A Tattooed Heart

by Deborah Challinor

  Was this ever going to end? Sighing, she closed her eyes in despair, then, feeling dizzy and even more ill, quickly opened them again. God, she was thirsty.

  She had another look out at the street. Something was happening: Robbie was coming out with Charlotte. Now he was wandering down the carriageway with her, chatting away and pointing at a pair of crows. Or were they ravens? Charlotte shouted at them but they didn’t fly away. Cheeky buggers.

  Robbie reached the gate and sat Charlotte on the wall, her little legs dangling.

  This was it.

  Robbie said something to Charlotte and she laughed.

  There was no one on Hunter Street. Wait, yes there was, a couple on Harrie and James’s side of the road, approaching their house. Could that be Leary in disguise? He’d got a lot taller if it was. But what if he’d sent someone else to grab Charlotte? Shit.

  Friday craned for a glimpse of any of the others. Were they thinking the same thing? She moved into a crouch, her feet buzzing with pins and needles, and held her breath as the couple stopped before Robbie and Charlotte. God, if one of them grabbed Charlotte and ran, could she get to her in time?

  The woman bent over, said something to Charlotte, patted her on the head, and straightened again before they continued on their way.

  Just passers-by, then. Friday relaxed slightly but remained in a squat, though soon changed her mind after a particularly violent gurgle from her nether regions.

  Sitting beside Charlotte on the wall, Robbie fished a piece of knotted string from his pocket and showed her how to play cat’s cradle.

  Minutes dragged past and Friday, wiping beads of sweat off her top lip and forehead, thought it was pretty obvious now that Leary wasn’t going to turn up. After a while James came out of the house, marched down the carriageway and picked up Charlotte, the signal to everyone to come out of hiding. Heaving a massive sigh of relief, Friday began to extricate herself from her prison of twigs and branches, grateful beyond words that she hadn’t had to vomit — or worse — in such an uncomfortable, inconvenient little spot.

  Sarah trudged towards her, picking hay out of her hair. ‘Do you think he came anywhere near? I don’t. I wouldn’t’ve, if I were him.’

  ‘But you’re not him, are you?’ Leo said, coming up behind Friday. ‘Or rather, he’s not you. You’re a damn sight smarter.’

  As if to illustrate this very fact, a figure flashed across Hunter Street, just east of the intersection with Castlereagh. In close pursuit, running like the wind with her skirts up around her brown thighs, went Aria.

  ‘Shit, was that Leary?’ Sarah exclaimed.

  ‘Was that Aria?!’

  Friday took off down the street after her, her boots slipping in gravel as she accelerated, but was forced to pull up almost immediately as nausea overwhelmed her. Gagging and retching, she bent over and up it came: undigested bread and cheese and bits of last night’s dinner, stinking horribly of bile and gin.

  Sarah, a very fast runner, shot past her, followed by Leo, and then Walter. Spitting and swearing, Friday wiped her mouth on her sleeve and trotted after them. At least she felt a little better now.

  Turning down Castlereagh Street, she caught up with the others. Leo was bent over at the waist, hands on his knees and muttering about getting old, though Aria, Sarah and Walter looked as though they’d only been out for a stroll.

  ‘Where is he?’ she asked, panting. She wasn’t getting old, though she certainly wasn’t as hale as she could be.

  ‘Got away,’ Sarah said. ‘He had a horse.’

  ‘A horse?’

  Aria kicked a greasy and well-worn hat across the ground. ‘I almost had him but he leapt onto the horse and rode off.’

  ‘Where was the bugger hiding?’ Leo was standing tall now but had a hand pressed against his side.

  ‘He was watching Robbie and Charlotte from the roof of a building on a side street. I saw him and I dragged him off it. We fought but he got away from me.’ Aria shrugged. ‘I did not have my weapons to hand.’

  Sarah stamped her foot. ‘Christ, what a pack of prats we are! Eight of us and we still couldn’t catch him!’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Aria said. ‘I almost did.’

  Turning on Friday, Sarah demanded, ‘And why are you covered in spew? Look! It’s in your hair and on your dress. And you stink. You’re such a pig. You do know that, don’t you?’

  Friday glanced down at herself. Actually, there were a few lumps of something stuck in her hair.

  Aria stepped forwards. ‘Do not call my lover a pig.’

  ‘Well, she is, Aria. Look at her!’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I will do the calling of names, not you.’

  Leo eyed Walter and said under his breath, ‘Time to go, I think, eh, lad?’

  ‘No,’ Sarah snapped. ‘We have to go back to Harrie’s and talk. We can’t leave it like this. He’ll be back — you know he will, Leo.’

  Colouring slightly, Leo said, ‘I didn’t mean go home, I just meant, er, leave you three to it.’

  ‘We have to have a plan. He did come back today, and I didn’t think he would, did you?’

  Everyone shook their heads.

  ‘To me that says he really means to take Charlotte,’ Sarah went on, ‘and I’m not going to stand by and let him. That’d destroy Harrie: it really would. You know what she’s like when she gets upset.’

  Silence, because Friday and Leo did, and Aria and Walter had been told about Harrie’s illness the previous year.

  ‘So are we agreed? We need a plan?’

  ‘Aye,’ Leo said as Walter nodded vehemently.

  ‘It is common sense, is it not?’ Aria declared.

  Friday said, ‘’Course.’

  ‘Good. Let’s go and talk to Harrie and James.’

  ‘So there I was,’ Friday said, her feet parked on Lucian Meriwether’s desk, a plate of Mrs Wright’s cake in her lap and a cup of tea in her hand, ‘jammed in the middle of this prickly bloody bush, sick as a dog, didn’t know whether to whip the cat or shit, sweating like a pig —’

  ‘What a very zoological turn of phrase you have, my dear,’ Lucian said.

  ‘Eh?’

  Lucian shook his head and waved her on.

  ‘And just when I was sure I was going to die, James came out and picked up Charlotte, thank Christ.’ Friday took a bite of cake and talked through it. ‘So we all crawled out of our hidey-holes, thinking the bugger hadn’t turned up, then Aria goes sprinting across the street after the bastard! He’d been skulking up on someone’s roof!’ She waved her cake to demonstrate, showering herself and Lucian’s study floor with crumbs.

  ‘And did she catch him?’

  Friday shook her head. ‘Bastard got away on a bloody horse!’

  ‘You do live an exciting life.’ Lucian remarked. ‘Still, it must be very distressing for your friends, knowing that some blackguard is intent on kidnapping their child. Well, in a way she’s your child, too, isn’t she?’

  Friday nodded. She’d told Lucian all about Rachel — though not what they’d done to Gabriel Keegan. ‘And Sarah’s. We’re worried sick.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Lucian tapped his big false teeth with a teaspoon. They made a dull, flat sound. ‘Has it occurred to you to wonder why this Leary chose five o’clock last Sunday to collect the child?’

  ‘Well, I dunno. What d’you mean? He had to say some time, didn’t he?’

  ‘What do you think he was planning to do with her? Keep her in hiding in the town? Does he have somewhere to keep her? Or did he perhaps intend to take her somewhere else?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘You don’t. I’m simply suggesting that these are possibilities you might wish to consider. For example, if he’d been planning to remove her to a different locale, he might have chosen five o’clock last Sunday because that time aligned with the departure of some mode of transport.’

  ‘Why can’t you speak proper English?’ Friday grumbled.

  Lucian ignored h
er. ‘A coach, perhaps, or a ship.’

  Friday hadn’t thought of that. None of them had. ‘Why would he take her away?’

  ‘So you can’t find her. If he doesn’t have to worry about you hunting him down, he can concentrate all his energy on dangling the child like bait and forcing your poor friend Harrie to surrender the information he wants.’

  ‘But she doesn’t have it and neither does Leo! They haven’t got a clue where Leary’s bloody brother is!’

  ‘That isn’t what he believes, though, is it?’

  ‘Clearly bloody not. He’s not supposed to leave Sydney, you know. He can’t, he’s a convict.’ Friday paused. ‘Though we’re pretty sure he already has. We think he’s been away for at least six months, looking for his brother.’

  ‘Well, there you go.’

  Friday put her feet on the floor with a clatter. ‘I have to go. I need to talk to Harrie and James about this. And Leo.’ She leant over and kissed Lucian’s wrinkled cheek. ‘You’re a clever old sod, Lucian Meriwether. Thanks.’

  ‘My pleasure, my dear. Oh, just before you go, I was talking to Clement Bloodworth the other day, and he mentioned that someone broke into his house. The strange thing, however, is that the only item stolen was his letter from Dr Neville Clayton concerning Bella Shand and the shipment of preserved Maori heads. The one I mentioned to you. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  ‘No. I thought not.’

  Friday asked, ‘Same time next week?’

  ‘Yes, please. And Friday?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Do take care.’

  It was decided that Charlotte was never, ever to be left on her own, and that she would always be in the company of at least two people. During the day this would mean some combination of Harrie, Sophie and Anna, Daisy and Elsa, Robbie, and Isaac being with her at all times. Sophie and Anna, though, were never to be left in charge of her as a pair, as they were too young — Leary could easily hurt or overpower them — and the responsibility was too great. At night Robbie would sleep in the nursery, along with Charlotte and Daisy, on a mattress made up on the floor, and the windows were to remain closed, regardless of the temperature.

  Charlotte thought this a wonderful turn of affairs, and kept Daisy and Robbie up for hours wanting to play games and asking for drinks of lemonade. By the fourth night, however, she’d tired herself out and was falling asleep by seven o’clock, her usual bedtime, which suited Daisy as she was bone tired from her day’s work and feeling constantly on edge, but didn’t suffice for Robbie at all. To his horror he found himself reduced to attempting to read an actual book by lamplight to keep himself amused, until Matthew came to his rescue and offered to sit in the nursery until midnight so Robbie could go out and visit with Walter and Jimmy Johnson. That would soon end, however, when Matthew moved into his cottage the following week, after the walls had been whitewashed, new tiles laid on the floors, and part of the roof reshingled.

  No one had said so out loud but they were all wondering how long they could go on guarding Charlotte as though she were the Crown jewels. She was the Crown jewels as far as Harrie, James, Sarah and Friday were concerned, but in the back of Harrie’s mind lurked the fear that Leary might give up on Charlotte and take one of the other children instead. Anna, perhaps, or even Sophie. She had no fears regarding Robbie — she knew he could look after himself — but she very much doubted Anna could, even with her new spectacles. She was just too small and young. So whenever they went out, they all went together — herself, Charlotte, Anna, Sophie and Isaac — whether it was to Nora’s to work on a gown, to visit someone, or to the market or the shops on George Street.

  Even in the house Harrie was very much ill at ease. She checked on all the children constantly in their rooms and when they played in the parlour and the dining room, and wouldn’t let Sophie and Anna venture any farther than the verandahs, and never alone. After only a week of this her nerves began to suffer badly; she started to dream about them being taken and imagine the worst when she was awake. To her surprise, though, she still slept reasonably soundly — dreams aside — and ate well at mealtimes. In the past she’d lost her appetite when she’d been distressed, but not this time. Perhaps her body was doing its best to remain healthy and hale, despite her fretting.

  One day she walked past the parlour door and saw Sophie curled up in an armchair, the bright sun streaming through the window turning her long, treacle-coloured hair silver. She had her head down — reading probably, but then she was always reading. But when she went out to the kitchen to talk to Daisy, Sophie was with her, helping her slice leeks.

  Harrie went upstairs to her room. Angus the cat was stretched across the bed, leaving black and white fur all over James’s pillow. She moved him, then licked her palm and absentmindedly rolled the fur off James’s linen pillowslip while she thought. What she’d seen in the parlour could mean three things: she’d imagined it, she was losing her mind again (though she supposed those first two were sort of the same thing), or Rachel had come back after all, this time to tell her something very important. But she really didn’t think she was losing her mind, not like she had before. She was very worried, of course she was. What mother (or sister) wouldn’t be? But she wasn’t hearing voices, she wasn’t confused, irrational, or paralysed by dread, and she certainly wasn’t incapable of looking after herself, or anyone else.

  ‘So I don’t think it’s that, do you?’ she said to Angus.

  Angus said nothing, just blinked with sleepy, citrine eyes.

  Harrie gently pulled his tail. ‘I think she really is back, and I think it’s because of Charlotte. She’s warning us, so I’m glad I saw her. We’re right to be so careful with the children. And I feel a lot better knowing she’s here.’

  But even though she felt better, she didn’t mention seeing Rachel to anyone else.

  The next morning she, Robbie, Anna, Daisy and Charlotte went to the market. Charlotte had woken several times in the night with another new tooth, and grizzled all the way around the fruit and vegetable shed, so they came home earlier than planned, but with most of their shopping.

  In the kitchen, Sophie was sitting on a stool turning a hogget roast on the spit. Her sleeves were pushed up past her elbows, her skirt hiked over her knees, and her face was red and sweaty from the heat of the fire.

  ‘Meat!’ Charlotte shouted, struggling to be put down.

  Harrie obliged. ‘Where’s Elsa?’

  ‘In the garden, looking for potatoes.’

  ‘She’ll be lucky. I think we’ve dug them all. Doesn’t matter, we bought some at the market. Charlotte?’ Harrie turned around, looking for her. ‘Where is she? Charlotte!’

  ‘I think she went outside,’ Anna said, pointing at the kitchen door.

  Harrie rushed out onto the verandah. Elsa was in the garden, raking through the soil with a hoe.

  ‘Charlotte! Charlotte!’

  Elsa looked up.

  ‘Is Charlotte out here?’ Harrie called.

  ‘I haven’t seen her.’

  ‘You must have. She just came out a second ago!’

  ‘Beg pardon?’

  Harrie ran towards her. ‘She just came out of the kitchen a moment ago. You must have seen her.’

  Elsa went red, then very pale. ‘I’m sorry, Missus Harrie. I been looking down at the potatoes. I can’t find any. I been concentrating.’

  ‘Robbie!’ Harrie shrieked. ‘Robbie!’

  But he was already sprinting across the grass, at the same time that Isaac appeared trotting around the side of the house. They arrived together.

  ‘I can’t find her, Robbie! I can’t find Charlotte!’

  ‘You go that way,’ Isaac said to Robbie, pointing, ‘I’ll go this way. She might have gone round the front. You girls, look all through the house. Under the beds, in the cupboards, behind the drapes, everywhere. Elsa, you go for Mr James. Now, girl, don’t just stand with your gob hanging open.’


  By the time James arrived home, scarlet-faced from running, they had searched everywhere, but to no avail.

  Charlotte had gone.

  Daisy and Elsa, both with red, swollen eyes, had served cake, bread and butter, sliced roast hogget, and pots of tea, but no one had eaten much. The tea had gone, though, and James’s brandy decanter was almost empty. Even Harrie had had a tiny glass to steady her nerves. It hadn’t, however, only burnt her throat. Friday was steadily working her way through a bottle of gin, and Matthew had polished off nearly a full tumbler of James’s good whisky, he was that upset.

  They’d all come the minute they’d heard. Harrie had sent Robbie around to everyone she could think of who might be able to help, and they’d all come. Sarah and Adam, who’d closed their shop; Friday and Aria (Friday had walked out on a customer); Leo, Walter and Serafina; Nora Barrett; and Matthew and Lucy, who’d both begged off work due to an emergency. Elizabeth Hislop had sent a note offering the services of both herself and Jack Wilton; Lawrence Chandler had done the same, and told James not to return to the surgery until Charlotte had been found.

  There were, however, no police.

  There was little room left in the parlour, and no seats, despite the chairs having been brought through from the dining room.

  Leo said, ‘Friday’s idea about Leary taking the wee lass away —’

  ‘Lucian’s idea,’ Friday corrected.

  ‘Aye, I talked to the harbour master and according to him on Sunday the sixteenth of September at around five o’clock there were only two vessels sailing from Port Jackson.’

  ‘Excuse my ignorance,’ Lucy said. ‘I’m sorry, but where is Port Jackson?’

  ‘The whole of Sydney Harbour’s Port Jackson,’ Matthew told her, ‘including Sydney Cove, Farm Cove, Darling Harbour, everywhere.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lucy went pink.

  Matthew patted her hand comfortingly.

  ‘Two vessels,’ Leo went on, ‘and they were the Sheffield, bound for Portsmouth, and the Sophia Jane, a paddlesteamer heading back to Newcastle. Newcastle here, that is, not Newcastle in England. At eight o’clock that night, the John Tanner was sailing for Cork, but I think it more likely Leary’d have wanted a five o’clock cast-off. He wouldn’t have wanted to hang about with an unhappy two-year-old for three hours. And why would Leary want to go to Cork anyway? He’s not Irish. My money would have been on the Sophia Jane if things had gone to plan.’