“Good,” Arthur replied. “Really good.”
“Told you it would.” Sam smirked, and Arthur ignored him. “Take a shower and dinner will be ready when you get out.”
Arthur was happy to do as suggested. He was still salty from the swim, and he wanted to clean his leg well, so no sand was left in a crevice where it could rub. Despite the bar in the shower, it still took far longer than he’d like. His balance was getting better, back closer to what it was pre-accident, but he should do more core exercises. Get back into yoga and tai chi. While he was drying himself, he massaged the scar like Gretchen had showed him. It took him back to the night before. There’d been nothing unprofessional in her touch. She’d massaged deep which had brought some pain, but seeing her hands on him had made his mind wander to other places he’d like her hands. While a part of him had been horrified about sexualising something that was a healing process, the other part of him celebrated feeling like a man again.
The only problem was, he couldn’t work out whether the attraction was mutual.
He dressed and spent some time checking his leg was clean, and then he remembered Gretchen’s advice about giving his leg time to rest. He managed to get himself into his bedroom where his crutches were, and then headed back to the kitchen. Penelope was pouring a glass of wine, and Sam was setting the table.
“Would you like a wine?” Penelope asked.
He wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol on his medication, but he hadn’t taken any painkillers over the weekend. “Yes, please.”
“Have you taken your pills?” Sam asked.
“You didn’t give me enough for the weekend,” Arthur retorted.
Sam winced. “Sorry. How did you hold up?”
“Surprisingly well,” Arthur told him. “The pain was manageable.” He’d been too distracted to pay it much attention.
Sam grunted with approval.
They sat at the table and ate the ravioli while Arthur continued telling them about the weekend. When he mentioned the plaque, he stopped. He’d forgotten about the names.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“I need to check Lilian’s diary. There are too many names on the plaque.”
“Yes!” Penelope exclaimed. “I thought that too, and I forgot about it.”
“When?” Sam asked.
“Just before we uncovered the weapons cache,” Penelope replied. “Then I was too concerned about almost being blown up to remember.”
Fair point.
Sam left the room and came back a minute later with his copy of the diary and a photo of the plaque. “Show me.”
“I need my notes.” Arthur grabbed his tablet and scrolled through to find the page he wanted. “Here. There were four civilians on board; Lilian, Reginald, Mr Smith and Mr Clarke. There were three convicts, three pearl divers and finally the sailors.” He crossed off the names on the plaque as he read them out.
“But she doesn’t mention the sailors by name,” Sam said.
“No, but she mentions how many there are,” Arthur countered. “Three took the one remaining lifeboat to get help.” He marked three on the paper. “Three went looking for food and water and disappeared. Three were sent to search for those men a few days later.” He wrote down another six. “Then the remaining six died in the mutiny. That’s twenty-five people. The plaque has thirty names on it.”
But who were the extra names and why were they there?
“I’d bet Tess has a passenger list somewhere,” Sam said, reaching for his phone. “She’s a history buff, and she wanted to find everything she could about the ship.” He dialled a number and a minute later said, “Hey Tess, it’s Sam. Have you and Ed been behaving yourselves?” He chuckled at the answer. “Yeah, all good here. Just wondering whether you ever found a passenger manifest for the Retribution when it left Fremantle.” Another pause. “It might be nothing. Can you see what you can find?” He smiled. “Yeah. Say hi to Astro Boy for me.” He hung up. “The passenger manifests had been loaned to the maritime museum for a project when she was last at the state library, but she’s going to chase it up for us.”
Arthur studied the names, hoping something would jump out at him. Some of them seemed more European, maybe Dutch or Celtic, though he was fairly certain most of the people in Western Australia at that time hailed from England. The extra names had to be clues—didn’t they? Why else include them?
“Some names have alternative meanings,” Penelope said. “Penelope means weaver. Could Lilian have known and used those in her clues? She was well read and intelligent.”
Arthur nodded. “And the convicts were Irish. They could have used some Irish words.” He grabbed his phone and searched for an Irish dictionary. Next to him, Penelope was looking up meanings of names. Sam put the kettle on.
“I can’t believe it’s taken this long to notice,” he said. “We must have studied the plaque for clues dozens of times.”
“We were all focused on clues in the journal,” Penelope pointed out, looking up. “Lean means light or sun-ray for a girl.”
