Girl of Shadows (19 page)

‘
Both
accounts?’ Sarah exclaimed. He’d be ruined!

‘How do you know I have two bank accounts?’ He leant into the shop window and turned the sign so it read
CLOSED
.

Shite; she could hardly admit she’d picked the lock on his desk and gone through his private papers. ‘Every businessman has two bank accounts. Don’t they? Surely the bank is liable, for handing it over to her.’

‘My signature appeared to be on the withdrawal note. Evidently she told them I’d sent her to collect the money.’ Adam gave a humourless laugh. ‘They even offered to escort her home as she was carrying such a lot of money, but she declined. And do you know why?’

Sarah shook her head.

‘She wasn’t coming home. She went straight down to the quay and boarded a ship an hour before it sailed for England.’

Sarah stifled a gasp. The cunning bitch! ‘And this was yesterday, while you were out at Parramatta getting me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Adam, I really am sorry. Just a minute, she can’t leave New South Wales, can she? Not if she only has a conditional pardon.’

‘Esther has a full pardon. She can go anywhere. My pardon’s the conditional one. I even had to get permission to go to Van Diemen’s Land.’

‘So you can’t follow her?’

‘What would be the point? Chances are I wouldn’t find her. She could disembark at any port her ship puts into between here and England, and just disappear once she arrives home. The thing is, Sarah, seven years ago I took out a ten-year lease on this shop. I pay the rent twice a year, in February and July. It’s a lot of money, even over two payments. Almost all the February payment was in the bank waiting to be paid —’

‘And Esther’s taken off with it?’

‘Yes. Along with the working capital, some of which was earmarked to pay for that last shipment of bullion we bought. There wasn’t much to speak of in my savings account, but that’s gone, too, of course.’

Sarah had already realised that if Adam broke his lease agreement he would lose the shop, his income and his home, and would have to pay a heavy financial penalty. ‘What will you do?’

‘I really don’t know. I could possibly scrape up the rent payment if we sell what we currently have in store at a steep discount, but then I wouldn’t have the money to restock.’ Adam thrust his hands into his coat pockets and stared down at his boots. ‘I really don’t know, Sarah.’

That evening Sarah served Adam an uninspiring supper of sausages, mashed potato and green beans. It was nothing like as fancy as the meals Esther had prepared but he barely seemed to notice and ate everything, wiping his plate clean of gravy with a bread roll.

‘I’m sorry but there’s no dessert,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have time.’

‘Of course not. You’ve been in the workshop all afternoon.’

And so she had, repairing an aquamarine and gold cannetille and meshwork choker belonging to some old trout whose fat neck
had burst the clasp, but she’d been even busier thinking. A memory of something she’d said to Friday nearly a year earlier, about replacing the gems in the expensive pieces in Adam’s shop with good paste and fencing the genuine stones, had been revived by the sparkling aquamarines in the broken choker. What if they had a regular supply of quality jewellery coming into the shop just long enough for the stones to be swapped? The sort of gems owned by well-heeled, fashionable, middle- and upper-class ladies who might perhaps appreciate having their jewels cleaned and valued free of charge? This was such an exciting possibility she’d squeaked, which she had to turn into a cough when Adam had looked at her.

‘Yes?’ he’d said.

‘What?’

‘You’ve that look on your face.’

‘No I don’t.’

But how crooked was he prepared to be, to keep his shop and business? Clearly he’d been on the wrong side of the law in the past, but he’d never demonstrated any dodgy inclinations since she’d worked for him. So what was he prepared to risk? She hadn’t a clue.

She collected the supper plates, took them out to the kitchen, and put the kettle over the fire.

‘Tea’s coming,’ she said as she sat down at the table again. There was no time to waste; she had to talk to him about it now if they hoped to have the rent money by February. Well, if
he
hoped to; it wasn’t
her
business.

‘You were quiet this afternoon,’ Adam said softly.

‘I was thinking.’

‘So was I.’

He’d been contemplating Esther, and wondering why he didn’t feel devastated, or at least bereft, because she’d deserted him. The night before as he’d lain in his lumpy bed, on top of the blanket because of the heat, he’d considered everything he’d felt on discovering she’d gone. There had been anger, embarrassment,
frustration and regret, but overwhelmingly, relief. He’d expected to feel at least some degree of melancholy today as the truth of the situation had sunk in, but it simply hadn’t happened. Instead there’d been a hollowness as though
something
had gone, but he couldn’t define exactly what. Finally, at around midday, he’d realised what it was: his constant expectation that Esther was about to nag at or criticise him for some reason, and that was all.

It had occurred to him then he’d already done his grieving for their failed union, and that there was little left for him to feel except gratitude now he no longer had to worry about her tyrannical moods, her jealousies and tantrums and manic behaviour, and whether one day she really would take her own life. He was still bloody angry, though; she hadn’t had to rob him of every single bloody penny. But then, being Esther, he supposed she had. She’d always been obsessed with money.

‘What was occupying your mind?’ he asked.

‘Well, your predicament with the rent.’ God, Sarah thought, if she wasn’t careful how she did this, she really could be out on her ear. ‘I’ve been trying to think of ways to come up with the money.’

‘Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, but it’s not something you need to be concerned with. This is my burden, not yours.’ Adam drew Esther’s fancy cruet set towards him, rucking the tablecloth, and lined up its four condiment bottles together with the salt bowl, the mustard pot and the pepper shaker, then sat back, shoulders slumped. ‘To be blunt, Sarah, I think I’m going to have to go on the flash again, just for a while. I can’t think of any other way around it.’

‘I’ll just check the kettle,’ Sarah said and rushed outside.

In the kitchen the kettle was steaming madly; she removed it from the fire and poured water into the teapot, shaking hands slopping boiling water onto the table. Leaning against it, she waited until her heartbeat found its normal rhythm again. That had been unexpected! She’d been so sure Adam’s crooked days were behind
him. If she happily went along with his plans, however, whatever they were, thereby demonstrating her own dishonesty, would he suspect her of stealing from him for more than a year? Christ, she’d only this second thought of that, and here she was about to suggest he operate a scam! And if she pretended she disapproved of what he had in mind, she’d have to leave. Though she might as well go; she seemed to have lost her will for stealing here, which meant the place was useless to her as a source of money. But she didn’t
want
to leave. Shite!

She loaded up the tea tray and carried it into the dining room, set out the cups and saucers, sat and turned the teapot a couple of times.

Adam slid a piece of paper across the table.

Sarah glanced at it. It was a list arranged in two columns; jewellery, mostly small pieces, and loose stones, with dates beside them. She turned the paper over to see the same on the reverse side. An icy hand closed around her heart and her stomach plummeted. She recognised every piece.

He knew, and he must always have known.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly as dry as chalk, and stared across the table at him.

Utterly dismayed, she whispered, ‘What do you want?’

He sat with his arms crossed and his head slightly back, the lamplight making even deeper pools of his dark eyes. He wasn’t smiling, but neither did he seem particularly angry. ‘I would like us to be honest with each other, Sarah.’

‘You haven’t …’ Her voice cracked and she roughly cleared her throat.

He reached for the teapot, poured a cup and pushed it gently towards her. Some slopped into the saucer and Sarah thought irrelevantly that Esther would have told him off for that.

She sipped, burning her tongue. Her eyes watered. ‘Why haven’t you reported me to the police?’

Adam poured himself a cup. ‘I’ll tell you that one day, but not tonight.’ He added sugar. ‘You’re as crooked as a dog’s hind leg, aren’t you?’

Why deny it? It was true. Sarah nodded.

‘Does your conscience not bother you? Or don’t you have one?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘It didn’t to start with. It does now.’

‘And you fenced everything?’

‘Yes.’ The shock was subsiding, replaced now by fear and mounting anger. He knew about her stealing and with that knowledge he could blackmail her. She shouldn’t have come back with him; she should have lied, accused him of rape and brutality, anything to stay in the Factory. Her first instinct had been right — she should never have allowed herself to trust him.

‘What do you do with the proceeds?’ he asked. ‘I know you don’t spend them on yourself.’

‘That’s my business.’

He sighed exasperatedly. ‘You hold your cards so close, don’t you?’

Sarah remained stiffly silent.

Gesturing at the list of stolen jewellery, he said, ‘Keep it. Tear it up. Throw it on the fire, I don’t care. I didn’t show it to you to intimidate you.’

‘Why, then? There’ll be a copy anyway.’

‘There isn’t. And I showed you because I wanted you to see that I knew, and that I
haven’t
done anything about it. I wanted you to see that I have faith in you and that I —’ Abruptly, he stopped himself.

‘How do I
know
there isn’t a copy?’ Sarah demanded.

Adam exploded. ‘For fuck’s sake, there just isn’t, all right! You’ll just have to trust me!’

Sarah blinked; she’d never heard him say fuck before.

He swept his hand through his hair. ‘There’s no copy, I’m not telling the police and I don’t care about what you’ve pinched. My
business is in trouble and I would very much like your help to rectify that. You’re clearly rather practised at rackets and what have you, whereas all I know about is receiving. I’d like us to work together, Sarah, and we can’t do that if we’re hiding things from each other.’

‘Well, you obviously know what my sins are,’ Sarah snapped, but reminded herself that actually, he didn’t, thank God. ‘What are
you
hiding from me?’ There was something, and she bloody well knew it.

Adam met her gaze, but couldn’t hold it and gutlessly focused on the horseradish sauce bottle instead. Only that I love you, he thought, and that I’d give everything — my business, all the glittering, precious gems in my safe, even my freedom — to lie with you even for just a single night.

‘Someone’s tampered with the safe,’ Elizabeth Hislop said, hands on ample hips, peering down at the solid, upright chest in her office and turning her two chins into three. ‘See, around the lock? Someone’s been at it with a chisel.’

The safe, made of heavy wooden slabs secured with iron hoops, remained closed, but it was clear an attempt had been made to prise open the door.

‘Anything missing?’ Friday asked nervously.

Elizabeth selected a key from the rattling collection on her chatelaine, stooped and unlocked the safe. The door opened with a squeak, revealing an interior divided by wooden partitions. Assorted cloth bags and a few small boxes sat on various shelves and five or six ledger books took up the rest of the space.

‘Doesn’t seem to be,’ Elizabeth said, relieved.

Friday retrieved the bag containing the Charlotte fund and emptied it onto Elizabeth’s desk. Paper money fluttered out and coins rolled everywhere.

‘Hell’s bells, Friday, is that all yours?’ Elizabeth exclaimed, impressed. ‘I hope you locked the door. The thief could be anyone.’

Friday quickly counted the money. ‘It’s all here.’

‘Perhaps they were interrupted.’

Friday examined the safe door. ‘Nah, this is a crap effort. They just couldn’t get in. I’d say they weren’t professionals, which makes me suspect someone here. Unless you’ve taken on a cracksman?’ Friday knew of one who occasionally visited, but she certainly wouldn’t leave a mess like this. Or a full safe.

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘You’re hardly ever out of your office, so it would have to be someone who could keep an eye on your door.’

‘One of the girls?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Who?’

‘Well, not Connie, it’s just not in her nature. And not Hazel: she can barely open the sash on her robe she’s that daffy, never mind a safe. Vivien, I’m not so sure. Same with Sophie. I’d think it unlikely of Esmerelda, Molly or Rose. Or Jane.’

‘I don’t know about Molly,’ Elizabeth interrupted. ‘I’m not convinced I totally trust her.’

‘Really?’

Elizabeth made a rueful face.

‘Well, I definitely wouldn’t put it past Lou,’ Friday said. ‘She’s always griping about not getting paid enough and the terrible prices she forks out for her work clothes.’

‘Yes, well, she could wear the costumes I provide here,’ Elizabeth said.

‘Ooooh, I can’t
abide
wearing second-hand clothes,’ Friday mimicked in a silly falsetto. ‘All that dirty skin.’

‘They’re laundered regularly. It’s a funny attitude from someone happy to have entire dirty bodies all over them. Do you think it could have been her?’

Friday shrugged. ‘Don’t know. But then I’m biased. I don’t like her.’

‘Yes, I had noticed. Why not?’

‘She’s a bitch, and she’s mean to some of the girls, especially Hazel.’

‘Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. In the meantime I’ll get Jack to put an extra lock on the safe. Most of the money from the house and the hotel gets banked in the mornings, but I do keep my jewellery in there.’ Elizabeth hesitated. ‘Er, you don’t think it could have been Jack, do you?’