When the Singing Stops

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When the Singing Stops Page 24

by Di Morrissey


  ‘My dears, what a pleasant surprise! Doing the providoring, I see.’

  Lady Annabel, resplendent in African print caftan, dark glasses and a long sienna scarf wrapped around her head, sailed towards them. ‘Dear Madison,’ she leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘How did you find Kaieteur?’

  Madi grinned. ‘It was magnificent. Words fail me.’

  ‘I doubt that. So, what are your plans?’

  ‘For today, next week, or next year?’

  Lady Annabel took off her glasses and studied Madi. ‘I was thinking of today. Like in the next hour. Would you care to go for tea somewhere? Actually, I was about to go over to my old house. Madi, would you like to come? Ann?’

  ‘Can’t thanks, Annabel. Got to get the food back and meet John. But, Madi, why don’t you go? You’ll find the house interesting. I’ll send Singh back to pick you up.’

  ‘Would you, Ann dear? That would be lovely. Madi?’

  Madi shrugged. ‘Sure. I have no special plans this morning.’

  Madi reacted in some surprise at the size and haunting splendour of the old mansion. High-standing and double-storeyed, it rose in peeling paint like an ageing grey shadow from the tangled garden. The area under the house had been glassed and closed in, a modern addition which looked like a new bandage on an old body. ‘That’s an office for Colonel Bede,’ said Lady Annabel as the car delivered them to the wrought-iron fence and gate. ‘He trundled in a desk and filing cabinets but doesn’t seem to use it much. Holds a few meetings there, he told me. At least someone is occupying the place occasionally. Whole place is a bit of a white elephant,’ she said in a sad voice.

  Ann waved goodbye. ‘Singh will be back in an hour or so.’

  They walked through the overgrown garden, past the choked pond and hibiscus and bougainvillea, once regularly pruned and now sagging with overlong tresses. A knotted and twisted flambeau tree rose up on one side of the house reaching beyond the upper verandah. ‘I’m going to take some cuttings back and pot them up for my little garden. I just like to check the place every few weeks.’ Annabel went to a side entrance, unlocking a thick door which led to a staircase leading to the verandah. ‘Used to be the servants’ entry.’

  Madi caught her breath at the musty odour that reminded her of old clothes, mothballs and mouldy carpet. Strips of sunlight fell through the closed wooden shutters but Madi could make out the bulk of mahogany furniture crouching darkly in the large sitting room. There was a faint aroma of old wood, or was it furniture polish? Annabel opened a set of shutters which revealed dusty leather, ornate and heavy chairs, sofas and sideboards and a dining table of baronial proportions. On the walls were misty scenes of the English countryside which seemed faded and insipid, or was it just the contrast of the hot sun and bright colours outside the windows.

  ‘You’ve never moved or sold anything?’ asked Madi. ‘What’s going to happen to all this?’

  ‘God knows. Where would I put it? I can’t afford the upkeep of this place. Bede owns it all now. I’m quite comfortable in my little flat across town but this does bring back memories. Daddy entertained many notables here.’

  They walked through other rooms with four poster beds, massive wardrobes and bureaus, old paintings and family portraits.

  ‘There’s so much personal memorabilia here,’ exclaimed Madi. She refrained from voicing her impression that it seemed like a living mausoleum, as if Daddy had been carried out in action, brushing his teeth or combing his hair, or asleep in his bed, and no one had set foot back in the house and nothing had been moved since. She knew without asking that his clothes would still be hanging in the closets.

  ‘How long has it been like this, closed up?’

  ‘Ten years. Bede made a legal agreement for me. I really don’t understand it except I have somewhere else to live and an allowance from the estate.’ Lady Annabel shrugged. ‘We can have tea . . . if you don’t mind tinned milk. I keep supplies here and occasionally pop in for a solitary tea party with Daddy.’ Madi didn’t know how to react as Lady Annabel seemed quite serious about her occasional teas with a ghost.

  ‘Have a browse around while I pop downstairs to the kitchen. Won’t be long. There’s a side balcony off the games room which is quite pleasant. Make yourself at home.’

  Madi tried to imagine Annabel as a child growing up in this now musty and museum-like relic of a bygone imperial era. The buzz of cars, cyclists and traffic outside was muffled by the garden. Had it ever been a gay, light-hearted place, Madi wondered.

  She peeped into large, elaborately tiled bathrooms with massive brass-tapped tubs and willow-patterned toilet bowls with varnished wooden seats and tarnished brass chains. She opened the floor-to-ceiling doors of a bathroom closet and recoiled in surprise at the dusty and slightly musty assortment of toiletries, personal effects and towels, untouched for years.

  The main verandah was filled with a clutter of fat rattan furniture covered in faded brocade print. Between the living room and entrance to the verandah, a flight of stairs led to a small landing that turned at right angles down to the main reception area. Madi peered over the railing, glimpsing what appeared to be a library to one side of the large front door and a sitting room to the other. In the sitting room a small bookcase caught her eye and she glanced along the row of titles of old mouldering British crime novels and history books.

  As she stood there studying the titles, she heard footsteps coming up the staircase. At first she thought it was Annabel, but the lopsided step, one footfall seeming heavier than the other, caused her to lift her head. Someone coming up from the colonel’s office, she wondered? Holding a book she’d just drawn from the bookcase, Madi leaned over the balustrade and saw an elderly man resting on the landing, shirtsleeves rolled up, a Fair Isle vest over his white shirt and tie. Madi smiled at him, thinking he must work about the place, then she turned her attention back to the book and wandered along the verandah to a wicker chair. Straight away she was absorbed—Being The Discovery of the Large and Bewtiful Empire of Guiana by Sir Walter Raleigh.

  She thumbed through the facsimile edition of Raleigh’s enthusiastic account of his search for El Dorado. Immediately images of his adventures in the interior flashed through her mind. Despite the quaint language she was soon marching beside him, thrilled by his reckless expedition into the unknown in search of a prize beyond description.

  ‘Tea is ready, darling,’ called Annabel brightly. Madi carried the book to the enclosed verandah where Annabel had opened a window and set out a teapot and cups of Royal Albert china on a tray beside an opened tin of evaporated milk.

  ‘Annabel, this Raleigh book is utterly fascinating.’

  ‘I know. Poor Raleigh, he tried so hard, came so close, one suspects, and still lost his head in the Tower of London.’ Annabel poured the tea. ‘Like Raleigh, Daddy was quite convinced that there is a fortune in gold out there somewhere. He used to tell me the legends about it as bedtime stories when I was a little girl.’

  ‘You must have had an unusual childhood.’

  ‘It was very special.’ Lady Annabel smiled softly. ‘No other time in my life has ever matched it. No man was as special as Daddy. Everyone at court and in the diplomatic world adored him. He was a very good diplomat, I’ve been told. After Mummy died, I was surrounded by a devoted father, adoring uncles and aunties and now . . . all gone.’ She handed Madi the cup and lifted a hand towards a wall where framed photographs hung.

  ‘They were grand days really,’ she said with affectionate nostalgia. ‘Such times we had when we all got together. Christmas was magnificent. We always tried to come back here and have Christmas and see out the old year in BG. We were British Guiana and proud of it.’ She stressed the word British.

  Madi glanced at the rows of faded photos in walnut and tarnished silver frames. ‘No other cousins or family?’

  ‘Some of the children are back in the UK. I used to see them infrequently, at the obligatory tea with mad Aunt Annabel.’

  ‘
That’s a shame . . . that you only see them infrequently, I mean.’

  ‘God, no! They are the most boring and stuffy bunch you can imagine. And the children have no manners. Another reason for making my escape back here.’ She laughed, but Madi sensed it was a hollow laugh.

  Madi looked again at the wall of photos of lost relatives and found her eye captured by a sepia shot of men in golfing attire posing with clubs and Indian caddies. She put down her cup and stood to look at it more closely.

  ‘Annabel, this man, who’s that?’

  ‘Oh, that’s Uncle Eric. He lived here with Daddy during the brief stint of my marriage.’

  ‘Doesn’t he live here any more?’

  ‘Good grief no. He passed on years back.’

  A shiver went through Madi. ‘Annabel, I just saw him on the stairs. I heard him walking up the wooden stairs. He had a sort of lopsided step, a limp perhaps.’ It suddenly occurred to Madi the man she’d seen hadn’t come upstairs nor had she heard his distinctive step go back down.

  Annabel replaced her cup on the tray. ‘Come with me.’

  Madi followed her through the house to one of the bedrooms. Annabel pushed the door open. It was obviously a man’s room, and it looked as if the occupant had just stepped out.

  Annabel went to the closet and opened it, revealing tweedy jackets, cotton shirts and a row of walking sticks. ‘Uncle Eric had a gammy leg, Boer War. Walked with a bad limp.’

  Madi felt faint. ‘But I saw him on the stairs, as clear as day,’ she whispered hoarsely.

  Annabel shut the closet door quietly, unmoved by Madi’s announcement. ‘Don’t worry about it. You just saw a jumbi, my dear.’

  ‘Annabel, you don’t see a ghost in the middle of the day. And it wasn’t a ghost, it was your Uncle Eric!’ Madi’s voice had risen. This house was more than giving her the creeps now. How was a sophisticated, sensible woman like herself supposed to simply accept this explanation? Ghosts! She was the last person to be visited by some apparition. She’d never been to a clairvoyant, tarot card reader or dabbled in any spiritual or new age psycho babble. Not that she would totally dismiss the idea of ghosts . . . she supposed.

  Annabel flicked her scarf over a shoulder and reached out to touch Madi’s arm. ‘Madison, this is Guyana. You must accept such things here. That shouldn’t be difficult for an Australian since you all sing endlessly about the ghost of some swagman. I understand that Matthew and Kevin are rather noted in certain local circles for their party duet of your unofficial national anthem.’ The two women exchanged understanding smiles. ‘Jumbis, ghosts, spirits, call them what you will, we believe in them and accept them. Have no fear, Madison. He means no harm. This was his home. Let’s have another cup of tea on the verandah.’

  Madison silently contemplated this casual acceptance of the ghost’s residential status in the old house as Annabel topped up their cups. ‘Dear girl. There are many things here you might not understand. Don’t fight them, merely accept there is a reason. Don’t challenge and pry, just go forward and follow your own path. It is safest that way.’

  Madison picked up her cup, trying to digest the casual remark but feeling that behind Lady Annabel’s words there was a warning. She wondered if this was a reference to Ernesto’s death or their visit to New Spirit.

  Madi doubted she’d be making a return visit to this house. How could she explain seeing a ghost to anyone else? It wasn’t the sort of thing you could tell just anybody. ‘Oh, by the way, yesterday morning I saw a ghost. Uncle Eric with the bum leg.’

  But she did tell Lester as he drove her to the bank the next day.

  He gave her a sly knowing smile. ‘Ah, a jumbi visit yo, eh? Dis be good, Madison. Yo be tuning in. Yo gettin’ on de Guyana wavelength. Soon yo be playing de drums.’

  ‘Don’t joke, Lester, it was very unnerving.’

  ‘See, yo don’ say it was scary.’

  Madison thought for a moment. ‘No it wasn’t. Only because who’s going to be scared of an old man with a bad leg. What could he do to me?’

  ‘Dat true. But yo don’ deny it be a jumbi.’

  ‘I saw the man, I saw his photo and he’s been dead for years. It was the same man. I’ve never disbelieved in ghosts, I just wasn’t convinced one way or the other. But this seems all too . . . well, silly, in a way. Yet I know what I saw.’

  ‘Jumbis be good an’ bad. De obeah man can put a spell to keep dem away. But if yo see a bad jumbi yo tell him buzz off and go see dat Uncle Eric,’ he chuckled.

  Madi wondered how such a story would go over at a dinner party back in Sydney and she burst out laughing.

  ‘Wot so funny, Miss Madison?’

  ‘Just a private thought, Lester.’

  He gave her a shrewd glance, then changed the subject. ‘So how was Kaieteur? Yo found de secret . . . saw de frogs?’

  ‘I did! They’re magic.’

  ‘And did yo sleep good in dat hammock we get?’

  ‘It’s the best. I can’t adequately describe the hideous beds I nearly slept in along the track.’

  Madi launched into stories of the trip and Lester listened with satisfaction, delighted that she so deeply enjoyed the experience. ‘So now yo seen dat, what next? Yo go to London?’

  ‘Lester, that was just the beginning. I’m hooked. I want to explore so much more of the interior.’

  ‘Now dat good news, but I ain’t gonna be round here for a little time to hear yo stories. I’m going up to my holdin’. Time to look for de fire in de river again.’

  ‘Looking for diamonds,’ exclaimed Madi enviously. ‘You’re going up to work your holding?’

  ‘Yeah. My mumma gonna look after my boy. I save some money so I’m seeing if I can make a bit more stash.’

  Madi hated the idea of not having Lester around. He was reliable, honest and fun company in the car, happy to share confidences with her and interpret the Guyanese way of life.

  While she shared her experiences with Connor, Matthew and Kevin, it was in passing, and they laughed or listened with a slightly indulgent air. To them, Madi was filling in time, they enjoyed having her around, but didn’t see her visit here as anything more than a holiday. She tried not to think about her relationship with Connor. He was fun, she enjoyed his company and she didn’t want to think of it as just a romantic interlude. But neither of them was prepared to plan much beyond the next dinner, the next party.

  Madi sensed that in her desire to explore and travel into the wilderness, she was following an essential inner journey, even though she had little idea of what she might discover. But she had a disturbing feeling that she had to respond to these bold new feelings or she wouldn’t be at peace with herself.

  After the banking she invited Lester to have coffee with her. It had become something of a regular feature of their outings. At first Lester charged waiting time, but now he regarded the coffee break as time off for friends to chat and he didn’t add the time to his fare. He enjoyed Madi’s genuine egalitarian attitude towards him and came to appreciate the increasing depth of interest she was showing in his country. Despite his ingrained happy-go-lucky approach to almost everything he was initially a little uncomfortable at these coffee sessions, but now he enjoyed them, despite the good-humoured roasting he got from the other drivers.

  ‘Yo be lookin’ restless. Yo got man trouble, eh?’ asked Lester with a shrewd grin.

  ‘Not really. I’m trying to avoid thinking too far ahead on that score. No, it’s me, Lester. I just have this compulsive urge to go back into the interior.’ Madi fiddled with a tendril of hair by her cheek. ‘I never felt so . . . driven about anything before. And I really don’t know why.’

  Lester nodded. This lady has been reading too much into that old book, he reasoned. He looked into his cup and took a satisfying sip of the heavily sweetened brew.

  As he put his cup down Madison leaned across the table. ‘Lester, I want to go with you to your holding. I want to hunt for diamonds.’

  It was a calm, quietly
delivered proposition and it totally rattled the taxi driver. For a moment he stared at her blankly then slowly a big white-toothed smile took over, although it failed to restore the power of speech.

  ‘I’m not joking, Lester. I want to come, for a couple of weeks, say. I won’t get in the way. I want to help you. Get in there and do it, just like Gwen did.’

  Lester gaped at her and struggled to speak. ‘Well, dat be one crazy idea. Course not. Wot people say? Yo is from t’other side of de track. Wouldn’t be proper. Hell man, every pork-knocker on de river be sayin’ tings ’bout me. An’ yo,’ he added with emphasis.

  ‘I’m serious, Lester. Wouldn’t you like the company? And anyway, I don’t have to apologise for how I choose to lead my life.’ She was a little surprised at the firmness of her stated resolve, and she thought how her new-found confidence would have really shocked her former husband.

  Lester was still looking at her in shock, then Madi smiled broadly and in almost a whisper pleaded, ‘Please consider it, Lester. Please’.

  He finally broke out into his usual infectious laugh. ‘Man, yo is full of surprises. Wot yo bruddah gonna say . . . hey, bro, I is goin’ up de river to de jungle wit dat fella Lester. Now come on, Miz Madison Wright, wot he gonna say?’

  ‘Well, bruddah, he gonna say I is one mighty mad gal,’ Madi retorted in her best Creole. ‘Seriously though, Lester. Why not? You know what you’re doing, you’ve been looking out for me here in the city. I trust you . . . and you said you were gonna be my Guyana bruddah, eh?’

  Lester still looked stunned at the idea. Madi went on. ‘I’ll pay my way, plus something extra. A bit more stash as you put it. I won’t be a handicap. I’m prepared to get muddy, work hard, do whatever you do.’

  The offer to pay him made an impact but he was still unconvinced. ‘Better talk it over with yo bruddah and yo boyfriend,’ said Lester calmly. Confident no more would come of this crazy plan, he looked at Madi. ‘Sure, I’d like yo company. It can git lonely up dat river sometimes, depressin’ when dere ain’t no fire ’bout. Sometimes yo dredge and wash for days and days and find nothin’, den next day yo see dat little twinkle, dat little fire in de bottom of de pan and oh man, dat be one great feelin’.’ His eyes danced and his grin widened.

 

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