Dangerous Women

by Hope Adams

  “Thank you, Hattie.”

  Hattie looked on as the matron wrote her name in a little notebook, which she took out of a bag that hung from her wrist.

  Emily whispered to Hattie, “She’s only twenty-three, they say.”

  “That’s young to be in charge of all of us,” Phyllis added. She’d come up to see what was going on.

  “I was looking after four bairns by the time I was seventeen,” another woman said.

  “Your bairns wasn’t rough as a metal file, though, was they? Not like us.” Women standing nearby laughed, and Hattie turned to Miss Hayter again.

  She was a small woman, and she did look very young. Some light brown curls had escaped from the bun at the back of her head and lay now on her neck. Her smile was kind, and when she looked at you, she seemed to be considering you carefully. She wore a dark red gown, with a small shawl in knitted lace around her shoulders. Her voice was light and clear, and her words, though spoken quietly, carried authority. She spoke like the genteel ladies Hattie had overheard in fancy shops. Some of the rougher women would be rude or unkind to her, but Hattie felt sure that Matron would answer everyone with good sense and civility.

  As Miss Hayter left them, Hattie made up her mind to be on Matron’s side, whatever she was proposing. All her life, she’d prided herself on her ability to see where her best advantage lay and she understood that, on this voyage, it would lie with being as close to Miss Hayter as possible. Bertie settled on a bench and Hattie sat down beside him and sighed.

  Now Matron was about to address them all, and Hattie looked at her, and at the others listening eagerly to what she had to say.

  “I am Miss Kezia Hayter,” she began, and then she waited till the mumbling and fidgeting stopped.

  “You have, every one of you, been given a chance. It will seem to you now as if you’re leaving behind your home, and your loved ones, and all that you’ve known.” Hattie could see that Miss Hayter was struggling to sound confident. She had fixed her eyes on something at the back of the crowd and her voice faltered a little. “You’ll be traveling very far from England, some of you for many years. What lies ahead of you on this voyage may make you fearful. You may regard this sentence of transportation as a grievous penance, but consider this, too. The Rajah is also a vessel to take you away from your past lives, the tribulations and trials you may have suffered, whether from your own fault or because of your circumstances. It’s my task to help you, and I’ve undertaken this task in the full knowledge that it is God’s work I’m doing.”

  Hattie hadn’t seen any evidence of Him helping much, but Miss Hayter was almost smiling, so she must believe it.

  “I will do my best to teach you skills that may be useful to you in Van Diemen’s Land. The days will pass more quickly if you are occupied, and I intend to teach you what little I have learned of sewing and the making of patchwork. We’ll sing a favorite hymn of mine at the end of each day’s work. ‘Teach Me, My God and King.’ Some of you will perhaps know it already, but you’ll learn it from me if you don’t.”

  Some women were shuffling their feet, and Miss Hayter spoke more quickly, noticing their impatience.

  “The children will be instructed in their letters,” she said, pushing both her cuffs further up her arms, “and schooled every day. If any others wish to improve their education while on this ship, there are some here who’ve assisted teachers in the classroom, and they will be able to help those women learn to read and write. God always rejoices in welcoming repentant sinners and that is what I fervently hope you’ll be.” Miss Hayter was smiling now, perhaps happy that the end of her speech was nearly upon her. “The time at sea is a chance for you to improve your lives and you should see it in that light. Work will make the days pass more speedily, and even though there’s much sadness in leaving behind what you’ve known and loved . . .”

  That was no more than the truth, thought Hattie. Several women looked grim, as though they’d lost a pound and found a penny. Some were sniffing into their sleeves. Many eyes were red.

  “. . . there’s also a chance to change everything about your life that you would wish to change. Good night to you all.”

  While she was speaking, Hattie noticed, the women listened, but as soon as she left, the quarrels began.

  “Bossy little madam,” said one woman. “What right’s she got to tell us what we’re going to do and not do? What if I don’t want to learn nothing? Don’t need to learn a bleeding hymn, that’s for certain sure.”

  “She never said she’d make us,” someone else said.

  Hattie didn’t know these two.

  “What’s it to you if she wants to help us? You look as if you could do with help, stupid cow. Anything anyone did for you’d be a huge improvement, if you ask me.”

  The first woman launched herself into the air and fell on the other. She snatched the scarf off the second woman’s head and pulled her hair. Her adversary gave as good as she got: she kicked out at the first, then grabbed her skirt and tugged so hard that it ripped apart at the waistband. The women looking on broke up into two groups, egging on their favorite. From their shouts, Hattie gathered that the first was called Tilly and the second Grace.

  “Go on, Tilly, you show her. Scratch her eyes out! Go for her! Hair! Yes! Pull it, Tilly, go on.”

  “Gracie! Let ’er ’ave it. Nails! Use your nails, Gracie.”

  The shouting continued. Hattie made sure to be nowhere near the crowds that had gathered when a sailor came down the companionway. Sent to restore order, he went up to the women as they were wrestling on the deck. Picking up the bucket of seawater that stood near one of the bunks nearby, he threw the contents over Tilly and Grace as though they were two fighting dogs.

  “Had enough now? Going to settle down? Or fancy a bit more, do you?”

  The man who spoke was enormous, with a bushy black beard growing to halfway down his chest. He lifted a very damp Tilly off the floor and shook her. “You’ll have me to deal with if you make any more trouble here. Get it? Jack’s my name. Go and get dry, you stupid creature.”

  Meanwhile, Grace was struggling to get up, hoping to avoid being hauled to her feet by Jack. She almost did it, but he took hold of her arms anyway and crossed them in front of her body, pulling her toward him till her face was almost crushed against his beard.

  “This here’s a good ship,” he said. “A quiet ship. Peaceful. Understand? Any misbegotten whore’ll have me to deal with if they cause trouble, and you wouldn’t want to find out what I’d do to you, either. Promise you that.”

  Then he was gone, up the companionway steps as quickly as he’d come down them, and Hattie marveled at the effect of his visit. Tilly and Grace melted away to hide among gaggles of their own supporters, and everyone fell to discussing what had happened, adding their own embellishments to the story.

  A short time later, someone carrying a lantern came into the convict quarters, and as the women recognized the captain, a silence fell and every eye turned to the man who stood among them. He looked a little strict to Hattie, and stood quite straight with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said. “My name is Charles Ferguson and I am the person who will guide this ship to its harbor, God willing. I’ve not been its master very long, but I am certain of one thing: voyages on which people work amicably together are much pleasanter for everyone than those on which they are constantly squabbling and shouting. Jack tells me that some of you have been fighting, and I will say this. Matters will go hard for anyone who makes trouble for others. You’re not used to being at sea and there’ll be things that will seem strange to you, perhaps frightening, too, but all’s bearable if you’re among friends. I’d advise you to be pleasant to your companions, but if you can’t manage pleasant, then polite will do.” He glanced about him, rather uncomfortably. Was he expecting them to laugh at his little joke? Hattie wo
ndered. When no one said anything, he turned to leave.

  “Good night to you,” he said. “Miss Hayter, your matron, also stands ready to help you.”

  “Cheery soul, in’t he?” said Dwyer.

  Selwood added, “Proper ray of sunshine.”

  “Doesn’t matter, does it?” Hattie said. “All he’s got to do is steer the ship in the right direction.”

  * * *

  * * *

  That first night on board, Hattie lay in her bunk, just below Bertie. She listened to the other women’s muffled sobs, unable to fall asleep, unaccustomed to such darkness and the strange smells. But although she was uncomfortable, she also felt as though here was an opportunity to change her life a little. There’d been several times during her life when she’d charmed her way to more attention and more payment than another woman might have achieved. Wasn’t there a saying about catching more flies with honey than with vinegar? Hattie was good at spreading honey with her words and looks whenever there was a chance of reward. And here was a chance to climb up, take advantage of what a new country might have to offer someone who was quick and bright, if not well educated. Her mother had taught her to read and write a little and that had always been enough. She’d been praised and petted by every man who had ever crossed her path. Children adored her, and had been important in providing her with most of the money she’d ever made.

  Stealing clothes from children was not, Hattie persuaded herself, the worst of crimes. She’d worked the streets around the shops and markets and they came to her willingly, lured away easily from their nurses, who were often busy with their purchases. She held out to them the prospect of petting a kitten if they followed her. Bertie had played his part. She’d explained it to him carefully.

  “If you smile nicely at the little ones,” she’d told him, “they’ll come with us to our room, and we’ll just take their lovely clothes from them, then send them home to their mamas and papas.”

  “But why’d we need their clothes? Won’t they be cold?” Bertie frowned.

  “Not for long,” Hattie said. “Their parents will search for them and find them quickly. Then they’ll get new clothes, and won’t that be a fine thing? Maybe they’ll meet a constable who’ll take them home directly. They’ll be quite safe . . . and you may have a twisted sugar cane if you help me.”

  “But we haven’t got a kitten,” Bertie reminded her.

  “Never mind that, Bertie. You go to sleep now.”

  When the children left her small dwelling, a room in a house full of tiny rooms, they always ran and ran, startled by the sudden change that had come over Hattie. She’d make her face stiff, stop smiling and force the children to stand in front of her and not move while she removed their outer garments. Her voice changed, too. Not a single boy or girl had dared to defy her. Hattie made Bertie stand outside the door when she was changed in this manner. She hadn’t wanted him to see his mama being cruel. She herself knew she would very likely never have to carry out any of the threats she made. I’ll cut all your hair off and leave you bald, you whining wretch. I’ll beat you. I’ll pinch you till you cry if you don’t stand still—and look what sharp nails I have!

  It was only to put food in Bertie’s mouth that she’d treated other children so. She’d never have sunk to crime if the two of them weren’t in danger of starving to death. That was all in the past, Hattie thought now. In Van Diemen’s Land she would be kind all the time.

  6

  NOW

  6 July 1841

  Ninety-two days at sea

  KEZIA

  Bertie was sitting on a bench, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on them. Kezia knelt beside him, unsure how to comfort him. She was saddened more than she knew how to express by what had happened to Hattie, but also filled with a deep unease. The boy had been crying, and his shoulders were still shaking. Emily was sitting next to him, stroking his hair.

  “Emily,” Kezia said, “I’m so grateful to you for looking after Bertie. You’re very good with him. So kind . . .”

  “Poor little mite. We’re all doing our best to take care of him.”

  “I must talk to him, Emily. May I take him from you for a while?”

  “Yes, Miss,” Emily replied. “Go with Miss Hayter, Bertie.”

  He stood up, and it seemed to Kezia that all his boyish energy had drained away as surely as his mother’s blood. “Bertie, we’re going to visit your mother now, but you must be brave. You won’t be able to speak to her because she’s sleeping. She has to sleep if she is to recover. Do you understand?”

  Bertie nodded, but said nothing. The silence as they made their way toward the hospital was like a heavy weight they were carrying together and Kezia spoke only to break it. She talked of Mr. Donovan’s cleverness, of how well his mother was being tended. She pointed out a seabird that had briefly perched on the rigging, and asked Bertie if he was enjoying his lessons. He nodded in answer to everything but still didn’t speak. After a calm night, the weather was turning, and the Rajah was creaking as she moved, rising and falling on the heavy swell, her sails filled with the strengthening wind.

  Kezia found herself dreading what she would see when she reached Hattie’s side. Would she be speaking? Please let her be better. Please let there be calm weather again. She squeezed Bertie’s hand as much to give herself courage as to comfort him.

  After he’d let Kezia and Bertie in, Mr. Donovan went to sit on a chair beside a table on which his instruments and potions were laid out. Hattie lay in a narrow berth. Her eyes were closed and her red hair had been neatly plaited. Joan, who had been chosen to help Mr. Donovan if anyone fell sick, must have done that, Kezia thought.

  Bertie hung back, clinging to Kezia, frightened at the sight of his mama lying so still and so pale. Then he ran to her and flung himself on her body, crying out, “Ma! Ma! Wake up, Ma! It’s me, Bertie! Please, Ma!”

  He buried his head in the sheet that covered Hattie, with his arms up around her neck and his face on her breast. She didn’t move in response.

  Mr. Donovan came to him and began to whisper in his ear and slowly, very slowly, Bertie let go of his mother and sat up.

  “Bertie, she can’t speak to you,” Mr. Donovan said. “Her sleep is not like your sleep. She can’t wake up. She is deep, deep in her own sleep, which we hope will make her better. You sit next to her, Bertie, and hold her hand.”

  “Can she feel me?” Bertie asked plaintively. “Does she know I’m here?”

  “We don’t know, Bertie,” Mr. Donovan said. “But if she does, it will comfort her.”

  Bertie sat on the bunk, trembling. Kezia put her arm around him, feeling his bones through the fabric of his shirt. He should have been eating good food: milk, eggs, cakes and meat puddings, not dry ship’s biscuits and gravy. Kezia remembered what she’d been like when she was six. Papa had died when she was Bertie’s age. He lay in his bed, and Kezia couldn’t understand why he wasn’t speaking. Why was he so silent and pale? Her papa, who’d always responded to her every question, who’d smiled at her with love each time he spoke to her, who was never too busy to read with her, or look at her drawings . . .

  “He’s dead, Kezia,” Henrietta had told her. “He isn’t going to speak again. Not ever.”

  Kezia had begun to scream then and would not stop. Mama had taken her out of the room and put her alone in the bedroom she shared with Henrietta and locked the door. She had felt his absence, like a wound, for a long time after that day. She felt the loss of him still.

  And now Bertie would perhaps know that grief. As she took his hand, Kezia felt more sorrowful than she had for many years. It was almost time for the first of the meetings with the women who’d been on deck yesterday. “We should go back now,” she said. “To your mama’s friends. They’ll take care of you.”

  Bertie went with her, dragging his feet, glancing back at Hattie. “Can we come ag
ain?”

  “Someone will bring you here every day,” said Kezia. “I promise. You’ll visit your mama every single day.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Kezia came into the captain’s cabin a little before the first sitting of the inquiry. There was something she needed to say to him before the others arrived. The captain had decided that the seven women identified as the ones nearest to the scene of the attack would be questioned here, in his private room. The place was as different from their own living quarters, as near to a physical manifestation of the law’s majesty, as it was possible to arrange on board ship. The table had been polished. As ever, the brass was gleaming. Kezia knew that one young sailor, no more than a boy, really, was occupied every day with the polishing of the Rajah’s brass fittings. On land, a woman servant did this kind of work. Perhaps when this young man married, he would prove useful to his wife, but Kezia doubted it. The captain’s logbook was open and the ink and pen laid ready for the Reverend Mr. Davies.

  “What I would dearly like to know,” Charles said, “is what anyone would have against Hattie Matthews.”

  “There’s something I must tell you at once,” Kezia said quickly. “I should have told you earlier and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  At that moment, there was a knock at the cabin door. Mr. Donovan and Mr. Davies came into the room.

  “Miss Hayter,” said Mr. Donovan, “you look pale. I hope seeing Hattie has not distressed you too much.”

  “It was indeed a distressing sight,” Kezia answered, wondering how Mr. Donovan could be cheerful even in circumstances as serious as these. “And I’m worried about Bertie, of course. But I’m sure I’ll be much relieved when we find out more of what happened. The women are uneasy, and I’m also concerned.”

  “How is Hattie?” Mr. Davies asked Mr. Donovan.

  “She drifts in and out of consciousness. I’ll visit her from time to time during these deliberations, but I have Joan Macdonald sitting beside her. I trust her to fetch me if I’m needed.”