Kitty (30 page)

‘Oi! That’s enough of that!’ the guard cried, striding across the room and yanking them apart.

Kitty stumbled against the wall, banging her head. The guard flicked his hand at her. ‘Go on, away with you!’ he said, his grip still firm on Rian’s arm.

Kitty nodded, gave Rian one last glance and scurried out. Her right ear stung where she’d connected with the wall and the sleeve of her dress was torn. But none of that mattered because the forged receipt was now tucked safely inside Rian’s shirt.

They were glad they’d arrived early, as the courtroom was already packed.

‘They can’t all have come to see Rian,’ Kitty said to Mrs Doyle, who was squashed onto the bench beside her.

‘No, but it’s an entertainment, isn’t it?’ Mrs Doyle said, breaking off a piece of the bap she held in her lap and popping it into her mouth. ‘There’s always this many folk.’

The noise was considerable, with people chattering and calling out
to each other as though they were at some jolly public event. Glancing up at the rather magnificent clock on the wall above the dock, Kitty saw that proceedings were running late: Rian’s appearance had been set down for half past ten, and it was five minutes to eleven already and the magistrate hadn’t even put in an appearance yet. Below her, she could see Mr Kinghazel sitting on a pew at one of the long tables facing the magistrate’s dais. On the other side of the floor sat another man wearing dusty black robes and a wig. She called out to Hawk, who was sitting three people along next to Sharkey.

‘Is that Clement Prentice?’ she said, pointing down at the man in black.

Hawk nodded.

‘Is he any good?’

Hawk’s face split into one of his rare but sunny smiles. ‘Does it matter now?’

Kitty laughed and sat back, looking forward to what could be a thoroughly entertaining session.

Finally, a man appeared through a side door and called out officiously, ‘All rise for Justice Roper!’

‘Who’s that man?’ Kitty asked as she stood.

Mrs Doyle stayed sitting and didn’t even look up from her bap. ‘Officer of the court.’

A moment later Justice Roper himself entered, a small man in black and red robes, spectacles and a top-heavy grey wig, who looked very jaded and grumpy even from Kitty’s vantage point.

Then Rian, his hands and legs manacled, was escorted into the courtroom by a guard and guided into the dock. He looked sober, but not particularly worried, which Kitty took to be a very good sign.

The officer of the court stood and read out the charge. There was only the one—failing to pay customs and excise duties—but it still elicited an ‘oooh’ of anticipation from the crowd because of the potential severity of the punishment for such a misdemeanour.

Mr Kinghazel, apparently, was prosecuting the case he’d brought himself. He stood up and began to describe to the magistrate what
he’d discovered when he’d boarded the defendant’s schooner, known as the
Katipo,
unannounced in Sydney Cove on the seventeenth day of November last year—namely, a hundredweight of close-packed Virginia tobacco and a dozen hogsheads of whiskey and the same of brandy.

At this, the courtroom observers gave a loud cheer, causing the officer of the court to stand up and yell, ‘Order!’

Kinghazel went on with his story. Unfortunately, he related, he had neglected to take with him the accoutrements he needed to issue an official receipt for the duties he had
assumed
Captain Rian Farrell was going to pay, and had to row all the way back into shore to collect them. When he returned to the schooner, however, not very much later at all, he found to his consternation that both the tobacco and spirits had vanished into thin air.

‘Trumped-up charge!’ Sharkey bellowed.

‘Order!’

The magistrate waited for the noise to die down then enquired in an unexpectedly robust voice, ‘And why is it that you have left it so long to bring this charge against Captain Farrell, Mr Kinghazel? It has been—What is it now? The eleventh of May?—it has been nearly six months since that particular visit to the defendant’s schooner. Surely you could have issued a warrant for his arrest before now?’

‘I could not, my lord.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because when I returned to shore yet
again
to seek the assistance of the constabulary, Captain Farrell upped anchor and scarpered—’

Laughter this time.

‘—and has not been seen in Sydney Cove since, until this most recent, and I have to say, given his current predicament, very ill-advised, visit.’ Kinghazel smirked up at the dock. Rian ignored him.

Judge Roper made a steeple out of his fingers. ‘And because the defendant, as you describe it,
scarpered,
you haven’t issued a warrant until now. Is that right?’

‘Correct, my lord.’

‘Mmm. Mr Kinghazel, what do you think happened to the contraband
you allegedly discovered on Captain Farrell’s vessel last November?’

‘Where did it go when I went ashore, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘I believe Captain Farrell had someone nearby in a rowboat, waiting to collect the goods. In fact, I suspect I interrupted that very procedure, my lord. If I had been even fifteen minutes later I would have missed the transaction completely.’

‘Could he not have just tipped the lot over the side while you were retrieving your, er, receipt-making accoutrements,’ Judge Roper asked, ‘thereby avoiding the problem entirely? The problem of having to pay customs duties, I mean. In which case you will have charged Captain Farrell erroneously and brought him to court for nothing.’

Kinghazel said, ‘Two dozen hogsheads, my lord. Would you sacrifice that?’

‘No, I suppose I would not.’

More laughter.

‘I rest my case,’ Kinghazel said. ‘I saw the tobacco and the liquor with my own eyes, and when I returned to Captain Farrell’s vessel it had gone. I have every reason to believe that he had it taken off, and profited from subsequent sales without paying customs duties. Hence the warrant for his arrest.’ He sat down, still smirking.

Kitty sensed movement to her left; Pierre was climbing onto a pew.

‘This charge is trumped!’ he yelled. ‘Monsieur Kinghazel est un morceau de merde de
chien
!’

‘Get that Frenchman out of my courtroom!’ the judge barked, banging his desk viciously with his gavel. ‘Guards!’

But Pierre beat them to it, jumping down from the pew and, to a chorus of hoots and laughter, scampering up the aisle to the back of the room where he hovered just outside the door, making sure he could still see what was going on.

Kitty winced; this could quite possibly turn into a shambles.

Judge Roper sighed and pointed at Clement Prentice, who was wearing a pained expression. ‘Mr Prentice, what do you have to say in defence of your client?’

Clement Prentice rose to his feet, shuffled through the papers spread on the table before him, and cleared his throat. ‘My lord, it is my intention today, here in these hallowed halls of justice and adjudication, and my personal privilege, in your honourable presence—’

‘Get on with it, man,’ the judge growled.

Chastened, Mr Prentice tugged at the front of his gown. In the dock, Rian whispered something to the guard standing near him, who came down from the dock and approached the lawyer.

The crowd hushed: this was a potentially interesting departure from the usual order of things.

Prentice then crossed the floor himself, standing in front of the dock while Rian said a few words to him, then handed him a folded piece of paper. Prentice took the document, opened it and nearly fainted. Even from halfway up in the observers’ gallery Kitty could see that his face had paled.

There was a moment of complete silence, during which the heels of Clement Prentice’s highly polished shoes resounded on the floorboards as he walked over to the magistrate’s dais, hesitantly at first, then with considerable confidence. He handed the document up to Judge Roper, who read it once, and then again.

‘This,’ the judge announced, ‘is a receipt for customs duties paid on a hundredweight of Virginia tobacco and two dozen hogsheads of whiskey and brandy by Captain Rian Farrell on the seventeenth day of November, 1839. Mr Kinghazel? I would very much appreciate it if in future you did not waste my time.’ He brought his gavel down hard. ‘Case dismissed.’

The predominantly ex-convict crowd erupted. It wasn’t often the underdog triumphed over the might of the English judicial system, and when it happened it was always a cause for celebration.

Rian was able to walk free from the courthouse and they went straight to the Bird-in-Hand. Kitty, however, worked the afternoon shift at St Patrick’s, as Mrs Maguire was becoming less and less enamoured of the time off she had been requesting over the past few weeks.

But when she had finished she went the two doors down to the Bird-in-Hand and joined in the festivities. Rian and his men were in a right state, even Hawk, whom Kitty had hardly ever seen more than slightly mellow from alcohol.

She sat down, meeting Rian’s gaze and quickly looking away again. There was something in his eyes that she didn’t want to acknowledge or even contemplate right now. Not while he was this drunk, anyway.

The table was littered with tankards and mugs, half-eaten bread, cheese and pickles, and little piles of pipe ash. The men were all red-eyed and dishevelled, Sharkey so drunk he was almost at the stage that Kitty knew preceded the alcohol-fuelled violence for which he was famous. If they weren’t careful, she thought, at least one of them might find himself back in Sydney Gaol before the night was out. She must make sure that she and Wai left for home before the first punch was thrown.

But for now they were still singing and laughing and generally acting the goat. She signalled to Mr Scanlon behind the bar for her customary glass of port. Most of the women she had met on The Rocks drank gin or ale, but she didn’t like the bitter juniper taste of gin and ale sent her endlessly to the privy, which was never a good idea given the state of the Bird-in-Hand’s sanitary facilities.

‘Do you want a glass of port?’ she asked Wai.

Wai shook her head and nodded at the tumbler of water on the table in front of her. She seldom drank alcohol, and whenever she had of late she’d complained of a burning pain in her stomach, which her midwife had informed her was almost certainly indigestion. Mrs Byrne had also said, however, that stout or porter was good for a nursing mother, and to keep that in mind.

Mr Scanlon set Kitty’s glass down. ‘On the house,’ he said.

Kitty thanked him and turned back to Wai. ‘Have they been like this all afternoon?’

Wai nodded. ‘Very silly,’ she said, ‘but also very funny. Pierre has fallen down two times already.’

Kitty shot a glance at the little Acadian, who waggled his fingers back at her. His moustache had lost its jaunty little turn-up at the ends and his

eyes were bleary and somewhat crossed. Gideon was no better. Ropata was asleep, his head lolling against the wall and his mouth open. They would all pay mightily in the morning, Kitty thought, but she didn’t begrudge them.

She sipped her port. ‘Where’s Mick?’

Wai pointed at the door as he came through it, doing up the buttons on his trousers.

‘Well, look who it is!’ he said, sitting down unsteadily. ‘Kitty Carlisle, the bravest colleen we’ve ever had the pleasure of sailing with, so she is.’ He raised his tankard. ‘And might I also say, one of the prettiest. And clever. What a combination, eh? Come on then, speech!’

Kitty felt herself blushing, with both embarrassment and pleasure. Rian stared at her intently again, his expression warm and appreciative, and this time she held his gaze for a long moment.

‘Well, it had to be done,’ she said. Jokingly, she added, ‘But of course if Rian kept better track of his papers, we wouldn’t have had to go to such lengths, would we?’

Sharkey let out a loud burp. ‘Yes, we would.’

Puzzled, Kitty said, ‘No, if we’d had that receipt Rian wouldn’t even have been arrested.’ She looked Rian. ‘Would you?’

Sharkey laughed. ‘Wake up, lass,’ he said. ‘We never intended to pay the duty, and we didn’t. There was no receipt. Forging one was the only way we could get him off the hook.’

Stunned, Kitty sat motionless, dimly aware of some sort of pressure expanding inside her chest, something hard and sharp pushing out against her bones. Was it anger or humiliation, or just the familiar feeling of betrayal?

She leant across the table and slapped Rian’s face as hard as she could. His eyes watered and there was a red hand print across his right cheek, but he said nothing. She got up and walked out.

H
awk looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else but sitting across the table from her, preferably somewhere dark, quiet and cool. He still smelled of the pub and he was so hungover his face was almost grey. Even his braids lacked their usual lustre.

Kitty offered him sugar but he declined, sipping his coffee black.

One of the kittens squeaked from the hearth, where Haunui had finally made them a new nest in a basket.

‘Why should I believe that?’ she asked. ‘How do I know he didn’t just send you here with another story? I wouldn’t put it past him. Or you.’ She stirred her own coffee angrily. ‘You’re as bad as each other, the lot of you.’

‘I know how you must feel—’

‘No, you don’t!’ she snapped. ‘You have
no
idea! I was absolutely terrified at Hyde Park Barracks, and Avery Bannerman is the most disgusting old lecher. I’ve never ever done anything like that before in my life. I felt like…I felt like a whore! But do you know what kept me going?’

Hawk shook his head, although Kitty knew he wasn’t a stupid man, and as she spoke it gave her a small measure of satisfaction to see him wince.

‘The knowledge that Rian was locked in a filthy little cell facing God knows what, just because some little upstart decided he needed his comeuppance. I thought it was so unfair and I was so worried for him. I
wanted to get him out, Hawk. That’s all I wanted—to get him
out
!’

‘He did not know what we were doing,’ Hawk said quietly. It was the fourth time he’d said it. ‘Not until we told him after the court appearance. He did not know how you got the forgery. I do not believe he would have allowed it.’ He met her eye. ‘I think he would have rather gone to the gallows than permit you to take that sort of risk.’

‘So why has he not come to tell me that himself?’

‘He did not think you would see him.’

‘Well, he was right about that,’ Kitty muttered. ‘And where on earth is Haunui?’

She had sent him along to the bakery nearly an hour ago to buy the day’s bread and hadn’t seen him since. The bakery was only around the corner, but he’d been so desperately hungover that she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d found somewhere to hide and sleep it off.

‘Would you speak to Rian if he came here?’ Hawk asked.

Kitty sighed and put her face in her hands. She’d just about had enough of all this. The events of the past week or so had left her feeling wrung out and drained, and last night’s revelation in the Bird-in-Hand had been almost too much for her to bear.

‘No, I don’t think I would, Hawk. Not for a while, anyway. I’m too weary, in here,’ she said, tapping her chest.

Hawk nodded.

She said, ‘I need to check on Wai.’ The girl had gone out to the privy ages ago and hadn’t come back yet.

Kitty went down the narrow hall to the back door and stepped outside, barely even noticing the stink of the slaughteryard now, and gasped as she saw Wai lying in the mud.

Kitty crouched next to her; it couldn’t be the baby, it wasn’t due for another four or five weeks at least.

‘It is my back,’ Wai said, grimacing with pain. ‘I thought I had to do a tiko, but nothing came. Then I fell down.’

She was very pale, and there was sweat on her upper lip and forehead.

Kitty shouted for Hawk, who came running.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked, looking down at Wai. ‘Is it the baby?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kitty said. ‘Would you go and get Mrs Doyle?’

Kitty held Wai’s hand until he reappeared a minute later, Mrs Doyle close behind him.

‘Has she had a fall?’ Mrs Doyle asked.

‘She said she wanted to use the privy. I found her like this a minute ago.’

Mrs Doyle bent and touched her hand to Wai’s forehead. ‘No fever, but she’s sweating. Where does it hurt, dear?’ she said loudly, as though Wai were hard of hearing, not her.

‘My back,’ Wai said, ‘and my stomach.’

‘I think it might be the baby,’ Mrs Doyle said. ‘Let’s get her inside. Kitty, go and fetch Mrs Byrne.’

Hawk bent and lifted Wai in his arms, as though she weighed virtually nothing, regardless of her large belly. He carried her inside and deposited her very gently on the day bed.

Kitty by then was at the other end of Caraher’s Lane and turning right into Middlesex Lane, where Mrs Byrne lived. She found the midwife’s house and hammered on the door. After a moment a little girl answered. She was eating bread and jam, which was all over her face.

‘Can you ask your mam to come to the door, please?’ Kitty said.

‘Is there a babby coming?’ the little girl asked.

‘Yes. Can you get your mam?’

‘Is it your babby?’

‘No, love. Go and get your mam, there’s a good girl,’ Kitty said.

Mrs Byrne came to the door wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Is it Wai? It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’

‘I think there might be a problem. She’s had a fall,’ Kitty said, resisting the urge to grab Mrs Byrne by the arm and drag her bodily down the lane.

‘Oh. Well, hang on, I’ll get me things.’

By the time they got back to Caraher’s Lane, Mrs Doyle had managed to get Wai out of her mucky dress and was sponging her face. She’d also
stoked the fire and settled a blanket over Wai’s legs. Hawk sat at the table, his cup of coffee forgotten.

‘Now, lass, what have we got here?’ Mrs Byrne said soothingly, bending over Wai and running her hands over her abdomen. ‘Can you tell us what happened?’

Wai explained again.

‘Did you lose your footing or did you faint?’ Mrs Byrne asked.

‘Faint,’ Wai said, grimacing.

‘From the pain, do you think?’

Wai nodded. ‘It feels like my stomach is being pulled out.’

‘I’ll have to have a look,’ Mrs Byrne said. She glanced over at Hawk and cleared her throat meaningfully.

He lurched to his feet. ‘I will wait outside.’

‘Could you see if you can find Haunui?’ Kitty said. ‘He went to the bakery about an hour ago. He’ll want to know what’s happening.’

Hawk nodded and left.

Mrs Byrne slid Wai’s chemise up to her waist and parted her legs. The fact that Wai wasn’t wearing her drawers didn’t seem to require any comment. Mrs Byrne put her head down and had a look. ‘Can’t see anything,’ she said. ‘Mrs Doyle, could you get us some water?’

Mrs Doyle took a bowl from the crockery shelf and crossed to the fireplace where there was always a pot of water on the back of the fire. She poured some into the bowl and set it on the table. ‘Where do you keep your towels, dear?’ she said to Kitty.

Mrs Byrne opened her bag and took out a bar of carbolic soap, dropped it into the bowl and began to lather her hands. She rinsed them, flicked the excess water off and took the towel Kitty handed her.

Then she sat on the side of the bed and did something that both fascinated and alarmed Kitty—she slid her fingers inside Wai and had a good feel around, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, not looking at Wai at all.

‘The opening to her womb is getting bigger,’ Mrs Byrne said. ‘It means the baby’s getting ready to come out.’

‘But it is not time,’ Wai said, an edge of panic to her voice now.

‘The baby thinks it is. Tell me about the pain.’

‘It is sharp and…’ Wai struggled for the appropriate words. ‘It is sharp and dragging at the same time. It feels like something wants to come out of my nono, not my tara.’

Mrs Byrne raised her eyebrows at Kitty.

‘She means, er, her back passage, not her vagina.’

‘Then the baby could be breech,’ Mrs Byrne said.

Wai’s face contorted as another wave of pain gripped her. ‘What is breech?’

‘A breech baby is one lying so it will come out bum first, instead of head first.’

‘Is that bad?’ Kitty said.

‘It’s not the best way for a baby to come into the world, I must admit, but we’ll manage. Don’t you worry, love,’ she said to Wai. ‘You’ll both be fine.’

‘And what is the pain?’

Mrs Byrne looked surprised. ‘That’s labour pain.’

‘No, I do not mean that,’ Wai snapped. ‘I know about the pain that comes with the baby. The sharp pain in my back, what is that?’

If Mrs Byrne was offended by being snapped at by a girl half her age, she didn’t show it. ‘That could be the baby pressing against your spine, and it would explain a lot of the niggles you’ve been having, wouldn’t it?’ she said, clearly satisfied at having found a definitive explanation for Wai’s earlier problems.

The front door flew open then and Haunui appeared in the doorway, clutching a large bunch of flowers. ‘Hawk said the baby is coming.’

‘Where have you been?’ Kitty demanded, more sharply than she meant to.

He thrust the flowers at her. ‘Getting these, to make you feel better,’ he said, and went over to Wai.

Kitty regarded them. The stems were not very neatly cut and there were all sorts of blooms in the bunch and they weren’t wrapped. ‘Oh. Thank you,’ she said, feeling very chastened.

‘What has happened?’ Haunui said to Mrs Byrne.

‘Your niece’s baby appears to be coming early. And it’s a breech birth, by the looks of it. Bum first.’

Haunui’s face stilled. ‘Will it be all right?’ he asked.

‘Well, it’s a matter of waiting and seeing,’ Mrs Byrne said. ‘She’s young and she’s healthy. I think so.’ She patted Wai’s leg, covered again by the blanket. ‘I’ve other visits to make this morning so I’ll come back this afternoon and see how you’re getting on. I can’t see much happening before tonight.’

Kitty followed her outside. ‘
Will
she be all right?’ she asked.

‘She could be in for a rough time,’ Mrs Byrne said, now that she was out of Wai’s earshot, ‘but I didn’t want to say that to the lass because it might not happen. I’ve delivered breech babies before—it’s not that unusual—and sometimes they turn of their own accord and pop out just as smoothly as you please.’

‘But what happens if they don’t turn?’

‘Well, sometimes it’s possible to ease them around inside the mother and help them out, and sometimes they get stuck in there.’

Fear reached into Kitty’s heart. ‘And then what?’

‘Well, sometimes they die.’

‘The mother or the baby?’ Kitty felt she needed to sit down.

‘Usually the baby, sometimes both. I’m sorry, love, but it happens. But as I said she’s young and healthy, and the baby’s likely to be undersized, being early, which might help. On the other hand it might count against the poor wee thing.’

Kitty closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t asked.

Mrs Byrne came back at five o’clock that afternoon and, as predicted, nothing had happened. Wai was still in pain but her waters hadn’t broken and her womb hadn’t opened any further. Mrs Byrne left again, after giving instructions on how to make a calming tea that Wai was to take every hour, and telling Kitty that she was to come straight to Middlesex Lane any time of the night if anything changed. Otherwise, she would be back in the morning.

They all had a very rough night. Wai’s pain worsened. Haunui refused to move her off his bed and spent the night sitting up at the table, drinking cups of tea and leaping up every time she moved or made a noise. Kitty couldn’t sleep either. By the time the sun rose they were all exhausted, Wai most of all.

Hawk and Pierre arrived at half past seven to ask if they needed anything, but Kitty sent them away again, saying she would send Haunui if they did. When Mrs Byrne returned after breakfast, Kitty went around to the St Patrick’s and told Mrs Maguire that she couldn’t come to work for the next few days.

Mrs Maguire was sympathetic, but she was also a businesswoman. ‘These things happen, I know that,’ she said to Kitty, ‘and I can allow you the next two days, but if you need more I’ll have to let you go. You’ve had a lot of time off lately, and I haven’t begrudged it, but I’ve a business to run and I can’t do it by myself.’

‘I know that, Mrs Maguire,’ Kitty said, ‘and I’m very grateful for your generosity. I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you. But if Wai and the baby need looking after, I’ll have to do it. I’ll give you as much notice as I can if I have to leave.’

Mrs Maguire nodded. ‘The baby’s early, you say?’

‘Yes, and the midwife says it’s breech.’

‘Oh dear, that’s a shame.’ The expression on Mrs Maguire’s face left Kitty in no doubt as to what she suspected might happen. ‘And it’s her first? Well, I might have a few things here your friend could probably put to good use, providing everything…Come with me.’

Kitty followed Mrs Maguire upstairs to a small room filled with boxes, trunks and spare bits of furniture. She sat down on a chair that needed sanding and opened a scuffed and battered trunk.

‘These were my children’s things,’ she said. ‘I’ve been keeping them to hand on to my grandchildren, but so far there haven’t been any and I’m beginning to wonder if there ever will be.’

‘I didn’t know you had children of your own,’ Kitty said.

‘Oh yes, I’ve two boys. I
had
two boys. They didn’t want to sail with their father so they both joined the Merchant Navy. Tam was drowned
two years ago. Rory’s twenty-one this year.’

She brought out garment after garment: tiny dresses, little knitted bonnets, mittens and leggings. And finally, a beautifully crocheted woollen shawl.

When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. ‘I hope your friend can use these. If not, bring them back and someone else can have them.’

Kitty accepted the clothes gratefully; they hadn’t bought anything for the baby yet.

Wai was pleased, fingering the delicate stitching and rubbing the soft wool against her cheek, but Kitty could see that even in the short time she’d been around at the pub her pain had worsened. Mrs Byrne had gone again, saying she’d return once more at dinnertime.

By then, it was becoming very clear that the baby wasn’t going to turn around by itself. Wai was now in severe pain, crying out with every contraction, which were starting to come at regular intervals. This time Mrs Byrne stayed. When Wai’s waters broke she declared that the womb had opened enough to let the baby through.

‘At least there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with that side of things,’ she said cheerfully.