Behind the Sun (28 page)

He blotted the last line of his entry and stared at it, willing the ink to dry so he could close his journal.

‘Excuse me, Mr Downey?’

James recognised Harrie’s voice and his heart lifted, as it always did whenever he encountered her sweet face and pretty, untidy hair. He rose from his chair and pulled back the curtain that afforded his cubicle privacy. But his mood deflated again when he saw she was accompanied by big, noisy Friday Woolfe and the other girl, Sarah Morgan, whose intense, knowing gaze always put him on edge. He suspected they didn’t much care for him. Well, he
knew
Friday Woolfe didn’t. They were no doubt suspicious of him. He had discovered it paid to tread very carefully when it came to the close and convoluted relationships these women developed.

He thought Harrie looked nervous. ‘Harrie. Good morning. Isn’t this your day off?’

‘Yes, it is. We’d like to talk to you about Rachel, please.’

‘Ah, a professional visit.’ That explained the presence of her companions. ‘By all means, come in.’

He stepped aside and the girls filed in. There were only two chairs; Harrie took one and her friends perched on the examination table.

He sat on his chair beside the writing desk and crossed his legs. ‘How can I help you?’

Harrie moved her seat with a scrape so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck to see the others. No one said anything. The
Isla
creaked and groaned, noises so familiar now no one even heard them any more, and the curtains swayed gently against the ship’s steady roll. Beyond the cubicle in the hospital Evie Challis cried out and Lil Foster’s voice murmured in response. The corruption of the womb resulting from Evie’s childbed fever was so foul he had instructed Lil to roll back the cover on the ventilation hatch and burn some aromatic pastilles.

‘We don’t think you’re doing enough for Rachel,’ Sarah Morgan finally said with characteristic bluntness.

‘Sarah!’ Harrie exclaimed.

‘Knocking her out with laudanum might keep her out of the brig,’ Sarah went on, ‘but will it fix her? I’m not a doctor, but I can’t see how it can. She seems to be getting worse, if anything. What’s actually wrong with her? Or don’t you know?’

Her sleek, dark head was up and she was staring at him, daring him to reprimand her for being so forthright and for challenging him.

So he did. ‘Perhaps you have forgotten that you are a prisoner and I am an officer of the Crown. Please award me appropriate
respect.’ He stared at Sarah until she looked away. ‘With regard to your questions, at this point in Rachel’s progress, no, I don’t know specifically what is wrong with her. Medical science concerning the brain is not precise. It is a matter of finding a treatment that best manages her symptoms.’

Harrie looked startled and, he had to admit, a little disappointed. ‘But you must know. You’re the surgeon.’

‘I’m a doctor, Harrie, yes, but I’m not a specialist when it comes to matters concerning brain injuries. Rachel struck her head very badly —’

‘Keegan shoved Rachel six bloody feet onto the deck,’ Friday interrupted, spitting out every word with individual emphasis.

‘Yes,’ James said, ignoring the bad language, ‘which caused a very severe concussion, from which she was lucky to recover at all. These episodes, I’m sure, are directly related to that.’ He hesitated.
Was
he sure? He recalled the permanently dilated pupil of Rachel’s right eye, which she said had been that way for as long as she could remember. Had she mentioned having headaches or fits of any kind in the past? He didn’t think so.

Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, but what’s actually
wrong
with her? And will it get worse?’

She didn’t ask the obvious question, though, and James was glad.

‘Without the benefit of a consultation with a specialist, I am presuming that a portion of her brain has been damaged, causing these fluctuating changes in behaviour. It could be that there is some swelling of the brain, applying internal pressure, which would certainly be cause for her headaches, or perhaps a sliver of skull has travelled into the brain itself.’

There was silence at that.

James continued, unable to stop himself from adding a little gloss to the prognosis, from offering a measure of hope. ‘Will it get worse? We will have to wait and see. As I said, I’m not an expert
in these matters. But in my experience, most patients would have died after such a horrific injury. However, Rachel did not, so I don’t know what to tell you. I did once see a case where the patient recovered from a dreadful head injury — in fact he lived the rest of his life with the shaft of a whaling spear embedded in his skull — with no ill effects whatsoever, but that would be the exception to the rule. And Rachel could prove to be another exception. When we reach New South Wales, ideally she should be seen by a physician better qualified than I am to give a prognosis.’

‘Well, that’s not going to happen, is it?’ Friday said.

James saw the distress etched on the handsome planes of the freckled face. He wanted to offer his sympathies, for Rachel and for their collective predicament as her unofficial guardians, but expected they probably would be rebuffed.

‘It’s unlikely,’ he agreed.

‘So, what else
can
you do for her?’ Sarah asked.

‘I can certainly make her comfortable. More laudanum for the headaches, of course, soporifics to help her sleep.’

Friday sighed and pushed her hair back off her face. ‘Christ, who’s going to look after her when we get to Sydney? We’ll all be assigned, won’t we?’

Sarah glared at her. ‘You’re making it sound as though she’ll be an invalid.’

‘Well, she will,’ Friday snapped. ‘Won’t she?’ she demanded of James.

‘There’s no need to regard her as such at present, but if she continues to deteriorate, I’m afraid she could be. She certainly won’t be considered fit for assignment as a servant, not even in her current state. There is, however, a hospital at the Female Factory at Parramatta, where you will all go when you first arrive.’

‘The thing is,’ Harrie said in a very small voice, ‘it might not just be her.’

They all looked at her.

Harrie flushed. ‘Last month she didn’t get her, well, you know, and I thought nothing of it because she said she isn’t always regular, then she missed again this week. And now I’m wondering…’

Sarah, an appalled expression on her face, counted off on her fingers. ‘Not Lucas then, she’d be out here if it was him. Shit. Are you sure?’

James watched the exchange with growing dismay.

‘No, I’m not,’ Harrie said. ‘She might just have missed because of the shock of everything. You know how it is sometimes.’

‘But if she is,’ Friday said, her brow furrowed as she worked it out, ‘and it’s
his
, she’d only be, what, nearly six weeks? She’ll have to get rid of it.’

Harrie gasped.

‘What’s the matter?’ Sarah said. ‘There’s still time.’ She shot a look at James.

He stared stiffly ahead, refusing to acknowledge he’d heard what she’d said.

‘
No!
’ Harrie exclaimed, her face a picture of despair. ‘It’s a
child
!’

‘It is not, it’s a hideous mistake,’ Friday said matter-of-factly. ‘Be reasonable, Harrie.’

James couldn’t keep silent any longer. ‘Excuse me, please. Has anyone talked to Rachel about this? Surely she must know what’s going on with her own body. She may not be…in a predicament at all. Harrie, have you actually asked her directly?’

‘No, I just noticed she didn’t need any new cloths. I didn’t like to, just in case —’

‘She
is
knapped,’ Sarah finished angrily. ‘For God’s sake, Harrie. Pretending it isn’t happening won’t make it go away.’

‘But what if she isn’t?’ Harrie protested. ‘Mentioning it would just bring it all back again.’

Friday frowned. ‘Would it? Everything to do with Keegan seems to have fallen right out of her head. The rape, him pushing her off the deck, everything.’ And any part Bella might have played as well,
so now Friday would never be able to prove it. ‘Is that possible, forgetting like that?’ she asked James.

‘Quite possible. A head injury of such magnitude can have a catastrophic effect on memory. You know,’ James ventured, ‘it might have been a good idea if you
had
raised the matter of pregnancy with her, Harrie.’

Sarah turned on him. ‘You keep out of this. It’s got nothing to do with you. And don’t criticise Harrie, she’s doing her best. She
always
does her best.’

James stared at her coolly. ‘May I remind you
again
that you are speaking to an officer of the Crown. Rachel Winter is one of my patients. She has a grave medical condition and this latest development may have a serious bearing on her welfare. May I
also
remind you that
you
approached
me
for advice. Please do me the courtesy of at least listening to it.’

There was an awkward silence, shattered after several seconds by a hoot of laughter from Friday.

‘That’s telling you, Sarah!’

Sarah continued to glare at him.

Then Harrie did what James had observed she did far too often — she apologised. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Downey, we didn’t mean to be rude.’

Indulging in a somewhat childish game and refusing to drop his gaze first, he looked at Sarah properly and saw not just anger in her eyes but pain and a great deal of frustration. It occurred to him she must also be capable of considerable compassion, to attract friends the calibre of Harrie, and yes, even boisterous Friday Woolfe and fey little Rachel. He decided to take a risk.

‘I understand that Rachel’s state of health, and now this new potential complication, are very worrying, Sarah, but what is really upsetting you?’

Sarah regarded him for so long he thought she wasn’t going to answer. She looked down, picked at her thumbnail, then said at
last, ‘It’s that bloody Keegan. You know what he did, don’t you? What he
really
did?’

James was aware he was suddenly on trial. ‘I know that he beat and sexually violated Rachel Winter, then caused her grievous harm by, I strongly suspect, deliberately pushing her off the foredeck.’

‘So you do believe she was raped?’

‘I do.’

Sarah’s eyes flashed with outrage. ‘So
why
is he being allowed to get away with it? Rape is a capital offence.’

The short answer to that, James thought, is Josiah Holland doesn’t want his crew to mutiny. ‘I can’t answer that, I’m sorry.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ Sarah demanded.

‘Can’t, because it isn’t my decision. Or jurisdiction. Captain Holland is master of this ship, not me.’

‘Sounds like a pile of shite to me.’

‘I’m sure it does,’ James said. ‘But Gabriel Keegan isn’t exactly walking free. Have you seen him up on deck lately? He has voluntarily spent the last six weeks in his cabin.’

The girls looked at each other. Keegan had indeed become a pariah, shunned most notably by Matthew Cutler though also by the Seatons, who the surgeon suspected of distancing themselves out of fear for their own reputations. James knew Keegan was sitting in his quarters, drinking himself senseless, seeing only James himself, who visited dutifully once a week, and the deeply unpleasant Amos Furniss, with whom Keegan seemed to have struck up a friendship. Keegan no longer attended the weekly dinners in the great cabin, rarely mixed with the crew and had only appeared on the foredeck once since the day he had pushed Rachel Winter. He might as well be locked in solitary for all the difference it would make to his life aboard the
Isla
. All the while he continued to profess his innocence in the matter of the rape and the assault. James, however, had stopped listening to him, sickened by the man’s selfish arrogance.

Sarah snorted. ‘So? And then what? We’ll get to New South Wales and he’ll just step off the ship and walk away!’

‘Not necessarily. I will be submitting my report to the appropriate authorities.’

‘Will Captain Holland?’ Harrie asked.

‘That will be up to him,’ James replied.

But he doubted it. And he doubted the British government would act upon anything he put in his report concerning an assault on a convict woman by a civilian, especially a civilian whose father had such illustrious connections as did Gabriel Keegan’s. He would, however, try.

‘In the meantime,’ he added, ‘I really do suggest you talk to Rachel about her condition as soon as possible.’

But Rachel didn’t want to talk about it. It was a secret and she wasn’t going to share it. At least, not yet.

It was a lot colder now they were sailing through the Southern Ocean. She wore her boots every day, with lovely stockings Harrie had knitted from some of Mrs Fry’s wool. They were made up of different colours and a bit scratchy, but that didn’t matter because they were nice and warm and went right up over her knees and Harrie had made them for her especially.

Her head hurt a lot these days. It had been sore on and off before her accident, but, Lord, it was a lot sorer now. It was a funny thing but she couldn’t really remember the accident, or what had come before or after it, not for quite a while in either direction. The last thing she could remember clearly was dancing on the deck at dusk, and then one day she woke up in the hospital with the most enormous headache and a line of prickly stitches across her skull. But when she tried to think about the bit in the middle, all she got was a nothingness, as though that part of her life were a page in a book with a big hole burnt in it. If she thought about it hard enough she could even see the scorch marks around the edges, but perhaps she was imagining those.

After she’d woken up Harrie had asked her over and over about what she could remember and she’d answered nothing, which had been the truth. Why
was
she in the hospital? And Harrie had said she’d had a bad fall and split her head open. But when she was well enough to go back to the prison deck — and that had taken nearly two weeks because she’d been quite barmy there for a while and couldn’t even hold her own spoon — Liz Parker had come up to her and called her Gabriel Keegan’s whore. And Friday
and
Sarah this time had given the mean old cow a real beating and there had nearly been a riot by the time Liz’s girls had got involved.