Girl of Shadows by Deborah Challinor Page A

sure Charlotte and Rosie received.
    ‘Lotta,’ Rosie said, laying a proprietary little hand on Charlotte’s chubby bare foot.
    ‘Yes! That’s Charlotte, isn’t it?’ Harrie said, delighted. ‘When did she start talking, Janie?’
    ‘Said her first proper word two weeks ago,’ Janie replied proudly.
    ‘Really? What was it?’
    ‘Bugger.’
    Friday roared with laughter, startling Charlotte so her little hands flew out.
    Janie laughed, too, when she heard about Sarah’s plan to haunt Esther Green, but shook her head reproachfully as Harrie told her about James Downey’s latest attempt to get her to talk to him.
    ‘You know, Harrie, you been playing this silly game for ages. Don’t you think it’s time you got off your high horse? He’ll get sick of it and find himself a lass who will talk to him, and warm his bed. Then you’ll be sorry.’
    ‘James isn’t like that,’ Harrie said stiffly.
    Janie and Friday looked at each other and laughed. ‘He’s a man, isn’t he?’ Friday said. ‘’Course he is.’
    ‘You don’t understand what he did,’ Harrie insisted.
    Janie said, ‘I do so, I were there, remember?’
    ‘Well, I can’t forgive him.’
    ‘You mean you won’t.’ Friday rolled her eyes.
    Janie shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. But sure as eggs you’ll lose him.Some pretty little thing’ll come along and —’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Just like that he’ll be gone.’
    Harrie said nothing. She ran her fingers over the silky softness of Charlotte’s hair and down her plump pink cheek. The thought had occurred to her, of course; James could well give up his pursuit of her, tired at last of her constant rebuttals, and find himself someone else. And then what would she do? But she could not bring herself to forgive him, she just couldn’t.
    ‘I don’t want him, anyway,’ she said.
    Friday and Janie exchanged a knowing glance but remained silent. The remainder of the visit passed pleasantly, filled with gossip, Janie’s sharply witty character assassinations of her fellow Factory inmates, and the removal of a half-chewed piece of nougat from Rosie’s hair. But soon it was time to leave.
    Outside the visitors’ room someone other than Pearl was waiting for them.
    ‘Look what the cat’s dragged in,’ Friday remarked.
    ‘Afternoon, Miss Harrie, Miss Friday,’ Matilda Bain said, giving a wobbly half-curtsy.
    Matilda had been transported on the same convict ship as Sarah, Rachel, Friday and Harrie, but at the age of seventy was too old to be assigned and had languished in the Factory ever since. She was frail, suffering from dementia related to tertiary syphilis, partially blind and missing most of her teeth. Today her sparse white hair, stained ochre in places by tobacco smoke, lifted in the slight breeze like liberated dandelion spoors and her ragged Factory slops hung crookedly off her skinny, bent frame, exposing one bruised and bony shoulder.
    Friday rummaged in her reticule and handed her a good-sized bottle of gin. ‘Here you go.’
    ‘Thank you, Miss Friday. Much ’preciated.’
    It was Friday’s atonement for shoving, shouting at and insulting Matilda on the voyage out from England. There had been no realreason for her behaviour other than she’d needed a punching bag, and whining, irritating old Matilda had been it. So every time Friday visited the Factory now she gave Matilda something. Neither had discussed the matter — that would be too embarrassing for both of them — but each knew exactly why Matilda was getting gifts when Friday came to see Janie and the children.
    But this time, instead of scurrying off across the yard, Matilda turned to Harrie.
    ‘I got something to tell you, Miss Harrie.’
    Joggling Charlotte up and down to make her giggle, Harrie raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s that, Matilda?’
    ‘I seen her,’ Matilda said.
    Harrie stopped joggling. The hairs on her arms rose and her skin broke out in goose bumps, because she knew: she knew without