Scatterheart

by Lili Wilkinson

  ‘Give it back? What back?’ said Molly, struggling underneath Hannah’s weight.

  ‘Don’t play the simpleton with me, monster. Where is it?’

  Molly giggled. ‘Have you cracked your pitcher?’

  Hannah pulled her hair. Molly squealed again and reached out and scratched Hannah’s face. Hannah tightened her grip on Molly.

  ‘Where is my handkerchief?’

  Molly struggled. ‘A hanky? Or blanky? Hanky the horse was whipped to death, and Blanky the badger killed him.’

  Hannah shook Molly violently. ‘Tell me where it is!’

  Molly blew a loud raspberry into Hannah’s face.

  ‘I’ll kill you!’ said Hannah. ‘I know you’re not mad. Give it back before I shake you to death!’

  Molly scrambled away from her, tears in her eye. She ran to the stairs and vanished.

  Hannah got to her feet and pulled back the blanket from Molly’s bed.

  Lying on the bed was a little doll made from twisted bits of straw and rope. Thomas’s handkerchief was pulled up around the doll’s ears like a blanket, all tucked in neat and tidy. For a moment, Hannah felt a swelling of pity. Molly was just a little girl, playing with dolls. But she swallowed the feeling, yanking the handkerchief off the doll.

  Sally’s cries were becoming more frequent. She was panting, taking long, ragged breaths. Hannah smelled a sweet, sharp smell that was entirely foreign to her. It made her feel ill. She felt very trapped, in the small, low-ceilinged room. Sally’s cries were almost constant now. The ship pitched and rolled violently. Hannah fled the sleeping quarters, and climbed up to the forecastle.

  Outside, everything was a clear, deep blue. White clouds danced across the sky. The wind was crisp. The ship’s sails were stretched taut, propelling the ship forward at a great speed. Hannah made her way over to the side of the ship. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn’t stop thinking about Molly’s little doll bed. But James was coming over to her. She took deep breaths and smoothed her hair. James leaned against the ship’s rail.

  Good morning,’ he said. ‘Look.’ He was pointing at the sea below them.

  Smooth, grey shapes were sliding alongside the ship, under the water. One of the shapes broke the surface, and a shining grey fin appeared.

  ‘Porpoises,’ said James. ‘They’re good luck.’

  Hannah watched the creatures as they leapt and dove, matching the ship’s pace.

  ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said.

  James smiled at her. The tip of his little finger brushed against Hannah’s, and she felt a slight shock, and a strange warmth.

  When Hannah finally made her way back down to her sleeping quarters at dusk, everything was silent. Hannah screwed up her nose at the sweet smell of blood, and another smell, sour and strange.

  Sally lay on her bed, her blanket and mattress soaked through with blood. She looked pale, but she was alive. A strange, wrinkled, purple thing lay beside her, squirming weakly. Hannah made a face. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. Sally looked over at it, and smiled. Then she closed her eyes, exhausted.

  Hannah flopped down on her bunk and stretched, yawning. A small, huddled shape nearby indicated that Molly had returned. Hannah ignored her.

  She was just drifting off to sleep, when the bunk next to her creaked. It was Long Meg.

  Her head had been shaved. Two great red welts streaked diagonally across each of her cheeks, oozing blood. One of Meg’s eyes was blackened and swollen shut, and her lip was split.

  ‘Meg!’ said Hannah. ‘What did he do to you?’

  Long Meg said nothing, just lay down on her bed and turned away from Hannah.

  sixteen

  ‘I don’t know your daddy,’ giggled the wax-child. ‘Nor do I care. But mark my words, you’ll get there too late or never. Take this golden acorn.’

  ***

  Long Meg wasn’t speaking to her, or to anyone it seemed. She stayed in her bed for most of the day, picking absently at her straw mattress and staring into space. She only left the orlop deck to eat. The ugly gashes on her cheeks became swollen and infected, but she would not ask Dr Ullathorne for help.

  She still scratched each day into the wood above her bed though, and the little notches grew crowded, until one morning Hannah realised they had been at sea for two months. James told her that they were sailing south past Cape Verde, the westernmost part of Africa.

  Hannah didn’t see much of Molly, but she didn’t care. The girl was off somewhere during the day, and only crept down to the orlop deck after lights out.

  As they travelled south, the weather grew warmer. Sally was slowly regaining her strength, and the infant seemed to spend most of its time either suckling at her breast, or emitting great, lusty howls that Hannah couldn’t quite believe came from a creature so small.

  There were chores to do – scrubbing the decks clean, sewing and mending, and helping in the mess – but Hannah had the best part of each day to do as she pleased.

  She and James spent many hours sitting together in the sun, talking and reminiscing about their lives in London. Hannah enjoyed these conversations, but occasionally wondered if there was anything else they could talk about. The few times she had brought up books, or art, or history, James would look disapproving. ‘That tutor,’ he would say. ‘Filled your head with all sorts of inappropriate things.’

  One morning, James sought out Hannah as she was polishing the brass rails that ran between the upper deck and the quarterdeck.

  ‘Come to my cabin,’ he said. ‘I have a surprise for you.’

  Hannah put down her rag and wiped the polish from her hands. ‘What sort of surprise?’

  He didn’t answer, just grinned and took her hand.

  When he opened the door of his cabin, Hannah froze. The writing implements on his desk had been cleared away, and the desk had a piece of white fabric draped over it, like a tablecloth. Sitting on the tablecloth was a silver toast-rack containing three slices of toast.

  ‘You made me toast?’ she asked, her eyes filling with grateful tears.

  James led her to the chair and sat her down. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘It’s leftovers from the officers’ breakfast. There’s no butter or jam, I’m afraid, we finished it all.’

  Hannah hesitated.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said James.

  ‘Do you want some?’ said Hannah.

  He shook his head. ‘I had plenty this morning.’

  Hannah reached out and took a slice. It was cold, and very dry, and after the first few mouthfuls, the crumbs began to stick in her throat. She wished she had a cup of tea to help it go down, but didn’t say anything.

  He watched her as she finished the first slice, and started on the second. She wondered if she’d be able to get through all three without choking. She cleared her throat.

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked James, smiling.

  He looked so proud of himself. She had wanted toast, and he had found it for her.

  ‘Everything’s perfect,’ said Hannah, trying not to cough.

  James nodded, pleased. Hannah swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the dry mass stuck in her throat. She took another bite, and her eyes started to stream.

  James continued to talk, but Hannah wasn’t listening. She wondered how soon she could escape and get a drink of water.

  ‘…my inheritance…’ said James, and then looked at Hannah. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  Hannah stood up, knocking the chair over. ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I have to go.’

  She caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror over the washstand. Her face was red, both from holding in her coughing and from sunburn. Skin peeled on her nose. Her cheeks were covered in ugly brown freckles, and her lips were cracked and peeling. Her hair was greasy and unbrushed, hanging in an ugly horse-tail from the nape of her neck. Her shapeless dress was dirty and smudged with polish and stained where she had spilled food on it.

  ‘But you haven’t finished yo
ur toast,’ said James. ‘It wasn’t easy to get it for you, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Hannah again. She needed to get out of there.

  James looked away and shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you at the festival tomorrow.’

  When Hannah returned to the orlop deck, she found Long Meg shivering and sweating in her bed. The infected weals on her cheeks were more swollen than ever, and were oozing.

  Hannah felt Meg’s forehead. She was burning with fever. Hannah pulled her own blanket from her bed, and placed it over Long Meg. Then she fished out Thomas’s handkerchief, dipped it in the bucket of water that sat by her bed, and placed it on Long Meg’s brow.

  Satisfied that she had done all she could, she left the women’s quarters in search of Dr Ullathorne.

  His rooms were also on the orlop deck, but at the fore end of the ship, so Hannah had to climb up to the lower deck, and then back down by a different flight of steps.

  Apart from the surgery, there were only storerooms in this part of the ship, and it was strangely quiet. The whistling of the wind in the sails, and the creaking and sloshing of the ship were muffled, and the sound of Hannah’s bare feet padding across the floor seemed unusually loud.

  She knocked hesitantly on the door, and started when a voice inside barked, ‘Enter!’

  Hannah pushed the door open, and entered.

  The surgery was cluttered with little bottles and jars with labels like Pulvis Humani Cranium and Volatile Salt of Millipedes. A set of knives and other instruments lay carefully organised on a table against the wall, and there was a bucket of water, a bed, and some linen in the corner. A steel operating table stood at the back of the room, bare and shining.

  To Hannah’s surprise, Dr Ullathorne was not alone in the surgery. Molly was there too, clutching a brown glass jar with a label on it reading Amalgam of Mercury. She held a spoon in her other hand, and looked a little frightened to see Hannah at the door.

  Dr Ullathorne looked at her expectantly.

  Hannah swallowed. ‘It’s Long Meg, sir. She has a fever – I think the cuts on her face are infected.’

  He raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, Hannah saw again how he must have once been a very handsome man.

  ‘And what do you expect me to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Come and look at her,’ said Hannah.

  She glanced uncomfortably at Molly, who stood, stockstill, her eye wide. Dr Ullathorne’s eyes flickered to Molly, and then back to Hannah.

  ‘I’m busy at present,’ he said, smiling and revealing his missing tooth, and black-tipped tongue. ‘Preparing for the festival.’

  Hannah frowned. ‘Then perhaps you could give me something – a poultice or some medicine I can take her.’

  Dr Ullathorne looked around. ‘I’m afraid that there is no cure for wickedness.’ he said.

  ‘But there must be something for her fever–’ said Hannah.

  ‘I don’t believe I have anything,’ said Dr Ullathorne coldly.

  Hannah turned to leave, but Molly crept forward, holding out the brown jar to Hannah silently. Dr Ullathorne saw her, and snatched the jar from Molly’s grasp with one hand, and struck her across the face with the other.

  ‘Insolence!’ he roared. ‘You want a physick for your friend? Take her this!’ He hurled the glass jar at Hannah’s head. Hannah ducked, and the jar shattered on the doorframe, dripping silvery liquid onto the floor.

  Hannah fled his rooms and went up onto the deck, leaning against the ship’s railing and breathing deeply, trying to stop her hands from trembling.

  Hannah awoke that night to feel cold, small fingers grasping at her. She sat bolt upright and banged her head on the wooden ceiling.

  It was Molly. Her melting face seemed whiter than usual in the half-light. Hannah glanced across to Long Meg, who was sleeping. Her wounds looked a little better, and her breathing was steady.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Hannah, glaring at Molly.

  Molly said nothing, only took shallow, gasping little breaths as if she had been running.

  Hannah shoved her hands away and lay back down again. Her head smarted where she had hit it.

  Molly’s fingers brushed Hannah’s face again.

  ‘What?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘I do not like thee, Dr Fell,’ she whispered.

  Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Go away and let me sleep.’

  seventeen

  Scatterheart scowled at the wax-girl, and took the golden acorn. Then she walked on for many a long day, until she reached a grand house where the east wind lived. She asked him if he could help her find her father’s house. ‘Of course I can,’ said the east wind. ‘If you climb on my back, I’ll take you there.’ But the east wind was a tricksy wind, and blew Scatterheart far, far away, to the land of the west wind.

  ***

  Hannah was shaken awake in the middle of the night.

  ‘Go away, Molly,’ she muttered. ‘I’m not interested.’

  ‘Wake up,’ said Long Meg’s voice.

  Hannah opened her eyes with a start. Long Meg was leaning over her. Her head was covered in soft bristles. The wounds on her face were an angry red, but were no longer weeping pus. Long Meg swayed a little, and put up a hand to steady herself on the timber beams overhead.

  ‘Meg,’ whispered Hannah. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I need your help,’ said Long Meg shortly, turning and walking up the corridor.

  Hannah watched her for a moment, still trying to shake off the heaviness of sleep. But it had been so long since Meg had spoken to her that Hannah was eager to humour her, no matter what she was up to.

  They crept up the stairs, tiptoeing past the six cabins on the lower deck and rows of sleeping sailors in hammocks. They passed the trunk of the mainmast which pierced the ship like a needle, and Hannah glanced down the corridor which led to the officers’ cabins. She wondered if James was asleep yet. They reached the stairs that led back down to the orlop deck on the other side of the ship.

  ‘Where are we going?’ whispered Hannah.

  ‘He’s taken Molly,’ said Meg, starting down the stairs.

  ‘Dr Ullathorne? I saw her there today,’ Hannah said.

  Meg stopped, and looked back at Hannah. ‘He’s hurting her.’

  Hannah followed Meg down the stairs, and they turned down the corridor that led to Dr Ullathorne’s rooms. She laid a finger to her lips and pointed.

  There was light shining under the door of the surgery, and through the cracks in the wooden panelling. Hannah threw Meg a sharp glance but Meg just shook her head and pointed again. Hannah crept towards the door. A board creaked under her foot, and she froze for a moment. Long Meg gestured frantically. Hannah peered through the crack between the door and the doorframe.

  At first, all she could see was Dr Ullathorne, his back to her. A small knife glinted in his hand. He leaned forward, and fiddled with something Hannah couldn’t see. Then he stood back.

  Molly was in there, sitting stiffly on a wooden chair. Her arms were tied to the chair’s arms, wrists facing upwards. There were a number of cuts on her arms, in various stages of healing. Some looked infected. A fresh gash on her right arm was dripping blood into a metal dish. Molly’s face was deathly pale.

  Dr Ullathorne scooped some of the blood into a small glass bottle, and held it up to the light. He made a note on a piece of paper, and then walked out of sight. Hannah heard the clinking of jars and bottles.

  ‘What shall we try this time?’ asked Dr Ullathorne. ‘Ammonia? Sulphur? I read a paper once about curing disease with the water of the victim … Ah.’

  He appeared again, holding a green glass jar filled with some kind of powder. He opened the jar, took out a pinch of powder then rubbed the powder into Molly’s wound. Molly screamed.

  ‘Interesting.’ Dr Ullathorne made another note.

  Long Meg had crept up next to Hannah.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ whispered Hannah.

  ‘The de
vil’s work,’ muttered Meg.

  Molly was whimpering and trembling. Dr Ullathorne took out another jar.

  ‘Hush now, my dear,’ he said to her absently. ‘Don’t want to wake anyone, we’ll never find the cure then. You don’t want me to die, do you?’

  Molly bit her lip and shook her head.

  Dr Ullathorne reached into a chest, and took out a wooden box. He picked up a pair of tweezers and reached into the box, drawing out a white, wriggling maggot. Molly whimpered.

  ‘He looks a hungry fellow, doesn’t he, my dear?’ said the doctor.

  Long Meg turned to Hannah. ‘This has to stop,’ she said in a low voice. Hannah nodded.

  Dr Ullathorne poked the maggot deep into Molly’s wound. Molly bit her lip so hard that blood appeared. He reached for a long silver needle and a spool of thread.

  ‘Better make sure he can’t escape, eh?’

  ‘I’ll distract him,’ said Meg. ‘You get the child away from here.’

  Before Hannah had a chance to answer, Meg burst through the door. ‘Oh doctor!’ she cried. ‘You must help me, or else I may die!’

  Dr Ullathorne looked up from threading the needle. ‘You,’ he said quietly.

  Meg threw herself at him, clutching his collar. ‘Doctor, I am suffering of a broke heart!’

  She threw a glance back towards the door. Hannah started, and then ducked in. She fumbled with the knots tying Molly’s wrists to the chair.

  ‘Get off me!’ said Dr Ullathorne, struggling with Long Meg.

  ‘Yes!’ cried Meg. ‘A broke heart! You see, doctor, I had falled quite in love with you, with your bonny eyes and your sweet voice and your gentle, caressing fingers.’

  Hannah undid the first knot and started on the second.

  ‘But you have broked my heart, Oh doctor,’ said Long Meg, weeping hysterically. ‘Because I ’ave realised that you are not the kind, gentle, loving doctor I thought you to be.’

  Meg reached out with one hand and snatched up Dr Ullathorne’s knife.

  ‘No,’ she said, her tone suddenly quiet and dangerous. ‘You are nothin’ but a vile, disgustin’ maggot. And I hopes you suffer for every single second of sufferin’ you have brought to others.’

  She lashed out with the knife, striking the doctor across the face, in a mirror of the gashes that Meg wore on her own cheeks. He grabbed her wrist before she could strike again, and tried to force the knife to her throat. She bit him and he yelled out in pain. Hannah finally loosed the second knot.