Girl of Shadows (38 page)

‘Not bloody Amos Furniss?’ Friday said, disgusted.

Sarah said, ‘But this is about me. Why is bloody Furniss in
my
future?’

‘Whoever he is,’ Serafina said, ‘and despite the darkness around him, he contributes to your salvation in a totally unexpected way.’

‘Really? So not Furniss, then,’ Friday remarked. ‘He’d be the last bugger to help
us
.’

‘And if I
were
reading the tarot for you,’ Serafina said to Sarah, ‘I would have turned over the Death card.’

There was a sudden and dread-laden silence.

Sarah felt sick. Not Adam, surely? ‘Who’s going to die?’

‘The Death card doesn’t necessarily mean death.’ Serafina paused. ‘I can’t always tell. But sometimes it does.’

‘It isn’t one of us, is it?’ Friday asked in a small voice.

Sitting forwards, Serafina leant her elbows on the table. ‘That isn’t my feeling, no.’

Harrie looked ready to weep again. ‘But do we know this person? Please, can you tell us that at least?’

Serafina sighed. ‘You do, but I doubt you’ll mourn their passing.’

‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ Sarah said.

‘However, I’ve already told you, there will be other losses,’ Serafina warned. ‘But the bond between you four girls is extremely strong, and together, one way or another, you’ll weather those storms.’

‘Three,’ Sarah said.

‘Pardon?’

‘There’s only three of us.’

Serafina blinked. ‘Yes. Three.’ She regarded them across the table. ‘You’ve been through a few fairly wild storms already, haven’t you?’

Sarah, Harrie and Friday returned her gaze in uncomfortable silence. It suddenly occurred to Sarah that, given Serafina Fortune’s apparently genuine gift, they could well have made a serious
mistake coming to see her. What else had she seen in the murky depths of their pasts?

Serafina caught her eye. ‘My readings are strictly confidential, and I’m known for my discretion. I hear and see all manner of things, matters my customers most definitely would not want made public. As for my predictions, take heed of them, but keep in mind I may see only one possible pathway. There could be others. Also, of course, I’m not always right.’ She stood, pushing back her chair, and said to Harrie, ‘You work for Leo Dundas, don’t you?’

Harrie sucked in a quick breath. ‘That’s extraordinary. Did you sense that from me?’

‘No. I know Leo quite well,
very
well in fact,’ Serafina said, darting a vaguely apologetic look at Friday, ‘and he’s told me he has a convict girl called Harrie working for him. Your friend here called you Harrie. How many convict girls called Harrie can there be in Sydney?’

‘So that business about Harrie’s illustrations wasn’t a prediction at all,’ Sarah said. ‘You already knew she’s an artist.’

‘She only draws flash, though,’ Friday said. ‘On paper. They don’t live and breathe.’

‘What exactly did you mean by that?’ Harrie asked.

‘Actually, I don’t know,’ Serafina replied with unexpected frankness. ‘I really do only pass on what I see. I often have no idea what it means.’

‘Make an educated guess,’ Sarah suggested.

‘Perhaps Leo is going to teach Harrie to tattoo.’

Alarmed, Harrie said, ‘Oh, I don’t think I could do
that
.’

Delighted, thinking of the tattoo she was planning for her back, Friday said, ‘Oh, I was hoping he would! That would be
lovely
. You could do mine.’

Serafina held the door open. Clearly their session was over and it was time for them to leave.

As Sarah brushed past her, she asked, ‘How much of us could you see? Of our pasts, I mean?’

Serafina said, ‘Enough. But it’s not my place to judge. Or tell tales. Besides, I don’t care. It’s none of my business.’

Sarah studied Serafina Fortune’s face and saw nothing that suggested the woman felt otherwise, but as the door closed she sincerely hoped they wouldn’t come to regret their visit.

‘I think I’ll try the fish for a change,’ James said. ‘Rowie’s been spoiling me with mutton and beef at least four times a week.’

‘You do look like you’ve filled out a little,’ Matthew remarked.

‘A little? I can barely close the buttons on my trousers. I shall be forced to go on a reducing regime if I put on any more weight. I’ll have to have a word with her.’

‘Why?’ Matthew asked. ‘Is she forcing you to eat two helpings of everything she cooks?’

‘Well, no,’ James said, disgruntled. ‘I must say, Matthew, that being in love for some reason seems to have brought the more impertinent aspects of your character to the fore.’

Matthew buttered a bread roll. ‘On the other hand, you were a bit on the thin side, especially after, you know, your bereavement. For a while there you were looking very close to gaunt. Anyway, I’m not in love.’

James grunted. ‘And how is Miss Minto?’

‘Very well, thank you.’

‘Everything on course?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The last time we dined together you mentioned you intended to ask for her hand.’

‘I still do,’ Matthew said, dabbing with his napkin at a tiny smear of butter on his mouth.

‘When?’

‘When the time is right.’

James waved to attract the attention of the waitress. ‘Are you sure you’re making the right decision?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I’ll have the celery soup to start, followed by the fish, thank you,’ James told the girl. ‘Matthew, what will you have?’

‘Soup, and the mutton in caper sauce, please.’ When the girl had departed with their orders, he added, ‘Sally’s kind-hearted, industrious and really rather pretty, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t physically attracted to her.’

‘She’s not Harrie Clarke, though, is she?’

‘Well, I can’t have Harrie, can I?’ Matthew said flatly.

James took a sip of his sherry. ‘Neither, it seems, can I. She told me the other day in no uncertain terms she never wants to see me again.’

‘Yes, but she’s said that before, hasn’t she?’

‘She meant it this time, Matthew. I know she did.’

Matthew was briefly silent. ‘What brought this about?’

‘I told her I believe she’s suffering from hysteria or something similar and that she might benefit from some form of therapeutic rest.’

‘You told her she’s mad?
Honestly
, James!’

‘I didn’t, not in so many words.’

‘I’m not surprised she never wants to see you again. She probably thinks you want to commit her to the asylum.’ Matthew paused. ‘She isn’t, though, is she? Mad?’

‘Have you spoken with her lately? This business about conversing with Rachel’s ghost and what have you? Things are clearly not right with her.’

Matthew froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. ‘What business?’

James recounted his conversation with Harrie.

‘I had no idea!’ Matthew said, appalled. Though he did recall Friday telling him Harrie was ‘out of kilter’.

‘Too busy squiring your new paramour?’

‘Too busy clearing the decks for you, actually.’

The waitress arrived and set steaming bowls of soup before them.

James blew on a spoonful. ‘Well, actually, I do appreciate that, Matthew. I know how you felt about her.’

‘How I
still
feel about her. But I know when I’m beaten and I’ve no intention of spending the rest of my life as a bitter, lonely bachelor starved of physical company.’ Matthew pointed at James. ‘And neither should you. So don’t give up.’

‘Yes, well.’

‘What do Friday and Sarah think about Harrie?’

‘Friday’s worried. It was she who mentioned it to me, during a visit to the surgery. I understand Sarah is, too.’

‘Well, why don’t you go and have a proper talk to them? They know her better than anyone else.’

‘Why don’t
you
?’ James dragged a piece of celery string out of his soup. ‘And then you can tell me. You seem to have enjoyed better relations with them than I ever have.’

Matthew regarded him for a second, then laughed. ‘You’re scared of them, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, to a certain extent I am.’

‘Actually, so am I. Especially Sarah. Friday’s not so bad, once you get used to her ways.’ Matthew decided, however, that now was not the time to disclose to James that he and Friday went regularly to the Bank of New South Wales together to do the girls’ banking. ‘Though I certainly wouldn’t want to find myself on the wrong side of her.’

‘Definitely not.’

‘I think it would be better if you talk to them, James.’

James sighed. ‘Yes, I expect you’re right.’

‘But tread gently. I gather Sarah has her own troubles at the moment.’

‘Yes, I’d heard. Someone was gossiping about it. Her husband’s been sent to Port Macquarie?’

‘Five years, for receiving.’

‘That’s unfortunate,’ James said.

‘Well it is, actually. Apparently he was framed.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘A friend.’ Leo Dundas wasn’t strictly a friend, but after the hours Matthew had spent in Leo’s tattoo shop they knew each other well enough now to stop in the street and exchange news pertaining to shared acquaintances. ‘And while Adam Green’s away, his business is being run by a fellow Sarah loathes. He’s living in the house, too, overseeing Sarah. You can imagine the atmosphere.’

‘Indeed.’

The waitress removed the empty soup bowls and delivered their main courses with a flourish.

James regarded his baked fish smothered with béchamel sauce. ‘What sort is it?’

The girl said, ‘Don’t know what it’s called here, sir, but cook says it tastes a bit like John Dory.’

‘I’ll have another glass of sherry to go with mine, if you please. Matthew? Hock? Claret?’

‘Claret, thank you.’

The waitress scuttled off.

‘
Would
you commit her to the asylum?’ Matthew asked, liberating a slice of mutton from its lake of caper sauce.

‘Harrie? Of course not! It’s a ghastly place. I wouldn’t send my dog there. Lawrence is acquainted with a very Christian couple who own what is evidently a charming property at Elizabeth Bay. They open their home to young women requiring somewhere peaceful to recuperate. I mentioned Harrie to Lawrence, and he thinks he could arrange a place for her.’

‘Who would pay?’

‘There are no fees. These people are apparently rather well off. I would, however, make a considerable donation to their charitable organisation.’

‘That would be very generous of you,’ Matthew said.

‘It would be, if Harrie conceded to go. But clearly she won’t.’

‘Not even to a private home?’

‘I didn’t even get that far. When we discussed the matter she was exceedingly grumpy with me and told me I didn’t understand.’

‘About?’

‘This spirit manifestation business.’

‘Rachel returning as a ghost?’

James popped a forkful of boiled carrot into his mouth and nodded while he chewed.

‘Well,
do
you understand?’ Matthew asked.

Swallowing, James replied, ‘Well, obviously she’s having some sort of extended delusional episode.’

‘But what if it’s true? What if Rachel really has come back?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, not you as well!’ James snapped.

‘I’m just saying. “There are more things in heaven and earth”, or whatever it was Shakespeare said.’

‘I didn’t know you read Shakespeare.’

‘I don’t, really. But just because you don’t believe it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Or real.’

James drew in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. ‘To be honest, Matthew, what I care about is Harrie’s welfare and happiness, and at this point in time she seems neither well nor content. I am not a physician who specialises in disorders of the mind, but I am capable of recognising the characteristics of a patient in considerable mental distress. She must have help of some sort.’

‘Well, get it for her, then.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ James said tersely.

‘If there’s anything I can do.’

‘Yes, I know.’

They ate in silence for a while. At last Matthew asked, ‘How
is
it working out with Rowie Harris? Apart from you overeating, I mean? You’ve never been tempted?’

James glanced up from his meal. ‘I can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind. She’s certainly an attractive girl. And an excellent homemaker.’

‘So …?’

‘Well, that’s all she is — a comely girl who makes a good pork pie. And I want more than that.’

‘Yes,’ Matthew muttered. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘Anyway, I have my doubts about her moral underpinnings. She’s often visiting Friday at Elizabeth Hislop’s establishment. She seems to hold very fond memories of her time there. Apparently they were close, herself and Friday, though I understand Friday has only called on her at my house once or twice.’

‘She must miss Friday, though,’ Matthew said. ‘And the other girls at the brothel. I know you don’t approve of brothels, but I expect the ambience there must be quite jolly at times.’

‘Jolly!’

‘Well, you know, all those young girls together.’

‘I think the sooner you marry, the better, Matthew.’

‘The company, James. She must be quite lonely, stuck in the house with no one to talk to but you.’

‘Well, thank you very much.’ James folded his napkin and lay it on the table. ‘She does get visitors, you know. There’s a woman who comes to see her after hours fairly regularly. I’ve glimpsed her passing the front window but Rowie’s never introduced her. And she has other friends.’

‘No male suitors?’

‘If she has any I don’t see them.’

Matthew stifled a burp behind his hand, then set his knife and fork neatly across his plate. ‘So, what are you going to do about Harrie?’

‘I don’t know. Yet.’

Sarah had thought deeply about Serafina Fortune’s answers to her secret questions, and though they’d been positive, the woman had also said her predictions didn’t always come true and that they were only one potential future outcome. There was also the possibility she’d been making the whole lot up, though Sarah — despite her inherent mistrust of people who told fortunes for a living — didn’t think this was likely, given the accuracy of her readings of their pasts.

But she’d also talked of losses still to come, and Sarah was convinced she’d been concealing bad news from them. It made commercial sense, really. If Sarah could see into the future,
she
wouldn’t go about telling people their friends and loved ones were about to drop dead, which would certainly guarantee an end to any repeat business.

Still, Serafina’s answers had given her hope, something to hold on to during the darkest hours of the night, when she couldn’t sleep and everything seemed at its most bleak.

Gellar was well and truly frightened now, but was showing no signs of leaving. He must want Adam’s business very badly. Her hate for him was such that the mere sight of him made her gorge rise, but she was able to summon the strength to behave in a moderately civil manner towards him, and remained determined to continue
the charade of the house being haunted for as long as necessary. What she had to do now was extract from him a confession to the effect that he’d framed Adam, one she could present to Police Magistrate Captain Rossi in the hope of having Adam’s conviction for receiving quashed.

A lot easier said than done, of course. Why the hell would Gellar admit to it? She certainly wouldn’t if she were him.

Jared thumped down the stairs and strode through the dining room to the back door.

‘No time for breakfast. God, what’s that smell?’ he said as he thrust his stockinged feet into his long black boots. ‘I’ve an early meeting this morning.’ The harried expression on his face changed abruptly and he withdrew one foot from a boot. ‘Is this …?’

Sarah turned away, terrified she would laugh.

‘Christ, it is! It’s
dog
shit!’

There was a clatter as the other boot flew off.

Sarah looked; Jared was staring down, appalled, at the shite squashed all over his feet and trouser hems.

‘How did
that
get in my boots!?’ he demanded.

‘Rachel?’ Sarah suggested. ‘She did that before, to Esther.’

‘For
fuck’s
sake!’

Jared tore at the buttons on his trousers, yanked them down over his hips and stepped out of them, revealing a pair of fine linen knee-length drawers that hugged the considerable mound of his genitals, and kicked viciously so the trousers sailed off to a corner of the dining room. Sarah tried to avert her eyes, but, mesmerised by the spectacle of Jared’s tantrum, found she couldn’t. His hairy but shapely lower legs were encased in short, white silk stockings, held up by gay red garters. He ripped them off, hurled them after the trousers, and stomped off back through the hall and upstairs, his bare feet leaving shitty prints behind him.

Sarah remained at the table, hands over her mouth, stifling her giggles.

When Jared reappeared — in clean trousers and another pair of boots and reeking of lavender soap — he said in a tight voice, ‘The water in the bowl in my room is filthy. And will you please launder my clothes. Thank you.’

When he’d gone, Sarah fetched a stick and flicked his dog-shite-laden clothing and boots out the back door, congratulating herself on a job well done, even if she did have to clean up the mess herself. It hadn’t brought her any nearer to getting him to confess, though, had it? What she needed was some form of threat that would put the wind up him even more than being haunted did, and that would render him thoroughly malleable. He was already very much on edge — what could she produce that would tip him over?

And then, in a blinding flash of enlightenment, it came to her. She recalled several snippets of information Leo had given her, something she’d seen among Gellar’s papers, and a scene from her wedding day, and it all fell into place, leaving her wondering why she hadn’t thought of it before.

She had to talk to Friday.

‘Bloody dangerous,’ Friday said, whipping up her skirt to reveal the purple scar on her calf, as yet untattooed. ‘Look what happened to me.’

‘That was just bad luck,’ Sarah replied.

‘No, that was Furniss’s sodding rabid dogs.’

‘They weren’t rabid. You’d be in your grave now if they were. Anyway, and no offence meant, I’m a lot better at sneaking round houses than you are.’

They were in Elizabeth Hislop’s office, which she’d kindly offered them yet again so they could speak privately.

‘But why? What are you looking for?’

Sarah said, ‘Something that will connect both Gellar and Bella Jackson to this business of trafficking native heads from New Zealand. He’s been there recently, that’s obvious. He has ships’
manifests from trips across the Tasman, and he gave Adam and me a piece of greenstone on our wedding day — two-faced bastard — and Leo said he heard that Bella’s masterminding stealing the heads to order. If I can prove a connection, we can blackmail him into admitting he framed Adam.’

‘Can’t we just blackmail him now, without you having to break into Bella’s house?’

‘There’s nothing specific in his papers, nothing that says,
Pinched and smuggled to Botany Bay, one dozen Maori heads, by order of Bella Jackson
. He’s not that stupid,’ Sarah said. ‘Unfortunately he’s not stupid at all.’

‘Bella isn’t either, you know.’

‘Yes, I
do
know that, thank you.’

‘What if you don’t find anything?’

A little burst of panic spurted behind Sarah’s ribs: she didn’t want to consider that. ‘Stop asking me all these questions.’

‘Don’t snap.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are. But what if you
don’t
?’

‘I don’t know.’ Even the very prospect of not finding anything flooded Sarah with desperation and despair. ‘I really don’t. I think this might be my last chance.’

Friday made a worried face. ‘You’ll have to get into the bloody house first. And, more to the point, out again.’

‘I know. Obviously, it’ll be far easier if the place is empty, but even if Bella and Clarence and Furniss aren’t there, those dogs will be, won’t they?’

‘Well, that’s their job, terrorising trespassers. I should know,’ Friday said sourly. ‘Actually, they mightn’t be home this Saturday night. Apparently there’s some sort of reception in town for toffs.’ She laughed. ‘Not the dogs, I don’t mean. Dogs don’t go to receptions. But Clarence is a snob, he’s bound to go, and he’ll take Bella. That’s why he married her.’

‘Furniss, though?’

‘Dunno. Doubt he’ll be driving them; Bella’s already got a driver. With any luck Furniss’ll be in the Black Rat frittering his money on pox-raddled whores.’

Sarah thought about it. ‘The servants. They’ll still be there.’

‘Probably. You can creep around them, though, can’t you?’

‘Of course I can. So that just leaves the dogs.’

‘Rather you than me.’ Friday shuddered. ‘What we need is one of those coves from the travelling menagerie who tames lions and bears and other mad animals.’

Sarah started to smile. ‘We’ve got one.’

When Sarah arrived home the mail had been delivered and there among the business-related bits and pieces was, to her utter delight, a letter from Adam. She left the
CLOSED
sign on the door — to hell with customers — and hurried through to the dining room.

She yanked off her bonnet, dropped it on the table, sat down, cracked the seal on the letter and … froze.

What if he was horribly sick? What if he’d been assigned to a really back-breaking job and it was killing him? What if he was starving to death? Could she bear to know any of those things?

But she had to. She had to know.

Slowly — warily — she unfolded the letter and began to read the cramped writing:

In a fit of pain and rage Sarah flung the letter as far away as possible. No! She would
not
go off with some other cove! What a bloody stupid idea. She
would
wait for him. For five years — or for ten, or for twenty, if she had to.

She struggled to swallow the enormous, burning lump in her throat. He was giving up, letting the prison suck the life out of him, and the thought of it made her want to shriek at the top of her voice. And he hadn’t received her letters. Where were they? Stuffed in some officious bloody commandant’s drawer?

She stood up and kicked the table leg as hard as she could, then sat down again, took off her boot and cradled her toes, tears streaming down her face.

No matter what it took, she was bringing him home.

Friday rose from the bed, but her customer, a regular named Ralph Kidd, grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Just to the window, to close the curtains.’

‘Leave them. I like being able to see the night sky.’

Friday sank down beside him again, and let him draw her head onto his chest. She didn’t mind Ralph Kidd. He was perhaps in his early thirties, and had been coming to see her every week for ages despite being married and the father of four young children. He was tall and thin, though his shoulders were wide, and if she had to describe him in one word it would be ‘blond’. His hair, cut close, was so pale it was almost white, and his skin was fair. When his face was composed he looked grim, but a rare smile revealed good, white teeth, which Friday appreciated as healthy teeth meant pleasant breath.

He always booked an hour with her, though he only used half of that for sex. During the remaining time he talked and so, to her enduring surprise, did Friday. While he discussed his ship-building and refitting business, his children, whom he loved, and his wife, whom he also loved — though she wouldn’t do the things in bed he wanted, which is why he came to see Friday — she told him about what she’d been doing, though never anything too personal or private. He knew she had a friend whose husband had been sent to Port Macquarie, and another assigned to a family on the Rocks, and that she was committed to supporting the child of yet another who had died. He told her he thought she was amusing, honest and generous in the way she gave herself to him sexually, but they both knew she had to — it was her job.

‘How’s the one going with the husband in the penitentiary?’ he asked, stroking her hair. Friday had never told him Sarah’s and Harrie’s names, and she never would.

‘Not very well. Desperate to have him back.’

‘I can imagine. And there’s no way she can prove his innocence?’

Friday shook her head, her hair sliding against his skin.

‘Why doesn’t she approach his solicitor or barrister and seek an appeal?’

‘That’ll be the day. The barrister he had in court, some cove called Evans, was bent and working with the bastard who framed him.’

‘Augustus Evans?’

‘That’s him.’

‘I know him. I see him socially sometimes. Who did frame your friend’s husband? Or aren’t you in a position to tell me?’