The Silk Thief (19 page)

‘I wonder what she’s here for?’ Sarah said.

‘Medicine for Bella’s syphilis,’ Friday whispered back.

‘Has she got syphilis?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. She’s such an old slag.’

‘I’m going up to eavesdrop,’ Sarah said.

Friday nodded. She wouldn’t get away with it — Becky would recognise her copper-red hair. Sarah, on the other hand, had that knack for making herself look as inconsequential as a mouse when she wanted to.

As the chemist began to stack bottles and packets into Becky’s basket, Sarah stepped out of the queue of chattering customers and peered interestedly into a glass cabinet on the counter, carefully keeping her head down. Then, sidling ever closer to Becky, she picked up a jar of skin cream, took off the lid and sniffed appreciatively. By the time she reached a display of rose-scented soap prettily displayed in a basket, she was in a perfect position to listen in on the chemist’s instructions.

‘Can you read?’ he asked Becky.

‘Some,’ she replied.

‘Can your mistress?’

Sarah stifled a snort of derision. By law Bella Shand wasn’t Becky Hoddle’s mistress — they were both assigned to Clarence Shand, Bella’s husband, and Louisa Coutts would be, too. A convict herself, Bella couldn’t be anyone’s mistress, but Sarah supposed that in practice she was, and no doubt a hard one at that.

‘Of course she can,’ Becky said.

‘I mean, is she still able to read?’ the chemist asked. ‘People with this condition do sometimes find they can’t.’

‘I dunno. I s’pose. She got spectacles a while ago.’

‘Well, listen carefully while I explain. This one,’ the man said, indicating a large brown bottle, ‘is tincture of opium for the headaches and the stomach pain. She may have one to two measures per hour, more if the pain is severe. The powders …’ here he tapped a white paper packet sealed with wax ‘… contain bismuth, tannin and ipecac for the bowel complaint. I’ve not added extra opium, as that’s already been prescribed. The ipecac, however, may worsen the vomiting. The doctor has therefore prescribed an anti-emetic, which is this packet here.’ He leant forwards and whispered, but not so quietly that Sarah couldn’t hear, ‘The big pot contains the hair restoration cream. You can tell your mistress I’ve doubled the nux vomica this time. The smaller pot is the skin balm. It’s a new receipt with chloride of mercury and it’s stronger than the last one the doctor prescribed. Tell her to use both every day as usual, but sparingly. And to store the balm somewhere cool, or it will spoil. Do you think you can remember all that?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Becky said, a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

The chemist gave her a hard look. ‘Yes, you do that. Mrs Shand is your employer, not mine.’

Becky lifted the basket off the counter. ‘She says to send the account to the house again. Mr Shand will see to it.’

‘As she wishes. Good day.’ The chemist was already moving on to the next receipt requiring his attention.

Sarah turned her back as Becky swept past, hoping Friday had her head down. Unfortunately, she didn’t.

‘Bitch,’ Becky whispered loudly as she marched towards the door, clearly recognising Friday.

‘Slut,’ Friday shot back.

The remaining women and one gentleman in the queue stared at her, shocked and open-mouthed.

Rearranging her hat as Becky exited the shop, making the doorbell jangle like mad, Friday glared back. ‘What?’

All quickly looked away again. Sarah joined the end of the queue.

‘Headaches, stomachache, the shits, vomiting, bad skin and hair loss,’ she said to Friday under her breath. ‘What does all that add up to?’

‘Is that what she’s got wrong with her?’

‘Sounds like it. That’s what all the medicine was for.’

‘I don’t know. The Black Death?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sarah said. ‘She’d be dead, wouldn’t she? And if she had the plague, wouldn’t everyone?’

Friday shrugged. ‘She didn’t look sick enough to have all that, last time I saw her. Skinny, yes, but not at death’s door.’

‘She might be, by now. When
did
we last see her?’

‘When we told her about Gellar. Four months ago?’

Sarah nodded. ‘Plenty of time to get sick. Plenty of time to die, in fact.’

Friday’s eyes lit up. ‘Wouldn’t it be perfect if she did? That would fix everything.’

‘Don’t hold your breath,’ Sarah said gloomily. ‘She isn’t going to die just because we want her to.’

‘Still, fingers crossed, eh?’

October 1831, Sydney Town

Friday lay on her belly, topless, as Leo bent over her.

‘How’s Harrie?’ he asked. ‘I’m hoping she’ll feel well enough soon to come and say hello.’

‘Well enough to bring you some lovely new flash, you mean,’ Friday mumbled, her face squashed against her arm.

‘You’re a cynical piece of work sometimes, aren’t you?’ Leo said mildly. ‘For your information, not that it
is
any business of yours, I told Nora Barrett that Harrie can have all the time she needs. I’m not desperate for new flash.’

‘Did Nora come and see you?’

‘She did.’

‘Did she tell you what’s wrong with Harrie?’

She hadn’t needed to, Leo thought, and when I next see my son I’m going to beat the living shit out of him. ‘No, and I didn’t ask.’

‘Women’s problems,’ Friday said. ‘Pretty serious ones. She nearly died.’

Leo went still. Did that mean the abortion hadn’t been a success? Had it been botched? It had been over a week and he should have gone to see Harrie, but to be honest he couldn’t face it, he felt that ashamed of Mick’s behaviour. ‘But she’s all right now, isn’t she?’

Friday propped herself up on one elbow to see his face. ‘She’s coming right. The quack prescribed a whole lot of shite and it seems to be doing the trick. She nearly bled to death, you know.’

The pigment brush in Leo’s hand snapped. He put the pieces aside. ‘But everything’s fine now? She’s as good as new?’

Friday’s eyes narrowed and she studied him thoughtfully, and for a second Leo wondered if she’d worked out that he knew. But so what if he did?

‘More or less,’ she said. ‘She’s very melancholy, but. She needs something to take her mind off the … everything that’s happened.’

‘Aye, well, I said not long ago I wanted to start her on the needles, so I believe I will.’

‘Good. She can practise on my phoenix.’

Leo grunted. ‘You sure you want a beginner’s mistakes right in the middle of your back?’

‘She won’t make mistakes. You’ve seen how good her drawings are.’

Leo didn’t respond; it was a statement, not a question.

‘And her needlework’s even better. I don’t think she’ll go wrong just because she’s poking needles into me rather than a piece of material. Have faith, Leo.’

Leo wasn’t so sure. ‘She was a bag of nerves just drawing the outline of the bat on your leg, remember. I was thinking of starting her off on some old bits of parchment.’

Friday waved away his protests and rested her head on her arm again. ‘Leo, I said have faith.’

After a few more days resting in bed, Harrie felt well enough to return to her normal duties except for heavy lifting, which Nora insisted on doing for another week. Harrie knew she was underweight and that she’d bled far too much after the … after her visit to Mrs Turner, but physically she was fairly strong. She always had been. She still felt light-headed if she stood too quickly, but expected that a few decent feeds and some more of Dr Poole’s tonic would fix that. The trouble was, she had no appetite, and hadn’t for some time — well before she’d ever set eyes on Mick Doyle. It was as though someone had turned off the lever inside her that made her want to eat.

Sometimes she had no vitality at all, and craved nothing more than to lie down and sink into a dark and dreamless sleep, but couldn’t because the endlessly babbling voices in her head wouldn’t leave her alone. At other times, though, she felt galvanised by a wild energy that compelled her to rush around, leaving no surface undusted or unwiped, no article of clothing unfolded, and not a single inch of floor unswept. She liked that state best because she was so tired when she finally did get to bed that the incessant chatter would subside and she could sleep.

But now there was a new voice to add to the clamour — that of a child not born, and who now never would be. She lay awake at night wondering what he or she might have looked like, what colour his or her hair may have been, and who he or she might have grown up to become. She had to know and it was nudging her closer and closer to insanity, and that was terrifying because she realised she possibly didn’t have far to go now anyway. Not far at all.

Twelve days after the abortion she visited Sarah and told her she wanted to see Serafina Fortune.

Two days after that, Serafina Fortune said, ‘Good evening, ladies,’ and stood aside to let Friday, Sarah and Harrie into her little house on Essex Street. ‘Nice to see you again.’

‘Nice to fleece us again, you mean,’ Sarah muttered. She wasn’t particularly happy about Harrie seeing Serafina a second time, not after what had happened during their first visit.

Serafina smiled wryly as she closed the door. They all knew Sarah steadfastly professed not to believe in second sight, scrying, ghosts, or indeed anything remotely other-worldly, but Serafina had proved she had the ability to see the past, and, even more unnervingly, the future. Some of her predictions for Sarah had already come to pass — Adam had come home, hadn’t he? — and it seemed that several of her prophecies for Harrie had, too. She’d warned that Harrie’s mental health could be at risk, and that a pregnancy was a possibility, which they’d all thought was amusing at the time. It wasn’t so funny now.

She asked, ‘Are you all wanting readings? It’s not two-for-three Tuesday, so you’ll all have to pay, I’m afraid.’

‘Just Harrie this time,’ Sarah said, which was what she and Friday had agreed earlier.

‘As you wish. Please take a seat at the table.’

As she opened the wooden box containing her assortment of cards, Sarah eyed Friday watching Serafina. Was she admiring Serafina’s finely tailored dress and long gold earrings, perhaps? Or was it something else? Her pretty red-gold hair; her striking facial features; her trim but firm-breasted figure? She seemed really quite mesmerised.

Serafina hesitated, then said to Harrie, ‘Would you prefer the cards or a straight reading?’

Sarah had wondered if this would happen. During their last visit, she’d
very
reluctantly accused Serafina of having the second sight, suspecting she’d merely been using the tarot cards to conceal her true ability. She’d been right.

‘A straight reading, please,’ Harrie said. ‘Unless you’d rather use the cards.’

‘Up to you.’ Serafina opened the battered tin in which she kept her money. ‘It’s your session. The fee’s the same as last time, thank you.’

Harrie passed over four one-shilling coins. Serafina dropped them into the tin. ‘Is there anything in particular you’d like to know?’

‘Yes. I’m not to say what, though, am I?’

Serafina shook her head. She clasped her hands on the table and lowered her eyes without quite closing them. Shifting in her seat slightly, after a long moment she raised her eyes. ‘A boy. It was a boy.’

Harrie gasped, then burst into tears, her hands over her mouth. ‘Oh! Oh, I wanted him so much! I didn’t want to get rid of him, I didn’t!’

Serafina lifted a hand. ‘Wait. I haven’t finished. He was never going to live long. You would have lost him anyway. He would have died at six or seven months of some, I don’t know, some sort of constitutional affliction.’

‘He wouldn’t!’ Harrie cried. ‘No, he
wouldn’t
!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Serafina said gently, ‘but that is what I’m seeing. And he would have suffered.’

Harrie slumped onto the table, her head on her arms, sobbing.

‘Shall I go on?’ Serafina asked.

‘Not if it’s more bad news like that,’ Sarah said.

‘Actually, that was good news, in a way,’ Friday said. ‘At least the poor little soul was spared the misery.’

‘It wasn’t a soul, though, was it?’ Sarah said, remembering what she’d seen. ‘Not really. It was too small.’

‘
Shut up!
’ Harrie shrieked, and banged her head deliberately hard on the table, the collision of bone and wood making an awful sound.

Friday hauled Harrie upright by her collar and hugged her tightly as she wept and keened. Sarah stared accusingly at Serafina until the tears burning her eyes made her look away.

Serafina said, ‘There is good news.’ She leant across the table and tapped Harrie’s arm. ‘Listen to me, girl. I can see how bad things are for you. I can smell the darkness and I can feel your fear and confusion. But that won’t go on forever. Things will change. I told you that last time. You’ll get what you want. And I can see quite clearly that you’ll get what you deserve.’

‘You don’t understand!’ Harrie sobbed. ‘I
am
getting what I deserve!’

‘No.’ Serafina shook her head, her earrings glinting in the lamplight. ‘
You
don’t understand. This will pass. Things will be all right. There’ll be a husband, there will be children, and you
will
have family.’

Harrie shoved back her chair and lurched to her feet, her face red and blotchy. ‘That’s nice, it is, but I don’t believe you. I can’t. Not … right now.’ And she rushed out of Serafina’s house.

‘Shit,’ Friday said.

Serafina opened her money tin, took out two half-sovereigns and gave one each to Sarah and Friday. ‘Here, I can’t take your money.’

Friday looked at Sarah. ‘What did you give her money for?’

‘I came round yesterday afternoon and paid her not to give Harrie any more bad news.’

‘Did you?’ Friday said. ‘I came round last night and did the same.’

Sarah turned to Serafina. ‘You took bribes from both of us?’

‘Well, you both did offer,’ Serafina said. ‘But I didn’t realise she’d be so … troubled. So you can keep your money.’

‘Was that true about her baby dying anyway?’ Friday asked.

Serafina nodded.

‘And
was
there more bad news you didn’t tell her?’