Dangerous Women

by Hope Adams

  “Perhaps . . .” he conceded.

  “What possible advantage would come to her from denying a part in Hattie’s death? Why would she hide her guilt in this, when she’s already confessed to so much?”

  “As to that, I can’t say.” Charles strode over to the window and stared out of it.

  “You’re walking away from me”—Kezia was almost shouting now—“because you don’t want to admit that I may be right. That someone else killed Hattie. If you tell Mr. Donovan and Mr. Davies about Sarah and what she’s admitted to me, we lose the chance of discovering who it was. The others will see nothing but a culprit when they look at her. They’ll stop thinking about anyone else being responsible.”

  “But which of the other women could it be? We have no idea. No one’s obviously guilty, are they? Every one of them was there and not one with the slightest motive.” He came up to where Kezia was standing, biting her lip and frowning, and took hold of her wrists. Very gently, he said, “That is the main reason, Kezia. The motive. These women are criminals, to be sure, but they aren’t murderers. Not one of them, except Sarah. I will call her that. See it, Kezia. See the truth. She had the motive. She’s killed a man. What do you have to put against these facts?”

  “My heart. My instincts. She threatened Hattie, it’s true. She was fearful of being discovered, but almost a whole voyage has passed quietly since then, and Hattie had said nothing. She had no idea that Sarah had killed a man. Why, so near our destination, would she put everything she’d been striving for in jeopardy by stabbing Hattie?”

  “We don’t know, Kezia. How d’you know that Hattie hadn’t said something to her? Sarah may not have meant to do more than threaten her again. Matters spiral out of control. I can think of a dozen ways in which it might have happened.”

  “Then will you wait? For now, let me talk to the women again. I beg you . . .”

  “I cannot,” Charles said. “It’s my duty to tell them. They’ll be arriving in Van Diemen’s Land very soon and they must be told.”

  “But we’re so close to land. They’ll put Sarah under guard. Let her at least be free till we land.”

  “I cannot. She may throw herself overboard, evade justice. I will have to put her under guard.”

  A knock came on the door. Kezia sank onto a chair and tried to compose herself, to no avail. He would not bow to her pleas. He would do what he wanted to do and the devil take her opinions. They were of no importance to him. This thought fell on Kezia, like a pall, and weighed down her heart with sadness. The door opened. Mr. Donovan and Mr. Davies came in and solemnly took their seats. Kezia realized they must have overheard, if not the angry words, then certainly the tone of the conversation. The fury she felt must still have shown in her face. Her hair had come unfastened at the nape of her neck and she concentrated on that. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and a drop of sweat making its way down her spine.

  “Well, now, Miss Hayter and gentlemen,” said Mr. Davies, rubbing his hands together. “Where do we find ourselves this morning? Has the dawn brought enlightenment?”

  He’s cheerful, Kezia thought. He’s closer to home, eager to take the money he’d brought from London to his congregation. He’ll have friends there, she told herself. Well, we are all, also, eager for land. For a moment, she allowed herself to think of a time when her feet would always be steady, when walking wouldn’t involve balancing her body and a negotiation of some kind with her surroundings. Then Charles spoke.

  “We have a confession from one of the women . . .” he began.

  “Indeed?” The other men beamed at him.

  “Not to the stabbing, alas,” he said, and the others sat back in their chairs, crestfallen. “Sarah Goodbourne has confessed two things.”

  Kezia let him continue, wondering at how little he took her opinion into account.

  “Well,” Reverend Davies said, after Charles stopped speaking, “it seems we have found our murderer. What say you, Miss Hayter? Has the captain convinced you?”

  Kezia stood up and pushed aside her chair. “No, sir, he has not. I am convinced that Sarah Goodbourne is innocent of this crime, though guilty of much else.”

  Kezia looked around at the others. They seemed embarrassed. “But I ask all of you one favor. If you come to the conclusion that Joan Macdonald is not guilty of Hattie’s murder, and I’m sure that you will”—Mr. Donovan and Charles nodded, though Mr. Davies simply folded his arms and looked at her searchingly—“then,” she continued, “I think Bertie would not only thrive in her care, but also provide as much help to her as she would to him. She, more than many others, feels the loss of her family most deeply. Looking after Bertie would provide some happiness in a life she feels has been emptied of joy. I have been watching her dealings with the boy. She is very kind to him.”

  “I agree,” said Mr. Donovan. “I’d come to the same judgment myself. She was most tender with him whenever she brought him to visit his mother. Most tender.”

  “I’m glad,” Kezia said, “that at least on this matter we’re of one mind.” She looked at Charles and Mr. Davies, as if daring them to contradict her, but they both murmured assent, nodding and smiling at the happy resolution of at least one problem.

  “Unless, of course, in spite of all our good opinions of her, Joan was the person who stabbed Hattie,” Mr. Davies added. “Miss Hayter, after all, is trying to persuade us that someone other than Sarah Goodbourne may be guilty of murder.” There was laughter in his voice and Kezia felt rage rising in her again.

  “If Joan turns out to be guilty, I’ll tear up my master’s ticket and never go to sea again,” said Charles. “But whatever is the case, we can, I think, wait a little while to put Sarah Goodbourne under guard.”

  Dizziness overcame Kezia and she closed her eyes. “I am withdrawing from this inquiry,” she said. “You may now do as you see fit.”

  She heard nothing but silence behind her as she left the room.

  * * *

  * * *

  The stars in the southern hemisphere shone much brighter than Kezia was accustomed to. The sky above the Rajah, as she sailed through waters ruffled by a light wind from the west, was studded with them and they burned as brightly as lamps. They seemed so close that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see one impaled at the top of the highest mast. Everything is always different at night, she thought. She recalled how frightened of the dark she had been as a child.

  Once, her mother had put her to sit on the stairs outside her bedroom for shouting at Robert. He’d taken one of her dolls and removed an arm, playing at soldiers. As far as Kezia remembered, he had received no punishment beyond a scolding. For shouting at him and pummeling him with her fists, she was put to sit on the stairs in the dark. Henrietta had come out of their bedroom to keep her company for a while but Kezia had sent her back to bed when she saw that her sister’s eyes were closing. “If Mama catches you here, we’ll both be in trouble,” Kezia said. “Go to sleep. I’ll be there soon, I’m sure. I’ll be taken from this dark step and sent back to bed.”

  How long did I sit there? she asked herself now. She couldn’t remember, but Mama’s words when she’d come up still sounded in her head. “You won’t be so eager to shout at your brother in future, missy,” she’d whispered, as she’d pushed Kezia into the bedroom with a hand in the small of her back, and neither a good night kiss nor a kind word before she closed the door behind her. Also, there was the darkness, waiting for Kezia in her own bedroom: thick and suffocating, to be dreaded.

  The sailors on the watch said, “Good night, Miss,” as they passed where she was standing at the rail. The Rajah creaked and rolled, and Kezia understood how a ship could become like a living soul to those who had care of her. In spite of the dirt, the gloom and the pervading smells of the convict quarters, there was, beyond that, something noble and inspiring about what was, when all was said and done, nothing but
wood and canvas, rope and nails, yet able to move so swiftly over the water, to carry so much.

  * * *

  * * *

  They’ll notice, thought Kezia. Every one of the women will notice. Even Isaac, bringing her breakfast, had remarked on her condition.

  “Are you feeling quite well, Miss?” he’d asked. “I can come back later if you’d rather wait a little.”

  “No, thank you, Isaac,” she’d answered, with as steady a voice as she could muster. “The porridge is most welcome.”

  As she struggled to swallow spoonfuls of the cold, gelatinous mess, Kezia went over everything she knew. Something that one of the women had said came to her. Which of them had said it? She couldn’t remember. Was it to do with fetching Bertie?

  Her face in the looking-glass was pale, dark shadows scored deep under her eyes. As she closed her cabin door behind her and made her way to the lower deck, she felt as if the wind would blow her away. She glanced at the sails, billowing, bearing the ship ever closer to its destination, and bit her lip. I must find out the truth.

  * * *

  * * *

  The fiery white light of the sun brightened the convict quarters a little, and it was some moments before Kezia’s eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. She peered into the distance and saw someone sitting on a bunk, idly twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. She had to be sure it wasn’t any of the women who’d been in front of the inquiry, so she walked up to her. Maud Ashton was a mousy woman, but she had a curious streak.

  “Are you quite well, Maud?” Kezia asked. “Many of your companions have chosen to go up on deck.”

  “I hide from the sun, Miss,” Maud said, and it was true that her skin was very fair. “Even in cold weather, the brightness is bad for me. I’d best keep in, I think.”

  “I hope you’ll allow me to ask you something, Maud.” The woman nodded, sitting up straighter and biting her lip. “It’s nothing you’ve done,” Kezia said quickly, trying to reassure her. “I’m only seeking information. May I sit down?”

  Again Maud nodded and Kezia sat beside her on the bunk, quite close, because others had come in from the deck and she didn’t want their conversation overheard.

  “Then there is a particular question I want to ask you about the night Hattie was stabbed, and I beg you to be truthful when you answer me.”

  Maud nodded a third time, to give added weight to her words. “I’d never lie to you,” she said. “Cross my heart, Miss, and hope to die.”

  43

  NOW

  15 July 1841

  One hundred and one days at sea

  They were gathered on deck, eighteen women under the shade of the awning. They’d been stitching since daybreak, in the cool of early morning. The sky was pearly-white, the color fading out of it as the sun grew stronger. A stiffish wind was blowing and the sea was deepest blue, each wave crested with white and all moving in lines along the side of the ship. Miss Hayter was with them, sitting between Lottie and Joan. Sarah was on the other side of the circle, Emily on her left and Phyllis on her right.

  “Look, Miss,” said Rose. “The captain’s coming . . . and the minister. And Mr. Donovan. They’ve got Bertie with them.”

  “Indeed. I’ve been expecting them.” Miss Hayter stood up and turned to face them as they approached.

  “Good morning,” said the captain. “A beautiful day, is it not?” Everyone nodded and looked to see how Miss Hayter would react. Since yesterday a kind of gloom had descended on the company, all of them aware of the matron’s unhappiness. It showed in her every movement and utterance. The only thing that brought light to her eyes was the coverlet. She was pleased with that at least.

  “You’ve worked very well,” she said, as the final border was being carefully stitched to the rest. “Each and every one of you. The Ladies’ Committee will be delighted, I’m quite sure.”

  “I have something to say to you,” said the captain. There was a wooden crate nearby; he pulled it toward him and sat on it. Miss Hayter gave a signal and the women rolled up the work in its sheet. She took it and placed a box on top of it to keep it from unrolling. Mr. Davies and Mr. Donovan stood behind the captain, and Bertie, whose hand he’d been holding, stood in the crook of his arm. “We have, as you know, been considering the death of Hattie Matthews, and I can tell you that we’re near to a decision on that matter. But today we’ve something else to consider. Or, rather, someone. We—Miss Hayter and the three of us—have been thinking of what might best be done for Bertie. I’ve spoken to the boy, haven’t I, Bertie?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Bertie. No one but those closest to him heard his words. They were blown away by the brisk breeze, though he was nodding in agreement.

  “This boy’s mother has gone to her last rest,” the captain went on. “No other person will ever replace her, of course, but we’re agreed that another kind person, who’ll love him and care for him, will be the nearest he can come to receiving a mother’s love. Not everyone feels they can carry the burden of someone else’s child, and please tell me if these are your feelings, and we’ll think again, but it’s our settled opinion that you, Joan Macdonald, would be the right person for this undertaking. If you agree—”

  He hadn’t finished speaking. Everyone could see that there was more he intended to say, but at that very moment Emily opened her mouth and shrieked, like a soul escaped from Hell. She clasped her arms around herself and began to rock backward and forward.

  “No, no, no!” she cried, and then, “You can’t! He’s my Freddie. Tell them, Freddie. Tell them about our game. Tell them. He’s mine, not yours! He’s my angel and you can’t—he isn’t hers! Mine! I wanted to tell her but she wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t listen to me. He’s mine!” She ran to the captain, spitting in her fury and trembling all over, then seized Bertie and pulled him away. Demons, they say, can possess a body and give it strength, and if they’d not seen it for themselves, the women would never have believed Emily capable of such power. Within seconds she’d put her arms around Bertie and had lifted him almost over her head. The captain moved swiftly to remove him from her grasp, but she ducked. At one moment she had been upright, the next she was down low, near the deck, and Bertie seemed to be tucked under her arm. She ran with him, quick as lightning. There was a gap between Ann and Rose on the other side of the circle and she made for it.

  “Catch her! Stop her!” Mr. Donovan shouted. Ann and Rose lunged at Emily as she raced past them toward the Rajah’s stern. A piece of her skirt remained in Ann’s hand—she stared at it, paralyzed, and let it fall to the deck.

  Then Sarah ran. She flew after Emily, past Ann and Rose, and she was nearly, nearly upon her when Emily leaped onto some wooden crates stowed near the stern and turned to face her. Bertie was shouting, too, now as he tried to wriggle free. Emily had both arms around him, and was clutching him under the armpits, clasping him to her bosom like a shield.

  “He’s mine!” she screamed. “Go away, Sarah, he’s mine! She wasn’t a good mother, not like me. I’m a good mother. I’m the best—the best mother. I’m Freddie’s mother! I’m the one who loves him. Me! Me! She didn’t. Not really. Selfish, she was. I wanted to tell her. I was going to tell her how much I loved him. How he’s Freddie when he’s with me. He likes being Freddie.”

  “He’s not yours, Emily,” Sarah said, with more strength and calm in her voice than any of the others had heard before. “And he’s Bertie. Freddie is someone else. You must give him to the captain. Let me have him, and you can come back and sit with us again.”

  “He’s mine! I’m not giving him up! Never! If I can’t have him, I’ll drown both of us. I will! I’ll throw him over the rail. Yes, and me after him.”

  Help was coming, but Sarah seemed not to notice anything around her. Did she see that sailors were approaching Emily from every direction? Shinning down the rigging to catch her by surprise, creeping up
on her to approach her from behind if they had to, though there was little space between her body and the stern rail.

  “Emily,” Sarah said, “you can’t have him. He’s not yours. He’s Hattie’s son. You loved Hattie, remember? You didn’t mean to do her any harm, did you?”

  That made Emily pause. She stood quite still as if weighing something up. Then she said, “I did love Hattie, but she couldn’t see. Couldn’t see he’s mine . . . my baby. I love him more. My Freddie. My angel. Ever since we came to the Rajah, I knew.”

  “But if you love him, how can you say you’re going to let him drown? Give him to me, Emily, and then we can talk.” Sarah’s voice was higher now. There was terror in it. “Please. Show some kindness, if you really love him. Don’t let him die, Emily. You’ll never see him again if he dies, will you? Please, Emily, think of what you’re doing.”

  “I know what I’m doing!” Emily shrieked. “I’ve always known! Freddie’s my child—he has to be! I had to stop her! He’s mine and I’m keeping him. I’m not his pretend mother anymore. I’m his only mother . . . his proper mother.”

  Everything moved quickly then, and many things happened together. A wild light came to Emily’s eyes as Sarah leaned forward and grabbed Bertie’s waist, wrapping one arm around his body, while prying Emily’s right hand from under his arm. Bertie helped. He wriggled and twisted with new vigor, then fell into Sarah’s embrace and she pulled him off the boxes, both of them stumbling to keep their balance. Emily was making noises that no one near her had ever heard before, saying words from which all reason had departed. Sarah was rocking to and fro on the deck with Bertie, sobbing and trembling, in her arms. There was screaming and shouting. Emily’s name was called. Shrieks of “No! No!” The other women were clustering around Sarah, and Miss Hayter was putting her arms around her as she was holding Bertie, saying, “Sarah, let him go. Let me take him. Come, Bertie.”