When she reached the row of graves marked on Friday’s map, she hesitated, suddenly nervous. What if she started talking to Gil and he just . . . wasn’t there? She’d had such a rapport with him all tucked up in his lead-lined trunk just a few yards below her in the cellar. It had been almost as though he was with her.
Moving along the row, trying not to step on the graves, especially fresh ones, she came to Clarence Shand’s. She knew it was his because his name was carved in large letters across the lid of the tomb. Trust Bella to get him a dirty great chest tomb. Almost everyone else had low ledger stones with crosses, or a plain headstone. The full inscription on Clarence’s tomb read:
In Memory of
CLARENCE EVELYN SHAND
Late of Sydney Town
Who Died on the 4th of July 1832
Aged 62 years
‘I Will Fear Not Evil For Thou Art With Me’
What was that supposed to mean? Elizabeth wondered. That Clarence needn’t fear evil because God was with him, or because evil was? A bit confusing. Or perhaps it was apt. And fancy Evelyn being his middle name.
Knowing she was dilly-dallying and avoiding what she’d come for, she stepped closer to the chest tomb and whispered, ‘Gil?’
Nothing, but then he’d never answered her before. Not directly. She rapped on the tomb. Again nothing happened, so she gave the rim of the lid a good shove. Stuck fast.
Panic nibbled at her intestines and sweat popped out on her brow and upper lip, even though the morning was quite cool. She made herself close her eyes and relax. ‘Gil, love, are you there?’
Finally — finally — she felt him rising up towards her from the depths of whatever quiet, dark place he went to when he wasn’t with her, and her knees went rubbery from relief. ‘There you are!’ she said. ‘Thank Christ. I thought I might have lost you for good. It was Friday’s idea, you know, not mine, but she’s probably right. Are you all right in there? I’ve such a lot to tell you.’ She looked around for somewhere to sit, thought about perching on the chest tomb, realised she’d never manage to scramble up onto it, and contented herself with leaning on the lid as though she were at a public bar. ‘The goings on lately! Where do I start?’
And off she went, telling him in great detail about Friday and Aria, and the previous day’s fracas when Aria’s parents had turned up, and the new flogging room, and how well the brothel and hotel were doing in general.
‘Actually, I’m thinking of taking on another girl, though I’ve already got a full roster. I mean, I replaced Molly when . . . well, you know what happened to Molly, but that was nearly a year ago now. We’ve got even busier since then.’
Gil spoke.
Taken aback and a little irked by his unexpected words of warning, Elizabeth snapped, ‘I was careful. What would you know? You weren’t even there. What? No, I told you, everyone thinks she drowned while swimming drunk. She was always drunk, nasty intemperate piece of work that she was.’ Her voice softened. ‘Yes, I know, but don’t, there’s nothing to worry about. That’s all over and done with.’ She took a twist of lemon drops out of her reticule and popped one into her mouth. ‘Anyway, I do think I need another girl, maybe even two; we really are that busy. It bothers me, you know. Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for this. Oh, some days I feel well enough, but last week I made a mistake adding up a column of numbers in my ledger and Mr Mulcahey at the bank had to point it out. I almost cheated myself out of eighty-nine pounds! Lucky he’s so honest. Well, more or less. We both know I shouldn’t be using a dead man’s bank account, not even yours, dear, and he’s perfectly aware of how I make my money. Still, it doesn’t do his bank any harm, does it? It did give me a fright, though. And I do wonder what I’ll do when my business head really does turn to flummery.’ She trailed off as she thought about the day when she might not be able to work any more. ‘I’d hate that. I’d hate to retire. What would I do? I could no more sit quietly in a rocking chair all day than you could stay away from the sea. I’m just not the embroidering sort.’ Glancing at the watch on her chatelaine, she swore and peered across the cemetery at the gig parked under the trees. ‘Good God, I’ve been blabbering on for ages. Jack’ll be fading away. I must go. I have missed you, my love, but Friday was right. This wasn’t so bad after all.’
Kissing the palm of her hand, she pressed it firmly against the lid of the tomb.
Putting a last silken stitch into a panel of embroidery she was working on for Nora, Harrie asked, ‘What is the time?’
Glancing at the clock, Nora said, ‘Almost three o’clock. Why?’
‘Free a cock!’ Charlotte crowed.
‘Hell, is it? We’d better be off. How are you going, Sophie? Sorry, Nora, do you mind if I finish this tomorrow?’
‘I’ve just got two more pins to put in,’ Sophie replied, the hem of a taffeta skirt spread over her knees.
‘Not at all. We’ve plenty of time with this one,’ Nora said, and raised a questioning brow at Harrie.
‘We’re off to look at a house with Matthew,’ Harrie explained. ‘He’s thinking of buying it.’
‘Can I come?’ Hannah asked.
She, Anna and Charlotte (who wasn’t really helping) were sitting on the floor of Nora’s workshop sorting out and tidying her hundreds of spools of thread, as Hannah couldn’t be trusted with scissors or the responsibility of handling expensive fabric, and Anna’s spectacles weren’t ready so she still couldn’t see very well. James had taken her to an ophthalmologist, specialising in maladies of the eye, who had diagnosed something called an astigmatism in both eyes. James was a bit worried about her wearing spectacles for the rest of her life as it was thought that they worsened the vision over time, but she couldn’t go on squinting at everything. She could barely even see to read. She was a far less accomplished reader than Sophie, and even Robbie, and Lucy didn’t think she’d improve until she started to use them, but apparently it would take another fortnight for the lenses to be ground and polished to the right thickness and curvature. Harrie, though, thought it would be worth the wait.
‘No, you can’t,’ Nora said.
‘I never get to do anything!’
‘Oh, rubbish.’
‘She can come if she likes,’ Harrie said. ‘But you have to promise to behave, all right? And help me with Charlotte.’
Hannah nodded so vigorously her plaits flew.
‘God, you’re game,’ Nora said. ‘But thanks, I could do with a bit of peace and quiet. Well, as much as I’m allowed with Sam and Lewis.’
‘I’ll drop her back afterwards. The house is on Clarence Street near the barracks so you’re more or less on the way home. James is coming for a look, too, providing he can get away from the surgery.’
Nora licked the end of a piece of thread, flattened it between two fingers and expertly threaded the finest of needles. ‘Is it not working out, then, Matthew lodging with you?’
‘Oh, no, it is. It’s lovely having him and the kids think he’s wonderful. Even Robbie likes him, and I was starting to think Robbie didn’t like anyone except Walter and that Jimmy Johnson from the Siren. No, I just think he thinks it’s time he bought somewhere of his own.’
‘Making himself a little love nest, do you think?’ Nora asked slyly.
Harrie smirked. ‘Fingers crossed. He has been seeing quite a bit of Lucy and she’s been to ours for supper four or five times.’ Her face fell slightly. ‘Though the other night when I happened to say something about this wedding dress we’re working on, she did say she didn’t think it was for her. I said, “Do you mean a pale apricot wedding gown, or marriage?” And she said, “Marriage. A husband.” I said, “Really? They’re not a bad idea, you know. I’ve got a lovely one.” And she said, “But if that’s all I wanted out of life I could have stayed in Clapham. I want to make something of myself. And I don’t want to be owned.”’
‘Oh dear,’ Nora said.
‘I suppose she’s got a point,’ Harrie added. ‘I’m owned, aren’t I? My hu
sband’s my master.’
‘Oh, rubbish. Do you feel owned?’
‘No.’
‘Well, there you go.’
Hannah said, ‘I like Matthew. I’ll marry him.’
Nora put five or six tiny, almost invisible stitches into a seam. ‘Stop flapping your ears, missy. You’ve got your work cut out for you, then, haven’t you?’
‘I have?’ Harrie said.
Nora said, ‘Yes, if you’re going to make this match work.’
Harrie thought about that for a few moments, made a face, then said, ‘Come on, girls, grab your capes, we need to get going or we’ll be late.’
‘You’re the one who’s been talking,’ Hannah said.
Nora reached out and yanked her plait. ‘What did you just promise? To behave, remember? Don’t be so rude.’
It took them just under twenty minutes to walk from Nora’s house on Gloucester Street to the Clarence Street address Matthew had given Harrie. It had rained on and off for the past week, transforming the roads to churned up channels of mud and dung, with fewer footways the farther they travelled from George Street, and naturally Hannah had to fall into almost every puddle, but eventually they arrived.
Standing outside the little house, Matthew saw them coming and waved. She’d brought the girls: that was nice. And Hannah. That was all right — he actually quite liked Hannah, trying though she could be. He checked his watch. The solicitor acting for the vendor was supposed to be here by now. And so was James.
He hadn’t, however, asked along the one person he had really wanted to look at the property, and that was Lucy. He’d thought very hard about it but had decided not to, in case she thought he wanted her to live in it with him, which he did. But he’d prefer to introduce her to the idea more subtly and romantically than that, and preferably together with a proposal of marriage. Anyway, she was busy teaching during the day and couldn’t get away.
She’d settled in at Gertrude Armitage’s Finishing Academy for Girls, but he knew she wasn’t particularly enjoying her work there, extremely grateful though she was to Eloise Chandler for prevailing upon Mrs Armitage to employ her. She taught drawing and painting, music (Lucy played the pianoforte and the guitar — was there anything she couldn’t do?), and writing (as in the correct manner of formulating letters, not how to write an actual novel or anything as adventurous as that). No Euclid, not even any arithmetic. Girls who attended Mrs Armitage’s Finishing Academy for Girls would not be expected to keep track of finances in their own households. There would be a housekeeper to do that, or their husbands would. Another schoolmistress taught French and supervised the reading of a very small selection of Classic literature (purely to be used for dinner-party conversation), while still another instructed the girls, twenty-three in all, in flower arranging and various forms of needlework.
Lucy had confided to him one day: ‘I’m so pleased I didn’t get stuck with the flowers. I certainly won’t be offering lessons on what to do with half a dozen chrysanthemums and a handful of asparagus fern when I open my school. I have suggested to Mrs Armitage that she at least let me introduce basic Latin to some of the brighter girls. She’s thinking about it. Latin can come in handy for so many things, you know.’
Like what? Matthew had wanted to ask, but hadn’t in case it made him look ignorant. Lucy was bored, he realised, but she seemed happy enough. She was also tutoring Sophie, Anna and Robbie privately, as Harrie didn’t feel they were ready to attend school yet. She did seem to be enjoying that, though good luck to her with Robbie. He was a surly little beggar, if clearly bright, and didn’t take at all kindly to any sort of authority. James definitely had his hands full there.
The other reason Matthew had decided not to show Lucy the house was he’d only seen it from the outside, and while its sandstone walls and shingle roof looked reasonably sound, it might be an utter shambles within. It was to be auctioned next week ‘upon the ground’ — in other words, on site — but he thought it prudent to have a look inside before he even considered making a bid. The house — a cottage, really — wasn’t on Sydney’s most illustrious of streets, but it could have been a lot worse.
‘Sorry we’re late,’ Harrie said. ‘Are we? Where’s James?’
‘Not here yet. No, I tell a lie, there he is.’
James waved from across the road, then a dapper little man appeared from the opposite direction, picking his way through the mud.
‘That must be Mr Cowley,’ Matthew said. ‘The solicitor.’
‘Mooo,’ Hannah said.
‘Mooooo,’ Charlotte echoed. Sophie and Anna giggled.
‘That’s enough,’ Harrie warned.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ James said, pecking Harrie on the cheek. ‘And I can’t stay long, I’m afraid. We’re quite busy at the surgery.’
‘We can’t either, actually,’ Harrie said. ‘Charlotte’s very overdue for a nap. She wouldn’t go down at Nora’s.’
Mr Cowley approached, there were handshakes all round, and a large key was produced.
‘Er, may I ask, where is the owner?’ Matthew said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Mr Cowley looked mildly startled. ‘I thought you were aware, this house is part of a deceased estate.’
‘What does that mean?’ Hannah blurted.
‘Hannah, dear, please keep quiet,’ James said. ‘This is a conversation for grown-ups.’
Matthew bent down to her. ‘It means that the person who owned it died.’
‘Really! Where?’ Hannah’s eyes were huge. ‘Inside? Are they still there?’
Harrie took her hand. ‘Hannah, love, can you just be quiet for a while? Please? This is important to Matthew. Come on, be a quiet little mouse, there’s a good girl.’
And because she liked Matthew, Hannah crossed her wrists in front of her nose to make mouse whiskers, waggled her fingers, and shut up.
Unlocking the door, Mr Cowley stepped aside so they could all troop in.
Immediately, Hannah declared, ‘Smells like shit.’
Mr Cowley said testily, ‘Perhaps the little girl can wait outside?’
Matthew said, ‘No, she stays with us.’ It was all right for people who cared about Hannah to comment on her unruly behaviour, but not strangers.
‘It is a little whiffy, though, isn’t it?’ James remarked. ‘I wonder if that’s seepage from the cesspit?’
‘Unlikely.’ Mr Cowley shook his head until his top hat slipped. He adjusted it. ‘The cesspit is right at the back of the property. I’d say more likely bad air from the doors and windows being closed for months.’
‘Well, open the damn things, then,’ Harrie snapped. Clearly she hadn’t taken to the solicitor either.
Matthew glanced at James and saw that he was trying to hide a smile as Mr Cowley strode about throwing open windows, and the only other door in the house, which led out onto a good-sized rear yard.
It didn’t take them long to inspect the property, which wasn’t exactly palatial, but Matthew quite liked what he saw. There were two rooms fit for bedchambers with decent-sized glazed windows (with all but one pane intact), a sizeable parlour with a big hearth, one other tiny room suitable for storage, and a rather rancid privy at the end of the yard.
‘That will have to be moved and a new pit dug,’ James observed, his handkerchief over his nose.
‘But the rest isn’t too bad, is it?’ Harrie said, back inside again. ‘It could do with a good clean and fresh whitewash on the walls, but when you get some furniture in and carpets down it could really be quite cosy. I’ll make you some drapes and bits and pieces and you won’t recognise it.’
‘Harrie!’ Sophie called from a bedroom. ‘We’ve just seen a rat!’
Ignoring her, Matthew said, ‘Except I don’t really have any furniture.’
‘Then go shopping.’ Harrie glanced around for Charlotte, and found her busy — and safe — poking a stick into a hole in the wall. ‘I’ll come with you if you like.’
Alarmed, Matthew shot a glance a
t James, who shrugged, amused.
Mr Cowley beamed. ‘And you’ll have noticed that the fireplace is already set up for cooking, with the sway and hooks and what have you. All you need is a tripod or a camp oven.’
Matthew hadn’t noticed, and wouldn’t know what to do with a camp oven anyway. He’d never cooked himself a meal in his life. ‘Well, I’m definitely interested. Do you know if anyone else will be bidding?’
‘At this point I believe there are two other interested parties.’
‘And is there a reserve?’
‘Yes, although my client has stipulated a not unreasonable figure, given that the plot is a third of an acre in the centre of town and the cottage, as you can see yourself, is solidly built.’
James said, ‘I thought you said your client was dead?’
Shrieking and giggling, Hannah charged out into the parlour.
‘Right, that’s enough,’ Harrie exclaimed. ‘Sophie! Anna! Out here right now!’ When they appeared, she ordered, ‘You two take her outside now. And do not wander off, please. We’ll only be a few minutes.’
Charlotte started to grizzle as the girls disappeared out the door, but Harrie shushed her.
‘Your client?’ James reminded Mr Cowley.
‘He is deceased, but he’s survived by a sister in England. The cottage was left to her and she’s instructed me to sell.’
‘So it’s been empty for ages?’ Matthew asked. No wonder it smelt bad. He edged towards the door.
‘Yes, but it’s only recently become available for sale. I’ll just close these windows. You can’t be too careful.’
Outside, Matthew shook the solicitor’s hand and said, ‘Well, thank you for showing me the property, Mr Cowley. I’ll definitely be at the auction next Friday. What time did you say?’
‘I didn’t. Midday. Good day to you.’
He didn’t bother to say goodbye to Hannah.
As everyone else also headed off — Matthew back to his office, James to the surgery, and Harrie and the girls to take Hannah back to Gloucester Street — no one noticed a figure emerge from the shadow of the barracks wall on the other side of the road.
A Tattooed Heart Page 17