‘Want me to write him a note?’ Patrick said.
‘I already have, for what it’s worth.’ Riley stood and put on his hat. ‘Thanks for the drink, Patrick.’ He reached out his hand and Patrick rose to shake it. Regardless of what Riley felt for Ivy, they all owed him more of a debt than Patrick had realised, protecting her the way he had.
‘Thank you for everything you’ve done. We can never repay you but … thank you. And I swear, if there’s anything we can ever do for you just name it and it’s yours.’
‘Hopefully I won’t be in need of a budding lawyer any time soon,’ Riley said.
‘Maybe not, but my dad’s a judge so …’
Riley let out a short laugh. ‘Well, let’s definitely hope I never have to call that favour in. See you in the morning, then.’
With a tilt of his hat he was gone and Patrick watched him unmoor his boat and stoke the fire to start the engine, sending him a last wave as he chugged away, and a few other men raised their hands.
Patrick put his hat on and turned to walk upstairs to take that longed-for rest but not before catching the bearded man’s eye.
‘See ya later, Riley,’ he called but his gazed remained trained on Patrick, who knew one thing was for sure: Ivy wasn’t the only Merriweather daughter who required protection up here tonight. But he’d need his wits about him to stop Frankie from getting in trouble, especially when she was determined she could ‘bloody well’ look after herself. Ivy may have tripped and fallen but, if he knew anything about Frankie, she was likely to run and launch herself straight into the middle of strife.
Twenty-One
The moon was rising once more, a little later and little less full than the night before, as if it had taken an afternoon nap, just like Frankie had herself. The room she was staying in was a pleasant one and the moonlight danced on the river and glinted among the treetops that stretched out on either side of the shoreline. It was entrancing but Frankie had woken up ravenous and the view wasn’t doing anything to assuage her appetite. She freshened up and dressed quickly, deciding to go and knock on Patrick’s door rather than wait for him to come to her or go downstairs by herself. It sounded like a big party was in full swing and as much as she loved socialising there was no way she was going down alone after seeing such rough men there earlier on. Besides, she wasn’t in the mood to make friends after these past few emotional days. But she was hungry.
Frankie straightened her blue cotton blouse and skirt and headed out to Patrick’s adjacent room, hoping he wasn’t asleep, but he answered straight away.
‘I was just going to come and get you,’ he said, not appearing too pleased. It wasn’t really the done thing for a single woman to knock on a bachelor’s hotel room door.
‘Oh well, here I am. Ready to eat? I’m starving,’ she said brightly and she thought he looked set to say more but then he just sighed.
‘Hold on,’ he said, grabbing his wallet, and they set off.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and there seemed to be people everywhere but Patrick managed to gain the now flustered-looking Margie’s attention to ask where they could eat.
‘Restaurant’s pretty full,’ she told them above the noise, ‘but when the band starts it should empty out. Can you wait half an hour?’
‘Looks like we’ll have to,’ Patrick said.
‘Have a drink in the ladies’ parlour,’ she suggested before bustling off and they made their way over to it. It was busy too but Patrick went to order some drinks and Frankie found a spare corner booth, which a couple had fortuitously vacated just as she went to walk by. It was a bit cosy for her liking but beggars couldn’t be choosers and if Patrick looked wary as he approached then so be it. There was far too much ridiculous propriety in their society, as far as she was concerned, especially when it came to restrictions on what a young lady couldn’t say or do. So what if they now had to sit close enough that their knees kept touching? He was practically engaged to her sister, for goodness’ sake.
The wine was welcome and cool and she drank the first mouthful rather quickly.
‘Not too fast there, Frankie,’ he said and she made a face.
‘Don’t tell me you’re turning into a bore.’
‘You’re the feminist. Aren’t they supposed to support temperance?’
‘I see nothing wrong with a man enjoying a drink so long as he can handle it,’ Frankie said.
‘Or woman?’
‘Yes, or woman, and you can get off your high horse tonight. I think we both deserve a few drinks and a good meal after everything we’ve been through,’ she added.
‘I don’t feel much like celebrating,’ he said, although he drank his wine rather fast too.
‘It’s not celebrating so much as recovering. Anyway, we may as well do something to while away the time.’
‘That’s true,’ Patrick said, ‘although you’re going to need to be very careful here, Frankie. There’re some unsavoury types hanging around so don’t stray away, all right?’
‘I’m not a dog that goes straying,’ Frankie said, getting annoyed with him now. ‘Anyway, where would I go?’
‘I’m just saying …’
‘Unsavoury. Honestly, Patrick, you really need to stop being so pompous. There’s perfectly nice people living up here too, I’m sure.’
‘I’m not worried about the nice people, I’m worried about the not-so-nice ones. Riley told me there’s good reason to worry too.’ He went on to tell her about Ivy’s dangerous near-encounter and Frankie’s eyes grew round as she sipped on her wine.
‘You don’t really think they would’ve harmed her?’
‘Riley thinks so, most definitely, and he’d know. So please, Frankie, don’t give me any more reasons to worry tonight, all right?’
Frankie softened, realising she was being a bit hard on him after all he’d been carrying.
‘Sorry I called you pompous,’ she said, pulling a face.
To his credit he smiled. ‘If that’s the worst thing you ever call me I’ll be surprised.’ He looked towards the dining room. ‘I can’t hear the band yet but do you want to see if we can get some dinner?’
Frankie practically jumped up to get to the door and peer through the window but it was still full to the brim. Fortunately Patrick hadn’t left their spot so they could sit and have another drink while they waited.
‘See if they’ve anything to snack on,’ she said as he went back to the bar and he returned with a bowl of peanuts.
‘Goodness knows where these came from but at least it’s food,’ he said, putting the glasses and bowl down.
‘I know a man who may know a man,’ she said cheekily and Patrick feigned surprise.
‘I hope you’re not suggesting our friend Mr Logan procured such ill-gotten exotic goods?’
‘Suggesting but not complaining,’ she returned, cracking the first shell and eating the nuts hungrily. ‘Mmm, they’re good.’
It was a quite a fun activity and it was just as well it did involve food because it took a good hour until they finally got a table. And three glasses of wine. Frankie felt quite tiddly and found herself giggling as Patrick regaled her with stories about their cricketing friends.
‘How is this the first I’m ever hearing of it?’ she asked after one rather hilarious story about Nick Johnson crouching down and splitting his pants in front of a large group of school girls.
‘I’m pretty sure you’d be the last person he’d want to know,’ he said and she felt suddenly awkward but was saved from answering as the waiter approached. ‘Ah. Here’s the food.’
It was local oyster soup served with crusty rolls, soon followed by whiting in butter sauce, and it was all very delicious. Frankie savoured every mouthful.
‘Oh,’ she groaned when she was done, leaning back and holding her full stomach. ‘I could get used to river life if it was like this every day.’
‘Yes, it’s quite surprising to find all this here,’ Patrick said, finishing up too and looking
around them. ‘I was beginning to think the whole area contained nothing but shacks and shady characters.’
‘There you go again,’ she said.
‘It’s not pompous if it’s true,’ he asserted. ‘Anyway, I’m not looking down my nose at them. I actually feel sorry for the people up here, to be honest. I didn’t realise how hard their lives were.’
‘That’s exactly what’s wrong with this country, and no, no, I’m not just saying this to criticise you,’ she said, halting his objection. ‘Too many people stick their heads in the sand and pretend other people’s problems don’t exist, but they do, Patrick, especially when it comes to women. Why is it that you and I can live in fine homes and eat and drink whatever we like and have soft beds and nice clothes,’ she said, gesturing at his outfit, ‘yet most people up here live in squalor?’
Patrick sipped his wine, thoughtful now. ‘It’s the way of things, I suppose. Some are born lucky, some aren’t.’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That’s a definite advantage but things stay this way because of the law. The people who suffer most can’t change the very laws against them and that’s womankind, Patrick. The property of men,’ she said with disgust. ‘Yet ironically we can’t own property unless our spouse dies. We can’t even open a bank account let alone stop husbands from beating their wives and stealing their dignity …’ she paused as tears filled her eyes, waiting for him to argue, but he didn’t. Instead he took her hand. She stared at in surprise. ‘I … I’m sorry. I think it’s just the wine.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m the one who should be. You’ve opened my eyes up here, Frankie, it all has. Ivy being in danger and the way she could have been treated, merely because she’s a woman. I didn’t know men could treat ladies that way, well, I mean, I suppose I did but I would have thought it was rare. Very few cases have ever come to light that I know of.’
‘Then it’s sadder still.’
He looked at her sombrely and nodded. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘But now that you know …’
‘Indeed,’ he said, releasing her hand and looking abashed he’d taken it. ‘Now that I know I have an obligation to be less apathetic.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said.
‘I have absolutely no doubt that you will,’ he said and she giggled, wiping the few tears away. ‘Come on now, what say we have one more drink before we retire?’
‘I thought you wanted to take it slow?’
‘I wanted you to take it slow but I shouldn’t have been so pompous, as I recall. Must work on that too.’
‘I can hold you to two things then,’ she said, and she couldn’t help but giggle again as he raised his hand and called for the waiter in an affected voice.
They enjoyed their last drink with lighter talk of cricketing antics once more and he rose to escort her out. Frankie was definitely more than a bit tiddly now and she swayed slightly as they went but the band had started and Frankie couldn’t resist pausing to look into the main room.
‘Frankie …’ Patrick began.
‘I just want a quick look,’ she said, watching as a woman sang above the playing of a very fast piano. ‘Come on, we can stand over there,’ she added, pointing to a space in the corner of the room.
‘Oh, all right then,’ he said and they sidled over. Frankie had never heard music like this before. Her parents were always listening to orchestral music or brass bands on the gramophone, and she and her sisters enjoyed the current songs of the day, but this was different. It had a very rapid beat and the woman seemed to be having so much fun singing it that people dancing in the crowd were spontaneously whooping as it rollicked along. By the time it ended the woman was grinning broadly.
‘Well, howdy folks,’ she called out. ‘I sure am glad y’all came on down to hear us play tonight. Hold on to y’belt buckles ’cos here’s another one from my very own home state of Texas.’
‘She’s American,’ Frankie said, loving the woman’s accent.
‘That’s where ragtime music comes from,’ Patrick told her. ‘I’ve heard it recently in some of the nightclubs in town with the boys.’
She would have loved to hear more about what went on with the cricketing gang during those particular nights but the music was belting out again and this time she couldn’t help but dance.
‘Come on,’ she said, grabbing Patrick’s hand and he didn’t resist, joining her on the dancefloor and taking her in his arms. The music was like a pulse, pumping through her veins and guiding her feet about, although she wasn’t too sure what dance in particular they were doing. There was something wild and freeing about such lack of convention and Frankie could almost feel all the worry and angst she’d been carrying begin to fade, as if the music was lifting it straight off her and flinging it away.
Life is good, it seemed to say, as the fiddle flew and the piano tinkled at a merry pace, and so it was. Ivy was safe and there was hope in this new year now, for if she could convince someone like Patrick Earle to lose his apathy towards the Cause then everything she fought for was within grasp. It felt powerful to influence a man like him. It felt powerful to cast convention away and dance like this. It felt powerful to be a woman.
Patrick had his hands about her waist and she looked up at him, suddenly acutely aware of that fact, and her smile began to fade as another feeling surfaced, one she didn’t and couldn’t want.
‘I … I think we should probably stop now …’
Patrick blinked as if coming out of some kind of a trance. ‘Of course.’
He led her off the dance floor and out the side doors so they could avoid the crowd and, as they walked along the near-empty verandah, Frankie wanted nothing more than to get to her room. To forget whatever that feeling was before it took root and began to twist into her mind and become something to ponder, or fear. But there was a hand on her waist again and she was being spun about and it wasn’t Patrick who held her, it was a man with a long beard.
‘Well, well, there you are. I’ve been looking for you all night, pretty girl.’
‘Get your filthy hands off me,’ she said, pushing at him in outrage and a good dose of sudden terror as she smelt the rum and beer on his breath in the muted light.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Patrick demanded but another man grabbed and held him and then there was a third, even more frightening looking than the other two, with pockmarked skin and bloodshot eyes where the moonlight landed. He came up close, shoving the bearded man away.
‘I think I’ll have this one, mate.’
‘Hey, I saw her first.’
‘Get away from her right now or I’ll call the police,’ Patrick demanded angrily.
They looked as one towards Patrick and began to laugh.
‘Good luck over this ruckus,’ the pockmarked man said. He put his arms around Frankie and she punched at his chest.
‘Let bloody go,’ she screamed, twisting about in terror, but he was strong.
‘Hit me again and I’ll hit you, young lady.’ His tone had darkened and she didn’t doubt he meant it.
‘Lay a finger on her and I’ll kill you,’ Patrick said.
‘Shut that poonce down, will ya, boys?’
The other two men laid on punches of their own but like most private school boys Patrick had been taught to box properly and he took them both on.
‘This should be good,’ the pockmarked man said, rocking as he looked around to watch, amused. Frankie noticed a bottle on a table and saw her chance. Without really thinking she picked it up, and smashed the man over his head with all her might.
He fell immediately to the ground and the other two looked around in surprise.
‘Hey,’ the bearded man said. ‘What …?’ He didn’t finish, however, as Patrick took his chance too, cracking a big upper cut right on his bearded chin. The man fell backwards onto a table and chairs with a crash.
The third man growled and launched himself but Patrick simply stepped aside and he fell st
raight down the stairs, landing in a groaning mess below.
‘Come on,’ Patrick said, grabbing her hand and running to reception.
‘Is he dead?’ Frankie said, turning back to see. ‘Oh God, I think I’ve killed a man.’
They rushed inside and found Margie at the counter.
‘There’s been … an altercation …’ Patrick panted.
‘Oh lord, what now?’ Maggie said, not as alarmed as either of them would have expected. She walked over to peer down the verandah. ‘Humph, Donovan and his cronies. You just leave them to the police sergeant. I’ll send word, not to worry.’
‘But … but he could be dead …’ Frankie said, shaking with shock now.
Margie peered again and shook her head. ‘Nuh, he’s moving.’ Frankie dared to take a peek too and saw for herself that he was rolling about. ‘You best make yourself scarce though. Angus,’ she stopped a burly man walking by, ‘get the sarge. Bloody Donovan and the boys have been at it again.’
‘Right you are,’ he said, hurrying off.
‘Off you two go then,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep an eye out until they get here.’
‘But … but won’t the police want a statement?’ Frankie stammered.
Maggie gave a short derisive laugh. ‘I think their records all speak for themselves. Besides, best keep your own noses clean. I’m sure you don’t want no trouble with the law.’
‘No,’ Patrick said and Frankie realised it was very much the last thing he wanted. ‘Thank you,’ he said earnestly and Margie gave him a nod before turning back to keep watch. ‘Any friend of Riley Logan’s is a friend of mine.’
They made their way quickly upstairs to hide in the shadows of the upper verandah and listen to things unfold as police whistles sounded and drunken voices carried.
‘We was set upon. Honest.’
‘Must have been ten of ’em, sarge.’
But the police were having none of it. It didn’t take them long to lead the men away into the night and the only noise that remained was the ragtime music as it wafted up towards Frankie and Patrick, muted now, but still a pulsing, vibrant sound. Frankie was shaking though, whether from adrenaline or alcohol or something else she couldn’t be sure, and the music didn’t have the same charm as before. It felt out of control, something she now knew to be either a very fun state to be in, or a very scary one.
Sisters of Freedom Page 17
