A Greater World: A woman's journey

by Clare Flynn

  Harriet stirred and stretched out on the bed, poking her toes through the bars of the bedstead.

  Her friend Miranda perched on a chair beside her. 'That bed's too small for you. It's a child's bed. You've outgrown it, Hattie Long Legs. I can't understand why you won't go and live with your family in that huge house. I'd have thought you'd have had enough of school and Miss Verity Virgin by now.'

  'Miss Radley's all right. Anything's better than being under the same roof as the Witch.

  She swung her long legs off the bed, tucking her feet into her slippers. She examined her reflection in the mirror, frowning in irritation at the black spots where the mirror's silvering had worn away. Despite the mottled effect, she was satisfied with what she saw. Her long hair shone and her nose was straight with a slight retroussé upturn at the end. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, and her avoidance of the sun rewarded by a clear pale complexion. Not beautiful perhaps, but certainly pretty.

  'It's so unfair that I'm shut away in the back of beyond in this town.' She added a theatrical groan.

  Miranda joined her at the mirror so that they could talk to each other's reflections. 'Why not come to Sydney?'

  Miranda had recently married her cousin's best friend and moved to Sydney, and had spent the best part of the morning regaling Harriet with stories of her life there.

  'It's all very well for you, Randa; you've got a rich husband and a nice house. Here am I stuck in the schoolhouse like a no-hoper. It's not fair.'

  'Stop sulking, Hat. You can always come and stay with us.'

  'That'd make it worse. Then I'd really know what I'm missing.'

  She twirled a lock of hair around her finger and looked into the mirror again.

  'I'm going to get my hair shingled,' she said.

  'Your hair's beautiful, Hat! Don't chop it off.'

  'It'll really annoy Pa, Miss Radley will disapprove, and I'll look older and more sophisticated. If I can't get out of this dump, I may as well make my mark on it.'

  She rummaged though a pile of magazines under the bed and pulled one out. 'What do you think of this? How would it look on me?'

  'You wouldn't dare! It's frightfully short.'

  'It's perfect. With a bit of luck, Lulu can copy the style.'

  Miss Lu Yong ran the hairdressing salon behind the community hall.

  Miranda giggled. 'You'll be the height of glamour, Hat. There's no one in the Falls with hair like that. Just like Gloria Swanson. Michael Winterbourne will be powerless to resist.'

  Harriet snorted. 'That old man!'

  'He's not that old and he's very handsome. Everyone's after him.'

  'He's a Pom.'

  'You're just peeved because he's never paid you any attention.'

  She had to admit she had so far been frustrated in her attempts to catch Winterbourne's eye. Usually all she had to do was raise an eyebrow or lick a lip and the stupid young men in the town were putty in her hands. But Winterbourne was proving a tougher nut to crack. She had hoped, when he walked her back to the schoolhouse after that dreadful dinner, that he might pay her some attention instead of treating her as a child. She'd led him a dance that night, deliberately making herself hard to find, until there were was no risk of Miss Radley catching them up and tagging along for the trip. But she wasn't going to confess that to Miranda.

  'He's paid me more attention than he has anyone else. He's just a miserable bloody pom.'

  'Hattie, language!'

  'It's true. He walked me home after supper in complete silence. He's as bad as my father.'

  'You know how to get your own way with your Pa - a handsome man should be no trouble for a girl like you? If I weren't happily hitched to Robbie I'd make a play for him myself.'

  'You'd be welcome to him.'

  'Not just me. Half the town's got their eyes on him. I don't get you.'

  'Actually I'm sure there's something going on between him and the Wicked Stepmother.'

  'You're not suggesting..?'

  'I'm sure they know each other. They're both from England. They turned up here within a couple of months of each other and I saw her talking to him outside the schoolhouse but she pretended she didn't know him when they were introduced at dinner.'

  'And...'

  'You may have given me an idea for throwing a spanner into wicked step-mother's works!'

  'Oh dear, I smell trouble. What do you have in mind?'

  'I'm going to take your advice, Randa, and start batting my eyelashes at the Englishman. A new haircut and a bit of flirtation – the perfect way to get everyone in town green with envy and, most importantly, upset the Witch.'

  'Is that fair? On him I mean?'

  'It's not like I'm going to marry the man, for heaven's sake. I've set my sights much higher than him – but a bit of a flirtation to annoy her ladyship, followed by a ceremonial dumping, is an irresistible opportunity.'

  'You're a bad girl, Hattie Kidd.'

  'Race Week's next week. He's bound to be there.'

  The McDonald Falls Spring Race Week: not quite the Melbourne Cup, but still the perfect excuse for a girl to show off a new hairstyle and a well-shaped pair of ankles.

  Chapter Fifteen – The Races

  Until 1813, when three explorers, Gregory Blaxland, William Charles Wentworth and William Lawson found a way across the previously impenetrable Blue Mountains, the area that included McDonald Falls was enjoyed exclusively by the Aborigines. The Dharug tribes were hunter-gatherers, thriving on fruits, roots and berries, supplemented by the odd possum or wallaby. Once the explorers arrived and opened the mountains up to cultivation and commerce, the Aborigines were soon wiped out by disease and the collapse of their way of life. By the late 1800s McDonald Falls and its surrounds were the exclusive domain of the colonialists.

  The town enjoyed rapid population growth once the roads and railway opened up the mountains. The wealth of minerals - gold, bauxite, coal and kerosene shale brought incomers to the area, as well as the cool mountain air and beautiful scenery which attracted rich Sydneysiders to build country retreats there.

  A varied programme of cultural and social activities flourished in the town, but Jack Kidd was immune to the attractions of the dramatic society, the choir, the various churches, the debating club and the cricket team. Elizabeth, while harbouring no wish to project herself into society, was tempted by the prospect of accompanying the Choral Club with her violin, but Kidd made it clear that any attempt to join in the life of the community would not be well received. He expected her to be in her place at the end of the table whenever he deigned to appear for meals at Kinross House and liked to see her quietly occupied with sewing or reading in the evenings.

  An exception to Kidd's self-imposed social isolation was the annual McDonald Race Meeting. Although gambling was prohibited on racetracks, the local police quietly ignored this annual event. Martie Lennox, the publican of the Lawson Arms, ran an unofficial tote. While not one for socialising, Kidd treated Lennox as the nearest thing to a friend in his life. The friendship consisted largely of the exchange of pound notes across the counter in the bar and the odd shared horse racing tip.

  The race meeting took place every autumn. It attracted large crowds: virtually everyone living in and around the town, as well as visitors from neighbouring Blue Mountains towns and those from Sydney seeking a day or two away from the city. There was no social divide. Rich and poor, young and old, flocked to watch the races and to have an unofficial flutter on the horses.

  Elizabeth had never been to a horse race and had no desire to do so now. The fact that it was also an excuse for gambling made it less attractive still. The week before the races she was contemplating how she might manufacture an excuse from attending, when Mrs Oates interrupted her reverie.

  'Mrs Kidd, would you be willing for us to close the house on the day of the picnic races so that the servants can go? Mr McDonald permitted it and we all look forward to it. It's a big day for the whole town.'

  'You're welcome to
go. I plan to stay here with Mikey anyway, so I'll hold the fort.'

  The housekeeper looked crestfallen. 'In that case, Ma'am, I will stay behind too. I'll ask cook to leave some cold cuts for lunch if that's acceptable, then she can go. Mary had better stay back as well if the baby will be at home.'

  'There's no need for that. Mikey and I will be fine on our own. I don't want to go to the races.'

  The housekeeper looked at her with a sceptical expression. 'A word of advice, Ma'am, if I can be so bold. I don't think Mr Kidd would like you missing Race Day.'

  His voice barked out and Kidd entered the room. 'No I wouldn't like that at all. You're going. The boy can stay behind with Mary, but you're coming.'

  'Horse racing is of no interest to me.'

  Before Kidd could reply, Mrs Oates interjected.

  'Mrs Kidd, it's the most important weekend of the year. The whole town will be there. Everyone in Sunday best. It's a grand day out. It's not just the racing, there's things for everyone to do – a great big picnic. You'll enjoy yourself.'

  Kidd spoke then. 'Buy yourself a new dress. It's time you were out of those baggy things.'

  She had regained her figure quickly after the birth of Mikey and her maternity clothes hung about her loosely, but as she never went anywhere, she had not got around to having them altered or buying anything to replace them.

  'I can wear the green silk. I can fit into it comfortably now.'

  But Kidd was having none of it. 'You'll not show me up by wearing something old.'

  'It's hardly old - I've barely worn it.'

  'Buy something new.' He looked at her appraisingly. 'And not green. Blue suits you better.' With that he left the room, leaving her open-mouthed.

  So it was off to face Miss Godfrey again at the Salon de Paris. After waving away the pastel blues that were first shown to her, Elizabeth settled on a dress in a deep sapphire silk, with a matching hat, simple but elegant.

  They were to go to the races in the car. Not Kidd: he'd make his own way there, via a session in the Lawson Arms, but Elizabeth was to be driven by Oates to the school where they were to collect Miss Radley and her charge.

  Verity emerged looking flustered.

  'I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but Harriet and I had words this morning. She's had her beautiful hair chopped off. Mr Kidd will be very angry when he finds out.'

  Elizabeth smiled. 'He'll get over it. Tell her to get in the car.'

  'She's not here. I told her that you'd be coming for us in the motorcar but she said she'd made other arrangements. She left half an hour ago.'

  'Her father will be annoyed about that.'

  'You know what's she's like when she has a mind to it. She won't listen to anything I say and now she's a grown woman it's hard to influence her. I can't chain her up!'

  'It's not your fault, Verity. She's wilful and yes, she is a grown woman. You can't be expected to discipline her like a naughty schoolgirl – even when she behaves like one. Come on. I've been dreading today. Let's get it over with!'

  Oates manoeuvred his way carefully onto the part of the park set aside for ranks of motor vehicles. He deposited the two women at the edge of a gravelled pathway that led directly into the race meeting, where a large crowd was milling. Mrs Oates had been right about the whole town being there. Everyone decked out in their best clothes: young and old, small children, miners and Sydneysiders, people from all the surrounding towns, dressed up to the nines. The race course, on the only area of flat ground near the town, consisted of a neatly mown track, lined with wooden posts. There was no viewing stand: the crowd gathered at the side of the track and around the roped off ring that formed the winners' enclosure. The jockeys were all amateurs, but kitted out in racing colours, like professionals. The sun shone brightly and the air was warm and Elizabeth picked up the contagious good spirits of the crowd. The smell of newly mown grass mingled with the scent of sweating horses and the warm smell of manure and she was glad she was there.

  'Come on, Verity. Let's watch a race.'

  The schoolteacher smiled and spoke conspiratorially. 'Shall we have a little flutter? I usually do on race day. Just a shilling each way on the McDonald Cup.'

  Elizabeth smiled. 'You go right ahead, but forgive me if I don't join you.'

  'Do you think I'm awful?'

  'Of course not. Having a few bob on a horse once a year is not going to set you on the path to oblivion, but I have my own reasons for hating gambling – in any form. Don't let that stop you.'

  'Maybe later. The McDonald is the last race of the day.'

  They worked their way through the crowd and found a spot beside the track, where they watched a few of the races with mounting enjoyment. Elizabeth, while unwilling to place a bet, was happy to choose a runner and to call out her support as it raced around the track.

  'What a shame you didn't actually have a bet on that one. It was 7 to 1 – you'd have won a few shillings. You know how to pick a winner. That's two out of three. Maybe you can pick mine for the McDonald?'

  Elizabeth smiled. 'It's a deal! Let's go and see what else is going on.' She slipped her arm through Verity's.

  The women looked around for Will, Kidd or Harriet but could see none of them in the crowd. They wandered towards a cordoned area in front of a marquee, which seemed to be a reserved enclosure for the great and the good. As they drew near, Will bounded up, eager as a puppy dog.

  'G'day Lizbeth, you seen Hat? She's only gone and had all her hair chopped off. She looks a right Drongo!'

  'No I haven't, Will, but I'm sure she looks lovely and you shouldn't be so rude about your sister. Someone might hear you and Harriet would be mortified.'

  'She doesn't care. She's far too busy trying to yack to my cobber. Michael was just shouting me a beer when along she comes and starts hanging on his arm. She's all "Michael this and Michael that". He's too polite to tell her to rack off.'

  Just then the crowd surged forward for the next race and Elizabeth saw her stepdaughter about fifty yards away. Harriet's hands were clasped behind her back, her hatless head, with its newly shingled hair, tipped to one side and her body language sending unmistakable signals that she was flirting with Michael Winterbourne.

  Elizabeth's stomach gave a little lurch. She cursed the fact silently. The effect he still had on her. Anxious to avoid an encounter with either Michael or her reluctant stepdaughter, she steered Verity towards the refreshment tent, hoping they might find a cup of tea there. Kidd emerged from the tent, a brimming mug of beer in his hand.

  'Where's Harriet? Why isn't she with you?' He was frowning.

  When he realised that his daughter had not only come to the races alone, but was wandering unaccompanied around the race grounds, he was furious. Elizabeth told him she was with Will and his friends from the colliery.

  'I haven't paid a small fortune for her to get all dolled up, just to hang around with the men like a larrikin.'

  He turned on Verity. 'Is that why I've paid you so much damned money to give the girl an education? So she can drink grog with a bunch of fellas?'

  Before either woman could respond, Harriet appeared, dragging Winterbourne by his arm, with Will beside them.

  Kidd almost spilled his beer. His face was rigid with anger. 'What the hell do you think you've done? Where the bloody hell's your hair?'

  People turned around and looked with interest at the emerging drama.

  'You look a bloody disgrace.'

  His voice was raised. A growing crowd looked on, nudging each other that something was about to happen.

  'This isn't the time or the place.' Elizabeth placed her hand on his sleeve and tried to draw him back into the beer tent. Kidd brushed her away.

  'She's my daughter and I'll handle it the way I want to handle it.'

  'It's the latest fashion. It's the cut in all the magazines' said Harriet.

  'I don't care if you copied it from the bloody Queen of Sheba, it's not how I expect a decent girl to look and certainly not my daughter.'
>
  He grabbed Harriet by the arm and pulled her behind him through the parting crowds, back to the edge of the park, where Oates was snoozing behind the wheel of the motorcar.

  'Get in.' He shoved her into the back of the open-topped car and turned to Elizabeth. 'Get in with her. She's going back home with you, and going right now.'

  Verity Radley seemed to shrink in on herself as the man's wrath switched to her. 'As for you and your fancy education, much bloody use that was! Go with them and get her bags packed and out of that schoolhouse. She's moving back under my roof now and she's going to stay there.'

  Harriet slumped in the back of the car, tears of anger and humiliation streaming down her cheeks. Her ordeal was not over yet. Winterbourne had followed them and was standing beside Will with a look of astonishment. The girl shrank back into the leather seat, leaning away from Elizabeth and covering her face with her hands. They drove off, past the merry go-round and the picnic area, past the happy smiling people and the paddock of waiting horses. As they turned out of the race grounds, Elizabeth looked back. There was Michael Winterbourne, rooted to the spot, watching them drive away.

  Harriet's removal to Kinross House changed little between her and Elizabeth. They were in each other's presence daily, but might as well have been on opposite sides of the ocean for all the conversation that passed between them. Not for want of trying on Elizabeth's part – she went out of her way to give the girl some space and tried to engage her with some uncontroversial conversational gambits. The girl was immune to all such advances. When her father was present she replied to Elizabeth with a simple yes, no, or don't know, and when he was not, she acted as though her step-mother were not there, completely blanking her out. After a while, Elizabeth gave up and hoped that eventually the girl would outgrow this folly.

  To Will, Hattie was friendlier than ever. It was if she hoped that by talking frequently and loudly with her brother, her father would fail to notice that she was ignoring her stepmother. Elizabeth suspected that her volubility with Will was also intended to make the silence between them more pointed. Easy-going Will was oblivious to his sister's calculations and welcomed the improvement in their relationship without question. Kidd never again referred to the girl's hair, either because he no longer cared, or had got used to it. The argument at the race day was not mentioned again. From time to time Elizabeth tried to broach the subject of Hattie's future, but he would not be drawn.