Girl of Shadows (41 page)

Startled, he smiled back.

Friday wasn’t in pieces but Clifford nearly was, lying on her side, looking very sorry for herself, next to a pool of dog vomit reeking of aniseed.

‘What did you do to her?’ Walter exclaimed.

‘She was mean to me,’ Friday said, ‘so I gave her the whole lot in one go. Did you get what you wanted?’

‘Nothing,’ Sarah said. ‘Not a single bloody thing.’

Friday’s face fell. ‘Shite. What do we do now?’

June 1831, Sydney Town

It was Sunday afternoon and Friday, Harrie and Sarah were sitting on a rug in Hyde Park watching well-off people kitted out in expensive riding habits trot round and round the perimeter on smartly groomed horses. It had rained again that morning, though it was fine now, and the sun was drawing a light veil of mist out of the ground, spreading a shimmering mantle over the low, bare hillocks of the park.

‘So, what have we got?’ Friday asked, leaning to one side and scratching her bum. ‘The damp’s coming through this rug.’

Sarah glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear, raised a fist and flicked up a finger. ‘One scared-shitless crook.’ Another finger. ‘Nothing to prove he stole those heads from Bella, or even that he was directly involved in bringing them across the Tasman for her. My money’s on her keeping all her really important papers somewhere they’ll never be found.’ She paused. ‘Or maybe she doesn’t document that side of the business at all. I wouldn’t.’ And finally her ring finger. ‘One husband — mine — we have to get out of Port Macquarie as soon as possible.’

‘You know, I really was worried he’d leave after Molly,’ Harrie said. ‘I was so sure he would.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘Lucky for us he’s such a greedy bastard. Anyone else would have run a mile.’

‘She was good, wasn’t she?’ Friday smiled at the memory of Molly’s grotesque, rice-flour-caked face.

‘I know we only have hearsay about him cheating Bella,’ Sarah said, ‘but it’s
accurate
hearsay, and he’ll know it when we confront him with it because he’s guilty.’

Friday nodded. ‘It’ll rattle him.’

‘It has to more than bloody rattle him. It has to make him
confess
.’

‘What if it doesn’t work?’ Harrie said.

Sarah turned on her. ‘Then Adam’ll rot in gaol for the next five years, won’t he? Why do you always have to be such a doom-monger?’

‘Stop it, Sarah,’ Friday said. ‘That’s not going to help.’

Sarah’s shoulders slumped and she touched Harrie’s knee. ‘Sorry, love. It’s just that I’m —’

‘I know,’ Harrie soothed. ‘It’s all right.’

‘You’re right, though. What if it doesn’t work? It
has
to work.’

‘Well, hang on,’ Friday said slowly. ‘You just said he’s scared shitless of Rachel, so he must think she’s real. What if we tell him
she’s
told us he pinched Bella’s heads, and that we’ll tell Bella if he doesn’t sign the confession. Rachel’d know that sort of thing, being dead herself.’

Sarah stared at Friday for a full minute, then her pale face broke into an enormous smile, as though the sun had come out. ‘Friday?’

‘What?’

‘That might just be the best idea you’ve ever had.’

‘Really?’ Friday was delighted.

Nibbling a fingernail, Harrie looked worried. ‘I’m not sure if it works like that, if spirits can know those sorts of things. I don’t know if Rachel —’

With as much patience as she could muster, Sarah took Harrie’s hand and said very gently, ‘I don’t know if it works like that either, but will you please, just for now, pretend that it does? For me? So Adam can come home?’

Reluctantly, Harrie nodded.

Friday let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. ‘Good. Shall we go with that, then?’

‘Yes, and I want to confront him tonight,’ Sarah said. ‘There’s no point putting it off. And I’d like you both with me. Can you get away?’

Harrie and Friday nodded. Harrie added, ‘But not until about half past six. I told Nora I’d help her get a gown cut out later today, even though it’s my day off. It’s an urgent order. Is that all right? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. But I promise I’ll come.’

‘Of course it’s all right.’ Sarah squeezed Harrie’s hand. ‘As long as you’re there.’ She reached for Friday’s hand, too. ‘As long as you’re both there. I really don’t think I can do this by myself.’

Sarah had just finished washing the supper dishes when Friday stuck her head round the kitchen door. As usual, she’d come in through the backyard gate. Sarah could smell alcohol on her breath, but she wasn’t mashed, just a little bright-eyed. She was probably nervous. So was Sarah.

‘All set? He’s not gone out, has he?’

‘He’s at the table, reading the paper.’

‘Harrie here yet?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘I hope she doesn’t change her mind.’

‘She won’t. She won’t let you down, Sarah. You know that.’

‘I know. I know she won’t.’

Friday glanced over her shoulder. ‘Speak of the devil.’

Harrie appeared in the doorway, puffing slightly, her hair escaping from beneath her bonnet. ‘Sorry I’m late. I had to run all the way.’

‘You’re not late, love,’ Sarah replied. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She dabbed them away with the hem of her apron.

‘All right?’ Friday asked.

Sarah nodded.

‘Good girl. So, are we doing this?’ Friday went on. ‘’Cos if we are, we should just get in there, no mucking about.’

The nervous tension buzzing through them was as discomfiting as it had been the night they’d followed Gabriel Keegan along Phillip Street, but this evening, although there would be no killing, the stakes were higher. Then, their motivation had been revenge — now, they were desperate to secure Adam’s freedom, perhaps even his life.

Friday pulled them into an embrace and for a moment they relaxed against one another.

Then Sarah broke away, took off her apron, and led them inside to the dining room.

‘Jared?’ she said. ‘We’d like to talk to you.’

‘Yes?’ He closed his paper.

His recent encounters with the supernatural entity that had taken up residence in the house were taking a visible toll. He’d lost weight, the lines of his face now sharp and angular, and his previously energetic curls lay limp against his skull. Instead of the handsome, confident man he’d been when he’d arrived, he was now beginning to resemble a hungry fox; but one that would
not
let go of the little bird clamped in its jaws. He was wary, too — of every noise, creak and sigh the house made, as though something might lie in wait for him around each corner and in the depths of every murky shadow.

The girls took seats around the table.

Sarah said, ‘I have something to tell you, Jared, about Rachel. Well,
from
Rachel, actually.’

‘Yes?’ Jared said again, but much more cautiously this time.

Something made a scratching sound at the window and he started badly. The sun had set but a ribbon of ruby light remained
on the horizon; he rose and drew the curtains against it, turning up all the lamps in the room as he returned to his chair.

‘When we were transported here,’ Sarah said, ‘there was a convict on our ship named Bella Jackson. She’s known here as Bella Shand.’

A tiny flicker of recognition in Jared’s eyes, quickly pinched out.

‘Do you know her?’ Friday asked.

‘I’ve heard the name.’

Sarah continued. ‘Well, we certainly know who she is, and so did Rachel.’

Jared made a circling, ‘get on with it’ motion with a limp hand. ‘And?’

‘Rachel sees a lot of things, Jared. Doesn’t she, Harrie?’

‘She exists in two different dimensions, you see,’ Harrie explained. ‘And when she isn’t here, she’s with the others. She’s with the dead.’

An uneasy look from Jared. ‘What’s this got to do with Bella Shand?’

Friday ignored the question. ‘And sometimes some of those dead folk are upset because they’ve been disturbed. Someone might have, let’s say, stolen their bodies, or even just parts of their bodies? And they might want them back.’

Jared went very still.

Sarah let the silence spin out like a long line of silk from a busy spider. Finally, she leant forwards. ‘Rachel knows, Jared. She knows you stole those heads off Bella.’

Jared’s lips went white and a tic started in his left eye. ‘You’re mad. I did no such thing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You brought a shipment of tattooed heads back from New Zealand for Bella and kept four of them to sell yourself.’

‘I did not.’ The flesh on Jared’s face seemed to have shrunk even tighter over his bones, just like one of the heads he’d stolen.

‘Rachel says you did.’

‘Prove it.’

‘We don’t have to. I’m sure Bella will. When we tell her.’

Friday shook her head ruefully. ‘She’ll be
roaring
when she finds out you played the crooked cross on her. Dearie me, I’m glad I’m not walking in your boots.’

‘Oh.’ Jared sat back in his seat, eyes narrowing. ‘Oh, I understand now, you trio of conniving bloody bitches.’

‘Sticks and stones, Jared,’ Friday remarked.

‘This is extortion, isn’t it?’

‘Well done.’ Sarah did a couple of slow hand claps.

‘In exchange for you not informing Bella Shand about this
alleged
theft, you want me to … what? What
do
you want?’ Jared glared at Sarah.

‘I want a confession from you in writing,’ Sarah said, returning the glare just as forcefully, ‘stating clearly that you framed Adam. Because you did, didn’t you? You set him up.’

Another scraping noise came at the window, but this time Jared didn’t seem to hear it. Though Harrie did.

Jared shrugged, as though fabricating an associate’s complicity in a crime was all in a day’s work. ‘And if I do, you’ll keep your counsel? All of you? About everything?’

Sarah nodded.

He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, stared unseeingly ahead for several moments, then muttered, ‘Get me paper and a pen.’

Sarah fetched from the chiffonier a sheet of paper and a nib in a holder, lay them before Jared, and stood at his side.

‘And it will all end with this?’ he asked.

‘You have our word.’

He scribbled quite a lengthy sentence. Over his shoulder Sarah read:
I confess that I, Jared Gellar, planted a coral brooch at the premises of Adam Green, George Street, then anonymously informed the Sydney Constabulary that Adam Green had received said brooch as stolen property
.

Her heart almost in her mouth, Sarah shot a glance at Friday and Harrie, then demanded, ‘Now sign it.’

Jared put down the pen. ‘No. Fuck you, I won’t. I don’t trust you.’

An almighty rattling and scratching came at the window: Sarah, Friday and Jared all cried out in alarm and turned towards the racket.

Only Harrie remained calm. She crossed to the window and drew back the curtains. Outside, its wings beating wildly against the glass, hovered a bat. Its belly was covered with pale fur and in its sharp-eared head glittered round, intelligent eyes.

Harrie grasped the bottom of the sash and thrust it up.

‘
No!
’ Jared shouted, and dashed for the door into the hallway.

But Friday gave him a shove, knocking him into the chiffonier. Emitting a furious, high-pitched chittering, the bat launched itself up off the windowsill and flapped clumsily into the dining room, its wings — two feet from tip to tip — brushing the wall and the ceiling. It tumbled, tried to gain height, hit the wall again and flapped over Jared, who shrieked and struck out at it. The thing retaliated, tearing at his scalp with the sharply curved claws on its feet. He ducked and flailed wildly but it dropped again, raking his face this time, then landed on the table where it came to rest on its belly, wings half folded and pointed elbows raised, staring beadily at him.

Then, to Sarah’s appalled fascination, it began to drag itself towards him, bony, membrane-covered arms working, mouth agape to reveal sharp little teeth, that ear-piercing chittering filling the room again.

As blood poured down his face and soaked into his collar, Jared snatched up the pen, scribbled his signature on his confession, made a break for the back door and wrenched it open. They heard him tear down the yard to the gate, the rattle of the bolt as he wrestled with it, an echoing slam as the gate flew open and bounced off the fence, and then … nothing.

‘Well,’ Harrie said, looking around the dishevelled room.

A picture had fallen off the wall, a pair of candlesticks and a vase lay on the floor, the vase in a dozen pieces, and blood had spattered across the wallpaper above the chiffonier and onto the dining table, a few garnet-red drops on the confession letter.

The bat gave a single chirrup.

Harrie gathered it carefully in her hands and carried it to the window. ‘Time to go,’ she said, and launched it into the air. ‘Take care!’

The creature flapped its wings, found the evening breeze and rode upwards in ever-increasing spirals until it disappeared from view.

‘Was that …? Oh my Christ,’ Friday said in an extremely shaky voice.

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have opened the window,’ Harrie said with a tiny smile. ‘Bats will get into everything if you’re not careful.’

Sarah sat down at the table and burst into tears.

The next morning Sarah rose with the sun, filled the copper, lit the fire beneath it, and cleared out Jared’s room. She hauled his trunk down from the top of the clothes press, helped herself to one or two of his papers, and filled it with everything else of his she could find. She dragged the trunk downstairs, bumping heavily on every step, and outside to the back porch. That way, if he came back for his things, he’d have no reason to enter the house.

Then she stripped his bed, threw everything into the copper, and scoured the room from floorboards to ceiling. The more she scrubbed, the better she felt. At nine o’clock, she put a sign on the door saying the shop would be closed for the day. She had more to do today than just wash away the grubby vestiges of Jared Gellar’s presence.

At a little after ten she changed into one of her better dresses, brushed her hair, chose a decent bonnet, locked the house and set off up George Street for the police office. On the spur of the moment,
she reversed direction completely and headed for Harrington Street to ask Friday to come with her. She’d been determined to do this by herself, but now that the time had come she wasn’t sure she could. She needed her friends with her.