The Silk Thief (21 page)

Elizabeth remained stubbornly silent. Friday felt like slapping her. She was being a silly, sentimental old woman, and a danger to herself.

‘What if we could find somewhere to put him where you could still visit him?’ she asked. ‘Would that be acceptable to you?’

‘I don’t see where.’

Neither did Friday. Perhaps Sarah might have some ideas — her mind worked in a clever and twisted way.

‘Let me think about it,’ she said.

Chapter Eight

Leo called on Harrie to talk about starting her on the needles. He hadn’t seen her for a fortnight, and was shocked when she opened the door to him. She’d lost even more weight and her face, once so rosy, was unhealthily pale. He had wanted to speak with George, but he, apparently, was out, so he settled for negotiating with Nora instead, which was no hardship. She was far more sensible than her husband, considerably smarter, and a lot easier on the eye.

‘I can’t,’ Harrie said after he’d made his proposition.

‘Do you not feel well enough yet?’ he asked.

‘No, it’s not that. I’m a lot better now. I walked all the way up to the market yesterday morning and did the shopping.’

‘Does it not appeal? I think you’d be very good at it. And of course I’d pay you a fair rate.’

Harrie’s heart gave a lurch of hope and excitement — two sentiments that had been in very short supply lately. With better earnings she could send more money home to her mother and siblings, as well as make a bigger contribution to the Charlotte fund. But she was being unrealistic. She couldn’t take up his offer — she had responsibilities.

‘It’s just that, well, I’m assigned to Mr and Mrs Barrett. I can’t just go off and work for you. Mrs Barrett needs me here.’ She glanced at Nora. ‘Don’t you?’

‘I do, yes. On the other hand, you’re not completely indispensible.’

‘Oh.’ Harrie felt vaguely hurt. She thought Nora had come to rely on her.

Nora smiled. ‘Don’t look like that, Harrie. We all love your cooking, the children adore you and you’re the best assistant sempstress I’ve had. But I don’t think it matters who sweeps the floors or washes the dishes or does the laundry, do you?’

Harrie said nothing — she wasn’t sure what Nora was getting at.

‘So I might consider employing another girl to do those more menial tasks, which would give you a bit more time to yourself,’ Nora went on. ‘That is, if you actually are interested in learning to tattoo. I’m not entirely sure it’s an appropriate trade for a girl, but Leo seems to be making a mint from it. Perhaps it can’t hurt to learn. Do you want to?’

‘Yes,’ Harrie replied immediately, thinking about the money.

‘Well, in that case, go and see what Sam’s shouting about. Leo and I have a few details to discuss.’

As soon as Harrie was out of earshot, Nora said to Leo, ‘I really don’t think the Superintendent of Convicts would approve of his female charges learning to tattoo hairy-arsed sailors, but Christ knows she has to do something to take her mind off … whatever’s been upsetting her. And which started well before she fell ill, by the way.’

Leo opened his mouth to ask whether she was still fretting about the abortion, but changed his mind, deciding it was probably best if he didn’t let on that he knew the reason for Harrie’s recent ill health. He didn’t even like thinking about it himself. After all, for a little while at least, she had been carrying his grandchild. ‘She is physically better now, isn’t she?’ he asked.

‘She’s coming right, though she really was quite sick. No, she’s been out of sorts for a long time. Up here,’ Nora said, tapping her head. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.’

‘Oh, I have.’

‘I’m not sure what’s going on, though I expect that whatever it is, it’s essentially harmless. I mean, I don’t have any worries concerning the children or anything like that. If people choose to have conversations in their rooms with dead folk at three o’clock in the morning, who am I to criticise? But I do believe she needs something to take her out of herself. If she comes to you once or twice a week … er, how often were you thinking?’

‘Three times a week, to start with.’

‘Three times, then. That should keep her occupied. Busy hands don’t give the devil much chance to cause mischief.’

‘It sounds like she already has busy hands here,’ Leo remarked.

‘A busy mind, then.’

‘Friday said more or less the same thing, though I’ve been thinking about starting Harrie on the needles for a while. So, are we agreed?’

‘In principle.’

‘Good,’ Leo said. ‘How much will you need to employ another girl to do the basic housework?’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I’ll pay, obviously. I’m the one depriving you of Harrie’s labour.’

Nora laughed. ‘No, you won’t. George’ll pay, indirectly. He insisted I go back to work when Lewis was three months old, so I did. George thinks all the money from my business is going into his bank account, but it isn’t. I’ve a bit put aside now. I’ll use that. I’m happy to use my savings if it means I get to keep Harrie for what’s really important to me, like the kids and helping me with my business, and her company. I’ve become very fond of her.’

‘That’s obvious.’

‘But you have to promise to look after her, Leo.’

‘Of course I will.’

‘And don’t you dare tell George I’m paying for another housegirl. He’ll absolutely spit nails, the mean bugger. If he asks, tell him you’re paying as part of Harrie’s apprenticeship, all right? I’ll tell him the same thing.’

Leo gave her a salute.

Nora grinned.

Harrie’s first tattoo lesson the following Monday was a moderate disaster. She was so nervous she stabbed the customer on the tattoo bench with the needles far too aggressively and drew considerable blood, and when she finally got a good rhythm going she lost her perspective and inked well beyond the outline.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Harrie said, her heart pounding with alarm and embarrassment.

Fortunately the customer was Friday. ‘Oh, who cares? Just put a few extra feathers on that wing.’

‘As long as you remember to add more to the other one,’ Leo said, watching from a nearby chair. ‘Or it’ll be a bit of a lopsided phoenix. How’s your hand?’

‘Burning,’ Harrie replied.

Leo nodded. ‘It will be, till you get used to it. It’s the muscles and tendons. Your strength will build up over time.’

‘I hope so.’ Harrie put down the needles and flapped her hand vigorously to ease the discomfort. ‘Am I going fast enough?’ Even though it was only Friday and she knew she wasn’t going to be doing anything complicated, she’d worried herself close to vomiting that morning and had eaten even less than usual for breakfast, and now she felt quite light-headed. And she felt guilty because she’d left all the dirty dishes for Abigail to do.

‘No, you’re not,’ Leo said. ‘How’s the pain?’ he asked Friday.

‘Lovely, thanks.’

Leo snorted. ‘It’ll take you a while to get up to speed. But you’re faster than I expected. That’s probably your needlework skills. You’re doing well.’

‘Excuse me. Good morning.’

They all turned; Harrie let out a little gasp of shock. Standing in the open doorway was a tall Maori man. His face was fully tattooed and he wore expensive-looking European clothing, though his long hair was pulled up in a topknot. His dark gaze settled on Friday’s bare white back for a moment, then shifted to take in the hundreds of flash displayed on the walls. For a fleeting, sick-making second Harrie thought he was the New Zealander from Mick Doyle’s crew — she couldn’t remember his name.

‘Morning,’ Leo said.

‘Is this the premise of Mr Leo Dundas, the esteemed tattooist?’ The man’s voice was low and cultured, his diction precise.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I am Hoata and I am here as emissary of Tumanawapohatu of Nga Puhi.’

Leo launched himself off his chair and across the room, his hand outstretched. ‘Welcome! Come in. Good Lord, I’d given up thinking anyone was going to come!’

Friday raised her eyebrows at Harrie, who raised hers back. They’d seldom seen Leo quite so animated. Except for when he was angry, of course. At the moment, though, he seemed delighted.

‘Thank you,’ Hoata said, and stepped inside.

‘Is he here now?’ Leo asked. ‘In town?’

‘He is at Parramatta, staying with Reverend Marsden. He will be pleased to meet with you on Wednesday.’

‘Here, or out there?’

‘Here.’ Hoata glanced around the shop again, slightly disparagingly this time. ‘He will bring his wife and his entourage. You will be expected to demonstrate hospitality in the form of refreshments,’ he added, and turned towards the door.

‘Naturally,’ Leo said. ‘Er, what time should I expect them?’

Over his shoulder Hoata said, ‘When they get here.’

‘What an arrogant prick,’ Friday said when he’d gone. ‘What was all that about? Who’s Too-many-thingy-whatsits?’

‘Tumanawapohatu is one of the most renowned tohunga ta moko in New Zealand,’ Leo said. ‘His work is legendary. Only the very privileged are tattooed by him.’

Friday and Harrie looked at him blankly.

‘What does “tohunga ta moko” mean?’ Harrie asked.

‘A tohunga’s someone who’s an expert in a certain field. In this instance that’s moko, though from what I understand it can be all sorts of things.’

Harrie nodded. They’d learnt that the word ‘moko’ meant ‘tattoo’ when they’d discovered that Jared Gellar was involved in the trafficking of upoko tuhi, or preserved heads. ‘Like you’re an expert?’

‘Well, if you like, but even more than me.’

‘So why’s he coming here?’ Friday asked.

‘I wrote to him in New Zealand and asked if he’d consider meeting with me the next time he visited Sydney. I do get customers wanting the New Zealand tribal tattoos, and some want them done with the traditional chisels, but I don’t have that skill.’

‘Maori sailors, you mean?’

‘No, not usually. They’d rather be tattooed by their own kind because of the ritual involved, so they’ll wait until they go home. I’m mostly talking about white-skinned customers. Tumanawapohatu wrote back and said he admired some work I happened to have done on an English whaler living with the Nga Puhi at the time, a cove by the name of John Rutherford, so in exchange for Tumanawapohatu’s advice on chisels, I offered to show him the Japanese technique I use. But that was ages ago.’ Leo gave a little grunt of satisfaction. ‘I’d more or less given up on him.’

‘Why does he have to have such a long name?’ Friday complained, scratching her armpit. ‘And what did that cove mean by refreshments? You’re not running a bloody pork scratchings stall.’

‘Tumanawapohatu isn’t just highly respected — he and his wife are royalty. It’s what they’re accustomed to.’

‘Tough shit,’ Friday said. ‘Put the kettle on and give them a scone each.’

Leo ignored her and said to Harrie, ‘Have you had enough for today?’

‘I think so. I need to get home. The new girl hasn’t started yet.’ She was tired, too, and seeing that Maori man had given her a fright and brought back dizzying snippets of memory from her drunken night with Mick Doyle. She didn’t know why — he hadn’t really looked like Mick’s crewmate, and, after all, she saw New Zealanders walking the streets of Sydney every day. It must be her nerves; she was on edge and filled with a vague sort of dread constantly now.

‘Will you come in on Wednesday morning?’ Leo asked.

‘Won’t those people be here then?’

‘I doubt they’ll be early if they’re coming from Parramatta. Anyway, I’d like you to sit in. What about you, Friday? You’ve got a session booked at eleven.’

‘I’ll come first thing instead,’ she said.

Harrie put on her bonnet, tied the ribbons under her chin, and collected her reticule. ‘See you on Wednesday, then.’

‘Thanks for doing my phoenix,’ Friday said. ‘You did a really great job.’

‘She did, actually,’ Leo said when Harrie had gone. ‘Apart from a couple of slight wobbles. I think she might be a natural.’

‘A slow one, but.’

‘She’ll get faster,’ Leo said as he sat down, picked up the pigment brush and needles, and bent over Friday’s back.

Standing outside the Australian Hotel on George Street after dinner, James looked up at the sky, trying to decide whether or not it was going to rain. Should he walk home to York Street or hire a carriage? The moon was concealed by clouds but he couldn’t taste rain on the wind. He thought he’d be safe.

‘I bumped into Friday the other day,’ Matthew said, stifling a burp. He didn’t know what the cook had done to the cream sauce on the fish, but whatever it was had involved quite a lot of curry.

‘Did you?’ James said, doing his best, Matthew knew, to sound uninterested.

He hadn’t brought this up during dinner, but now that they’d eaten and were outside, he could say his piece and hurry off before James could tell him to mind his own business again.

‘Yes, on the street.’ Actually, it had been when they’d gone to the bank. ‘So I took the liberty of asking her if she knew what had upset Harrie so much.’ Matthew looked at James. ‘You know, the day she came around to your house and slapped —’

‘Yes, thank you, Matthew. It’s not something I’m likely to forget.’

‘According to Friday, your housegirl, well, your former housegirl, for some reason told Harrie she’d been, er, sharing your bed.’

‘What!’

Matthew took a quick step back; James looked ready to explode. ‘And apparently Harrie believed her.’

James closed his eyes.

‘So now you know,’ Matthew said. ‘Er, you didn’t sleep with her, did you?’

‘No, I bloody well did not!’

A couple walking past turned to stare, the gentleman glaring and moving protectively closer to the woman. Matthew tipped his hat to them.

‘No wonder poor Harrie was upset,’ he said.

‘Yes, no wonder,’ James agreed tersely.

‘You’re lucky she didn’t knock your head completely off. And I’ve been wondering whether that had anything to do with your housegirl disappearing. Did you find out where she went?’

‘No.’ The muscles in James’s jaws were so tense, Matthew was worried he might break some teeth. ‘And if I ever do, I’ll, I’ll … that damned she-devil!’