Clifford growled, then a voice behind them said, ‘Oi!’
Harrie almost jumped out of her boots and Walter started so wildly he fell to one knee.
‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ It was Jack Wilton, Elizabeth Hislop’s coachman and jack of all trades, and he was hefting a wood splitter in one brawny hand.
‘Jack, it’s me, Harrie Clarke. And Walter, from Leo Dundas’s.’
Jack took a step forwards on stockinged feet and squinted. ‘Christ, it is, too. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?’ He glanced at Walter. ‘And why’s he wearing a woman’s shawl?’
The back door of the pub opened and Friday Woolfe appeared, a robe thrown over her nightdress, her wild, curly hair unbound and falling almost to her waist. She carried a lamp, its flame illuminating her bare feet. ‘Harrie? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘Are you all right?’ Harrie demanded.
‘Me? I’m fine. Why?’
Harrie glanced at Jack. ‘We need to talk. It’s important.’
Friday understood immediately. ‘Thanks, Jack.’
‘Sorry we woke you,’ Harrie added.
Jack shrugged, yawned, said, ‘I’ll get back to me pit then, shall I?’ and trudged towards his room above the stables.
‘Come upstairs,’ Friday said.
Harrie, Walter and Clifford followed Friday back to her room. She locked the door after them, dug around in her dressing table drawer for a small bottle of gin, and said, ‘What’s going on, Harrie? What’s Walter doing here? And why’s he wearing your shawl?’
As Walter sat on the chair before the dressing table, Harrie sank onto Friday’s bed, relieved beyond words to be sharing the awful predicament caused by his crime. ‘Walter overheard us at Leo’s the other day and last night he followed you.’
‘You sneaky bugger,’ Friday said. ‘You must have kept your head down. I didn’t see you.’
‘Weren’t meant to,’ Walter mumbled.
‘He waited until you gave Furniss the money,’ Harrie went on, ‘then he killed him.’
Friday choked on a mouthful of gin, shooting it out of her nose like a whale’s blow and coughing until her face turned puce.
Harrie talked on over the top of her racket. ‘And he took the money back.’ She removed the pouch from her pocket and dropped it on the bed. ‘He thought he was doing the right thing, but now Bella’s going to think we killed Furniss. So she’ll either kill us in revenge, or she’ll tell the police what we did and we’ll hang.’ She heard her own voice rising and was powerless to stop it. ‘It’s over, Friday. We’re going to die and we’ll all go to hell for our sins.’
Friday gave one last cough, wiped her mouth on her sleeve and said, ‘Calm down, Harrie. Here, have a drink.’
‘I don’t want one,’ Harrie said, her mind darting back to the dreadful episode with the wine in Hyde Park last year.
‘Just drink it, will you?’ Friday thrust the bottle at her. ‘Call it medicinal.’
As Harrie took a tiny hesitant sip, Friday turned to Walter, whose pale, narrow face had gone even whiter, and said, ‘Really? You actually killed him?’
Walter nodded miserably. ‘But I didn’t think … I’m sorry. I just wanted to make Furniss pay, and get the money back. For Harrie. For all of you.’ He swallowed anxiously. ‘Why will you hang?’
‘Best you don’t know, love. Where’s Furniss now?’
‘In the cemetery.’
‘Christ. Does Leo know?’ Friday asked Harrie.
‘Not yet. We’re on our way.’
‘Do you want me to come with you? I’ll never get back to sleep now.’
‘Oh, would you?’ Harrie was so grateful. She really hadn’t been looking forward to Leo’s reaction when he discovered what Walter had done. He was very fond of the boy and would be extremely upset and angry, and would more than likely blame himself.
‘Nearly morning anyway.’ Friday slipped out of her robe and drew her nightdress up to her waist, revealing long, white legs and a very shapely bare bottom.
‘Friday!’ Harrie inclined her head towards Walter.
‘Oh. Right. Look away, love,’ Friday said.
But Walter, utterly exhausted, had nodded off, his chin on his chest, a dangling hand resting on Clifford’s head.
Friday tut-tutted. ‘Look at him. Twelve years old and a murderer already. What a bloody tragedy. It’s all Furniss’s bloody fault. The only real crime is poor Walter had to top the bastard himself. Someone should have shoved him off his twig long ago.’ She pulled her nightdress off over her head and, completely at ease with her own nakedness, stooped to rummage through the pile of clothes she’d left on the floor last night. ‘Where the hell are my boots?’ she exclaimed, loud enough to startle Walter awake again. He gawped at her nude form for a moment, then quickly looked down at his hands.
‘Hurry up and put something on,’ Harrie said. ‘Was that them at the bottom of the stairs?’ She’d noticed an abandoned pair of boots as they’d come up.
Friday sniffed the armpits of yesterday’s shift, made a face and put it on anyway. ‘Could be. I was in a bit of a state when I got in last night. Had a couple of drinks after the cemetery.’ She stepped into her skirt then struggled into the fitted bodice, swearing under her breath as she did up the fiddly little buttons down the front.
Harrie snapped, ‘For God’s sake, will you hurry up!’
‘God, I’m not giving you gin again,’ Friday muttered.
A sharp knock came at the door — everyone froze.
‘Friday? What’s going on in there?’
‘Shite,’ Friday hissed. ‘It’s Mrs H.’
About the Author
Deborah Challinor has a PhD in history and is the author of ten bestselling novels. Girl of Shadows is the second in a series of four books set in 1830s Sydney, inspired by her ancestors — one of whom was a member of the First Fleet and another who was transported on the Floating Brothel. Deborah lives in New South Wales with her husband.
www.deborahchallinor.com
Other Books by Deborah Challinor
FICTION
Behind the Sun
Tamar
White Feathers
Blue Smoke
Kitty
Amber
Band of Gold
Union Belle
Fire
Isle of Tears
NON-FICTION
Grey Ghosts
Who’ll Stop the Rain?
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2013
This edition published in 2013
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Deborah Challinor 2013
The right of Deborah Challinor to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted by her under
the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
HarperCollinsPublishers
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Challinor, Deborah.
Girl of shadows / Deborah Challinor.
ISBN: 978 0 7322 9299 7 (pbk.)
ISBN: 978 0 7304 9371 6 (epub.)
Female friendship — Fiction.
Women
convicts — Australia — Fiction.
A823.3
Cover design by Nada Backovic Designs
Cover images: Woman © David et Myrtille/Trevillion Images; Street image from State Records NSW:NRS 4481, Government Printing Office Glass Negatives, items: Digital ID: 4481_a026_000205, Gloucester Street looking south from little Essex Street, The Rocks (NSW) [Rocks Resumption photographic survey], 1901, Digital ID: 4481_a026_000206, Gloucester Street looking south from little Essex Street, The Rocks (NSW) [Rocks Resumption photographic survey], 1901; Women on street by shutterstock.com
Map uses detail from Map of the town of Sydney 1836, Dixson Library, State Library of NSW — Ca 88/7; adapted by Laurie Whiddon, Map Illustrations
Girl of Shadows Page 47