Forgotten Fragrance

by Téa Cooper

  In the darkness she envisaged Mina’s grin of excitement and answered with a smile. Of course, the loose panels in the forehold where they had released Christian the first time would give them access.

  With Mina leading the way the girls closed ranks behind them. They tiptoed around the hammocks, their collective breath held until they reached the stored barrels and the small passageway where Christian had slipped through. Charlotte strained her ears trying to pick up the sound of Bristol and Christian’s footsteps again. After an eternity the grumble of Bristol’s indistinct words and some scuffling gave way to a hatch slamming shut followed by the clank of metal.

  Unable to wait a moment longer Charlotte pushed past Mina and ran her hands over the timbers searching for the loose panel, her finger slipping into the hole left by a knot of wood. It released leaving the narrow passageway. Wrapping her skirts tightly around her legs she turned sideways and eased through the space, squinting into the darkness. As she lifted her hand from the timber panel Mina pressed the small knife into her palm. She could kiss the woman for her thoughtfulness! She eased through into the small hold.

  ‘Jamie!’ Charlotte whispered. Her pounding heart reverberated in her ears filling her head with a beat like native clap sticks.

  ‘Jamie,’ she hissed a little louder. Switching the knife to her right hand she clutched the hilt tightly. The small menacing blade gave her a surprising degree of confidence. With her left hand she fingered her way along the curve of the hull in the darkness. She found nothing. No hatch, no shaft of light, only an impenetrable blackness cloaking her. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and for a moment she was back in the crypt at St Martin’s, Jamie’s favourite hiding place when the chase became too hot.

  Charlotte’s fingers bumped against the timbers, the damp seeping into her skin until her knuckles hit a solid wall. She snapped her eyes open as her nose grazed the bulkhead. With her palms planted flat she pressed her lips to the timber and called again, ‘Jamie! Jamie!’

  Where was he? Below decks somewhere…she’d heard the rattle of a chain and the slamming hatch. Clenching her fist she rapped the old pattern. Ratta tat tat ratta then dropped her hand, held her breath and waited. Still nothing. Gasping in the dank fetid air she tried again. Ratta tat tat ratta. A scuffled noise and the answer she prayed for. Tat tat tat.

  ‘Jamie!’ She stamped her foot and shouted his name in frustration.

  ‘You have found him.’ Charlotte jumped as Mina’s warm breath touched her neck. She hadn’t even known she stood behind her.

  ‘Charlotte, I’m here.’ His distorted voice filled her with a rush of pleasure and heat raced to her face, dispelling all her doubts. Laying her palms flat against the wall she could almost feel Jamie’s hands and the touch of his warm fingers on the other side.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. Mina is here with me. I don’t think we can get you out this time.’

  ‘No, angel. Not this time. Bristol has more nous. This is the centreboard. I know there is no break in it because I replaced it when we were in Hobart Town.’ He gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Shame I did such a good job.’

  ‘Where are we? What is happening? Why aren’t you in your cabin?’

  ‘One question at a time. Speak slowly.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘We are about four hours out of Boyd Town.’

  A cold stone sank in Charlotte’s belly. In four hours Henk would off-load the girls and take them to The Whaleman’s Rest.

  ‘What can we do? We cannot let Henk take these girls to a brothel.’

  ‘Stop!’ Mina’s hand came down over her mouth, and dragged her away from the wall.

  ‘No, Mina. Stop it. I need to talk to him.’ Charlotte shrugged Mina’s strong hands away.

  ‘No, we must go. Cookie is opening the hatch. The girls have passed the word through to us. Come. You must leave him.’

  ‘I have to go. I will come back later.’

  ‘Take care, my angel.’

  But for Mina’s determined grasp on her arm Charlotte would have been incapable of leaving. Together they made their way back, far faster this time because of the line of girls marking the route, leading them through to the relative light of the main hold. By the time she and Mina stepped through the rows of barrels the late afternoon light flooded the hold and the hatch stood open.

  Cookie’s voice rang out. ‘Come on, girls. You can come up on deck now for your fresh air. There’s food up here.’

  The girls jostled up the ladder keen to be out on the open deck.

  ‘He’s a good man,’ Mina whispered in Charlotte’s ear.

  ‘Yes, Mina he is. We must get him out of there.’

  ‘Yes, your Captain is. I meant the Cookie man. He is a good man. He is not like the others. He has a heart and maybe also a soul. The Gods watch over him.’

  Charlotte couldn’t resist a quick smile. Her thoughts had centred on Jamie since the moment she’d rediscovered him and it was as though no one else existed. In the hierarchy of importance everyone ranked very, very low by comparison. Her Jamie. She beamed at Mina.

  ‘You love him,’ Mina said as they climbed up onto the deck and into the delicious fresh air.

  Charlotte couldn’t reply. To give voice to her love would be a betrayal. Jamie’s words filled her mind. Secret’s only a secret ‘tween two.

  The pleasure of being up on deck once more calmed her and Charlotte sucked in the fresh air, relishing the clean taste of the salt and the touch of the wind on her face. In the twilight she took a good look at the women and girls. Even dressed in the ragtag remnants from the ship’s slops chest Mina’s breathtaking statuesque beauty made her stand out as the leader of the group. Her skin was the colour of polished honey, not marble like Jamie’s. Her full-bodied curves marked her as the eldest of the group; the long legs and budding breasts of the others signalling the first flush of puberty. Her flesh crawled to think of men such as Henk, Catz and Bristol abusing their young bodies.

  Forcing back her anger she answered Cookie’s call and squatted with the other women on the leeward side of the mainmast. Charlotte fought her long cumbersome skirt. The girls settled easily cross-legged on the deck like a flock of brightly coloured birds in their sailors’ garb. Compared to them she may as well have been tethered.

  Charlotte’s mouth watered and her stomach rumbled noisily as she broke off a large chunk of bread and dunked it in the warm brown gravy of Cookie’s stew. Almost two days since she’d eaten in the mess with Marcus. She’d only snatched a bit of this or that as she’d cared for Jamie and now he sat imprisoned in the hold once more, deprived of food and water.

  A shadow fell across her plate as she wiped the last morsel of gravy into her mouth and she looked up. Marcus stood above her, his eyes bulging and his face a mottled red. ‘Rise to your feet, woman.’

  Mindful of the group arraigned around her she put her plate down on the deck and made to stand. Mina’s hand reached out to her knee restraining her. ‘Don’t do it,’ she hissed.

  ‘I must.’ Charlotte brushed Mina’s hand aside and stood to face Marcus.

  ‘You whore!’ His hand connected with her cheek knocking her aside. Speechless she gawked at him, her mouth gaping as the pain radiated out across her face.

  ‘Whore! You deserve your punishment.’ His hand rose again but Mina stepped between them and caught his wrist in a vice-like grip, breaking the swing of his arm.

  ‘Get your hand from me, you heathen bitch.’ He leapt back, eyes wide like a frightened horse, rubbing at his skin where her hand had touched him.

  ‘Mina! Don’t. You will only make matters worse. Let me deal with him. I know how this works.’

  ‘He should not raise his hand to you. You are not his.’

  ‘Mina, I am — I am his assigned servant, he can treat me as he wishes. He has never paid me a wage; I couldn’t travel to Sydney without his permission and signature on my papers. He controls my life and if I complain I will be
sent back to prison.’

  Mina blinked heavily and sank to her haunches while the girls watched in horror. Charlotte stepped closer to Marcus, drawing his attention from Mina.

  ‘Whore!’ he spat at her again. ‘Come here.’

  His long talon-like fingers reached out to her neck as if to choke her, then at the last moment his fingers uncurled and he reached for her and pulled her close. ‘I saw you with him. I saw him touching you here.’ He poked at her chest and then slid his fingers down the bodice of her dress.

  She pushed at his hands, her stomach clenching in revulsion. His eyes lit up like beacons and he grabbed at her chain and reeled her in like a fish on a line. The veins in his bloodshot eyes and his pale lashes filled her vision. A waft of his unwelcome breath filled her face and she jerked back. With a violent twist he yanked her closer again, snapping the fragile links of the chain. Crying out in triumph Marcus dangled her necklace aloft and it rotated slowly. The gold coin clanking against the little bottle the only sound in the awed silence.

  ‘Whores have no need of trinkets,’ Marcus screeched in a high-pitched voice. With a final flourish he flung the necklace over his head.

  It looped through the air, landed and skittered across the deck coming to rest against a coil of rope. Sobbing, Charlotte lunged after it, her knees scraping across the decking through the thin cotton of her skirt. Marcus’ booted foot snaked past her nose and with a flick of his toe he kicked her treasure away.

  A waft of lily of the valley hung in the air and Charlotte scrabbled after it, crawling on all fours. Marcus hauled her vertical, his fingers latched into the neckline of her dress. Stunned by the strength of the man she dangled, her feet skimming the deck like a puppet. Then he dropped her. She landed with a sickening crunch on her knees, pain ricocheting up her legs.

  ‘Get below. Out of my sight. You are no better than these blackbirds. Tomorrow you go to The Whaleman’s Rest where you belong.’

  A small shudder ran through Marcus before he stormed away, back ramrod straight. ‘See to it, Cookie.’

  ‘Marcus,’ Charlotte screamed as her world caved in. She’d found Jamie but lost her only possession binding them to their past.

  Christian slammed his head against the bulkhead relishing the pain as it rattled through his skull. With his hands outstretched he stumbled past the empty hammocks where twenty-four hours ago the convicts had rested. Stale sweat and something akin to desperation permeated the entire space. Why he’d even agreed to carry the convicts in the first place rankled. No better than Henk, he’d been lured by easy money. If he had contemplated the atrocity of life below decks he would never have agreed. Money dictated everyone’s motives. He blinked into the darkness annoyed — nothing, only impenetrable blackness. Through the years he’d become familiar with every inch of the ship, knew it as well as his own hand, but caged in the darkness it became a sinister labyrinth.

  When he located the hatch he rattled it, refusing to accept he had no chance of being free to roam the ship. Well and truly secured this time and no sneaky little escape route through the solid centreboard separating the two holds.

  Charlotte was mere inches away from him and he wasn’t able to see or touch her. Now the effects of the laudanum had dwindled and his mind had cleared he wanted to sit with Charlotte and catch the elusive images dancing across his mind, fill in the infuriating gaps. The harder he tried to place the pieces the more confusing the puzzle became.

  Without a shadow of doubt Charlotte was Lottie, but who was the murdered girl in the alleyway? Henk’s taunt still rang in his ears. Murderer. Why hadn’t he swung? Charlotte would know. When he closed his eyes he could see her face, feel the silky softness of her skin, smell her. Her face had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember; now she inhabited his every waking moment as well.

  Oblivious to the pain in his back Christian threw himself into the hammock. The assortment of half-forgotten memories drifted like flotsam to settle in the empty crevices of his mind.

  The dead woman’s face and her storm-cloud eyes, Charlotte’s eyes, yet cold with no hint of sunshine. Not Charlotte. Not the skinny London urchin with the dirty smudged face or the beautiful woman who’d tended his wounds and inflamed his senses. The face he saw was rouged and painted, the carmine slash of her lips spread to her cheeks, her plump thighs, whale flesh beneath a dirty petticoat.

  He turned his hands over examining the sticky mess drying on his palms and flexed his fingers. He traced the path across her neck. The pale white of her English skin smeared with the black-red of drying blood. He pulled her skirt over her contorted limbs to the top of her laced boots.

  ‘Elizabeth!’ Christian jerked upright as the pictures interlocked and revealed the scene.

  Lottie with her hands to her cheeks and her mouth gaping. The knife dangling in two fingers in front of her. ‘Jamie, why…’ Her plaintive cry in the narrow laneway. The sound of running feet. A shove so hard it flattened him against the rough brick wall.

  Hauled up by his coat, spread-eagled against the wall. A knee in his kidneys. His arms wrenched backwards. The snap of cuffs. The Bobby’s triumphant cry, ‘Got you, boyo. Try and wheedle your way out of this one.’

  Lottie’s heartbroken sobs as sharp as the knife that slashed Elizabeth. His feet bumping and dragging against the cobbled stones. The darkness as the door closed on the hell that was Newgate.

  ‘On your feet, matey.’

  Christian jumped, blinking owlishly against the waving yellow light, the knot in his stomach unravelling as he recognised Cookie’s voice. ‘Got some food, bread, cheese and a bit of meat. Don’t eat it all at once. You won’t be getting anything else till we’ve left Boyd Town.’

  Christian slid out of the hammock and eyed the wizened little man standing above him shuffling his feet.

  ‘There’s some water here too.’ Cookie passed the bucket with food in it down to Christian and a pitcher of water then made a move to shut the hatch.

  Cookie was no match for him. He could rush the hatch and be out in a trice. He took a step forward. ‘Cookie?’

  The old man shrugged. ‘Just following orders.’

  ‘You too, Cookie?’ Christian knocked back the idea. Once above deck he’d be clearly visible to the rest of the crew. He wouldn’t put it past Henk to put a bullet through him. He’d be no good to Charlotte or the blackbirds dead.

  Christian didn’t miss the man’s shamefaced nod. ‘So be it. I would have thought you’d be the last one to condone slavery.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with slavery and everything to do with money. The crew are with Henk. He’s promised them what they want.’

  ‘And what do they want?’ As if he didn’t know. Henk would take the Zephyrus back to whaling.

  ‘A share, the same we’ve always had. The same way all whaling ships work, like the old man worked. Capt’n gets most and then down the line. Know where you stand and what to expect.’

  ‘Cookie, it’s ridiculous. Nothing’s changed about money, only the way we’re earning it. I’m following the old man’s wishes. You know as well as I do — he didn’t want the Zephyrus to continue whaling.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. There’s no real money in passengers and a few bales of wool or casks of someone else’s whale oil.’

  ‘And there’s no morality in people smuggling — selling young girls against their will.’

  Cookie shrugged again, his face closed. ‘Henk’s had this planned for a while now. They’re bringing in men from the islands too. The big landowners are going to give ‘em ten pounds a year and set them up as shepherds on the Monaro. Paying’s not slavery. Working on a bloody ship for no wages, that’s slavery.’

  He was fighting a losing battle. He could hear Henk in every word Cookie spoke. If the world-wise Cookie had been swayed he had no chance of changing the opinions of the rest of the crew. ‘How far off Twofold Bay are we?’

  ‘Won’t make it before nightfall. We’ll moor offshore and go in, in the morning. Th
e Wainwright bloke says he’s got business to do — something about picking up a cargo for Sydney. He’s got some deal going with Henk.’

  ‘And I guess you’ll all be getting a cut of it?’ Christian raised an eyebrow. A look of doubt flickered across Cookie’s eyes. ‘And where’s Charlotte? Still locked in the hold?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Cookie shuffled his feet and made a move to close the hatch. ‘You got enough food to keep you going. I’ll be back once we leave port.’

  The hatch clanged shut and the sound of the wedges hammered into place was the only answer he got. Christian gave the ladder an almighty kick and sank into the nearest hammock. Henk had everything neatly tied up; however, he couldn’t imagine Charlotte letting them take the girls ashore without kicking up a stink.

  Christian grinned into the darkness — when she was riled she could be as stubborn as a mule with a mouth much too big for her own good. Even as a kid she’d had a big mouth. She — his head crashed against the beam above as he jumped up. Jesus Christ, he could remember the mouthful she’d given the Bobbies as they’d dragged him away. Told them to fuck off in no uncertain terms.

  He hadn’t seen her again, not until the hearing when he’d been accused of murdering her sister. He thought he was a goner then, waiting for the judge to declare ‘Death by hanging’. But the fence had crossed the wrong person’s palm with silver and his claim he’d seen James Harrington plunge the knife into Elizabeth Oliver’s throat didn’t stand up. Couldn’t hardly when the man tripped himself up and said he’d been in the West End that evening and he’d got witnesses to prove it — bloody idiot. What a farce. He’d copped a life sentence. A darn sight better than swinging. It didn’t answer the question as to how the hell he’d ended up aboard the Zephyrus.

  The clatter and rattle of the anchor chain signalled the ship’s arrival in Twofold Bay. Frustrated by his inability to see anything Christian pushed himself to his feet and shook the hatch cover — tight as a duck’s arse. The usual sounds of the crew attending to the ship filled the air and the Zephyrus slowed until she swung on her anchor into the wind. Captain or no captain the crew knew what they were doing.