A Tattooed Heart (25 page)

‘I believe she is somewhere on the ocean.'

‘Ah!' Leo exclaimed. ‘We were right!'

Serafina glared at him. ‘Leo, please be quiet. She is travelling south.'

South? Sarah thought, startled.

‘No.' Serafina's head tilted slowly to the left as though she were adjusting her bearings, then straightened again. ‘No, not south. North, or north-west.' She moved a card. ‘They are bound for a destination where the waves pound one shore, the river sweeps the other, sand creeps across the streets and the men labour to hold back the sea.'

‘Where the hell's that?' Adam asked.

‘Shush,' Sarah warned.

Then Serafina said, ‘Coal.'

Just the one word, but it confirmed what they'd all assumed. Leary was taking Charlotte to Newcastle.

‘I don't see any connection between the pictures on the cards and what you're saying,' James declared, a man of science and thorough non-believer in anything remotely occult.

Slowly, Serafina turned to him. ‘That's because you don't know how to read them,' she said sweetly.

‘But is she all right?' Harrie asked, her voice cracking. ‘Is she safe?'

As Serafina peered at the cards again, her hand slipped over the doll's face. ‘Yes, she is safe.'

‘Is she upset?' Harrie demanded.

And Serafina could only look at her, her face filled with compassion.

Late that afternoon, Friday, Aria, Harrie and Sarah sat in Friday's room, waiting impatiently for Elizabeth. Finally, she arrived.

‘I'm so sorry, girls. Trouble with a cully. I know how worried you all are. That poor, darling little child. What can I do for you?'

‘Biddy Doyle,' Sarah said. ‘Does she owe you anything?'

‘What, you mean money?'

‘Money, a debt, a favour, anything.'

‘Not a sausage. Why would she? The only time our paths have crossed was when her bloody gamecock of a son got Harrie into trouble, and she can hardly be blamed for that.'

Sarah said, ‘Bugger.'

‘Why?'

‘We want to apply a bit of pressure.'

‘To what end?'

Friday said, ‘We want her to get Mick the Dick to talk his boss into taking us up to Newcastle on that ship of his.'

‘Oh, please don't call him that,' Harrie said, wincing. ‘It's shameful enough as it is.'

‘By “Mick the Dick”, I assume you mean Biddy's lad?'

Friday nodded. ‘We do.'

‘How do you know they're even in port?' Elizabeth asked.

‘They could be sailing around China for all you know. And you,
Mrs
Downey, are not going anywhere near that man.'

‘They are in port,' Sarah said. ‘I saw it in the harbour master's book.'

Elizabeth suddenly seemed to realise exactly what Friday had said. ‘Shove over,' she ordered, and sat down heavily next to Harrie on the bed. ‘The four of you, off to Newcastle? Why?'

‘Because that's where Leary's taken Charlotte,' Friday said. She opened the nightstand and reached in for a flask of gin, jumping about a foot when Sarah slapped her arm. Reluctantly, she closed the door.

‘How do you know?'

Sarah said, ‘We worked it out and the harbour master pretty well confirmed it. We think they went on the paddlesteamer.'

‘And Serafina saw it,' Harrie added. ‘She's never wrong.'

‘And what do James and Adam think about this idea?'

‘We're not telling them,' Sarah said. ‘Or Leo. They'll only try to stop us.'

‘And with damned good reason. Four girls — three of you
convict
girls — chasing round the colony after a mean and crafty cove like Jonah Leary? It'll end in tears, you mark my words.' Elizabeth bit her lip, realising what she'd said. ‘Why don't you leave it to the men?'

‘No,' Harrie blurted. ‘Charlotte's ours. It's up to us to get her back. And I can't just sit at home bawling and wondering what's happening, I just can't, even if it means I have to see bloody Mick Doyle again. I'd rather be looking for her myself.'

‘Are you up to it, love?' Elizabeth laid a motherly hand on Harrie's arm.

‘Will I lose my wits again, do you mean? I really hope not. But I don't think so. I don't feel at all barmy.'

Aria laughed from her chair in front of the dressing table. ‘Barmy! Ha! I have not heard that before. Barmy. I like it!'

‘Well, I think you're asking for trouble, all of you,' Elizabeth warned.

Friday said, ‘And you're turning into a boring old trout. You've spent so long in that office counting money you're forgetting what sort of person you really are. If Charlotte was your daughter, would you tell yourself not to go looking for her?'

Startled, and stung, Elizabeth blinked at her. ‘Of course not. I'd go.'

‘So will you help us?' Sarah asked. ‘Because we need to leave tomorrow.'

Elizabeth spread her hands, palms up. ‘I'm really not sure what I can do.'

‘You can talk to Biddy Doyle.'

‘But why me?'

‘You got on with her when I was in trouble. She respects you,' Harrie said.

‘She does not. She thinks I'm an uppity ex-convict madam who spends too much money on clothes and wigs. Which I am.'

‘Can't you bribe her?' Friday suggested.

‘I could, I suppose.' Elizabeth looked doubtful. ‘Though I'm not sure a blatant offer of money would be the smartest approach to take. Despite appearances, that woman has a lot of pride, and she's actually very canny. Let me think about it for half an hour.'

‘Thank you, Jack,' Elizabeth said as he handed her down from the gig.

Biddy Doyle was still living in the same shabby little one-room cottage at the run-down end of Cumberland Street: clearly her dreams of owning property and becoming a Rocks landlady hadn't yet come to fruition, which was all for the good as far as Elizabeth was concerned. She was glad now that Jack had driven her here this evening; this area of the Rocks in particular wasn't safe for a
woman after dark, especially not a woman who wore as much gold jewellery as she did.

She knocked on the mean little door and waited. Eventually, it opened.

‘Mrs Hislop,' Biddy Doyle said as she pulled her shawl across her ample bosom. ‘Fancy seeing you.'

‘Good evening, Mrs Doyle. I wanted a word, if you have the time.'

‘Is that so? Will you come in?'

‘Thank you, I will.'

Elizabeth stepped inside and glanced around the tiny cottage, which seemed to be bursting with children.

‘My grandkids, bless them. Have a seat, take the weight off.' Biddy indicated a chair at the table. ‘Would you be wanting the
Gazette
to sit on? I'd hate for your lovely frock to get mucky. Tea?'

‘No to the
Gazette
, thank you, Mrs Doyle. I'm sure everything's spotless. Yes please to tea.'

‘Maureen, be a love and make us a pot, will you?'

Maureen turned out to be the pretty girl brushing a younger child's hair near the fire. She rose, spooned leaves into a pot and took a pair of teacups and saucers down from a shelf. The kettle was already over the fire.

‘So,' Biddy said, settling herself opposite Elizabeth. ‘This word you wanted?'

‘It's about Harrie Downey. You'll recall her as Harrie Clarke, the lass who fell foul of your boy Mick? She married Dr James Downey, you know.'

‘Of course I remember Harrie. Lovely colleen. Mick was such a shite, so he was. The shame of it. That boy'll never learn. I'd heard she got married. Good match, too. Good for her.'

‘Yes. Anyway, Harrie and James adopted a child from the Female Orphan School named Charlotte, the daughter of a convict
friend of Harrie's, now passed on. Charlotte's two and a half years old and a lovely wee thing.'

‘Heard that, too,' Biddy said. ‘And all about Harrie's brother and sisters coming from England to live with her in that grand big house. I bet she's got her hands full these days!'

Maureen set the teapot and cups on the table, together with a wooden platter on which sat a knife, a lump of butter, and half a loaf of barmbrack.

‘Baked today,' Biddy said. ‘My Maureen's a tidy little cook.'

‘No, thank you. I've only just had my supper.'

‘Suit yourself.' Biddy cut herself a slice, sending fat, juicy raisins and sultanas rolling all over the platter, then plastered it with half an inch of butter.

Elizabeth's nostrils twitched. The barmbrack smelt delicious, rich and yeasty. ‘Perhaps just a sliver,' she said, hacking off a doorstep-sized piece. ‘The thing is, Charlotte was kidnapped this morning.'

‘What?
Mother of Christ!' Biddy's eyes were huge over her slice of bread. She put it down and wiped her mouth. ‘Who by?'

‘A cove by the name of Jonah Leary.'

‘Extortion?'

‘In a way. He thinks Harrie has some information he wants, but she doesn't. She's at her wits' end. So is James, of course.'

‘I can imagine.' Biddy poured the tea. ‘But why are you telling me?'

‘Leary's taken Charlotte to Newcastle. Harrie wants to go up there and get her back.'

‘Just Harrie? Little, timid Harrie Clarke?' Biddy looked deeply sceptical.

‘I admit I had doubts myself, but Harrie's not quite the girl she was a year ago. She's a lot stronger now, and she'll have her crew with her.'

‘Her crew? Joined a gang of criminals, has she?'

‘The girls she was transported with. She's extremely close to them and they're
very
capable. And loyal. Have you met Friday Woolfe and Sarah Green? No? You'd definitely remember if you had. There's also a New Zealander with them, a native girl, very tall and well built, sharp as a blade and thoroughly terrifying when she feels like it. I most certainly wouldn't want to cross her. I think if anyone can bring the child back, they can.'

‘So, back to my question. Why are you telling me?'

‘They need a ship.'

‘Well, I don't have one.'

‘Your son does.'

‘No, he
crews
on one. There's quite a difference. Why can't they go up on the paddlesteamer?'

‘They're all bonded convicts. They can't leave Sydney, not officially. And they need to go first thing tomorrow, and, more importantly, be in a position to depart Newcastle when it suits them. They'll probably be in a bit of a hurry.'

‘Mmm.' Biddy stared into her tea. ‘That's all true, I suppose.'

‘Mick does owe Harrie, after all,' Elizabeth said. ‘What he did to her was disgraceful. I'm sure you'll agree.'

‘Oh, I do that.'

‘Surely the least he could do is ask Captain, er . . . ?'

‘Farrell. Rian Farrell.'

‘He could ask Captain Farrell if he'll at least consider taking the girls. Perhaps you could be on hand when he does. There'd be money in it for Farrell, and there's a business proposition in it for you, too, if all goes well, though the particulars may take me a month or so to arrange.'

‘For me? Why me?'

‘For brokering the deal.'

‘What sort of proposition?'

‘One I think you'll find will very much benefit your family.'

Biddy rolled her eyes. ‘For the love of God, Mrs Hislop, will you get to the point?'

‘I'm considering investing in property in the Rocks area, but I'd really prefer to remain a silent partner. I'm too busy as it is with my brothel and hotel to do anything more than put up the money. Well, a good percentage of it. I'm looking for a partner who can make a financial contribution herself, but who would also perhaps be prepared to oversee the properties. I'm thinking possibly of houses to rent out, but of a reasonable standard, nothing you wouldn't put your dog in.'

Biddy said, ‘Like this place, you mean?'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘You didn't have to. Tell me, does Leo Dundas know about this?'

Elizabeth frowned. ‘Leo? About Charlotte being kidnapped? Do you know Leo?'

‘I do, as it happens. I mean more specifically about Harrie and her mates going after . . . What did you say the cove's name was?'

‘Jonah Leary. Yes, he knows about the kidnap, but I doubt Harrie's said anything to him about Newcastle. They're planning to go without telling anyone, except me, of course. James would be beside himself and would most certainly stop Harrie, and I doubt Sarah's husband would allow her to go either. Not that she'd listen to him.'

‘Pity. Leo might have been quite useful,' Biddy said.

Elizabeth wondered what she meant. ‘Possibly, but it's out of the question. He'd be as against Harrie going as James.'

Biddy eyed her. ‘One more question. Why are you doing this, if you don't mind me asking?'

‘Surely you don't need me to answer that when the life of a baby girl hangs in the balance?'

‘And? There's more, I can see it in your eyes.'

‘Because I'm very fond of Harrie. And James.'

‘And?'

‘That's three questions.'

‘Humour me.'

Biddy bloody Doyle was starting to get annoying now. ‘And because Friday Woolfe is very fond of Harrie, and I'm extremely fond of Friday. If Harrie hurts, so does Friday, and Friday can't afford any more knocks.' Why on earth did I just tell her that? Elizabeth wondered. ‘Now you tell me, if you do help these girls, what's
your
reason for doing it? My offer?'

‘It's certainly tempting, but no. There's the kiddie, of course. Who wouldn't help if they could? But this family owes Harrie Clarke, and we always pay our debts, one way or another.' Biddy drummed her fingers on the table, apparently thinking. ‘I'll get back to you tonight, though it might be very late. I'll come down to Argyle Street.'

‘I'll be waiting.'

By the time Biddy tracked them down in the Lord Nelson on Phillip Street it was almost eleven o'clock. Seventeen pubs she'd traipsed through before she found them, and with the thought of potentially having to look in another ninety-odd before she did, her mood was filthy. Truly, was there another town on earth that had more establishments dedicated to the jar than Sydney?

From the doorway she spied her son at a table with Rian Farrell and the rest of his motley crew, drinking up and having a lovely time. There was Pierre, the little lad from Louisiana with the face like a monkey; and Jon Sharkey, the nasty English tar; the redskin boy Running Hawk; Te Kanene, the New Zealander Biddy wouldn't trust as far as she could hoick a lump of phlegm; and Gideon, the mountainous black lad with the beautiful English voice Rian had rescued from Africa. Elbowing her way towards them, she grabbed Mick's ear and hauled him to his feet. This, after all, was essentially his fault.

‘Ow, Ma, stop it, that hurts!'

‘It's supposed to. I want to talk to you. Outside.'

Hauling him out through the door to a chorus of amused hoots and cheers, she sat him on the pub steps and loomed over him, fanning away the brandy fumes wafting up into her face.

‘What have I done?' he grumbled, rubbing his ear.

‘'Tisn't what you've done, it's what you're going to do.'

He squinted up at her. ‘Eh?'