Sarah wasn’t at all surprised: it confirmed her and Adam’s suspicions and did fit with what she already knew about Gellar. Still, she was puzzled.
‘I’m still not sure when he could’ve done it.’
Leo raised an ink-stained hand. ‘Hold on. This cove could have been talking through his arse. Thank you, boy,’ he said as Walter set a steaming cup of tea in front of him.
‘Well, was he, do you think?’ Sarah’s mind was racing.
Leo shook his head. ‘No, to be honest, I suspect he was telling the truth. The poor bugger couldn’t keep his trap shut in his cups if his life depended on it. Likely he’ll be discovered floating face down in the harbour before too long.’
‘Ah!’ Sarah almost shouted. ‘I know when it was!’
‘Gellar?’
‘Yes! At our wedding — he must have hidden the brooch in the back of the drawer then.’
‘There’s more, though,’ Leo said. ‘The cove in the Crown and Angel also dropped a few hints about some import deals Gellar was heavily involved in, to do with these upoko tuhi from across the Tasman.’
‘These what?’
‘Upoko tuhi. Preserved, tattooed Maori heads. The Maori are the native people of New Zealand. It’s their heads being traded and stolen.’
Sarah made a disgusted face.
‘Do you not the read papers? Listen to this.’ Leo reached for the Sydney Herald lying on the table and ran his finger down the front page. ‘Here we are.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Whereas it has been represented to His Excellency the Governor, that the masters and crews of vessels trading between this colony and New Zealand, are in the practice of purchasing and bringing from thence human heads, which are preserved in a manner peculiar to that country: And whereas there is strong reason to believe, that such disgusting traffic tends greatly to increase the sacrifice of human life among savages, whose disregard of it is notorious, His Excellency is desirous of evincing his entire — Christ, what’s this word?’ He shoved the paper under Sarah’s nose.
‘Disapprobation.’
‘ — disapprobation of the practice abovementioned, as well as his determination to check it by all the means in his power; and with this view, His Excellency has been pleased to order, that the Officers of the Customs do strictly watch and report every instance which they may discover of an attempt to import into this colony any dried or preserved human heads in future, with the names of all parties concerned in every such attempt.’ He heaved a sigh at the effort of reading such a formal passage of text. ‘And it goes on to say there’ll be certain and dreadful consequences if the practice continues. Aye, and this bit: His Excellency further trusts, that all persons who have in their possession human heads, recently brought from New Zealand, and particularly by the schooner Prince of Denmark, will immediately deliver them up for the purpose of being restored to the relations of the deceased parties to whom those heads belonged, etcetera, etcetera.’ Leo smiled at Sarah. ‘So that’s Gellar buggered, unless he plans to smuggle the things in now.’
‘God, that’s … revolting.’
‘Apparently Gellar’s just shipping them — someone else is arranging for them to be stolen to order. It’s to do with the tattoos, or moko. The higher the rank of the owner of the head, the more valuable it is to collectors.’ Leo tapped the newspaper. ‘You might be able to use this to your advantage. I’m not sure how, though.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I have heard it said Bella Jackson’s masterminding the racket.’
‘Really?’ Sarah sat quietly, thinking. Then she said, ‘Well, I can’t say I’m particularly shocked about any of it. Gellar’s such a shite.’
‘It’s only hearsay,’ Leo said, ‘and from a tosspot at that.’
‘No, he did it,’ Sarah said. In her heart, she knew it. ‘And he’ll be right in the middle of this head-smuggling business. Well, thank you very much for your help. I really do appreciate it.’ She reached for her reticule. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Don’t insult me, lass. I don’t want paying.’
‘I insist.’
‘And I insist you don’t. Any friend of Harrie’s is a friend of mine.’ Leo put his elbows on the table and leant forwards conspiratorially. ‘Mind you, if one of these days I’m ever in need of a master crackswoman, I’ll know who to come to, won’t I?’ He grinned and gave her a wink.
And Sarah grinned back, treating him to one of her wide and rarely seen Sarah specials.
Sarah carried the tureen of roasted and boiled vegetables through to the dining room, set it on the table and removed the lid.
‘Don’t bother serving, dear,’ Ruthie Cole said. ‘We can all help ourselves, can’t we? No need to stand on ceremony.’
She was as short and as round as her husband, with a matching twinkle in her eye, and as they were the senior couple at tonight’s supper party Sarah had seated them one at each end of the table. Harrie and Friday sat along one side, while she and Jared were opposite. Esther’s precious cutlery hadn’t been polished since she’d run off so Harrie had given it a bit of a clean that afternoon, and in the lamplight it gleamed softly, arrayed around the table like a muted silver necklace.
‘I’ll carve, shall I?’ Bernard offered.
‘Allow me,’ Jared said.
He stood quickly, grabbed the carving knife and, with notable skill and speed, shaved off slice after slice of moist, pink-grey beef; such speed in fact that droplets of fat flew out and spattered his trousers.
‘Oh dear,’ Ruthie said. ‘White kerseymere. That’ll stain.’
‘It won’t. Sarah works absolute wonders in the laundry,’ Jared insisted ingratiatingly.
‘Good for you, Sarah!’ Friday said.
Sarah made a rude gesture behind Jared’s back. The supper party had been her idea, a carefully orchestrated occasion at which Bernard was primed to reminisce about Esther’s ‘haunting’ in an effort to make Jared feel as uneasy as possible. She’d gone to see Bernard the day before yesterday and informed him of what she’d discovered via Leo, then explained what she intended to do about it. He’d been truly scandalised and aggrieved on Adam’s behalf, then amused, though quite disappointed, to realise that Esther’s haunting had been manufactured. He’d believed it had been genuine, and had thoroughly enjoyed it, which inspired Sarah to hope she might get away with it a second time. Ruthie Cole had also been recruited, and both had agreed to do anything they could to help Sarah clear Adam’s name, and put the boot into Jared if at all possible.
Unable to relinquish her role as a housemaid even for an evening, and disregarding Ruthie’s suggestion that they all help themselves, Harrie forked slices of meat onto the plates and served the vegetables. Jared poured the wine and raised a toast.
‘To health, happiness and good fortune,’ he said brightly.
‘Except for Adam’s,’ Sarah said. ‘He won’t be getting anything of the sort locked up in some shithole in Port Macquarie.’ She jumped slightly as Friday tapped her ankle under the table, and scowled.
But Friday was right — she needed to keep her mouth shut. It was so hard, though. What she yearned to do so badly it made her physically shake was beat the living daylights out of Gellar — smash her fists into his face and drive her boots into his belly and groin until he screamed for mercy, and then keep going until he never made another noise again, just as they’d done to Gabriel Keegan — but if this were to work, if they hoped to manipulate him in the manner in which she planned, she had to control her feelings. She couldn’t even let on she was aware of his business rackets. She did have a perfectly valid excuse to feel some antipathy towards him, however, and behave accordingly — his lewd gropings would have offended most women, and surely even a man as arrogant and coarse as he was must know that.
Bernard said, ‘Perhaps a minute’s silence in recognition of absent friends?’
‘Indeed.’ Jared immediately lowered his glass and his head, gazing at his plate, face grave.
You lying, turncoat bastard, Sarah thought.<
br />
Friday signalled the minute’s passing by tucking into her supper. Speaking with her mouth full, she said, ‘I know we’re here to talk about how to get Adam out of gaol, but are we really going to be able to do that?’ She wiped a dribble of gravy off her chin with the back of her hand. ‘I mean, we all know he was set up, but we couldn’t find anything to prove that before he went to trial. How are we going to do it now?’
‘We can’t. It’s too late,’ Sarah said hopelessly. But she didn’t mean it. All this had been carefully rehearsed the day before while Jared had been out.
‘What about his colleagues, other people in the jewellery business?’ Harrie suggested. ‘They might have heard something.’
Bernard said, ‘What do you think, Jared? You must be at your wits’ end wondering how to help.’
Ploughing through his supper, Jared choked and coughed.
‘Bean go down the wrong way?’ Sarah asked.
Red-faced, Jared nodded, reached for his wine and took a hearty gulp. ‘I do beg your pardon. Yes, I’ve been thinking long and hard racking my brains about what to do.’
‘Why don’t you talk to Adam’s friends and colleagues?’ Bernard said, knowing Jared was aware that would be a waste of time. ‘The girls here wouldn’t know where to start and, well, they’re not really in a position to make those sorts of enquiries, are they?’
‘Why don’t you talk to them?’ Jared replied. ‘You’re in the trade.’
‘Yes, I could, of course. But first I think I’ll pay a visit to Arthur Hocking. Adam’s solicitor? I know the man. Decent sort. And that barrister fellow, what was his name?’
‘Evans. Augustus Evans,’ Jared said.
‘Yes, that’s him.’ Bernard poured more gravy onto his meat. ‘Well, that’s a start, at least. It’s probably all we can do for now. Have you heard from him yet, Sarah?’
‘No, nothing.’ Sarah’s voice was as flat as the Yorkshire puddings she’d made to accompany the beef.
‘It’s a dreadful business,’ Ruthie Cole remarked. ‘Such a lovely boy, Adam. To think of him all alone in a filthy cell hundreds of miles up the coast.’
Sarah regarded her at the end of the table. In her lace house cap and with her round face and rosy cheeks, bright, teary eyes, and her grey/brown hair she looked like a little upset squirrel. And she knew Ruthie wasn’t acting: she really was very upset about Adam.
‘I don’t think he will be alone, dear,’ Bernard said. ‘He’ll be in a barracks, probably.’
‘Still,’ Ruthie said, ‘it’s a bad business.’ She cleared her throat nervously. ‘And Bernard tells me on top of everything else your ghost is back!’
Sarah nodded. ‘It does seem so.’ From the corner of her eye she noted Jared staring at her intently.
Bernard dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. ‘But why, I wonder? Last time you thought it might have been trying to stop Esther from mistreating you. What could have brought it back this time?’
Sarah gazed deliberately at Jared. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘Not “it”. Her,’ Harrie corrected. ‘Her name is Rachel. And you’re very distressed, Sarah. Perhaps she’s come to give you support. She’s like that.’
Oh no, Sarah thought, her heart missing a beat. Keep to the script, Harrie!
Bernard explained to Jared, ‘I was here for a few weeks during the last manifestation, looking after the business while Adam was away, and I can assure you it was not a pleasant experience, what with the noises and the smells and the very strange activity. Extremely disturbing! Poor Esther was beside herself.’
‘We had a ghost once,’ Ruthie said. ‘Did Bernard tell you, Sarah?’
‘The little girl in the cesspit?’
‘Yes, Pansy. Very sweet, but so sad.’
‘Rachel wasn’t sweet, was she?’ Friday said, topping up her glass again with claret.
‘She was so!’ Harrie protested. ‘She was a darling.’
Friday laughed. ‘Sometimes she was a darling. Bloody good with the broads, too. You should have seen her play, Bernard. But sometimes she was the most bad-tempered little thing ever.’ She sighed and was quiet for a second. ‘I’d give my left arm, even with my new tattoo, to have her back, though. Anyway, I didn’t mean when she was alive. I meant the last time we saw her, in this house.’
‘You saw her as well? The ghost?’ Jared asked, startled.
One of the wall lamps flickered and went out. Looking alarmed, he half rose from his chair, then sat down again when no one else appeared bothered.
Sarah thought: sod, too early. She’d made sure the oil in the lamp was low, but had hoped it might have lasted a little longer.
‘Only once or twice,’ Friday said, ‘And she wasn’t being very darling then, I can assure you. Sarah and Harrie saw her more than I did. They both have the sight, especially Harrie.’
‘Can you … sense when there’s a presence here?’ Jared asked Harrie.
‘Oh yes. So can Sarah.’
Jared shifted his gaze to Sarah, a vein in his neck visibly pulsing.
She waited a moment or two to heighten the tension, then said, ‘What do you think, Harrie? Is she here now? Can you feel anything? I can.’
Harrie laid her knife and fork neatly across her plate, clasped her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. Everyone forgot supper. Nothing happened for the longest time, though almost no one at the table was expecting that anything actually would. A late cicada buzzed shrilly from some unseen hiding place, and in the tree outside a pair of night birds bickered.
Another lamp flickered to a mere pinpoint of light.
The door from the back porch into the dining room creaked open, bringing with it a sulphurous whiff of cesspit from the yard.
Bugger, Sarah thought, and got up and closed it. By the time she’d returned to her chair, Harrie had opened her eyes again.
She smiled delightedly. ‘Yes, she’s here.’
Jared’s gaze darted wildly around the room, his eyes huge.
Harrie was looking at a point halfway up the wall behind Bernard, but of course there was nothing there to see. God she’s good at this, Sarah thought.
Harrie appeared to listen for a moment, then she said conversationally, ‘We’re talking about what to do about Adam, to get him out of gaol.’ She cocked her head to one side, said, ‘Well, ask her yourself,’ and glanced across the table at Sarah.
Sarah panicked — they hadn’t practised this bit! She pretended to listen, then ad-libbed, ‘I do, Rachel. I miss him horribly.’ She shot a pleading look back at Harrie. ‘I can’t see her any more. Is she still there?’
Ruthie suddenly shivered at the other end of the table, and pulled her shawl more tightly across her shoulders.
Harrie shook her head. ‘No. She’s gone now.’
‘Out of —’ Jared’s voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. He cleared his throat noisily and tried again. ‘Out of the house?’
‘Oh no,’ Harrie said cheerfully, and pointed to the closed door behind Ruthie. ‘She went out there, into the hallway.’
That wasn’t in the script, either. Disconcerted, Sarah caught Friday’s eye.
Harrie gave a little start, turned to Friday and said rather testily, ‘What?’ Then, ‘Oh! And she said she’s really, really angry.’
‘But what’s she angry about? That’s what I want to know,’ Friday boomed with theatrical inflection worthy of Drury Lane’s Theatre Royal.
‘She said she will not have Sarah treated badly,’ Harrie replied.
‘Oh dear,’ Bernard said. ‘It does rather sound like a repeat of last time, doesn’t it? But Sarah, you’re not being mistreated, are you?’
‘Not at all,’ Sarah said woodenly. ‘I really don’t understand why she’s here again.’
Beside her she felt Jared go very, very still.
So he’d received the message, but would he heed it? And even if he did, keeping his dirty hands to himself was not going to be enough, for she’d decided she would not stop p
ersecuting him until he’d confessed to framing Adam.
Jared came down to breakfast the following morning looking as though he’d spent a week on the jar. Puffy mauve bags marred the skin beneath his bleary eyes, his skin was pasty white and his hands shook badly as he poured himself a cup of tea. He looked like Sarah felt.
‘Eggs do you?’ she asked.
‘Thank you.’
Though she knew very well he hadn’t, she asked, ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Upset guts?’
‘Nightmares. I hope.’
‘Really?’ Sarah plopped two fried eggs onto his plate and a couple of rounds of black pudding, then served herself.
Jared poked his knife into his egg yolk and watched as it oozed out onto the plate. ‘After what transpired at the supper table last night I had a couple of fingers of brandy to settle my nerves and managed to get to sleep, but then had the most hideous dreams. I dreamt I heard rapping and knocking noises half the night, and that my bed chamber was filled with a horrible, other-worldly light. It went on and on, the noises and the lights, until an hour or so before dawn.’
Sarah knew exactly what time the noises had stopped, because she’d been up in the attic making them, and crawling around with a lamp covered with a glass mantle coloured a sickly greenish-yellow, shining it through the holes she’d drilled the other day.
‘I don’t think you were dreaming,’ she said. ‘I heard all that, too.’
Jared appeared dismayed. ‘And a scratching at my window, just prior to sunrise. My upper-storey window.’
Sarah wondered what that had been; certainly not her doing. A possum? There were dozens in the town’s trees and they often scampered across rooftops on noisy little feet. But it gave her an idea. ‘Harrie believes Rachel sometimes appears as a bat. Perhaps it was her, trying to get in.’
Jared blanched.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, delighted with his reaction, ‘I thought you said you’d had experience with this sort of thing? Didn’t you say you once owned a house that was haunted?’
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