Willie. Good thing we won’t be doing business with him.’
‘Joe Harry says Thomas isn’t coming back. What does that mean?’
Sam didn’t reply.
The crews had been quiet enough. Willie heard Joe Harry’s voice only once telling them to shut up, and then no more. He woke during the night and smelt opium.
The Vision was gone by morning, and Willie faced a red sky in the east. He had an uneasy feeling that something bad had happened. Mrs Porter had asked after him and Joe Harry was sniffing around.
Perhaps Joe Harry was indeed the devil.
It was Sam, though, who wanted Willie’s soul.
Few divers were as lucky as Willie. He found more shell than most, the Zoe the most successful of the Crest of the Wave luggers last season.
But in the lay-up, when they ate in the kitchen of the Residence, Sam had told him that if he was the luckiest diver in the fleet, he must also be the unluckiest.
His reasoning went like this: Willie never knew if the shells he fished concealed a pearl, and by law he had todeliver the shell unopened to the schooner. Pearls, being inside the shells, belonged to Mr James Clark.
So, said Sam, Willie had no doubt held a fortune in pearls in his hands and given them away.
Willie agreed repeatedly that it was unfortunate.
Unfortunate? It was a sin.
‘Don’t blame Mr James Clark,’ Sam told Willie. ‘Until the oyster’s opened, no one but God and the oyster know what’s inside. But Willie, the contract between the oyster and God is broken when the oyster’s opened. Whatever’s inside belongs to the man who opens it. It is no longer inside the oyster so it doesn’t belong to Mr James Clark either.’
Sam was a hornet about his ears.
The sun rose and Willie descended. A school of small, playful fish accompanied him down until a mackerel snapped by, leaving a shower of tiny silver scales dancing in front of his face plate.
CHAPTER 14
Bathurst Bay, Thursday 2 March 1899
Poor Tommy de Lange sat in front of the fleet’s books. He was at the table in the main cabin with a pencil behind an ear and a cigarette smoking between his fingers, staring at the deck above.
‘Mrs Porter, do you know how many pearls are found? The ratio of pearls to shells?’
Maggie, on the other side of the table, said she did not.
‘One in nine hundred and twenty-nine. A good round pearl that is. No seed or baroque. One in nine hundred and twenty-nine.’
Poor Tommy had hardly caught up with the books. Maggie had offered to help, but regretted it.
Alice was on the floor. The windows were open and so was the cabin door, but if there was a breeze it was no danger to the loose sheets.
Tommy looked down and his pencil began scratching away, transferring numbers from scraps of paper to the bound books.
Maggie asked, ‘Why did you join the fleet, Tommy?’
Tommy leant back into the captain’s chair. ‘I know a lot about pearls and shell,’ he said. ‘Mr James Clark said I could be of some use.’
‘Shouldn’t you also know something about the sea and ships?’
‘Mrs Porter! There are fifteen men aboard this schooner who know more than enough of all of that. Anyway,’ he said, ‘Mr James Clark didn’t employ me to pull on ropes.’
Maggie waited.
Tommy continued, ‘He employed me for my scientific knowledge.’
‘Your scientific knowledge?’ she said, and half expected him to deny that he’d said it. ‘You’re talking about your knowledge of pearls.’
‘Pearls and shell.’
After overhearing his conversation with Joe Harry, Maggie didn’t know what to believe about Poor Tommy. Her doubt must have shown on her face.
‘My father,’ he said, looking solemn, ‘did some work for Mr Saville-Kent.’
‘And I suppose he taught you about pearls?’ said Maggie.
‘Everything there is to know about pearls and shell,’ he said. ‘God rest his soul.’
Tommy’s gaze wandered out the window and Maggie forced herself back to the letter she was composing to her father.
‘Yes,’ he said
‘Joe Harry says Thomas isn’t coming back. What does that mean?’
Sam didn’t reply.
The crews had been quiet enough. Willie heard Joe Harry’s voice only once telling them to shut up, and then no more. He woke during the night and smelt opium.
The Vision was gone by morning, and Willie faced a red sky in the east. He had an uneasy feeling that something bad had happened. Mrs Porter had asked after him and Joe Harry was sniffing around.
Perhaps Joe Harry was indeed the devil.
It was Sam, though, who wanted Willie’s soul.
Few divers were as lucky as Willie. He found more shell than most, the Zoe the most successful of the Crest of the Wave luggers last season.
But in the lay-up, when they ate in the kitchen of the Residence, Sam had told him that if he was the luckiest diver in the fleet, he must also be the unluckiest.
His reasoning went like this: Willie never knew if the shells he fished concealed a pearl, and by law he had todeliver the shell unopened to the schooner. Pearls, being inside the shells, belonged to Mr James Clark.
So, said Sam, Willie had no doubt held a fortune in pearls in his hands and given them away.
Willie agreed repeatedly that it was unfortunate.
Unfortunate? It was a sin.
‘Don’t blame Mr James Clark,’ Sam told Willie. ‘Until the oyster’s opened, no one but God and the oyster know what’s inside. But Willie, the contract between the oyster and God is broken when the oyster’s opened. Whatever’s inside belongs to the man who opens it. It is no longer inside the oyster so it doesn’t belong to Mr James Clark either.’
Sam was a hornet about his ears.
The sun rose and Willie descended. A school of small, playful fish accompanied him down until a mackerel snapped by, leaving a shower of tiny silver scales dancing in front of his face plate.
CHAPTER 14
Bathurst Bay, Thursday 2 March 1899
Poor Tommy de Lange sat in front of the fleet’s books. He was at the table in the main cabin with a pencil behind an ear and a cigarette smoking between his fingers, staring at the deck above.
‘Mrs Porter, do you know how many pearls are found? The ratio of pearls to shells?’
Maggie, on the other side of the table, said she did not.
‘One in nine hundred and twenty-nine. A good round pearl that is. No seed or baroque. One in nine hundred and twenty-nine.’
Poor Tommy had hardly caught up with the books. Maggie had offered to help, but regretted it.
Alice was on the floor. The windows were open and so was the cabin door, but if there was a breeze it was no danger to the loose sheets.
Tommy looked down and his pencil began scratching away, transferring numbers from scraps of paper to the bound books.
Maggie asked, ‘Why did you join the fleet, Tommy?’
Tommy leant back into the captain’s chair. ‘I know a lot about pearls and shell,’ he said. ‘Mr James Clark said I could be of some use.’
‘Shouldn’t you also know something about the sea and ships?’
‘Mrs Porter! There are fifteen men aboard this schooner who know more than enough of all of that. Anyway,’ he said, ‘Mr James Clark didn’t employ me to pull on ropes.’
Maggie waited.
Tommy continued, ‘He employed me for my scientific knowledge.’
‘Your scientific knowledge?’ she said, and half expected him to deny that he’d said it. ‘You’re talking about your knowledge of pearls.’
‘Pearls and shell.’
After overhearing his conversation with Joe Harry, Maggie didn’t know what to believe about Poor Tommy. Her doubt must have shown on her face.
‘My father,’ he said, looking solemn, ‘did some work for Mr Saville-Kent.’
‘And I suppose he taught you about pearls?’ said Maggie.
‘Everything there is to know about pearls and shell,’ he said. ‘God rest his soul.’
Tommy’s gaze wandered out the window and Maggie forced herself back to the letter she was composing to her father.
‘Yes,’ he said
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