The Silk Thief (15 page)

‘Yes.’

‘Harrie?’

‘Yes.’

‘But Harrie’s a virgin!’

‘If she is, she’s a virgin whose bubs are suddenly getting bigger, who vomits every morning, who hasn’t used her rags for the last two months, and who seems desperately unhappy. Really, Friday, how could you and Sarah not notice?’

Harrie, caught for a baby? Shocked to her core, Friday blurted, ‘But we don’t live with her! How could we have noticed?’ But they had noticed, hadn’t they? They just hadn’t recognised what they were seeing.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Friday, you’re a woman of the world, and Sarah’s not stupid, either. Surely you must know something about being with child?’

‘But … whose is it?’ Friday said, utterly mystified. ‘Who’s the father?’

‘I don’t know, do I?’

‘Have you asked her?’

‘No, I bloody well haven’t. It’s none of my business.’

‘Well, it sort of is. You’re her mistress,’ Friday said.

‘And you’re her damned best friends,’ Nora shot back so sharply that Lewis got a fright and started to cry. She picked him up and patted his back. ‘You have to talk to her, Friday. Make her understand what she has to do.’

Friday took a colossal gulp of gin and said, ‘What does she have to do?’ Though she knew, of course, and it wasn’t very nice.

‘What do you think? What would you do if you were unmarried, a bonded convict, and expecting?’

Friday knew what she’d done when she’d found herself pregnant, and in retrospect she often wished she’d made a different choice. It would have saved a lot of heartache and guilt. ‘I’d get rid of it.’

‘Yes, and so should Harrie.’ Nora put Lewis down again.

Oh God, Friday thought. Harrie loved babies.

‘She’ll lose her position with us if she wants to keep it,’ Nora went on. ‘George just wouldn’t tolerate it. He’d send her straight back to the Factory.’

Friday said, ‘She’d have to go back anyway, to have it. And then she’d be stuck there for the next four years until the kid could go into the orphanage. God, what a nightmare.’ Of course, if James was the father — and, let’s face it, who else could it be? — surely he’d ask Harrie to marry him. But what if she kept on being silly and turned him down? She definitely couldn’t keep the baby then.

Nora sighed. ‘I have to be honest, Friday. I really don’t want to lose her, but I’m not going to be the one to tell her to get rid of it. That’s not … that’s not my decision to make. Though I do think it’s the most sensible thing to do.’

‘So you think me and Sarah should tell her? What a shit job. Thanks a lot, Mrs B.’

‘Well, do you think she can make a decision like that herself? With the way she is at the moment?’

Lewis had crawled over to Friday and was now pulling himself up by her skirts. She took his hands and helped him to balance. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s not right, is she? You said so yourself. She’s been talking to herself in her room again at night. I’ve heard her. Well, it’s either to herself or she thinks she’s seeing that poor soul Rachel’s ghost again.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Friday muttered.

‘And I’ve been having to get her out of bed in the mornings, and I’ve never had to do that in the past. She’s usually up before the birds. Oh, when I knock she pretends she’s just got back under the blankets to get warm, but I know. She isn’t dressed, her hair isn’t brushed, she hasn’t cleaned her teeth.’

‘How do you know she’s being sick?’

‘Her room in the mornings nearly always stinks of vomit. I’ve been making a point of checking. And it doesn’t matter how much lavender she puts in there, I can still smell it.’

Friday let go of Lewis’s hands. He collapsed on his backside, screwed up his face to cry then changed his mind, suddenly distracted by her toes.

Letting out an enormous sigh, she said, ‘God almighty. Well, if she is caught, I wonder if she even knows. She’s not very —’

‘Of course she bloody well knows!’ Nora snapped. ‘She might not have slept with thousands of men like some girls have —’

‘Probably not actual thousands.’

‘— but she has younger sisters and a brother. She’ll have been old enough to have helped out when her mother was expecting. Of course she knows.’

‘So why hasn’t she told us?’

‘I don’t know, but you need to do something about it before it’s too late.’

Friday frowned. ‘If she’s only, what, seven or eight weeks along, she won’t quicken for another eight. There’s plenty of time before we might have problems finding someone to do it.’

‘For God’s sake, I’m not thinking about the fact that it’s against the law, I’m thinking about Harrie! The longer the damn thing’s in there, the harder it’ll be to winkle it out.’

Friday was quite shocked. That was a harsh thing for a woman with four children of her own to say.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Nora went on. She pointed at Lewis, happily unravelling a piece of wool from the carpet. ‘Much as I love him now, he certainly wouldn’t be here if things had worked out the way I wanted them to. He was my seventh pregnancy. I never planned a fourth child and I certainly won’t be having any more. I’ve got a business to run.’

‘Do you know someone who can do it?’ Friday asked.

‘No one reliable. Obviously. I thought you might, with your line of work.’

‘Never been caught.’ Not here, anyway, Friday thought.

Nora stood and scooped up Lewis, the piece of wool trailing from his hand. ‘Will you and Sarah come round to my house tonight and talk to Harrie? George’ll be at the pub, just for a change, and I’ll make sure the children are in bed. The sooner this is sorted out the better.’

Friday opened the door. ‘Any particular time?’

‘About half past seven? Will that suit you? Can Sarah get away, do you think?’

‘Sarah can do what she likes these days.’

Harrie opened the door, surprised to see Friday and Sarah standing on the steps. But she’d known something was up; Nora had sent Abigail next door to visit her friend, and Sam and Hannah to bed half an hour early. Sam had trotted off fairly happily but Hannah had thrown one of her tantrums at the injustice of it, her howls and cries spearing right through Harrie’s head.

‘Come in,’ she said, knowing they’d tell her why they were here soon enough. In her heart, which felt like it had suddenly grown too big for her chest, she thought she probably knew anyway.

Upstairs, Friday and Sarah sat on the sofa. Nora appeared, busied herself stoking the fire, then pulled out a chair at the dining table. Harrie perched on the edge of an armchair. Everyone looked at her, making her feel self-conscious.

‘How are you feeling?’ Friday asked, giving Angus the cat — rubbing himself against her legs and shedding all over her skirt — a gentle kick.

Exhausted, Harrie thought. Terrified. ‘All right.’

‘Still feeling sick?’

Now Harrie definitely knew why they were here. She closed her eyes.

Sarah’s voice: ‘Harrie, are you expecting?’

Harrie opened her eyes. ‘Yes, I think so.’ The words were coming out of her mouth, but the voice didn’t sound like hers. It sounded like some other stupid girl’s. But it was said now and she couldn’t take it back. What a relief.

‘For God’s sake, why didn’t you say something?’ Sarah asked.

Harrie couldn’t be bothered explaining. They would only tell her she was a fool for feeling so embarrassed. She shook her head.

‘Are you sure you are?’ Friday asked.

‘I’ve missed twice, and I’ve been sick.’

‘And you actually, you know, did the deed?’

‘Christ, Friday,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s not that naive.’ She looked at Harrie. ‘Are you?’

‘I must have,’ Harrie whispered. ‘I was drunk. I’m not sure what I did.’

‘Well, have you asked him?’ Friday demanded.

‘I can’t. He’s gone back to sea.’

Friday’s mouth fell open. ‘What? James has?’

‘No, it wasn’t James!’

A red flush of anger surged up Friday’s face. ‘Are you saying some dirty bloody cove you didn’t even know took advantage of you?’

Harrie said, ‘No, I did know him. Or I thought I did.’

Friday had moved to the edge of the sofa, apparently poised to go racing off down the street after the culprit. ‘Who? Who was he?’

‘His name’s Mick Doyle. He’s … a sailor.’ Harrie dared not tell them he was only seventeen.

‘And he picked you up?’ Friday persisted.

‘No. I met him at his mother’s house the Monday after …’ Harrie glanced at Nora, who knew nothing about Bella Shand’s blackmail. ‘Just after I heard about James and Rowie Harris. He invited me to the St Patrick’s Inn. I went, and I drank too much, and I think I must have let him have his way, but I can’t really remember.’

‘What were you doing at his mother’s house?’ Nora asked. ‘Who is she?’

‘Biddy Doyle. Her grandson had wandered off. He’s only four. I found him and took him home.’

Nora had heard the name; if she was remembering correctly, Biddy Doyle was a sempstress who made women’s undergarments of quite good quality.

Friday said, ‘And he’s back at sea now?’

‘Who?’ Harrie was getting confused.

‘Bloody Mick Doyle!’

‘Yes.’

‘Does he know about …?’ Sarah waved vaguely at Harrie’s middle.

‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘Would he marry you? Would you want to marry him?’

‘No and no!’ Harrie felt her temper disintegrate. ‘What would be the point? He can’t even remember my name! I made a terrible mistake and now I have to fix it.’

Friday asked carefully, ‘What do you mean by “fix it”?’

Harrie thought this would have been quite obvious. ‘I have to get rid of it. I can’t have it. I can’t keep it.’ She frowned as Nora, Friday and Sarah glanced at one another, nonplussed. ‘What?’

‘We thought you wouldn’t want to do that,’ Sarah said.

‘That day I was sick on the way out to Parramatta? That was feverfew leaf tea, double strength. It didn’t work. I can remember my mother telling me never to use slippery elm bark because it’s so dangerous, so it was either feverfew or pennyroyal. Perhaps I should have gone with the pennyroyal.’

Sarah shot a sharp look at Friday — the emergency packet of slippery elm in her drawer had been purchased on her recommendation.

‘I thought you wanted babies,’ Friday said. ‘You’re desperate to look after Charlotte.’

‘Friday, shut up,’ Sarah hissed.

‘But it just doesn’t seem like Harrie.’

‘Would
you
want to keep a child you’d got during a drunken night with someone you barely knew?’ Harrie demanded. ‘It would forever remind me of what I’d done. And even worse, why I did it.’

‘I kept mine,’ Friday said. ‘Didn’t have a clue who her father was.’

‘Do you have a child?’ Nora asked, startled.

‘I did. She died.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘Why did you do it, Harrie?’ Sarah asked.

‘Why do you think?’

‘James?’

Harrie nodded, because that more or less summed it up.

‘And you say you only met this man once?’ Sarah said. ‘And you went to the pub with him and let him …’ She tailed off. ‘I’m not a prude —’

‘Yes, you are,’ Friday said.

Sarah looked vaguely apologetic. ‘I just never imagined you doing that.’

Harrie kept her gaze on her hands, resting in her lap. ‘I know. But he was beautiful. And he paid attention to me.’

The sadness of her statement silenced everyone.

Then Nora said brusquely, ‘So, what would you like to do?’

Harrie sagged against the back of her chair and closed her eyes momentarily as at least some of the tension drained from her neck and shoulders. She’d been so worried Nora would send her back to the Factory should she find out.

‘I need to find someone who can help me get rid of … it.’ She’d almost said ‘the baby’, but it wasn’t a baby, it was a mistake. ‘Someone who’ll do it properly. But I don’t know of anyone.’

‘I do, but I wouldn’t recommend her,’ Nora said.

‘Mrs H will know.’ Friday smirked. ‘I’ll ask her. She’ll get a hell of a fright. She’ll think it’s me.’

‘No, I think I might speak to Mrs Hislop myself,’ Nora said suddenly. ‘As your mistress, Harrie. I mean, you are my responsibility. Do you mind?’

‘No. I don’t mind,’ Harrie said gratefully. She’d been dreading the prospect of creeping down alleyways and knocking on doors.

‘You do realise Mr Barrett can’t know about this?’ Nora said.

Harrie looked at her in horror. ‘Oh, no, I wasn’t going to tell him.’

‘I should think not. This is women’s business.’

As soon as she got home that night, Friday barged into Elizabeth’s office.

‘Come in,’ Elizabeth said dryly as Friday sat down.

‘Harrie’s caught for a baby,’ she said in a rush.

‘Your friend, Harrie?’ Elizabeth was aghast. ‘The one who wouldn’t say shoo to a goose?’

Friday nodded.

‘Fancy that. Her doctor?’

‘No. She got mashed and some randy Irish tar got his leg over.’

‘Good God. She let him? A
paddy
?’

‘Doubt it. He would have forced her. She can’t remember.’

‘Well, why didn’t someone stop it? Where were you?’

‘Bloody not there, obviously,’ Friday snapped, swallowing a huge lump of guilt.

‘And where’s the bugger now?’

‘I don’t know. Halfway to China, probably.’

Elizabeth sat back in her chair. ‘Is that why her mistress was here earlier? Nora Barrett?’

Friday nodded. ‘She wanted me and Sarah to go round tonight and talk to her. Nora thought she might be in trouble, but Harrie wasn’t saying.’

‘And?’

‘And we did, and she admitted it.’

‘I suppose she wants to keep it?’ Elizabeth rolled her eyes. ‘Silly girl.’

‘No, actually, she doesn’t. Well, she says she doesn’t.’

‘That’s very wise. She’d be ruined.’

‘What? Her reputation?’ Friday snorted. ‘She’s already ruined. She’s a convict girl, remember?’

‘No, her life. She’d never drag herself out of the muck with a child to raise, not on her own.’

‘It’s not completely unheard of.’

‘No, but it’s very bloody hard work.’ Elizabeth reached for a piece of paper. ‘I can give you the name of the woman I use for the brothel. No, in fact I’ll contact her myself, if you like. Won’t be cheap, though. It isn’t, for a reliable and safe service.’