Letty and the Stranger's Lace

by Lucia Masciullo

  But Mrs Hutch didn’t even glance at them.

  Letty concentrated on Lavinia’s eyes and hands. She passed things to Lavinia, who served the guests. Letty found it was easy to ignore the guests’ conversation because it wasn’t very interesting - something about ‘improving the colonial population’. Letty and Lavinia got through serving turtle soup, smoked salmon, artichokes and kidney pudding without a hitch. Letty carried stacks of dirty dishes carefully back to the kitchen.

  ‘You and your sister can wash those later,’ said the housekeeper.

  Letty sank gratefully into a kitchen chair. She needed a rest.

  But the housekeeper handed Letty a platter of cakes and biscuits. ‘It’s time to take the ladies their tea. Lavinia, you take the teapot. It’s too heavy for Letty.’

  Letty couldn’t take her eyes off the food. She was getting so hungry. She had watched the guests eat course after course without a mouthful herself. Of course she couldn’t touch it, she knew, or she and Lavinia would be sent packing. But her stomach kept telling her eyes to look.

  Lavinia stopped to open the drawing-room door. Letty stood on Lavinia’s dress.

  ‘Watch where you’re going!’ hissed Lavinia.

  ‘Is Mrs Hutch in there?’ Letty whispered back.

  ‘Yes. Don’t say a word to her highness, no matter what.’

  Letty nodded and tried not to yawn. It had been such a long night. Soon they’d be done serving. Then Letty could talk all she liked with Lavinia while they washed dishes. She was nearly there.

  ‘I think your husband is right, Mrs Hutch,’ said one of the ladies as she sipped her tea. ‘There is a labour problem. It is so hard to get good servants these days.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Mrs Hutch, fanning herself with a big feathery fan.

  ‘Fancy your immigrant girl not turning up!’ said the Mistress.

  Letty saw Mrs Hutch glance slyly at Lavinia from behind her fan’s purple plumes. Letty looked at her sister. Lavinia stood silently, with her lips pinched together.

  ‘She must have run off with a sailor,’ giggled the Mistress.

  ‘Too true!’ Mrs Hutch laughed loudly.

  Letty’s hands gripped the plate. She felt dizzy, but it was with anger, even more than hunger. Mrs Hutch could see with her own eyes what a good servant Lavinia was, if she stopped pretending.

  But Mrs Hutch crossed the room, and began fanning herself madly.

  ‘Wattle!’ she sniffed. ‘These native flowers make me sneeze.’

  Letty felt Lavinia glaring at her. She was supposed to offer Mrs Hutch the cakes. She didn’t want to. But Letty steeled herself and held them out.

  She wasn’t sure what happened next. Mrs Hutch held a purple handkerchief to her nose, ignoring the tray. Letty didn’t dare say anything. Mrs Hutch sniffed showily and waved her feathery fan very fast. Somehow the fan whisked across the plate of cakes and sent several of them tumbling to the floor. A large dollop of strawberry jam and cream splattered onto Letty.

  ‘Clumsy girl,’ scolded Mrs Hutch.

  Letty just stood there, shocked. It wasn’t my fault, she thought. Mrs Hutch had done it - flouncing around putting on her nasty act. Letty didn’t know what to do with herself, or the tray, or the cakes on the floor.

  Lavinia hurried silently around the back of the ladies’ chairs. She took the tray from Letty and scooped up the dropped cakes with a napkin.

  ‘Kitchen!’ she whispered in Letty’s ear. ‘I’ll do the rest.’

  In the kitchen, Letty told the housekeeper what had happened. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she said. ‘Really.’

  The housekeeper sighed. ‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘But you can’t go back in like this.’ She dabbed at Letty’s collar. ‘There’s a stain here.’

  Letty looked. She gasped. Mary’s lace had a sticky pink blotch.

  ‘Never mind, dearie. You’ve done passably well for a first effort.’ The housekeeper patted her on the head.

  Letty did mind. For all her efforts, there was a stain on the lace, and on the evening. It had not gone perfectly. The Mistress would think she was a clumsy girl. Letty might have to face Mary again, too.

  When she and Lavinia finally got to bed, Letty could not enjoy her sister’s company, or the blue roses on the wallpaper.

  THE next day, a feeling of failure hung over Letty like winter fog.

  As they stood by the back door to leave, the housekeeper counted coins into Letty’s hand.

  ‘Here are your earnings. But don’t get your hopes up, dearie. There’s no work here for you, aside from the odd dinner party.’

  Letty had feared as much. Her hopes were a long way from up. She had not lost Lavinia her job, but neither had she found one of her own. Lavinia’s mistress did not need her, and none of the other guests would want her after last night. Abner had gone to sea without her, doing a job girls did not do.

  Letty clutched the money in one hand and Mary’s paper package in the other. She and Lavinia had already unstitched the lace from her dress. But Lavinia would not let her wash it clean.

  ‘Unless you know how to wash lace properly,’ Lavinia said, ‘it’ll turn out like fur balls spat out by the Mistress’s cat.’ So it was still stained.

  Letty thought of not going back to Fry’s Bakery and never giving the lace back. But then, she thought, George might go and tell Bridget. Bridget and Mrs Chisholm would think Letty was a thief. They’d throw her out onto the streets. Then Letty would be like the stray dogs and wild goats, kicked and cursed by everyone.

  So instead, she turned into Cribbs Lane. She put the packet of lace on George’s counter. On top of it, she laid her hard-earned coins.

  ‘Can you please say to Mary,’ she told George, ‘I had an accident and her lace is dirty. I’m very, very sorry. I don’t know how to clean it. This is all the money I’ve earned, to pay for it.’

  ‘I don’t know much about these things,’ said George. ‘You better come and tell Mary yourself.’

  That was exactly what Letty didn’t want to do. But she didn’t have much choice.

  Mary opened up the paper and picked at the lace with her long white fingers.

  ‘Things happen,’ she said. ‘The stain’s still fresh and it hasn’t gone through.’ She put it down. ‘But I don’t feel like washing it.’

  George pulled up a chair. He straddled it and sat with his arms crossed over the back.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said. ‘How about you show Letty how, and she washes it. Then she can do my waistcoat while she’s at it.’

  ‘Seems to me,’ he said to Letty with a cunning look, ‘that if your deuced ugly Bridget lets you work up the posh end of the street, then she should have no problem with you working here.’ George looked as pleased with himself as if he’d laid down a winning trick at cards. ‘My silver’s as good as theirs.’

  Letty was caught. She wouldn’t have minded working for George. It was only that she wasn’t comfortable around his sister, but she didn’t want to say that to him. Letty also doubted that her few pennies were anywhere near enough to pay for damaging the lace. Maybe I ought to fix that, at least, she thought.

  ‘All right,’ she said.

  George stripped off his waistcoat and went back to the bakery, whistling. Mary told Letty to fetch a bundle of fine sticks from under the bed. Then she showed Letty how to lay them out along the lace, one under and one over. After that they tied all of it to a board.

  ‘That holds the shape,’ she explained.

  Letty lit the fire and put a pot of water on to heat up.

  ‘You look frightened,’ Mary said as they waited for the water. ‘I frighten myself,’ she went on in a low voice. ‘There’s something wrong with me. I spoil everything I touch.’

  ‘But your lace is beautiful,’ said Letty, surprising herself. Mary’s words gave her shivers. She didn’t want to agree with them.

  ‘You don’t know,’ Mary said bleakly, ‘what’s happened.’

  That was true. Letty could not imag
ine how a mother would abandon her little boy.

  ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this,’ Mary went on. ‘Except that you have a sweet face. It’s no use talking to George. The only females he understands are the four Queens in a pack of cards.’

  Letty almost laughed. ‘George says females are impossible. I thought he was talking about goats,’ she admitted.

  ‘Ha!’ Mary smiled. For a moment it was as if a veil had cleared from her face. Her eyes came alive. Letty wished she looked that way more often.

  By the time they had finished washing the lace and the waistcoat, Letty did not feel so angry at Mary, only confused. In most ways, Mary was kinder than Mrs Hutch, for example, or Bridget. Mary had not got mad about the stain. She did not make Letty feel clumsy or helpless. She nodded approval when the job was done.

  George was beaming as he examined the clean waistcoat. He puffed happily on his pipe.

  ‘Don’t blow dirty smoke over the child’s work,’ Mary said.

  ‘Struth, I forgot. Right you are. Letty, here’s your money back, with a good bit more.’

  He steered her out to the bakery. ‘I’ve got another business proposition,’ he said with a wink. ‘Next Sunday, I’m off to the races. I’m going to make a right day of it. I’m not asking you to clean - can you just come and keep an eye on Mary here? I reckon she likes you. She could do with a hand, especially now. She hasn’t got – you know – much time left.’

  Letty shivered. Perhaps Mary was dying. She did not look as thin and weak as Lavinia when she had ship’s fever. But it might explain why Mary was so unhappy, and why she had left her little boy.

  Letty still did not like to be left with Mary. But she didn’t want to let George down either. She remembered Abner saying months ago on the ship that everyone needs help sometimes. Maybe Mary hated being alone, as Letty did. She also remembered Abner telling her she was brave. Even though he was not here, Letty wanted to be the girl he thought she was.

  ‘I’ll come,’ she said.

  ‘Capital!’ said George.

  ALL the rest of the week, Letty worried about being with Mary on Sunday. She hoped it would pour with rain, so the races would be called off.

  She dawdled as she did jobs for Bridget, her mind on race day. As she set the kitchen fire in the Immigrants Home, she re-read a story in one of the old newspapers. Letty’s eyes stuck on the word ‘lace’. She stopped stuffing paper in the fireplace. She had an idea: she would ask Mary to teach her lacemaking. That would be better than sitting together in awkward silence.

  Sunday was not rainy. Instead the sky was a lighter reflection of the sea, blue and flecked. Letty told Bridget that she had work at Fry’s Bakery. Part of her hoped Bridget would say she couldn’t go.

  ‘On a Sunday?’ Bridget crossed her arms. ‘Well, I guess you’d best take work where you can get it.’

  This time Letty took the old newspaper to the Rocks, instead of the bread sack. Well-groomed horses pranced past her in the opposite direction. They were going up Bent Street towards Hyde Park. The races were definitely on, Letty thought.

  George was nearly as well-groomed as the horses. His clothes were clean, he had shaved, and Letty couldn’t see any flour on him anywhere. His friend Archie was raring to go too, with oiled hair and squeaky boots.

  Letty smiled at George.

  ‘Mary knows you’re coming,’ he said. ‘She’s all right today – talking at least. Wish me luck, eh?’

  ‘Good luck, George!’ Letty wished there was someone to wish her luck.

  ‘Hooroo!’ George yelled cheerfully in Mary’s direction.

  Mary didn’t answer. Letty went looking for her.

  Mary was sitting on the bed staring into space. The blanket was wrapped around her, as always.

  ‘The weather’s sunny. Would you like to go outside?’ Letty suggested.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Mary.

  Letty wasn’t sure why. She didn’t like to ask.

  ‘I was thinking,’ Letty began, ‘could you teach me something? How you make lace?’

  ‘Oh!’ Mary looked surprised. ‘That takes years. I started learning when I was younger than you.’

  ‘Then I could try,’ Letty persisted.

  ‘We’ve got nothing better to do, I suppose.’ Mary heaved herself off the bed and settled in front of the table. She took the cover off her lace pillow. There wasn’t much more lace made than the first time Letty saw it.

  Mary picked up four of the threaded pieces of wood in her hands. ‘These are the bobbins,’ she said. ‘They always work in pairs. The middle two go left over right – cross – then both pairs right over left – twist. You try.’

  Letty picked up two more pairs of bobbins. They were smooth in her hands and made a pleasant wooden clink. Their shape reminded Letty of peg dolls. The bobbins were like skinny people, doing a dance over and round each other.

  ‘Cross – twist. Yes.’ A little smile flickered on Mary’s lips when Letty got it right.

  Mary taught Letty about the different stitches. There were cloth stitch and picots and honeycomb. Honeycomb was too complicated for Letty to follow. Letty watched Mary’s hands flicking the bobbins. She imagined that one of the threads was her, and another one Lavinia and another Abner. The ones on the very far side would be Papa and the rest of her family. People’s lives were like lace, she thought, woven through each other. Sometimes life was as tricky as the honeycomb pattern. Letty sighed.

  Mary stopped abruptly. ‘You’re bored,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m not! Really.’

  Mary did not believe her.

  ‘I was just thinking that working things out is sometimes hard,’ Letty confessed. ‘I often don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mary. Her eyes were deep and thoughtful. ‘Even grown women feel that way.’ Mary laid the bobbins down. ‘That’s why I’m here. I was afraid I couldn’t cope in the bush. I’m not sure whether I’ll cope here,’ she added.

  Letty did not exactly understand what Mary was talking about. But she felt closer to Mary than before.

  Mary flicked the cloth cover over the lace. ‘That’s enough of that,’ she said. ‘Time for lunch.’

  Mary didn’t eat much. She picked at her food and twisted restlessly on the chair. Letty was surprised she wasn’t thinner when she had so little appetite. Sitting so close to Mary today, Letty had noticed she was quite plump in the tummy.

  When Mary pushed her plate away, Letty picked up the newspaper.

  ‘I brought something for you,’ she said.

  ‘Did you?’

  Letty laid the paper on the table and smoothed it out. ‘It’s about lace. It’s a bit old, but it’s very nice.’

  ‘ “Fashions for February”,’ Letty read. ‘ “Velvet is at this moment the favourite material in the fashionable world. Dresses are in black, green or violet, with skirts embroidered, or with three flounces of lace. The small short sleeves are much ornamented and lace is much used.” ’

  ‘Sounds pretty,’ said Mary. Letty was encouraged. She kept going.

  ‘I like this even better.’ Letty turned the page to another article, with the title, ‘The Christening of the Princess Royal’. She leaned her chin on her fists to read the small print. She began reading halfway down, because the article was long and some of the words were too difficult:

  ‘ “Her Majesty passed into the Throne-room. The throne had been removed, and an altar erected in its place. The front and sides were hung with crimson velvet, very richly ornamented with broad gold lace.” ’

  Letty thought it sounded wonderful – more gorgeous even than the Cumberland Street dinner party. Letty read the description of what the Queen was wearing, too.

  Mary listened with a little smile. For once, Letty thought, she looked dreamy, instead of haunted.

  Letty continued. ‘ “When they came to naming the Princess, her Royal Highness was given into the Archbishop’s hands. Her Royal Highness reposed in his arms with much contentment. Her Maj
esty the Queen Dowager then named her Victoria Adelaide Mary Louisa’ ” Letty thought of the little brother and sisters she had left behind in England. ‘I do love babies,’ she said.

  Letty looked at Mary. Mary’s hands had frozen in mid-air. Her face was stricken, as if she was seeing something terrible happen in front of her.

  ‘No!’ said Mary. ‘No, no, no, no!’ She began to sob – a hard shuddering that shook her shoulders and passed all through her. Mary stood up and staggered. She reached for the table, but the lace-making pillow was in the way.

  Mary swept the pillow onto the floor. It fell with a thud and a jangle of bobbins.

  Letty was terrified. She had sent Mary mad again. For a little while this morning, Letty had thought Mary was getting better. But what did she know? She was just a girl who couldn’t really do much. She had caused a disaster.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Letty stammered.

  Mary did not hear her. She gripped the table with both hands and groaned.

  Letty backed towards the street door. She was going to leave before she made things worse still.

  ‘Wait!’ said Mary.

  Letty stopped.

  Mary held her side.

  ‘Go and find George,’ Mary said. ‘Tell him it’s time.’

  LETTY ran. As she scrambled down the crooked steps of the Rocks laneways, she remembered what George had said about Mary not having much time left. Was Mary dying now? The further Letty ran, the more likely it seemed, and the harder fear beat in her heart.

  Letty was dismayed when she reached Hyde Park. There were hundreds of men around the dusty open space – drinking, joking, arguing. Letty hurried from one group to the next. How would she find George in time?

  Then she remembered about the girls he’d been so keen to impress. There weren’t many women here, Letty saw. But George would be with some of them, she was certain. Letty made for the nearest girls she could see.

  ‘Do you know George Fry?’ she asked.

  ‘Who?’

  Letty went to the next group, and the next. At last she spotted Archie. He was rather red-faced, and leaning more on a girl’s arm than she on his.