Behind the Sun Read Online Free Page B

just come out. It is odd, my name, isn’t it? It’s after St Frideswide.’
    Harrie, absurdly relieved that someone was actually being civil to her, said in a rush, ‘I stole a bolt of cloth and some embroidery thread from a shop. Do you think I will swing?’
    Friday gave her a long, contemplative look. ‘You’ve not been up before, have you?’
    ‘Up where?’
    Friday rolled her eyes. ‘Well, that answers my question. Up in front of the judge.’
    ‘No, never.’
    ‘Then it’s hard to say what you’ll get. But you won’t go to the gallows — not for shoplifting. Not since about five years ago, anyway. What’s your name?’
    Harrie felt faint with relief. Her toes were going numb and she stamped her feet. ‘Harrie. Harriet Clarke.’
    Friday laughed, a loud guffaw of amusement. ‘Harrie. I like that. Well, like I said, it’s hard to say, and I couldn’t guarantee anything,but you’ll probably get sent to New South Wales. You must know about that?’
    Harrie nodded. Her father’s older brother had been transported in 1817.
    ‘Unless you’ve done a murder as well?’
    ‘A murder? God help me, no!’
    ‘Then it’s likely to be the boat.’
    They moved aside as a fight broke out between three women arguing over a pack of cards.
    ‘You don’t think I might just get a year in here? Or in Brixton, perhaps?’ Even to Harrie’s own ears the question sounded hopelessly naive. And it didn’t matter where she was incarcerated, of course — her mother and the children would still be deprived of her income. But at least if she stayed in England she might still see them occasionally.
    ‘Sometimes it’ll all just turn on whether the judge had a good dinner.’ Friday drew hard on her pipe, creating clouds of unpleasant smoke. ‘I’d be hoping for the boat if I was you. A year in an English prison’ll wring the life out of someone like yourself the same way hanging will, only a lot slower.’
    Harrie wasn’t sure if she’d just been insulted or not. She didn’t think so, but said anyway, ‘What do you mean, “like yourself”?’
    ‘Well, look at you. You’re not exactly flash mob, are you? I’ll bet you’ve even got a nice, proper job. I can tell: you’ve got really clean, smooth hands.’ Friday looked down at her own — not dirty, but rough, and with fingernails bitten to the quick. Harrie saw there were three small stars tattooed on the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.
    ‘Are you?’ Harrie asked, surprising herself. ‘Flash mob, I mean?’
    Friday gave an ambiguous shrug. ‘Yes and no. I’m not in a crew. I work for myself but everyone needs contacts. I’m on the town,’ she added, anticipating the question.
    Harrie wasn’t shocked. It wasn’t against the law. ‘But why are you in here?’
    ‘Oh, I robbed a customer,’ Friday said breezily. ‘I’ll be on the boat for sure. For life, I expect.’ She laughed again. ‘This isn’t my first offence.’
    Harrie stared at her. ‘How can you laugh about it?’
    ‘Because you have to, don’t you?’ Friday scratched her armpit. ‘So what do you do, when you’re not thieving?’
    ‘I’m an assistant sempstress. Or I was . I did a bit of fancywork, too. Lace and embroidery and the like.’
    ‘An orrice weaver? See, I was right, wasn’t I?’
    ‘No, I don’t make the lace; that went out to piece-workers. I just design the patterns. I do all the embroidery, though. Well, I did , before this.’
    But Friday seemed to have lost interest in Harrie’s specialist skills. ‘You fixed for everything you need in here?’
    Harrie shook her head, acutely conscious of her face turning red. She had nothing. She had left everything behind for her mother.
    ‘Money?’
    Burning with embarrassment now and struggling to blink away hot tears of self-pity and bitter regret, Harrie looked up at the sky. It was low and a bright, dirty white and it made her feel dizzy. She wondered if it might snow.
    Finally she