In Lonnie's Shadow

by Chrissie Michaels

  Her leg ached. Her neck was pinched. All she could sense was the stink of Slasher and his hands upon her. She straightened up her clothing as best she could and forced herself to climb onto the bridge spanning the river, where she clung to the iron rail- ing. A bridge made for the princes of the empire. Half their luck.

  When would Annie stop having this revenge on her? Was there ever to be an end to the ordeal? The road ahead would take her away from this stinking place. If only her legs would do as they were told she could keep on walking right out of Melbourne, for good. Far away from this pitiable life. Anywhere.

  Pearl stopped short, her vision of the future ob- scured. Where to? Where would she go? Where could she go? Who had come for her when she was being held captive by Annie Walker? No one. Not one soul had come looking. Not even Daisy or Lonnie had missed her. No one cared whether she was alive or dead. Annie was right, no one was going to help some scrawny bit of flim-flam like her. She shuddered at the thought that there was no one to reclaim her; neither brother nor sister to apply to someone like Miss Selina or the rescue brigade from the mission hall for help in bringing her home. No family wait- ing. No home. No welcome. No protection. At the very extent of her hopelessness, misery spilled from her body and over the bridge like a waterfall.

  A hansom cab splashed its way across the bridge, swaying violently in the wind. The driver reined in the horse as he navigated through the pouring rain. The unlikely sight of a soaking-wet girl leaning over the handrail, when everyone in their right mind should be rushing for shelter, drew his attention.

  At first glance she looked about the same tender years as his own cherished daughter and he won- dered what on earth the girl was doing, playing out in a storm. It did not take him long to realise. Still he found some empathy for her. He slowed down the horses and was about to call her out of the rain and onto the backboard, when a gruff voice came from the comfortable dryness of the cabin. ‘Be swift, man. It’s already past the hour.’

  It was a voice Pearl would have recognised – the voice of Thomas Crick – had her mind not become a brown swirling torrent, daring her, drawing her into a raging darkness. She paid no heed to the cab driver or its occupant hidden in the blackness of the cabin.

  The river was calling. A siren’s song. She did not have the energy to walk away. How easy to end her life; over and done with, once and for all. Not a surrender, but an escape. She wondered what it would be like to lie beneath the swollen waters and how long it would take for her to die. Would it be painful? The idea of dying scared her. She thought about Biddy’s babe. ‘Do we have to be dead to be cradled in Heaven’s arms?’ she asked aloud, looking skywards. ‘Are we ever truly safe?’ If only one person cared, she would have a reason to live, a reason not to jump.

  A sheet of grey rain blew horizontal, biting into the face of the warm-jacketed youth who rushed over the bridge. As he approached Pearl, she moved back from the railing and raised her head, indifferent to the downpour, staring at him wild-eyed, a shiver- ing fragile girl in a dress so flimsy it glued itself to her body.

  The young man who approached her was rip- ping off his jacket to cover her shoulders. ‘What are you doing here, all dripping and drenched through? Lordy, it’ll be the death of you. Take my coat. You’re grey as a ghost. Even Mrs B can’t expect you to stand out in this weather.’

  ‘It won’t be the death of me, yer chump.’ Pearl’s voice was faint. ‘A little rain never killed anyone.’ She gripped Lonnie’s arm and turned from the bridge.

  ‘Let’s leave. I’m freezing.’

  ‘Too right, I’m taking you home. Take it easy. Lean on me.’

  As they staggered through the rain, Pearl kissed him tenderly on the cheek. ‘Out of all the people in Melbourne, Lonnie McGuinness, I should have known it would be you. I shall love you for always.’

  Lonnie blushed up like a dark cherry. ‘Get away with you, Pearl. Are you trying to embarrass a man?’

  DOORKNOB

  Item No. 718

  Cast iron. Front door. Well used. Worn thin.

  Located at site of No. 4 Casselden Place.

  The door at number four Casselden Place refused to open. Usually a welcome to any man who was half- cut and in need of a frolicking, the evening downpour had swollen the timber in a triumphant rush before spring came and made it stubborn.

  Lonnie shoved his young strong shoulder hard against it, ramming the timber door open. ‘In you go, my girl.’ He hurriedly ushered Pearl out of the pool of water in the doorway and into the front room. ‘Warm yourself up, then put yourself straight to bed. I’ll pull the door hard-closed as I leave.’

  Pearl’s voice was almost a whisper. ‘Don’t leave me, Lonnie.’

  Lonnie swallowed hard and gave Pearl a quick nervous look. His words came out hoarse as if he was almost talking to himself. ‘I should be going.’

  Pearl touched his sodden hair, letting her fingers linger. ‘Please don’t go, not yet. Please stay. Don’t you want to stay?’ She looked at him appealingly. There was desperation in her voice. She didn’t care. Wasn’t Lonnie her saviour? She didn’t wait for the bashful reply that would surely follow, but took his hand gen- tly in hers and wandered inside the darkened room.

  ‘You’re soaked. Let me at least dry you before you leave.’

  At the touch of her hand Lonnie felt a warmth flow through him, an intensity of which he had had little previous experience. The vow he had made to himself earlier in the evening, to be done with the girls, rose in his mind but was soon diminished by thoughts of the nearness of Pearl. How she was mak- ing him feel. Like that inadvertent brush of an elbow against a woman’s bosom that time in Bourke Street. Well, he had Carlo to blame for that sly manoeu- vre, catching him unawares with a swift side push. And the gush of desire he’d felt when he’d walked through the Eastern Market with Rose Payne as if they were a couple. A careless arm loosely placed around Daisy’s slender shoulder; but that was only a friendly gesture between mates. All over again he was having a rush of feelings, wanting to be close to a girl. To Pearl. There was an explosion in his head as the vow blew to smithereens.

  As he allowed her to seat him on the chaise longue,

  his knees tottering and his emotions spinning, one part of him wanted to run. Maybe he had the wrong end of the stick. Maybe she did only want to dry him and see him comfortably on his way home. Pearl knew this game. She would easily realise he’d never been with a girl before.

  The fireplace was stacked with screwed-up old newspapers, small kindling and a good-sized, red gum log. Pearl set the fire ablaze and slowly dried herself in front of it; then slipped from the room, returning dressed in only a silken shimmy that fell in frothy volumes to the ground.

  Silently Lonnie sat, his eyes fixed on her. She seemed to be transforming into a fairy child, a winged butterfly, a white rose.

  The flames were taking hold. Sap oozed and spluttered from the log, boiled by the licks of the kindling flames, until it evaporated and all that remained was a heady eucalyptus fragrance wafting through the room. The fire gave off comforting heat. Soon they were enveloped in orange-yellow light.

  Pearl moved across and began to dry him, towel- ling his hair, softly rubbing the back of his ears. A warm feeling moved up from his toes. His eyes closed tight, the way they used to when his mam dried his hair. There was something soothing in the rhythm and the touch. A safe haven. A coming home.

  Pearl’s strokes settled into slower caresses. She was thinking of Lonnie’s shy innocence, wanting to thank him for caring, for saving her life. He would never know she had had every intention of leaping from the bridge. If she was to love Lonnie in the way she planned, she must be the instigator, take her time. She changed her attentions to his chest, moving unhurriedly.

  At her female touch, Lonnie’s excitement grew. She moved in even closer, folding her arms around him, tenderly drying his back. Her breasts ever so lightly brushing him. ‘Take this wet thing off, yer chump. You’ll catch your death of cold.�
� The faint echo of the words entranced him. He felt himself weakening. She didn’t wait for the inevitable refusal, but began unbuttoning his shirt. ‘What about these?’ She tugged on his pants. ‘You should dry them by the fire.’

  Lonnie swallowed hard, his words croaking out.

  ‘They’re nearly dry.’

  ‘Say you like me, Lonnie.’

  ‘’Course I do.’ He felt edgy and shy at the same time.

  ‘I mean, do you really like me?’

  ‘I just told you so.’

  ‘Will you kiss me, Lonnie?’ She waited for his answer, catching his embarrassed stare. Still in part such a boy! She could see he wasn’t sure how to react.

  ‘It’s okay to kiss me.’ She pushed back lightly on his shoulders until he laid full length on the hearthrug.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, easing his belt loose, ‘time to get these off.’

  With delicate eagerness, Pearl sketched the lines of his body, moving inch by inch along his shoulder- blades, over the curve of his chest, deliberate and slow. She lay her body towards him, bringing her face closer to his. Her lips opened, her tongue mak- ing its way into his unknowing mouth. Taking his hands into hers she traced the contours of her own skin.

  Tonight this invitation, this generous offering, was a gift.

  TATTERED PIECE OF PAPER

  Item No. 3947

  Part of an agreement for the sale of a horse.

  Midweek and it was well past the period the racing fraternity had set aside for buying and selling yearlings, although there were a few owners and trainers braving the cold morning here in the Golden Acres saleyard. One man in particular stood out alone, and it did not take Thomas Crick long to notice him.

  ‘Back for another look at the yearlings? Couldn’t find any finer than ours, I suspect,’ he said, by way of a greeting. It was a testy statement, much more than a simple question thrown at Ned.

  ‘Oh, there are plenty of good yearlings around. But the Glen’s more interested in young stayers like Lightning,’ he replied.

  ‘Lightning’s not for sale and even if he was,’ Crick said, involuntarily pulling on his horse’s rein and less able than most to mask the scornful edge to his voice,

  ‘I think he’d be a bit out of your price range.’

  Ned always kept a clear head and an upper hand. He continued with a cool smile pressing at his lips,

  ‘All I can say is good job you’ve got him, for the rest of these youngsters look like an ordinary bunch to me. I’m not here to buy Lightning, you’ll be pleased to know, but his brother’s ours now.’ He stared Thomas out. ‘’Course you’d know already. Or at least he soon will be. I’m only here to do the formalities and hand over the money.’

  ‘What are you talking about, man?’ Thomas was confused. ‘Trident’s not for sale. There’s some mistake.’ What the devil was going on? Father wouldn’t sell Trident without telling him. Not with the race coming up.

  Ned grinned, taking a great deal of delight in the young upstart’s discomfort. ‘No mistake. We’re taking delivery of him sometime in the next fortnight or so,’ he replied cheerily.

  With a curt by-your-leave, Thomas rode over to the office, dismounted and threw open the door.

  ‘Father, we have to speak.’

  ‘One moment.’ Crick senior waved his hand at his son’s interruption. He finished putting pen to paper.

  Thomas rocked impatiently from foot to foot. ‘It won’t wait.’

  His father paused. The Crick eyes were alert, intelligent, but cold like steel. ‘What’s so important you come bursting in here like a larrikin? Is this the way a Crick behaves? Speak up then.’

  ‘Tell me it’s not true that you’ve sold Trident?’

  His father’s nod signalled the horse was indeed going.

  ‘How on earth can we fix the race without him?’

  ‘Hold on, lad, nothing’s going to change. We’ll just give them the horse on the Monday after the race. Simply scrub him back to his old self and send him off. No one will be any wiser.’

  ‘But why sell him?’

  ‘We don’t need him. He’s had plenty of chances. We’ve got a good price from Alcock, much more than he’s worth. And we’ve got many other pacemakers to run with Lightning. But think, lad! If Lightning and Trident do ever race against each other in the future, as I fully expect they will, everyone who remembers this street race will bet on Trident. They’ll remember the race the way we want them to. And that’s with you riding to victory on Trident, over the unbeatable Lightning. The only speculation left for the mugs out there is whether Lightning would have won with you aboard and not McGuinness. No one will ever know we swapped them. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’

  Thomas realised his father was talking sense. From what he had seen at track work, Trident would always finish a couple of lengths behind Lightning.

  EIDERDOWN

  Item No. 445

  Bed coverlet, stuffed with the first feathering of the eider duck.

  There was no denying it, Lonnie had actually done the deed. From now on, Pearl was his girl. He couldn’t wipe her full-bodied charms from his mind.

  Still he wished he hadn’t been such a great gormless goose. He recalled the long silence when it was all over and done with. Well, he’d been as mopey as a wet rooster, hadn’t he, only able to gasp out a breathless, ‘Thank you.’ Pearl seemed faint or something, no doubt swept away as much as him. He brushed away the inkling she might say a mumbled

  ‘My pleasure’ to all her punters.

  There was only one thing for her to do and that was give up the game. About time she became an honest woman. From now on he’d look after her good and proper. As far as he was concerned they had sealed their union.

  His chest was bursting. There was nothing he could not do. He felt ready to face anything. Even the horse race coming up soon. The way he was feeling, Thomas Crick wouldn’t stand a chance.

  True to form, being the fair sportsman and gentle- man that he was, Crick had forbidden Lonnie to be anywhere near his mount. All he had been told was to meet under the elms at the Carlton Gardens at an appointed date and hour, which they wouldn’t dis- close until nearer the race. At least Crick had had the decency to put in the entry fee of ten pounds on his behalf as promised.

  He supposed he should be grateful, but he couldn’t help the swipe. While he was expected to fully honour his part of the deal, there was no question of him doing any training. No track work. No favours. No arguments. And definitely no Rose Payne. Good rid- dance. From now on, there was only one sweetheart for him, so Crick was welcome to Rose any day, win or lose.

  Lonnie was mulling over these details and what declarations he would make to Pearl, when he bumped into Daisy hurrying down the bluestone steps from the Wesley hall. Lonnie had not met up with her since their argument. Before he could make up, she planted a warm, sisterly kiss on his cheek.

  ‘Lonnie, your birthday, I didn’t mean –’

  ‘Wasn’t your fault, Daise. I’ve been meaning to come over and apologise.’ He scrambled for the right words to express what he wanted to say. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you told me about being a man.

  ’Course you were right all along.’

  Daisy smiled forgivingly at him. ‘I’m never mad at you for long. Guess it isn’t the first time, won’t be the last either.’

  ‘Wanna go to the skittle saloon and knock over a few pins?’

  Daisy shook her head, dismissing the idea. ‘Can’t, I’m on my way to see Miss Selina.’ She seemed agitated.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Something dreadful’s happened. About Pearl.’ Lonnie felt his face flame up over his evening with Pearl. Lordy, his girl hadn’t gone and blabbed already?

  Noting his expression, Daisy continued with a baffled whisper, ‘Wait till you hear the truth of it. She’s been in such a state. The horrors she’s confessed!’

  What was Daisy on about? He hadn’t manhandled

  Pe
arl. If anything he’d been shy and nervous.

  Daisy hesitated. ‘I probably shouldn’t be saying this to you. I did promise not to tell.’

  ‘I’m her mate, too,’ he fished. He had a right to know. Pearl was his girl now, good and proper.

  Daisy’s head swung uncertainly from side to side. If she had a horse crop she would soon be thrashing her own back.

  Lonnie wasn’t going to let it go. ‘Are you gonna tell me?’

  She gave a huge sigh. ‘I guess secrets between friends should never be kept when they’re so sinful and cause such sorrow.’ Not allowing herself a change of heart, she spilled out exactly what had happened, all the sordid details of Pearl’s story, starting with the babe born and dead to some poor girl on the night of the wild storm, how that was the reason Pearl had left Annie Walker’s employ in the first place; her kidnapping and captivity under the floorboards; having to double up for the two madams; and the latest violation committed under the bridge of the Yarra river.

  ‘The bridge?’ A memory surfaced of Pearl leaning against the handrail, the rain soaking her to the skin, her deep sense of melancholy, her emotional plea. Ice flowed through his bones.

  ‘Seems it started ages ago when Annie sent Slasher after her.’

  But if Slasher hurt Pearl on the same night, why hadn’t she let him know? Why hadn’t he realised her state of mind himself? Lonnie’s stomach turned over at his own short-sightedness.

  ‘Are you unwell?’ Daisy asked anxiously.

  The ways of women were much too difficult for him to understand. But one thing he quickly realised was that Daisy seemed none the wiser to the fact he’d been with Pearl or that she was his girl. And glad he was to keep that a secret.

  Her own pain at Pearl’s distress was obvious.