The interview had been all the more disturbing for him because she was a very attractive girl, which had made him feel uncomfortably on edge and even more conscious of potential rumours regarding any relationship between them. He had been unable to stop himself envisioning the graceful lines of her ripe body rising naked from his bed each morning, and had had to cross his legs to conceal the evidence. It had been sixteen months since Emily had passed away, seventeen since he had seen and been intimate with her. Or any woman.
But it wasn’t Rowie Harris he wanted, it was Harrie Clarke, and it had been since before he’d learnt of Emily’s death, if he were to be truly honest with himself. Harrie, however, was refusing even to speak to him, never mind demonstrate an inclination to share his cottage. So, feeling guilty because his libido had betrayed him, he’d apologised to Rowie for lecturing her, then surprised himself by hiring her. She’d driven a hard remunerative bargain, his position somewhat undermined by the tale of woe she’d spun about her family in England because it had resonated so closely with Harrie’s, and he strongly suspected he was paying her over the odds, but what did that matter? He could afford it.
The room Rowie occupied was external, a skilling built on to one side of the cottage and not accessible from within. The day after she’d moved in she’d asked him to have a lock fitted to the door. He’d assumed she was concerned about her personal safety and had obliged, but it had taken several more days for him to realise, with considerable shock, that it might be him she was worried about. He’d very awkwardly broached the subject and had been relieved — and vaguely insulted — when she’d admitted that an advance from him had been the last thing on her mind. But she confessed she was concerned about her safety, and that she had friends with whom she wanted to spend private time, which he could hardly prohibit on moral grounds, given her previous job.
So the tension that clearly only he had been experiencing had abated, and they were now getting along together very well. He couldn’t imagine how he had managed before without her. She was very capable in terms of domestic affairs, cheerful, somewhat cheeky, and seemed to know a fair number of Sydney’s townsfolk. And if people were gossiping about the fact he had a live-in servant, James no longer cared. It was worth it, even if just for Rowie’s scrambled eggs.
‘Will you be here for supper?’ she asked as she set the teapot down near his plate.
‘I’m not sure yet. We’ve been very busy this week. Outbreak of dysentery again. Is there any black pudding left?’
‘Two slices or three?’
‘Three, please.’
Rowie served them and James ate them in four minutes flat, stifled a burp, blotted his mouth with his napkin, then checked his watch. ‘Excellent breakfast as usual, thank you, Rowie. What are your plans for today?’
She glanced around the cosy dining room-cum-parlour. ‘Cleaning up, I’ve those shirts of yours to starch, a bit of ironing, the windows, some shopping. Then I’ll be back to get the supper on, just in case you are home on time.’
James took a last hurried sip of tea, rose from the table and collected his bag from the floor next to a fireside armchair. He walked to the door, Rowie behind him. He turned and … only just stopped himself from kissing her goodbye. Good God! He must be feeling a lot more settled these days!
Seeing the tiny smile on her lips and feeling himself reddening, he said, ‘I’ll see you this evening.’
Sarah waited until Esther had slammed the shop door on her way out, told Adam in the workshop she was going ‘down the yard’, but instead crept upstairs to the best bedroom. Harrie was visiting this afternoon and Sarah wanted her mistress in a suitably precarious state of nerves.
She gazed around, brow furrowed, lower lip caught between her teeth, searching for something that would cause the biggest impact for just a small amount of effort, as she didn’t have much time.
What if she emptied Esther’s rice powder jar and put a dead mouse in it? Would a ghost do something like that? More to the point, was Esther likely to powder her face this afternoon? Because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t see it.
Perhaps if she pulled all the bedclothes off the bed? No, that wouldn’t work; she wasn’t sure if Esther had been up to her room between breakfast and leaving the house. If she hadn’t, she would just accuse Sarah of not making her bed today.
Foot tapping, she thought about it, letting her mind wander wherever it wanted to go.
And then she had it.
From the clothes press she lifted out the cream muslin dress Esther had worn the evening Jared Spider-Fingers Gellar had come to supper. Placing her feet carefully to avoid creaky floorboards, and working quickly because she knew Esther had only gone to the chemist’s, she laid the dress on the floor and spread out the sleeves and skirt. Then she arranged Esther’s best satin slippers below the skirt, the toes turned out slightly, and took a pair of lavender kidskin gloves from the dressing table and placed one at the end of each sleeve.
They weren’t really suitable for evening wear, though, were they, kidskin gloves? Sarah opened a drawer of the press and discovered at least two dozen more pairs. Christ, no wonder Adam was always scolding Esther for spending money. She grabbed a white lace pair and swapped them for the kidskin, then cast a critical eye over her handiwork. Not bad, but she needed something else. What, what, what?
Then her gaze fell on the perfect finishing touch; Esther’s hairpiece, a collection of long blonde ringlets she occasionally pinned into her hair. Sarah artistically spread them on the floor above the bodice of the dress, leaving a gap that would accommodate a neck and a face, and tucked a tortoiseshell comb ornamented with paste diamonds into the ringlets. Perfect.
The whole ensemble looked really quite grotesque, as though a woman not even a second earlier had been wearing the costume but had suddenly vanished. Which was exactly the effect Sarah intended.
She crept downstairs, banged the back door, went through the shop to the workshop and took her place beside Adam.
‘Warm, isn’t it?’ she commented. ‘I nearly fainted in the privy.’
‘That,’ Adam said as he polished the shank of a newly repaired ring, ‘could more likely be attributed to the state of the privy. It’s time I paid someone to dig a new pit and move it.’
Sarah grunted. They worked companionably together for some minutes, though she sensed Adam had something on his mind. At last he came out with it.
‘Sarah, I need to go to Van Diemen’s Land soon. I’ll be away for perhaps three weeks. I know Esther pushes you to the limit at times, but while I’m gone do you think you and she can get along without too much aggravation?’
Bloody unlikely. ‘I can’t see why not,’ Sarah said.
‘She’s rather unsettled at the moment.’
‘I had noticed.’
‘I might even be home in less than three weeks, if I can complete my business quickly.’
‘What will happen with the shop?’ Sarah asked. ‘We’ve been busy lately. I can’t be in the workshop and behind the counter at the same time.’
‘I’ve arranged for another jeweller to step in while I’m away, a friend and colleague of mine, Bernard Cole,’ Adam said. ‘He has premises on Pitt Street, but his wife is perfectly capable of managing the shop by herself. And willing,’ he added a little sourly.
Sarah experienced a vague pang she recognised as disappointment, though to feel that, she knew, was ridiculous. What might she do were she to be left unsupervised? Pile the safe and the entire contents of the shop onto a handcart, push it along to Mr Skelton’s and pawn the lot? Surely even Adam would notice that. Or was she disappointed because he didn’t trust her?
‘Won’t your colleague be short someone in his workshop?’
‘He doesn’t manufacture, he’s retail only. And he’ll only be here during opening hours. I think you’ll like him, Sarah.’
Not if he was as odious as Jared Gellar, she wouldn’t. Mentally she crossed her fingers, but without much hope.
&nb
sp; The shop door opened then closed with such a bang Sarah knew Esther had returned. With a pleasant sense of anticipation she settled more comfortably onto her stool and waited for the explosion. Footsteps could be heard on the stairs, a door squeaked overhead, then a very rewarding shriek echoed down the stairwell.
Adam started, fumbling his pliers, and stared wide-eyed at Sarah. ‘Christ, was that Esther?’
‘Was it?’
But Adam was already rushing out of the workshop.
Sarah thought Harrie was doing an excellent job of pretending to be upset. Her normally rosy face was almost haggard and she looked as though she hadn’t slept properly in days.
They were in the dining room this time, taking advantage of the fact that Esther had taken to her bed after her dreadful shock that morning. Or rather, she’d taken to Adam’s bed as she’d refused to go back into her own chamber.
‘You should have seen her,’ Sarah said, her voice low but full of glee. ‘Her hair was almost standing on end. It was my best trick yet!’
‘She’s not going to want to hear any more ghost stories, then, is she?’ Harrie said.
‘She won’t be able to help herself. Wait and see.’
Sarah went upstairs and knocked gently on Adam’s bedroom door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Just me, Mrs Green,’ Sarah called out softly. ‘Do you need anything at the moment? Tea? Brandy?’
‘No. Go away.’
‘It’s just that Harrie’s here. She’s in a bit of a state and needs my help. It’s about our friend. The one who died.’
There was a long silence. Then Esther said, ‘You can have ten minutes with her. That’s all.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Green.’ Sarah smirked and returned to the dining room.
She poured tea for herself and Harrie and when she heard Esther step off the bottom stair and come to a rustling halt in the short hallway, she started talking.
‘Have you actually seen her, though, Harrie? Properly? When you’re not dreaming, I mean.’
‘Yes. Yes, I have,’ Harrie replied. ‘Standing at the end of my bed. Or sometimes sitting in the rocking chair in my room.’
Sarah thought that was an inspired touch. ‘Yes, I’ve seen her, too, though I haven’t told anyone. And she’s been moving my things around. And Mrs Green came home this morning and found her clothes all over her bedroom floor!’
Harrie hesitated; she’d forgotten what to say again. Sarah gently kicked her shin and mouthed the words.
‘Well, I wonder why Rachel would be bothering Mrs Green?’ Harrie parroted woodenly.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps she’s angry at her because she wouldn’t permit me time off to go to her funeral.’
A muffled gasp came from the hallway.
‘I hope she goes away soon,’ Harrie said.
‘So do I. God knows how far Rachel will go to get her revenge.’
Harrie burst into tears.
Sarah nodded in approval: this wasn’t in the script but it was good. She jumped as she heard Adam’s voice.
‘Esther, shouldn’t you be resting?’
‘Get your hands off me!’ Esther hissed.
There was a scuffling noise, then hurried footsteps retreating up the stairs.
Adam appeared in the dining-room doorway. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you were in the yard.’
Sarah stood. ‘We can go out there if you’d prefer.’ Bugger; he’d ruined everything.
‘No, stay where you are.’ Adam glanced at Harrie, who was surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes,’ Sarah said.
Adam eyed them a moment longer, then nodded and disappeared back down the hallway.
‘Shite,’ Sarah said. But Harrie was still crying. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t know.’ Harrie blew her nose. ‘I just feel … I don’t know.’
Overhead the floorboards creaked.
‘Is it James and that girl he’s hired?’ Sarah asked shrewdly.
Friday had told her about James Downey getting himself a maid of all work, and Sarah had been wondering how Harrie felt about it. A prostitute, too. Actually, an ex-prostitute according to Friday, but Sarah expected the news wasn’t sitting comfortably with Harrie. Well, she’d been warning Harrie for months Downey would lose interest if she continued to spurn him, and obviously now he had, because what bachelor paid an attractive girl to live in and just starch his collars?
Harrie flapped her hand in a half-hearted attempt at dismissal, then nodded and choked out another sob. ‘That, and Matthew Cutler.’
Sarah frowned; the name was familiar. ‘Who?’
Upstairs raised but muffled voices could be heard.
‘Matthew Cutler, the other gentleman on the Isla. Remember, he gave Friday his address to give to me?’
‘Oh yes, your admirer. What about him?’
Harrie’s face, already pink from weeping, flushed a deep red. ‘I’ve invited him to afternoon tea. This Saturday.’
Sarah gasped and laughed at the same time. ‘Harrie Clarke, you hussy! How forward of you! And you, of all people, Miss Prissy-Skirts!’
‘Oh, don’t,’ Harrie pleaded.
‘Will you actually go?’ Sarah knew what it must have cost Harrie to ask Matthew Cutler, and what measure it was of her jealousy regarding James.
‘Yes. Why shouldn’t I?’
‘That’ll teach him, won’t it?’ Sarah said.
‘Who?’
‘You know very well who. You can’t fool me, Harrie.’
Harrie stared at her, opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again and concentrated on folding her handkerchief into a neat, ever-diminishing square. On the floor above something thumped, and a door slammed.
Finally she said, ‘Well, he should have thought twice before taking on a whore as a house girl.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Harrie, this isn’t like you. You don’t even know this girl. She might be perfectly nice.’
Harrie’s sour expression clearly conveyed her appraisal of that likelihood. ‘And there’s another thing. I saw Bella Jackson in Princes Street, when I went to see Matthew. And she saw me. It … it unsettled me.’
‘God, really? That must have given you a fright.’
‘If she knows what we did,’ Harrie said, her voice rising, ‘why doesn’t she damn well do something? This waiting and waiting for something to happen is sending me insane.’
Sarah moved around the table and gave Harrie a quick hug. ‘Hush, love. And I know. I think that’s the point. It’s supposed to.’
Eyes filling with tears again, Harrie looked up at her. ‘But I don’t know how much longer I can stand it, Sarah. I really don’t.’
‘Leave the clearing up for a minute, Harrie,’ George Barrett said. ‘Sit down. I’d like a word. Go away, kids. Shoo.’
Harrie glanced at Nora, who raised her eyebrows, mystified, and sat down again at the small dining table around which the Barrett family and Harrie squeezed themselves at meal times.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ George announced.
Oh no, Harrie thought; George often had ideas, frequently to do with making money, and they weren’t always good ones. The most recent had involved using the skins from rats caught by Angus the cat to manufacture gloves, hat-bands and purses, and passing them off as articles made from ‘genuine’ tree-bear hides to a vendor in George Street market. Being of inferior quality they’d quickly disintegrated and the stallholder was still vigorously pursuing a refund of his investment.
‘What is it this time?’ Nora asked warily.
‘It’s regarding Harrie’s remarkable talents as a pattern-drawer,’ George said. ‘Hannah, I said go away! I can see you over there!’
Harrie knew it couldn’t be to do with her designs he’d said he was sending to England — they would take four months to get there by ship, and any potential response at least another four months to arrive back.
‘I w
as down on the waterfront today, near the Commissariat Stores,’ George went on, deliberately not looking at his wife, whose face had taken on a very pinched expression, her mouth a straight, white line. ‘And I happened to run into a friend.’
‘Really?’ Nora said contemptuously. ‘What was her name?’
Harrie felt herself reddening. According to Friday, there was a brothel of very ill repute on lower George Street near the Stores; surely Nora couldn’t be alluding to that?
‘It was Leonard Dundas, actually, Nora,’ George replied, though his own face had gone pink. ‘He was telling me he’s so busy at the moment he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s getting more and more coming into the shop and can barely keep up, and was saying he’d like to offer more variety but doesn’t have the time to develop that side of the business. So I thought, well, we’ve got the perfect remedy to that problem right here, haven’t we?’ He beamed, thrilled by his own cleverness. ‘I had a word and he’s willing to pay, and given how good Harrie is at what she does, we’ll be quids in. We’re going to see him this afternoon.’
Harrie was alarmed; and Nora didn’t seem any happier.
‘That’s all very well, but what am I supposed to do if Harrie’s off working somewhere else? What about the children? What about my business?’
‘Well, you’ll just have to work harder, won’t you?’ George shrugged. ‘Lewis is almost three months old now — surely he doesn’t need your attention all the time?’
Harrie leant back in her chair, ready to dive out of the way if necessary. She’d seen Nora Barrett lose her temper before; it was a rare occurrence, but always spectacular.
Nora’s face was white, except for a vivid red patch on each cheek. She took a deep, controlled breath, her nostrils flaring. ‘No, George, if you expect me to continue with my business, and manage the children and the household without Harrie, you will have to help look after Lewis.’
Girl of Shadows Page 9