But no spirit would dare appear tonight, not in here. She’d taken all the crosses and amulets and mezuzah from downstairs and arranged them around her bedroom, bar one large cross she’d nailed to the outside of her bedroom door, and filled eight preserving jars with rosemary cuttings and set them on the floor against the walls. As further insurance, she’d sprinkled around and over the bed a vial of holy water a Catholic acquaintance had obtained for her, just in case the girl Rachel had been a Catholic.
Esther finished brushing then quickly plaited her hair. She checked yet again that her bedroom door was locked — not that a lock would stop a spirit, she knew that — and at last climbed into bed, leaving the two lamps burning. She pulled the sheet and blanket up to her chin and lay sweating in the night’s heat, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the house as it creaked and ticked. Somewhere not far away a couple of dogs exploded into savage barking, the sound echoing up the gully forged by Tank Stream.
Minutes passed. Next door the neighbour’s cat started its nightly yowling. If Esther could operate a gun she would have shot it by now.
But there was no tapping, and there were no footsteps.
Sweat trickled down her temples and pasted her nightgown to her chest; unable to bear it, she threw off the blanket.
An hour passed.
Her eyelids were so heavy. Nothing had happened. Perhaps, tonight, it wouldn’t. Perhaps the amulets were working.
She drifted off to sleep.
Two hours later she jerked awake.
What was that? It came again; something bumping against the underside of the bed. And a dreadful, low, demonic growling. She leapt up onto her knees and stared down at the mattress.
For a moment everything was silent and still, then came a barrage of such violent thumping and banging the bed itself shifted across the floor.
She shrieked, scrambled off it and lunged for the door, which wouldn’t open. Remembering she’d locked it, she fumbled wildly with the bolt until it shot back, and ran out and down the stairs. Screaming her head off, she hurtled through the shop, wrestled with the front door and burst out into the street.
Upstairs, Friday rolled out from beneath Esther’s bed, barely recognisable in a shirt and trousers, the seat stretched rather tightly across her backside, with burnt cork rubbed all over her face and cobwebs festooning her tied-back hair. Giggling madly, Jimmy Johnson appeared on the other side looking equally dishevelled.
Friday urged, ‘Hurry up, we’ll only have a minute!’
They pelted down the stairs, Friday still favouring her healing leg, and escaped the house through the back door, stopping for a moment to retrieve Sarah’s skeleton keys from their hiding place behind a bush.
‘This is a flaming nice set of screws,’ Jimmy remarked, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. ‘Do you think she’ll notice if we don’t give them back?’
‘Yes, I bloody do,’ Friday replied. ‘Now hurry up and get over that fence.’
There was no time to open the gate; Friday gave Jimmy such an energetic leg up he landed flat on his back on the other side. It didn’t stop him giggling, though; he hadn’t had such a lark since his London days.
When Adam arrived back in Sydney, it was to a household in complete disarray.
He was sorry that Esther had relocated to a ladies’ lodging house, and concerned for her wellbeing, but profoundly angered by her dismissal of Sarah.
‘So you didn’t sign the papers?’ Bernard asked.
‘No, I did not. It’s never once crossed my mind.’
‘Well, that lass has an idea you did. If you want my advice, if you want her back you’d better get out to Parramatta fairly smartly.’
‘Christ.’ Adam ran his hand through his hair. He was tired from travelling, and hadn’t had a decent wash in days. ‘What on earth possessed her to do it?’
‘Your esteemed good woman?’ Bernard gave an eloquent shrug: who knew why women did the things they did? ‘You can probably answer that better than I can.’
But Adam wasn’t really listening. He looked at his watch. ‘If I hired a mount and left now I could get there by early evening.’
‘I’m surprised to hear myself saying this,’ Bernard said, sounding it, ‘but hadn’t you better attend to Esther first? She’s in the most terrible state, particularly after being alone here at night.’
‘For God’s sake,’ Adam said, biting off the words one by one. ‘If she hadn’t sent Sarah back to the Factory she wouldn’t have been alone, would she?’
‘Go and see her, Adam. Get that sorted out first.’
‘No. At least, not until tonight. I have to think first. This time she has absolutely gone too far.’
Adam and Esther walked back from the lodging house on upper Castlereagh Street in frosty silence, their discussion having petered out by the time they’d reached Market Street. Esther had complained bitterly about the terrifying experiences that had driven her out of her own home, and the dreadful conditions she’d had to endure in the lodging house; the cheap, mismatched furniture and hideous rag rugs and the like. And the women there! She wouldn’t be surprised to learn they were all on the town. She hadn’t needed too much persuading to return to George Street, despite its unearthly intruder, now that Adam was back. They would only be there a day or two anyway, she informed him, because he was to set about finding new premises immediately. She would not live in that house a moment longer than she had to.
Adam had lit all the lamps before he’d gone to fetch her; he was extremely annoyed and disappointed with Esther, but there was no sense in frightening her unnecessarily. He deposited her travelling case in the hall, then sat her down at the dining-room table.
‘What?’ she said. ‘I’ve to see to supper.’
‘No, supper can wait. I want to talk to you.’
‘About what?’
‘You know very well, Esther. You forged my signature, didn’t you?’
For a moment she looked as though she might lie about it, which would be pointless and they both knew it, because who else could have done it?
‘What if I did?’
‘Well, why? Why did you send her back?’
‘God have mercy, you are so stupid sometimes, Adam. Because I don’t want her here.’
‘But why not?’
Esther banged her hands on the table. ‘Because she brought the ghost of that girl with her! You have no idea what it’s been like for me! I’ve been terrorised day and night! It’s driving me insane!’
Again, Adam thought wearily. ‘Is that all?’
‘What do you mean, is that all? That’s enough, isn’t it?’
‘I do know you’ve been very frightened by all this … activity, and I agree, it has been rather puzzling.’
‘Puzzling? It’s been horrific!’
‘And I do understand how badly it’s affected your nerves. But Esther, you’d taken against Sarah before any of that had even started. This is all still to do with Cynthia, isn’t it?’
Esther’s face screwed up in fury and she shouted, ‘Cynthia, Cynthia, bloody Cynthia! Why is it whenever you say her name it sounds like you really want a fuck?’
Adam stared at her incredulously. ‘What? What the hell does that mean?’
‘You just can’t let her go, can you? And now there’s Sarah. I’ve seen the lewd way you look at her. Oh, you think you’re hiding it, but you’re not. I know.’
Adam felt himself go red because she was entirely accurate about his attraction to Sarah, though he would never act on his desire. He’d learnt his lesson.
‘Oh God, I’m right, aren’t I?’ Horrified that she’d proved herself correct, Esther grabbed a salt bowl and hurled it at Adam’s head, the contents scattering everywhere. He dodged and it missed. ‘She’s a whore, Adam, a common whore! That’s why I got rid of her!’
Brushing salt out of his hair, Adam said, ‘I’m fetching her back tomorrow.’
‘You are not! If you do, I’ll take matters into my own hands. I sw
ear I will.’
Abruptly, Adam stood. ‘I’ll speak to you in the morning.’
As he walked past the end of the table, Esther leapt up and punched him on the arm. He ignored it. She followed him down the hall, hitting his back and slapping at his head; at the foot of the stairs he turned and in silence pushed her away.
When he reached his room he locked his door.
Part Two
With Feet that Make
No Sound
Chapter Nine
November 1830, Parramatta Female Factory
Sarah had only been back at the Factory a little over a week but already it felt like months. When Mrs Dick had asked her what she’d done to ruin such a good assignment, Sarah had had to walk away before she hit her.
Nothing much had changed. The food was still deeply unappetising and the servings miserable, the living conditions were awful and the hospital remained a dire place to be. There were a few old faces, perhaps the oldest being Matilda Bain’s. Janie and the children were well, however, and Sarah had to admit it was very nice to spend time with them, even if it was within the confines of the Factory.
She had been returned as a first-class inmate, which meant she could be reassigned at any time. She’d worried that as a returnee she would be relegated to second class, separated from Janie and the babies, and therefore on probation, which would mean she would have to earn her way back into first class, but perhaps Bernard had bunged someone a bribe. If he had, she’d find a way to repay him because he’d done her a very big favour; she had to make money and the best place to do that was in town, and the only way to get into town was to be assigned there.
Sarah had been thinking about the past fifteen months and realised now she’d become too comfortable working for Adam Green; far too comfortable, lazy and really quite dangerously deluded. She’d allowed herself to believe that while he admired her skills as a jeweller he also liked her for herself, and obviously she’d been mistaken. He thought no more of her personally than he did of the cove who came every six months to dig a new hole for the crapper. She’d lost her finely honed edge, and because of that her instinct had failed and she hadn’t seen this coming. This was her own fault and she must never let it happen again.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Janie said.
‘Not worth that much.’ Sarah wiped Charlotte’s mouth with the hem of her apron. She’d done a particularly long dribble, stretching all the way from her plump bottom lip to her fist.
‘Bet they are.’
‘I don’t know. I’m just thinking that sometimes I need to kick my own arse.’
Janie snorted. ‘We all need to do that.’
‘How’s it been here? Really?’ Sarah asked. ‘Be honest. Wouldn’t you much rather be somewhere else?’
‘What, working for some bossy old bag running me ragged every day? No thanks. Me and the kids are fine here.’
‘You sure? Two babies are a lot to look after.’
‘Not for me.’
That was probably true, Sarah thought; Janie was a born mother.
‘I don’t mind,’ Janie went on. ‘I know I moan about it here but Pearl looks after me. I got plenty of money and supplies thanks to you lot, and most of the girls aren’t so bad. They’re my sort. Mrs Gordon’s all right. Letitia Dick’s a bitch but, well, I know how to stay out of her way.’
‘Don’t you ever want to see what’s outside the wall?’
‘Yeah, one day. But right now me job’s being a ma, isn’t it? You’ll know what it’s like when your turn comes.’
‘Don’t know if it will.’ Sarah couldn’t think of much that might be worse; she’d never really fancied the idea of having children of her own.
‘Get away. You’re fond of these two, aren’t you?’
They looked down at Charlotte and Rosie sitting on the ground in their nappies and nothing else, tossing handfuls of dirt at each other’s legs and squealing with delight.
‘Very, as long as I can hand them back to you.’
A shadow fell over them. ‘Are you Sarah Morgan?’ a girl asked.
Sarah squinted up at her. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘If you are, there’s a visitor for you in the visitors’ room,’ the girl declared.
‘Harrie or Friday?’ Janie guessed.
‘Not Harrie, she’ll be at work,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s not visiting day, either. It could be Bernard Cole. He did say he’d think about getting me assigned to him.’ Which wouldn’t be so bad, she supposed. Except she’d feel a bit low stealing from him, especially if he had paid a bribe to get her into first class. Bloody guilt — it really was playing havoc with the way she worked.
She stood, brushed the dirt off her skirt and made her way to the visitors’ room. The door was closed so she knocked and opened it.
Adam Green sat alone in the austere little room, his hat and gloves on the table. He looked tired and exasperated.
He nodded at her tersely. ‘Sarah.’
Startled into silence and instantly alert, her thoughts racing, she stayed where she was, a hand gripping the door knob for support. Was this about the missing jewellery? Was he going to tell her he’d reported her to the police?
He half rose, then sat down again. ‘I’m so sorry about Esther.’
She remained quiet, waiting.
‘I had no idea she was going to do that,’ he said. ‘I would never have agreed to it. I’d like you to come back. Please.’
Sarah’s heart soared and she struggled mightily to squash her elation. ‘Is that what Esther wants?’ she said, not bothering with ‘Mrs Green’.
‘It doesn’t matter what Esther wants. I’ve told her I’m bringing you back. Today.’
‘She doesn’t want me in the house, does she?’
Adam sighed. ‘No.’
‘Well, then I can’t come back.’
Sounding as irritable as he looked, Adam said, ‘For God’s sake, Sarah, will you come in? And close that door.’
Sarah shut the door behind her, chose the chair farthest from Adam’s, and sat down. ‘I don’t understand why she hates me so much.’
‘She’s jealous of you, and she thinks you brought the ghost.’ Adam’s eyes narrowed, just a little. ‘It isn’t real, is it, the ghost.’ A statement, not a question.
Sarah cast about for a way to agree, without actually admitting to him that she was responsible for orchestrating all of it. ‘It’s as real as she thinks it is.’
‘You’ve expended quite a lot of effort, haven’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Adam’s gaze bored into her: she could see he was angry — really quite angry — but she wasn’t at all sure now it was directed at her. Still, she glared back, refusing to lower her eyes.
‘I suppose I should ask you why,’ he said.
‘Why what?’
‘Why you bothered with the whole charade.’
‘It’s to do with loyalty, Adam, which is something Esther wouldn’t know the first thing about. And loyalty to friends continues even after they die. She should have let me go to the cemetery when Rachel was buried. It serves her right. And, yes, I know she’s jealous of me, but God knows why. That’s just ridiculous.’
And Adam thought, Oh God no, it isn’t, not at all. If I could only tell you, Sarah. If I could only touch you.
Instead he said, ‘Will you come back?’
‘No. I won’t. Not if she’s there.’
So Adam did something he’d been hoping to avoid, and which Sarah had clearly forgotten was within his power.
‘Well, you haven’t been physically mistreated during your assignment to me, you’re given enough food, you’re well-housed and not particularly overworked. You can lay no valid claim against me. I’ve explained to the superintendent here that my signature was forged on those papers and that you were returned without my permission. I’m your master, Sarah, and I’m telling you that you will come back to Sydney Town with me.’
Utterly shocked,
Sarah stared at him. ‘You rotten —’
‘That’s enough! Now go and pack your things.’
It was dark by the time they arrived at George Street, neither having said a single word during the long, rain-filled journey back. The house was silent, though the lamps were burning downstairs. On the dining-room table was a basket piled with Bernard’s ubiquitous buns, a note folded between the top two, sticky with jam. Adam opened it and read:
My Dear Adam,
Supper for you and the lass. The day’s takings are in the Safe. Her Ladyship was abroad before Midday, but I didn’t see her at all after that. Wouldn’t be surprised if Something was astir there. Come by if you need anything.
Your Friend,
Bernard Cole
‘Wait here, I’ll just check on Esther,’ Adam said to Sarah, a worm of dread stirring in his belly.
He climbed the stairs with legs that felt as heavy as lead and approached her closed bedroom door. She hadn’t taken that cross off it, he noted.
‘Esther?’
No response. But was that busy flies he could hear buzzing? Or just his imagination?
His heart hammering, he turned the knob and pushed but nothing happened. Oh God, she’d locked it. He put his shoulder to the door; it resisted, grown tight in the frame with the damp warmth of the day, then burst open. Stepping in, he immediately looked up, squinting against what he might have to witness, but to his immense relief there was no purple-faced monstrosity dangling slackly from the beam. And there was no limp, staring corpse slumped across the bed, dead from laudanum or from the razor, slashed white forearms atop huge roses of blood staining the quilt. Feeling dizzy and aware his pulse was galloping, he bent over and breathed deeply in and out. His worst nightmare — his single, greatest fear — had been that she would one day actually do what she had for years been threatening.
When he felt slightly recovered he crossed to Esther’s dressing table. Her lotions and jars and her silver-backed hairbrush had gone; her drawers were empty. So was her clothes press, except for a single sheet of her personalised notepaper left conspicuously on a shelf.
Girl of Shadows Page 17