Scatterheart

by Lili Wilkinson

  ***

  By the time Hannah woke the next morning, she found she had almost grown used to the smell. But she had a new problem. There was no water-closet in the cell, just an overflowing bucket in a corner. Hannah’s cheeks grew red at the thought of using the bucket, with so many people watching, and yet her bladder ached. She tried to put it out of her mind. She wouldn’t be there for long, after all.

  When the turnkey came to deliver the meagre buckets of bread and water, Hannah was ready by the door.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said, whilst the other inmates scrabbled and fought for their scraps of bread.

  The turnkey ignored her.

  ‘I was apprehended mistakenly. I haven’t stolen anything…’

  The turnkey left the cell and slammed the door shut behind him.

  ‘Wait!’ called Hannah. ‘I’m not supposed to be here! I demand to speak to someone in charge!’

  The turnkey’s footsteps echoed down the passageway, then died away. Hannah sank to the floor, trying not to cry. The toothless old woman touched her arm.

  ‘Courtesy is cumbersome to them who kens it not,’ she said, her words whistling through her empty gums. Hannah stared at her. Everyone here was mad. Tears began to spill over onto her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t you go listenin’ to old Tabby,’ said Long Meg, who had watched the exchange. ‘She’s as mad as a wet bullock.’

  The old woman spat onto the stone floor, and sucked on a scrap of bread. Hannah looked at it longingly.

  ‘Here,’ said Long Meg, breaking her own bread in two and offering half to Hannah. ‘Just this once.’

  Hannah took the morsel, and found herself crying in earnest. She tried to remember the last time someone had done something nice for her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, hiccuping.

  ‘Cry all you like,’ said Long Meg. ‘The more you cry, the less you’ll piss.’

  ***

  Thomas didn’t come back. For the first three days Hannah cried bitter tears, but on the fourth day, her sorrow and shame turned into something else: a hard feeling like glass.

  Why did she even care if he was gone? Thomas was just a servant, employed by her father to educate her. But she carefully washed Thomas’s handkerchief, folded it neatly, and placed it in her dresser.

  The other servants were colder towards her after the departure of Lettie and Thomas. Hannah’s breakfast was plonked in front of her each morning, the toast often singed around the edges, the tea lukewarm. Hannah spent her mornings drifting around the house until her father rose, or one of her other teachers arrived for a music or dancing lesson.

  Her father seemed in no hurry to find a new housemaid; he was distracted and vague – more so than usual, rising sometimes as late as three o’clock, and always out by six, returning home in the early hours of the morning, reeking of brandy and cigars.

  One morning, nearly two weeks after Thomas’s departure, Hannah was in the sitting room, embroidering a pair of slippers for her father. Snow fell heavily outside, making strange greyish swirls in the fog. A fire rumbled in the grate, but Hannah still shivered, and drew her shawl more tightly around her. She jumped as the front door banged open. There were footsteps in the hall. She frowned. No one had knocked, and surely her father was still asleep. She rose, and opened the door into the hall.

  Her father stood there, brushing dirty grey snow from his hair and shoulders. His usually-gleaming hessians were scuffed and wet from the snow, and his hands shook in their yellow gloves.

  ‘Papa!’ said Hannah. ‘What’s wrong? Where’s your hat and cloak! Didn’t you come home last night?’

  He turned to her, his eyes bloodshot and his face slack. He shook his head. ‘Nothing to worry about, angel. Nothing at all.’ He had an unfocussed look, and walked past her and began to climb the stairs, clutching the banister for support. Hannah followed him.

  ‘Papa, are you sure you are all right? Have you been robbed? Where is your hat?’

  He stopped, halfway up the stairs, and fumbled in his pocket, drawing out something wrapped in a stained handkerchief. He thrust it towards her. ‘A gift, angel. Now be a good girl and let Papa go to his room. I have – business to attend to.’

  Hannah took the handkerchief and watched her father stumble up the stairs. She unwrapped the bundle. It was a pair of silver earrings, glittering with tiny sapphires.

  With a cry of delight, Hannah went to her room and clipped the earrings onto her ears, turning her head from side to side to admire them in the mirror. She must show her father.

  She opened his bedroom door and stopped short. He was frantically throwing clothes into an open portmanteau on his bed.

  ‘Papa?’ said Hannah. ‘What are you doing?’

  Her father froze, and looked at her blankly. Then he shook his head. ‘Business, angel,’ he said. ‘Going to Paris for a few days. On business. Nothing to worry about. You’ll manage on your own.’ He scrabbled about in his tallboy and drew out a handful of cravats.

  ‘Why don’t you get Adams to pack your case?’

  He stuffed the cravats into the portmanteau. ‘Adams … I loaned Adams to a friend of mine. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘You loaned him?’ said Hannah. ‘You’re going to Paris without a manservant?’

  ‘No, angel. He will meet me at Newmarket. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘So you keep saying.’ Hannah felt like she was about to cry.

  Arthur Cheshire closed the portmanteau and jammed a hat on his head.

  ‘Papa, you haven’t even changed your clothes!’

  ‘Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?’ he said. ‘I have important business to attend to. I’ll see you in a few days.’ He dragged the case out of the room.

  ‘Thank you for the earrings,’ Hannah called out after him, her voice trembling. The portmanteau went thump, thump as Arthur Cheshire dragged it down the stairs.

  ***

  The bread was hard and gritty, as if it had been mixed with ashes. Hannah started over to the water-bucket, but Long Meg reached out a hand.

  ‘Shouldn’t drink the water here if I was you,’ she said. ‘Got all sorts of wrigglies in it.’

  She held out her brown bottle, and Hannah took a swig. The liquid tasted like fire, burning her throat and making her cough and splutter. Long Meg laughed her belly-laugh. ‘You’ll get used to it soon enough, y’ladyship,’ she chuckled.

  Hannah made a face. ‘I think I’ll take my chances with the water, if it’s all the same to you.’

  Long Meg shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

  Hannah learned from Long Meg that there were two sorts of prisoners in their cell: those awaiting trial, and those waiting for their sentence to be carried out. The next trial, or Session as it was called, was scheduled for the following Thursday. Hannah would have to stand before the judge and jury and plead her case, and hear her sentence. She spent her days practising the speech that she would deliver to the judge so there would be no doubt as to her situation.

  The inmates who had already been to trial were different from those who hadn’t. They were quiet and subdued. Hannah thought they looked hollow, as if their bodies were just moving out of habit.

  ‘What will happen to them?’ she asked Long Meg.

  ‘Transportation, mostly,’ said Long Meg. ‘And a few hangin’s.’

  Hannah swallowed. ‘The people who get transported … they all go to New South Wales?’

  Long Meg shrugged. ‘I ’spect so. They just calls it “Parts Beyond the Seas”.’

  Hannah thought that sounded rather romantic and said so to Long Meg, who laughed. ‘Romantic? I hears it’s hell. They say it takes nigh on two years to get there, on boats run by gangs with whips and chains.’

  Hannah thought of Thomas Behr in an officer’s uniform, brandishing a whip, and smiled.

  ***

  Two days after Arthur Cheshire’s departure, Thomas Behr came to see her.

  Hannah had barely spoken since her father had gone. The serv
ants muttered to each other in corners, stopping when she entered the room. Hannah rose at the usual time each morning, ate toast and tea for breakfast, worked on her embroidery, read and practised the pianoforte. Every afternoon, she would order a full dinner, in case her father came home, and every evening she would sit alone in the dining-room in her best dress, surrounded by cold buttered crab and haricot of mutton, congealing brown soup and sagging almond pudding. Asparagus and green beans grew limp in their dishes, as Hannah picked half-heartedly at the pheasant pie, and pushed beetroot around her white porcelain plate with a silver fork. Then, at ten o’clock, Jenny would come in and clear the dishes away, and Hannah would go up to her room and cry herself to sleep.

  Thomas looked even more bedraggled than usual, standing at the door to the sitting room. The hem of his coat had fallen down, exposing the crooked stitching. He wore no gloves, and his fingers were white from the cold. Hannah wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him and sob. But something stopped her.

  ‘Mr Behr,’ she said politely, inclining her head.

  He took off his hat and bowed.

  ‘Please,’ said Hannah. ‘Do sit down.’

  He sat for a moment, saying nothing, then stood, and walked over to the fireplace.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked Hannah.

  He looked at her, for the first time, a direct gaze that made Hannah turn away.

  ‘Your father,’ he said.

  Hannah smiled. ‘My father is in Paris on business. He will be back any day now, should you wish to speak to him about renewing your employment here.’

  Thomas reached out and leaned on the mantelpiece.

  ‘He isn’t coming back.’

  Hannah’s jaw ached from smiling. ‘I’m afraid you are mistaken.’

  Thomas picked up a porcelain figurine and examined it carefully. Hannah heard the clock ticking in the hall. ‘If he comes back, he will be killed.’

  Hannah laughed nervously. ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘Hannah.’ Thomas put down the figurine again. ‘He’s in a lot of trouble.’

  Hannah began to tremble. She pushed herself deep into her chair and gripped the arm-rests so Thomas wouldn’t notice.

  ‘He’s fled the country. He gambled away your mother’s fortune. He’s been living on credit for years.’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘My father is a good man, a man of business.’

  ‘Last week…’ Thomas pulled at his collar like it was choking him. ‘Last week one of his creditors demanded his account be paid. Your father was drunk. He became violent … He nearly killed the man, and took … money and valuables from his person. The next day he disappeared. Now no one knows where he is.’

  Hannah saw her father in the hallway, hatless and coatless, with vacant bloodshot eyes. She thought she might shatter into a thousand pieces.

  ‘How do you know this?’ she said, ashamed at the wobble in her voice.

  ‘Everybody knows,’ said Thomas uncomfortably. ‘It’s the talk of London.’

  Hannah thought of the servants, whispering and muttering to each other.

  ‘You’re a liar,’ she said.

  A voice inside her protested. Thomas had never lied to her before. Hannah squashed the voice. He must be lying. Her father would never do something so … vulgar.

  Thomas drew his chair closer to hers. ‘Hannah. I can help you. You must know how…’ he stuttered and looked away. ‘You know how much I…’

  He took a deep breath, and took her hand.

  ‘Let me look after you,’ he said. ‘It won’t be Mayfair and grand carriages, but I’m sure we can be happy … I have an uncle who is a naval Commander. He says he can get me a job in the marines.’

  He stopped again, blushing furiously. Hannah stared at him.

  ‘You want to marry me?’ A hysterical giggle escaped her lips as she pulled her hand away. ‘But you’re so old!’

  Thomas looked startled. ‘I know you’re a little young to be married, Hannah,’ he said. ‘But it’s not unheard of. I’m only five years older than you.’

  Hannah looked at him, as if for the first time. The pale hair, which she had always thought of as white, was really just the palest of pale yellows. He had been her tutor for nearly four years. Could he really be only nineteen?

  She shook her head. This was ridiculous. Her father hadn’t run away. Thomas Behr was lying. She had trusted him, looked up to him. And here he was, lying to her.

  She stood up.

  ‘Mr Behr,’ she said. ‘You came into my house, told me hateful and cruel lies about my father, all in some desperate and pathetic attempt to win my affections. I am not so easily bought. I will never marry you, or anyone like you. I am a gentleman’s daughter, and I will marry a gentleman. Not some … some commoner.’

  ‘Hannah, listen to me,’ said Thomas, rising to his feet also, and reaching for her hand again. ‘Let me explain.’

  Hannah pulled away. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  Thomas Behr shrank back from her expression, then lowered his head and left the room. This time he did not slam the door. He didn’t even close it. He just left.

  Hannah sank to the ground, her heart thumping. The front door closed. This time, Hannah didn’t cry. She just sat there.

  That evening, the servants packed up their bags and left, leaving Hannah alone in the house.

  ***

  four

  Scatterheart’s father was a greedy man, so he told Scatterheart to accept the bear’s offer. She realised that it might be quite nice to live in a castle and have beautiful dresses. So she agreed, and climbed onto the bear’s back. As they travelled, the bear asked, ‘Aren’t you afraid?’ No, she wasn’t.

  ***

  ‘Well you might laugh, missy,’ said Long Meg. ‘But I hears things. Storms that’ll smash you into bits. Monsters as big as mountains. Darkness when it should be blazin’ noon. Islands that can swim and has tusks like an elly-phant. And all of us, chained up together in the belly of the boat, packed in as close as God’s curse to a whore’s arse.’

  Hannah raised her eyebrows. ‘I think you’ve been listening to too many fairy-stories.’

  But Long Meg had an audience now. Several of the other inmates had turned their attention to her, and she continued in a deep, ominous voice.

  ‘That’s only the sea journey. They says when you gets to Parts Beyond the Seas, the worst of the monsters is yet to come. Men with dog-heads, dragons that’ll turn us into stones, people with faces on their chests! The place is overrun with savages, skins as black as thunder, and they all wants to eat our flesh. It’s a battle just to survive.’ She looked around, her eyes wide.

  Hannah snorted. ‘Papa has read me a number of reports in the Morning Post about the colony in New South Wales, and none of them mentioned any dog-headed men or dragons.’

  The old woman, Tabby, had obviously been listening. She clambered laboriously to her feet, and shuffled over to them, her back hunched.

  ‘All things has an end,’ she said. ‘And a pudding has twa.’

  There was a dead silence in the cell for a moment, broken only by the coughing of a man lying huddled in a corner, and then Long Meg laughed her belly-laugh.

  ‘But we ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, do we friends? We’s all innocent!’

  A rumble of laughter went through the inmates, and they all returned to what they were doing. Tabby looked at Hannah then belched loudly, and shuffled off.

  Hannah sat for a while, squirming uncomfortably at the full, sloshing pain in her bladder. She crossed her legs and balled her hands into fists. She bit her tongue. Finally, she could stand it no more, and made her way over to the bucket. She hoisted up her skirt and petticoat, and lowered her pantaloons, burning red with shame. The noise of her urine sounded so loud as it splashed into the bucket, she was sure that half of London could hear it. But none of the other inmates so much as looked in her direction, and the feeling of release was so great that Hannah sighed with relief.

 
; ***

  With the servants gone, the house felt empty and strange.

  Hannah’s bedroom was cold. Her fingers were stiff from holding the handkerchief all night. The jug of water on her nightstand had frozen. The fire had gone out. Her stomach felt hollow and growly – she had not eaten anything since early the day before.

  She climbed out of bed, placing the handkerchief carefully on her nightstand, and went over to the fireplace. It was cold and dark. She paused. It couldn’t be that hard. She looked around and her eyes lit on the coalscuttle. She reached in and pulled out a few hard black lumps. She tossed them into the fireplace and wiped the black dust on her nightdress. She looked at the fireplace, unsure about what to do next. Lettie had done this in front of her a million times. Why had Hannah never paid more attention? She picked up a poker and jabbed the coal in the fireplace. A cloud of ash rose and made her cough. She felt as if she might cry.

  Hannah closed her eyes and counted to ten. ‘Papa will come home today,’ she said firmly to herself. ‘He will make everything right.’

  She stood up and went over to the window, drawing the drapes open. She could see nothing but a dark, yellowish void. Old, greying snow lay on her windowsill. Everything felt flat and suffocating.

  Hannah closed the drapes again, and went to investigate her tallboy for warm clothes. The shelves were well-stocked with crisp white linen. Hannah opened drawer after drawer until she finally located some thick woollen socks. She pulled these on, and also found a knitted shawl, which she wrapped tightly around herself, rubbing her upper arms to warm them up.

  She made her way out of her room and down the stairs. They creaked under her feet, the sound echoing in the empty house. Hannah had never been truly alone before. There had always been servants around. Hannah clutched the balustrade and breathed deeply. She would not be afraid.

  In the sitting room fireplace, a single coal still glowed red. Hannah took fresh coal from the scuttle and piled the pieces in the grate. The cheery red coal went dull, and began to smoke alarmingly. Hannah looked around. She needed something that would burn.