The Silk Thief (29 page)

By his estimations they should be off the coast of New South Wales in four or five weeks, depending on the wind. Not long to go now. And when they docked, the first thing he was going to do was buy himself as much rum as he could drink, then a woman, then find Jonah, and together they’d hunt down the foul Bennett.

Friday, Hazel, Sophie, Lou, Vivien and Connie — in fact, the whole afternoon shift — sat in the parlour, staring at Elizabeth in shock.

‘Are they sure?’ Friday asked, her voice hoarse with dismay.

Elizabeth blew her nose into a lace handkerchief. ‘I’m sorry, Friday, I really am. Someone on the shore said they’d seen her quite often in the bar here, and a constable came around asking. I went to the undertaker’s and identified her myself. I said she worked for me in the hotel.’

‘But how did she end up in the sea?’ Hazel wailed.

‘Apparently some articles of clothing were found on the end of King’s Wharf last Thursday. Boots and a skirt. Molly was only wearing her shift and bodice when she washed up. The constable thinks she went for a late-night swim. He wanted to know if she was fond of a drink. I … well, I had to tell him she was.’

‘She must have gone in on the way home from the Fortune of War,’ Friday said. ‘Jesus. Bloody hell.’

Elizabeth gave her a pointed look. ‘Yes, it’s a shocking and very upsetting tragedy, but let it be a lesson to all of you.’

Connie gasped. ‘She’ll be buried in a pauper’s grave! Oh, that’s awful! Or was she in a burial club?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’ve paid for a good cherrywood coffin with plate and ornaments, a hearse and one, two coachmen, bearers, an attendant, and a plot at Devonshire Street cemetery. She was Church of England, wasn’t she?’

Everyone looked at one another.

‘Well, she is now,’ Elizabeth said.

‘No mutes?’ Vivien asked.

‘No mutes.’

‘That’s very generous of you,’ Lou remarked.

Elizabeth said, ‘Yes, well, she did work for me. She deserves a decent send-off. And as she sadly won’t need her room any more, I’ve asked Jack to clear it out and put her things in the storeroom in case her family cares to collect them.’

‘She didn’t have a family here,’ Hazel said.

‘Well, perhaps a friend, then,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It wouldn’t be right to just throw them out, would it? Friday, can I see you in my office, please?’

Friday followed her, and sat down as Elizabeth closed her office door. ‘Is this still about Molly?’

‘No, it isn’t. Have you not wondered how you were found not guilty the other day in court? That was quite an extraordinary verdict, you know.’

‘’Course I’ve wondered. I still can’t remember most of what I did that night, but I must have really gone to town.’

‘Clearly.’ Elizabeth opened a drawer in her desk and took out a letter. ‘This arrived this morning. It’s for you.’

Friday froze. Oh God, she thought, not another bloody demand from Bella Shand. Not now. ‘Who’s it from?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not in the habit of opening correspondence that isn’t addressed to me. But I am wondering if it might have something to do with the magistrate’s decision.’

Friday took the letter. Her name was written on the front in a large, flowery hand; on the back were the words,
From an Avid Admirer
. She broke the seal, opened the single sheet and read.

My Most Charming Miss Woolfe

I have had the greatest of pleasures to be a Client of yours several times. I was in the Gallery on Thursday to witness your most Unfortunate appearance in Court. It almost broke my Heart seeing you in the Dock, manacled like a jewelled Butterfly pinned to a piece of card.

As I simply could not bear the Notion of your fine, strapping, indeed wondrous, Personage languishing in some filthy, dark Gaol cell for months — if not years! — I made Clement Bloodworth an offer I knew His Crooked Worship would not be able to refuse. And he did not. My Heart soared when you were declared Not Guilty!

But may I suggest that one Good Deed very often leads to another? I would be delighted if, one day soon, you would consider visiting me at my Home. I will be in touch when the time is right.

Your Most Fervent Admirer

L

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Friday said.

‘What?’

Friday passed the letter to Elizabeth, who quickly read it.

‘It could be worse, you know,’ she said. ‘God knows how much he bribed Bloodworth. Those weren’t exactly petty misdemeanours. It would have taken a lot to get him to so blatantly declare you not guilty.’

‘Yes, but what am I going to have to do to pay him back? He could be a complete lunatic! And at his house!’

‘Don’t be silly. Take Jack. He can wait outside. And Friday, really, anything must be better than time spent in gaol or breaking rocks at the Factory? Be reasonable. It’s a small price to pay, surely?’

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘No, it isn’t easy for me to say. But I don’t think you realise how bloody lightly you’re getting off. People die in that gaol down the street. And they’re hanged for not much more than what you did,’ Elizabeth said, and burst into tears.

Friday didn’t know what to say.

When Harrie returned home from her morning session with Leo, she found she’d also received a letter. Nora told her she’d paid for it, and had left it on her bed.

Harrie hurried up to her attic room, sat in the rocking chair under the eaves, and picked at the seal, already cracked. The wax was cheap and came away easily. She knew who the letter was from and was desperately looking forward to reading it. It was only one page.

9 July 1831

Our Deer Sister Harrie,

I have very bad News. Our poor Mother has Died. She Died on the Secend day of July. We could not aford to Bury her, so she is in a Paupers grave. I am sorry, Harrie. We had to find somwhere else to live. Now we have a room in St Giles with two other famlies. Anna is helping Robbie with his barow at Covent Garden, and I am taking in extra sewing. With luck, we will keep out of the Workhouse. The money you send is a big help. We miss you, Harrie.

All Our Love,

Sophie and Robbie and Anna

Her mouth open in a silent cry of anguish, Harrie slowly slumped forwards until her forehead touched her knees. Her lungs had locked closed and the pain in her chest was monstrous. Finally she managed to draw in a reedy, whistling breath.

‘Rachel!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Rachel, help me!’

Presently, a small, cold hand began to stroke her hair.

Harrie was inconsolable. When Nora discovered what had happened, she sent Abigail to fetch Friday. But it didn’t matter what Friday, or Sarah, or Leo, said or did, Harrie wouldn’t come out of her room for three days. George told Nora he was of a bloody good mind to send Harrie back to the Factory and replace her altogether — with someone reliable and not prone to fits of barminess. Nora told him that would be over her dead body: George stomped off to the pub in a foul mood. Friday told Matthew on the way to the bank about Harrie’s news, and Matthew passed it on to James. Forgetting that he had limits and was no longer of a mind to pursue her, James went straight around to the Barretts’, demanding to see Harrie, but, at Harrie’s instruction, Nora reluctantly sent him away.

On the fourth day, Harrie came out of her room and resumed her duties both with the Barretts and Leo, but wouldn’t — or couldn’t — smile, and barely spoke. Hannah, normally such a troublemaker, almost turned herself inside out acting the goat in an effort to make her laugh, but nothing worked, leaving Hannah in tears. Harrie was also very distant, and made uncharacteristic mistakes in the house — burning the supper, putting things away in the wrong place (a leg of mutton in the linen cupboard instead of the meat safe), forgetting why she’d gone down to the kitchen — and, most disturbing of all, answered questions no one had asked. And she was barely eating. Nora was beside herself. Harrie had been behaving oddly before, but her unhinged conduct was reaching new levels.

Sarah and Friday decided that a trip out to the Factory to see Janie and the children would cheer her up. At the very least, they hoped the change of scenery might do something to jolt her out of her strange state. But she refused to go, saying she couldn’t face the journey, which was completely out of character. Usually she was desperate to visit Charlotte, Janie and Rosie.

Friday and Sarah went anyway. Elizabeth lent Friday her carriage once again, and early on Sunday morning she and Sarah set out for Parramatta. The weather was good, warm but not too hot, though clouds to the far west suggested there might be rain later in the day. In a basket on the seat was the usual stash of contraband for Janie, including the two pretty, lace-trimmed cotton shifts Harrie had made for her after their last visit.

The trip out was uneventful, except for the usual stops to water the horses. Even Clifford behaved, sleeping most of the way. By the time they arrived at Parramatta it really was quite warm. Jack drew the carriage to a halt outside the Factory gates. Squinting in the sun, Sarah climbed down, Clifford under her arm, set her on the ground and attached a lead to her collar. Clifford hated her lead and shook her head violently, making the exercise as difficult as possible.

‘Stop that,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s for your own good.’ Though it wasn’t: it was for the good of everyone who came within five feet of her.

Cursing, she finally succeeded, looped the lead over her wrist and crossed to the gates in the high outer wall. The porter opened the wicket as soon as she banged on it, which was unusual.

Peering at her, he said, ‘Not a good day for visitin’.’

‘Why not? It’s Sunday.’

He shook his head, making his bristly jowls wobble. ‘Got sickness here. Come back another day.’

‘What sort of sickness?’

‘The bloody flux.’

Sarah swore.

‘What’s wrong?’ Friday asked, just in time to hear her.

‘There’s dysentery in the Factory,’ Sarah explained.

Friday heaved out a sigh of frustration. ‘Well, I’m going in. I want to see Janie. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.’

The porter shrugged. ‘Be it on your own heads.’

‘Tell Jack to wait,’ Sarah said. ‘In case we can’t stay.’

Friday returned to the carriage and said to Jack in the driver’s seat, ‘The porter says there’s flux in the Factory and not to go in. Bugger him, but can you wait fifteen minutes, just in case?’

Jack said, ‘Rather you than me.’ He draped the reins over the footboard, planted his boot on them, and dug around in his pocket for his pipe fixings.

The porter let Friday and Sarah through the wicket, forgetting, or perhaps too distracted, to demand payment for ignoring their contraband. They were halfway to the inner gates when Clifford suddenly lay down, her nose on her front paws.

Sarah gave the lead a gentle tug. ‘Get up, girl.’

Clifford wouldn’t budge.

Sarah pulled harder. Clifford slid along the ground, her back legs trailing in the dirt. Friday laughed.

Sarah didn’t. ‘Come on, you hairy little sluggard. Oh, for God’s sake.’ She grabbed Clifford, jammed her under her arm, marched across to the inner gates, and knocked loudly.

Gladys the portress flipped open the viewing slot, peeped through, and immediately burst into noisy tears. Friday and Sarah looked at each other, mystified. The cover on the slot flapped shut, and the door within the gate opened wide.

‘Oh, me dears!’ Gladys cried, her eyes red and swollen. ‘The calamity of it! It’s a blight, it surely is.’

‘What is?’ Friday asked, panic flaring. ‘Glad? What’s a blight?’

In an apparent fit of misery Gladys threw her apron over her head. ‘The babies! Oh Lord, Janie and the babies! They been taken! And they’re not the only ones!’

‘Talk sense, Gladys,’ Sarah snapped, pulling the woman’s apron back down. ‘Taken where?’

‘To heaven. Home to Our Lord.’

‘What?’

‘They’re dead, Miss Sarah. Oh Lord!’

Friday took a step towards her, then stopped. Utterly stunned, her head rang as though she’d been punched. She shot another look at Sarah, who looked as dumbfounded as she felt, then turned back to Gladys. ‘Dead? Janie and the girls are dead?’

Gladys nodded. ‘Yesterday morning. The bloody flux. It were so quick!’

Dead? A huge rage boiled up inside Friday, surging from her gut out into her arms and legs. She lunged at the closed half of the gate and gave it three vicious kicks, her breath exploding out of her in a shriek each time she connected. Thinking it was a game, Clifford joined in, darting at the gate and barking her head off. Friday let fly with one final almighty kick, then bent over, her hands on her knees, panting, as her tears began to drip onto the dirt.

Behind her, Sarah stood staring at Gladys in horrified disbelief. ‘All three of them? All of them are dead?’

Gladys wiped her eyes and nose on her apron. ‘Not little Charlotte. She were taken away. There’s no one to look after her, see, now Janie’s gone.’

Sarah wanted to slap Gladys. ‘Are you saying Janie and Rosie have died …’ her voice cracked and she swallowed ‘… but Charlotte’s still alive?’

Gladys nodded miserably.

‘But she’s been taken somewhere?’

Again, Gladys nodded. ‘To the orphan school. Mrs Dick took her.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Friday booted the gate again. Letitia bloody Dick — she’d hated Rachel. It would have given her no end of pleasure to see the poor darling’s child dumped in the orphanage. ‘When?’ she demanded.

‘Yesterday afternoon, after dinner.’

Sarah burst into loud and unattractive tears.

Jack appeared, looking alarmed. ‘What the hell’s going on? I heard screaming.’

‘Janie and Rosie died,’ Friday said, hiccupping out a sob.

‘Your friend and her kiddie?’ Jack was shocked. ‘Bloody hell. What happened?’

‘The bloody flux.’

‘Dreadful, it were,’ Gladys said, mopping her face again.

‘And the other little girl?’ Jack asked.

‘In the bloody orphan school!’ Friday spat, grief-fuelled fury surging through her again. ‘How the fuck are we going to get her out?’ She gave an almighty sob. ‘Sarah? What are we going to do?’