The Silk Thief (30 page)

Jack moved to settle a comforting arm around her shoulder but Friday swatted him away. Unoffended, he said, ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Just wait. We need to talk to Pearl.’

Looking frankly relieved that she hadn’t asked him to go inside the actual Factory walls, Jack touched his hand to the brim of his hat. ‘Take as long as you like. I’ll be outside.’

Gladys took Friday and Sarah through the inner gate and upstairs to the dormitories in the main Factory building to find Pearl, whom they discovered going through Janie’s belongings. She looked worn out. Her face was puffy and blotchy, her eyes red, and her hair, normally hanging down her back in a neat plait, was an unbound bird’s nest. When she saw them she burst into tears. She might have been paid to mind Janie, but clearly they’d become friends.

‘I’m that sorry,’ she blurted. ‘I couldn’t stop them taking Charlotte. I tried, really I did.’

Friday and Sarah each gave her a hug.

‘Did you get the letter?’ Pearl asked Friday.

‘What letter?’

‘I sent it yesterday afternoon, soon as I could, to tell you what happened. I had to get someone else to write it. I don’t know how to write.’

‘She would have missed it,’ Sarah said. ‘We left first thing this morning. Were you …?’ A horrible gob of phlegm caught in her throat and she cleared it. ‘Were you with them? Janie and Rosie? When they died?’

Pearl nodded. ‘Mr Sharpe let me tend them in the hospital.’

‘Useless bugger,’ Friday said. ‘Why wasn’t he tending them?’

‘There’s dozens sick. We’ve lost eight this time.’

‘Was it … bad?’ Friday asked.

‘It was for Janie. She were sick for a week. Poor little Rosie were only sick for three days, but she were just a tiny thing. It’s the babies and old folk most likely to get taken, though there’s mothers gone as well.’

Sarah said, ‘Are they still here?’

‘Undertaker come and got them straight away, ’cos of the heat. Them and two others.’ Pearl swallowed a sob. ‘They were buried in St John’s this morning. I asked but I weren’t allowed to go.’

Friday swore bitterly. If they’d known, they could have been at the graveside.

Pearl looked down at the pile of belongings spread out on the floor. ‘I packed what I could for Charlotte. I gave her Rosie’s clothes as well, for when she gets bigger. But Janie’s things — I don’t know what to do with them.’

‘Take what you’d like for yourself,’ Sarah said. ‘I think Janie would have wanted that.’

Pearl looked doubtfully at several items of clothing, and at Janie’s good black boots. ‘She were a lot smaller than me.’

‘Then give the clothes to someone who needs them,’ Friday said. ‘But you keep the hairbrush and the combs, and the sewing box and the like. And this.’ She handed over the basket full of food and gin and bits and pieces intended for Janie and the girls, and placed five pounds from her purse on top of it.

‘What’s the money for? I don’t need paying no more.’

‘For taking care of Janie and Rosie,’ Friday said, her voice wobbling. ‘You didn’t have to do that. And for doing your best for Charlotte.’ And also for not stealing Janie’s things, because you could have, she thought.

Pearl nodded, blinking furiously. ‘She were nice, Janie. Decent.’

Yes, Friday agreed silently, her eyes stinging again, she was bloody decent.

‘Do you know where the orphan school is?’ Sarah asked.

‘Just a little ways down the river. Why?’

Friday knew exactly what Sarah was thinking. ‘We’re going to get Charlotte out. She can’t stay there. We made a promise to her mother, and we’re keeping it.’

The Female Orphan School was closer than Friday and Sarah had realised, though on the northern bank of the river — which meant they’d have to go all the way back to the bridge in Parramatta township to get back onto the southern bank and the road to Sydney Town — and situated in acres of neatly kept grounds. As they neared the school, they passed paddocks in which grazed sheep and cattle, and, adjacent to the institution, large and well-tended vegetable gardens.

The orphanage itself was unexpectedly big and quite grand, by New South Wales standards at least, and consisted of a central block three storeys high, flanked by lower connecting buildings ending in two-storey wings, all in brick that glowed pink in the sun, fading to pale red in the shade. It looked imposing, like a rich person’s country house back in England, Sarah thought, eyeing the place as they drove along the carriageway. A bit grim, though, especially if you were a genuine orphan, or you’d been abandoned. She knew a lot of the girls, however, had mothers in the Factory, or assigned to masters or mistresses unwilling to take on a convict with a child in tow.

Jack brought the horses to a halt outside the main building. The carriage rocked slightly as he jumped down from the driver’s seat and opened the door.

‘Will I wait? It’s just that I need to water the horses. I’ll take them down to the river if I can’t find a pump.’

Friday and Sarah climbed down. ‘We’ll wait out here if you’re not back by the time we’ve finished,’ Sarah said. ‘Can you keep an eye on Clifford?’

Jack made a sour face. ‘Must I? She hates me.’

‘Hold on, what happens if we have to steal Charlotte?’ Friday said. ‘We can’t run all the way back to Sydney if Jack’s not here with the carriage.’

‘Oh, don’t be so stupid,’ Sarah snapped. ‘We can’t steal her. They’d just take her back and we’d go to gaol for kidnap. Be rational, Friday.’

‘Well, have you got a better idea?’

Sarah planted her hands on her hips and stared at the ground. Then she said, ‘Yes. I’ll adopt her.’

‘But … I thought —’

Sarah’s hand went up, palm out. ‘Just … don’t say anything. I need to talk to Adam, and I have to find out from the orphanage people first whether I actually can.’

Smothering Sarah in a hug that almost knocked her off her feet, Friday exclaimed, ‘You’re such a good person, Sarah Green, you really are!’

She was amazed and delighted, remembering the really unpleasant scene on the way out to see Janie and the girls earlier in the year. Harrie had accused Sarah of not wanting to adopt Charlotte, though she was the only one of them who possibly could because she was married, and Sarah had as good as admitted that she didn’t want to. It had been so obvious then that Harrie wanted her, but poor unmarried, mentally unstable Harrie would never be allowed to adopt a child.

‘I don’t know about that,’ Sarah said.

‘You bloody are.’ Friday grabbed her hand. ‘Come on, let’s go in and see what they’ve got to say.’

Once inside, Sarah stopped a girl of fourteen or fifteen in a blue uniform hurrying across the foyer, and asked to speak to whomever was in charge.

‘That’ll be Reverend Duff, the master. Except he’s not here. Or do you want to talk to Mrs Duff, the matron?’

‘The matron, please,’ Sarah said.

A reverend’s wife? Oh dear. Friday wished now she hadn’t worn such a low-cut dress. She yanked up her bodice as high as it would go.

‘This way,’ the girl said.

They passed double staircases in the foyer and followed her down a gloomy corridor smelling of cabbage and mutton to a closed door, on which was a brass plaque announcing
Matron E Duff
. The girl rapped smartly.

‘Enter!’

The girl opened the door and declared, ‘Visitors, Matron, wanting to speak to you.’

‘Well, show them in, girl, don’t dither!’ Matron Duff — presumably — replied.

The girl stood back and made a sweeping gesture with her hand, then hurried off. Sarah and Friday went in.

Matron Duff was a small, plump woman, wearing a navy-blue dress of some stiff fabric, a white house cap, and wire-rimmed spectacles. Her expression was stern, but her cheeks were rosy and her eyes sharp with intelligence. As she looked them up and down, Friday had the uncomfortable impression she’d taken their measure instantly.

‘Good afternoon. I am Mrs Edith Duff, matron of this institution. Please sit down. How may I help you?’

‘My name is Sarah Green, and this is Friday Woolfe,’ Sarah said. ‘A little girl by the name of Charlotte Rachel Winter was brought here yesterday, from the Factory. She’s twenty months old.’

A frown flickered across Mrs Duff’s face. ‘Yes. We usually only take girls who have attained the age of two years. However, Mrs Dick was adamant there is no one available at the Factory to care for the girl, and we did not feel we could turn her away. Do you know the child?’

‘We do,’ Sarah said. ‘We knew her mother very well.’

‘Such a tragedy,’ Mrs Duff said. ‘I believe Charlotte’s older sister also passed from the same illness?’

Friday shook her head. ‘No. Letitia Dick’s put you wrong. It was Janie Braine who died yesterday, and her daughter Rosie. Janie was Charlotte’s foster mother. Charlotte belonged to Rachel Winter, who died in the Factory having Charlotte. Rachel was transported with us. She was a very dear friend of ours, and so was Janie. Janie was the only mother Charlotte’s ever known. And now she’s lost her and she’s been dumped here.’ She tried not to let her grief and anger show, but suspected it had, judging by the matron’s raised eyebrows.

‘A double tragedy for Charlotte, then.’ Mrs Duff clasped her hands in front of her on the desk. ‘Though I am still unsure as to how I can help you.’

Sarah took a deep breath. ‘I would like to enquire into the possibility of adopting Charlotte.’

Mrs Duff stared at her for a long moment. ‘That is a very charitable thought, but am I correct in assuming you are a convict? Both of you?’ Her gaze met Friday’s. ‘You did just say —’

‘Yes, we are,’ Sarah interrupted.

‘And assigned?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you must realise that no convict woman would ever be permitted to adopt a child. At the very least not until she has gained a ticket of leave. And even then she would have to be of proven good character.’

‘Forgive me, perhaps I may not have phrased my question appropriately,’ Sarah said.

Friday worked hard to keep her gob from falling open — Sarah was doing a cracking job of sounding like a toff.

‘Go on,’ Mrs Duff said.

‘I am married to my master, Mr Adam Green. He is a manufacturing jeweller, as I am myself, and owns a salon on George Street in Sydney Town. We have discussed for some time the possibility of adopting Charlotte as our own, but not until she reached the age of four and had to leave Janie and the Factory.’

Really? Friday thought. That was news to her. She suspected it would be news to Adam as well.

‘But now, as a result of this untimely tragedy,’ Sarah went on, ‘obviously we would be more than happy to bring forward our plans. My husband came to New South Wales as a convict, and has a conditional pardon. We are doing very well from our business and feel we could give Charlotte a happy home. Sadly, I am not sure if I can give my husband a child myself,’ she added, and began to weep.

The bit about not being able to have babies was bollocks, Friday knew, having taken Sarah to the chemist herself to purchase items to prevent Adam receiving that very gift, but the tears were genuine, and she suspected Sarah was crying again for Janie and Rosie, and for poor, cheated Rachel. Feeling her eyelids burn, she dabbed at her own eyes.

‘Again, that is very admirable, Mrs Green,’ Mrs Duff said. ‘And given the fact that you are married and your husband has a conditional pardon, perhaps a case could have been made for adoption.’

Sarah blew her nose and said, ‘I’m sorry? What do you mean,
could
have been made?’

‘One moment.’ Mrs Duff raised a stubby finger, stood and moved to an enormous set of wooden drawers, each drawer about a foot square. She opened one, flicked through the contents and retrieved several documents folded in half lengthwise and tied with ribbon. Resuming her seat behind the desk, she opened the papers and smoothed them flat. ‘These are Charlotte’s admission details, which I completed myself, and this is her birth certificate. A child can only be considered for adoption with the permission of both parents.’

‘Well, that’ll be tricky, won’t it?’ Friday said. ‘Charlotte’s mother’s been dead for nearly two years.’

‘I said both parents, Miss Woolfe. Her father’s name is also on the birth certificate.’

Friday dared not look at Sarah. She couldn’t have, surely? Why the hell would Rachel have wanted Gabriel stinking bloody Keegan’s name recorded on Charlotte’s birth certificate?

‘May I see that, please?’ Sarah asked.

Mrs Duff passed the certificate across the desk.

Sarah read it, then slowly passed it to Friday. The name on the certificate was Lucas Carew.

A big fat tear rolled down Friday’s face and plopped onto the paper. Oh, poor, poor Rachel. Lucas Carew had been the lover she’d told everyone she’d eloped with from her home in Guildford — the dashing soldier no one else had ever seen, and who’d abandoned her in London, leading to her arrest. Except Rachel had never truly believed he had deserted her; she’d always thought he’d come back for her. And when Keegan had assaulted her on the
Isla
, she’d somehow managed to convince herself that the child he’d given her was Lucas’s. At some stage she must have instructed Mr Sharpe at the Factory to enter the name Lucas Carew on Charlotte’s birth certificate, even though Charlotte couldn’t possibly have been his.

Mrs Duff said, ‘So, you see, Mrs Green, before you could adopt Charlotte, we would need confirmation from this Mr Carew that he is willing to forfeit all paternal rights to Charlotte. Preferably in person, though I realise that could be very difficult. If not in person, then by way of an affidavit if Mr Carew does not reside in New South Wales.’

Christ, Friday thought, we don’t even know if he ever existed. And if he did, he could be anywhere now. Dead, even.

Sarah, however, remained calm and lied through her teeth. ‘Well, we haven’t heard from Mr Carew for some time, but I’ll see what we can do.’

Friday thought, that’s smart, we can forge something if we have to. ‘Could we see Charlotte while we’re here?’

‘Will she recognise you?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah said. ‘We saw a lot of her in the Factory.’

‘Then I’m sorry but I think not. Best to let her settle. She was in quite a state when she was brought in.’