‘Yes, I had noticed that,’ Adam said. ‘But house-breaking? Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Sarah slipped on the ring, which again had been sized to fit Mrs Tregoweth’s pudgy fingers; it sat crookedly while she admired the huge diamond, its fiery brilliance enhanced by the deep blue enamel surrounding it. ‘I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.’
She hadn’t liked burgling houses in London, but that was because Tom Ratcliffe had been in charge. He’d dictated everything — which house, what time, what was to be stolen — leaving her no say at all. She’d had to do exactly as she was told, because he’d only ever provided her with enough information to get the job done and to barely keep herself out of trouble. Having her work blind in this fashion had been another of his methods of controlling her. She’d deeply resented it.
But this would be different. This time she would be free to plan the job to the very last little detail and have absolute command over everything. She was good at this, she knew she was, and she wouldn’t fail.
‘It will have to be this Friday night, after the governor’s reception.’ Her foot tapped out a rapid little beat as her mind raced. ‘I’ll be in the house already, hiding, before they arrive home.’
‘Christ, Sarah!’ Adam exclaimed.
‘Oh, stop it,’ she scolded. ‘She’ll be wearing it. What other way is there? Highway robbery on George Street?’
‘But if you’re caught in the house …!’
‘I won’t be. I’ll break in while they’re out.’
‘What about servants?’
‘I’ll break in quietly. For God’s sake, Adam, I’m a screwsman and a cracksman, a bloody good one! I know how to do this, all right!?’
Adam closed his eyes, breathed deeply in and out several times, then opened them again. ‘If anything happens to you —’
Sarah threw up her hands. ‘You’ll just say you knew nothing about it. I’m the assigned convict, remember?’
‘No. That’s not what I meant.’
To Sarah, the air in the workshop seemed suddenly very bright and brittle.
Adam rose suddenly, leant across the arm of the workbench separating them, and kissed her, his lips grazing her mouth.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’ But he had meant to do it, and he wasn’t sorry at all.
Harrie tucked in Sam, who had fallen asleep the second his little blond head touched the pillow. He’d been galloping around all afternoon whacking his sisters with a wonderfully whippy eucalyptus branch, one of several brought inside to decorate the parlour mantelpiece for Christmas, there being a severe shortage of mistletoe in New South Wales. It was only just past six and normally he refused to get into bed until at least seven o’clock, so his early retirement tonight was a pleasant bonus.
Lewis, however, was as usual bawling his head off. At almost five months he was still a little young for solid food, and didn’t actually have any teeth yet, but Harrie’s youngest sister, Anna, had been the same — forever grizzling — and Harrie had suggested that Nora try Lewis on a few spoonfuls of stewed apple sprinkled with sugar; Anna had loved that. Nora was downstairs now, waiting for the apple to cool. She didn’t want to start Lewis on proper food yet, Harrie knew; he could well be her last baby and though she had to get back to work she also wanted to savour him as an infant for as long as possible. But her nipples were sore and she wasn’t making enough milk and he clearly wasn’t happy and, well, both Nora and Harrie knew the time had almost come to give up on mother’s milk. George wasn’t helping either, whinging on about the racket Lewis made and the hours Nora was having to spend with him. What had he expected when he’d made Nora pregnant? Harrie wondered. Lewis to go out and get a job as soon as he could sit up?
George had been in a better mood this week, however, out and about getting into the Christmas spirit with various friends even though Christmas Eve was still two nights away, and coming home singing, reeking of booze and noticeably drunk. Fortunately he wasn’t nasty in his cups, which was something to be said in his favour. According to Nora, though, he was amorous, and she was having a dreadful time keeping him off her.
Harrie went out into the parlour. ‘Hannah, have you had your wash yet?’
‘Yes,’ Hannah replied.
Walking up and down, joggling Lewis, Abigail said, ‘You have not.’
‘I have so!’
‘Hannah, go to your room and have your wash, please,’ Harrie ordered. ‘And don’t wake up Sam.’
‘That’s not fair! You always —’
‘Hannah! Will you for once just do as you’re told!’
Hannah and Abigail both stared at Harrie, startled by her uncharacteristic impatience. Hannah slid off the sofa and headed for the children’s bedroom. Lewis started to cry.
‘Harrie?’ It was Nora, at the top of the stairs, a bowl of stewed apple in her hand. ‘Dr Downey is downstairs for you.’
Oh no, Harrie thought. She’d not seen him since the terrible afternoon in Hyde Park, and had been dreading what would happen when inevitably their paths did cross. ‘Tell him to go away. I don’t want to talk to him.’
Stirring the apple briskly, Nora said, ‘I did and he refused.’ She crossed the room and took Lewis off Abigail. ‘Really, Harrie, I’m not your social secretary. Do you not think it’s time you put an end to this nonsense, one way or another? Go down and talk to him. Go on.’
Feeling badly flustered and as though her face were on fire, Harrie dragged herself downstairs. James was waiting in the tiny foyer. His top hat was under his arm, he’d removed his gloves, and he looked tired.
She stopped on the third-to-bottom step, the dreadful things she’d called him in the park echoing stridently in her head. Parts of the afternoon had blurred in her memory, but she remembered that all too clearly.
James bowed slightly. ‘Good evening, Harrie.’
‘Good evening, Dr Downey,’ Harrie mumbled.
A short silence.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Well, thank you.’
The back door crashed open and George Barrett staggered in, clearly not expecting to encounter company. ‘God’s blood! I nearly shat meself then!’ He peered at James. ‘It’s Downey, isn’t it?’ He stuck out a hand.
James shook it. ‘Good evening, Mr Barrett.’
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ George pointed at the stairs. ‘Just on my way up.’
Harrie pressed herself against the wall as George, wafting alcohol fumes, negotiated the narrow staircase.
‘Is there somewhere we can speak privately?’ James asked.
Harrie’s heart pounded even more alarmingly. What was he going to do? Tell her what he really thought of her? Shout at her? Serve her with a summons for lewd behaviour?
‘Not really,’ she said.
‘There must be somewhere, Harrie. Please. This is important.’
He didn’t sound as though he wanted to shout at her. In fact, he sounded really quite … unsure of himself. She looked around. They couldn’t go outside — the household cesspit reeked to high heaven at the moment — upstairs was too public, and the storeroom was absolutely crammed.
Perhaps Nora wouldn’t mind if they used her shop, just for ten minutes. Harrie led the way, carrying the lamp from the foyer. She turned up the wick, illuminating half a dozen pairs of ladies’ cotton drawers spread across the counter, left there by Nora this afternoon at the close of business.
‘I think we might try Mr Barrett’s shop.’
George’s premises were just as untidy, but at least there weren’t any undergarments on display. Harrie set the lamp on the counter and sat on a stool. James remained standing, which made Harrie wish she’d stayed on her feet as well, but it was too late to rise again now; it would be embarrassing.
James said nothing for almost a minute. Outside several people walked past on Gloucester Street, boots scuffing in the gravel, voices merry and loud. Half a d
ozen moths fluttered around the lamp. There was a faint smell of whisky. Harrie knew it certainly wasn’t coming from her.
At last James said, ‘Harrie, I would like to apologise to you.’
Harrie blinked.
‘Regarding several matters,’ he went on, not quite meeting her eye. ‘Firstly, for my rude and pompous behaviour in Hyde Park. It has been brought to my attention that I have been guilty of passing judgment. And I have. I had, of course, no right to do that, and I apologise unreservedly.’
Harrie felt a huge rush of relief and, unexpectedly, a surge of good will towards James. ‘And I —’ It came out rather squeakily and she cleared her throat. ‘And I’m sorry for saying those horrible things. I don’t know what came over me. I’d had a little too much of Matthew’s wine and —’
James held up his hand. ‘Don’t. You don’t need to explain. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter, James. I’m so ashamed of myself. I behaved no better than a common tart.’
‘It does not matter. And I haven’t finished.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I also wish to apologise to you for … for my actions after Rachel died. My behaviour then was utterly unforgivable.’
Harrie went very still; this was a matter she’d assumed they would never speak of again, and she certainly hadn’t imagined he would apologise for it.
He said, ‘I had to know, you see. I had to know why she died. And I didn’t stop to think about what effect it would have on anyone else. Not even you. I understand how deeply it upset you and I’m so very sorry.’
Slowly, Harrie shook her head. Suddenly she felt far too warm, dizzy and quite sick. ‘But we know why she died. It was Gabriel Keegan, what he did to her on the Isla.’
James’s face was a picture of empathy. He reached to take her hand but she stood quickly, knocking over the stool, avoiding his touch.
‘No, Harrie, I believe she was suffering from hydatidosis, a disease likely caused by tapeworms, and she’d probably had it for years. She died from a cyst on the brain.’
Harrie’s eyes rolled up and she passed out; James caught her as she slumped to the ground.
He dashed to the door and bellowed for Mrs Barrett, then knelt beside Harrie, gently tapping her cheeks to revive her. She muttered incoherently, but remained in a deep faint.
He didn’t hear Nora Barrett approach, but certainly felt her stinging slap across the back of his head.
‘What have you done to her? Get your mucky hands off her!’
‘No, you don’t understand. She’s fainted.’
Nora lifted her hand again. ‘I’m warning you, mister, get away from her!’
James moved aside a few inches. ‘Do you have smelling salts? She’s fainted. I didn’t touch her. She had a bad shock.’
Harrie stirred. ‘James?’
Nora squatted beside her. ‘Harrie? Are you all right? Did he hurt you?’
Harrie slowly sat up and rubbed her hands across her face. ‘Who?’ What had just happened?
‘Him.’ Nora pointed accusingly at James. ‘What did he do?’
‘James?’ Harrie felt dreadfully confused. ‘Nothing. Why am I on the floor?’
‘You fainted,’ James explained.
Why was James here? And then Harrie remembered; she cried out, and clapped her hands over her mouth.
What had they done? What had she and Sarah and Friday done?
‘Harrie?’ Nora persisted. ‘Did he force himself?’
‘Yes! Yes, he did!’ Harrie wailed, recalling in awful, vivid detail how Rachel had looked after Keegan had finished with her on the Isla.
‘Harrie!’ James exclaimed, horrified.
‘Right, I’m getting the police,’ Nora declared.
Harrie felt a dizzying surge of panic roar through her. ‘The police? Why?’ Had she said something when she’d fainted? ‘No, please! Please don’t.’
‘You just said he attacked you!’ Nora said, standing.
‘I didn’t! Not James. He didn’t attack me.’
Nora looked from James to Harrie, and back to James again.
‘He didn’t,’ Harrie said again. ‘I’m sorry, I was confused.’
Dimly she was aware she had very nearly caused James an enormous amount of trouble, but that insight was swallowed by the horror of realising she’d committed the most hideous crime. She’d helped to murder the man they’d presumed responsible for Rachel’s death, and they’d made a terrible mistake. Keegan had raped and badly injured Rachel, but in the end he hadn’t killed her.
For the next few minutes, though, she had to pretend everything was fine. She offered her hand to James; he took it and helped her to her feet.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Barrett, really. James told me something about … Rachel’s death and it … shocked me. Truly, I’m feeling better now.’
‘For God’s sake,’ Nora said to James. ‘You chase her round the streets of Sydney Town for nigh on a year, and the first chance you get to talk to her properly you say something so horrible she faints!’
Looking sheepish, James said, ‘Yes, well, I didn’t realise she would receive the news in quite this manner.’
‘And what are you doing in George’s shop?’
‘I was hoping for some privacy.’
Nora turned to Harrie. ‘Well, you’re welcome to bring him upstairs. George has retired and I’m about to join him, providing I can get Lewis to settle.’
‘Thank you, but I should be on my way,’ James replied.
Nora nodded and left them to it.
James said, ‘I’m sorry what I had to say came as such a shock.’
Harrie picked up the lamp and carried it out to the foyer. Her hand was shaking badly and she hoped James wouldn’t notice. She felt as though she were stumbling about half asleep; everything seemed slightly blurred, muffled and too slow.
‘Yes,’ she heard herself say. ‘It did.’
‘May I call on you again?’
She hesitated. Had the deep rift in their friendship been mended? A lot of things still hadn’t been said. What about Rowie Harris? And did any of that matter now anyway, given what she’d just learnt? She didn’t deserve James. She didn’t deserve anyone.
‘If you want to,’ she said, hoping her misgiving wasn’t too obvious.
‘I’d be delighted. Can you manage the stairs?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good night then, Harrie.’
‘Good night, James.’
She closed the door after him and leant her head against it, the painted wood smooth against her clammy forehead.
Murderess.
She’d taken the life of a man who hadn’t deserved to die, and she would burn in hell.
After a while she trudged up the stairs to her little room in the attic, lit the lamp with hands that refused to steady and lay on her bed, her head clamouring. It seemed to be crowded with people all talking at the same time: her mother and her siblings; her vindictive past employer Maude Lynch; Walter Cobley; rotten Amos Furniss; old Matilda Bain; James; Matthew; Bella Jackson; Leo Dundas; George and Nora; sanctimonious Reverend Seaton from the Isla. On and on they all went, chatter chatter, their voices getting louder and louder, struggling to be heard above one another until she couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘Stop it, please!’ she hissed. ‘Just shut up, all of you!’
They did.
She rose and washed her face. She changed into her nightdress, said her prayers, extinguished the lamp and climbed into bed.
And lay there for over an hour in the dark as one by one the voices began again. And this time when she told them to be quiet, they wouldn’t.
She got out of bed once more, relit the lamp and draped her shawl around her shoulders. Reaching for her drawing pad and pencils, she settled down to sketch. She was halfway through a stylised rendition of a bat on the wing, the membranes between the delicate arm bones enhanced with a fantastic pattern of curlicues, spirals and tendrils. These she would colour the greens, reds and p
urples Leo used in his tattoos. The bat’s round eyes she would shade a vivid cornflower blue.
The flame in the lamp flickered, dimmed, then flared again. Shivering slightly at the room’s drop in temperature, she pulled her shawl tighter.
‘I know you’re there,’ she said after a while, eyes still on her work.
There was no reply, but often there wasn’t, just the faintest of creaks from the rocking chair and perhaps a vaporous hint of her own breath condensing in the cooler air.
‘James came to visit tonight. He said he was sorry, especially about what he did after you … left us.’ She selected the pencil she used for shading, the one with the softer lead. ‘Did you know? About what was wrong with you?’
Again, only the gentle squeak of the chair and a thin whistle of night wind under the eaves.
Harrie sighed and finally raised her head. ‘I wish so much you were here.’
She’d learnt that if she stared directly into the darkest corner of the room, at the rocking chair under the sloping roof, all she might ever see was the faintest smudge of light. But if she looked instead on an angle, from the corner of her eye, there she would be, her long silver hair falling loose and her skin as pale as the moon.
‘I am here,’ Rachel said, her voice flat and echoing, sounding as though it came from unimaginable distances.
‘No, I mean the way we used to be,’ Harrie replied. ‘Together again.’
‘I’m as here as I can be.’
Harrie nodded. ‘I know, and I’m glad. I really am.’ She was silent for a second, then said, ‘Rachel, we killed him for no reason. We took his life and we shouldn’t have.’
The chair gave another creak. A thoughtful sort of creak, it seemed to Harrie.
‘Shouldn’t you?’ Rachel said. ‘Why not? He deserved it.’
‘But did he? I know what he did to you was just awful, but what we did was more than an eye for an eye.’
‘No. It wasn’t. Think about it.’
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