We Will Make Mischief Together

by J. Hepburn

  The hard man looked at me over the glow of his pipe with renewed interest and a waiting, expectant look.

  "I've come about the last crate got sent up to Tawampa." I said. "About something extra in it."

  The old man's demeanour abruptly changed and he curtly nodded to the hard man as he slipped further down the alleyway, dragging the others with him.

  "Who wants to know?" the hard man asked, his hands in his pockets and his pipe staying in the corner of his mouth.

  Be hung for a sheep, I reminded myself, my hand defensively straying to the pendant on my necklace and the little latch on the back that released the bladed bottom half. "The person it was addressed to."

  "Funny, you don't look like a Frank."

  My heart leapt, but I kept my voice even and returned to my normal voice as I said, "I might, at that. Do I look like who it was addressed to?"

  "You look like maybe three of those names."

  "I only have three names."

  He nodded once. "Okay," he said, so quietly I had to step closer to hear him, and so quickly I was afraid of missing something important. "Yes, I've been expecting you. Got told you might be dressed like a lady engineer, I guess this is what that means. You want to be in Brisbane, Frank, at the docks there, asking for a ship under the colours of New South Wales, name of Boadicea. Some fancy steamer they say, new design, new type, don't know what it means myself. Here, this would be for you."

  He pulled a small parcel out of his coat pocket and passed it to me. It was oilskin, with a piece of ribbon tied around it and a label attached to the ribbon. The label said "Franc" in Katharine's handwriting. My hands trembled when I saw it and I looked up at him with a wild hope.

  He raised a warning hand. "That came to me with the box and I don't know who sent it. I just follow orders. One of those orders is this meeting didn't happen. Do you understand me?"

  "I came to deliver a message from my friend Bill to his old mates," I said in my dockside voice, looking him full in the eye as, aching to tear the package open, I put it inside my satchel instead.

  His lip twitched. "Well, that's good," he said. "If you ever see him again, tell him he's shouting the first round."

  "I'll send him a telegram. How's the road between here and Brisbane?"

  He snorted. "We've got the river, they built a railroad, what do we need a road for? It's no better than a goat track half the way between here and Brisbane. That flashy car yours?"

  "My brother's."

  "Yeah, leant it to you, did he?"

  "Not quite."

  His lip twitched around his pipe. "Dump it here. Somewhere he'll have to pay to get it back, if you want him to get it back, that is."

  "It's in the hotel's yard."

  He nearly grinned at that. "Train leaves at ten a.m. and four p.m., but if I were you I'd try and move faster than that. I reckon as how you'll be needing to outrun a telegram, eh? Manly, the other boat there, sails at first light, or whenever the tide turns. You really are an engineer? I'm sure they could use a hand with that rattly engine they've got."

  "That so? They sleep on board?"

  "No room on river boats, plenty of hotels around here. The captain'll be putting his head down somewhere good, though."

  "I should go and find him, then."

  He nodded curtly, knocked his pipe out against the wall and turned to go inside.

  When I left the alleyway, the Bremer's sailors were still finishing their work for the evening. One or two of them gave me a whistle, so I pushed my jacket off my left hip to expose my goggles, gave them a nod and kept walking.

  "Look, boys, it's an engineer," one of the sailors said, nudging a companion. "She can work on my pipe any time!"

  I ignored him and kept on walking towards the other boat, the Manly. Oddly, the ribald jest was making me nostalgic for my days in Sydney.

  Now that the Bremer was no longer providing the evening's entertainment, there was only one man on watch on the Manly, still watching the Bremer's sailors but now with an air of boredom. He was slowly packing his pipe with the manner of one who has much time to fill and does not intend to rush any job that might fill it.

  He gave me a hard look as I approached, a look which changed to one of interested speculation as he noticed the goggles hanging from my waist.

  That look gave me a surge of hope.

  "Engineer, are you?" he asked.

  "Aye. Little bird said you have need of one."

  He looked disgusted and spat into the water before licking his thumb and using it to tamp down the bowl of his pipe. "Something in there don't sound right," he growled. "Sounds like hell breaking loose, and that don't make us confident it won't. Seen a steam engine explode on a boat once—killed two men outright and three more wished it had. Boat went straight down and some of the men got scalded just from being in the water. We lost our engineer in Brisbane. Fool got himself in an argument and got thrown in the lock-up. Our captain lost his temper and came upriver without him. Half of us can run the bloody thing, but none of us know which end of a spanner to use on it."

  I felt a thrill that almost matched my desire to keep moving and find my Katharine. It was the itch to smell hot metal and get grease under my fingernails again.

  "Know what make it is?" I asked.

  He barked a short laugh around his pipe while he slowly and deliberately took a single match out of a box and struck it on the railing in front of him.

  "I'll be damned if I know," he said as he let the match burn a little, "or anything except it burns coal and sounds like that one time the engineer spilt his box of spanners. I'd swear there's more steam than there used to be, too."

  "Are you making as much power?"

  He shrugged as he finally touched the half-burned match to the bowl of his pipe and took his time making sure he had a good flame. He pulled the pipe out of his mouth, made an O shape with his lips and carefully blew a smoke ring with every sign of satisfaction. "Don't need power coming up this river. It twists and turns like a woman trying to get married. Oh! Begging your pardon, Miss, I never—"

  I laughed as much like one of the men as I could, nearly overcome for an instant with a memory of old Morley's workshop, where girls were welcome not just if they were better than the boys, but if they behaved as though they were just boys in a slightly different shape.

  "I never had that problem, I've more got the other one," I said, taking the sudden opportunity as it presented itself.

  "Oh! Well, then," he said with a knowing look. "Looking for passage to Brisbane, are you?"

  "I might be, at that."

  "Well, you convince the captain you can keep this crate running long enough to get back down-river without killing us all, and he might be happy to have you on board that long. He's staying in that hotel, though, so I don't imagine as how you'll be able to talk to him until he comes out in the morning."

  "Oh, I might have a bit more luck than that," I said with a wink. "How am I going to recognise him?"

  "He's got more moustache than hair, and an old naval jacket he polishes the buttons on. Name of Dalton. Mind, though, he's been a bit short-tempered of late."

  "I'll mind that, and thank you. Name's Frances."

  "Ralph," he said, touching the brim of his cap. "If I see you in the morning, I'll probably be getting shouted at so beg pardon in advance if I don't stop to say hello."

  "Charmed," I said with an exaggerated curtsey. I winked at him again and headed off to the hotel, a new lightness in my step.

  The night porter opened the door, bobbed a bow and ushered me inside.

  There were three men in the saloon besides the waiter, who stood with barely concealed disinterest behind the bar.

  One of them saw me and looked shocked at seeing a woman step through the door, one ignored me as he read through his papers with an air of a man who does not wish to be disturbed should an apocalyptic event bring the hotel down around his ears, and the third was a man of military bearing, military coat and a moustache
that exceeded in thickness and width any I had previously seen.

  He glanced up briefly as I came in, and then took a second and much harder look as he saw my manner of dress, even as my jacket still covered my putative claims to rank.

  I went straight over to him. "Captain Dalton?"

  He looked at me from under eyebrows nearly as impressive as his moustache and nodded at the seat opposite.

  "My name is Frances Jeanne," I said, omitting the most important part. "I have reason to believe you have need of an engineer on the voyage back to Brisbane."

  He raised one of those eyebrows but did not immediately explode with indignation. Instead, he lifted a hand for the waiter. "Sherry, Miss Jeanne?"

  I could barely stand the stuff. "Thank you, but I prefer single malts."

  His eyes glittered at that, and an approving look came over his face. He lifted his glass—nearly empty—off the table and, catching the waiter's eye, waggled the glass towards each of us before returning his attention to me.

  "So," he said gruffly, "need to get to Brisbane and offering your services for travel?"

  His suspicion irked me, but it was, after all, a fair question. "I have business to conduct, and the train leaves late."

  He gave me a speculative look but did not speak again until the waiter arrived, carrying a tray with two glasses, a bowl of ice, and a soda siphon. I took one glass and waved away everything else, which, I could see, raised my esteem considerably further in Captain Dalton's eye.

  "Know marine engines, do you?"

  "I know there are no differences besides a tendency to corrode," I said, taking a sip. I could not recognise the whiskey, but it was well-rounded enough to satisfy most palates, without being expressive enough to be memorable. I savoured it anyway, having gone a long time since I last dared secretly sample any.

  "I am told ours propelled a ship all the way here from the Mother Country before ending up in my sorry barge," Captain Dalton said.

  I sucked air over my teeth, an affectation old Morley had used on a daily basis with customers. "Old," I said. "Worn out, maybe.

  What is wrong with it?"

  "She runs and the boiler is safe, but she lacks power and makes a devil of a racket. Vents steam into the engine room, too."

  I frowned at that, with good reason. "I will need time enough to see if it is safe at all."

  "We cast off with the tide at six forty-five, or not until the afternoon. Meet me on board an hour before."

  "I am staying in room 213. I will only need time for coffee."

  "I have a morning call arranged, I will send them along. And we have coffee on board."

  I glanced at the big clock in the corner of the saloon and did not quite manage to keep my reaction off my face.

  "You are right," Captain Dalton said, draining his glass and putting it on the table. "It may be time to retire."

  We parted at the top of the stairs.

  Once inside my room, I finally pulled out the small parcel and unwrapped it.

  Sitting in the middle, gleaming dully, was the old pocket-watch Katharine had, many years before meeting me, stolen from her father's study and, ever since his death, kept as a cherished keepsake.

  I finally let myself cry, barely remembering to turn off the electric light and falling asleep with my tears soaking the pillow.

  *~*~*

  In the morning, a respectful but loud knock woke me while the window had not even begun to lighten. "Good morning, Madam," a porter said through the door after my bleary response, "I was sent to wake you."

  "Thank you!" I called out, feeling fuzzy-headed and desperately in need of more sleep.

  I swung my feet off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom to wash my face vigorously in water cold enough to make me gasp and wake me up. Only then did I realise I had slept in all my clothes, including my boots.

  I ruefully brushed my hair and tried to settle my clothes, offering up thanks to the patron saint of grease-stained women that nothing I was wearing showed creases easily.

  I reached the top of the stairs before Captain Dalton reached the bottom. He turned his head when he heard the sound of my boots and nodded once before stepping up to the desk and finalising his account with the clerk.

  While I waited, I slowly wound Katharine's watch and set it from the big standing clock in the saloon.

  The chain I clipped to a loop on the corset, and I slipped the watch into the corset's fob pocket slowly, taking it as another promise to Katharine to find her, and soon.

  Thankfully, Captain Dalton, after giving me a nod, walked straight out, meaning he would not overhear my conversation and realise who I was.

  I had of course been holding the key to my room, or I strongly suspect the desk clerk, who was not the night clerk from the night before, would have had suspicions about me. However, when his eyes lit on the key and saw the room number on the brass tag attached to it, his expression changed from general politeness to welcoming servility.

  "Miss Ramsden! I do hope you slept well? And will you be having breakfast with us later this morning?"

  My brain was clearly more awake than it felt, for I realised instantly he thought I was just leaving on business, not leaving them entirely. Praying for forgiveness, I said, "I hope I may. I have business all over the city, it seems. Have you a telegraph?"

  "Indeed, yes! We have a telephone, as well, if you have need of one."

  "I will just send a message, thank you."

  The clerk lifted a machine like a typewriter from under the desk, a ribbon of tape where a typewriter would have ink. I had wracked my brains for what to say, but although I was now determined never to return home, I thought myself above the pettiness that Hugh was capable of.

  So, keeping my face as neutral as I could, I entered the telegraph address of the Manor and then quickly typed out, "Dearest brother: Thank you for the warning." The paper, bearing its pattern of punched holes, slid from the side of the machine. I tore it off deftly and passed it to the clerk. "Please, send this after eight o'clock. The receiver will not be switched on until then."

  Then, leaving him the key to keep for me, I followed Captain Dalton out the door.

  *~*~*

  The Manly was the centre of a scene of organised chaos such as I had seen on the docks of Sydney. Crates had been loaded, and lashed in place, and smoke and steam both were venting from the tall chimney. The amount of steam bothered me, and I let it show in my expression.

  I did see Ralph, and he was being shouted at, but he had time to tip his cap to me.

  The captain was pouring coffee into a metal mug as I stepped on board, slipping past men on more urgent duties, and he poured me some as well without saying a word beyond, "Good morning, Miss Jeanne," before pointing with the coffee pot at a bottle of milk and a metal sugar bowl.

  I used both, liberally, partly because they were the closest thing to the food my stomach was demanding, and partly to protect me from the vile, tar-like brew my nose was already protesting.

  Before I had taken more than three gulps of coffee, but not before I could wonder if I would be able to keep it down, I was in the engine room—little more than a hutch to keep rain off, in the middle of the boat between the two great paddle wheels.

  The engine was old, and it was battered, but the boiler and firebox both seemed sound and a fresh load of coal was burning well. It was not an engine that could be started from cold on the morning of sailing if the owners were intending to sail before midday, so I could only hope nothing would need touching that was not already hot.

  With a sense of ceremony, I pulled my goggles over my head, settling them over my eyes, then my gloves onto my hands. Wearing them during the drive from Tawampa had been a matter of necessity, but this was the right and proper thing, and the moment needed savouring.

  As I faced the engine I felt a pang that Katharine was not next to me, but that was as nothing to the knowledge that this would, no matter her location, be taking me closer to her.

 
Taking a deep breath, I opened the chest of tools bolted to the floor against one wall and got to work.

  Half an hour later, a knock on the door interrupted me.

  "Morning, Miss," Ralph grinned at me, touching his cap again. "Don't imagine you've had any breakfast, yet." He was carrying a plate. On it was a hunk of bread that smelled fresh and a chunk of hard cheese. On such foods was the Empire evidently built. I remembered with a pang of mingled hunger and guilty conscience that I still had most of the food Bill had given me, but this had the inestimable benefit of being fresh.

  I pulled off a glove, impatient to eat.

  "Captain will want movement in ten minutes."

  I rapped the pressure gauge. "Movement I can give him," I said around a mouthful of cheese crumbs. "Was this boat pulling to one side?"

  Ralph scratched under his cap. "Can't say, Miss, I'm not the pilot."

  I shook my head. Unless someone had modified this engine with a single driving shaft, there was one big piston for each paddle wheel, separately throttled, and the engineer was part of the steering team. "Are you one of the 'half of us' who can run this engine?"

  "Well, I can stoke it and make us go faster."

  "There are two throttle levers," I said, pointing, "one for each side."

  "Ah, well, we just use them together."

  There was indeed a locking bar, but surely no pilot would tolerate losing that much extra control?

  Ralph left and I frowned—not bothering to stop myself. "Wrinkles!" I could hear Ms Sinnet and all her instructors say in my head. I ignored them all and made sure the engine was ready for sailing.

  The pilot's orders were passed to me, and I was not asked to assist in the process of steering.

  *~*~*

  Soon after leaving the dock, I took the locking bar off the throttle leavers and started operating them independently. I felt the pilot adjust, and we proceeded smoothly but slightly crab-like around the river's bends without anyone coming to ask what the hell I thought I was doing. That was interesting, as well.