The old fossicker gave a resigned sigh. ‘She’s Doc’s problem, poor man. All that counts is Doc’s the best darned doctor this town has had since –’
‘Since the Gold Rush.’ Clytie echoed the time-honoured phrase in frustration. ‘Well, if people believe that they should put a stop to these anonymous notes – and challenge Twyman face to face!’
With an angry flourish she ripped the page from the noticeboard and tore it into shreds.
Clytie continued to mull over the clues about Twyman’s anonymous warning about the Hundey brother and sister and the cheques Adelaide received every month.
She may well be a ‘remittance woman’ banished from England by her family but that doesn’t mean she and Doc have done anything wrong. Doc’s life could hardly be more public – he spends every waking hour driving through the bush to save someone’s life.
She was aware most of the townsfolk felt an element of pity for Adelaide Hundey’s crippled foot, but this was probably at the seat of the problem – an assault on her pride. Clytie knew that Adelaide had rejected any friendly overtures and although she gave a small annual donation to each of the churches she refused to attend any of the places of worship. The women in town had simply given up on her – except as a subject of gossip.
Everyone accepted that brother and sister could neither live together – nor without each other. Consequently, Doc had divided his house to accommodate them both – and retain a measure of domestic peace.
Clytie recalled the strange scene last night when she had called at Doc’s house to leave a note requesting an appointment on Friday morning. She had rung the bell. The sound of an operatic aria playing on the gramophone competed with Adelaide’s strident voice sounding from the back rooms that were her domain. Feeling guilty, like an intruder in a domestic scene, Clytie had begun to scuttle off in the direction of the priest’s house. Moments later Doc had stormed out of the house, pausing only to acknowledge Clytie’s note.
‘Nothing wrong, I trust, Clytie? Good. In that case I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’
He drove off in haste, leaving what sounded like Madame Melba’s recorded voice playing, presumably a calming panacea for Adelaide’s angry mood.
Now as she entered Doc’s surgery she decided not to mention the slanderous anonymous note that she had destroyed. Heaven only knew how many copies of it were spread around the locality.
Doc examined her thoroughly and reassured her there were no signs of Dolores’s T.B. ‘I am more than satisfied with your progress, Clytie. Your babe’s heartbeat is strong.’
‘He can’t come soon enough for me.’
‘He? I trust you will not be too disappointed if the babe enters the world wearing pink booties?’
Clytie giggled. ‘It would be the first time Mama failed in a prediction.’
‘No doubt Rom will be delighted – boy or girl.’
Her mood clouded at the mention of his name. ‘People are saying he’s Missing in Action. Believed dead.’
‘It means missing. The authorities have a tough job tracking down hundreds of Australians who are moved from unit to unit like pawns on a chessboard. Don’t worry until I tell you to worry,’ he said firmly.
Clytie’s smile was shaky as she gathered up her things but Doc motioned her to remain a moment.
‘I regret the short notice, but my sister asked me to invite you to take afternoon tea with her. Would three o’clock suit you? It’s quite a first. Adelaide doesn’t take to most women. She says they have gossip not blood flowing in their veins.’
Clytie blushed with guilt. ‘I’m afraid I occasionally listen to gossip – but I never repeat it.’
‘That’s human nature, Clytie. But you have no call to be nervous of Adelaide. She’s a great admirer of yours.’
Clytie asked his opinion as to what she should take to her hostess.
Doc’s response was prompt. ‘Just yourself. You’re the best possible antidote for Adelaide’s fiery temper.’ He added with a short laugh, ‘Don’t be shocked. I speak from a lifetime of experience.’
• • •
The sun shone bravely through the storm clouds that threatened the mountain ranges beyond Hoffnung. Clytie arrived at Doc’s house bearing a basket of Puffaloons, her second attempt at the special deep-fried scones her mother had made on their camp fire wherever they travelled.
Her knock went unanswered. Doc’s wagon was absent – no doubt he was out on a house call somewhere in the bush. There was no response to her second knock so she motioned Shadow to stay and moved around to the side of the house. Unlike the front, the windows were barred with an elegant wrought-iron design.
She rapped on the back door and waited, admiring this secluded part of the garden densely packed with flowers, vegetables, fruit trees and an arbour heavy with passionfruit vines.
‘You’re late. It’s past three,’ the voice called sharply. ‘I thought you’d changed your mind. I’ve been sitting in the garden for an hour. Melting in the sun.’
That seemed a wild exaggeration given the cool wind from the valley, but Clytie decided to let it pass.
‘I’m very sorry, Miss Hundey. I burned the first batch of Puffaloons I made and I didn’t want to turn up empty-handed.’
‘I’m not a charity case, you know.’
‘Of course not – how could you think – ?’
‘Come in out of the wind, girl. I’ve made you my favourite blackberry cake. And the wine is chilled.’
‘Wine? For afternoon tea?’ Clytie asked before she could guard her tongue.
‘Why not? You’re not a wowser like my brother, are you?’
‘No. That is, I mean I seldom drink alcohol – no doubt due to working at the Diggers’ Rest.’ Clytie hastily dismissed the memory of Dolores’s problem with the bottle.
Her hostess poured the tea for her. ‘This is a kind of red letter day. You’re the first woman brave enough to set foot in my private domain in ten years.’
‘I’m honoured, Miss Hundey. ‘It’s a lovely room. What interesting paintings.’
Clytie eyed the collection of classical female bodies and heroic Greek athletes, all virtually naked. Some reminded her of the muscular forms of circus performers in leotards. It seemed strange that Miss Hundey had chosen to surround herself with such physical perfection – until Clytie remembered her crippled foot.
Of course. She must have suffered so much as a little girl. Children can be very cruel – a reflection of their parents.
Clytie took in the profusion of flowers, the marble bust of Beethoven, the Belgian lace curtains, the cabinet full of books with titles in several languages. Clearly this was a room that had blossomed around a cultured lady for whom it was her oasis, a private haven from the outside world.
Having handed across her basket of Puffaloons, which her hostess sampled and pronounced ‘delectable’, Clytie took the seat indicated in front of the delicate gold-edged tea set and waited for her hostess to open the conversation.
Adelaide Hundey sat enthroned – there was no other word for it – in an elaborately carved, Jacobean chair with her back to the light. Minus her usual veiled bonnet her features were clear for the first time, similar enough to Doc’s to be recognisable as his sister, but in contrast to his wild sandy crest, her rich dark auburn hair was coiled in a chignon at the nape of her neck.
The layer of powder on her face suggested she suffered from some skin ailment, perhaps caused by remaining indoors for long periods.
Clytie studied her hostess’s dark blue gown that was buttoned high to the throat in the fashionable style of a past era. It was enlivened by Victorian mourning jewellery and a gold locket. Her hands, covered by black lace mittens, had a ring on every finger except the traditional one reserved for a wedding ring.
Clytie’s eyes strayed to the intricate wrought-iron grille that effectively barred her windows. Bars to protect her – or lock her in?
When offered a glass of wine, Clytie politely declined on the grounds o
f ‘what genteel ladies like to call my delicate condition’.
‘I quite forgot,’ said Miss Hundey. ‘You’re hardly showing yet and blooming like the proverbial rose.’
She poured Clytie a cup of tea then gestured to the paintings. ‘No doubt the brevity of the costumes wouldn’t shock a child of the circus.’
Clytie welcomed being in familiar conversational territory. ‘Ours are worn for safety. To wear a modest skirt while performing somersaults on horseback or the trapeze would be the death of us.’
‘I have always loved circuses. Do tell me about your childhood.’
Clytie happily explained how circus children are trained in all skills. She concluded wistfully, ‘I wish my mother could have seen my final performance.’
‘I greatly admired her. She gave me a Tarot reading, did she tell you?’
Clytie shook her head. ‘Mama never revealed anything about her readings. She told me she was like an oyster. Because you can confide anything to an oyster – and it will never repeat it.’
Adelaide Hundey’s eyes narrowed. ‘And are you an oyster?’
Clytie felt she was being put to the test. ‘A secret must never be revealed – unless it is an evil secret.’
‘Evil – like beauty – is in the eyes of the beholder.’ The woman’s grey eyes seemed to focus on some distant, dark horizon. Suddenly jerking herself back to the present, she poured Clytie another cup of tea and another glass of wine for herself.
She confided in a mock whisper, ‘I only take a nip when Robert is called out.’
Despite the confines of the gown that Clytie suspected was tightly corseted, her hostess relaxed in her chair. A flash of lace petticoats revealed her orthopaedic boot.
‘Human beings are often radically different to their outward appearance. Take my brother, for instance. Everyone thinks he’s a bit of a hero. You too, no doubt.’
Clytie felt as if she was walking a mental tightrope on the brink of some revelation. Would she fall or cross safely to the other side?
Miss Hundey’s voice assumed a strangely confidential tone. ‘My twin brother saves lives. I would prefer to take them.’
Clytie was so stunned she was unable to answer.
‘Don’t worry, I would only kill very bad people, m’dear.’
Clytie tried to be logical. Is she testing my sense of humour, or my loyalty to Doc? Is she tipsy, mad, or telling me the truth?
She fought to keep her voice steady. ‘Does Doc know you’d like to be an avenging angel?’
‘Huh! I’d be the last to know what’s inside his mind. His head is full of medical theories, poisons and antidotes. He avoids acknowledging my existence for days on end – until I’m so bored I trap him into an argument. Do you know your Bible?’
Startled by the dramatic twist in the conversation, Clytie stammered, ‘Not much. Dolores only taught me about The Creator of All Things.’
‘Wise woman. The Bible tells us that the twins Esau and Jacob began fighting each other in their mother’s womb. That’s Robert and me in a nutshell. Till death do us part.’
Clytie began to spring to his defence but Miss Hundey cut her short. ‘Don’t you believe it, lass. That’s Robert’s public face. He has his dark side. He’d like to get rid of me permanently – if he had half a chance.’
‘Kill you? Now I know you’re joking!’
‘Don’t be surprised if one day I just disappear, Clytie.’
Desperate to distract her, Clytie offered her another Puffaloon, her glance flitting between the clock and the diminishing level of the woman’s wine decanter. How soon can I leave without giving offence?
Miss Hundey’s expression was somewhere between humour and sadness. ‘Oh dear, I’ve shocked you. Destroyed the image of the town hero. And confirmed what people say – I’m as nutty as a fruitcake.’
‘No. Just sad,’ Clytie said automatically and was startled by the glint of anger it aroused.
‘I thought you were different. Don’t you dare pity me!’
Clytie snapped back. ‘I don’t pity you. I envy you. It’s better to have a sibling you fight with than none at all – like me. And I don’t wish to be rude but I refuse to believe your brother would ever hurt a hair on your head!’
Adelaide Hundey’s laugh was approving. ‘It’s good to see a girl with spirit! But I know him better than all of you. Robert’s weak. I would have made a far better surgeon. He saves lives – even when they deserve to die.’
Clytie tried to conceal her shock. ‘What else can he do? Doctors make a vow, don’t they? First do no harm?’
The answer was soft, compelling. ‘He did indeed. But I made him take another vow. Of silence. About me.’
Clytie felt herself floundering. She felt as if she was being observed under a microscope.
‘My brother believes you are to be trusted. What do people say about us? Don’t be afraid to tell me.’ She gave a delicate wink. ‘I would only kill bad people, remember.’
Clytie shared her laughter, relieved that the tension was broken and now convinced it was all a macabre joke, a test of friendship.
‘People say you’re a bit eccentric. To be honest, some say Doc would have married long ago – if it hadn’t been for his devotion to you.’
‘Wrong on both counts. He’s trapped, not devoted. And he’s definitely not the marrying kind.’ She leaned forward and pinned Clytie with a searching look. ‘I hope you haven’t got your eye on him. He likes you a lot but that’s as far as it goes. Neither of us can ever marry. An impediment – we must never breed.’ Her voice was suddenly chilling. ‘The family line must die out with us.’
Clytie was confused. ‘You mean it’s hereditary?’
‘Insanity? No, never fear, Robert’s got all his marbles intact. But stand warned, Clytie, he’s not husband material.’
‘You’re quite mistaken about me, Miss Hundey. I have no designs on your brother. My fiancé Rom Delaney will marry me on his return from South Africa.’
The answer was unexpectedly gentle. ‘I am sure he will, my dear. But that’s enough true confessions for one day. I must now have my beauty sleep. Not that it does me any good. The mirror tells me the same old story day in, day out. No wonder that no man has ever kissed me. Not even my mother liked me enough to kiss me . . .’
Clytie felt a sharp stab of empathy, sensing that the other’s pain was almost physical. ‘Then more fool them. I only wish people could see you as you really are.’
She bent and kissed the woman’s powdered cheek. Startled by the impulsive gesture, Miss Hundey drew back, touching the spot where she had been kissed.
Clytie thanked her for her hospitality then prompted her. Wasn’t there a question she had wanted to ask her?
The answer came in a rush. ‘There is indeed. I am an ardent supporter of the fight for Women’s Suffrage. Miss Vida Goldstein is to address a meeting in Bitternbird. I have organised transport to go there but Robert does not wish me to attend. He’s afraid I’ll make a spectacle of myself. He’s probably right.’
She extended her hand in supplication. ‘Clytie, would you be so kind as to attend on my behalf and tell me all that happens?’
‘I shall be honoured!’
‘Thank you, m’dear. It’s such a comfort to know there is one woman in town I can trust.’
Shadow accompanied Clytie as she hurried down the pathway to the gate, relieved at leaving her temperamental hostess in a happier frame of mind.
‘Just think, Shadow, there are probably only two people in the whole of Hoffnung who support the vote for women. One’s an eccentric recluse and the other’s a Fallen Woman – me!’
Clytie’s giggle bubbled up into open laughter and Shadow was so pleased he wagged his tail.
Despite her burgeoning shape she skipped down the pathway, glad to be released into the fresh air. The heavy aroma of indoor flowers seemed to cling to her dress and hair, like funeral wreaths dying in the sun.
Suddenly feeling young at heart, Clytie hurrie
d to keep pace with Shadow, who seemed eager to quit the place. A wild thought crossed her mind.
But supposing Adelaide Hundey really did commit murder. If Doc covered up the truth that would make him an accessory after the fact.
Shadow had stopped and was giving her one of his strange looks.
If that’s true, what a terrible burden for Doc.
This last thought stopped Clytie in her tracks. She shivered as if a goose had walked over her grave. She said the shameful words out loud to diminish their power.
‘If I hadn’t known the Hundeys were brother and sister I’d almost think they were bound together in a love-hate marriage.’
At the turn-off in the quartz road that led to the priest’s house, Clytie stopped to ruffle Shadow’s ear in the way Rom had always done.
‘Listen to me, Shadow. People are saying Rom is Missing in Action. It’s a mistake. Mama came to me in a dream last night. She would never lie to me even in a dream. Your master’s coming home to us.’
Shadow cocked his head to one side and looked searchingly down either end of the quartz road. Both directions disappeared into the bush. One joined the highway that ran south-east to Melbourne. The other stretched west towards the border of South Australia to span the Nullarbor Plain and the whole southern half of the continent to Western Australia and the Indian Ocean.
‘I can’t tell you which end of Australia Rom will land in, but I promise you you’ll see your master coming down this road, Shadow. Just wait and see!’
Chapter 21
It was that dark grey moment before the dawn. The shadows of the room danced in tandem with the flickering light of the candle.
Clytie pulled a wry face as she studied the outline of her growing belly in the mirror over the mantelpiece.
She could no longer fit into her own clothes but with luck her mother’s exotic shawls would camouflage her over the remaining weeks before the babe was born. She particularly wanted to look her best for tonight’s exciting event, the Women’s Suffrage Rally in Bitternbird.
‘What do you think, Shadow? If I get any bigger I’ll need a Big Top to cover me. Rom wouldn’t recognise me.’
Golden Hope Page 22