Alley Urchin (3 page)

‘I tell you what’ – Mr Thomas’s voice cut into Emma’s thoughts – ‘leave it with me, Emma. I’ll bear in mind what you’ve said.’ Beyond that he would not be drawn. Except to promise that the shop takings would not in future be kept upstairs in his room for up to a week at a time, as had become the habit of late. Emma did not agree with his belief that such large sums of money must always be to hand. ‘The captains of the pearl-luggers want always to be in and out in a hurry, and, if I’m to keep up with the competition to buy the best pearl-shell in, then I need to have cash to hand at any given minute.’ It worried Emma. But this was his trading post, not hers, and she mustn’t forget her place.

Neither Emma nor Mr Thomas could have known how tragically Emma’s fears were about to be realised, before the hands of the clock had turned full circle!

‘Sat’day’s my favourite day!’ exclaimed Nelly, leaning over the ceramic rose-patterned bowl which was rested atop a cane-bottomed chair. ‘Once we’ve reported to the authorities we’ll have the rest o’ the day . . . and all tomorrer afore we’re back in the shafts.’ She gave a loud ‘Whoopee!’, punched her fist in the air for the sheer joy of it and, scooping her two hands deep into the bowl, she splashed the water on to her face, neck and ears. ‘I fancy a fella!’ she chuckled through a mouth full of water while peeping at Emma out of one cheeky brown eye.

‘Away with you!’ laughed Emma, who was patiently waiting for her turn with the bowl. ‘If you intend walking along the jetty with me, you’d best curb your urges for a “fella”. The way you’re going on, my girl, you’ll be marched to the top of the hill, where you’ll be clapped in irons and thrown in a prison cell, so every poor “fella” will be safe from your clutches.’ When, mockingly holding her wrists together and limping as though shackled, Nelly started towards her, at the same time making an eerie wailing sound, Emma grabbed up a towel, held it out before her and, amidst much laughter, launched herself at Nelly. In a minute the two of them were rolling about the floor helpless with laughter. Then a kick from Emma’s leg sent the cane-bottomed chair into such a violent swaying fit that the water in the bowl slopped first over one side, then the other. Convulsed by new fits of giggling, Nelly and Emma made to grab the chair, causing it to overbalance completely as the bowl shot forward to empty its entire contents, drenching them both. ‘Bleedin’ Nora!’ shouted Nelly, scrambling to her feet and proceeding to shake herself like a dog. ‘I’m bloody soaked!’

Subdued by the initial shock, Emma got to her knees and looked up at Nelly, all the while coughing and spluttering, her long chestnut hair hanging limp and bedraggled over her shoulders. When she saw Nelly’s outrage and witnessed her frantically shaking her long skirt while at the same time swearing and cursing enough to frighten hardened criminals, Emma thought of her own ludicrous position and an old saying sprang to mind – ‘Oh dear God, the gift to gi’ us, to see ourselves as others see us.’ In a minute she had fallen back to the ground and was laughing out loud.

‘Yer silly cow!’ yelled Nelly, throwing the damp flannel at her. ‘I only wanted a cat-lick . . . not a bleedin’
bath
!’ Whereupon she too began roaring with laughter. It was quite some time before they had regained their composure sufficiently to clean up and refill the bowl with fresh water for Emma’s wash. Unlike Nelly, Emma preferred to strip down to her camisoles for a thorough scrubbing and, having rolled about the floor, then been doused with dirty water, Emma took longer than usual at her daily ritual.

Some time later the two of them emerged from the stables. Having discarded her grey work-frock with its over-pinnie, Emma looked delightful in a plain blue dress with a small bustle on the skirt and crisp white frills about the cuffs and neck. Her thick chestnut hair was well brushed and drawn into a shining, most fetching coil at the nape of her neck. Her face was bright and lovely and her strong grey eyes brimmed with the steadfast confidence that set her apart from others.

Nelly, however, did not present such a striking picture. Oh, it was true that her thin brown hair had also been brushed with vigour. But, being under closer scrutiny of the prison authorities, and on more than one occasion having earned the punishment that dictated her locks be shorn, her hair did not enjoy the length that might cause it to lie smoothly against her head. Instead, it stood up and out in little wispy bunches which gave her the odd appearance of having just received a fright. Not being one for dainty things and ‘feminine fripperies’, Nelly was therefore proud of her heavy buttoned boots which came up to her calf. At one time, when Emma had pointed out that there was no need to wear such clumsy, uncomfortable things in the heat of the summer sun, Nelly had been adamant that she would wear nothing else. ‘I’d wear an even
longer
pair if I could get me hands on ’em,’ she retorted; ‘I ain’t having no bloody snakes nor spiders running up
my
legs!’ However, she did gratefully accept a brown calico dress which had, until recently, been Emma’s best one. It was of the very same style that Emma was wearing now, except the frills at the cuffs and neck were black instead of white. Also, Nelly was some inches taller than Emma, therefore the ankles of her boots were visible to the world, even though Emma had twice let the dress hem down for her. But, all in all, she was presentable and, as she put her arm through the crook of Nelly’s elbow, Emma cared not who might look down on her friend. The prospect never worried Nelly either!

‘Mind you’re not on the streets after the curfew bell!’ the duty officer warned, simultaneously noting down their intention to stroll along to Arthur’s Head. As they hurried away, he took his eyes from the book and fixed his suspicious gaze at Nelly’s retreating figure. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting a week’s grog that
you’
ll be in trouble before long, girlie . . . it’s about that time,’ he chuckled, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair to take a long choking draw from his clay pipe; he was soon engulfed in great billowing clouds of smoke.

Following the old tramway route, Nelly and Emma sauntered along at a leisurely pace . . . down Henderson Street, along Essex Street and down towards the bay. ‘This is the time of day I love best,’ said Emma, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand as she looked upwards to where the seagulls soared above them. In spite of the fact that she was imprisoned in this vast, sparsely-inhabited island of Australia, Emma could not help but be deeply drawn towards its primitive beauty. There was an awesome savagery about it that struck at the heart and inspired the mind. It was a land of turquoise seas and vivid blue skies which merged together on the horizon, creating a sense of greatness and eternity. No mere human eye could ever hope fully to comprehend the vastness of it all, for in every direction the sky stretched, never ending and seeming to engulf those insignificant specks below, who both feared and marvelled at its majesty. Immediately inland from Fremantle to Perth, the landscape was sandy and gently undulating, relieved here and there by weird and wonderful trees, patches of shrub and rapidly growing signs of denser civilisation, with a number of the original timber and bark-roofed buildings being constantly replaced by the more permanent brick and stone buildings. There were also a number of splendid examples of architecture, such as the round-house and other buildings constructed by the convicts. The lunatic asylum, the road-traffic bridge and their own prison were such landmarks.

There were creatures here such as Emma had never seen before – kangaroos, brilliantly coloured birds, and even camels brought in from the desert countries. Most were friendly, but there were those which were not, such as certain snakes and spiders. Also a number of the dark-skinned natives whose resentment of the white man’s intrusion on their shores was not entirely appeased. And everywhere the nostrils were assailed by the fresh pungent smell of the sea, so marked as to be almost a taste on the tongue.

Intent on appearing friendly towards a group of aborigines, two of whom were dressed in their traditional kangaroo-skin boukas – the other, a young male, wearing European trousers – Emma was startled by Nelly’s jubilant cry as her attention was drawn in another direction. ‘Look at that . . . the buggers are naked!’ Whereupon she gripped Emma by the arm and propelled her in the direction of Bathers Bay. ‘They’re
naked,
I tell yer . . . bare as the day they were born. We’ve got to get a closer look, gal!’ she told Emma in an excited voice, her brown eyes laughing, mischievously. ‘It’s been a while since I saw a fella in all his prime an’ glory!’

Sure enough, Nelly was right. As Emma stared in the direction in which Nelly was rushing her at great speed, she too saw the group of swimmers in Bathers Bay. There must have been upwards of ten men, all shouting and frolicking one with the other, and all stark naked!

‘Nelly!’ Emma forced them both to a halt. ‘We can’t go down there.
You
can’t go down there.’ She saw the defiance in Nelly’s eyes that told her the temptation was much too great to resist, and to hell with the consequences. Yet Emma was equally adamant that they would about-turn and make off in the opposite direction. ‘Don’t be a fool, Nelly,’ she told her. ‘You were warned that if you were brought before the Governor just
once
more, you’d be thrown in the lockup.’ By this time the men had seen them, and had grown even more excited and rowdy. ‘Come on, girlies . . . take a look, we don’t mind,’ one of them yelled, clambering from the water and brazenly displaying himself. Whereupon the others laughed encouragement that they ‘needn’t be shy.’

In a minute, Emma had succeeded in dragging the reluctant Nelly away and out of sight of the bathers. ‘Cor, bugger me, gal,’ protested Nelly, ‘it wouldn’t have hurt to watch from a safe distance.’ Emma made no comment. Instead, she hurried towards South Bay. Once there, she sat down in the sand, with Nelly sitting cross-legged beside her, irritatedly clutching up fists full of sand and throwing it into the air, where the light breeze caught it and deposited it back into their laps.

After a while, when Nelly’s attention was taken with the lapping of the water against the sand, Emma lay back, settled herself comfortably and closed her eyes. Of a sudden she was back in England, and her heart was gladdened by warm, if painful, memories. The image of Marlow filled her being and she was standing beside him on the colourful barge which had been his home. Oh, how plainly she could see him: that strong lithe body so often stretched to breaking point in his labours at the docks. In her mind’s eye, Emma ran her fingers through his thick dark hair. She lovingly returned the smile from those black passionate eyes which had always seemed to see right into her very soul. Now his arms were about her. His warm tantalising mouth brushed her hair, her ears and, in one exquisite moment, he was kissing her with such ardour that made her tremble. With a shock, Emma sat up to find that, even in the heat of the evening sun, she was shivering violently. Both Nelly and she had been disturbed by an intruder.

When that intruder stepped forward, it was with a feeling of disgust that Emma recognised the tall handsome figure of Foster Thomas. He was not alone. Quickly, Emma got to her feet. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded, at the same time shaking the sand from her skirt and casting her angry grey eyes over his two rough-looking companions. One was tall, painfully thin and had an old jagged scar from eye to ear; the other was of medium height, stocky with a dark surly expression. Both had thick bushy beards, both wore flat wide-brimmed hats and chequered shirts, with dark serviceable trousers. ‘Swag men,’ thought Emma, as she met their arrogant stares unflinchingly.

Foster Thomas twisted his mouth into a crooked smile. ‘Me and the blokes . . . we reckoned you and Nelly might be glad of a little company,’ he said with a low laugh, at the same time reaching out to rest his hand on her shoulder. As he leaned forward with the intention of encircling Emma’s tiny waist with his arm, the smell of stale booze on his breath was nauseating. His deep blue eyes were little more than slits as they bored down on her, betraying his lecherous intentions and instantly putting Emma on her guard. ‘You’re drunk!’ She spat the words out vehemently, at the same time twisting away from him with such speed and agility that she caused him to lose his balance. When the two bushmen thought it so amusing that they began sniggering and pointing to Foster Thomas as he struggled to remain upright, the smile slipped from his face and was replaced with a particularly determined and vicious expression. ‘You little bastard!’ he snarled, lurching forward to grasp at Emma’s swiftly departing figure.

In her indignation and urgency to get away, Emma lost sight of Nelly. Pausing to look back, she was horrified to see that her hapless friend had made no move to follow her, but instead was shamelessly taking delight in having all three men dance attendance on her. Foster Thomas, in particular, was handling Nelly with a deal of intimacy, which was greatly intensified when he saw that Emma was hurriedly making her way back towards them.

‘What in God’s name are you thinking of?’ Emma demanded of Nelly, whom she thought seemed to be as intoxicated as the men when she began blushing and giggling at Foster Thomas’s over-amorous advances.

‘
This
girlie knows how to be grateful for a man’s attentions,’ he sniggered, holding Nelly closer and winking knowingly at the other men, who appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

‘That’s right,’ rejoined the stocky fellow, sidling up to Emma and running his tongue round his dry lips. ‘Like a dog going for a chop,’ thought Emma as he stood, legs astride in front of her. ‘Now then me beauty . . . how about you showing me what
you’re
made of, eh?’ In a minute he would have had her fast in his grip, but in that same instant Emma had swung her arm out sideways and, before he realised her intention, had brought her fist across his ear with a resounding thud. As he staggered back, his hand clapped to his throbbing ear and a string of foul language issuing from his mouth, the second man ran forward to lock his two arms about Emma and swing her bodily into the air. ‘She’s got spirit, has this one!’ he laughed. ‘She’ll do fer me!’ No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Foster Thomas had landed his fist in it. ‘Take your filthy bloody paws off her!’ he yelled, as the fellow released Emma and, confronting his assailant with a furious expression, he invited in a low growl, ‘So!
That’s
the way, is it? . . . C’mon then, me bucko . . . let’s have it out!’