Behind the Sun (17 page)

‘Ooh, sounds tempting.’ Prepared to play along a little before humiliating her, Liz propped herself up on one meaty elbow. ‘And what might that be?’

‘I challenge you to a broads session. Your choice of game. The pot will be the money you stole from us. If I lose then we pay you double whatever’s in the pot.’

Liz slowly sat up, her pendulous breasts shifting beneath her prison blouse. Now this
was
a proposition. Already her heart was beating faster.

Rachel crossed her arms. ‘Think about it. You can’t lose either way. If I win I take back what wasn’t yours anyway. If you win, you double it. How much is left?’

‘Thirty-one quid,’ Becky blurted.

Liz glared at her.

Rachel whistled. ‘Sixty-two pounds, Liz. You could come out of it with sixty-two pounds.’ She drew the words out tantalisingly. ‘A
fortune
.’

‘Yous lot haven’t got another thirty-one quid,’ Liz said.

‘You haven’t got a clue what we’ve got.’

But it was already too late. Liz didn’t care. It was happening — the blood skittering through her veins like a million busy ants, the sweaty palms, the growing sense of anticipation and excitement lifting the hair on her arms, a feeling better even than really good-quality gin. She could see herself now, holding hand after hand of winning cards, slapping them down one after the other, her elation building and building until the pot was hers. And it
would
be hers, because every game played brought her closer to that feeling of nirvana, that ultimate bright and burning thrill of victory.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

‘Liz —’ Becky interrupted.

‘Shut up. Five High, my deck. Best of three.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘I’ll play Five High, but not with your deck. Someone else’s: a
clean
one.’

Liz shrugged, confident she could manipulate the game by other means if necessary. ‘When?’

‘In an hour?’

‘Fine by me.’

When Rachel had gone, Becky warned, ‘Don’t forget she’s a crack broadsman. No one’ll play her any more.’

‘Not as good as me, though. Why d’ya think she’s never sat down across from me, ya fool? Too scared of losing, that’s why.’

Becky didn’t think so. Becky thought Rachel Winter was scared of Liz simply because she was such a foul old tarleather. Which meant it had taken real guts for the girl to challenge Liz, so Liz should be even more wary than usual. But she wasn’t because broads, Liz’s weakness, were involved, and the girl had known that.
Everyone
knew that. And only three games! A lot could go wrong in only three games.

On the other hand, perhaps it was time Liz Parker’s reign of power came to an end. She was old and arrogant and she’d had her day. She was starting to make stupid decisions and now she was risking losing the money Becky had stuck her arm down that revolting bog in Newgate to retrieve. If someone knocked Liz off her pedestal, Becky wouldn’t be sorry. In fact, for the right money, she could probably be persuaded to help.

Rachel walked back to the others on very wobbly legs. They were all staring at her.

‘I’ve just challenged Liz Parker to a session of Five High. I’m going to win our money back.’

There was a long moment of shocked silence, then Harrie spoke. ‘Perhaps you might have talked to us about that first, Rachel.’

‘Why? You might have said no and I know I can win.’

‘What happens if you lose?’ Sarah interjected.

‘Then we have to double the pot. Another thirty-one pounds.’

‘We don’t
have
thirty-one pounds!’ Friday exclaimed, and flopped back on the bunk in despair. ‘Bloody hell, we’re buggered.’

Sarah scowled. ‘Has that bitch spent nine quid of our money?’

‘We’re not buggered,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ll win, don’t worry.’

‘What if she cheats?’ Friday demanded. ‘She always cheats.’

‘She can’t: everyone will be watching. And she’s agreed we won’t use her deck, or mine.’

Friday’s face was full of misgiving. ‘She’ll have something up her sleeve.’

‘We’ll roll our sleeves up,’ Rachel said, missing Friday’s metaphor.

‘Oh dear, Rachel, you really should have talked to us first,’ Harrie said again.

Rachel shook her head. ‘I can win. I can. Let me do it. I’m better at cards than she is. I’ve watched her play. And we’ll never get our money back otherwise, will we? They’re never going to leave it unguarded. The only time there’s no one at their bunk,
we’ve
been made to go up on deck, too. And this way if I win —
when
I win — everyone will witness it and she’ll
have
to give it to us. This is our only chance.’

It was, and they all knew it.

An hour later everything was ready. Thrilled at the prospect of witnessing a card duel between two very skilled players from opposing crews, everyone had crowded into the centre of the prison deck, standing hunched over on the benches, crammed into the aisles and squeezing themselves onto the bunks either side of the long table where Rachel and Liz sat.

Two grumbling women had been sent to stand guard at the hatch to warn of approaching crew and illegal candles had been lit and set on the table. Then there was disagreement about which deck of cards to use. Ten, belonging to various women, were placed on the table. Liz selected three, which Rachel examined and found to be marked. Rachel chose four, which Liz discarded because she didn’t like the ‘feel’. Of the three left, Liz insisted that two had been marked by Rachel, though they hadn’t, and that the pattern on the back of the remaining deck was too distracting.

At that moment the throng near the table parted, jostling and swearing, and Bella Jackson appeared. There was no sign of her prison uniform — her costume was as fine as the one in which she’d
embarked several days ago, except today her head was bare, bar a fan-shaped tortoiseshell comb holding back her ringlets.

She slid an octagonal rosewood box onto the table, its lid slightly curved and inlaid with brass. ‘Open it,’ she ordered.

Rachel did. Inside, lined with duck-egg blue velvet, were four card compartments and four smaller sections containing gaming counters.

‘The cards have never been used,’ Bella Jackson said. ‘They are not marked.’

Rachel withdrew a deck and inspected it closely. They were beautifully illustrated and, no, they weren’t marked. She handed them to Liz. After much squinting and holding the cards up to the candles, Liz nodded. They tossed a coin to determine who would deal first; Rachel won.

She shuffled, the cards moving so fast between her small hands they became a blur. She did a couple of show-off tricks to entertain the onlookers and settle her nerves, shuffled again, then dealt.

The first game was over fairly quickly. Every time Rachel threw down a card, Liz’s hand hovered as she considered whether to pick it up or to choose from the unplayed cards. Her instinct must have been good because in short order she’d achieved Five High in spades, the second highest suit, and won. The crowd groaned.

Rachel looked up at Harrie, Sarah and Friday. Sweat beaded her upper lip and tendrils of hair stuck to her cheeks. She looked bewildered and a little frightened.

‘My deal,’ Liz crowed. She snatched up the cards and shuffled them backwards and forwards, tossing and flicking them around in an effort to outdo Rachel.

‘Fucking get on with it, will you?’ Friday snapped.

Liz smirked. ‘What’s the hurry? We got all day.’

She dealt two hands and contemplated hers with a furrowed brow. Deciding which one she didn’t want, she threw it down and took a new one from the unplayed cards, then watched Rachel to see what she would do.

Rachel’s mouth made a neat little cat’s bum as she studied her cards. She moved two to the left of the spread and one to the right, then threw one down. Liz threw down a card, her hand came out, hovered, and she picked up an unplayed card.

Rachel threw down, picked up another unplayed card, Liz threw down and picked up Rachel’s card.

‘Stop!’ Bella Jackson barked, making everyone jump. She pointed at Liz. ‘This woman is cheating.’

Liz glared at her. ‘I bloody are not! How dare ya?’

‘You are. That girl up there in the bunk is signalling to you.’

Everyone turned to look. Louisa Coutts had flattened herself along the top bunk overlooking Rachel. She peered back, her eyes glittering in the candle and lamplight, then ducked her head.

‘I saw her signalling,’ Bella Jackson repeated impassively.

‘Ya bloody liar!’ Liz exploded.

‘I think not.’

Their eyes locked for several long, poisonous seconds.

‘Right!’ Friday shouted. ‘Everyone behind Rachel and Parker the Cheat move out of the way. Come on, clear out!’

‘Why would she bother to do that?’ Harrie asked Sarah. ‘This is none of Bella Jackson’s business. What’s she got against Liz Parker?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘Crew war? Who knows?’

There was much jostling and climbing about as folk reluctantly repositioned themselves and the game was restarted. Rachel won it, making the score one all.

Liz Parker’s cockiness had evaporated by the beginning of the third game. Sweat trickled out of her lank hair, damp patches had appeared in her armpits and there was a particularly rank smell coming off her. Rachel dealt and they studied their cards.

They each discarded and picked up, discarded and picked up, attempting to determine by which cards were being thrown out what the other had in her hand and the suit being collected, which affected the value of the points. The pauses between each
play grew longer and longer — and the onlookers increasingly enthralled.

The tension was unbearable. Harrie couldn’t stand to watch any longer, but couldn’t push her way out of the tightly packed crowd. Instead she kept her eyes on Friday, watching Liz Parker like a kestrel in case she cheated again. Sarah’s gaze, though, was fixed on Rachel, willing her to win.

Harrie risked a quick, squinty peek at Rachel’s face, sending her a blast of love and good luck. She glanced up and smiled, more relaxed and confident now.

Not long after that she lay her cards on the table. ‘Five High, suit of diamonds. I win.’

The prison deck went mad. Friday screeched in elation and hauled Rachel off her bench and wrapped her in a huge bear hug, breaking off only to jerk up two fingers at Liz. Sarah and Harrie surrounded Rachel, enfolding her in their arms, and the four of them leapt up and down, jumping on people’s toes, yelling and crowing in triumphant delight.

Liz Parker rose, spat on Bella Jackson’s expensive playing cards, and shoved her way out of the throng.

The
Isla
hove to the next morning, sailing through the calm waters of Solent Strait between the Isle of Wight and the Hampshire coast, then out into the English Channel. As they passed the southern-most tip of Cornwall, Amos Furniss rather nastily let it be known among the women that Lizard Head would be their very last sight of England, and they all crowded the starboard rail for a final glimpse of their homeland’s diminishing coastline.

Harrie and Rachel both wept bitterly; Sarah watched for a while then muttered, ‘Shithole,’ and went below again; but Friday remained silent. She would miss her friends, of course, especially Betsy, but there would be new opportunities in New South Wales. There always were new opportunities if you kept your eyes and ears open.

As the
Isla
sailed beyond sight of England, Rachel’s beloved dog Shannon sat beneath his tree at the Winter family farm outside Guildford and howled loudly enough to disturb the dead in their graves.

Flora Winter, looking out of the window, said to her husband, ‘For God’s sake, Edgar, go and do something about that dog.’

Edgar, who had listened to his wife weeping almost constantly since they’d missed seeing the ship carrying their daughter set sail from Woolwich, and had wept nearly as much himself, put on his boots and trudged out into the yard.

Shannon turned his head to see who was coming, and patiently accepted Edgar’s comforting scratch between his ears.

‘Aye, you miss her, too, don’t you, boy?’

Shannon couldn’t answer, but he did. He missed his lovely mistress very much.

Out in the rougher open seas of the North Atlantic, seasickness recurred in those whose constitutions were slow to adapt and James Downey once more asked Harrie and Lil Foster to assist him in the hospital. Rachel and Sarah felt merely off-colour but Friday was brought low a second time and again announced she was to be left alone to die. Even Rachel’s triumph and the return of their money (delivered by a sour Becky Hoddle while Liz Parker sulked threateningly from her crew’s bunk) had lost the power to cheer her. The ship’s exaggerated pitch and roll convinced her they were all about to perish shortly anyway and, though she tried, between vomiting and groaning, to make a joke of it, her friends could see she was terrified out of her wits.

Rachel thought back to all the times in Newgate Friday had stuck up for her — and even raised a fist for her — and wished she could do something to make her feel better. Then smelly old
Matilda Bain told her how she might cure at least one of Friday’s maladies.

She waited until Harrie was at work and everyone not ill had gone up on deck, then slipped below again. Poor Friday was asleep, muttering and tossing, and Rachel took care not to wake her as she made her way towards the closed curtains surrounding Bella Jackson’s makeshift compartment. Bella rarely left it, pleasing herself when she took her exercise, apparently not caring a jot about the captain’s and Mr Downey’s schedules.

Feeling very nervous about encroaching on Bella’s private territory, Rachel took a deep, preparatory breath. But just then the ship gave a violent lurch and she lost her balance and fell through the curtains, sprawling across Bella’s bunk.

Bella Jackson, lying on several pillows, reading a book by candlelight, gave a startled squawk and drew her legs up to her chest. ‘God almighty, you clumsy little fool!’

Rachel scrambled to her feet. ‘Sorry, I overbalanced.’ Lord, she’d never get what she wanted now.

‘Well, fall over somewhere else,’ Bella cawed, her black eyes flashing. Her expression softened. She regarded Rachel thoughtfully, and put down her book. ‘You’re the broadswoman. Rachel Winter, isn’t it? In the same crew as —’