Dangerous Women

by Hope Adams

  “Isaac told me three more days,” says Joan. She’s sitting in her usual place, with Bertie beside her, playing a cat’s cradle game she’d taught him with a length of twine. He never leaves her side. Since his mother’s death, since Emily’s death, he’s a changed child, no longer running about the ship, but like a shadow clinging to Joan. He seems contented enough, but what of his heart? The world is freighted with much sorrow, but he seems too small a boy to carry very much of it.

  “I’d rather not land,” I say. “They’ll take me off to a cell and get a gallows ready for me.”

  No one answers. They can’t because what I’m saying is true. I won’t dwell on it. I’m ready for it. In the end, a price has to be paid.

  “But you saved Bertie,” says Phyllis, “and you were one of us. One of Miss Hayter’s company. What we’ve made, that’s something to be proud of.”

  “It’s very beautiful,” I say. “I never thought of how it would be when we started. Just one piece of fabric coming after another. But here it is, and there’s so many bits of cloth and they make something. I’m proud of that. Once I’m dead and gone, my work’ll be in this coverlet. That’s what lasts in the end, doesn’t it? Us . . . we’ll be dead soon enough.”

  That’s what we, too, are like, us women. We’re a patchwork. One person next to another, then her next to a third, and on and on, different people pushed together. Some neatly beside our neighbors, some out of shape and awkwardly sewn into a botched closeness. We’ve arranged ourselves into this shape: fair ones and dark ones, older, younger, thin, fat, ugly, pretty and everything in between, and near on two hundred of us on this ship and taken far away, existing side by side, sleeping together, eating together. Here are friends and enemies. We’ve turned ourselves into something. We’re many small pieces, each of us different but now stitched together. A patchwork of souls.

  48

  NOW

  18 July 1841

  One hundred and four days at sea

  KEZIA

  Charles stood up as she came into the room. “Kezia,” he said. “Please, sit down.”

  “Thank you for telling me the good news,” she said, hoping her voice sounded braver than she felt. “I’m delighted that the men have finally reached a sensible conclusion and I’m grateful to you for persuading them.” She wanted to ask, How did you do it? What changed their minds? but lately had become more uncertain of Charles’s feelings toward her. As if reading her thoughts, Charles began: “It was an uphill battle. Mr. Donovan has a very kind heart, as you know, and, besides, he feels affectionately toward you.” He gazed searchingly at Kezia, who met his eyes before quickly looking down. Charles continued. “Mr. Davies was harder work, but with James and myself pressing him on theological definitions of forgiveness and mercy, and summoning everything we remembered about erring sheep being welcomed into the fold, we moved him in the end. In my private opinion, the desire to have the whole matter over and done with, tidied up and settled, also weighed in the balance. Less fuss. He wouldn’t have to give any evidence, appear at a hearing and so forth. I’m sure he’s anxious to continue his life among his congregation, by whom he’s much respected and admired. Or so I’m told.”

  Kezia said, “I’m most grateful to you for throwing your authority behind this. Thank you. Will you tell Sarah and the others, or should I?”

  “I’ll talk to all the women this evening. Tell everyone what conclusion we’ve come to. It won’t take long. And Sarah must be told that she will have to remain as Sarah Goodbourne now. You know that they’ll be looking for Clara Shaw in London. The authorities in Hobart, too, will be forced to send her back to hang if they discover who she really is. But most of the rest may pass in silence.”

  Charles picked up his brass paperweight and turned it over in his hands. The air in the cabin, Kezia thought, was growing chilly, and she wished she’d brought a warmer shawl. Charles, too, seemed uncomfortable and he rubbed his hands together.

  “I must return to the deck.” Kezia glanced at the floor, then raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “We’re nearly at the end of our work.”

  “Please don’t go . . . I want to say . . . May I say a few words to you?”

  “Of course.”

  He walked round the table and leaned against it, close enough to Kezia to touch her. She saw him reach out, then draw back, as if unsure of what would happen if his hand met hers.

  “I’m truly sorry. I shouldn’t have dismissed your opinions and I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  She was believed. She was considered an equal of the men. Kezia felt as though she’d been awarded a shining prize.

  He kissed her then. A thousand thoughts ran through Kezia’s mind. It wasn’t suitable, respectable, appropriate . . . She wasn’t ready, wasn’t prepared, didn’t know what to do, not really. Had never done such a thing before. And then the thoughts ceased and Kezia allowed herself to be overwhelmed by her feelings.

  * * *

  * * *

  “I’ve something to tell you,” said Kezia, still dazed, and still feeling a little light-headed from the unaccustomed sensations she was experiencing as she took her place in the circle of women stitching under the awning. She’d wondered whether she should single Sarah out and speak to her privately, but the others would be watching. They’d know at least part of what had happened from Sarah herself already.

  “Good morning,” she began again, and everyone joined in the greetings.

  “Top of the morning, Miss,” said Tabitha. “You look better, Miss. Than you’ve been lately, I mean.”

  “You’re right,” said Kezia. “I’m relieved to have this matter settled. That’s what I want to talk to you about.” She looked round the circle till her eye fell on Sarah. “I’m sure Sarah’s spoken to you about . . . her predicament.”

  “She’s told us her real name, if that’s what you mean,” said Rose. “Not sure what to call her now, if I’m telling the truth.”

  “She has to be Sarah Goodbourne,” Kezia said.

  “What if the real Sarah comes out to Hobart on the next transport? What if they found her at once, understood what happened and simply packed her off on the next ship?” That was Phyllis. “Best if I keep Sarah living with me till such a thing happens.”

  “And I shall tell you this.” Kezia looked at Sarah searchingly. “Because you saved Bertie’s life, at great risk to your own safety, the captain will say nothing to the Van Diemen’s Land authorities about your case. He’ll recount the circumstances of both deaths, and emphasize your part in rescuing Bertie. That’s all. If you’re taking Sarah Goodbourne’s name, you will also take on her crime.”

  “Thank you, Miss,” said Sarah. “I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t dared to hope. Thank you . . . Oh, forgive me for my weakness.” She brushed away the tears that had begun to roll down her cheeks. “I’ll work to be better in this new country. I’ll never forget what you did for me. Not if I live to be a hundred. I’ll become a different person.”

  “I’m sure you will. You’ve worked so hard and so well, all of you, and you should be proud of this coverlet. I’m proud of it for you.”

  She stood up, before she too was overcome with emotion, and began to walk slowly away, but Beth called after her. “Miss? Miss?”

  Kezia turned. Beth was standing up. “Please, Miss, will you come back? There’s something we’d like to ask.”

  Kezia went back and stood near the women, waiting for the question, but no one said anything. “Well?” she said. “What is it?”

  “You ask her,” said Izzy, pointing at Phyllis.

  “No, you ask her, Joan. Go on. You’re the oldest.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Joan was blushing. “You ask her, Rose. Or Izzy. Go on, ask.”

  “We want to know if you and the captain are finally courting,” said Izzy at last.

  Kezia smiled. “I suppos
e we are.”

  “That’s good news, Miss,” said Izzy, and Rose added, “You’ve been going about lately with a face like a dead fish.”

  Kezia was overwhelmed with affection for her women. They’d worked hard. They’d had their differences, but they’d also come together. They liked her and respected her and were glad for her happiness.

  “Thank you . . . thank you very much indeed. I hope that you’ll be happy in your new lives. I’m very grateful for your devotion to your work.”

  “Your devotion, Miss,” said Tabitha, and the sight of her teeth indicated to Kezia and the others that she was making a joke. “We didn’t choose to be here, did we? You picked us. It wouldn’t have done to say no!” She cackled to show there was no malice in her remarks.

  “Are you sorry, any of you, that you agreed to work on the patchwork?” Kezia asked. “I did say, didn’t I, that none of you had to join the group?”

  “Course you did, Miss. Course you did,” Tabitha agreed. “I’m only needling you! Oh, hark at me! Needling, eh? D’you hear that?” She was laughing so much at her own jest that she was almost bent double. “I’m a wit!”

  “We’re honored, Miss,” said Elsie, who didn’t often speak. “Every one of us, and that’s the truth. And the coverlet’s pretty enough for a queen.”

  “That’s thanks to you. You’ve worked hard and made something of great worth and beauty. The coverlet will be displayed to the governor and his wife, Sir John and Lady Franklin, when we land. You’ll be presented to them and I’d be most obliged to you if you joined me in singing our hymn, ‘Teach Me, My God and King,’ while we’re out on deck showing them the coverlet. Are you willing to do that?”

  “Sing?” Susan looked panic-stricken. “On deck? All of us? In front of gentry? Oh, I daren’t, Miss. I couldn’t.”

  “Don’t be such a ninny, Susan,” said Beth. “You know it by heart and we’ll be singing alongside you. And we’re happy to be landing, so the noise will be grand.”

  “We’ll sing, Miss,” said Phyllis. “We’ll sing our hearts out, don’t fret!”

  “And someone,” said Kezia, “must put in the last stitch . . . We’re so nearly done. Who should I choose? Every one of you is worthy.”

  “It must be you, Miss,” said Joan. “You thought of it. You saw it in your head before we made it together. You must put in the last stitch. It’s only right.” She took a threaded needle and handed it to Kezia, who stared at it.

  “Go on, Miss! It has to be you. You do it. That’s the final touch.” All the voices came together and soon the women were clapping.

  Kezia pricked the needle into the fabric for the last time, and sewed a few stitches, then fastened off neatly.

  “You need scissors, Miss,” said Phyllis, “to cut that last thread.”

  Kezia wanted to thank them, wanted to say something, but the words would not come. She took the scissors, blinked away the tears and snipped the last thread.

  49

  NOW

  19 July 1841

  One hundred and five days at sea

  Fifteen weeks at sea. Everyone, from the most sea-weathered among the crew to the women who’d suffered most during the voyage, was longing for a glimpse of land. The last night on board was a strange one: joy for the end of imprisonment at sea, and longing for a night in a real bed, with clean clothes that weren’t stiff from being rinsed in seawater. There’d be fresh food. There’d be steady land beneath their feet. There would be space to walk, wider and longer than the Rajah’s decks. Everything would be new. Some feared this, and worried that they wouldn’t find their way.

  “We’ve got used to the Rajah now,” said Maud Ashton. “And they’ll put us ashore and we’ll have to fend for ourselves.”

  “Silly cow!” said another, but with some affection. “Going to find us work and lodging and give us food, and who’s to say we won’t some of us be together on dry land? Wherever we fetch up.”

  They fell to singing. Vowing undying devotion to their friends. Overcome with sadness, some of them, at the thought of parting from companions who’d grown more familiar than the families they’d left behind in England.

  Everyone gathered on the rail at first light, waiting for the cry of the lad in the crow’s nest: Land ahoy! When it came, all eyes peered at the horizon.

  “Where is it?” said Joan. “Where’s the land?”

  “Put your spectacles on, you silly old woman,” said Dwyer, though she said it with laughter in her voice. “I can see it. That line, over there. A dark line.”

  “I don’t want a line. I want hills and houses and trees. Remember what trees are? I miss ’em. I do.”

  “Freezing out here,” said Rose, pulling her shawl close around her.

  “Wind off the ice,” said Isaac, who’d come up to stand as close to Joan as possible. She’d picked Bertie up from the deck and was holding him close now, near her shoulder, for a better view. Isaac went on. “There’s mountains and plains of ice just south of us, and the wind comes from there.”

  “Isn’t it meant to be summer?” That was Marion.

  “Opposite seasons on this side of the world,” Isaac told her. “English summer’s the winter down here.”

  Marion shivered and bit her lip, not quite certain in her head about the notion of opposite seasons. “Seems mad to me,” she said at last. “Winter in July.”

  “There it is,” shouted Izzy. “Van Diemen’s Land. I can see it. I can see hills.”

  The Rajah had sailed toward the dark line of the horizon, and as she approached land, what could be seen from the deck grew and changed until the smallest details were visible. Hills rose above the harbor, and there was snow on the highest slopes.

  “Snow!” Joan cried, pointing it out to Bertie. “There’s snow!” She turned to her left where Isaac had been standing, but he was gone and she saw him striding along the deck, summoned by the first mate. As she watched him, a pain went through her heart at the thought of never seeing him again. I can’t cry, she thought. I must be cheerful for Bertie.

  “Look! There are people . . . They look like us,” Marion said. “Just like people in London, I mean.”

  “Why should they be different?” Phyllis asked.

  Beth said, “You didn’t think they’d be upside down, did you?”

  Marion said nothing but stood looking over the rail and frowning.

  “She did!” Tabitha chortled and slapped her hands on the rail. “Marion thought everyone here’d be upside down! The other side of the world, eh?”

  “Couldn’t properly say why they aren’t,” Susan said. “But I’m heartily glad to see I’m still the right way up!”

  * * *

  * * *

  Bertie stood next to Joan, staring at the shore. He liked her well enough, and the hand he was holding felt safe. But she’s not my ma, he thought. She’s not even my pretend ma.

  “We’ll be leaving the Rajah soon, Bertie,” Joan said. “Won’t it be nice to feel firm land under our feet? Look at the snow on the hills. Doesn’t it look grand?”

  “Snow!” Bertie agreed, and he smiled. The snow would be good. Rolling around in it. Maybe they’d make a snowman. He felt happier when he thought about that. I won’t be so sad now, he told himself. But I still won’t tell anyone. Emily said I mustn’t, not ever, and I won’t. I saw what Emily did with her knife, but I didn’t tell. She stuck it in Ma’s side and ran away. She was crying. I don’t know why she did that. I ran away, too, I ran and ran away from the deck before anyone saw me. She loved my ma, I know she did. But she said I was her boy and she was my pretend ma, and we liked that game. So when Emily killed my real ma, I never said. I never told Miss Hayter or the captain. They’d have taken Emily away to a horrible prison, because she did such a bad thing, and then my pretend ma would be gone, too. I wouldn’t have any ma then. I never told Emily I saw her do it. I never
told her I’d watched, and she’s dead now, and Joan’s going to be my ma.

  “You’re very quiet, Bertie,” Joan said. “What’re you thinking about?”

  Bertie didn’t answer. He was thinking about after. After what he saw. How he’d run to his bunk and hidden under a blanket till Emily came looking for him, how she’d taken him to wash his hands and then up on deck to see his real ma, only she was gone and there was just blood where she’d been. He couldn’t say that to Joan, so he said, “It’s a nice place, Hobart. Isn’t it?”

  “It looks so to me. Lovely big buildings and trees. Can you see the trees?”

  “Will we go up the mountain?” Bertie asked. “Will we make snowballs?”

  “I don’t know, dear,” she answered. “We’ll see. I’ve missed the trees.”

  Bertie’s eyes were wide. He didn’t answer but went on gazing at the harbor and the snowy hills above it and the trees growing near the buildings and the people walking about the dock.

  50

  NOW

  19 July 1841

  One hundred and five days at sea

  Kezia had been up since dawn. She’d stood at the rail with the others as the Rajah approached the harbor at Hobart, but as soon as she could she returned to her cabin. She felt a mixture of excitement and nerves at the prospect of their visitors’ judgment on the work they’d done during the voyage. The gown she’d put into her luggage in London was spread on her bunk. It had spent fifteen weeks neatly folded in the chest of drawers, and she was happy to see it again. She had kept it for this particular occasion: the presentation of the coverlet to Sir John and Lady Franklin.

  The women on the lower deck, she knew, had also been getting ready. More washing than usual was being done, and tangles carefully teased out of hair. Anyone who’d brought a precious piece of clothing in their bundles searched for it and would wear it when they landed.