The Pearler's Wife

by Roxane Dhand

  Dorothea blinked twice and twisted her mouth to the side. ‘Why him wantum?’

  ‘Bit of visitin’, only dey don’t have them white cards wot you has.’

  Maisie got up from her desk and edged along the wall. Dorothea was wavering by the doorframe, and Marjorie’s mouth had dropped open like a sharp-toothed whale. The prey was corralled and she was ready, jaw hinged, to swallow her whole.

  ‘Marjorie!’ Maisie said. ‘I think you could let our visitor in the house.’

  ‘Thought you gonna bin hours,’ Marjorie whispered, and pottered off, muttering darkly to herself.

  Maisie smiled at Dorothea and walked towards the front door. ‘Dorothea. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I must have forgotten you were coming.’

  Dorothea did not seem to think that calling cards were meant for her. Certainly, Maisie had never seen her with a supply. She had a habit of turning up at any time, unannounced, on an impulsive girlish whim.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Sinclair. It’s an impromptu visit. Dada doesn’t know I’m here. He’s at a mayoral meeting. I know he said he would send your cable for you and I know it was a few days ago but I hope you haven’t sent it already. Probably, you haven’t had time and Dada most likely forgot. He doesn’t always remember what he said, like Uncle Maitland. I did look up in my journal about the cables, by the way, and I was almost right. I think he wrote a letter to your mother and didn’t send a cable, which was my mistake because I didn’t remember properly, but he definitely said that getting you to the Bay would be the final piece in his overall financial plan. That’s almost the same as the icing on the cake, isn’t it?’

  Maisie looked at Dorothea’s face, watched her lips move, not believing what she had just been told. Her parents had never once mentioned any kind of financial settlement. She waved at a chair, feeling that she was falling from a very high platform with no safe place to land. She heard herself speak, the words coming from a long way off.

  ‘Do please sit down, Dorothea, and make yourself comfortable.’

  Dorothea flopped into a high-backed chair and filled her lungs with air. ‘Anyway, Mrs Sinclair, I was thinking you could be a little bit naughty and send two cables. I like Wayne quite a lot and it would be really nice just to see him with a proper business reason, otherwise people might talk if I just popped in. It’s quite hard to invent excuses to see someone here, don’t you find? So, could you do that tiny thing for me, do you think? Not tell Dada you’ve already sent the cable, so that I might see Wayne?’

  Maisie tried to look interested in her bright chatter, but shock was barely disguised behind her forced smile. She suggested tea.

  Dorothea shook her head like a dog ridding itself of water.

  ‘Frankly, Mrs Sinclair, I hate tea – the milk nearly always tastes curdled – and the cable was a bit of an excuse, although we must go to the cable office before Dada comes out of his meeting. I need to let Wayne down gently and tell him in person that he must abandon all hope of us ever being together. The real reason I’ve come to see you is because I’m bursting to tell someone! I can’t tell Dada, obviously, or Uncle Maitland – because he knows the person – I just need to tell someone who will understand!’

  ‘About what, Dorothea?’

  She leaned forward, elbows on knees. ‘I’m in love!’

  Maisie fell back in her seat. Lucky you, she thought. ‘With whom?’

  Dorothea sat up and, like a nervous witness, glanced at Maisie to assess the effect as her words landed. ‘Mr Cooper, Uncle Maitland’s diver. He is so handsome. I gave him a ride in my buggy the day after he arrived and, I can tell you confidentially,’ she clasped Maisie’s arm, ‘he is really handsome. Divine, actually, when one is close up. And such a gentleman. He tried to give the impression that he was uninterested in me, but I know he feels the same way and is simply bursting with desire.’

  Maisie strengthened her grip on the chair arm. Her heart was beating too fast, tumbling over itself as if it were rolling downhill, and little black flecks swam in front of her eyes. She hoped she was not going to faint. She was, in equal measures, horrified and desperate, and in a tight voice she managed to say, ‘I wasn’t aware that you knew him socially.’

  ‘You are right, I don’t. Not officially. That’s why it’s a huge secret. As I said, I met him on the first day all the white divers arrived. The day after you were married on the steamship. It was such a shame I was unable to attend the ceremony, but Dada thought the crush and the heat and all those rough men might be horrid for me. But there are so few men here that I absolutely had to see for myself if they were really dangerous and ugly. So, while Dada was out at your wedding party, I went to look at the Seafarer’s Rest Hotel – I’d overheard Dada and Uncle Maitland say some of the divers were staying there because Uncle Maitland owns a bit of the hotel.’ Dorothea raised her voice at the end of every sentence, as if asking a question, and Maisie found the habit intensely irritating.

  ‘We didn’t have a wedding party,’ Maisie countered. ‘Wherever your father may have said he was that night, he was certainly not celebrating our nuptials.’

  Dorothea shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry but you are wrong. He definitely said that was where he was. I wrote it in my journal. I asked him about it and he told me the party had gone on all night and then continued into the next day.’

  So, the mayor is a liar like Maitland, Maisie thought. She could not resist asking, ‘And the English diver?’

  ‘Yes! Mr Cooper. While Dada was still at your party on the ship, I slipped out and found him there at the Seafarer’ He was sitting on his chair on the verandah, all alone and smoking a cigarette as if he was waiting just for me. It was obviously fate that we would be thrown together in such a romantic way, and I was so pleased that I had been brave and gone there alone – otherwise it would never have happened. I gave him a ride in my sulky and we chatted as if we had known each other forever.’

  Dorothea misread Maisie’s silence for encouragement. ‘He is so adorable. And,’ she paused before delivering the next little pearl, ‘we kissed at the Welcome Dance.’

  Needles of sun pierced Maisie’s eyes through the lattice. ‘Were you seen?’ Maisie asked.

  Dorothea looked startled, as if this had only just occurred to her. ‘I don’t think anybody saw the kiss. Our encounter was very public, on the dance floor. We were flying across the floorboards – he is such an accomplished dancer – and we got to the end of the reel and I wanted to throw my arms about him and embrace him there and then, but I remember thinking that I should not kiss him in front of the ladies from the knitting circle or there would be a great deal of fuss. No. The kiss came later on, when he was fetching drinks at the bar. I followed him and – you’re going to think me very forward, Mrs Sinclair – I bumped into him on purpose and kissed him passionately on the lips. It was absolutely glorious. So, now we have embraced, we are engaged in secret. And you must promise not to tell a soul.’ She sat like a Siamese cat on a cushion: a cat who had licked the cream and very much liked the taste.

  ‘Did he propose marriage?’

  ‘Not in so many words. But he did say that I was charming and light on my feet and that he had enjoyed our dance together. And when he goes out to sea, which will be very soon, Dada says, William said we would rarely meet, as he will be working so hard. And that he was sad that our acquaintance had been sweet but too brief. So, I was wondering, dear Mrs Sinclair, as you are to provision Uncle Maitland’s fleets on his supply schooner, if I may not accompany you from time to time so that I might see my darling William? He means everything in the world to me, and how else will we make plans for our wedding?’

  Maisie felt sick. ‘I’m not certain that would work, Dorothea. Space is very cramped on board the schooner and I believe that single white women are not permitted to stay aboard a floating vessel. I’m really not certain that my husband would consent to subjecting you to such discomfort or to the possibility of scandal. Perhaps you could write to him? I would be happy t
o deliver your letters with the general mail packages for the crew. And your father would never find out that you even knew Mr Cooper.’

  Dorothea’s eyes filled. She produced a handkerchief from her pocket and mopped her tear-swollen face.

  Maisie had been brought up to consider tears an unthinkable indulgence. Tears are not a requirement, Maisie, like congratulations after a job well done. Female wiles are cheap. Her mother’s words rang in her mind.

  ‘I hadn’t realised that love could be quite so painful, Mrs Sinclair,’ the girl wailed. ‘I am barely sleeping, such are my dreams filled with him. If I may not see him for weeks, at least I can be sure he will be aware of my feelings if I write them down for him. And you are quite right. I will have to convince Dada that William is the only person in the world for me and I shall die of grief if I may not have him. He will soon notice my suffering at being parted from the only man in the world who can make me happy and will want to know what ails me. He can never deny me anything when I am upset.’

  Maisie was still, her face a mask. ‘Dorothea, I think you need to prepare yourself for a little disappointment. I am certain your father will not allow you to marry a diver, an employee of one of his closest friends. Should you not be seeing other, more suitable types? Perhaps one of the unmarried men at the bank? It would be dreadful for you to become very attached to someone and have your hopes dashed.’

  ‘Oh, it wouldn’t be right for me to encourage others now that I am engaged. What would William think?’

  Maisie hoped that William Cooper would be appalled to discover that Dorothea Montague, the most skittish, witless girl in the town, considered them engaged. Surely he now regretted every second of that sweaty gallop over the dance floor? She said he had kissed her. That was a much bigger something else to think about. If she had initiated it, had he returned the kiss when he hadn’t seemed keen to dance with her at all? Perhaps Mrs Wallace was right all along. William Cooper was nothing but a predatory flirt.

  I am not jealous, she told herself, but her heart caught her out in the deception.

  She nodded and patted the silly girl’s arm but couldn’t process her own disturbed feelings. She watched the second hand move on the wall-mounted clock, ticking off the minutes in loud, hollow clicks. Tick, tock, tick, tock, like the beat of her heart. She was joined to a man with whom she had nothing in common, save a shared great-grandparent and a marriage certificate. She lived with a man she did not love and who certainly did not love her and had shown no physical interest in her. She’d been sacrificed to him by parents who had sent her away and now, according to Dorothea, had happily paid to do so. It appeared that she meant nothing more to Maitland than a profitable acquisition to round off his financial portfolio. She was starved of affection, and yet, when she thought of William Cooper, deep inside she felt a burgeoning tumult of excitement that she did not understand. She barely knew him and hadn’t expected the surge of longing that now engulfed her, or the sour green sea of envy that threatened to drown her.

  Tears out of the way, Dorothea brightened up. ‘So, shall we go off and send your cable, Mrs Sinclair, now that we are sharing secrets?’

  The two young women trotted north in Dorothea’s sulky towards the cable station. The air was shrill with cicadas, but even they could not compete with the high-pitched insistence of Miss Montague’s chatter. They steered away from the main avenue and took a rough track consisting of two parallel ruts ploughed deep in the blood-red earth. It was sticky from a recent downpour and the horse laboured through the slippery mud, blowing hard through its nostrils, its withers slick with sweat.

  The cable building was set in its own plush grounds. Auxiliary buildings and bungalows supporting the needs of the staff were sited on the same plot, shaded by spreading tamarind trees.

  Dorothea tethered her sweating animal to a low-slung branch and said, ‘Follow me, Mrs Sinclair. The cable office is the rectangular one over there with the steeply pitched roof. That’s where we will be able to send your message.’

  Wayne Ramsey stood behind the counter, his shirtsleeves rolled up and clamped in place by two expanding spirals of shimmering metal that looked like flexible toast racks. He was a handsome man with a thick blond moustache, which lay across his top lip like a rigid stick of chalk.

  ‘Morning, Miss Dorothea Montague.’ He intoned his greeting like a congregational response at Evensong.

  ‘Mr Wayne Ramsey.’ Dorothea was clearly trying to flirt. ‘Mrs Sinclair has a cable to send to England. Would you be able to help her? It’s a clandestine affair and not a word must be uttered to my father.’

  Wayne winked at her, then turned towards Maisie and said importantly, ‘No worries, Mrs Sinclair. It’ll only take a jiffy.’

  He stepped away from the counter and from a tray plucked a printed form, which he slid under the glass window together with a sharpened blue pencil. ‘Just write down the message and who you want to send it to. I’ll do the rest.’

  Maisie filled in her parents’ names and address at the top of the message section, then wrote the three words she had decided upon. She had chosen them even before she had learned that they had settled money on her marriage, and now she felt even more resolute that they were well aimed. Ne cede malis.

  Her parents would understand the Latin poet Virgil’s words, ‘Yield not to misfortunes.’ She had done what they wanted. She had come to Australia and married Maitland, and although it was not what she had dreamed of, she was digging in and making the best of it. Her message should be clear to them. And, what? Perhaps she would finally gain their approval?

  Even in the morning semi-darkness Maisie could see that the water drained in a different direction to the bathroom sink in England. Had her father been next door – her wise, dependable encyclopaedia – she would have consulted him. It was said to be something to do with the earth’s rotation, but at the back of her mind she could hear him saying it was more to do with the design of the sink. She bent over for a closer look.

  ‘Missus?’

  The sound made her start. ‘What is it, Marjorie?’

  The maid stood in the bathroom doorway, her large frame blocking the light. ‘Could you gimme some of those quids you got in your skimpies jar?’

  Maisie stood up too fast and almost gouged her head on the bathroom shelf. ‘How do you know about the money?’ she said, fingering her scalp.

  ‘I does the washing and the putting away. I seed them there.’

  ‘Why do you need money? Doesn’t Captain Sinclair pay you?’

  ‘Not in quids money. Me and Duc get cooking stuff and baccy. Mebbe Duc gettum some coin quids for other stuff. Don’t know ’bout dat, dough.’

  Maisie knew Maitland didn’t pay the garden boy. Doctor Shin had told her that no-one in the Bay paid outside help, but she hadn’t known that her indoor staff were not paid properly for the work they did either. ‘Can you tell me what you need it for?’

  Marjorie beat a tattoo on the sides of her face. ‘Firstum. I need pay some peepy gogglers.’

  ‘Peepy gogglers?’

  ‘Yes, Missus. Gettin’ desperate. I can’t see no good when Duc comes allonga my house.’

  Maisie tried not to blush but a disobedient flush crept up her neck. Thoughts she would rather not entertain chased round her head like greyhounds after a lure. Wouldn’t people take their spectacles off in the bedroom? Everything would be slightly out of focus, but wouldn’t that be a good thing? She fanned her embarrassment with her hands.

  ‘What you thinkin’, Missus – dat something going on with Duc, skinny brown fella and me? Dem peepy gogglers be for reading. I bin teaching Duc to read. He’s taked a fancy to dat cooking book you got but can’t read wot the stuff says. I ain’t one of those bad girls dat goes allonga the sailors and catches diseases. I got standards. What you think of me?’

  Maisie’s mouth dropped open. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve heard you both chattering together after dark and I just thought …’

  ‘You bin hurt my
feelings, Missus. Thought you knows Duc don’t like girls. Might be now you give me some spending quids so I’s feel allota better.’

  Maisie considered for a moment then gave a brief nod. ‘All right, Marjorie, but you will still need to get your eyes tested properly. You’ll have to make an appointment.’

  Marjorie waved the suggestion away with her hand. ‘You heard of chiffa, Missus?’

  Maisie shook her head.

  ‘Dat’s thingum two I wanted tell you ’bout. Why we mosta need quids. We get cuppa tea with Duc and him’ll tell you ’bout it. I think it good for you, you being brainy and all.’

  Duc was knocking back and reworking the bread dough he had set the night before. He leaned forward, panting with the effort. His breath smelled yeasty, as if he had worked the mixture with his teeth. Maisie wondered if he brewed his own beer, or if he had been drinking. She banged her forehead with her fist as if to push the thought back in.

  ‘You want me do something, Mem?’ He stared at her, waiting for orders.

  Maisie lifted out a chair from under the kitchen table, careful not to scrape its legs on the polished floor, and stood with her hands resting on the rounded wooden back. Apart from a daily glance at his spotless domain and a brief discussion about menus, she rarely set foot in the kitchen.

  ‘A cup of tea would be nice, Duc, and perhaps a biscuit? And then you can tell me about chiffa.’

  She looked at Marjorie to check her pronunciation. The maid nodded, pulled out a second chair, its back legs scoring parallel lines through the damp polish, and lowered her frame onto the gleaming seat.

  ‘I’s been telling Missus ’bout our plan.’

  Duc brushed up some crumbs from the floor and threw them into the dustbin, banging the residue from his hands against the sides. He was quick and competent, and an obsessive mopper. He dedicated hours each day to washing the floor and now stood behind Maisie, mop in hand, ready to scrub her visit from his floorboards. ‘You plannin’ on make mess with them biscuits, Mem? Loadsa work. No good for floor. More better you stay out.’