A Tattooed Heart (26 page)

‘Harrie Clarke,' she said.

‘Oh God, not again.' Groaning, he put his hands over his face.

Mick had been at sea for almost fourteen months. When he and the crew of Rian Farrell's schooner
Katipo
had weighed anchor in Sydney Cove the week before and Mick had come bounding down Cumberland Street and into his mother's house, Biddy had knocked seven bells out of him for what he'd done to Harrie. He'd had no idea, having left Sydney only days after his one evening with her, and neither would he have particularly cared if he had. She was sweet, but just another girl in a port, and he'd had hundreds. He couldn't even remember their time together — as usual he'd been drunk.

But that had been ages back. He was nineteen now, and in his opinion a lot more mature, and when his mother had told him — in quite unnecessary detail — about the trials the girl had suffered getting rid of his baby, he'd actually felt the tiniest bit guilty and had offered to apologise to her. His mother had thumped him again and told him not to be so stupid — Harrie Clarke didn't want to see his cheeky bloody face and be reminded of the horrors he'd inflicted on her. Which had piqued him; he was sure she must have enjoyed some of it (apart from the getting rid of the baby bit) because he'd been told by no end of women he was pretty good between the sheets. And anyway, his mother said, she had a husband now, so leave the poor girl alone and don't cause trouble. He'd felt all right about it then — he'd offered to apologise so that was enough — and happily forgotten about it.

‘No, not another lecture,' Biddy said. ‘The girl needs a favour. A big one, and you owe her.'

‘I do not.'

Biddy gave him a good kick in the shin. She loved her devastatingly beautiful, irresponsible son, but despaired of him ever developing a sound moral compass, and this time she couldn't even ask Leo, his father, for help. ‘You fecking well do. She needs to go to Newcastle. I want you to ask Rian to take her and three of her women friends up there. On the
Katipo
. Tomorrow.'

His sore ear forgotten, Mick said incredulously, ‘You are joking, Ma.'

‘There'll be money in it.'

‘Doesn't matter. Rian never takes passengers, and especially not women on some shopping trip.'

‘'Tisn't a shopping trip. Harrie's daughter's been kidnapped.'

‘Shite, really?' Mick frowned. ‘She didn't say she had a daughter.'

‘What would you know? You couldn't even remember her name.'

Mick shook his head. ‘Sorry, Ma. No point even asking. There'll be coastal traders going up to Newcastle, and isn't there a paddlesteamer? Can't she get on one of them?'

Biddy hauled him off the step. ‘Right, you selfish little shite, if you won't ask Rian, I will.'

Marching him back inside the pub, Biddy propelled him across to the crew's table, then made him sit down.

‘Evening, Captain,' she said, wedging her large bum next to Rian Farrell's narrow one. ‘Good night for it.'

‘That depends, Mrs Doyle,' Rian said, eyeing her with amusement. ‘Mick in trouble again?'

‘Mick's always in trouble. There's something he wants to ask you.'

Everyone looked at Mick. He screwed up his handsome face as though expecting to be struck — hard — at any moment, but said nothing.

Biddy urged tersely, ‘Come on, son, speak up.'

Nothing.

‘Cat's got his tongue.' Biddy rolled her eyes. ‘Pity it didn't get other bits of him as well.'

The crew roared, Gideon banging the table so hard that a tankard fell over.

‘Mick?' Rian prompted.

‘I, um, I were wondering, that is —' Mick broke off to gulp half a glass of brandy. His eyes watering, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘The thing is, there's this girl . . .'

The rest was lost in hoots and shouts of knowing derision from the crew and a mad drumming on the table top.

Rian held up a hand. ‘Let him finish, lads.'

‘The thing is, well —'

‘Oh, shut it, Mick,' Biddy snapped. Turning to Rian, she said, ‘Just before you last put to sea, Mick got a girl in trouble. A very nice girl, so she is. She might not thank me for discussing her personal business but there's no way round it. She nearly died trying to sort herself out, and in my book that means the Doyle family owes her.'

No hoots or cheers now.

‘Not the charming little mademoiselle with the name of the boy?' Pierre asked, crestfallen.

‘Harrie,' Running Hawk murmured.

Disgusted, Pierre exclaimed, ‘You are the
arsehole
, Mick.'

‘How was I supposed to know?' Mick argued. ‘We sailed straight after. I couldn't have done anything.'

‘You did not have to give her so many of the drinks that she fell down! You could have been the gentleman and left her alone!'

Rian's grey eyes had narrowed and all signs of amusement had left his face. ‘Pierre's right, Mick. You
are
an arsehole.' To Biddy, he said, ‘What about this girl?'

She took a deep breath, knowing that this was probably her only chance. ‘She's married now and has an adopted daughter. The
child's been kidnapped and taken to Newcastle. Harrie needs to get there as soon as possible. She needs a ship, so she does.'

‘And you think I should take her?'

‘Can't think of anyone better.' And Biddy couldn't.

‘What's wrong with the steamer service?'

Feck the bloody paddlesteamer, Biddy thought. How many times do I have to say this? ‘She's a bonded convict and so are two of her friends. They're not supposed to leave the district. There'll be four of them altogether, all colleens.' Helping herself to Gideon's ale, she said, ‘You don't mind, do you, dear?'

He pushed a tumbler towards her, his teeth gleaming in the biggest, whitest smile she'd ever seen.

‘No,' Rian said flatly. ‘I'm not taking four females on my ship. It's out of the question.'

‘Is that so? Why not? I have to say I'm disappointed in you, Captain.'

‘No room, haven't got time, women are bad luck at sea, they'll only get in the way, and I don't want them mixing with my crew.' Rian paused, then frowned. ‘This is that little lass, five feet-ish, chestnut hair, a bit quiet and shy?' He looked at Mick for confirmation, who shrugged, embarrassed, because he couldn't really remember, which only made Rian scowl outright.

‘That's her,' Biddy said.

‘How the hell's
she
going to chase down a kidnapper and wrestle a child off him?'

‘Apparently her mates are a very capable lot. Their agent called them a “crew”.'

‘Their
agent?'

‘The woman who talked to me on their behalf. 'Tis a very complicated situation, so it is.'

‘Do you mean crew as in “canting crew”? That's all I need, a ship swarming with criminal types.'

‘Captain, this whole colony's swarming with criminal types, or hadn't you noticed? Anyway, that's rich coming from you, so it is, a man who so frequently, and dare I say quite happily, hoists his sails on the wrong side of the law.'

Hawk asked, ‘How old is the child?'

‘Two and a half years. Just a baby.'

‘Baisage,'
Pierre swore, and shook his head in dismay

Hawk said dispassionately. ‘Who has taken her?'

Biddy explained. Rian said nothing, his arms crossed, head bowed.

‘They need to go tomorrow,' Biddy added, ‘and there'll be a fee in it for you, to be agreed.'

At last Rian said, ‘I don't understand why these women are running around rescuing this child. What about this Harrie girl's husband? And surely she knows other men who can help. Or he must. What is he, a labourer or something?'

‘He's a doctor, an ex-naval surgeon, but that's by the by. She doesn't want him involved, and don't ask me why. She won't be telling him she's off to Newcastle. I gather the other married girl in the crew will be going behind her husband's back, too.'

The crew exchanged ‘what is the world coming to?' looks.

Rian said, ‘If I take them, I can't be responsible for their safety.'

‘Of course not.' Though Biddy knew he'd bend over backwards to ensure the girls came to no harm, because he was a gentleman.

‘And we can't leave tomorrow.' Rian raised his brows at Hawk. ‘Can we?'

Hawk shook his head.

‘Why not?'

‘We tore a jib coming through the Heads and won't have it back until tomorrow evening. I don't like leaving port at night when the weather's closing in unless I absolutely have to, and it looks like it
is
closing in, which means waiting for the tide at a little past midday on Thursday.'

Biddy said, ‘Well, if that's the best you can do.'

‘It is. And there will be rules. No fraternising, no alcohol, no going above deck while we're at sea, and the women will be strictly under my command. Will they be capable of adhering to those directions?'

‘Oh, I'm sure they will,' Biddy replied, her fingers crossed beneath her shawl. ‘'Tis a grand thing you're doing here, Captain. That child and her mother will thank you from the bottom of their hearts.'

‘How much is the fee?' Jon Sharkey growled.

‘That's the captain's business,' Biddy snapped, ‘not yours.' She stood and reached into her skirt pocket for her worn old silver-backed watch. Almost one o'clock in the morning — no wonder she was knackered. But Elizabeth Hislop would still be at work at that brothel of hers, counting her thousands, and she'd said she'd wait up. ‘I'll talk to the girls' agent now and arrange a meeting for tomorrow. Where will I find you?'

‘Let's say in the Bird-in-Hand.'

‘Good. Thank you, Captain. You'll not regret this.'

‘I think we will,' Hawk said, after Biddy had gone.

The voyage up from Sydney on the paddlesteamer had been fucking terrible. The weather was good and the other passengers no worse than usual, but the kid had been an absolute nightmare. Taking her from the house, it turned out, had been the easy part. All he'd had to do was follow them home from the market, wait a few minutes and she'd come out onto the verandah all by herself! So he'd popped up out of the bushes and waved the doll at her. The woman in the shop where he'd bought it said they were the latest thing for little girls, dolls with china heads, but he thought the shiny face and hard black hair piled up like gleaming dog turds was bloody grotesque. And the thing's fancy clothes! What a waste of money.

But it had really caught the kid's eye. It'd been easy to lead her into the trees, grab his sea bag, then carry her down the street and hail a cab to King's Wharf. She hadn't minded the cab ride because she'd been playing with the doll, but by the time they'd boarded the
William the Fourth
she'd been getting pretty shitty, grizzling and crying for her mother. At one point the little cow had jabbed him in the eye and he'd thought the game might be up, especially when some great fat sow of a woman interfered and asked what was going on, but when he'd explained that the kid's mother — his ‘sister' — had just died and he was taking the girl to live with himself and his wife in Scone, she'd shut up and left them alone.

Unfortunately, the kid hadn't shut up, not for hours. She'd cried and cried and cried, reinforcing his belief that it was a mistake for a man ever to marry and produce offspring. Then she'd pissed herself and some other woman with kids of her own had cleaned her up and put her in a nappy. Christ, he'd have thought she'd be trained at her age. His sisters' kids had been. Eventually she'd gone to sleep, only to wake up an hour out of Newcastle and start bawling again.

They'd finally arrived just after nine o'clock, disembarked, and now he was looking forward to handing her over to Iris, even though the kid was sleeping again. Iris had better bloody well be home.

Trudging up the gravel path, he was relieved to see lamplight flickering in the cottage window, but didn't bother to knock before he opened the door. As far as he was concerned, while he slept here the house was as much his as it was hers.

She was at the table, the lamp pulled close, sewing.

‘You're back!' she exclaimed. Then her mouth flapped open and shut, so she looked like a catfish. ‘Is that . . . Who's that?'

‘My daughter. Her mother can't look after her any more.'

Iris stared. ‘I didn't know you had a daughter.'

‘Well, you do now.'

‘But . . .'

Leary could see her brain ticking over, trying to work out the chronology.

‘How old is she?'

Shit. He'd known she was around two years old just after Christmas, so . . . ‘Two and a half.'

‘Does that mean you were seeing her mother when you were seeing me? At Parramatta?'

‘Probably does.'

‘Is that why you wouldn't move in with me?'

Leary sighed. He'd have to be careful if he wanted to stay in her good books, and he did. Someone had to look after the kid. ‘Look, Iris, I wouldn't move in with her either, even after I found out about this one.' He nodded down at Charlotte's head. ‘I'm just not the type to settle down. If it's any consolation, if I'd
had
to choose, it would have been you.'

‘Would it?' Iris's face softened. She pushed back her chair and came across to look at Charlotte. ‘What's her name?'

‘Charlotte.'

‘She's very pretty. Lovely hair. She's got your . . . Well, it's hard to tell when they're asleep. She must be so tired. Shall I take her?'

Leary gladly handed her over. Charlotte whined, half woke, then settled her head on Iris's shoulder and went back to sleep, exhausted. ‘She bloody performed all the way here.'

‘She would, she's only little. How well does she know you?'