The Silk Thief (47 page)

Harrie was worried that the clothes Pearl had sent to the orphanage with Charlotte might have disappeared, so, in anticipation of their application to adopt her being successful, one morning James gave her a purse full of money to buy whatever she might need. When he’d arrived home from work that night, Harrie had shown him little gowns and capes, soft bonnets and tiny shoes, and wool and fabric for knitting and sewing projects. She’d also bought yards and yards of diaper for napkins, crossly explaining that Charlotte had been close to pot-trained in the Factory, but had gone notably backwards in that department. The next day the crib had arrived, plus an assortment of child-sized bed linen, and a high chair.

On Tuesday the seventeenth of January, James received a letter from Mrs Duff advising him that their request to adopt Charlotte Winter had been approved. She was therefore available to collect at any time forthwith.

Taking a day off work and throwing the surgery into chaos, but knowing that his signature would be required on the adoption papers, he and Harrie hired a carriage and drove out to Parramatta the following day to pick up their daughter. Harrie exhausted herself weeping all the way out, mostly from relief that Charlotte hadn’t been kidnapped by Jonah Leary, and she and Charlotte, now just six and a half weeks short of her second birthday, dozed much of the way home.

Another passenger shared the carriage on the return trip — fourteen-year-old Daisy Miller from the orphanage. James had felt sorry for her, and when Mrs Duff had confirmed that the girl had been trained to cook, launder and sew, and was accustomed to handling infants and children, he’d decided she would make an ideal domestic servant and companion for Harrie. Harrie, however, had been horrified by the idea when James had mentioned it as they’d set out. What if the girl took another bribe from Leary? Or even worse — simply handed Charlotte over to him? James countered by pointing out that Daisy was unlikely to accept a bribe if she was paid well, which she would be, and that she knew what Leary looked like, which could only be an advantage. He also suggested that Harrie shouldn’t be so hard on her — she of all people should know that people did irrational things when they were unhappy — to which Harrie grudgingly agreed.

When they arrived home, James’s cottage suddenly seemed too small. Harrie had not yet moved into his bedchamber, and wouldn’t until their wedding night, and the crib in Harrie’s outside room meant there was barely space on the floor in there for a mattress for Daisy. Also, Charlotte, tired and hungry, was bawling her head off, her cries seeming to pierce the very core of James’s brain; he could see he would have to look into purchasing a larger house sooner rather than later.

Apart from the crying, however, she was very sweet. When she’d first been born he’d thought she’d looked like a little monkey, though of course he hadn’t dared say so, but she was a lovely-looking child now. She was very much her mother’s daughter with her silver-blonde hair and elfin face, though she did have her father’s very dark brown eyes. He hoped, prayed in fact, that she didn’t also have his character.

The next morning, before work, Friday paid Harrie a visit. While she bounced Charlotte on her knee, making her giggle hysterically, Harrie poured the tea.

‘What are these red spotty things?’ Friday asked, indicating Charlotte’s neck.

‘James thinks they might be flea bites.’

‘From the orphanage?’ Friday was disgusted. ‘Christ, you’d think they’d wash the bedding now and again, wouldn’t you? Did they?’ she asked Daisy.

‘The mattresses got aired every six months, but never washed. There were fleas everywhere. And ringworm. I was always scratching.’

‘Are those flea bites on your face?’ Friday asked.

‘Pimples.’

‘You want to get witch hazel onto those. That’ll dry them out.’

‘James has recommended a lotion,’ Harrie said.

James, James, bloody James, Friday thought uncharitably. She didn’t know why. Yes, she did. She was jealous. Sarah had Adam and now Harrie had James. Why couldn’t she have Aria? It wasn’t fair. ‘Has Sarah been around yet?’

‘She sent a note to say she’d visit tonight.’

Friday broke off a piece of cake and fed it to Charlotte. ‘I know who’ll be really happy you’ve got her back: Rachel. Does she know?’ She glanced at Harrie, looking for a reaction.

Harrie wouldn’t meet her gaze. ‘I haven’t seen her lately.’

Friday supposed that was a good sign. She felt mean, now. It hadn’t been a very nice thing to say. What a bitch she was. She’d only said it because she wanted someone else to feel as miserable as she did herself. She knew Harrie would be feeling guilty about finally getting Charlotte. Oh, why was she being so bloody horrible?

‘I’m sorry, Harrie. I shouldn’t have said that.’

Ashamed, and ducking her head so she wouldn’t have to look at Harrie, she gave Charlotte another piece of cake and put her on the floor. Charlotte immediately dropped the cake, let out a terrified wail and flung out her arms to be picked up again.

Harrie scooted around the table and snatched her off the floor. ‘I forgot to say, she hates to be put down. You can’t leave her alone.’

‘God, that’s going to wear thin, isn’t it?’

‘Well, how would you feel if you’d been left to cry for hours and hours in a puddle of your own wee? It’ll take her a while to understand she isn’t going to be abandoned again.’

Friday could see the logic in that. Harrie sat down with Charlotte on her lap, enfolded her in a hug and rocked her. The child’s huge dark eyes gazed at Friday as though she’d done something unforgivably cruel to her, which made her feel like an absolute shit. She made a funny face and waggled her fingers. Charlotte smiled tentatively, then giggled, then held out her arms. Friday took her, relieved beyond measure. ‘Who’s Aunty Friday’s good little girl, eh? Is it you?’ she said as she cuddled her.

Charlotte nodded and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

Over the top of the child’s head, Friday said, ‘Fucking hell, Harrie, you might be taking on a lot more than you’d bargained for.’

‘Language, please,’ Harrie said, so primly that Friday gave one of her loud hoots of laughter.

‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it, given where she’s grown up so far?’

‘No, it isn’t. And I do know what I’m taking on, thank you.’ Harrie paused. ‘I have been thinking, though. I’m not sure if I should, well …’ She tailed off.

‘Should what? Spit it out.’

‘Have one myself. If I can, that is.’ Harrie glanced uncomfortably at Daisy. ‘After, you know, what happened.’

‘A baby? Now?’

‘Mmm. At least, not while Charlotte’s so young. So I was wondering if you could —’

‘Tell you how not to?’ Friday interrupted.

Harrie said, ‘Er, Daisy, would you go outside, please?’

‘Why should she?’ Friday looked Daisy up and down. ‘How old are you?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘Have your courses started?’

Daisy nodded.

‘Do you know how to keep yourself out of trouble?’

‘No. But I don’t need to know, honestly I don’t.’ Daisy looked terrified, as though she were about to get into awful trouble.

‘Well, you will one day,’ Friday said. ‘She might as well stay, Harrie. You could be doing her a huge favour.’

Daisy’s face glowed bright pink — almost as red as Harrie’s.

‘All right, but don’t —’

‘’Course not.’ Friday had no intention of mentioning Harrie’s past business. Or of saying anything that would frighten Daisy. She nearly smiled, and had to stop herself in case Harrie took it the wrong way; here she was again, handing out advice, the same as she had before Sarah had married Adam. For women who were really quite smart in lots of other ways, her dear friends were as thick as two short planks when it came to keeping themselves out of that sort of trouble. Of course, she had been, too, when she was young.

She passed Charlotte back to Harrie and, for the next half-hour, talked about the different methods a woman could use to avoid catching for a baby. She personally favoured the use of a sea sponge soaked in lemon juice with a few drops of quinine, but there were other ways, too. Poor Daisy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, which, Friday supposed, is what happened when you spent years being raised in a place run by religious types. She also went over what you could do to end an unwanted pregnancy, more for Daisy’s sake than Harrie’s, as Harrie, of course, already knew.

‘So get yourself along to the chemist and stock up. I’ll come with you, if you like,’ she said in summary.

She agreed with Harrie, and thought it would be better for her and James to wait until Charlotte was a little older before they had a baby of their own, if they could avoid it. Not that it was any of her business either way. And as for Harrie’s fear that she wouldn’t be able to get pregnant, Friday suspected that was all it was — fear.

‘I can manage, but thanks for the offer.’ Harrie turned her cup around in its saucer. ‘It’s sad, isn’t it?’

Friday waited patiently.

‘I’m marrying a nice man —’

‘Nice!’ Friday interrupted. ‘He’s more than nice.’

‘A lovely man, then. And I’ve got a lovely little house with a garden. And cake.’ She gestured at the half-eaten lemon cake. ‘All the things Rachel wanted. And I’ve got her daughter. All she got was a really short life, transportation and that devil Keegan. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?’

‘That’s because it isn’t fair,’ Friday agreed. ‘Lots of things aren’t fair.’

‘I wish she was here. Alive, I mean.’

‘So do I.’

Charlotte had fallen asleep. Harrie kissed the top of her head and said, ‘I feel —’

She didn’t finish, but Friday knew her very well, and understood perfectly what she was feeling.

Harrie and James were married at ten o’clock on the morning of the twenty-third of January, a Monday, at St James’s Church. In attendance were their daughter Charlotte Downey, wearing a dear little dress in the same fabric as her adoptive mother’s wedding gown, Daisy, Friday, Sarah and Adam Green, Matthew Cutler, Dr Lawrence Chandler (who’d hired a locum to manage the surgery for the day), Leo Dundas and his companion Serafina Fortune, the Barrett family (including a contrite George), and Elizabeth Hislop. To complement her gown, Harrie wore flowers in her hair, and a rope of perfectly graduated pearls, another gift from James.

Afterwards everyone squashed into James’s cottage for a wedding breakfast catered by the Siren’s Arms Hotel kitchen — Elizabeth’s wedding gift. When Harrie threw her bouquet of cream roses and maidenhair fern, Serafina, Friday and Elizabeth all stepped smartly out of the way: Serafina because she had no intention of submitting herself to the whims of some man, not even Leo; Friday because she would never marry; and Elizabeth because marrying again meant her fortune would automatically become the property of her husband, and bugger that. Daisy caught the bouquet, and stood giggling and blushing.

Friday, missing Aria particularly keenly, got drunk and threw up in the front yard then passed out in the fuchsias, where Hannah Barrett found her and poked her repeatedly with a stick to see if she was dead. When she didn’t stir, Hannah went inside and told everyone that Friday had died in the garden. Between them, Adam and Matthew got her on her feet and back into the house, where Nora made her drink two cups of tea and eat a wedge of chicken pie, after which she vomited again, this time in the backyard. In the end, Harrie and Sarah put her to bed in the outside room with towels and a bucket.

‘Has something upset her, do you think? Is it me?’ Harrie asked Sarah.

‘You? Why would she be upset with you?’

‘Because James and I have got married.’

‘No, I don’t think it’s that.’

‘She was upset when you and Adam were married.’

‘No, she’s always thought you and James should be together.’ Sarah hesitated. She didn’t want to cast a shadow across Harrie’s day, but it was about time someone told her. ‘Friday met someone a few months ago, visiting Sydney. But they couldn’t stay. She’s heartbroken.’

‘A man?’ Harrie asked. ‘Or a girl?’

Sarah was really quite shocked. ‘How did you know?’

‘I didn’t, really. Not for sure. It was that girl from New Zealand, wasn’t it? The lovely-looking one?’

Sarah nodded.

‘I thought so. Oh, poor Friday. That’s so sad.’

‘Really? I thought you’d be revolted or angry, or something,’ Sarah said. ‘You were so sure Friday wasn’t that way inclined when we first met in Newgate. You tore a strip off me for suggesting it, remember that?’

‘Yes, but that was a long time ago. I’ve changed since then. Lots of things have changed.’

‘I suppose they have.’

‘Is that why she’s been getting so horribly drunk lately?’ Harrie asked.

‘I think so, but also because she
is
a horrible drunk. She’s a souse, Harrie, and she’ll drink herself to death one day.’

‘I know. It’s an awful worry.’ Harrie gave a little smile. ‘I have to say, though, it’s nice to be well enough to worry about someone other than myself.’

If you say so, Sarah thought.

By three o’clock Harrie and James’s guests had all gone. Jack had arrived in Elizabeth’s landau to whisk away all the dirty serveware, glasses, cutlery and flatware — Elizabeth insisted that a newly married woman shouldn’t have to clean up after her own wedding celebrations — and Daisy had swept the parlour floor, wiped down all the surfaces, and scrubbed the rug in the outside room where Friday had missed the bucket. Friday herself had been taken home in the landau holding her head, moaning, spitting out the window and demanding gin to forestall her horrors.

At five o’clock Daisy boiled several pots of water over the fire and prepared a bath for Charlotte, who had fallen asleep in James’s arms, barely waking when Harrie took her to undress her. She had raspberry jam on the front of her beautiful little muslin dress, and a blob of chocolate cream near the hem, but, to James’s private relief, Harrie merely passed the garment to Daisy and suggested she soak it in cold water, then try white vinegar on the jam and the ‘hard’ soap on the chocolate. He’d been harbouring a slight concern that, given the requirements of her past assignments, Harrie might have developed rigid methods of managing children and everything that came with them, but it appeared not. In the days since Charlotte had arrived she’d been fairly relaxed about when the child had her sleeps and what have you, as long as Charlotte was happy. He was aware, however, that the soiling of a best garment was always the ultimate test, and Harrie had just passed it with considerable aplomb.