A Tattooed Heart

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘I feel like some fresh air. I think I’m getting a headache. It can get quite stuffy in that tiny little office.’

  He winced as she harpooned him with the filthiest look.

  They set off again along George Street, listening to Charlotte chatter away enthusiastically and frequently nonsensically about all she could see, then turned down Suffolk Lane towards King’s Wharf. For some reason, a crowd had gathered on the shore, mostly of men, Harrie noticed. A ship was slowly being warped in, two men labouring sweatily on the long handles that turned the capstan at the end of the wharf.

  ‘Ship!’ Charlotte shrieked.

  Harrie put her finger in her ear in case there were more screams to follow.

  ‘She really likes ships, doesn’t she?’ Matthew remarked.

  James joked, ‘Perhaps she’ll be a sailor when she grows up.’

  Over my dead body, Harrie thought, unpleasantly reminded of her own disastrous encounter with a sailor. The ship, she saw, was named the Florentia. Had she seen something in the papers about a vessel bringing women out under some sort of emigration scheme? No, that ship had been called the Red Rover, though there certainly seemed to be quite a few women on the deck of this one. She realised with a flutter of distaste why all the men were here. Why on earth had James wanted her to see this?

  The towering bow of the ship almost connected with the end of the wharf, and men with long poles rushed to redirect the slowly gliding hull alongside the quay, then secure the vessel with ropes. There was a further flurry of action and the gangway was lowered. To initially enthusiastic cheers from the crowd that soon faded to disappointed grumbles, men, women and children began to disembark and lurch comically along the wharf, unaccustomed to terra firma after so many months at sea.

  ‘James, why are we watching this?’ Harrie demanded.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, settling a hand on her shoulder. ‘I suspect the crowd’s here for the Red Rover. That’s due in shortly as well. But just wait.’

  She did. A few minutes later a small group of children made their way down the gangway. As they stepped off the wharf, one came right up to her and, grinning hugely, said, ‘Harrie, it’s me, Robbie.’

  She stared at him, suddenly dizzy, her heart pounding, almost unable to comprehend what she was seeing. ‘Robbie? Robbie!’ She glanced at the two girls with him and screamed, ‘Anna! Sophie! Oh my God, James, look!’

  James could only smile at her like an idiot.

  The children rushed at Harrie, very nearly knocking her down. She burst into loud tears and drew them into her arms, hugging them fiercely.

  Charlotte protested mightily, her voice rising to a wail. ‘Mama. Mine mama!’

  Harrie, sobbing so she could hardly talk, let her death grip on Anna, Sophie and Robbie ease slightly. ‘But . . . what . . . doing here? You’ve . . . grown!’

  They had, too. When she’d last seen them they’d been little children aged eight, seven and six, but now Robbie was twelve, and almost as tall as her. His dark hair had been neatly cut and he wore good woollen trousers, a white linen shirt, a waistcoat and jacket, and sturdy boots. The girls were equally well dressed, in long-sleeved dresses with white pinafore aprons and laced boots, and pretty bonnets. They looked adorable, so neat and clean and tidy. Then it struck her — how could they have afforded to outfit themselves so smartly? This was followed by an even more disconcerting thought: why had she not noticed their clothing straight away? Had she become so accustomed to comfort and luxury?

  Extracting himself from Harrie’s grip, Robbie said, ‘It were your husband. He sent for us.’

  ‘What?’ Harrie was stunned. She turned to James. ‘Did you?’

  ‘Er, yes. Just before we were married. You missed them dreadfully. And your mother had passed on, so I thought . . . well, why not? What’s three more?’

  ‘Oh, James, you darling.’ Harrie threw her arms around him and hugged him to within an inch of his life.

  ‘Mama!’ Charlotte shrieked.

  Harrie took her from Daisy and parked her on her hip. ‘Hush, sweetie, it’s all right.’ Addressing Sophie, Robbie and Anna, she said, ‘Chickens, this is Charlotte. Charlotte, say hello to —’ She stopped as a rather amazing thought occurred to her. ‘Yes, I suppose you are, aren’t you? Charlotte, say hello to your Uncle Robbie and your Aunt Anna and Aunt Sophie.’

  ‘No.’ Charlotte stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  Harrie laughed. ‘She’s just being shy. She only turned two in March.’

  ‘She doesn’t look like you,’ Anna said.

  ‘Well, she wouldn’t. We adopted her.’

  Sophie gently squeezed Charlotte’s foot, which Charlotte snatched out of the way. ‘Her hair’s pretty. Like snow.’

  She fell silent and she and her brother and sister stood shuffling their feet uncomfortably. Harrie belatedly realised why. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, loves! This is my husband, Dr James Downey. Your, um . . . You can call him . . . James, what should they call you?’

  ‘We’ve got a da,’ Robbie blurted.

  And a fat lot of use he was, too, Harrie thought, walking out and abandoning the three of you, not to mention me and Ma. Anyway, James wouldn’t be their stepfather: he was their brother-in-law.

  ‘I don’t know,’ James said brightly. ‘What about . . . James?’

  Harrie blinked. That was uncharacteristically familiar of him. Usually he was quite a stickler for formalities.

  Robbie stuck out his hand and muttered, ‘Thank you, Mr James, for paying for us to come here to be with Harrie and that. We’re obliged.’

  Obliged? Just ‘obliged’? Harrie, though her eyes filled again at his attempt at grown-up behaviour, felt a prickle of unease at Robbie’s vaguely churlish behaviour. What was wrong with him? Perhaps he was just nervous.

  James shook Robbie’s hand. ‘I’m very pleased you decided to come, Robert. I hope you and your sisters find a happy home here with us.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Robbie said. ‘It weren’t that good in London. Not for the girls, anyway.’

  Sophie stepped hastily in front of her brother. ‘We’re very, very grateful to you, Mr James. It were hard for us at home, ’specially after Ma died. We all missed Harrie something rotten and we never thought we’d ever see her again but here we are, so, um, thank you.’

  ‘I’m delighted to have been able to help, Sophia,’ James said warmly.

  They were interrupted then by the approach of a tallish young woman. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Good morning to you. Or is it afternoon now? I’ve rather lost track, I’m afraid.’

  Whipping out his watch, Matthew said, ‘Please, allow me. It is exactly thirty-six minutes past midday.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Matthew doffed his hat. ‘My pleasure entirely.’

  He’d gone quite pink in the face, Harrie noted. Apparently he liked what he saw. Most men probably would. The woman was attractive with lively brown eyes and a full mouth, and the sensible, tight-waisted skirt and bodice ensemble she was wearing accentuated her shapely figure. The dusty pink worsted fabric probably hadn’t cost much, but the cut was clever and the maroon cord trim added a smart touch.

  ‘I take it you are Dr and Mrs Downey?’ the woman asked.

  ‘That’s correct,’ James said. ‘May we be of assistance?’

  ‘My name is Lucy Christian. Your sister-in-law, Mrs Penfold, engaged me as chaperone for Robert, Sophia and Anna.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Miss Christian!’ James exclaimed. ‘Beatrice has told me about you. I received a letter four or five weeks ago, so I’m assuming she would have sent it about a month before the Florentia set sail?’

  Harrie frowned and hoisted Charlotte. She hadn’t seen a letter from James’s sister-in-law. He must have hidden it, the crafty article.

  ‘Three weeks, I expect,’ Lucy Christian said. ‘It was no longer than that between Mrs Penfold’s approach to me and the ship’s departure.’

  ‘Beatrice said you’re a schoolmistress,’ James said.r />
  ‘Actually, I’m a school teacher, but I do hope to be the mistress of my own establishment at some point.’

  ‘She tells really good stories,’ Anna said to Harrie conversationally, ‘and she’s been teaching us reading and proper writing.’

  Lucy passed James several sealed letters from her reticule. ‘From Mrs Penfold, and one from Mr Handley.’

  ‘Thank you,’ James said. ‘I take it the financial aspects of the arrangement have already been settled to your satisfaction?’

  ‘Yes, thank you very much. Mrs Penfold saw to that before we left.’

  ‘Did you ask Beatrice to find them?’ Harrie asked James as she tried to piece together the sequence of events leading to today’s reunion.

  James nodded. ‘Beatrice and my friend Victor Handley.’

  ‘And then Beatrice asked you to look after them on the way over?’ she asked Lucy.

  ‘Yes, and they’ve been a delight. They really have.’

  ‘But you’d planned to emigrate here anyway?’

  ‘Yes, under the bounty scheme. At home I might have had to wait forever to advance to schoolmistress, so I thought I’d chance my hand out here. I’ve heard things are different for women in the colonies. Someone told me a woman can even own and operate her own hotel here? Is that really true?’

  Harrie nodded. ‘There are quite a few female publicans in Sydney.’

  She thought it best not to add that most of the schools in town were run by the churches and that, as far as she knew, the tutors were nearly all men, though there were a few ‘private venture’ schools. Lucy might find a position with one teaching the ‘feminine arts’ to the daughters of Sydney’s wealthier citizens — embroidery and painting and music and the like.

  ‘What subjects do you teach, Miss Christian?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘Oh, the usual, but I must confess to a fondness for mathematics, particularly Euclidean and analytical geometry, algebra and trigonometry. I’m rather keen on Latin, too.’

  They all stared at her.

  ‘Although I admit,’ Lucy added ruefully, ‘that there was never much call for Euclid in my last position in Clapham. The children there had enough trouble with the multiplication table.’

  Astonished, James asked, ‘Where on earth did you learn about trigonometry and Euclid?’

  ‘Ookid!’ Charlotte declared, throwing her arms wide and whacking Harrie on the nose. Her eyes watering, Harrie handed her back to Daisy and got out her handkerchief.

  Lucy said, ‘Before he retired and he and my mother moved to Clapham, my father was a master of mathematics at Mercers’ Chapel Grammar School for some years. He taught me. He thought it might come in handy one day.’

  ‘And has it?’ Harrie asked. What was a Euclid? It sounded like an exotic flower, like an orchid.

  ‘Not yet, but I live in hope.’

  There was a series of almighty bangs as the deck hatches on the Florentia crashed open, one after the other.

  ‘Do you have much luggage, Miss Christian?’ Matthew asked. ‘May I collect it for you?’

  ‘Thank you very much, Mr, er . . . ?’

  Mathew took off his hat and bowed. ‘Matthew Cutler, at your service.’

  Daisy giggled, but Harrie and James shared a contemplative glance, eyebrows raised. Why not? Matthew was lonely, and clearly taken with Lucy Christian: Lucy was single — as required, to be eligible for the bounty scheme — attractive, personable and obviously very bright. A perfect match.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Cutler,’ Lucy said. ‘I just have the one trunk. Shall we go and wait for it to be brought up?’ She crooked an elbow: Matthew — absolutely delighted — settled a hand on her arm, and they strolled off towards the wharf.

  ‘That looks promising,’ James said happily.

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ Harrie said. Then, to the children, ‘Do you have luggage?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘We’ve a trunk between us. Mrs Penfold bought us some new clothes when we were staying with her.’

  ‘You stayed with her?’

  ‘She got rid of our nits,’ Anna said, ‘didn’t she, Sophie? And my ringworm.’

  Harrie winced inwardly. ‘And Mrs Penfold paid for everything?’

  ‘I did, actually,’ James said. ‘I gave Beatrice authority to access my London bank account.’

  ‘Oh, James.’ Harrie squeezed his hand. ‘How will I ever repay you?’

  James frowned. ‘Harrie, don’t be silly. You’re my wife. These children are our family.’

  Robbie suddenly waved and shouted, ‘Oi! Over here!’

  Harrie followed his gaze and almost fainted for the second time that day as Walter Cobley ambled towards them, his sea bag slung over his shoulder. His cap was pulled very low, obscuring his face, but she’d know him anywhere. Panic swelled up in her, bursting out of her mouth in a squeak. Even though the police were no longer looking for Amos Furniss’s killer, believing they’d received an anonymous confession, Bella Shand knew all too well who’d killed her right-hand man — Walter had sent her a note confessing to the deed so she wouldn’t assume it had been Friday, Harrie and Sarah.

  ‘Harrie?’ James asked. ‘Are you all right?’

  Harrie nodded, though she wasn’t.

  ‘This is my mate Walter,’ Robbie said. ‘Off the ship.’

  ‘Yes, Walter and I already know each other.’ Harrie pulled him into a rather violent embrace, hugging him hard. ‘You stupid, stupid boy. Why have you come back?’

  Walter extricated himself and stepped back. ‘Couldn’t settle at home. I missed everyone. ’Specially Clifford. Is she still around?’

  ‘Sarah has her. Oh God, Bella’s bound to find out you’re back. You stupid boy.’

  ‘I don’t care. I’d rather be here and take me chances.’

  ‘Well, get yourself to Leo’s right now.’

  Walter nodded. Glancing at the rings on Harrie’s wedding finger, then at James, he suddenly grinned. ‘Did you finally get married? Leo said you would.’

  ‘Never mind that. Just go, and keep out of sight!’

  Walter saluted her, said, ‘See you later, mate,’ to Robbie, and hurried off.

  Looking puzzled, James asked, ‘Who was that? He seemed familiar. And why will Bella “get” him? I take it you mean Bella Shand?’

  Harrie stared at him in horror. ‘Do you know Bella?’

  James gave her a strange look. ‘She was under my care on the Isla, remember? Most unpleasant woman. Johnson, her name was then.’

  ‘Jackson,’ Harrie corrected automatically. She’d forgotten James would have encountered Bella on the Isla. All that seemed such a long time ago.

  ‘Jackson, yes, that was it. She married the late Clarence Shand. How a woman like her could convince someone like Clarence Shand to marry her, I’ll never know. That lad . . . that’s right, wasn’t he —?’

  ‘The ship’s boy on the Isla. Walter Cobley.’

  ‘So he was. What’s he done to offend Bella Shand?’

  Harrie’s heart gave a sickening lurch. James was far from stupid. One question would lead to another, then another, and another . . . and he’d winkle out the whole horrible story surrounding Bella’s blackmailing of her and Friday and Sarah. She thought furiously. ‘He stayed with Leo the last time he was in Sydney. He fell foul of Bella then.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never asked.’

  ‘Walter didn’t say he knew you,’ Robbie interrupted, sounding piqued.

  Anna took off her bonnet and scratched her head. ‘We liked him. It’d be nice to see him again.’

  ‘You might,’ Harrie said. Quickly, she changed the subject. ‘I think we should have brought the carriage, James. How are we going to get the children’s trunk back to the house?’

  ‘We’ll hire a cart. I’m wondering if Miss Christian has lodgings. If not, perhaps she’d care to stay a night or two while she makes arrangements for something more permanent.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we like Lucy!’ Anna
cried.

  Harrie felt the tiniest twinge of jealousy, and squashed it. ‘I’ll ask her. Nora might know of a good boarding house for ladies.’

  ‘And I’ll talk to Lawrence,’ James said. ‘He seems to be in the know regarding those sorts of things.’

  Harrie watched him surreptitiously: it seemed he’d lost interest in the subject of Walter and Bella. Fortunately. She breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

  It took another hour or so for the Florentia’s hold to be emptied and her passengers’ luggage to be deposited on the wharf, and for James to haggle with a carter over the price of transporting the trunks to Hunter Street. But finally they were ready to leave for home, accompanied by Lucy, who’d gratefully accepted Harrie’s invitation.

  And then something very unpleasant happened. As they left the shadows of the Commissariat Stores and walked out into the wintry sunshine, a familiar midnight-blue curricle approached along George Street, slowed, then stopped. Bella Shand’s servant Louisa Coutts was driving, the reins gripped in her gloved hands, her meaty forearms labouring to restrain the impatient horses. As Harrie looked on in mounting horror, Bella herself leant out from beneath the curricle’s hood and stared unblinkingly for a long, long moment.

  Then she gave a slow, lizardy smile, her big teeth yellow against her crimson lip stain. ‘Harrie Clarke. Well, well. These kiddies must be your kin. I can certainly see a family resemblance.’

  Harrie’s terror suddenly turned to rage. Bloody, bloody Bella. She was sick of her, and the poisonous cow was not going to spoil her reunion with Robbie, Sophie and Anna.

  ‘It’s Downey!’ she shouted. ‘Harrie Downey. I’m married now, you stupid woman. Go away and leave us alone!’

  Bella smirked, then, the undercurrent of malice in her voice plain, said, ‘Be very sure to take special care of them, Harrie.’

  Stepping towards the curricle, James began, ‘Now just a minute —’

  But Louisa had already given an almighty flick of her whip and the horses tore off, leaving him to address empty air. Perplexed and disconcerted, he turned to Harrie. ‘What on earth was that in aid of?’

  Oh God, why did James have to witness that? Harrie thought in despair. And why today, after the business with Walter? ‘I really don’t know. She’s always disliked me. Us.’