That had been a surprise, of sorts. Elizabeth had assumed there was no man in Friday’s life because of her headstrong and rowdy character, which certainly wasn’t to everyone’s taste, and what she did for a living. But the more she thought about it, the more she could see that she wasn’t a man’s girl at all. She felt for Friday, she really did, but if this Aria girl had gone from her life forever, there really was nothing to be done about it.
And if she couldn’t retire Friday and force her to accept money, she could do the next best thing, which was to create a job for her that might make her happier. Friday would still be paid well, the business would obviously benefit, and she, Elizabeth, could control Friday’s behaviour by threatening her with the Factory if she didn’t curb her drinking. Yes, it was underhanded, but she hadn’t amassed a fortune over the decades without being devious. And it was in Friday’s best interests.
Losing Amy all those years back had been dreadful. She couldn’t bear to lose Friday as well.
July 1832, Indian Ocean
Lucy Christian sat in the cabin’s single chair, attempting without much success to embroider by the weak light of the lantern swinging ceaselessly back and forth from the ceiling. She supposed, though, that she should be grateful for any light at all; beneath her feet the poor folk in steerage would be bumping around in the dark, the captain of the Florentia having banned lanterns below deck altogether. How inconvenient, not to mention chaotic, that must be, though she could certainly see his point. After all, she’d forsaken her friends and family to sail halfway around the world to seek a better life, not to choose between burning alive and drowning in the icy waters of the southern Indian Ocean.
She was twenty-three and a trained school teacher, and had been assisting the master at the small church-run school in her hometown of Clapham for three years before she’d realised she would likely have to wait for him to die before she could have his job, which she’d dearly wanted. Unfortunately, he was only thirty-six. It had been quite a depressing revelation, and she’d decided that if she had to move away from home to find a position as a schoolmistress, she might as well go somewhere properly different and challenging. Somewhere, perhaps, she might even start her own school. So she’d looked into the emigration, or bounty, scheme, found that Australia was the only colony on offer, paid her carefully saved eight pounds to equal the subsidy put up by the English government, and become a bounty emigrant.
Her mother had been horrified, convinced that every unmarried girl taking advantage of the scheme was deliberately being sent to Australia as fodder for the marriage market, and that she’d end up with a convict, or a grocer’s son, for a husband. Everyone knew there weren’t enough women in the colony to go around and that the men there were all mad for it. The fact that single women could only go if they were aged between eighteen and thirty proved it. Lucy had laughed at that, especially as her mother had been blathering on for ages about wasn’t it time Lucy found herself a husband?
But that couldn’t be true, because every bounty girl she’d met had to have some sort of useful trade; for example, they were trained dressmakers, needleworkers, cooks, shop workers or superior servants. There were even one or two other teachers. What would be the use of that if you were going to get married five minutes after you arrived? And even if it were true, Lucy had no intention of doing any such thing. Well, not for some time, at least. Her immediate future didn’t include cooking and cleaning for a husband, and she’d already turned down two moderately suitable offers of marriage in Clapham.
She had almost made a terrible mistake, however. She’d signed her bounty contract assuming that her ship, the Princess Royal, would be sailing to Sydney, her preferred destination by far, but when she’d read the contract properly at home, she’d realised that the Princess Royal was bound for Hobart in Van Diemen’s Land. That had put her in a dreadful funk. Van Diemen’s Land! She’d heard the weather there could be almost as inclement as England. So she’d spent more of her dwindling savings on another trip to London to see Mr Quincy, the emigration agent, and told him she’d changed her mind. But he’d insisted it was too late because she’d already paid her money and signed the contract.
Just when she’d resigned herself to miserable winters at the bottom of the world, she was rescued by serendipity. She’d received two very well-heeled visitors — a Mrs Beatrice Penfold and a Mr Victor Handley — who’d come all the way from London to make her a proposition. Mrs Penfold, it transpired, had three children temporarily in her care, the younger siblings of her brother-in-law’s new wife (which had sounded rather complicated), and was seeking a guardian to chaperone them on their voyage to Sydney. During her search she’d been directed to several emigration agents and had encountered Mr Quincy, who had recommended Lucy.
She had said, ‘Thank you very much for considering me, Mrs Penfold, but I think Mr Quincy might have become confused. I’m signed on to the Princess Royal. That’s a women-only ship and we’re going to Van Diemen’s Land. Unfortunately.’
Mrs Penfold had smiled prettily and said, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that, dear. Mr Quincy said everything can be sorted out. There’s another ship leaving for Sydney at about the same time, the Florentia. I’m sure berths for you and the children can be secured aboard. That is, of course, if you decide you would like to take up my offer.’
She’d been a little annoyed at that. ‘Actually, when I last spoke to Mr Quincy, he implied that the arrangements were set in stone.’
Mr Handley had laughed and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Nothing’s ever set in stone, Miss Christian.’
He’d been more than a little dashing, Mr Handley. Tall, handsome and rather wicked looking, despite having to rely quite heavily on a cane.
‘Well, I don’t have any of this,’ she’d said, repeating his gesture. ‘So I’m stuck with going to Van Diemen’s Land.’
Mrs Penfold had replied, ‘Fortunately, I do, so not necessarily. If you are amenable to my offer, Miss Christian, I’m sure Mr Quincy will see his way to releasing you from your current contract and issuing another more commensurate with your goals. Of course, you’ll also be paid for your services, and quite generously. It seems my brother-in-law has a deep purse regarding this matter.’
That had made her stop and think. The next thing she’d asked had been, ‘Why me?’
‘Because Mr Quincy recommended you very highly. He told me that you have several years’ formal teaching experience, and also that you’re from a respectable family rather than, er, an institution, which seems to be the case regarding quite a few bounty girls.’
‘That doesn’t mean they’re not respectable.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they are,’ Mrs Penfold said. ‘But you’re a trained teacher. I’d like the children to have lessons.’
‘How old are they?’
‘The girls are ten and eleven, and the boy is twelve.’
‘May I ask, where are the parents?’
‘The mother died last year and, er, I gather there hasn’t been any contact with the father for quite some time.’
Lucy had thought that sounded odd for a well-to-do family, and she’d soon discovered that there was more to the situation than Mrs Penfold had initially implied.
Mr Handley had said, ‘We’ll be blunt here, Miss Christian.’ He’d looked at Mrs Penfold. ‘Shall we, Beatrice? Be blunt?’
She’d said, ‘Yes, I think that might be for the best.’
‘The children’s elder sister,’ Mr Handley had gone on, ‘the one in Australia, married to James — James Downey, that is, Beatrice’s brother-in-law and my good friend — is a convict. She was transported three years ago —’
‘Nearly four, I believe,’ Mrs Penfold had interrupted.
‘Four then. And obviously she had to leave her brother and sisters behind here in England. When she and James married, James asked us to find the children and send them out.’
‘Where were they? The children?’
‘In London,
more or less fending for themselves,’ Mrs Penfold had said.
‘Oh dear. So are they . . . ?’ Lucy had trailed off, not quite knowing what to say.
Mr Handley had nodded. ‘They’re pretty much feral, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, they are not,’ Mrs Penfold had said crossly. ‘They can all read and write to a limited extent, which I must admit was a bit of a surprise. Perhaps their mother taught them, or their sister. Harrie, her name is. A diminutive of Harriet. But as I said, I’d like them to have further lessons on the ship. The children, though . . . Yes, well, perhaps they are a little unruly. The boy especially. But you have to remember they’ve been extremely disadvantaged in life, and especially since losing their mother. One has to make allowances.’
Lucy had thought that sounded ominous, but she really had wanted to go to Sydney, not Hobart, and the offer of a handsome reward just for child minding and teaching a few lessons was tempting. She’d asked for a night to think about Mrs Penfold’s offer, and the next day had accepted.
She’d gone to London three days after that, after saying a final, tearful goodbye to her family, and met the children, Robert, Sophia and Anna Clarke, which evidently was their mother’s surname, not their father’s. Mr Handley had been right — they were feral, though Mrs Penfold had assured her she’d finally rid them of the ringworm and head and body lice with which they’d been infested. But Lucy had dealt with, in her opinion, far more obnoxious children at the school in Clapham — a handful of unfortunate individuals already so stewed in the juices of religious dogma that they were nasty, bitter and unforgivingly judgmental. What were a few nits, curse words and possibly light fingers compared to that? In her view there was nothing worse than a closed mind. In comparison the Clarke children, while certainly rough, relatively uneducated and possessed of considerable street cunning, were infinitely preferable. She thought they’d probably get on all right.
And so far they had. The girls in particular were quite charming, once they’d overcome their initial mistrust and shyness. Sophie was naturally quiet and studious, and, to Lucy’s delight, had a flair for learning. She’d been busy with piecework twelve hours a day at the ‘shithole’ (ten-year-old Anna’s word — Lucy would have to do something about their language, which actually was quite dreadful) in which they’d been living, and it had been Sophie who’d written all the letters to their sister, Harrie.
Anna was extremely sweet, when she wasn’t swearing. She had a problem with her eyesight and hadn’t been able to sew the tiny stitches required by the demanding garment merchants, so she’d sold fruit at Covent Garden with Robbie. At first, on the Florentia, she hadn’t let Sophie out of her sight, not even when Sophie needed to use the foul-smelling privies, but after a fortnight at sea she’d relaxed. Sophie began to trust Lucy to care for Anna, and Anna began to enjoy being with Lucy. Which was fortunate, as their cabin — generously paid for by Dr Downey — was really rather small for four people, as Lucy assumed most ships’ cabins probably were.
Robbie, however, was a different matter. None of the children had said as much, but she’d gained a strong impression that hawking apples, pears and lemons hadn’t been his only source of income. Intellectually he was very quick, but he seemed by nature to be wily: it was almost impossible to fathom what he was thinking. Lucy was fairly sure he didn’t yet trust her, and she knew she probably shouldn’t trust him, though she’d made a point of not taking her purse every time she left the cabin. Foolhardy, perhaps, but she was convinced any unlawful activities on his behalf had been driven by his need to provide for and protect his sisters, whom he very obviously adored. And none of her money had yet gone missing.
All three children seemed very excited to be going to Australia and seeing their sister after being separated for almost four years. Their conversations were peppered with comments such as, ‘Remember when Harrie . . . ?’ and ‘Harrie always says . . .’ Clearly, Harriet Downey had kept up a regular correspondence with them, and Lucy only hoped that, now that she had married her doctor, the social gap between her and her siblings hadn’t widened too far. But that wasn’t her problem, she supposed. She quite possibly wouldn’t set eyes on them again, once she’d delivered them to Mrs and Dr Downey. Which was a shame.
She glanced at her little carriage clock. It was a relatively inexpensive one — brass, not gilt — but her mother and father had given it to her as a farewell gift, and she loved it. It had fallen off the tiny table every time they encountered rough seas, so she’d asked the ship’s carpenter for a hammer and nails, and made a hook on the wall on which to hang it. Squinting, she saw that it was just after nine o’clock. Time to get the children in. Well, the girls, anyway. Robbie would come in when it suited him, or spend the night asleep on deck. He’d taken a liking to the ship’s boy, a lad named Walter Cobley, who had apparently already been to New South Wales once in his young life.
All four children would be hanging over the ship’s rail, freezing cold, watching the bow slice through the swathes of dazzlingly luminous, greenish-blue plankton floating on the rolling sea. Sophie had told Anna it had fallen down from the moon and Lucy hadn’t corrected her because that’s exactly what it looked like — as though the moon had shed its skin.
Chapter Three
Friday leant on the windowsill in her room at the Siren’s Arms, smoking her pipe and looking down onto the stable yard, watching Jack telling off Jimmy Johnson the stable boy. It was raining, Jack was waving his arms around and Jimmy had his head down. Already in a bad mood, Friday felt like opening the window, leaning out and telling Jack to shut the fuck up. Jimmy seldom put a foot out of line — well, if he did he made sure no one caught him at it — and Jack could be a bit of a bully at times.
But just as she was about to yank up the sash she caught sight of Fast Eddie, the boy from the carter’s barracks, ambling into the yard, and cheered up. It had been three weeks since she’d talked to him and she was beginning to think she’d been wrong about Bella being in a hurry to put a monument on Clarence’s grave.
Jimmy saw Eddie, raised a hand in greeting and went to meet him. That was interesting — Friday hadn’t realised they were acquainted. Jack called after him and Jimmy gave him the fingers. Cheeky sod.
She opened the window. ‘Eddie! Are you looking for me?’
The boy looked around, then finally up, and waved. ‘Got some news!’
‘Wait there. I’ll come down.’
Without bothering to put on her boots even though it was wet, Friday grabbed her purse and trotted downstairs, through the back of the hotel and out to the stable yard.
Jack had disappeared, no doubt in a black mood now at having been cheeked, but Jimmy was still there.
‘I didn’t know you two knew each other,’ she said.
Jimmy nodded. ‘Yeah. We were in Hyde Park Barracks together.’ He nodded at Eddie. ‘And now, with him at old Mr Coombs’s and me here, we’re in the same line of business.’
‘You’re not in business,’ Friday said. ‘All you do is shovel shit.’
Jimmy tapped his nose. ‘Shows what you know.’
Eddie laughed and Friday wasn’t sure she liked the sound of it. ‘You’d better not be up to any capers round here, Jimmy Johnson. I’ll have your guts for garters if I find out you are, and so will Jack.’
Jimmy looked genuinely offended. ‘Course not! Mrs H is the best boss I ever had!’
‘And don’t you forget it.’ Friday gave him her best shitty look. ‘Now hop off: I’ve got business with your mate.’
Jimmy said goodbye to Eddie and wandered off towards the stables.
‘Well?’ Friday demanded. ‘What have you got for me?’
Eddie stuck out his hand. ‘You owe me two quid.’
‘The gen first, then I’ll pay you.’
‘God, you’re a hard lady.’
‘Oh, get on with it.’
‘This morning, before I done the mucking out, I went over to the burial ground and I seen some coves with a horse and
cart, so I hid and watched what they was doing.’
‘And? Come on, I haven’t got all day.’
‘I’m telling you! Anyway they dragged these slabs of stone off the cart, sandstone I think it were — they were bloody heavy, ’cos they were grunting and swearing the whole time — and set them up over the grave.’
‘Are you sure it was the right one? The one I showed you?’
Eddie gave her a withering look. ‘Course I’m sure. Then they mortared it, you know, along the edges at the corners, but then it started to piss down and they buggered off.’
‘They didn’t put the lid on?’
‘They did, but it’s not stuck down. It’s just sitting there, on top.’
Friday started to grin. Things couldn’t be more perfect if she’d arranged them herself. Thank God for the rain — what a stroke of luck. But she’d have to move very fast. She opened her purse. ‘You’ve done well. Here you go.’
As Eddie ogled the five-pound note in his palm, Friday could see he was struggling mightily with his conscience, and tried not to laugh.
Finally, he said, with obvious reluctance, ‘This is a fiver. You only owe me the two.’
‘I know. The extra is to keep your mouth shut. This has to stay strictly between me and you. Am I being clear?’
‘As . . .’ His brow furrowed as he tried to think of something exceptionally clear. ‘Anything.’
‘Good,’ Friday said. ‘Good lad.’
After almost an hour of dithering and citing weak arguments against the idea, Elizabeth finally agreed to let Friday move Gil’s remains.
A Tattooed Heart Page 4