The Silk Thief (8 page)

Then Walter had killed that devil Furniss, and Leo had known that the only thing he could do for the lad was put him on a ship back to England, even though it had almost broken his heart. He was sorry about what had happened — to the very marrow in his bones — and regretted it immensely. He should have killed Furniss himself. Walter would have been robbed of the satisfaction, but no twelve-year-old boy was equipped to shoulder that sort of moral burden. He would pay for it one way or another as he grew up.

There was one thing he could still do for the lad, though. He went to the mantel above the fireplace and took down a wooden box, opened it and withdrew a folded sheet of paper, which he’d found tucked into his jacket pocket after Walter’s ship had sailed. Walter must have scribbled it out at Serafina’s — she’d hidden him that first day after the murder. It was untidily sealed with three fat blobs of her distinctive pale rose sealing wax — one over the long join and one at the fold at each end — which was a bit excessive. Three blobs were also quite rude, implying that the bearer of the letter could not be trusted not to peep inside and read the contents. Leo, however, knew that Walter had trusted him implicitly, therefore that much wax must mean the lad was trying, in a clumsy way, to protect him.

Accompanying the note had been another, this one not sealed. It said:

Deer leo

Plees giv this lettar to Bella shand on Cumbarlind street. It wil save Harry and fryday and Sara. I wil not forget yu.

Walter

Leo wouldn’t forget Walter, either. Every time he read the note, especially the last sentence, his eyes teared up. He’d deliver the sealed letter this morning. But Bella Shand? What the hell did the girls think they were doing getting involved with that nasty piece of work?

Leo stood several feet back from the gates, eyeing the dogs with distaste and more than a touch of fear. Muscles bunched with hostile tension, they stood with their snouts pushed though the wrought iron pickets, strings of spit hanging from their jaws, growling like hellhounds. He wondered if there was another way in. Surely visitors didn’t have to run the gauntlet past these beasts every time they called? Or, given the rumours he’d heard about some of the unpleasant characters Bella did business with, perhaps that was the point? Still, he wasn’t standing out here shouting himself hoarse until someone came to let him in.

He crunched across the gravel at the back of the house, which actually faced the street, past tidy garden beds and a statue of a naked cherub wielding a trumpet, until he came to a small door in the far end of the building, fortunately on this side of the fence. He knocked and waited. Eventually a shifty-eyed woman opened it.

‘Yes?’

‘Mrs Shand, please.’

‘Who’s asking?’

‘My name is Leonard Dundas.’

‘What’s your business?’

Leo made a well-educated guess concerning the subject of Walter’s letter. ‘Amos Furniss.’

The woman stared at him sourly for a moment. Then she said, ‘Hold on,’ and shut the door in his face.

Leo had a horrible few minutes of wondering if she was letting the dogs out so they could race around the house and surprise him.

She opened the door again. ‘Come in.’

He followed her down a hallway, then past a staircase and into a light-filled reception room. French doors led to a verandah with a stunning view of Sydney Cove, though this morning the doors were closed against the briskly cool winter weather.

Bella Shand sat at an expansive writing desk against the wall opposite the French doors. Leo, who had never met her, had expected her to be old and ill-favoured, perhaps even grotesque — physical traits that would be commensurate with her reputation — but she wasn’t. She was quite attractive in a sharp, hawkish sort of way, though extremely thin. She was possibly in her thirties, though her thick face paint made it difficult to judge her true age. Her coal-black, heavily ringletted hair gleamed (surely such shine and abundance signified a wig?) and she was certainly beautifully dressed, even Leo could see that. He could also see why Clarence chose to marry her: privately, Clarence might prefer men, but she would make a good foil.

Inherently, however, there was something deeply unpleasant about her. She seemed … reptilian. Also, a very fierce intelligence burnt behind her eyes. Leo decided he would do very well not to cross her, and prayed he wasn’t about to do just that.

‘Mr Dundas,’ she said. She didn’t smile.

She had an unusual voice, too. Low, but very rich and full. Alluring and quite mesmerising.

‘Mrs Shand.’ Leo offered his hand.

She rose to meet him. ‘Amos Furniss,’ she said without preamble.

‘Aye. I’ve been asked to deliver to you a letter. I gather it concerns him. Or rather, his death.’ Leo retrieved Walter’s note from his jacket pocket, hoping like hell it did. He would look an absolute fool if it didn’t.

Bella took the letter, returned to her chair, broke the seals and read it quickly. ‘Who wrote this?’ she demanded. ‘A half-trained monkey? Who’s this Walter Cobley?’

‘Writing isn’t his strong suit.’

‘Is this true, what he’s said?’ Bella held up the letter.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t read it.’

Bella looked as though she didn’t believe him, but said, ‘He says
he
killed Furniss, not Friday Woolfe and her crew. Who is he? Why would he kill Amos Furniss?’

Shocked, Leo thought,
Friday?
Why does she think Friday murdered Furniss? But, keeping his face neutral, he said, ‘Walter was a victim of Furniss’s thoroughly unpleasant habits. He had the great misfortune of sailing with Furniss on the
Isla
.’

‘That
child
?’ Bella looked vaguely startled. ‘The ship’s
boy
?’

‘Aye.’

‘But how do you know him?’

‘He jumped ship. I took him in. He’s been lodging with me ever since.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Long gone.’

‘Back to England?’

‘Let’s just say he’s gone,’ Leo said. ‘I care for the lad.’

Bella drummed her manicured fingernails on the polished surface of her desk, then said, ‘Well, I have to say, Furniss reaped what he sowed.’ She glanced at Leo. ‘But we all do, don’t we? I’d like you to take Friday Woolfe a message, if you will.’

‘How do you know we’re even acquainted?’

Bella stared at him unblinkingly. ‘I know a lot of things, Mr Dundas. Will you take her a message or not?’

Leo briefly considered agreeing, providing Bella told him why she thought Friday had killed Furniss, but suspected he’d have more luck getting the answer from Friday herself. Bella Shand would probably lie. She clearly didn’t like Friday — he’d heard it in her voice when she’d said Friday’s name.

‘I will,’ he said, ‘but I won’t be involved in any transaction that might cause Miss Woolfe or her friends harm.’

Bella shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Of course not.’

Lighting a taper, she slotted a nib into a silver holder and wrote a short note, blotted the ink, then folded it. From a flat wooden box she selected a stick of jade-green wax, and held one end over the taper’s flame, turning it around and around so each side warmed evenly. Finally the wax melted sufficiently and, not bothering with a wafer, she placed a blob across the join and pressed down with a seal.

Then she started all over again.

Oh, for God’s sake, Leo thought, get on with it.

In the end she sealed the letter four times.

‘You’re even ruder than Walter,’ Leo said.

Bella’s eyes narrowed unpleasantly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You can assume I won’t look. I have more integrity than that.’

And he
wouldn’t
look. He’d find out some other way.

Elizabeth opened the front door. ‘Good afternoon. May I help you?’

‘Aye, I’d like to see Friday Woolfe, if you please.’ The man smiled.

He was probably her age, tall, had fair hair greying to silver tied back in a neat cue, a moustache and a short beard, gold earrings and a gold tooth. Obviously a sailor. The tars loved Friday.

‘I’m afraid she’s fully occupied for the next few days. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll check the appointment book. She might have something on Saturday.’

Apparently amused, the man shook his head. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I’m not a customer. I just need to talk to her.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name.’

‘I haven’t said it. It’s Leo Dundas.’

‘Oh, you’re the tattooist!’ Elizabeth offered her hand. ‘You know, I can’t
tell
you what your tattoos have done for my bank balance. The gentlemen love them. Friday’s my most popular girl.’

‘Aye, well, I don’t think that’s the reason she has herself tattooed.’

‘No, but still, every cloud.’

‘You’re not keen on the art of tattoo?’

‘I wasn’t. I must admit I did think they were, well, cheap. But lately I’ve come to appreciate them.’

‘Now that you’ve seen the contribution they make to your coffers?’

‘Something like that, yes,’ Elizabeth confessed. ‘Friday can probably see you for fifteen minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.’

Leo didn’t. Elizabeth gave him the choice of sitting in her office, or in the salon with a waiting customer and three of her girls. Leo, never averse to the sight of an attractive young lady, chose the salon.

‘Afternoon,’ Leo said to the cove already settled on the sofa, his top hat balanced on his knee.

‘Good afternoon.’

‘Proper weather for staying indoors,’ Leo remarked as he sank into an armchair by the robustly banked fire.

‘It is that.’

A blonde girl with lovely brown eyes and a temptingly full bosom gave him a welcoming smile. ‘Good day, sir. I’m Connie. Do you have a specific appointment or would you like to choose?’

‘Yes!’ a gorgeously plump lass with shining brown hair said enthusiastically. ‘You can have Connie, or me — I’m Hazel — or you can have Loulou.’

Loulou, Leo presumed, was the petite, raven-haired beauty on the end of the sofa fluttering her eyelashes at him.

‘Actually,’ he said apologetically, ‘I’m here to see Friday.’

There was a delicate but deliberate snort of derision from Loulou. He fixed her with a stony-faced gaze: she stared right back, not bothering with the fluttery eyelashes now. He looked at his watch and wondered if the other cove was waiting for Friday as well.

When she pranced in minutes later, she stopped short and said, ‘What are you doing here?’

The man on the sofa stood.

So did Leo. ‘We need to talk. In private.’

Connie and Hazel tittered, highly entertained.

‘Just one minute!’ the other man exclaimed. ‘I have an appointment!’

Friday walked slowly across the floor towards him, her hips swinging and the semi-transparent fabric of her robe sliding away from her long, long legs. Leo was amused to watch her wrap muscled but lithe arms he himself had expertly tattooed around the cove’s neck and whisper in his ear. He reddened immediately, but nodded and returned to his seat, his hat over his lap.

Friday beckoned: Leo followed her out of the salon. As they passed the open door to Elizabeth Hislop’s office, Elizabeth called out, ‘Any more than fifteen minutes, and you charge him!’

Leo couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not.

‘I take it the little dark one, Loulou, doesn’t like you,’ Leo said as they climbed the stairs.

Flicking him a sour look, Friday said, ‘She hates my guts, and I hate hers. Bloody light-fingered, too. Did Harrie tell you someone tried to break into the safe here last year? It was her, I’m sure of it.
And
she’s spying on me.’

‘Really? Why?’ Leo asked, but Friday had clamped her mouth shut.

On the first floor she ushered Leo into a small, smartly furnished bedchamber, and closed the door.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked immediately.

Leo remained standing. ‘I’ve just been to see Bella Shand.’

Friday had been on the alert minutes earlier; now every nerve in her body was jangling. ‘Why? You don’t even know her.’

‘Young Walter left a letter, to be delivered after he sailed.’

‘Did you open it?’ Friday demanded. Bloody hell, what had Walter said about them? What did Leo know?

‘I did not. It wasn’t addressed to me.’

‘Did Bella tell you what it said?’

‘He admitted to killing Furniss.’

‘Christ, really? What did Bella say?’

‘She wanted to know who Walter is, if what he’d written was true, and where he is now.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘I said it was true. She said she remembered Walter from the
Isla
. But as to his whereabouts, all I said was he’d left Sydney.’

‘She must know he’s on a ship for England.’

‘I’m sure, but what can she do about it now? Friday, you do know why Walter wrote that letter, don’t you?’ Leo asked. ‘He did it to protect you, so she wouldn’t come after you and Harrie and Sarah.’

‘I know, but …’ Friday stopped, realising that Leo was staring at her, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

‘What I don’t understand is why
would
she have come after you?’

Friday said nothing, feeling her face begin to burn. She sat on the bed.

‘Unless,’ Leo went on, ‘perhaps she thought you, or maybe Harrie or Sarah, killed Furniss.’

‘Shut up,’ Friday said.

Leo ignored her. ‘But for her to think that, she must have known that at least one of you was in that burial ground with Furniss when he died. So, was it you, Friday?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Really, Leo, I can’t tell you.’

Leo took Bella’s note from his jacket pocket. ‘You can if you want this.’

‘Is that from her? To me?’

‘Yes, but you’re not getting it till you tell me exactly what’s going on.’

Friday put her face in her hands. God. Their secret was starting to seep out like whey from a cheese press. Forced now to say something, she admitted that they were making regular blackmail payments to Bella, then repeated the story Sarah had given Adam and said it was to stop her from telling Governor Darling that she, Friday, had murdered Liz Parker aboard the
Isla
.