by Kim Kane
Gert looked at Madeleine and smiled. ‘Nanny is not mad on Hen Pen,’ she explained. ‘And I am not always mad on Nanny.’
Aunt Hen walked towards the door.
‘That’s not all, though!’ Gert cried. ‘Madeleine is staying with us for the hols – her mother has written to Mummy, as she’s a widow and has been delayed abroad.’
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry about your father,’ said Aunt Hen. ‘And what a blow – you must have been looking forward to seeing your mother.’ She cocked her head to the side. ‘Gertie bounds home whenever she can!’
Gert rolled her eyes. ‘You make me sound like Millie.’
Aunt Hen laughed. ‘You girls are so much better off at the Presbyterian Ladies’ College, with proper teachers, rather than being stuck at home with a governess. The only school with a mandate to educate young ladies as well as any young man – and attended by Vida herself. An institution that produces a woman of that mettle is the school for you.’
Gert smiled. ‘As Mummy and Daddy aren’t home yet, could you please inform Nanny? You know what she’s like with change and it will be much better coming from a grown-up.’
‘Ah, yes, Nanny is not one to embrace any sort of change – even change that might see her station improve.’ Aunt Hen blinked curtly and sighed. ‘I’ll speak to Nanny. You see Madeleine up to the nursery. We’ll sort it out – nothing is impossible in this world, if one puts in enough thought and elbow grease.’
‘Splendid,’ said Gert gratefully. ‘And as Madeleine’s trunks haven’t turned up, could you—’
‘Alert Anna to that fact and ask her to procure some appropriate clothing for Madeleine to wear until her own arrives?’
Gert smiled at her aunt, who in turn looked to Anna. Anna nodded curtly and left the room.
‘Although that mourning skirt does appear extremely comfortable, and I am not one to sniff at comfort,’ said Aunt Hen, looking at Madeleine.
‘Hen likes to wear pantaloons,’ whispered Gert to Madeleine, ‘but Daddy has forbidden it on any of his properties.’
‘The loon in pantaloons!’ Aunt Hen laughed. ‘Most fitting. I was a member of the Rational Dress Society as a student in England. Now, what’s the time, what’s the time?’
She pulled a watch on a thick silver chain out of her pocket – just like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland – and brought it up to her face, squinting at it through her glasses.
‘Good afternoon, girls. I have colonies to emancipate. But first the battle with Nanny, and mark my words, it will be a battle.’ Aunt Hen turned to go, her skirts swirling about her legs like a treble clef. ‘Oh, I do love a good fight! Ye women of Australia, arise in all your might!’
And with one last swish, Aunt Hen was gone.
The nursery was right up the top of the stairs, tucked in under the roof of the right-hand wing of the Muse. It comprised four rooms, each joined to the next like a paper chain. Two were used by the children and connected by a set of double doors, the third was used by Nanny as her bedroom, and at the very back was a schoolroom.
The nursery room Gert led Madeleine to had a low sloping roof covered in wallpaper patterned with little forget-me-nots, which looked like flyspots. The window looked out across the property and down to the gates. There was a small fire burning in the corner and a washstand near the door. The room was smaller and much less grand than any of the downstairs rooms, the rug worn – almost a bit shabby – but it was extremely cosy.
Just as Aunt Hen had promised, there was clothing waiting for Madeleine to change into, laid out on a small, smooth bed.
‘Play clothes,’ said Anna from behind a pile of sheets. ‘I’m terribly sorry but we’re not able to accommodate mourning. The Misses Williamsons have nothing appropriate in your size.’
‘Oh, that should be fine, shouldn’t it, Madeleine? It has been a good deal of time now.’ Gert kicked at Madeleine with her boot, and Madeleine nodded.
‘Sing out if you need help – I shall be in Nanny’s room.’ Anna left, still holding her pile of linen.
‘Do kids here wear mourning clothes – everything in black?’ Madeleine asked Gert.
Gert nodded.‘You have to wear them for a year.’
‘Nobody wears black in Sydney except goths – although everyone in Melbourne does. Well, everyone except my grandmother!’
Madeleine sighed and got undressed. When Gert saw Madeleine’s sports bra, she went to speak, paused, turned red and passed Madeleine layers of cotton without comment.
Instead of undies, there was a pair of shorts like the ones Madeleine had seen on Charlie earlier. Gert called them drawers and blushed.
Gert then passed Madeleine a thick cotton vest to pull on, and over that a thicker, tighter woollen vest, which was stiff and a bit fleecy and had buttons running in a line down the front and some other odd buttons along its bottom edge. It had hard bands sewn inside its two front panels.
‘I don’t think the liberty bodice is going to do up,’ said Gert, pulling the two fleecy sides of the stiff bodice closer together in an attempt to do the long row of buttons up. ‘It’s an old one of Bea’s.’
‘I’ll just wear my sports bra,’ whispered Madeleine, mortified.
‘That? I thought it was a stayband. Either way, we don’t want Nanny to see it.’ Gert yanked at the bodice again. ‘Breathe out.’
‘Out? Shouldn’t it be in?’
‘No, that makes your lungs bigger.’
After much tugging, they got Madeleine and her sports bra into the liberty bodice. It turned out that the buttons punctuating the bottom of the bodice were for buttoning on extra layers of underwear – they buttoned on a flannel petticoat, and then attached some garters to hold up a thick, black pair of longer woollen stockings to keep Madeleine’s knees and thighs warm. Gert pulled a brown dress that did up at the back over Madeleine’s head, followed by a white pinafore, which slipped over the top and tied together at the sides with tape ties.
The buttons pulled the dress’s fabric tight across Madeleine’s back, and the fabric felt tight around her wrists, too. There was no stretch in it at all. The ruffle of the apron ballooned off her shoulders like the sails of the Opera House. Madeleine looked at her reflection in the window and saw an oversized Holly Hobbie doll.
‘Do you seriously go through this every morning? There are more layers than a lasagne. And the buttons!’
‘Oh, there are heaps more buttons if it’s a good outfit. You’ll see.’
These girls would love a Bonds T-shirt and a onesie, thought Madeleine. Or even just velcro. She sat up very straight on the little bed. She had to.
‘I’m not sure where we’re going to find boots for you,’ said Gert. ‘Your feet are bigger than ours, too.’
The too sat at the end of the sentence like bosoms. Madeleine looked down at her broad, black-stockinged feet splayed on the rug. They were usually in runners, and actually pretty big by any measure. ‘I can wear my boots. They’re not ideal, but they’re better than nothing.’ Madeleine couldn’t get over how tiny and narrow Gert’s feet looked in her own boots – like they’d been popped into the oven with a chip packet at two hundred degrees Celsius and left to shrink.
Anna returned with a small mirror and helped Madeleine bind her hair into two plaits, tying them up with heavy ribbons. Her hands smelt of lavender and carbolic. The plaits were so tight that Madeleine’s eyes were pulled sideways and she could hear the click of each blink.
Anna nodded at Madeleine. ‘Much smarter. Are you really feeling better?’ She passed Madeleine a bundle of nut-brown wool. ‘Here, you’ll need a woollen jersey outside.’
Madeleine took the jersey, and Anna knelt by the fire, picked up a pair of brass tongs and fed the flames lumps of coal.
Madeleine was finding it hard to breathe. The bodice made her sweaty and the stockings itched. ‘Is it always this uncomfortable?’ she asked Gert. She stood up and walked about the nursery, wriggling her shoulders, trying to shift the prickles from h
er chest.
‘Uncomfortable? Corsets and bodices assist ladies in supporting the weight of their own backs. Bea wears a proper corset, much to Aunt Hen’s chagrin! But both bodices and corsets are frightfully good for keeping the kidneys warm, and they are windproof.’
‘What does Hen wear, then?’ asked Madeleine.
Gert laughed. ‘Well, it’s said servants wear liberty bodices, so of course Aunt Hen does too. She would like all women to win the vote, you know – not just ladies of property as Daddy proposes, but the servants, too. So she feels a certain level of solidarity with them. Daddy says it’s ridiculous as liberty vests were invented to emancipate women but only served to emancipate servants to do more work, and that Aunt Hen just hasn’t thought it through yet. He says her solidarity is flawed.’
Gert was more animated than usual, Madeleine noticed. ‘Do you think I could borrow one of Hen’s bodices?’ she asked. ‘This one is quite tight.’ Madeleine wasn’t actually sure they were going to get the thing off. She could feel it cutting up under her arms. ‘They might have to get Doctor Purves in with his surgical knives to remove it.’
Gert raised one eyebrow. ‘That’s not such a daft idea. We shall sneak into Aunt Hen’s room as soon as we’re able. But for now, we have to get rid of these before Nanny finds them.’ Gert held up the bundle of Madeleine’s clothes.
Just then there was the heavy batter of heels in the hallway. Gert shoved the bundle behind the doll’s house seconds before a woman with a bossy bun and clipped lips surged into the room. She wore a grey dress and a rigid apron and stood with her hands on her hips. Madeleine jumped up.
‘Really, Miss Gertrude, it is entirely improper to impose a guest on the family like this. You ought to have warned me, or at the very least to have asked for permission,’ the woman said in an English accent. Charlie was at her heels, along with Millie the dog and a very small child who immediately hid behind one of the beds. The woman placed a thick hand on Madeleine’s forehead. Her palm was the colour of unbaked biscuit.
‘I didn’t know either, Nanny – nobody did. Madeleine’s mother was delayed abroad, and she was unable to stay on at school. Madeleine had nowhere else to go, and her mother did write,’ Gert protested.
‘I certainly never received a letter.’
‘I’m sure it was addressed to Mummy or Daddy.’
Madeleine was impressed by Gert’s spry mind.
‘Well, it’s a relief you’re not unwell,’ the woman said to Madeleine, ignoring Gert altogether. ‘You do seem to be a picture of health. Allow me to introduce everybody. I am Nanny. You will come under my supervision while you are here, and needless to say I expect the same standard of behaviour from you as from the other children in this home. You know Miss Gertrude from school. This is Miss Charlotte.’
‘Master Charles Williamson,’ said Charlie and swung down into a bow. ‘We are already acquainted.’ Charlie looked accusingly at Gert. ‘And I know all about the tease and I never fell for it!’
Nanny ignored her, just as she’d ignored her sister. ‘And this here is Miss Imogen.’
A little face peeped around the edge of the bed. The girl looked to be around five years old, and Madeleine’s mouth dropped open – it was the girl from the photo on the rock. Her curly hair was as tightly sprung as corkscrews, and she was as plump as a little partridge. Her cheeks were so pink they looked patched on, like thick circles of felt. Her face was strangely flat but was punctuated by very deep dimples when she smiled, and her teeth were as square and white as pieces of chewing gum.
‘It’s you!’ gasped Madeleine. There was something so wonderfully comfortable about the girl’s tiny face – it was like having to move house but discovering your old couch in one of the brand-new rooms.
The girl – Imogen – edged out from behind the bed. ‘Who are you?’ She was even sweeter in life than in the photo; no picture could capture the soft lilt in her voice.
‘I’m Madeleine,’ said Madeleine, wondering how Imogen would react if she knew that her photograph would end up cemented to the underbelly of a rock in a country lane well over a century from now. ‘And . . . uh . . . I’m another boarder from Gert’s school, but I’m actually from New South Wales.’
Nanny nodded.
‘Thanks so much for letting me stay. I was in a huge pickle.’ Madeleine smiled her most winsome smile.
The invisible thread in Nanny’s lips tightened. At her feet, the little white terrior sat down with a thud and started licking its bottom. Nanny took one look at the dog and ruptured, releasing a round of orders as deftly as Madeleine potted tin ducks at the Easter Show.
‘Miss Charlotte, please untuck your pinafore. It does not look like knickerbockers, it looks like you have your pinafore tucked into your unmentionables – in other words, improper and utterly ridiculous. And once you’ve done that, you can take Millie downstairs immediately; you know full well that animals are forbidden up here. That dog has no sense of decorum whatsoever, and she smells.
‘Miss Imogen, please stop pestering our guest and go and fetch Bob-Bear from your father’s study. You are well aware that you are forbidden to play in there, but if you are going to flout my rules I suggest you don’t leave evidence lying about for the servants to find.
‘Miss Madeleine, while you are here, you shall share this room with Miss Gertrude. I will have Anna make up the bed under the window. Miss Imogen and Miss Charlotte share the room next door – just through those double doors. I shall allow you to settle in now, but please do let me know if there is anything further you require.’
Nanny turned to the other girls.
‘Miss Gertrude, run down and ask Cook to delay nursery tea. In all this unexpected kerfuffle, we are running half an hour behind.’ And with that, Nanny left.
‘Man, she’s terrifying,’ said Madeleine.
‘Terrifying?’ said Charlie. ‘Nanny can be utterly terrifying – even Daddy’s a bit scared of her. That, however, was Nanny at her most charming. Just wait and see.’
After Nanny had left, Madeleine found herself alone in the still room as the girls hurried off to perform their duties.
They dribbled back in a few minutes later. Imo was the last to return, clutching a large bear. She climbed up onto Madeleine’s bed. Her chubby legs, encased in tights, looked as squidgy as sausage.
‘I can whistle, you know,’ she said to Madeleine. ‘Listen.’ She let out a sweet, merry sound. ‘Toow wooooo.’
‘That is impressive.’ Madeleine tried to lean back against the wall, but the bodice made it impossible. She sat up, rigid, instead. ‘I only learnt to whistle last year. How old are you? Five?’
Imo giggled again. ‘Did you travel here in a ship? Did it have dancing and music and service à la russe with blancmange?’
‘Excuse me?’ It was taking Madeleine a while to decipher Imo’s baby lisp and English vowels.
‘The ship. The ship from New South Wales.’
‘I came on a train, and I’ve never heard of blancmange, but it sounds delicious – what is it?’ asked Madeleine.
‘A sort of custard. Mummy and Daddy went on a boat to England and it served blancmange. And biscuits!’
‘Biscuits in the palest pinks and greens—’ Gert stopped short as another, older girl wafted into the room; a girl who was as long, lean and beautiful as any Madeleine had ever seen, not in a beachy Home and Away-star kind of way, but rather in a delicate, cameo-brooch way, with her heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, curly mouth and thick, glossy hair loosely entwined in a bun.
‘Bea!’ Imo jumped off the bed and flung her arms around her. ‘This is our biggest sister, Beatrice, but we call her Bea,’ she said to Madeleine. ‘She’s been on a boat with service à la russe; she’s eaten jellies and pink cakes with silver baubles and lemonade and mounds of other grown-up foods. The jellies were—’
‘Darling, too much! Too much!’ Bea laughed a laugh to match a harp and drop-pearl earrings. ‘How do you do, Madeleine. Nanny explained your
situation. I am sorry to hear your mother is caught abroad.’
Madeleine smiled, feeling strangely shy, but before she could think of anything clever or gracious to say in return, Bea’s eyes had swept past her and on to Gert.
‘Gert?’ Bea’s voice had flipped like a weathervane, from sunny-no-chance-of-rain to celestial storms in one puff. ‘Have you taken my looking glass?’
‘No, Bea.’ Gert was quiet.
‘Gertrude, I know it was you. The one that matches Granny’s manicure set. The one set in tortoiseshell and silver.’
‘No, Bea.’ Gert picked at the skin around her fingernails.
‘Don’t fib, Gertrude. It was in my room this morning, and it’s not there now – and with a blemish as towering as that, I’m not surprised you needed it.’ Bea flicked a long, pale finger at Gert’s face.
Gert put her hand to her red cheeks, sweaty and ashamed. ‘I didn’t take it. Perhaps one of the servants took it?’
‘You spend your life blaming the servants, Gertrude Williamson!’
Madeleine thought of Alice Through the Looking Glass. A mirror – a looking glass was a mirror!
‘Anna fetched a . . . a looking glass earlier that sounded just like that so she could show me the back of my plaits,’ Madeleine spoke up, a little more loudly than she’d intended. It felt great to tell the truth. For once.
‘Oh, well, that’s quite fair enough.’ Bea laughed to wash away the acid, and nodded at Madeleine. ‘Excuse me. I shall ask her for it.’
Imogen followed Bea to the door of the nursery. ‘Bea, Bea, will you play with me?’
‘Not now, darling. Perhaps later.’ Bea breezed off so smoothly she seemed to hover on air.
‘Thank you.’ Gert nodded at Madeleine once Bea had gone. ‘She’d never have believed me. I spend my entire life getting the blame. If anything goes wrong in this family, it is always my fault.’
‘She’s very beautiful.’
‘Everyone says that.’ Charlie flicked through the pages of her book.
‘Charlie, your notebook is so daft.’ Gert rolled her eyes.