A Tattooed Heart

by Deborah Challinor

  Walter nodded. ‘I can see she’s been well looked after, Mr Green, and I’m that grateful, Miss Sarah. I am. She’s even got quite porky. And I don’t expect to claim her. I just wanted to see her.’

  ‘Oh, take her,’ Sarah said, her voice gruff to conceal her sorrow. She really was unaccountably fond of the horrible little animal. ‘She’s yours and she always will be. Here.’ She picked up the dog and plonked her on Walter’s lap, where Clifford wriggled delightedly. ‘But you can only have her if you tell me how you’re going to stay out of Bella’s way. She’ll come after you, you know.’

  Leo drained his glass. ‘Aye, well, I’ve been thinking about that.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve had half an idea.’

  ‘What?’ Sarah demanded.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I’ve had the other half.’

  Matthew hastened along George Street, two bottles of good port tucked under his arm, worried he was going to miss the start of the party. Supper at the Vincents’, where he lodged, had been served unusually late, and he’d gulped his mincemeat fritters and now had indigestion.

  Ahead in the twilight he spied two figures, one very familiar, marching along with her usual energetic stride, her copper hair sailing out behind her.

  ‘Friday! I say, Friday. Wait up!’

  The pair turned, and Friday waved. He hadn’t seen her for over a fortnight and he wondered who her dark-skinned companion was. She was certainly startlingly attractive, very tall and well built with a tattoo on her chin and the most glorious black hair falling in ripples to her waist. He imagined fleetingly what it would be like to run his hands through it.

  Catching up, he said, ‘I’m on my way to Harrie’s soirée. Are you?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ Friday said. ‘Me and Sarah knew the kids were coming for ages but we had to keep it a secret.’

  ‘So did I,’ Matthew said. ‘Tricky, wasn’t it?’

  Friday looked vaguely put out. ‘Really? I thought only me and Sarah knew. Anyway, this is my friend, Aria Te Kainga-mataa. Aria, this is Matthew Cutler.’

  He shook Aria’s hand. She gave him a stunning smile but gripped his hand so firmly he nearly winced.

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Cutler.’

  ‘Bugger Mister, call him Matthew,’ Friday said. ‘He doesn’t mind about manners. We’re mates.’ Raising her eyebrows coyly, she added, ‘Aria’s staying with me.’

  ‘Bunking in with you at the Siren’s Arms? That sounds jolly.’

  ‘I’ll say. She’s my lover.’ Friday grinned, and exchanged a look with Aria that Matthew could only describe as naked lust.

  ‘Oh. Oh.’ He felt his face flush violently. It had never occurred to him that Friday might be that stripe of girl. Not that he knew much about the subject. He’d always assumed she didn’t have a companion because of what she did for a living.

  Friday burst out laughing. ‘You should see your face, Matthew. Stand still a minute while I fry an egg on it.’

  ‘Yes, well, I . . . possibly. I beg your pardon, Miss Te, er . . .’ Oh God, now he’d forgotten her name. And she was smirking at him.

  ‘It is Aria, and it is of no matter,’ she said. ‘I am not offended.’

  Casting wildly about for a less awkward subject, Matthew adjusted the bottles under his arm. ‘How’s work?’

  Friday started walking again. ‘Good, actually. I’ve got a new job. Mrs H has opened a flogging room and I’m the dominatrix.’

  Oh God. ‘And, er, that suits you?’

  ‘Hell yes. It’s far better than spending eight hours a day on my back getting fucked to a fare-thee-well.’

  Matthew actually did wince then, and Aria burst into the dirtiest laugh he’d ever heard — not, he suspected, at Friday’s comment, but at his obvious discomfort. Startled, he glanced at her and felt himself blushing again, even though, frankly, he found her terrifying.

  ‘And the money’s just as good,’ Friday went on. ‘Better, in fact. I’m dying to meet Harrie’s brother and sisters. Poor little sods. They never came to Newgate. Their mother wouldn’t let them. Or maybe it was Harrie. I can’t remember. Isn’t James a sweetie for bringing them over?’

  ‘Er, yes.’ Matthew would never have described James as a ‘sweetie’, but he did know the man would crawl a mile over broken glass to make Harrie happy. ‘Actually, I’ve already met them, when they arrived. They seemed . . . really quite appealing.’ Well, perhaps not the boy. To be honest, he’d been too busy ogling Lucy Christian to pay much attention to the children. ‘They travelled with a chaperone, a Miss Christian. She’s a school teacher, and very charming she is, too.’

  ‘Ooh eh, you could be in there if you play your cards right, Matthew me lad,’ Friday said, and elbowed him so vigorously he staggered onto the road.

  Righting himself, he said, ‘That’s right, that lad Walter, the ship’s boy from the Isla? He got off the ship, too.’

  ‘What?’ Friday exclaimed.

  Matthew nodded. ‘Harrie tore a strip off him, though I didn’t really follow why. I didn’t realise they knew each other that well. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit!’

  ‘What is it?’ Aria asked sharply.

  ‘Walter’s back. Clifford’s master.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Watching the exchange with growing unease, Matthew said, ‘What’s going on? What’s wrong?’

  Friday shook her head. ‘Can’t tell you, sorry.’

  Matthew felt an unexpected surge of anger rise up inside him, its ferocity more than a little startling. ‘Why the hell not? Do you know something, Friday? I’m sick and tired of being taken for granted. Oh, look, here comes good old Matthew, he won’t mind doing whatever we ask. You know, I’ve been doing your banking for ages — hundreds and hundreds of pounds, an extraordinary amount — and not once have you taken me into your confidence. And James — James bored me to tears for years blathering on about his love for Harrie, whom I loved, too. It was torture and I couldn’t say a thing. I’ve clowned around pretending to be some yokel called Lucas Carew, and as for Sally Minto! I had to propose to her to find out she’d been shagging the bloody flour boy and was expecting his child! For God’s sake!’ He glanced at Aria, having momentarily forgotten she was there. ‘I do beg your pardon. Please forgive me.’

  Friday stared at him, astonished. ‘Sorry, Matthew. I just didn’t realise.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, did you? You don’t. You really can be a bit selfish, you know.’

  Matthew watched indignation, then reluctant realisation, then peevish discomfort flicker across her face.

  She began, ‘It’s just that —’ Then she stopped, put her hands on her hips and sighed heavily. ‘Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry. Look, if I tell you, you have to keep it to yourself, all right? You have to. And you especially can’t tell James.’

  Affronted, Matthew said, ‘Do I look like a tattle-tale? But why especially not James?’

  ‘Because he’ll have a fit. You remember when Amos Furniss was murdered? In the old burial ground?’

  Matthew nodded. It had been all over the papers.

  ‘Well, Walter did it.’

  Shocked rigid, Matthew said, ‘But he’s just a boy!’

  ‘I know, but he had his reasons.’

  ‘Hold on, wasn’t there a confession printed in the paper? Some lover of Furniss’s? I read it myself. Isn’t the case closed?’

  ‘We’ve got no idea who sent that to the police. And the case is closed, but Furniss’s boss knows that Walter’s the real killer, and we’re worried she’ll come after him. That’s why we sent him back to England.’

  ‘Slow down. Who’s “she”? And who’s “we”?’

  Friday sighed again. ‘“She” is Bella Shand. Jackson as was, from the Isla. Do you remember her?’

  ‘How could I not?’ Matthew said, recalling the woman’s little performance a few days earlier.

  ‘And “we” is me, Sarah and Harrie.’
/>   ‘But . . . what have you three got to do with Walter?’

  ‘We’re very fond of him.’

  Matthew noted Friday was avoiding his eye. ‘You’re doing it again. There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’

  Friday glanced at Aria, who shrugged. ‘It was our fault Walter was in the old burial ground. Sort of. He’d followed me there. I was meeting Furniss.’

  ‘What for?’

  Wincing, Friday said, ‘You’re not to tell this to anyone, all right? I was giving him some money.’

  ‘Ah.’ Several things had suddenly become a lot clearer to Matthew. ‘Who was blackmailing you? Him or Bella?’

  ‘Bella is.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Look, stop interrogating me,’ Friday snapped. ‘You’re starting to get up my nose.’

  Matthew decided he might just about have pushed his luck far enough. ‘Just one more question. Is it only you she’s blackmailing, or all of you?’

  ‘All of us.’

  ‘God,’ he said after a moment. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Yes. Forget everything I’ve just told you and let’s hurry up and get to this party. I’m gagging for a drink.’

  Harrie had invited Nora and George Barrett and their four children — baby Lewis, Sam, Abigail and horrible Hannah (as Friday called her). Lewis and Sam were only little, but Hannah and Abigail were seven and nine respectively, and might find playmates in Anna and Sophie. Also present were James’s business partner Dr Lawrence Chandler and his wife Eloise, Matthew, Friday and Aria, Sarah and Adam, and Leo and his companion Serafina Fortune who, with Walter and Clifford, didn’t arrive until after dark. With Sophie, Anna and Robbie, plus Lucy Christian, Daisy and Isaac Longbone, the party was really quite jovial.

  Abigail made friends with Sophie and Anna immediately, though Hannah got off to a bad start by telling them she knew for a fact that Harrie loved her more than she did them, which made Anna cry and Sophie slap Hannah across the side of the head. This gave Hannah a colossal shock as she was usually the one doing the slapping, especially after her mother told her she had to apologise to Anna, which seemed a terrible injustice given she was the one who’d been belted.

  So she mumbled, ‘Sorry for making you bawl.’

  Nora said, ‘No, Hannah, that’s not good enough.’

  Hannah tried again. ‘I’m sorry for being mean, Anna.’ And she was, now. Things had all gone very wrong.

  ‘That’s all right,’ Anna said. ‘We can share Harrie, can’t we?’

  Which made all the women in the room and a couple of the men go ‘Aaaah.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ Harrie said. ‘And Sophie, it’s probably not a good idea to show your anger by hitting people. Not any more.’

  ‘Works for me,’ Friday said, raising her glass of brandy in a sloppy toast to herself.

  ‘Sorry,’ Sophie said, turning scarlet. ‘Least it was only me and not Robbie. He’d have smacked the shit out of her.’

  ‘Where is Robbie?’ Harrie said, looking about.

  ‘Aye, and where the hell’s Walter?’ Leo demanded, a note of panic in his voice.

  They were found on the back verandah, lounging in Harrie’s cane chairs, feet up on the handrail, smoking pipes and chatting in the dark. Clifford lay between them, snoring peacefully.

  Leo gave Walter’s ear a really good yank.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Listen, son, you tell me where you’re going every time you leave my side, d’you hear? Even if it’s only to the bog. You’ve got to be careful.’

  Startled, Walter stared up at him, then nodded.

  ‘And you, lad,’ Leo added to Robbie, ‘don’t you lead him astray.’

  Robbie spat, barely missing Clifford. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’

  Harrie gasped. ‘Robbie!’

  ‘I bloody well will,’ Leo replied, ‘when it comes to matters you know bugger all about. He doesn’t, does he?’ Leo asked Walter.

  Walter shook his head.

  ‘Well, keep it that way,’ Leo barked, ‘for your own good. And his.’

  There was one other slightly unfortunate incident that evening, thanks to Friday’s drunken behaviour. Clearly smitten, Matthew lavished attention on Lucy, telling her amusing stories, bringing her plates of food and topping up her glass with sherry.

  At his third approach with James’s cut-crystal decanter, Lucy, giggling, waved him away. A pretty pink flush had spread across her cheeks and was now creeping down her pale neck. ‘Really, no, thank you, Mr Cutler. I shall make a fool of myself shortly.’

  ‘I do beg your pardon, Miss Christian. I had no intention —’

  ‘Ah, go on, you did so,’ Friday said, cackling and giving Matthew one of her muscular shoves. ‘Get her swattled and then —’

  ‘Friday, shut up,’ Sarah warned.

  Looking mortified, Matthew said to Lucy, ‘I can assure you I —’

  As everyone else watched with interest, Lucy raised her hand, stifled the tiniest and politest of burps, then interrupted him. ‘I do beg your pardon. Matthew, leave this to me. May I call you Matthew?’

  ‘Of course,’ Matthew said, inordinately pleased.

  ‘Miss Woolfe,’ Lucy began.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ Friday grumbled. ‘It’s bloody Friday, and you’re Lucy. We don’t stand on fancy bloody manners here.’

  Lucy said graciously, ‘All right, then. Thank you, Friday. And, yes, please do call me Lucy.’ She smiled sweetly and smoothed her skirt. ‘Matthew and I were having a conversation and you interrupted it with what can only be considered a vulgar insinuation.’

  Harrie and Sarah exchanged uneasy glances and Matthew opened his mouth, then shut it again impotently. Aria inspected her fingernails.

  ‘But I can see that you’re well into your cups,’ Lucy went on, ‘so I’ll attribute your rudeness to that, though I would appreciate an apology.’

  Friday snorted. ‘Well, you’re not getting one.’

  ‘That really is a shame,’ Lucy said. ‘I like you, and Matthew’s just spent half an hour telling me what a decent and kind-hearted person you are. I was very much hoping we could be friends.’

  Wrong-footed, Friday floundered, resorted to her usual, ‘Oh . . . fuck off,’ grabbed a bottle of brandy and stormed out of the room.

  Thumping down the hall, she marched out to the back verandah, where she found Hannah sitting alone cross-legged in a chair with a plate of pastries. Friday slumped into the seat beside her.

  ‘Want one?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? They’re nice.’

  Friday lifted the bottle. ‘I’m drinking. No room for food.’

  ‘Can I’ve some?’

  ‘No.’

  Hannah shoved half a pastry into her mouth and, crumbs flying, said, ‘Have you been sent out here for being naughty?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Me, too. Mam says I can’t be trusted to behave. Look, there’s Angus in the bushes. He must be hunting. Angus!’

  Angus the cat leapt in fright, then turned and glared as his quarry skittered off into the night.

  ‘Did you slap someone?’

  ‘No.’ Friday got out her pipe, tamped in tobacco and lit it.

  ‘Can I’ve a smoke?’

  ‘No. You’re a nuisance, d’you know that?’

  ‘Everyone says that.’ Hannah wriggled in her chair and chose another pastry. ‘I try not to be, but I can’t help it. I told Mam I want to be just like you when I grow up and she said over my dead body.’

  Friday laughed.

  ‘I do, though. You’re so pretty and everyone likes you. ’Cept for Mam.’

  Actually, Friday thought, sometimes no one likes me. Because I can’t be trusted to behave, either.

  ‘And I wanna wear bright dresses and smoke a pipe and drink and swear all the time, like you do,’ Hannah went on excitedly.

  Friday looked at the little seven-year-old face, framed by pa
le gold plaits bleached white by the verandah lamplight. ‘Why the hell would you want to do all that?’

  ‘’Cos I’m bored, and you never seem to be bored. I’m not allowed to do anything.’

  ‘Do you know what I do for a job?’

  ‘Mam won’t tell me but Abi says you’re a lady of the night. I’d love to work in the night.’ Hannah made her eyes go huge and round. ‘I’ve got cats’ eyes, like Angus. I can see in the dark.’

  ‘There you are,’ Aria said, stepping out onto the verandah. ‘I have been looking for you.’

  Hannah waved the plate at her, now containing several half-eaten pastries. ‘Want one?’

  ‘No, thank you, little girl. Friday, you should apologise to the Lucy woman. Your behaviour was crass.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, I don’t feel like it.’

  ‘Go and do it. And put that bottle down. You do not need any more to drink. You are drunk enough already.’

  ‘Drunk enough for what?’

  ‘Drunk enough to annoy me.’

  ‘I’m going inside now,’ Hannah said, and scampered off.

  Friday looked up at Aria. In the half-light her eyes looked even darker and more unfathomable than ever, and she was obviously angry. For at least the hundredth time, Friday wished she hadn’t so foolishly declared in front of her and Mrs H that she didn’t need to drink any more. What a bloody idiotic thing to say! Since then she’d been drinking openly in front of Aria, but she hadn’t said a word about it — until now. She’d assumed it meant Aria didn’t mind, but perhaps silence was Aria’s way of showing disapproval? A little spurt of angry dismay sent burning bile up her throat as she realised that here was yet another person she’d have to dance around. How the hell was she supposed to know what Aria was thinking about something if she never said a single word about it?

  A fat, lazy moth fluttered around Aria’s hair: Aria shot out a hand, crushed it and wiped the mess off on the handrail. I’m like that moth, Friday thought: I have to be around her, though she’s the last person I’d compare to a lamp. She’s dark. She’s the darkest person I’ve met. Not just her beautiful complexion, but her character, and her passion and her desire. And I love her.