’d gone into the office that day: perhaps Lou had spied Sarah with the bag containing the Charlotte fund. It was obvious when you thought about it.

‘Well, don’t
let
her get on your tits,’ Elizabeth said shortly. ‘Try and act your age. Now, how did you get on with Dr Chandler?’

Friday dug around in her reticule for James’s note and passed it to her. ‘I’m fit for work as of now.’

Elizabeth read it. ‘That’s a relief. I’m sick of telling your regulars you’re indisposed with a stomach complaint. They’ve been asking
for you constantly.’ She opened her mouth, and shut it again. Then she said, ‘No, bugger it, I will say it. You’ve also had at least half a dozen new gentlemen asking for you. Well, most of them were gentlemen. A couple were tars.’

‘Have I?’ Friday tried to sound enthusiastic.

‘Yes, you have. They were asking for the redhead with the tattoos.’

‘The tattoos you said were cheap and would put the cullies off?’