A Tattooed Heart

by Deborah Challinor

  Lucian tapped his false teeth. ‘Well, on Tuesday evening I went to a soirée at Mrs Southgate’s house. Winifred Southgate, do you know her?’

  ‘I know a Raymond Southgate. He was a customer.’

  ‘Yes, he’s the husband. It was quite a big do and I bumped into a few other people you might know. Eli Chattoway?’

  Friday shuddered, nearly spilling the remains of her tea. ‘Disgusting old pig. Had an encounter with him once but never any professional dealings, thank Christ.’

  ‘Yes, he is a repulsive man. You’d think he’d be able to find a clean waistcoat before he left the house, wouldn’t you? Anyway, he was in fine form, absolutely reeking of the cork as usual. Who else was there? Not the governor, which I believe irritated Mrs Southgate enormously.’ Lucian smirked. ‘Lawrence Chandler was there, though, and looking very po-faced. You’d know him, wouldn’t you? I don’t think he cares much for the social scene, but he does rely quite heavily on private sponsorship for his charity work. Who else? Francis Rossi, Robert Campbell and two of his sons, and William Lithgow from the Legislative Council. Oh, yes, and Phillip Tregoweth and his dreadful wife, and Clement Bloodworth and his wife. Henrietta, her name is. Quite charming. She bent my ear for half an hour about a trip she and her great brood of children are taking home to England. She’s a lot younger than Clement, you know. A lot younger. I believe she wants some time away from him. I certainly would, if I were her. God only knows how she puts up with his, er, transgressions. Or why.’

  ‘Really?’ Friday said, trying to hide her excitement. Lucian’s love of gossip could be such a windfall sometimes. ‘When are they off?’

  ‘Towards the end of the month, I think she said. Why?’

  Friday shrugged. ‘Just wondered. More cake?’

  Lucian patted his considerable belly. ‘Not for me. I was told recently by my physician to watch my weight. Apparently it helps with the gout. I’m not giving up my port, though. A man has to have some pleasures in life. Apart from you, of course, my dear.’

  ‘Why don’t you come and have a look at our new flogging room?’ Friday suggested. ‘It’s very smart, and discreet.’

  Looking suddenly despondent, and really quite elderly, Lucian said, ‘Have you grown tired of visiting me at home?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Friday said truthfully. ‘I just thought it’d be something different for you.’

  ‘I’d rather we kept things the way they are. I very much look forward to your weekly visits, especially our afternoon teas and our little chats.’ Lucian laid a liver-spotted hand on Friday’s arm. ‘You bring a lot of joy to this old man, you know.’

  Unaccountably, Friday felt tears stinging her eyes. ‘Then I’ll keep coming,’ she said.

  ‘I’m fed up with this miserable weather,’ Sarah said, jabbing viciously at the dining-room fire with a poker. ‘I didn’t get transported to New South Wales just to freeze to death. I could have stayed in London and done that.’

  ‘If we were still in London,’ Harrie said, amused, ‘you’d think this weather was balmy, for winter. You’ve gone soft.’

  ‘I have not! That’s the second time you’ve said that.’

  ‘I didn’t say it last time, Friday did.’

  Friday said, ‘I didn’t exactly say that.’

  ‘Well, don’t, either of you. I haven’t gone soft.’ Sarah plonked herself back down on her seat. ‘Sorry, Aria. I’m not usually this grumpy.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ Friday said. ‘Something’s the matter, though, isn’t it?’

  Sarah turned her teacup around in its saucer three times before she at last replied. ‘I’m bored. Adam’s lovely, the business is going well, and I’m bored.’

  Friday smiled slyly. ‘Well, this’ll perk you up. My cully Lucian Meriwether told me the other day that Henrietta Bloodworth — that’s Clement’s poor missus — is off home to England with the kids.’

  Sarah’s face lit up. ‘When?’

  ‘Later this month. Don’t know exactly when, but it should be easy enough to find out. I’ll just pay some little guttersnipe a shilling a week to hang around outside the house and find out.’

  Delighted, Sarah said, ‘So if the house is nearly empty, I can finally have a go at getting that bloody letter!’

  ‘The servants, though,’ Harrie said. ‘And Mr —’

  Aria kicked out under the table and let loose a torrent of what sounded like very vicious invective in Maori. Clifford shot out and stood facing her, head down, ears flat, legs spread, growling menacingly.

  ‘It bit me!’ Aria exclaimed, outraged. ‘It bit my boot!’

  Snatching Clifford up by the scruff of the neck she marched to the door, opened it and threw the wriggling, furiously barking dog out. Wiping her hands on her skirt, Aria sat down again, and looked around. ‘What? What is wrong?’

  Sarah glanced at Friday. ‘You tell her.’

  ‘Um, you can’t do that, Aria. Clifford’s special to us.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She belonged to a very good friend of ours. You’ll get used to her.’

  ‘I do not want to get used to her.’

  Friday had a flash of brilliance. She wanted Aria to at least tolerate Clifford, because these days Sarah adored the hairy little troll and frowned on people who didn’t like her, which was just about everyone. It was desperately important to Friday that Sarah and Aria became friends. The notion of them not getting on was unthinkable. There would never be another bond like the one she, Sarah, Harrie and Rachel had once shared, but she could hope for something approaching that. She didn’t have to worry about Harrie, of course, who got on with most folk and had liked Aria the moment she’d met her at Leo’s.

  ‘I think you might want to at least put up with her,’ she said. ‘Clifford’s master, Walter, was the one who killed Amos Furniss, and Clifford helped him do it. She had blood all over her face that night, didn’t she?’

  Harrie nodded vigorously.

  Aria crossed to the door again and opened it. Clifford was sitting on the mat, looking deeply disgruntled. ‘I apologise, dog. Also, I thank you for contributing to the death of the man who so insulted the mana of my family.’

  Sarah and Harrie exchanged deeply puzzled glances.

  Giving Aria a wide berth, Clifford trotted inside, her nose in the air and the hairs on the ends of her ears wafting gently, and collapsed in her basket beside the fire.

  After a short silence Sarah asked, ‘What were you saying, Harrie?’

  ‘Mr Bloodworth will still be at home, though, won’t he? And the servants. It won’t be like when you went into Bella Shand’s house. Whoops.’ She shot a nervous look at Aria.

  Friday said to Sarah, ‘I’ve explained to Aria about your, um, talents. Was that all right?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Can’t see why not. And, no, it won’t be the same as going into Bella’s, but I’ve cracked plenty of occupied cribs in my time. It could be a rush job but that’s all right, I’ve got the best kit of screws you can buy.’

  Aria looked irritated. ‘What are you saying? I cannot understand you.’

  With uncharacteristic patience, Friday translated. ‘She said she’s stolen from lots of houses while people have been at home, but even if she has to do it in a hurry she has all the right tools.’

  ‘And you are definitely an expert at this?’ Aria asked Sarah.

  ‘I do know what I’m doing, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Because I must have this letter. It is a matter of honour.’

  Sarah stared at her, frowning. ‘What do you mean you need it? We bloody well need it.’

  It occurred to Friday that perhaps, by now, she should have explained to Harrie and Sarah why Aria wanted the letter as much as they did.

  Sarah said, ‘You have told her about us, haven’t you? You’ve told everyone else.’

  Friday reddened. ‘I haven’t told everyone else. And no, I haven’t told her. Not yet.’

  There was a very awkward silence.

 
Aria broke it. ‘What have you not told me, Friday?’

  Panicked now because she’d been trying, desperately and unsuccessfully, to think of a way to broach the subject with Aria without presenting herself in a rather unpleasant light, Friday blurted to Sarah, ‘Bloody hell, I’m going to have to tell her now, aren’t I? So I will, and I’m telling her everything.’

  Harrie and Sarah looked horrified.

  ‘And don’t you dare tell me I can’t,’ Friday went on. ‘She’s my lover. I live with her. I don’t want any secrets. I’m fed up with secrets.’

  She was fed up with bloody well being sober, too. She’d been on the dry for a whole week and could easily kill for a drink right now.

  ‘Do you think we’re not?’ Sarah demanded. ‘I haven’t told Adam everything.’

  Harrie said, ‘And I haven’t told James anything!’

  ‘Enough!’ Aria clapped her hands together so sharply the noise was like a pistol shot. Jolted into silence, Friday, Harrie and Sarah stared at her. ‘What is this great secret?’

  ‘We murdered a man,’ Friday burst out.

  Flinching, Harrie said, ‘Oh God, where the hell’s Adam?’

  ‘Gone out, thank Christ.’ Sarah’s face was ashen. ‘I’ll never forgive you for this, Friday.’

  Aria brushed at a tiny piece of fluff on her bodice. ‘You did this here? In Sydney?’

  Friday nodded.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He hurt our friend Rachel very badly and also made her pregnant, with Charlotte, Harrie’s little girl. Rachel died having her. We wanted to . . . well, we wanted to pay him back.’

  Aria met Friday’s apprehensive gaze, her own face expressionless. Finally she said, ‘What is wrong with that? It was the appropriate response to redress such a violation.’

  ‘Was it?’ Friday felt as though she might dissolve with relief. She shot Harrie and Sarah a ‘see?’ look.

  ‘Of course,’ Aria said. ‘I do not see a dilemma.’

  ‘Well, there bloody well is one,’ Sarah snapped. ‘Someone saw us, a woman called Bella Shand. She’s been blackmailing us.’

  ‘Yes, I know who she is,’ Aria said, her voice like a hoar frost.

  Friday raised her eyebrows at Aria for permission, and received a curt nod.

  ‘You know how we thought Bella, Furniss and Gellar were all in on the business of smuggling those tattooed heads into Sydney together?’ she said. ‘Well, they were, and one of the heads —’

  ‘Upoko tuhi,’ Aria interrupted.

  Friday corrected herself. ‘Sorry, one of the upoko tuhi they stole, that Furniss personally stole, belonged to Aria’s Uncle Whiro.’

  ‘He owned it?’ Sarah asked.

  Feeling really quite uncomfortable, Friday said, ‘Er, no, it was his head.’

  Silence fell.

  Eventually Harrie said, ‘Oh dear, I am sorry, Aria.’

  ‘What happened?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘It was my mother’s fault,’ Aria said bluntly. ‘We believe Furniss was in Aotearoa on a buying expedition but my mother would not sell. One does not sell one’s ancestors.’

  ‘But he must have seen it to have wanted it. Did she show it to him?’

  Aria gave a mirthless smile. ‘Yes. My uncle’s upoko tuhi is particularly fine, and my mother is proud and arrogant. She could not resist when he asked to see specimens.’

  ‘Pardon me,’ Sarah said, ‘but wasn’t that a bit silly?’

  ‘Of course it was; she is a stupid woman. It gave Furniss the impetus and opportunity to orchestrate the theft. My family is bereft. And deeply shamed and insulted.’

  Friday took Aria’s hand. ‘That’s partly why Aria’s mother and father were in Sydney, that first time we met. They were looking for her uncle’s upoko tuhi, and for Furniss. But, well, Furniss has been dead for ages —’

  ‘And so, we discovered, has Gellar,’ Aria interrupted. ‘And we found no trace of Uncle Whiro, or proof to implicate the Shand woman in any smuggling venture.’

  Sarah said, ‘But you wouldn’t. She never leaves a trail, that one. So that’s why you want to see this letter?’

  ‘Yes. If I have concrete evidence she is behind the theft of my uncle’s upoko tuhi, I can claim utu, as you did for the life of your friend, Rachel.’

  ‘You’ll kill Bella?’ Sarah looked blatantly hopeful.

  Aria shrugged. ‘Who knows? My family has a duty to restore balance in some way. If that balance is not restored, we will lose face and therefore power and control.’

  ‘Does utu mean revenge?’ Harrie asked.

  ‘Not always, but in this case, yes.’

  ‘But you’ve run away from your family,’ Sarah said.

  ‘So? I am still who I am, and continue to suffer the insult visited upon me via my family by the Shand woman.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Sarah cracked her knuckles energetically. ‘Sorry, Aria, no disrespect meant. It was a shitty thing for Furniss to do, and I think we can work well together. Welcome to our crew.’

  Friday hadn’t seen Sarah this animated for ages. She grinned.

  Aria said, ‘And you require the letter because . . . ?’

  ‘Same reason, really. If it proves Bella’s behind bringing those upoko tuhi into the colony, we can use it to stop her blackmailing us.’

  ‘How long has this blackmail gone on?’ Aria asked.

  ‘Bloody ages,’ Friday said. ‘Nearly two years.’

  Aria looked astonished. ‘And you have just given her the money?’

  ‘Well, there’s been a bit more to it than that,’ Sarah said.

  ‘She has not met with an unfortunate accident?’ Aria asked. ‘Perhaps fallen while out walking and fatally bashed her head? She has not inadvertently eaten a deathly poisonous substance? She has not been found with her throat slit after thieves have ransacked her house?’

  Harrie, Sarah and Friday stared at her in amazement. Such a brutally matter-of-fact litany of death from a very beautiful and elegant girl.

  Unable to decide whether she was shocked, embarrassed or about to swoon from admiration, Friday said, ‘We did think about that now and then, but we’ve never been able to get near her. Not really. She’s always got people with her, or those bloody dogs. You don’t know her, Aria. She’s the nastiest, smartest and most cunning person I’ve ever met. And, well, we don’t really want to make a habit of murdering people, do we?’ she added, glancing at Sarah and Harrie.

  Harrie shook her head. A moment later, so did Sarah.

  ‘And if you do not pay the money, the Shand woman will tell about the man you killed?’

  ‘Yes, the police. Or the governor,’ Friday replied.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘We’ll hang.’

  ‘So her life is worth more than yours?’

  Friday had never looked at it like that before. ‘No,’ she said after a second. ‘It isn’t.’

  Chapter Five

  Newcastle, New South Wales

  Jonah Leary sat in the bar of the Ship Inn, steadily drinking his way through his fifth whisky. From the window he watched a lone gull flapping its arse off in the overcast sky and getting nowhere, buffeted by an onshore wind whipping through the harbour entrance. He knew how it felt. He was feeling aggrieved and exceedingly disagreeable, but these days when did he feel anything else? He hated Newcastle — it was a Godforsaken, half-deserted shithole populated by small-minded fools interested in nothing but grubbing for coal, and he’d been here too long. It was time to make his next move. He finished his whisky, jammed his hat on his head, turned up his collar and left the pub.

  Outside, the wind was as vicious as the struggles of the beleaguered gull had suggested. He strode across the sparse grass onto Watt Street, his boots slipping in sand. Half the bloody town was built on it and not a day went by without the wheels of some vehicle or other getting mired and extra bullocks being summoned to drag it out. He swore and spat as a particularly hearty gust blew a handful of the stuff into his mouth and eyes. Iris said it
was only like this in winter, that the best weather came with spring. Maybe it did, and he might see it then, depending on how things worked out, but for now he had business back in Sydney.

  He turned into King Street, presenting his back to the wind, and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. He would have to be careful, though. He’d breached the conditions of his ticket of leave by travelling beyond Sydney without permission or a passport, and he’d missed the January muster. But then, people missed the muster all the time and it didn’t seem to matter. If the Superintendent of Convicts was alerted, however — or knew already — and he was picked up, he’d be thrown straight back into Hyde Park Barracks, and that would ruin everything. Mind you, over the past seven months he’d been to Norfolk Island, to Van Diemen’s Land, and now here looking for his brother, Bennett, and never once had he been stopped and questioned.

  He’d departed Sydney just after that stupid girl Harrie Clarke had married her equally insipid doctor and they’d adopted the baby from the orphanage, which had been about six weeks after Malcolm, Jonah’s other brother, had appeared out of the blue. Malcolm had always been a bit of a fool, never quite quick or nasty enough to play an integral role in the family’s Liverpool business, so everyone had been relieved when he’d gone to sea instead. But then he’d fetched up in tattooist Leo Dundas’s chair in Sydney and bloody well died of a heart attack, gasping out to Dundas that Jonah must be found and given the tattoo on his back. Jonah had heard, gone to see Dundas, collected the tattoo — by then floating in formaldehyde — and got the surprise of his life when Dundas told him Malcolm had mentioned that Bennett, Jonah’s younger brother, was also a convict somewhere in New South Wales.

  No one in the Leary family had seen Bennett for ages as he’d left Liverpool a decade earlier under a black cloud, which was saying something for a Leary, but now Jonah was desperate to find him. He, Jonah and Malcolm each had tattoos on their backs commissioned by their father, which, viewed together, depicted the hiding place of a large amount of gold, something Leary Senior had not divulged until on his deathbed, and well after Bennett had gone. Now only Bennett remained alive, and when Jonah found him he’d learn the secret location of the gold.