Kitty (27 page)

‘Ah,’ she said eventually. ‘You’re a very long way from home.’

Kitty suppressed a sigh of annoyance. Of course Wai was a long way from home: with her facial moko, coffee-coloured skin and wavy black hair, she looked very exotic and foreign.

‘And you’re with child,’ Mrs Turnbull added triumphantly.

Oh, for God’s sake, Kitty thought.

‘Will my child be safe?’ Wai asked suddenly.

Kitty held her breath; this was the first time that Wai had expressed any real interest in her baby.

Mrs Turnbull gave the leaves another vigorous swirl. ‘It will be a boy,’ she announced, ‘and healthy. He will live a long and full life.’

Wai smiled and seemed to relax.

‘Forgive me for asking, but how on earth can you tell that…’—Kitty leaned forwards and peered into Wai’s teacup—‘…from two dozen used tea leaves?’

Mrs Turnbull gave her a look that was both sharp and affronted. ‘Me gift comes from God and I don’t question it. I am simply His vessel on earth, here to channel the fates for them that wants to know.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry,’ Kitty said. ‘Anything else?’

‘What about me?’ Wai urged. ‘What will happen to me?’

The old woman turned Wai’s cup half a revolution to the right, then did it again. She stared into it for a long time, then frowned. ‘I’m not entirely clear about what your future holds. The leaves tell me that you will go home, but perhaps not for a while.’ She looked up. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

Wai turned to Kitty, amazed. ‘How does she know that?’ She faced Mrs Turnbull again, eager now to know more. ‘Does it say when? What will my father say? Will he welcome me?’

Mrs Turnbull did another quick swirl. ‘I don’t know about your father, dear, but your mother is waiting for you.’

Wai recoiled. ‘My mother? My mother is dead!’

‘Well, that’s what the leaves are telling me,’ Mrs Turnbull said matter- of-factly.

Worried that Wai might become upset by such irresponsible rubbish, Kitty pushed her own cup across the table. ‘My turn.’

‘A sea voyage,’ Mrs Turnbull said after executing the apparently obligatory swirls. ‘Mmm, possibly quite a lot of them. Oh, and look, a love like no other, one that will last many, many years. You lucky girl.’ Her gaze suddenly met Kitty’s, sharp and inquisitive. ‘Who is the dark man?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kitty said. Could she mean Hugh Alexander? He had black curls. ‘Do you mean dark-haired?’

‘No, I mean dark of heart. But he’s gone so I don’t suppose it matters anyway,’ Mrs Turnbull replied. She tilted Kitty’s cup and tapped the side of it with a broad finger. Her face fell. ‘Oh dear, I think you might be spending some time behind bars, love.’

Kitty stood up; she’d had enough. ‘Well, your readings have certainly been very, er, interesting, but we have to go. Come on, Wai.’

Mrs Turnbull nodded graciously. ‘Do come back soon,’ she said, and, grunting with the effort, retrieved her paper from the floor.

Outside on the street, Kitty said, ‘What a waste of a shilling that was.’

Wai shook her head. ‘No, it was not. I know I will go home now.’

‘She was making it up, Wai,’ Kitty said. ‘She was guessing.’ But seeing
the disappointment on her friend’s face, she added, ‘But she was sort of right. I mean, you will go home eventually.’

Wai nodded. ‘I hope so, Kitty. It is…different here, and it is sometimes good, but it is not home. I do not want to stay here for ever.’

‘I know,’ Kitty said, and put her arm through Wai’s.

They walked down George Street, looking in a few shops and stopping to buy meat from Mrs Doyle’s butcher and a pound of apples before calling in at the Bird-in-Hand to find Haunui.

But the moment they entered the pub, they knew immediately that something was wrong. As they paused over the threshold, every head in the tap room turned towards them and the chatter stopped, as though the occupants had been expecting to see someone else. The tension in the room was thick.

They were all there, the entire crew except for Rian, sitting around their usual table. The men looked different, though, and Kitty had to think for a moment why. And then she realised: no one was laughing. In fact, they were all decidedly pale—except for Gideon, who could never be any less black than he was. Pierre looked close to tears.

‘What?’ she said as she approached the table, a bubble of dread expanding in her chest. ‘What’s happened?’

His face grim, Hawk said, ‘Rian’s been arrested.’

T
he warrant for Rian’s arrest had been issued by Mr Kinghazel and served on him late that morning while he was down at the docks working on the
Katipo.
The charge was failing to pay customs duties on tobacco and alcohol brought into Sydney Cove during the
Katipo’s
last visit to Sydney. Rian had been taken away in manacles and was now incarcerated in Sydney Gaol.

Kitty regarded the crestfallen faces surrounding her. They had left the pub and were now crowded into the front room of 4 Caraher’s Lane. Pierre was stirring one of his special rich stews over the fire, insisting that they would have a much better chance of devising a plan to free Rian with something substantial and nutritious in their bellies, instead of just the rum and ale they’d carried back from the Bird-in-Hand in an assortment of carafes and jugs.

Mick tamped tobacco into his pipe and lit it. ‘If we don’t come up with something,’ he said between vigorous puffs, ‘Rian’ll do a lag, to be sure, and a long one at that. That shite Kinghazel’s been gunning for him for ages.’

‘He also stands to lose the
Katipo
,’ Hawk said.

‘And he’ll be transported to Newcastle,’ Sharkey added gloomily. ‘We don’t stand a chance in hell of springing him from the prison up there. It’s like a fucking fortress—‘scuse me, ladies.’

‘But surely if he paid the duty, he’ll have the receipts?’ Kitty said. ‘Gideon, you know all about the
Katipo’s
paperwork, don’t you?’

Gideon nodded, but wouldn’t meet her eye.

‘Well,’ Kitty went on, ‘have you had a good look? In his desk, perhaps?’

‘I have looked,’ Gideon replied, still staring hard at the tabletop. ‘Perhaps they have been lost.’

‘Lost?’ Kitty exclaimed. ‘Well, they’re not much use to him
lost,
are they? He’ll need them to prove his innocence. You’ll just have to find them.’

‘They are not there,’ Gideon said with such doleful conviction that Kitty’s temper began to fray.

‘So you’re all going to just sit around looking miserable and drinking rum while Rian rots away in that gaol?’ she said incredulously. She could not understand why they were not at this very minute ripping the
Katipo
apart looking for the missing receipts.

‘No, we are not going to do that,’ Hawk said calmly. ‘We are going to get him out.’

‘And how do you propose to do that without the proper papers?’ Kitty demanded, wanting very much now to slap someone. ‘For God’s sake, Gideon just said he can’t find them!’

Hawk reached for his cup but didn’t take a drink. Instead he stared into it, silent and thoughtful. Then, slowly, he glanced over at Sharkey and raised his eyebrows.

Sharkey stared to laugh. Kitty glared at him.

‘Then we’ll just have to get some more, eh?’ Sharkey said, his eyes suddenly alight with excited optimism.

The rhythmic stirring from the fireplace stopped. ‘Avery Bannerman,’ Pierre said abruptly. ‘He still be in the Barracks?’

‘Avery Bannerman?’ Kitty said. ‘Who’s he?’

‘Avery Bannerman was the greatest screever London’s ever seen,’ Sharkey said. ‘Whatever you wanted—legal papers, banknotes, letters—he could do it. Fucking amazing, he was. Still is, probably.’

Wai pulled a puzzled face. ‘What is a…screever?’

‘A forger,’ Mick said. ‘Makes up papers and documents to look like the real thing. He got nibbed and sent out about four years ago.’

‘He would want money,’ Hawk said.

‘So?’ Sharkey said. ‘We got it.’

Mick said, ‘Might not be all he’d want, though. You know what they say about him.’

In the thoughtful silence that followed, Pierre put his spoon aside and began to take down bowls and plates from the shelf. Kitty stood up to help, setting the crockery on the table and slicing a loaf of bread. After a final taste to make sure the flavour was just so, Pierre carried the pot over to the table and began to ladle out the steaming stew. The smell was delicious and Kitty suddenly realised how hungry she was. A loud grumble emanating from the region of Haunui’s middle suggested that she wasn’t the only one.

She sat down again and dipped her spoon into a stew-filled bowl, blowing on it to lower the temperature before she put it in her mouth. It was indeed tasty, filled with pieces of succulent meat and vegetables and a mixture of Pierre’s exotic spices. She reached for a slice of bread and spread it with butter, dipping it into her stew so that little globules of fat floated off and mingled with the juices, then took a hearty bite.

After several mouthfuls she suddenly realised that no one else was eating, and glanced up to see that everyone was staring at her.

Slowly, she put down her piece of bread. ‘What?’

She nearly fainted when she found out.

Evidently, Avery Bannerman had a very keen eye for the ladies, and it was the general consensus of the crew, she discovered, that he would be far more inclined to manufacture the required documentation if the request came from a comely young woman.

‘He wouldn’t get out much, see,’ Sharkey explained, ‘being in the Barracks. Except for government work, but building roads on a supervised gang don’t give a man much opportunity for…well, pursuing the ladies, know what I mean?’

Appalled, Kitty exclaimed, ‘And you want me to let him…
pursue
me!’

‘Well, no, not pursue and
catch,
I don’t mean,’ Sharkey replied, although the look on his face suggested that such an outcome certainly
wouldn’t do their cause any harm. ‘Just, I dunno, wear one of them dresses with a low front, maybe? Smile nicely and give him a bit of an eyeful?’

‘That’s enough, Sharkey,’ Hawk reprimanded.

‘Yeah, I think it will be, don’t you?’ Sharkey said. ‘He’s a bit long in the tooth. We don’t want to give the old bugger a heart attack before he’s done the job.’

Kitty couldn’t see what difference it made how old Avery Bannerman was; in her experience, old men could be just as lecherous as young ones. Look at Bernard Ormsby. And Uncle George, although Uncle George was mad.

She glanced around the room at Rian’s men, their faces reflecting varying degrees of enthusiasm and discomfort and, she saw with a sinking heart, hope.

‘Why can’t Enya do it? She’s prettier than me.’

‘She is not,’ Mick said. ‘And she’s not long out of her own sentence. She can’t afford to get caught.’

‘Oh, and I can?’

No one said anything.

Kitty’s heart sank even further. ‘But would I be safe with him? Are there guards?’

‘There aren’t any guards in the barracks,’ Mick said. ‘Well, there are, but they’re not like the guards at the gaol. It’s not a prison—more like restricted lodgings with curfews after work and the like.’

Sharkey leant towards her then, the gleam of his earrings almost as sharp as the look of challenge in his eyes. ‘You’ll be safe. Safer than Rian is. He could swing for this.’

Kitty had a sudden, horrific vision of Rian plummeting through the platform of the prison gallows, his body jerking and twisting as his life was strangled agonisingly out of him. Then came the memory of how lovely his hands had felt on her skin, the heavy warmth of him against her and his salty, masculine scent, and she knew she really didn’t have a choice.

Which was why she now found herself walking up the red gravel driveway towards the gates of Hyde Park Barracks, with dreadful butterflies in her stomach and her heart in her mouth.

She had on a dress Enya had given her, one the pair of them had spent almost all of last night modifying. The dress was of velvet and dark rose in colour, with three-quarter sleeves and a fitted bodice and waist that showed off Kitty’s shape admirably. Yesterday afternoon it would have been considered somewhat demure, but not now; they had cut the neckline down so that Kitty’s cleavage was considerably enhanced. It wasn’t quite after the fashion of the local street whores, but the effect was certainly eye-catching. Over it she wore a black crocheted shawl, at the moment wrapped securely across her bosom to deter any unwelcome interest. Enya had also given her a bonnet in a similar shade to the dress, with perhaps just one or two more black silk flowers on the brim for it to be considered truly tasteful.

‘That should do it,’ Enya had said last night, stepping back to admire her handiwork. ‘Enticing, but still on the right side of vulgar. Perfect!’

Never having worn such a low-cut dress in her life, Kitty had felt half naked, standing there in Enya’s front room.

‘Enya, Mick said you couldn’t go and talk to Mr Bannerman because of the risk of being caught,’ she’d said, after finally gathering the courage to do so. ‘Is that because of, well, because you were…’ She trailed off, feeling embarrassed.

Enya had smiled then, as well as she could with half a dozen dressmaking pins gripped between her lips. ‘Because I’m an emancipist? Don’t worry, Kitty, I’m not offended by the question.’ She’d taken the pins out of her mouth then and stuck them in a pin-cushion. ‘And I would go and talk to him myself, and damn the risk of being caught, except that I make all Mrs Deacon’s gowns and Mr Deacon often collects them when they’re finished. He doesn’t like her coming down here to The Rocks.’

‘Mr Deacon?’

‘Yes, the superintendent at the barracks. He knows me quite well now, he’d recognise me. He also knows that Rian is my brother, and he’s not a stupid man, unfortunately. It wouldn’t take him long to work out what
I was doing at the barracks talking to an expert screever.’ A shadow had crossed her face then. ‘I’m very fond of my brother, Kitty, but he does tend to get himself into a lot of scrapes. I’m truly sorry you’ve been dragged into this one. Are you nervous?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Kitty had answered. ‘Very. I’ve never done anything like this before.’

Enya had put a final pin into the neckline of Kitty’s bodice and nodded at her enhanced cleavage. ‘Well, don’t be, you’ll have all the power. Just keep your wits about you and you’ll be fine.’

And Kitty prayed she would be, although by now, as she passed through the gates of Hyde Park Barracks, her butterflies had turned into something closer to bats and were pummelling her insides wildly. She was well aware that if Avery Bannerman declined to provide the documents that Rian needed—or was simply unable to manufacture them within the confines of the Barracks, where he was, after all, serving a long prison sentence for pursuing that very activity—Rian would be in very serious trouble indeed. The responsibility for his salvation had been placed squarely on her shoulders, and it terrified her.

Within the high Barracks walls the grounds were tidy and the gravel neatly raked. Just inside the iron gates a group of convicts, presumably returning from work now that the sun was setting, were in the process of being searched by several guards. The convicts all wore blue and white striped shirts under distinctive multicoloured jackets, and odd leather caps. To a man they stared at her as she went past, as did the guards, pausing momentarily in their frisking. Kitty kept her eyes down and hurried towards the looming, three-storeyed, red brick building that was the Barracks proper. The large clock set into the wall above the entrance told her that it was almost six o’clock, and a whiff of cabbage and boiled meat in the air confirmed that it was probably the convicts’ suppertime.

Inside, she found herself at the start of a long, dim corridor. It was surprisingly quiet, and the smell of cooking food was fainter here. From somewhere she could hear the murmur of voices, but the internal walls of the building were so thick that she couldn’t tell where they were coming from. She stood very still for a moment, wondering what to do next.

‘Can I be of assistance?’ a voice said, causing Kitty to jump in fright. She spun around, clutching her shawl across her chest.

A young man stood in a doorway, looking at her curiously. He was in uniform, and was probably only a few years older than she was herself.

‘Ah, yes please,’ Kitty replied, trying hard to make her voice sound less Norfolk and more London, from where Avery Bannerman had originated. ‘I would like to speak to Mr Avery Bannerman, please.’

The man’s eyebrows went up. ‘Mr Bannerman? May I ask what your business might be, Mrs, er…’

Kitty forced herself to remain calm, remembering the story she and Hawk had concocted this morning. ‘Miss Carlisle,’ she said. ‘Mr Bannerman is my uncle. I’ve only just arrived in Sydney and I’d like to find out how he’s, er…faring here.’

The young man pulled a regretful face, and Kitty tensed. ‘It is a little irregular,’ he said. ‘You really need to make an application to Superintendent Deacon if you want to visit with someone like, well, like Avery Bannerman. I’m afraid your uncle doesn’t enjoy a lot of the privileges some of our other convicts are granted. Well, not officially, anyway,’ he added, almost to himself.

Kitty blinked once, very slowly, then did it again, dragging out of herself every ounce of artifice she could summon. To her immense relief, tears began to well in her eyes and she let one roll fatly down her cheek.

‘Oh dear,’ she whispered, ‘I was so looking forward to seeing him. I might be away again soon and I was really hoping you could help me, Captain.’

The man suddenly looked very uncomfortable. ‘It’s Sergeant, Sergeant Royce. Please, don’t do that. Look, why don’t you sit down for a minute and I’ll see what I can do, eh?’

He ushered Kitty into a small waiting room near the entrance door and hurried off, the heels of his boots rapping loudly on the wooden floorboards.

Kitty wiped her nose, but left her eyes tear-filled—she might need them again.

In five minutes Sergeant Royce was back, beaming. ‘I’ve spoken to the superintendent and explained your predicament, and you can have ten minutes with your uncle. Will that be enough, do you think?’ he said, clearly thoroughly pleased with himself.

‘Oh, yes!’ Kitty exclaimed, standing up quickly in case he changed his mind. ‘Thank you so much, I’m so grateful for your help. Now, where do I go? Would you mind showing me the way?’

‘Yes, of course!’ he replied, and for a moment Kitty felt sorry for him. He was bright and keen like a puppy, and she felt mean for taking advantage of him. ‘I have to escort you anyway,’ he added confidentially. ‘Visitors aren’t allowed upstairs unaccompanied, and especially not ladies. Perhaps I could show you out after you’ve had your visit?’