Brigid the Girl from County Clare Page 9

  Brigid slid her arms around the other woman’s waist and hugged her close. “And you for me.”

  Easing out of the embrace Sally said, “Now, remember what I told you on our first day on this tub?”

  Brigid shook her head.

  “I said – don’t trust anyone. And I mean it.”

  “What, not even you?”

  Sally laughed mirthlessly. “Especially not me, hen. Not even me, unless I loves ya, that is. Then I’ll fend for you with me life. But I’m warning you. Just like what I said about family. They’ll hurt you to get what they want. Your Jamie will.”

  “No. Not our Jamie. He’s not like that.”

  Sally shrugged her shoulders and pulled a face, unconvinced by Brigid’s zealous defence.

  “If you say so. And make sure you con that Mr Philip Harrison-Browne, not the other way around.”

  “Con? What con? What are you saying? You’ve been telling me to encourage him, now you’re warning me against him.”

  “Like I said. It takes one to know one. You just watch when he does that hair thing. He’s right out o’ sorts when he does it. Be careful.”

  On the way around the northernmost tip of Queensland, heavy tropical rainstorms made the decks and rails greasy and slippery. By now everyone was used to the dry heat, but this sticky wet cloak was suffocating. The bedding and clothing became damp to the touch. Books curled at the edges, and perspiration ran in rivulets upon faces already flushed pink. After all they had suffered, many found the oppressive air the last straw. Tears flowed and tempers flared, and as the relentless rain continued and the humidity increased they found themselves, often as not, restricted below decks. She hated it. Never mind what the weather was doing, nothing would stop her going topside to escape the rank odours of stale food and sour sweat.

  Unwilling to give up their daily promenade, Philip managed to locate an umbrella, much to the amusement – and envy – of the others. While insufficient for the deluges, it did provide protection from the scattered showers.

  “I’m used to walking in the rain,” Brigid said, wearing a gossamer wool shawl draped over her head and shoulders as they trod carefully along the glistening deck. “And wool is the best for keeping out the damp, but my long coat will be far too heavy for this hot climate. Does it ever get cold here?”

  “In the hinterland, so I’m told, but not by the standards you are used to, I wouldn’t think. Did you make that shawl?”

  “Not this one. My ma wove it from wool she’d spun. It’s very fine work and light to wear. But I can spin and weave, aye.”

  “That will suit my plans perfectly.” He kissed her on the cheek, gave her a devilish wink and changed the subject.

  Wednesday, 8th December 1886

  The ship dropped fourteen passengers off at Cooktown today. I stood and watched them go, even though I didn’t know anyone. It helps pass the time. The rain has eased over the last couple of days, and the long breaks between downpours means people are back up on deck again. But today is such a grey day – all steamy and misty. I hope the sun is shining when we get to Brisbane. We said our goodbyes in the rain; I don’t want to be welcomed by the rain.

  We are expected in Townsville sometime tomorrow. Sally is getting off there, and I shall miss her – but I don’t want to think about it just yet.

  I’ve been working on my lace a lot more lately. It’s given my hands something to do while I worry about Sally. I’ve only just found out she can fleece the men at cards. I don’t know what to think about that. It’s so dishonest, but somehow I can’t help feel Sally deserves her winnings. I think life has been tough for her, but I wish I knew what she had in mind for me. I can’t see how men who play cards fit with my idea of selling my lace to upper-class ladies and their houses.

  But we’ll see. I trust Sally. I know whatever she comes up with will be the best for me, and her, together. I trust Philip too – but in a different way. Or at least I think I do. I know Sally doesn’t trust him, but I think the way he flicks his hair back is quite sweet.

  Whatever the case, I suspect Philip will come up with something that is pleasing to me, but that will be much better for him. It may turn out to be the same thing, but I can’t say for sure, that I can’t.

  In need of some time alone to think, Brigid took her crochet work and sought a quieter spot. Her fingers flew as she worked the hook in, around, through and out. Listening to the now familiar sounds of the ship she let her mind drift.

  Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She shivered in a futile attempt to rid herself of something she’d surely imagined. Even knowing she’d see dozens of people talking in groups nearby or walking the decks past her, and possibly even Philip watching her, she couldn’t help looking around just in case anything unusual was happening.

  She lurched the moment she glimpsed the blurred flash of movement and glint of light from the corner of her eye. Maggie came into focus brandishing a knife thrust in Brigid’s direction.

  The shock was so great Brigid barely noticed the blade slice through her clothing and graze her leg as Maggie tripped over her skirts. The weapon slipped from Maggie’s grasp, skimming noisily away, and spun to a stop further along the deck.

  Growling like an enraged animal at finding herself sprawled across Brigid’s lap, Maggie rolled inelegantly onto the boards at her feet. Brief seconds passed as both girls stared at one another: Brigid in shocked horror, Maggie in a white-hot fury. Vaguely aware of people gathering closer, drawn by the drama, Brigid couldn’t seem to move or speak.

  Maggie began to struggle with the tangle of skirt and petticoats, trying to get to her feet, a crazed expression on her face. Several strands of hair came loose adding to the mad-woman image as she suddenly charged at Brigid, screaming, “Jezebel.”

  Coming to her senses, Brigid hastily rose, stepping out of harm’s way as Maggie came at her, hands clawed ready to strike. The girl spun past and crashed to the deck again, the knife lying within inches of her outstretched fingers. An inhuman sound escaped Maggie’s throat when a booted foot kicked the blade out of reach.

  “Are ye hurt, Breeda?” Jamie looked anxious and confused. His shadow was cast over the prone Maggie who sobbed uncontrollably.

  Brigid shook her head. “No. But what is going on, Jamie?” she asked finding her voice at last.

  Jamie stood between them, looking to and fro, as if undecided as to which of the two young women he should go to.

  “She’s bedevilled with the idea you’ll stop me being with her,” he shrugged in explanation, bending to help Maggie to her feet.

  She rested her chin on his shoulder and wrapped one arm around his neck, while his arm encircled her waist.

  Brigid’s temper flared. “She’s right on that count an’ all. What are ye t’inking, ye great clod? You’re only eighteen. You canna ‘be’ with her!”

  “You’re lying,” Maggie snarled, turning to face Brigid. “I told ye, Jamie, she’s jealous and wants to keep you for herself. Well you can’t have him. He’s mine. I tell you. Stick with your own man. You ... you ...” She tightened her grip on Jamie’s neck.

  “Hush now, mo chailín,” soothed Jamie. “Shush, I say.” Turning to Brigid, he said, “Aye, well. Maybe I shoulda been more honest. I said I was older like. I feel older. And I’m nineteen soon.”

  “Aye, and like that’s going to make any difference.”

  “I’ve got to be a man now in this new place with nobody to tell me I can or can’t, ’cept what I choose. There’s no one telling you what’s right when you’re walking out with that toff.”

  Brigid sighed, aware that more people than needed to know were listening. But he was right. He’d not said a word against her and her friendship with Philip. He didn’t exactly encourage her, but he’d not criticised either. She wanted the freedom to choose, as much as he did, but she’d always looked out for him, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that her role?

  “That’s as maybe, Jamie, and I’m not trying to tell you
what to do. Just asking ye to be careful and t’ink on it. Will ye do that for me, at least?”

  Jamie nodded silently. Maggie’s head, encased in his large hand, rested against his shoulder. Her body trembled, but she stayed quiet, her arms clasped around his waist. By now word had spread. Michael pushed his way through the crowd with Laura and Jane in tow.

  “Get your hands off my sister, you feckin’ shoibag.” Grabbing Maggie’s arm he wrenched her away from Jamie. “And what do you think you are doing, yer gom head, bringing shame on me like this?” He shook her so violently her head rolled around like a rag doll. “Ye’re no’ fit to be left with young wans. Now come away.”

  Clamping her wrist in an iron-like grip, he strode towards the crowd, shoving aside anyone barring his path with his free hand. “Get out o’ my way. Move, or you’ll be sorry,” he growled, jerking the resistant and sobbing Maggie behind him.

  As soon as they disappeared from sight, the whispers started. Jamie stared defiantly towards Brigid. A sense of foreboding washed over her. Unwilling to say anything further in front of a crowd of semi-strangers, or provide them with more gossip, Brigid turned on her heel and forced her way through the mass. Choking back the tears threatening to overwhelm her, she didn’t see Sally as she surged past.

  “Wait, lass,” her friend called, quickly catching up. She put her arms around Brigid’s shoulder and gave her a quick hug. “Well, then. What a to-do that was an’ all. I told you family only causes trouble. Leave him be, lass. Let him make his own mistakes. You’ve your own life to lead.”

  Brigid nodded mutely.

  “Come on, let’s walk a bit until you clear your mind. You can talk later.”

  Listening while her friend chatted on about this bit of gossip and that bit of news, most of it going over her head, she was grateful. Sally had the knack of turning up just when she was needed most. “Are you hurt, lass?”

  Brigid shook her head but glanced down to where Sally was pointing at the slash in her skirt, and noticed a stain of blood. “’Tis nothing much,” she answered, even though she could feel the trickle run down her leg.

  “That’s as maybe, but we should take a look. Do you have another petticoat?”

  “Aye. In my carry bag.”

  The two women made their way down the companionway, blinking to adjust to the darkness. Brigid climbed onto her bunk and reached for her bag behind her pillow. She’d left her best petticoat rolled up in one corner, and it unfolded as she withdrew it. Goose bumps prickled her skin.

  She turned the petticoat inside out and around and around, discarding it as she scrabbled in her bag, wildly tossing everything onto the mattress and searching frantically among her possessions.

  “What’s the matter?” Sally reached out and touched Brigid’s shoulder to reassure her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “It’s gone. I can’t find it.”

  “What’s gone?”

  “My great-grandmother’s brooch. It was here. I’m sure I pinned it to the inside of my petticoat so I wouldn’t lose it. But it’s not there now.” Agitated, tears rolled down Brigid’s face. “Where is it? Who could have taken it?”

  “Are ye sure?” Sally pulled Brigid’s trunk from underneath her berth. “Could you have put it in here?”

  Momentarily Brigid’s hopes were raised, but she sat back, defeated, with her legs dangling over the side of the bunk. “No. I’m absolutely certain I pinned it to my petticoat. I remember doing it and putting it separate. I’ve not worn the petticoat since we left London.”

  Sally opened the trunk nevertheless and both women gasped. Her best dress, another set of work clothes and all Brigid’s household linens lay jumbled and tangled inside.

  “Someone’s been rummaging through here, that’s for certain, but that petticoat of yours was still neatly rolled, so whoever looked in here wasn’t the one who went through your holdall. Is anything else missing?”

  Brigid checked again. Her Bible was still there, and her rosary and prayer book. Her hair comb, a book of poems and the rest of her clothes and eating utensils were all as she expected to find them. And her grandmother’s hand-spun shawl, a precious and favoured item. She held it to her face, hoping to get a hint of her grandmother’s essence but was disappointed.

  She knelt on the floor beside Sally and took everything out of the trunk, one at a time, to make sure. She carefully refolded the linen and clothing, and laid each piece on the bed ready to repack. Another rosary, one her sister had given her just before she left, she found at the bottom of the trunk, lying loose amongst the tableware her grandmothers, many of her aunts and some of the villagers had contributed to her dowry.

  Brigid picked up the rosary. “Thank goodness this is still here. My sister made it for me, but I didn’t leave it loose like this. I put it inside a little bag Nellie embroidered, but that’s missing as well. She’s a beautiful seamstress – almost as good as me, even though she’s much younger.”

  Sally struggled to her feet with a groan and clutched her back. “I’ll ask around a bit and see if anyone’s seen or heard anything.”

  Brigid nodded. “It’s not likely anyone’s going to admit to anything, though, is it? It’s gone. I just have to accept it, I suppose. But it breaks my heart, Sally. It sure does. I didn’t want to leave them behind, but I had no choice, and now my last link with my family has gone too.”

  She broke down then, laid her arms on the bunk and sobbed for the life she had lost.

  The rain had stopped by the time they reached Townsville the next day. The whole ship, crew and passengers, appeared on deck ready to farewell the greatest number disembarking so far. Those left behind created a fearful noise with cornets, fiddles, flutes, tin whistles, spoons and plates, or whooped and hollered at the top of their voices.

  Brigid and Jamie stood back from the crowd. Neither wanted to join in the celebration. She’d said her goodbyes to Sally earlier that morning. The two women had wept and promised to keep in touch – although Brigid doubted it, knowing Sally’s writing skills were poor. As a going-away gift, she gave Sally some crocheted lace pieces.

  “You can sell them if you need money, I won’t mind, or they’d make fine collars.”

  Sally unclasped the thin chain she wore and placed it in Brigid’s hand, folding her fingers over her palm.

  “It’s naw much, I know, but ’tis all I have for now. Goodbye, my dear friend. I shall miss you. But one day I’ll turn up when you least expect me, and it’ll be all for the good.”

  They hung on to each other for several moments, trying to control their tears and the urge to never let go. Sally broke their hold first, smoothed her hands down her skirt and, with one last look of longing, picked up her bags and made her way up the companionway as fast as possible.

  On deck, Brigid didn’t watch her go.

  Michael, Maggie and the two girls were also in the number disembarking.

  She’d spent hours trying to talk sense into Jamie after yesterday’s debacle. “How do you think you can support any wife, and the babbies to follow, until you have a home and a job? Be sensible, Jamie. I’m not saying you can’t be with her one day, but you have to be settled first. There’s time, our lad.”

  “No. There isn’t. She’s leaving. And anyway – who are you to talk? Walking about with that toff. Is he going to offer for you?”

  “Never mind me for now. There must be ways of getting to and from Townsville to Brisbane. Sally and I think we can. Wait a while and maybe you can go see her when you know the lie of the land. See what happens after that.”

  But Jamie wouldn’t listen; he wanted to go with Maggie.

  Brigid tried desperately to convince him to stay with her. “She’s not the one for you, our Jamie. She’s bedevilled. You said so yourself. She needs help. Look at what she did to me? How do you know she won’t do something like that to you if you cross her, or worse, to one of the babbies?”

  “She’d never. She loves me – and I love her. I should be
with her.” His voice cracked and he coughed to cover his embarrassment at having spoken so openly.

  “Why? Da would tell you love doesn’t come into it. It’s what brings harmony and property and money to the marriage that counts. There’s none of that with her.”

  “That’s as maybe, our Breeda. But we have to make a new life now and p’haps we need new rules to match. Even you should see that – and it could be you need them new rules as much as me.”

  He’d left her then, and she’d not seen him again until now.

  She turned to look up at him, concern written on her face. “Aye, well, Jamie. The time has come, it seems. The captain’ll not let you ashore, ye know that.”

  “Not officially, no. But there are ways.”

  Brigid’s heart sank. “What are you thinking?”

  He dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head and disappeared into the crowd before she had time to react. “Nooo ... Jamie. No. Don’t go. I beg you. Don’t go.”

  Pushing and shoving her way after him, she stopped only long enough to ask people if they’d seen him. They all shook their heads, too engrossed in the activities onshore to be interested.

  Frantically she searched between decks, except for the single men’s quarters and the saloon area, where she was forbidden. She forced her way back and forth along the upper deck again; she even checked the makeshift bathroom, hoping she’d find him somewhere, but didn’t.

  Drained of energy, she leant against the rail near the stern, her chest heaving from her exertions and, her gut churning with dread, she caught a glimpse of something. From that angle, Brigid couldn’t see exactly what was happening at first, but one thing she was sure about as it swung into view: Jamie was hanging onto the side of a net full of mail sacks being bundled ashore.

  “Ja ... mie. Jaa ... mieee ...” Her voice was lost in the cacophony. She watched helplessly as he stepped onto the shore, joined the milling crowds and vanished from sight. “Jamie!” she wailed, waving furiously to attract his attention, before sinking to the deck in tears.