Amber (5 page)

K
itty hung over the rail of the
Katipo
, watching rubbish bob past the hull as the schooner eased herself into Sydney Harbour. It was hot, even out there on the water, and Kitty’s shirt was sticking to her back although it was only nine o’clock in the morning. Bodie, the ship’s cat, lay curled in the centre of a rope coil at Kitty’s feet, her black fur sleek and gleaming.

This was the first time they had been back to Sydney since everything that had happened four years earlier, when Wai had died in a small tenement in a narrow street on The Rocks. Now, it was time for Kitty to fulfil her promise to her dear friend, and to Wai’s father Haunui: they had come to collect Wai’s bones and take them back to New Zealand, where she belonged.

‘I’d forgotten how hot it gets here,’ Rian said as he appeared beside her.

Kitty turned to look at him. He was tired and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. It had been a rough trip this time around the Cape of Good Hope and across the lower latitudes, very rough, and they hadn’t yet recovered from the shock of losing Sharkey during a brief sojourn in Durban. As usual he’d been in a pub all night and as he left he was set upon by a group of seamen he’d had an altercation with earlier, and was stabbed in the throat. He had died almost immediately, his blood seeping into the dirt of a Durban street as the rest of the crew stood over him in helpless silence. Knowing that his first love had
always been the sea, they had taken his body back to the
Katipo
, wrapped him in a weighted sail and lowered him into the ocean the following day.

So now they were a crew member short, but Rian wasn’t in a hurry to take anyone else on—waiting, Kitty suspected, until the wound left by Sharkey’s death was a little less raw. Even she missed him, and Sharkey had been the only one of the
Katipo
’s crew she had never really taken to.

They had been all over the world during the past three years, buying, selling, trading and doing a little bit of smuggling when the situation made the opportunity worthwhile. Rian never referred to it as smuggling, though. He liked to say that they were providing a service to those in need by furnishing at a competitive price certain items that various authorities frowned upon, such as alcohol, tobacco and firearms. It had long since ceased to bother Kitty, as Rian was always fairly circumspect regarding whom he supplied with what, and never did anything his conscience could not live with. If pioneers and settlers wanted to drink and smoke themselves into a stupor, then who was he to deny them? But if they insisted on actively forcing their rule onto the natives of the lands in which they had settled, then he felt morally obliged to supply those natives with the means to fight back. It was a matter of principle, he had said to Kitty on several occasions.

Their life together had so far been all she could have hoped for. Despite Rian’s initial worries, she had never grown bored with being at sea, and spent much of her time learning the craft of sailing and helping out on deck whenever possible. And even if she had wanted to do those dull domestic things a wife was supposed to do, like cook for her husband, Pierre wouldn’t let her into the
Katipo
’s tiny galley, unless he was specifically teaching her how to prepare a certain dish. And the rest of the crew, being true sailors, were very tidy and did all their own cleaning and
washing, so there was nothing for her there either. She read, and sewed and embroidered occasionally, but mostly she was up on deck, learning what she could about the world’s great, wide, beautiful oceans. And she loved Rian now more than ever, even though they still argued on a fairly regular basis. They fought above decks, below decks and in the mess-room, but never in bed, which was the one place where they put their differences of opinion aside and revelled in the passion, excitement and comfort of each other.

The only thing that saddened her was that there had been no babies so far. She didn’t know why. Her courses had been late on four or five occasions over the past few years, but had always arrived eventually, albeit a little heavier than normal, and a little more painful. Sometimes she wondered, as she washed out her napkins in a bucket of sea water, whether she was rinsing away the beginnings of a new life, but there was no one to ask, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

And she had to admit that, until a year or so ago, her desire to become a mother hadn’t exactly been all-consuming. But if a baby had come along she was sure she could have managed very happily. Lately, though, something inside her seemed to have changed and she found herself thinking more and more about what it would be like to have a child of her own. And sometimes the daydream became an actual yearning, an ache she felt somewhere deep in her belly and in her heart. It was as though her body were starting to clamour for something it needed, without even bothering to consult her consciousness.

It also bothered her that Rian had been rather evasive on the rare occasions she had raised the matter, although she knew of course that his first wife and child had been lost at sea, and attributed his reticence to that. All he would do was kiss her nose, say that a working schooner was no place to raise a child, and tell her that he loved her.

Bodie stretched, climbed out of her rope nest, sharpened her claws on the back of Rian’s leg and wandered off across the deck.

Rian rubbed absently at the scratches, then raised his spyglass and swept his gaze across the sparkling, deep blue harbour.

‘Can you see him?’ Kitty asked.

‘No. I would have thought he’d be out here like a robber’s dog the minute he spotted our ensign.’ Rian lowered the glass, gazed for a minute longer towards the red brick and white stone warehouses and sheds crowding the shoreline of Sydney Cove, squinted, raised the glass again and swore. Then he shouted for Hawk.

Hawk appeared a moment later, and Rian handed him the spyglass. ‘Someone’s coming out. Is it him, do you think?’

‘No, that is not Kinghazel,’ Hawk answered eventually. ‘Too skinny.’

Rian looked again at the rowboat that had been launched from the wharf in front of the customs house and was now moving steadily towards them. ‘Drop anchor!’ he called to Ropata over his shoulder. Almost immediately, the anchor chain rattled furiously as it paid out.

‘Perhaps he’s been watching his diet,’ Kitty suggested.

‘I doubt it. That man is as much a glutton as he is a prick,’ Rian replied. He frowned, and the three of them leaned on the rail in silence to wait as the rowboat drew closer and closer.

Kitty felt a bubble of unease form in the pit of her stomach. Walter Kinghazel was the customs and excise man who had arrested Rian in 1840 for failing to pay duty on a shipment of alcohol and tobacco. Unknown to Kitty, Rian hadn’t paid it, but, believing that the receipts had simply been lost, she had risked her own freedom to obtain counterfeit receipts from a master forger incarcerated in Hyde Park Barracks, a very unpleasant piece of work named Avery Bannerman. The forged receipts
had been presented in court and the charges dropped, but Kitty knew she would not have been able to secure those documents if it hadn’t been for Daniel Royce, a young soldier at the barracks who had turned a blind eye at a crucial moment.

Rian had walked free, but Walter Kinghazel had known damn well that Rian hadn’t paid any duty, receipts or no, and everyone on board the
Katipo
was sure he would have another attempt at bringing Rian to justice the very next time they showed their faces in Sydney. Their cargo was completely licit this time, and they had had to return so they could take Wai home, but still they were very uneasy; Walter Kinghazel was a powerful and notoriously malicious man.

When the rowboat was no more than a furlong away, Rian raised the glass again. ‘It’s definitely not Kinghazel. But it’s someone in the Queen’s uniform.’

A minute later, whoever was in the boat set down his oars and took up a loudhailer.

‘Ahoy the schooner! Customs and excise preparing to board!’

‘Shite,’ Rian said.

When the rowboat bumped against the
Katipo
’s hull, Rian dropped the rope ladder over the side and waited until an unfamiliar face appeared at the rail. The man stepped onto the deck and adjusted his hat, which had come adrift during his ascent.

‘Good morning. Bartholomew Nixon, customs and excise. Ma’am,’ he said, nodding to Kitty and offering Rian his hand.

Rian shook it. ‘Captain Rian Farrell, at your service.’

‘Captain, I need to inspect your vessel in accordance with—’

Rian waved the end of Mr Nixon’s sentence away. ‘Yes, we’re familiar with all that. What’s happened to Walter Kinghazel?’

Nixon, a tallish man with red hair and fair, freckly skin that obviously wasn’t taking to the harsh antipodean sun, paused for
a moment. Then he said flatly, ‘Mr Kinghazel is deceased.’

Rian tried to keep the elation out of his voice. ‘Deceased? That’s dreadful, Mr Nixon. I’m astonished.’

Mr Nixon regarded Rian thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure you are, Captain. Particularly given your past dealings with him.’

Oh dear, Kitty thought.

‘Walter Kinghazel was murdered,’ Nixon went on. ‘His throat was cut, on his own front doorstep, no less.’

Kitty had despised Walter Kinghazel, but she was still shocked. ‘That’s awful, Mr Nixon. Did they catch whoever did it?’

‘No, Ma’am, unfortunately they haven’t. Not yet, anyway.’

‘When did this happen?’ Rian asked.

‘In May of this year.’

‘Surely the trail will be cold by now?’

Nixon shrugged. ‘I’m not privy to the constabulary’s criminal investigations—not to that extent, anyway. But it has been rumoured that, of late, there have been one or two strong leads. Unfortunately Mr Kinghazel was not a popular man, which has somewhat muddied the waters of the investigation, so to speak.’

Kitty was extremely relieved that they hadn’t been in Sydney six months earlier, or fingers might well have been pointed directly at Rian. He wasn’t popular with the authorities and his long-running battle with Walter Kinghazel had been very public knowledge.

‘But back to matters at hand,’ Nixon said. ‘I need to inspect your vessel. I can do it now, or I can come back with an official escort.’

‘Do it now. I’ll take you down to the hold, if you like,’ Rian offered.

‘Thank you, Captain. That is most co-operative of you.’ Nixon sounded as though he had been expecting something else entirely.

It took him an hour to pick through the cargo in the
Katipo
’s hold, but he found nothing to concern him and Rian paid the small amount of duty due. By the time Nixon had finished, the crew were ready to go ashore.

‘Not much has changed.’ Gideon stepped over a pile of horse manure as they walked up George Street and turned into Suffolk Lane. ‘More buildings, perhaps.’

Gazing around, Kitty agreed: The Rocks was as crowded, dirty, noisy and vibrant as it had been when she’d arrived in March 1840. And that distinctive combination of smells—freshly baked bread mixed with the stenches of sewage and the slaughteryard further up the hill—was as strong as ever. Then, though, she had had Wai beside her, and she frowned as a pang of grief stabbed at her.

‘All right?’ Rian, walking next to her, asked quietly.

Kitty nodded. ‘Just remembering the first time we were here.’

Rian took her hand. He knew how much she still missed her friend, and he recalled very clearly himself the appalling shock of Wai’s death.

They would be there for only a week or so this time—just long enough to unload their current cargo, take on another for New Zealand, and make the arrangements to finally take Wai home. When they reached the juncture of Suffolk Lane and Gloucester Street they parted ways, agreeing to meet up again later in the Bird-in-Hand public house.

Rian and Kitty continued along Suffolk Lane to visit Rian’s sister, Enya Mason, who owned a dressmaking business there. Her shop was empty when they stepped through the door, so Rian vigorously rang the little silver bell on the counter. Nothing happened for a moment, then a voice called from the recesses of the shop, ‘I won’t be a minute!’

Eventually Enya appeared, an enormous smile lighting up her face. ‘Rian! You’re back!’ She darted around the counter and hurried to her brother, her arms wide. They embraced, then Enya stepped back and looked him up and down. ‘Still the same,’ she said, laughing. ‘Still scruffy!’ She turned to Kitty and gave her a warm hug. ‘And Kitty, it’s so lovely to see you. Has my brother been looking after you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Kitty said happily. ‘I couldn’t ask for more. It’s wonderful, being married.’ She smiled warmly at her stunningly beautiful sister-in-law, of whom she had once been searingly jealous when she’d thought Enya was Rian’s lover.

Enya looked wistful for a moment, remembering, Kitty guessed, her own husband who had died in 1839. ‘Yes, it is wonderful, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I recommend it wholeheartedly.’

‘No one on the horizon?’ Rian asked.

Enya looked coy. ‘Well, actually, now that you mention it, there might be.’

‘Oh,’ Rian said, clearly surprised because for so long Enya had seemed content to live her life as a widow. ‘Do I know him?’

‘No, and so what if you don’t, big brother?’ Enya replied. ‘I’m a successful businesswoman and I’m perfectly capable of knowing my own mind, thank you very much.’

Rian said exasperatedly, ‘I
know
you know your own mind, En. It’s the successful businesswoman bit that I’m worried about. He might be after your money.’

‘Unlikely. He has far more than I have.’

‘Oh,’ Rian said again, his sails suddenly without wind. ‘But I think I should meet him.’

‘Not this time. He’s at sea.’

‘Oh Christ, he’s not a bloody merchant seaman, is he?’

‘What’s wrong with merchant seamen?’ Kitty said.

Rian frowned at her. ‘Well, they do tend to drown, don’t they?’

Kitty laughed. ‘What? Like traders and part-time smugglers?’

‘I suppose,’ Rian conceded. ‘But you can’t blame me, Enya, you’ve already been widowed once.’