A Tattooed Heart

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Pardon me?

  ‘A dominatrix. I, er, whip people.’

  ‘For money?’

  ‘Loads of it.’

  ‘Men, do you mean?’

  Friday nodded again. ‘They like it.’

  ‘How bizarre. Although,’ Aria said, ‘there are some men at home I would have liked to have whipped. Extremely hard.’

  ‘It’s not that sort of whipping. This is . . . measured. I don’t do it to hurt them. Well, not badly.’

  ‘And you do not have to go with men at all any more?’

  ‘No. Great, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. I understand that prostitution is your trade, but it is demeaning and I would really rather not share you with anyone. I am not accustomed to sharing.’

  ‘Well, now you don’t have to.’ Friday gazed at Aria, smiling, happy and suddenly without a care in the world. ‘Oh, look, I’m so rude. I’ll ring for some tea.’ She gave the bell-pull a tug. ‘When did you get here?’

  ‘An hour ago. I came on an American whaling ship. Not my first choice but I was not in a position to be picky.’

  Friday’s smile disappeared. ‘Did the crew give you trouble?’

  Aria reached into her reticule on the floor and produced a wickedly sharp stiletto knife. ‘Not after the first day, no. There were men from the islands aboard, too. Near enough to kin. I was safe.’

  ‘Do you think your mother and father will come after you?’

  ‘Without doubt. My betrothal to Te Paenga would have had political benefit to my hapu. They will not give up such an advantage without a fight.’

  ‘Really? Shit.’ That was something Friday could do without. ‘Oh! That reminds me.’

  But she was interrupted by Ivy at the door. ‘You rang?’

  ‘I did, but first, Ivy, I want you to properly meet my friend Aria, who’ll be staying with me. Aria’s a New Zealand princess.’

  Awestruck, Ivy bobbed a curtsy. ‘Good evening, Princess Aria.’

  Aria stood, towering over the housegirl, and shook her hand, startling her. ‘Good evening, Ivy. You have such lovely hair. Also, I think we shall say “Miss”, not “Princess”.’

  Friday thought that was very kind, and perceptive, as Ivy was quite plain but did have nice, shiny brown hair, and was proud of it. Aria would have a friend for life now.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Aria,’ Ivy said, going scarlet and curtsying again.

  ‘Can you bring us a pot of tea and something to eat, Ivy? Aria’s just got off a ship and she’s probably starving. So am I, actually.’

  ‘But it’s after ten o’clock.’ Ivy looked faintly distraught. ‘The girls will have finished in the kitchen.’

  ‘Well, pinch us something. Cold meat and pickles? A bit of bread? Go on, there’s a good girl,’ Friday said, knowing that Ivy would go to the ends of the earth and back to make her happy. She was very loyal, Ivy. She turned to Aria. ‘And while we’re waiting, we might hop over to the brothel and I’ll introduce you to Mrs H. She’d love to meet you.’

  She’d rather stay here and take Aria’s clothes off, but they’d only be interrupted. She caught the look in Aria’s eye and saw she was thinking the same thing, and they shared a long, slow smile.

  When Ivy had gone, Aria said, ‘Tell me what you were going to say before we were interrupted.’

  ‘Oh, right. Your Uncle Whiro’s head? You know how you said you wanted solid evidence that Bella Shand was behind the theft before you did anything about it? Well, I think we’ve got it.’

  Aria was suddenly very tense. ‘Show me.’

  ‘Well, when I say we’ve got it, I mean I know where we can get it. I’ve got this customer called Lucian Meriwether, who I see privately ’cos he bribed a magistrate called Clement Bloodworth to get me off an assault charge. Anyway, Bloodworth told Lucian he has a letter saying Bella was behind the importing of a shipment of heads into the colony at around the time your uncle’s head was stolen.’

  ‘Are the upoko tuhi here?’ Aria’s eyes were full of hope. And something else that Friday found rather disquieting.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe,’ she said carefully. ‘I’ve heard a lot of them get sent to England.’

  ‘How do we get this letter? I have to see it.’

  ‘You know Sarah in the jewellery shop, the girl you gave my Christmas present to?’

  ‘Small, dark hair, clever?’

  ‘That’s her. Well, she’s a thief. A bloody good one. There isn’t a lock or a safe she can’t crack.’

  ‘Crack?’

  ‘Break into. And she also breaks into people’s houses.’

  ‘Ah,’ Aria said. ‘She can get the letter. How much will I have to pay her?’

  ‘Nothing, because what you need for your revenge thing —’

  ‘Utu.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s also what we need to stop Bella blackmailing us.’

  ‘Then why has Sarah not stolen the letter already?’

  ‘She’s waiting for the right opportunity. Bloodworth’s house is always overflowing with people. But when the time comes, she’ll be in there like a rat up a drainpipe.’

  ‘Then we must think of a way to empty Bloodworth’s house.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done.’

  ‘In Aotearoa we would simply launch a raid.’

  ‘Well, yes, but we’re in Sydney Town.’

  ‘This is true,’ Aria said ruefully.

  ‘Shall we go and say hello to Mrs H? Just for a minute?’

  On the way downstairs they met Ivy coming up with tea, buttered bread and two wedges of chicken pie.

  ‘Miss Friday, your tea. It’ll get cold.’

  ‘Thanks, love, we won’t be long.’

  ‘And I would very much like a bath,’ Aria said. ‘Could that be arranged please, Ivy? I have not had a proper wash in twelve days.’

  ‘Poo!’ Friday said.

  Ivy nodded and trudged off.

  Friday led Aria along the alleyway from the Siren’s Arms and through the gate into the brothel’s backyard, where Connie and Lou, both rostered on for the evening shift, loitered on the steps while Connie had a quick puff on her pipe. They stared openly as Friday and Aria approached out of the darkness.

  Grinning broadly, Friday said, ‘Girls, this is my friend Aria, from New Zealand. She’ll be staying with us. With me. Aria, this is Connie and Lou.’

  ‘Loulou Lacroix,’ Lou corrected.

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you,’ Aria said, shaking hands.

  Connie remarked, ‘You’re a big one, aren’t you?’

  ‘Actually, I am quite small compared to my sisters. Also, you should see my brothers,’ Aria said.

  ‘God, I’d love to.’

  Friday said proudly, ‘I’m taking her to meet Mrs H.’

  As the back door closed behind them, Connie remarked, ‘Fancy that. Mind you, I did wonder if she was one for the girls.’

  Lou shrugged. ‘No skin off our noses, is it?’

  ‘’Spose not. Her, er, friend’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Her lover,’ Lou corrected. ‘Why don’t you just say it? And yes, she is.’

  Elizabeth was, after all Friday’s months of drunken whingeing, very pleased to meet Aria. ‘My dear, I’m delighted. Friday has been missing you terribly. She told me you’re lovely, but the word really doesn’t do you justice. And this is just stunning.’ She tapped her chin, indicating the intricate tattoo Aria wore.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hislop. I am very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘I’ve asked Aria to stay with me,’ Friday said. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. Perhaps now you might stop in at night more often,’ Elizabeth replied pointedly. ‘Unless, that is, Aria enjoys being out and about after dark herself.’

  Aria said, ‘If by that you are asking do I drink, Mrs Hislop, no, I do not.’

  ‘Wise girl.’ Elizabeth looked happy. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice, Friday, if some of Aria’s abstemious behaviour rubbed off on you? But of course, now that
you have your heart’s desire, you don’t need to drink, do you?’

  ‘No, actually, I don’t.’

  And right then, Friday truly believed it. She felt happier and more carefree than she had in many months — perhaps even since she’d been transported. She didn’t need gin any more: she had Aria. And she had Harrie and Sarah and other friends, and a good new job and plenty of money. Yes, there was still Bella the Bitch, but there might even be a way to fight her now, too. Bugger the booze!

  Desperate to be alone with Aria, she said, ‘Let’s go, I’m starving and our tea will be getting cold.’

  As they left holding hands — rather sweetly, Elizabeth thought — she gazed after them. Off for a tumble, that was obvious. She’d seen the looks passing between them. She really was thrilled for Friday, and hoped that Aria’s return would be her saving grace, but she could foresee problems on the horizon. For a start, just on the domestic front, Ivy was not going to be their personal servant. Ivy adored Friday but she was a bonded convict assigned to Elizabeth as a housegirl and she had a job to do, which did not include waiting on those two girls all hours of the day and night.

  For another start, Elizabeth knew very well the heady, all-consuming heights of new love; she might be old now but could still remember with heart-racing, belly-flipping clarity the almost rabid passion she and Gil had shared during their first year together. They’d fucked like rabbits and she’d thought of nothing else but him. She had no doubt that Friday and Aria would be the same, and worried that Friday’s infatuation would distract her from her work. Flogging was a job requiring considerable mental concentration and physical skill. She’d have to have a quiet word, possibly with Aria rather than Friday. Aria — hopefully — would understand that Friday had to work; not just because she was employed by Elizabeth, but to help keep her sober.

  Her third concern worried her most. Aria, she knew, had been raised as royalty and no doubt expected, and was accustomed to usually getting, her own way. Friday, although born into a life far removed from Aria’s, also did exactly as she liked, and to hell with everyone else. Elizabeth could foresee some dreadful clashes, especially after the heat of their new love mellowed. And those first, searing flames of passion always did die down, leaving lovers to face the stark truth of each other — faults, failings and unpleasant habits included. Aria and Friday clearly both had forceful personalities, and Elizabeth had no desire to see the first floor of the Siren’s Arms become a battleground. In fact, she couldn’t allow it.

  She especially couldn’t allow Friday to drink indiscriminately again. Yes, she knew she was sneaking more than she said she was — Friday was having herself on if she thought she could fool someone who’d lived for decades with an incurable inebriate like Gil Hislop, and watched a daughter walk the same disastrous path — but over the past few weeks her behaviour had improved quite noticeably.

  Elizabeth wanted her to stay improved.

  ‘Is that bath still not full, Ivy?’ Friday asked.

  They’d eaten their bread and pie, finished the tea, and were now sitting on the bed watching Ivy cart in yet another two buckets of hot water.

  Ivy gave Friday an uncharacteristically sour look. ‘These are the last two. It is quite a long way up here from the kitchen.’ She emptied the buckets into the bath, which was set before a nicely burning fire, said, ‘There’s fresh towels there on the chair,’ and clattered her way out.

  Friday stuck her hand in the bath water. ‘Ow. I hope this isn’t too hot.’

  ‘I do not care,’ Aria said, unlacing her boots and kicking them off. ‘Will you open my buttons?’

  Friday obliged, undoing the long row at the back of Aria’s dress, desperate to run her hands over the lovely brown skin as it was revealed. Instead, she planted a tiny kiss on her neck.

  ‘I have dreamt of this,’ Aria said.

  ‘Oh, so have I.’

  Aria turned. ‘But first I must bathe. I stink.’

  She stripped off her dress and shift and crossed to the bath. Friday held her breath, amazed afresh at the absolute beauty of her muscled limbs and strong, rounded body. Stepping into the gently steaming water, Aria hissed at the heat, then sank slowly into a crouch as her skin became accustomed to the temperature.

  ‘I’ve got some lovely rose soap.’

  ‘Rose is my favourite.’ Gingerly, Aria sat down, slopping water over the low end of the bathtub.

  Friday fetched the soap, pushed up her sleeves and knelt on the floor. ‘Can I wash you?’

  ‘I would love you to wash me.’

  Sloshing the soap about and working up a lather, Friday began with Aria’s hands, massaging and rinsing with a washcloth then moving up her arms to her underarms and across her wide shoulders. Aria’s head lay against the back of the bath and her eyes were closed. When Friday’s soapy hands slid down to her breasts, stroking and caressing, her eyes opened.

  ‘That is very nice but this bath is ridiculous. It is too small.’

  It was; her knees were up around her ribs. It was too small for Friday as well.

  ‘I’ll hurry up, then,’ Friday said.

  Another quick lather up of the soap and she slid her hand between Aria’s legs and began to rub. Aria gasped, her legs parted and water splashed across Friday and the floor. It didn’t take her long at all. She planted one foot against the end of the bath, raised her buttocks, pulled Friday to her in an iron grip and worked against her hand until she cried out, her face buried in Friday’s neck.

  Panting slightly, she relaxed back into the much-depleted water. ‘We have made quite a mess.’

  ‘Yes. I should get out of these wet clothes.’ Delighted with Aria, delighted with everything, Friday couldn’t wait.

  As she quickly undressed, tearing at buttons in her impatience, Aria stepped from the bath, her wet body gleaming in the firelight, long strands of black hair sticking to her chest and back. She crossed the room, pulled Friday down onto the bed and lay behind her.

  ‘I have missed you,’ she said. She lifted Friday’s hair and nibbled the white skin at the nape of her neck. ‘The smell of you, the feel of you. It has been like dying of thirst.’

  Friday couldn’t think of anything half as poetic to say back, so she took Aria’s hand and laid it on her cheek.

  If her life didn’t get any better than this, she’d die happy.

  Friday poured two cups of tea, then carefully lifted the lace-edged cloth off the cake. She was such a fussy old mot, Mrs Wright, but she baked beautifully.

  ‘Ooh, that looks nice. What is it today?’

  Lucian Meriwether said, ‘I believe it’s a plum cake. The plums are preserved, but Mrs Wright put them up herself at the end of summer.’

  Friday cut a generous slice, passed it to him with his tea, and sat down. ‘Are you warm enough? Would you like a rug?’

  ‘No, thank you, my dear. I’m still glowing very pleasantly from your ministrations. Also, to be tucked up by you would make me feel like your grandfather and, although I am certainly old enough, I would rather not be reminded of the fact.’ Lucian gave her a shrewd look as he stirred sugar into his tea. ‘I must say, you’re in a cheerful mood today. Have you something interesting to tell me?’

  ‘I do, actually.’ Friday grinned. ‘Aria’s here. She came back!’

  ‘Ah. Your dusky love from across the Tasman. Well, I’m delighted for you. Will she be staying?’

  ‘I think so. I really hope so.’

  ‘Excellent. That’ll cheer you up, won’t it? I have to say from time to time you’ve been rather like a bear with a sore head. You must bring her to meet me. I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘What do you mean, a bear?’ Friday asked, frowning. The only bear she’d ever seen was a poor, chained specimen in London, almost out of its mind with rage and despair. Oh.

  ‘And how are you progressing in your new role as the dominatrix of Argyle Street?’

  ‘Good, so far. We haven’t even been open a week and already I’m really busy
. I’ll be getting massive shoulder muscles at this rate.’

  ‘Pace yourself, my dear. You don’t want to ruin your beautiful feminine figure and end up looking like one of those lumpers on King’s wharf.’

  ‘That’s not likely, is it? Apart from the whipping, all I do is sit on my arse.’

  Lucian grunted and speared a sliver of plum with his cake fork. ‘What else has been happening?’

  ‘Not much.’ For a moment Friday watched the rain battering the leaves on the tree outside Lucian’s study window. Bloody rain. She was sick of it. She couldn’t tell him about her adventure in the Devonshire Street burial ground, and she really hadn’t done much else lately. ‘Are people still talking about the fox paw Bella made at Clarence’s funeral with all the mutes? Sarah said they would be.’

  ‘Faux pas,’ Lucian corrected. ‘Yes, that has been noted in certain circles. I’d like to think that when I fall off my perch, you might be good enough to attend my graveside, Friday.’

  She patted his bony old knee. ‘’Course I will. People’ll talk, but,’ she said and popped a forkful of cake into her mouth.

  ‘Let them. What will I care? I’ll be dead.’

  Friday snorted a laugh and choked. ‘Sorry. ’Scuse,’ she croaked, and swigged her tea. ‘That’s true. What about you? Heard any good gossip?’

  Lucian screwed up his already wrinkled face, pretending it was a strain for him to dredge his mind for interesting news. ‘James Busby’s expecting his vine cuttings from the Continent any day now.’

  ‘Good gossip, I said.’

  ‘And they say the ship with all those bounty girls from Cork is due in port in a week or so.’

  ‘Just what we need, a few hundred more Irish whores.’

  ‘They’re not whores, are they?’ Lucian looked faintly shocked. ‘I read that they all have a trade of some sort.’

  ‘Lucian, whoring is a trade,’ Friday said sweetly.

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean. I thought that they were all supposed to be dressmakers and properly trained servants and what have you.’

  ‘They might be, too, but they’ll still get treated like whores when they get here. Next.’