A Tattooed Heart

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Did the Sophia Jane leave here today for Newcastle?’ James demanded.

  ‘No, but another paddlesteamer, the William the Fourth, did. At midday.’

  ‘But why would Leary want to take Charlotte to Newcastle?’ Harrie wailed. ‘What’s in Newcastle? James, why would he take her to Newcastle?’ Bursting into tears yet again she reached blindly for his hand. He took it and squeezed, then slipped his free arm around her shuddering shoulders.

  ‘Is —?’ His voice cracking with distress, James cleared his throat and started again. ‘Is the harbour master amenable to a bribe? I can’t say I know the man that well.’

  ‘I do. He’s a mate,’ Leo said. ‘What do you want of him?’

  ‘To see a copy of the manifest for the William the Fourth. Presumably all captains still have to lodge one when they leave port? We always did when I was at sea.’

  ‘Far as I know.’ Leo rose. ‘I’ll go down now and have a yarn with him.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Friday said.

  ‘No, you won’t, you’re swattled.’

  Friday opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again.

  ‘I’ll come,’ Sarah said. She stood up, snatched Friday’s bottle of gin off her and emptied it out the window. ‘And you can bloody well stop drinking.’

  Aghast, Friday exclaimed, ‘Oi! That’s all I’ve got!’

  ‘Bad luck. Sober up. You, me, Aria and Harrie need to talk when I get back.’ Sarah turned to Aria. ‘Make her eat something, will you? Some of that hogget and some bread. No more booze.’

  And she marched out of the parlour, leaving Leo to trot after her.

  Outside on the street, he said, ‘Do I get the impression you’re angry?’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody angry! He took her from right under Harrie’s nose! Honestly, she couldn’t have watched her any more closely. He must have followed them home from the market, or been waiting at the house or something. God, poor Harrie. Poor James. Did you see the state they’re in?’

  ‘Aye, lass, I saw.’

  ‘What an absolute prick. When I catch up with him I’ll bloody well kill him.’

  Leo eyed her uneasily. ‘Sorry, lass, for a minute there I thought you said when you catch up with him.’

  ‘I did. So?’

  Leo slowly shook his head, his expression resolute. ‘Sarah, I don’t think you understand. Jonah Leary is a very nasty piece of work.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘No need to be sarcastic. With all due respect, lass, you should probably leave going after Leary to the menfolk. There’s a lot at stake.’

  His voice was gentle, and so, now, was his expression. He was obviously trying to spare her feelings, but Sarah didn’t give a bugger.

  Poking him in his brawny chest with a sharp finger, she said, ‘I don’t think you understand, Leo. Charlotte’s ours. She belongs to me, Harrie and Friday. When Rachel was alive we were a crew, a tight crew, and we vowed to look out for one another, and that included Charlotte. Now she’s in terrible trouble and we’re not going to just sit back and let someone else dither about having a half-arsed go at rescuing her.’ She stood on tip-toes so she could get right in Leo’s face. ‘And you’ve got no idea of what we’re capable of. Really, Leo, you haven’t.’

  Leo stuck up a hand, fingers out. ‘One,’ he folded down his index finger, ‘I’m not asking you to sit back. Two,’ his middle finger this time, ‘no one’s dithering about and I can assure you there’ll be nothing half arsed about what we do to get her back. And three,’ ring finger, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised by what you’re capable of. I really wouldn’t. But you’re convicts, you can’t actually leave Sydney. You just can’t do it by yourselves and that’s a fact. And I don’t want Harrie any more upset than she already is. I don’t want her dragged into some terrible bloody confrontation that ends in the wee lass getting hurt or . . . worse. Do you really think she could bear that? Do you want her to get sick again?’

  ‘Of course I don’t. But she’s a lot stronger than she was.’

  ‘She is, I’ll grant you that, but is she strong enough? And it’s not just her. What about Friday?’

  Sarah snorted and looked away. Trust him to bring her up. ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? I’m not responsible for her.’

  ‘But you are.’ Leo’s eyes gleamed shrewdly. ‘You just said you all vowed to look out for one another. You can’t just ignore what’s happening to her because it doesn’t suit. And she’ll scupper anything you try to do, you know. She’ll get mashed and it won’t be four of you, it’ll be three of you and one loud, messy, bad-tempered drunk.’

  ‘Shut up, Leo.’ Sarah strode off down the street.

  Leo followed her. ‘No, I won’t. You know you can’t do it by yourselves. Come on, Sarah, be reasonable.’

  She turned on him. ‘Why do you have to be such an arsehole?’

  ‘Years of practice.’

  Sarah nearly smiled but refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing he’d amused her. She stomped off again, arms swinging, aware that he was right behind her.

  Down on the foreshore of Sydney Cove she fell back and let Leo take the lead, as he knew his way to the harbour master’s office.

  Leo checked his watch. ‘Dinnertime. Hope to Christ he’s in. I hear he’s building a big new house on Fort Street. He might be there, but I doubt it. He takes his job pretty seriously. Well, he isn’t building his house, of course, some poor gang of convicts is.’

  ‘Nice for some.’

  ‘You’re not doing too badly.’

  But Captain Nicholson was in his office: a man getting on in years, greying and possessed of a full beard and heavy moustache. Your standard seadog, Sarah thought.

  ‘Afternoon, John,’ Leo said, shaking hands and introducing Sarah.

  ‘Good to see you, Leo. Good afternoon, Mrs Green, charmed to meet you.’ Indicating a pair of chairs facing his desk, he added, ‘Please, take a seat. How may I be of assistance?’

  ‘We’re looking for a cove and a wee lass we think might have boarded the William the Fourth bound for Newcastle today.’

  Captain Nicholson glanced at the handsome clock on his mantel, placed precisely between a boxed chronometer and a sextant, both crafted from gleaming brass. ‘Cast-off at midday?’

  ‘Aye, that’s her. I was wondering if I could have a look at her manifest.’

  ‘Now, you know manifests aren’t for public scrutiny, Leo. Would you have a specific reason for wanting to see it?’

  ‘The lass doesn’t belong to the cove.’

  ‘Ah. I see. Well, in that case . . .’ The captain crossed to a large set of wooden drawers, opened one and withdrew a sheet of paper. Handing it to Leo, he sat at his desk and looked out the window.

  Running his blunt finger down the page, Leo said to Sarah, ‘This could be them.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Sarah virtually snatched the paper from his hand. ‘Which ones are you looking at?’

  ‘“J Bennett and M Bennett (child)”.’

  ‘Why them? They’re others with “child” next to them.’

  ‘Bennett’s the missing brother, and I reckon “J” stands for Jonah and “M” for Malcolm. That was the brother who died in my shop.’

  ‘I could ask, but I’m not sure I want to know,’ John Nicholson said dryly.

  ‘Best you don’t. No other ships have sailed since midday?’

  ‘No, although two are due to leave on the outgoing tide late this afternoon at around six o’clock. As you know, the paddlesteamers don’t need the tide.’

  ‘Do you have the manifests?’

  ‘Too early. You know what folk are like. Always embarking at the last possible minute. One isn’t a passenger ship anyway, that’s the —’ the captain reached for a ledger and opened it ‘— Trident II. She’s cargo only. Wool. And the other’s only carrying six passengers, all cabin.’ He looked up. ‘Can your man afford a cabin?’

  Casually leaning forwards, her elbows on her knees, Sarah had a good
stare at a ledger open on the desk listing vessels, together with their captains, currently at anchor in Sydney Harbour.

  ‘Unlikely,’ Leo replied. ‘Though you never know. Where’s she bound?’

  ‘Woolwich.’

  Leo and Sarah glanced at each other. ‘He won’t want to go to Woolwich,’ Sarah said. ‘What would be the point? He’s convinced his brother’s here.’

  ‘Aye.’ Leo passed the copy of the manifest back to John Nicholson. ‘It’s the William the Fourth, I’m sure. Thanks, John. I owe you one.’

  ‘Anything I can do to help. Within reason, of course.’

  ‘Much obliged.’

  On the way back to Harrie and James’s, Leo said, ‘Port Nicholson in New Zealand’s named after John, you know.’

  What a useless piece of information, Sarah thought. ‘Does that sort of thing impress you?’

  ‘Not in itself, but he was, and still is, a first-rate mariner. I admire the man. Does nothing impress you? Your life must feel very mediocre some days.’

  Mediocre? That stung. ‘No, my life does not feel mediocre. I love my job, and my husband, and my friends. Even Friday. I’m perfectly aware that I’ve far more than a lot of women.’ You rude bugger.

  ‘Well, then, smile.’

  ‘Not while that prick’s got Charlotte.’

  ‘Fair comment. When we get back to Harrie’s we need to talk about a handful of us heading up to Newcastle, though Christ knows why he’s taken the wee lass up there. I’ll go, obviously, and James, and maybe Matthew. Would Adam be keen? He looks handy.’

  Sarah only grunted: she couldn’t answer for Adam.

  Anyway, she had other ideas.

  They arrived back just as Serafina was laying out her cards on a side table in the parlour.

  ‘Serafina’s doing a reading for Charlotte. To try and see, you know, what might happen,’ Harrie said, her voice heavy with meaning.

  To find out where she is, Sarah thought.

  James looked deeply disapproving. ‘I really don’t think we’ve time for party tricks.’ He was the only one not gazing spellbound at Serafina’s pale, slim hands as she turned over the tarot cards.

  ‘Your idea?’ Sarah asked Harrie.

  Harrie nodded.

  The cards now laid out in a spread of five, Serafina stared down at them for a moment, then said, ‘I need something of Charlotte’s. Something she values.’

  ‘Her doll,’ Harrie said eagerly. ‘The one Friday gave her. She loves that. Daisy, do you know where it is?’

  Daisy shot off to fetch it.

  ‘Can you see anything yet?’ Friday asked, hanging over the table.

  Waving her hand in front of her face, Serafina said, ‘Only a cloud of gin fumes.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Friday sat back.

  ‘I’ve never had my cards read,’ Nora said. ‘I’m too frightened to.’

  Lucy said, ‘I did, at home once. There was a woman at a fair last year, a gypsy, charging thruppence a reading.’

  ‘And did she tell you you’d marry a prince and live a life of riches beyond your wildest dreams?’ James asked.

  ‘No, she said I’d travel to lands that were upside down and marry a man with ink on his hands.’

  Sarah smiled to herself as Matthew surreptitiously inspected his hands, his face lighting up at the discovery of a smudge of Indian ink on the outer aspect of his right little finger.

  ‘Had she been drinking?’ Nora asked.

  ‘Probably.’

  Daisy returned with the doll, now somewhat worse for wear. Some of the varnish had chipped off its hair, a wooden arm was loose, and the lace was unravelling from its lovely silk evening gown — all injuries caused by love.

  Serafina took it and laid it in her lap, one hand on the doll’s belly. She closed her eyes for a moment. Harrie, Friday, Sarah and Leo all knew she was seeing, but the others were oblivious. Then she opened her eyes, laid two more cards on the spread for show, and spoke.

  ‘I believe she is somewhere on the ocean.’

  ‘Ah!’ Leo exclaimed. ‘We were right!’

  Serafina glared at him. ‘Leo, please be quiet. She is travelling south.’

  South? Sarah thought, startled.

  ‘No.’ Serafina’s head tilted slowly to the left as though she were adjusting her bearings, then straightened again. ‘No, not south. North, or north-west.’ She moved a card. ‘They are bound for a destination where the waves pound one shore, the river sweeps the other, sand creeps across the streets and the men labour to hold back the sea.’

  ‘Where the hell’s that?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Shush,’ Sarah warned.

  Then Serafina said, ‘Coal.’

  Just the one word, but it confirmed what they’d all assumed. Leary was taking Charlotte to Newcastle.

  ‘I don’t see any connection between the pictures on the cards and what you’re saying,’ James declared, a man of science and thorough non-believer in anything remotely occult.

  Slowly, Serafina turned to him. ‘That’s because you don’t know how to read them,’ she said sweetly.

  ‘But is she all right?’ Harrie asked, her voice cracking. ‘Is she safe?’

  As Serafina peered at the cards again, her hand slipped over the doll’s face. ‘Yes, she is safe.’

  ‘Is she upset?’ Harrie demanded.

  And Serafina could only look at her, her face filled with compassion.

  Chapter Eleven

  Late that afternoon, Friday, Aria, Harrie and Sarah sat in Friday’s room, waiting impatiently for Elizabeth. Finally, she arrived.

  ‘I’m so sorry, girls. Trouble with a cully. I know how worried you all are. That poor, darling little child. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Biddy Doyle,’ Sarah said. ‘Does she owe you anything?’

  ‘What, you mean money?’

  ‘Money, a debt, a favour, anything.’

  ‘Not a sausage. Why would she? The only time our paths have crossed was when her bloody gamecock of a son got Harrie into trouble, and she can hardly be blamed for that.’

  Sarah said, ‘Bugger.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We want to apply a bit of pressure.’

  ‘To what end?’

  Friday said, ‘We want her to get Mick the Dick to talk his boss into taking us up to Newcastle on that ship of his.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t call him that,’ Harrie said, wincing. ‘It’s shameful enough as it is.’

  ‘By “Mick the Dick”, I assume you mean Biddy’s lad?’

  Friday nodded. ‘We do.’

  ‘How do you know they’re even in port?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘They could be sailing around China for all you know. And you, Mrs Downey, are not going anywhere near that man.’

  ‘They are in port,’ Sarah said. ‘I saw it in the harbour master’s book.’

  Elizabeth suddenly seemed to realise exactly what Friday had said. ‘Shove over,’ she ordered, and sat down heavily next to Harrie on the bed. ‘The four of you, off to Newcastle? Why?’

  ‘Because that’s where Leary’s taken Charlotte,’ Friday said. She opened the nightstand and reached in for a flask of gin, jumping about a foot when Sarah slapped her arm. Reluctantly, she closed the door.

  ‘How do you know?’

  Sarah said, ‘We worked it out and the harbour master pretty well confirmed it. We think they went on the paddlesteamer.’

  ‘And Serafina saw it,’ Harrie added. ‘She’s never wrong.’

  ‘And what do James and Adam think about this idea?’

  ‘We’re not telling them,’ Sarah said. ‘Or Leo. They’ll only try to stop us.’

  ‘And with damned good reason. Four girls — three of you convict girls — chasing round the colony after a mean and crafty cove like Jonah Leary? It’ll end in tears, you mark my words.’ Elizabeth bit her lip, realising what she’d said. ‘Why don’t you leave it to the men?’

  ‘No,’ Harrie blurted. ‘Charlotte’s ours. It’s up to us to get her
back. And I can’t just sit at home bawling and wondering what’s happening, I just can’t, even if it means I have to see bloody Mick Doyle again. I’d rather be looking for her myself.’

  ‘Are you up to it, love?’ Elizabeth laid a motherly hand on Harrie’s arm.

  ‘Will I lose my wits again, do you mean? I really hope not. But I don’t think so. I don’t feel at all barmy.’

  Aria laughed from her chair in front of the dressing table. ‘Barmy! Ha! I have not heard that before. Barmy. I like it!’

  ‘Well, I think you’re asking for trouble, all of you,’ Elizabeth warned.

  Friday said, ‘And you’re turning into a boring old trout. You’ve spent so long in that office counting money you’re forgetting what sort of person you really are. If Charlotte was your daughter, would you tell yourself not to go looking for her?’

  Startled, and stung, Elizabeth blinked at her. ‘Of course not. I’d go.’

  ‘So will you help us?’ Sarah asked. ‘Because we need to leave tomorrow.’

  Elizabeth spread her hands, palms up. ‘I’m really not sure what I can do.’

  ‘You can talk to Biddy Doyle.’

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘You got on with her when I was in trouble. She respects you,’ Harrie said.

  ‘She does not. She thinks I’m an uppity ex-convict madam who spends too much money on clothes and wigs. Which I am.’

  ‘Can’t you bribe her?’ Friday suggested.

  ‘I could, I suppose.’ Elizabeth looked doubtful. ‘Though I’m not sure a blatant offer of money would be the smartest approach to take. Despite appearances, that woman has a lot of pride, and she’s actually very canny. Let me think about it for half an hour.’

  ‘Thank you, Jack,’ Elizabeth said as he handed her down from the gig.

  Biddy Doyle was still living in the same shabby little one-room cottage at the run-down end of Cumberland Street: clearly her dreams of owning property and becoming a Rocks landlady hadn’t yet come to fruition, which was all for the good as far as Elizabeth was concerned. She was glad now that Jack had driven her here this evening; this area of the Rocks in particular wasn’t safe for a woman after dark, especially not a woman who wore as much gold jewellery as she did.