A Tattooed Heart (36 page)

‘Ow, you bitch!'

All Friday's loathing for Bella exploded out like the stinking head of a particularly toxic boil and she whirled and snatched the cane out of her hand and walloped her across her blanketed legs. Bella opened her mouth to shout — presumably for help — so Friday shoved her hand into her face, pushing her back into the pillows. Bella clawed at her wrist with long nails and Friday tore at her hair, which came off.

‘Not so pretty now, eh?' Friday taunted.

Bella's rouged mouth made a shocked ‘O' and her shaking hands flew to her head, grasping at sparse salt-and-pepper strands tied back in a bun. ‘You fucking whore, I'll
kill
you!'

Friday laughed. But then Bella made a lunge for the nightstand and yanked the drawer open, revealing a small pistol. In went her hand, and down came the side of Friday's palm on her forearm. Bella cried out in pain — roared, really — and Friday skipped to the door and locked it. That'll keep you out, Becky Bitchface Hoddle. Oh, this was so easy — Bella was
pathetic!

When she turned, however, she saw she'd underestimated her; Bella was on her feet, the pistol held in both hands and aimed.

‘It's not loaded,' Friday said, praying it wasn't.

‘It's always loaded.'

Bella fired, but missed due to her palsy. The shot went wide and the ball went through Augustus Earle's illustration ‘Sydney from Pinchgut Island', presumably burying itself in the wall behind it.

Friday nearly passed out with relief but recovered in a second. As a furious hammering came at the door, she marched towards Bella, snatched the pistol with her left hand and punched her with her right. But Bella expertly blocked the punch and bit her arm, hard.

Friday gaped at the bite mark, which had gaps in it. Then Bella let fly with an extraordinarily unladylike swing that took Friday in the side of the head. It would have knocked her out cold had Bella been hale, but she wasn't so Friday only staggered a few steps, shook her head, decided enough was enough and delivered her own almighty clout. Stunned briefly into unconsciousness, Bella flew backwards onto the bed, arms and legs flopping, then slid onto the floor, her robe and chemise riding up almost to her waist.

Friday stared and
stared
, unable to believe what she was seeing. Instead of the skinny old minge she'd expected, nestling between Bella's legs was a flaccid cock and a pair of balls. Fucking
hell!

‘Bella, let me
in!
' Becky shouted.

But Friday took no notice. Mentally, she was reeling: because of what she'd just seen, she realised that the blackmail had come to an end in a way she could never have imagined.

On the floor, Bella stirred. Friday stepped well back. Bella opened her eyes, then sat up and swept her robe between her legs in one swift movement. A thin trickle of blood ran from her nose over her top lip. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, then coughed and reached for her cloth again.

When she'd finished hoicking and spitting, Friday said, ‘I saw.'

‘What?'

Friday pointed at Bella's groin. ‘I saw.'

Bella froze, flashes of fear, shame, rage and an awful, hollow sadness chasing across her powdered face.

‘You're a cove, aren't you?' Friday said. Christ almighty. It explained so many of the mean and rotten things Bella had done.

But did it really? Because although she'd behaved so brutally over the years, she'd done it with the vicious sort of cunning Friday had always associated with certain women. Women could be a lot nastier than men when they felt like it. They knew what to do that really hurt, physically and in your heart, and the really poisonous ones never forgot and they rarely forgave. And Bella, regardless of her secret cock dangling under her silk and taffeta, had behaved just like a woman. Always. A bloody sour, angry one, but a woman all the same.

More hammering. ‘Bella!'

‘Fuck off!'
Bella shrieked, then drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around her head.

She stayed that way a long time, nearly ten minutes. Friday shifted the chair back to the dressing table and sat down to wait.

Finally, Bella got off the floor. She moved to the bed, slowly and carefully put her wig back on, then said bitterly, ‘Go on, then, laugh.'

Friday shrugged. ‘I've seen your sort before.' And she had, in the mollyhouses of London. Many times.

‘My sort? Do you even know what “my sort” is?'

‘'Course I do.'

‘Then I'm sure it'll give everyone you tell a laugh.'

‘I
won't
tell, but only if you stop blackmailing us.'

Bella's eyes narrowed and she dabbed at her nose again. ‘Do I have your word? Do I? And is it worth anything?' she added with a sneer.

‘Yes, and you know it is.'

Bella looked away, then gave a weary little sigh. ‘All right. It's over.'

‘What about
your
word?'

‘It's as good as yours.'

‘You played the crooked cross on us before.'

‘This is different.'

It was, and Friday knew it. She nodded, telling herself to sit still and stay calm, though what she felt like doing was collapsing on the floor and bawling with relief. But it wasn't
quite
over.

‘You said once that all this was my fault.'

‘All what?'

‘The blackmail. Sarah asked what've we ever done to you, and you told her to ask me. So why? Why was it my fault?'

Bella glared at her. ‘You've driven me bloody well mad for years.'

‘I
have? Why?'

‘Look at you! Your hair, your face, your body. I'd give anything to be you. You're a paragon of female beauty and what do you do? You sell yourself to any bastard with a shilling to spare.'

‘A bit more than a bloody shilling.'

‘Shut up. And you abuse yourself by drinking like a fish and you've a foul mouth and you're inelegant and you let women down.'

‘I do not let women down! I'm bloody loyal,' Friday protested, though she had in fact failed Harrie, Sarah, Aria and Mrs H more than once. How had Bella known about that?

‘I don't mean your silly friends, I mean women as a species. You make an absolute
mockery
of the gifts God gave you. I've
hated
you for that.
Hated
you. So I punished you for it.'

‘That's it?' Friday said, astounded. ‘You blackmailed us because you're jealous of me?'

‘
No!
It's . . .' Bella thumped the mattress frustratedly with a closed fist.

Her voice was ragged and warped, her pain filling the room with a sudden ocean of words. It seemed to Friday that now she'd started talking, there were things coming out she really had to say. Perhaps she truly was dying.

‘You don't understand,' Bella tried again. ‘It's more than
jealousy
. You're such a wastrel. You could so easily have a fine loving husband and as many children as you like and a happy home — all those things every woman wants and I'd kill for! But not you. Not only are you a slut: you don't even like men! It's so unjust! Have you any idea what it's like to desperately want what someone like you has, and know you'll never, ever get it? Have you any idea what it's like to
know
you're a woman, but be doomed to suffer in a man's body till the day you die? Have you any idea
at all
how hard it is to keep up the pretence day after day after
stinking
day?' She snatched up a crystal tumbler and hurled it at the wall, where it splintered into a thousand pieces. ‘Well, have you?'

Bloody hell, Friday thought, carefully flapping glass off her skirt, she's not a molly at all. She's one of those other poor mixed-up souls.
And
she knows about me and Aria. ‘No, I don't, so tell me.'

Bella looked shocked. ‘What?'

‘Tell me.'

‘Why?' Bella asked, her voice loaded with suspicion.

‘'Cos when you have, I'll tell you a few things about what it's really like being me. Is that a deal?'

‘Do I look like a fool? Why should I be the butt of your jokes the next time you go to the pub?'

Frustrated, Friday raised her eyes to the ceiling. She wanted to hear Bella's story because she needed to tell Bella hers. She might change her mind then about wanting so much to be a woman. ‘Look, you leery cow, you still know what you know about us —'

‘I'll never forget it.'

‘So I'm not likely to tell
your
secrets, am I?'

Bella glowered at her, then at last said, ‘Get the whisky out of that cupboard. The good Scottish one. And some tumblers.'

Very fleetingly, Friday thought about Aria waiting on the street, who'd have her guts for garters if she knew she was in here drinking with the enemy. ‘A bit early for whisky, isn't it?'

‘Not something I'd expect you to say.'

It wasn't something Friday expected herself to say. It didn't mean she didn't want one, though.

‘You pour,' Bella said. ‘My hands . . .'

Friday did. ‘So . . . ?' she prompted, swirling her whisky around in the tumbler. It was a gorgeous bright amber, the exact colour of a large citrine Sarah had been setting into a pendant the last time she'd dropped into the jewellery shop.

‘I'm not a molly, you know,' Bella began. ‘I'm not a man who prefers men. Regardless of the body I have I'm a
woman
who prefers men, though I stopped having affairs years ago.'

Friday blinked. That was a bit unexpected and, well, private.

‘My life's lonely, but I'd rather be lonely than . . . mocked.'

‘What about old Clarence?'

Bella made a moue of dislike. ‘Clarence
was
a molly. He wasn't interested in me. All he wanted was a woman on his arm at social events. He was utterly ignorant of what was under my skirts.'

‘You know, I hated you for marrying him and getting out of the Factory. Among other things.'

‘I hated myself, briefly. Clarence was a shit.' Bella made a wide sweeping gesture with her warty hand, then sighed. ‘I suppose he had troubles of his own. But it was a worthwhile business decision, especially when he passed away so unexpectedly.'

‘What did he die of?'

‘A weakened heart.' Bella smiled unpleasantly.

She definitely had something to do with that, Friday thought, not at all surprised. ‘How did he manage to get you a ticket of leave? Must have cost him a fortune.'

‘Only a small one. He could afford it and I deserved it, putting up with his behaviour. For a nob, the man had no class at all.' Bella took a big enough sip of her whisky to make her eyes water, and lapsed into contemplation. Then: ‘I knew I was in the wrong body all my life. It's been a true curse. My poor mother. When I told her
she said it was like having a son die, but she came to accept me and loves me. The rest of my family think I'm a degenerate.'

‘But how did you know you were supposed to be a girl?' Friday waved her hand vaguely. ‘I mean, you've got the prick and everything.'

‘I felt it, in my mind and my heart and my gut.' Bella's gaze didn't waver. ‘In the same places, I imagine, as you felt it when you realised you prefer the bodies and the love of women.'

Friday scowled. ‘How
do
you know about that?'

Bella tapped the side of her whopping great nose. Her man's nose, now that Friday looked at it properly.

‘I know more about you than you think, Friday Woolfe.'

‘You can't even spell my name right.'

‘Two ohs in Woolfe. Your lover is very beautiful.'

‘She is. How old are you?'

‘That's an impolite question to ask a lady.'

‘Well, I'll ask the cove part of you, then.'

In a deep, male voice, Bella said, ‘I'm thirty-two: what the fuck of it?'

It was terribly shocking, hearing the guttural tones coming from a rouged mouth Friday had always assumed to be a woman's, and she stared, her eyes wide. ‘Is that your normal voice?'

‘It's my man's voice,' Bella replied, back to her usual tone. ‘I don't have cause to use it these days.'

Only thirty-two? She looked easily ten years older, but then she was so thin, and obviously very sick.

Friday asked, ‘Where are you from?'

‘Where are
you
from?'

‘London.'

‘Liverpool, from a family of criminals, liars and chancers.'

‘Really? Why were you transported? The dresses and that?'

‘No, though when I was twenty-two I was arrested in Liverpool for fucking a boy in an alleyway while wearing a beautiful muslin gown and a divine feather headdress. My mother bribed the
turnkey at the gaol to turn a blind eye and I walked out, caught the next stagecoach out of the city and never went back. I set up my own crew in Birmingham, started a few businesses, made a pile of money, got arrested again six years later, then transported with you lot. The rest you know.'

‘Arrested for what? More of . . . ?' Friday gestured vaguely at Bella's middle again.

‘Will you stop waving at my private parts?' Bella barked. ‘No, not more of that. Someone as simple-minded as you may not understand this, but my life of crime has not been a consequence of the unkind trick God or mother nature or whatever the fuck it was played on my body. I was born into Liverpool's most powerful criminal family, that's the trade I learnt, and I'm bloody good at it. Even you know that. And it's
not
what I wanted but it's what I got. How many of us do get what we want?'

‘So why were you arrested?'

‘Operating a brothel.'

Of course: what else? ‘Were you a man in Birmingham, or a woman?'

‘A woman. I spent hundreds of pounds on wigs and clothes and potions and paints, took elocution lessons, hired a tutor to teach me to read and write properly and keep accounts, and completely reinvented myself.'