‘No, you’re right, I don’t understand.’
They sat in silence, feeling as though a wall of insurmountable proportions had been erected between them.
Finally, James said stiffly, ‘Are you sleeping well? You look tired.’
‘I’m managing.’
‘How is your appetite? You seem to have lost some weight.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Have you had heart palpitations? A racing pulse? Feelings of dread or approaching doom?’
‘No!’
Harrie had in fact been experiencing all those things, though she wasn’t going to tell James that. She hadn’t told anyone.
James let out a heavy sigh. ‘Harrie, please hear me out. You need a rest. I think you’re exhausted and possibly experiencing some form of hysterical or maniacal episode. The hallucinations and hearing of voices you’re describing are a serious concern. I’d like to arrange for you to go somewhere to recuperate for a month or so.’
Waves of panic and utter dismay surged through Harrie, leaving her skin clammy and her heart pounding. ‘No! I won’t!’
He wanted to send her to the Factory hospital. Or perhaps even worse, Liverpool Asylum. The madhouse.
‘Will you not even consider it?’
‘I’m not mad, James!’ Harrie almost shrieked.
‘I didn’t say you were. I said you may be suffering from hysteria. Or something similar. I really do think you need a rest.’
Harrie did her very best to calm down, which was extremely difficult as her entire body was vibrating with fear, anger and a monumental sense of betrayal. After everything he’d said to her — his silver-tongued apologies and admissions of disapproval and fault-finding — and here he was judging her yet again!
‘I don’t need a rest, and I especially don’t want to listen to you. So please go away, James, and don’t ever come back. I never want to see you again!’
Yet another dreadful, brittle silence stretched out between them.
Then James asked, ‘Do you really mean that?’
‘I do.’ Harrie rose, tears searing her eyes. ‘Now please leave.’
James stood as well, gazed at her with immeasurable sadness for a moment, put his hat on his head and walked away.
Essex Street was its usual steep, potholed, rutted self, but the advantage of it being so difficult to traverse was that only pedestrians ever tried, resulting in a notable lack of the horse and bullock shit that normally fouled Sydney’s streets. Harrie, Friday and Sarah appreciated this as they laboured their way up, skirts lifted to avoid treading on hems, though they were not enjoying the eye-watering stink emanating from the nearby soap- and candleworks, even though it was well past seven in the evening.
‘What if she tells us something terrible?’ Harrie asked. ‘Or something we’re really better off not knowing?’
‘Oh, how the hell can she?’ Sarah scoffed. ‘She’ll be making the whole bloody lot up.’
‘I dunno about that,’ Friday said. ‘I used to get my cards read at home, and they can be pretty on the nail, these old didikai mots.’
‘Is she a gyppo?’ Harrie asked.
‘Must be, if she can read the cards.’
It had been Leo’s idea to visit the tarot-card reader. Harrie had arrived at his shop several days earlier feeling very despondent and withdrawn, and when he’d said to her, ‘Cat got your tongue?’ she’d burst into tears.
He must have felt bad about it because he’d sent Walter out for cakes, and over a cup of tea she’d told him what had transpired with James, and that she’d decided it was for the best. She and James weren’t meant to be together, and it was silly pretending it was ever going to happen — especially with a man of James’s calibre, even if he was judgmental and narrow-minded. And Leo had reminded her that not long ago she’d said she didn’t even want a man, so why the unhappy face?
When she couldn’t answer him, he’d startled her by confiding that whenever he felt at odds about a matter, he visited a woman named Serafina Fortune, who was a dab hand at reading the cards. Harrie had nearly smiled at the thought of Leo hunched over a table spread with a lace cloth and brightly coloured tarot cards, bursting to know what the future held for him. Then she’d recalled he’d been a sailor most of his life, and that sailors were incredibly superstitious, and the idea hadn’t seemed so strange after that.
‘Is that her real name?’ she’d asked. ‘Serafina Fortune?’
‘You’d have to ask her that,’ he’d replied. ‘But I wouldn’t, if I were you.’
‘Well, I won’t have the chance. I don’t want my cards read. I’ve nothing to be undecided about. I’ve made up my mind.’
And Leo had regarded her thoughtfully and said, ‘Are you sure, lass? You don’t think you might regret your decision?’ which had been extremely irritating of him, especially as she suspected he’d taken against James, even though he didn’t know him.
She’d told Friday and Sarah, and predictably Friday thought it was an excellent idea to have their cards read, while Sarah said it would be nothing but a scam. But here they were anyway, traipsing up Essex Street looking for Serafina Fortune’s house.
‘Is this it, do you think?’ Friday said.
They were halfway up the hill between Cambridge and Cumberland streets, outside a cottage with a moon and stars painted on the front door.
Sarah made a production out of squinting at it.
‘What are you doing?’ Friday asked.
‘Looking for a sign saying Fools and their money welcome here.’
‘You know, you shouldn’t be so suspicious of everything. It makes you ugly and gives you wrinkles.’ Friday knocked loudly.
A young woman opened the door.
Friday said, ‘Er, we’re looking for Serafina Fortune. Is she home?’
‘Yes,’ the woman replied.
‘Well, can we see her?’
‘You are.’
Harrie was slightly taken aback. She wasn’t what they’d been expecting. This woman was perhaps in her late twenties and looked quite well off. Her features were sharp but not at all unattractive, though her expression was a little guarded. She wore her treacle-coloured hair in fashionable braided loops over her ears, and a dress of costly, bronze-coloured calamanco patterned with tiny white flowers, beautifully cut and fitted to her trim, shapely figure. There wasn’t a single flowing scarf, oversized ear hoop (though she was wearing small gold earrings), decorative coin or inch of colourful embroidery to be seen, and neither was she a withered, stoop-backed crone, which surely you had to be to have mastered the mysteries of the tarot?
‘And you’re the one who does the cards?’ Friday asked, looking her up and down.
Serafina Fortune nodded. ‘How many readings were you wanting?’
‘Three,’ Friday replied, as Sarah said, ‘Two.’
Serafina Fortune shrugged. ‘Well, it’s Tuesday anyway.’
Sarah said, ‘And that means …?’
‘Tuesday’s two-for-three day. Come in.’ Serafina stepped aside.
Friday had to stoop to enter, though Harrie and Sarah were short enough to avoid bumping their heads on the low lintel.
The interior of the cottage appeared to consist of just two rooms, the parlour they’d entered directly and possibly a bed chamber, and was cosily furnished if somewhat dimly lit, as the curtains were drawn across the windows and only two lamps were burning.
‘Please take a seat.’ Serafina indicated six chairs around an oval table that took up a lot of space. She pulled out a chair for herself, sat and opened a large box whose lid and sides were ornately inlaid with marquetry. From it she lifted a battered tin, set it to one side and said, ‘I’d prefer you to pay in advance, if you don’t mind.’
‘What if we aren’t satisfied?’ Harrie said, having completely forgotten she’d told Leo she wasn’t going to have a reading.
‘Oh, I expect you will be.’
‘Really? How much do you charge?’ Friday asked. She sp
oke directly to Serafina across the table, holding her gaze for longer than was necessary, her mouth curving in a small, private smile.
A short, uncomfortable silence fell.
Meeting Friday’s smile with a faintly amused lift of her eyebrows, Serafina replied, ‘Four shillings per person.’
Sarah snorted.
‘And your friend for free,’ Serafina reminded them.
‘Hold on a minute,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘How do we know this isn’t all just a racket?’ She pointed rudely at Serafina. ‘We don’t know the first thing about you. I mean, you could be the world’s worst magswoman.’
‘Sarah!’ Harrie was mortified.
Serafina coolly returned Sarah’s gaze. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Well, for a start, what brought you to New South Wales?’
‘I was transported.’
‘Ha! See!’ Sarah was triumphant. ‘She’s as crooked as we are!’
‘Speak for yourself!’ Harrie said.
Serafina added, ‘As were the three of you.’
‘Lucky guess, especially in this town,’ Sarah said. ‘Transported for what?’
‘Fraud.’
‘What did I tell you?!’ Sarah crowed. ‘You might as well chuck your money down the crapper.’
Frowning, Friday asked, ‘Fraud with the cards?’
Serafina said, ‘Not directly, no.’
‘But you can really read them?’ Friday persisted.
Serafina didn’t seem at all perturbed by the question, or Sarah’s derision. ‘Yes. Among other things.’
Friday barely hesitated. ‘Bugger it, I’m getting mine done. It’s only four bob.’ She slid her money across the table.
Sarah shook her head despairingly.
Harrie thought four shillings was a bit steep, but opened her purse and handed over the money.
Serafina unlocked her tin, dropped in the coins with satisfying clinks, closed it and returned it to the larger box.
‘Who would like to go first?’
‘I will.’ Friday hitched her chair closer to the table.
‘Right, then.’ Serafina was businesslike now. ‘Do you prefer a particular deck? French? Italian? The Visconti, perhaps?’
‘Just the usual,’ Friday replied, clearly having no idea.
Serafina took a red cloth bundle from the box, unwrapped it and extracted a pack of large cards. She shuffled them expertly in spite of their size, tossing them from hand to hand so dextrously the images on them blurred. Harrie, Friday and Sarah glanced at one another, expressions bleak, mouths pressed shut against raw memories. Rachel had shuffled the cards like that. Harrie brushed the heel of her palm against her eye and swallowed hard.
Serafina set the cards before Friday and, with a sly sideways glance at Sarah, said, ‘I’ll do a general reading first, to assure you I do have the necessary skills. Touch the cards, please.’
Friday did, Serafina took them back and shuffled again, then asked Friday to cut the deck. From the bottom half she laid out five cards in the shape of a cross. The cards were beautifully but quite bizarrely illustrated. Serafina tapped her teeth while she studied them.
‘You live by your wits and your personal charms, and at times this causes you sorrow, anger and pain. You’ve never known the passion of real love. You once thought you did, but all you’d done then was confuse love with the bonds born of dependence and desperation. And now you fear you never will know true, deep love, because of what you —’ She abruptly stopped and glanced up at Friday. ‘Well, you don’t need the cards to tell you that, do you?’
Friday stared at her, her mouth unbecomingly open and a faint tinge of red blooming on her cheeks.
Serafina returned to the cards. ‘Your mother left you — died or disappeared? — some years ago and your father was nothing more than a shadow. Your closest family are not connected to you by blood, but they mean more to you than blood ever has. You have suffered much loss. You have borne a child and lost her.’ She looked up again and said bluntly, ‘You should stop grieving, girl. She would have died anyway, whether you’d been with her or not. The poor little thing was defective.’
Friday and Harrie gasped. Even Sarah felt her heart jolt; how could this woman have known that Friday had left her baby alone?
‘There is a core of darkness within you and you must be wary of it,’ Serafina went on. ‘If you’re not vigilant it will literally be the death of you. You should strive to choose a path that is not so self-destructive. There is also a darkness without, in the form of …’ Frowning, she picked up a card. ‘This is the Magus, but manifesting as he has in this spread between these cards —’ she tapped two others ‘— signifies almost a complete inversion, with the Magus exhibiting attributes remarkably similar to those of the Empress. Very unusual, I have to say. Anyway, this external darkness represents a very significant threat to you. And this card here?’ She pointed to one depicting a tier of goblets. ‘You drink far too much.’ She gathered the cards and shuffled the deck again. ‘Do you have a specific question you’d like to ask?’
Friday swallowed, then nodded.
‘Keep it to yourself.’ Serafina set the deck before her a second time. ‘Hand, if you will.’
Friday placed her palm on the cards, Serafina cut and spread seven.
‘This is interesting. The answer is yes, and before too much time has passed.’
Friday’s face lit up and she almost clapped.
‘But be warned,’ Serafina said quickly, ‘the path won’t be easy, and there will be considerable resistance from external forces. However, if you persist, you will be rewarded beyond anything you might ever have dreamt. As to the specifics — tall and strong and, yes, definitely dark. There is this, however.’ From the spread she slid two cards across the table.
Friday eyed them uncomprehendingly. ‘What do they mean?’
‘Justice, and the Eight of Swords? Quite possibly more gaol time, which could be connected to your first reading, but more likely to this one.’
‘Well, that stinks.’
Serafina shrugged. ‘Everything has a price. Who’s next?’
‘Did you get a good answer to your secret question?’ Harrie asked Friday. She felt decidedly nervous now. The woman’s comment about Friday’s baby had been uncanny.
‘Bloody good, actually,’ Friday said. ‘Except for the gaol bit.’
‘If the cards say something’s going to happen,’ Harrie said, ‘does it always have to happen?’
‘I can’t really tell you that,’ Serafina replied. ‘I read the cards for a lot of people, but I don’t always hear how things turn out for them. In fact, hardly ever.’
‘All right, do mine, please,’ Harrie said in a rush, before she could change her mind.
Sarah felt uneasy, and more than a little angry; Harrie, as usual, was being far too trusting with someone she didn’t know. It was probably all right for this Serafina woman to tell Friday things — Friday was tough, but Harrie wasn’t, especially not at the moment. And Serafina appeared to have been disturbingly accurate so far, which frankly was a real shock.
Sarah had seen this kind of thing before — she didn’t altogether disbelieve in it — and it gave her the willies. Maisie, a girl in Tom Ratcliffe’s crew in London, had been able to read the cards, and scry, but she’d been so raddled by opium she’d never had the wits to harness her talent. Serafina Fortune clearly did, however. What if she actually did tell Harrie something really awful, as Harrie herself had suggested on the way here? Sarah had done everything she could to deter her and Friday, and it hadn’t worked, and the worst thing about it was she suspected Serafina could see right through her attempts.
The first spread of five cards told Harrie she was surrounded by children — hardly a revelation — that her mother was very unwell and hovering between this world and the next, and that someone in her family would soon be in trouble with the law.
As soon as Harrie heard this, her bottom lip quivered, then she burst into t
ears. ‘Robbie!’ she sobbed. ‘That’ll be Robbie!’
‘That’s enough!’ Sarah moved to collect up the cards, but Serafina blocked her.
‘Leave them. I haven’t finished.’
‘You bloody have.’
‘This isn’t your reading,’ Serafina said, indicating Harrie, now noisily blowing her nose. ‘Ask her what she wants.’
‘I think you’ve heard enough,’ Sarah said.
‘No, I want to know the rest. I do,’ Harrie replied through her handkerchief.
Sarah shot a glance at Serafina, expecting to see at least a small smirk, but her face was impassive.
‘Are you sure?’ Friday asked, her arm around Harrie.
Harrie nodded, hiccupped and tucked her handkerchief into her sleeve. ‘Sorry, it gave me a fright, that’s all. Really, it isn’t unexpected. He’s been heading that way for a while. And so’s the prediction about Ma. She was sick before I left. Really.’
Serafina went on to tell Harrie she had considerable artistic ability, and that soon she would ‘grant her illustrations life and breath’.
Harrie frowned. ‘I’m not sure what that means. Do you know?’
‘No. I expect you will, when it happens.’ Serafina slid a card from the spread. ‘This card, the Moon, is a concern. It can be associated with tension, confusion, fear and worry, imagination and illusion. And pregnancy, so beware of that.’
Sarah and Friday exchanged a startled glance.
Harrie flushed. ‘Well, there’s not much chance of that, is there?’
‘The Moon is mistress of the oceans within the mind. When the tides are out of kilter, we become ill. You’ve been unwell, haven’t you? A time of darkness and despair?’
Harrie shook her head.
‘There isn’t a lot to be gained from lying to the tarot, you know,’ Serafina said matter-of-factly. She indicated a third card, a naked girl pouring water from a jug into a pool. ‘This is the Star and, in this spread, for you, she brings enlightenment. Do you believe you have visitations? From a spirit who gives you peace of mind, perhaps?’
Her eyes shining with delight, Harrie exclaimed, ‘I do! Yes, I do.’
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