Adelaide put her hand to her brow. So many rats in a single afternoon. It was too much. Where did it leave her on cooking and cleaning? She couldn’t fault the teacher on cooking and cleaning but she couldn’t forgive the deception either. She was sick to death of deception. ‘You said you were a housekeeper.’ There was pain as well as accusation in her tone.
‘You asked me if I’d kept house and I said yes. I have, for Mrs McGuire. I stopped teaching when we all caught the flu and Mrs McGuire needed me at home. If you’ve any complaints, I’ll leave.’ Pearl heard assurance in her voice and was thankful, but Adelaide wasn’t thankful.
It was shocking to find herself saddled with a housekeeper who wasn’t a housekeeper and who had a fiancé who consorted with killers. She needed to consider the implications for her household and her baby son. ‘Why must there be any killing?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t say must. I said he could get killed himself.’ Pearl paused to calculate the impact of any possible killing on her germ of an idea. ‘But he probably won’t.’
‘You said kill.’
Pearl recalculated. ‘Maybe kill. I don’t know.’
‘Then tell me what you do know,’ said Adelaide. ‘I have a child to consider.’
Pearl sighed. ‘I must ask you all to keep what I’m going to tell you to yourselves, because lives are at stake. Though not Freddie’s.’
‘Why on earth would Freddie’s be at stake?’ said Louisa.
‘You’d know if you had children,’ snapped Adelaide.
Pearl spoke up quickly. She reported the facts as simply and coolly as she could but the nub of it was clear. Her fiancé was on a wild goose chase to help a dead mate. Pearl didn’t know who the dead mate was. The fiancé was needed at home. ‘I’m here because he posted a letter from here but I’m no nearer to finding him now than when I arrived.’
‘You need help,’ Louisa confirmed.
‘I do.’
‘Well I need a husband,’ Maggie interrupted loudly. Louisa had topped up her cup without thinking. ‘I’m sick of doing this on my own. I want to marry someone who can shoot straight, make me a garden, build me a chook run, fix up the farm, look after the animals, love the boys and keep me warm in bed at night with big strong arms and lips that search for mine.’ She didn’t say resume war with the Bluetts. How could she? It hardly mattered. Her need was already dreadful. All their needs were dreadful.
‘I need someone to get rid of the horses, get rid of the people sending me the horses, find me an income, fix my house and give me a future.’ Louisa stared longingly out the window in case such a person was hovering by the gate.
‘I’d like someone to unmask Mr Stokes. Definitely I’d like that,’ said Adelaide.
‘We all need someone,’ Pearl said. ‘We each need a man who can take on our problems as only a man can and do all the things we can’t do because we are women.’ She paused for the briefest of moments while she decided that as plans went, this one was excellent. ‘I think we should employ someone and share him.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ Louisa’s eyes glinted.
‘Someone to protect but not provide, to speak on our behalf, to fight with his fists if needed.’ The line between need and hysteria was a fine one. Pearl saw it in the six eyes pinned to hers.
‘I want to be provided for as well.’ Maggie was adamant. ‘I don’t want to share.’
‘We’re not talking about a husband exactly,’ said Pearl.
‘Of course not a husband,’ said Adelaide. ‘I have a perfectly good one.’ To contradict her would have been cruel.
‘I wasn’t thinking of anyone we’d be stuck with.’ Pearl’s idea was mushrooming even as she explained it. ‘I was thinking of a man we could pay to do all we required and then we could send him on his way, as if he were a carpenter or a shearer. A part-time husband.’
Adelaide gasped. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Miss McCleary. What would people think? Or are you joking?’
‘She isn’t joking,’ said Maggie.
‘I’m not,’ agreed Pearl.
‘Then you are being ridiculous. How would we find him? What would my husband say?’
‘Your husband need never know,’ Maggie smirked.
‘I like the idea.’ Louisa was positively buoyant.
‘We could advertise,’ said Pearl, then sensing luck being pushed, rose to her feet and suggested they sleep on it. If any of them thought she’d gone too far only Adelaide took a firm grasp of the wrong end of the stick.
‘If you’re suggesting for a single minute that I betray my husband with any other man then I must warn you I take my marriage vows very seriously and I suggest you examine your own conscience for …’ She couldn’t remember what for.
‘For heaven’s sake, Adelaide, it’s not about sex,’ Louisa said.
‘But it could be,’ Maggie said quickly. She might have winked at Louisa had she had a sip more gin.
Adelaide flushed so deeply and Maggie and Louisa laughed so delightedly that Pearl had to remind everyone that sex had positively nothing to do with it. She was using the word husband loosely because such a man would need access to their private affairs in order to solve their problems.
‘I don’t want anything to do with it,’ Adelaide insisted loudly, and she left the house in high dudgeon, colliding with the side table by the sunroom door. Pearl followed with the pram, wondering if her plan was the work of the devil or pure genius.
Chapter Nine
As Pearl and Adelaide departed and Louisa and Maggie continued to delight in the unexpected turn the conversation had taken, Florence Mayberry, at the other end of town, was enjoying a small joke of her own. The joke was her husband. The Mayor was sitting opposite her at the dining table, so consumed by rage that his face looked suddenly piggy. Pink, fat and pig-like.
How very funny, Mrs Mayberry was thinking. As recently as a month ago she would have called it manly. She would have said his slightly larger than usual mouth was sensual and his slightly smaller than usual nose, refined. How blind she had been. How very funny she had been so blind. All those years playing second fiddle to a man who looked like a pig when her natural position all along was first fiddle.
As she watched her husband’s quite large mouth open and close, she dimly acknowledged the contents that spewed from it. She waited for it to close just long enough for her to interject and then she said, ‘But, George, why shouldn’t I stand? And I wish you wouldn’t shout. It’s giving me a headache.’
‘There, you see?’ snorted George. ‘Men shout. What do you think goes on in Parliament? Men shout. They will shout at you because frankly, Florence, you will annoy them beyond endurance, then you will cry and then you will say you have a headache and everyone will laugh at you and the newspapers will say that’s what you get for letting women into politics. That’s why we haven’t let women into politics.’
‘But the law says I can. The law lets women stand,’ Florence insisted, even though she knew he wasn’t listening because he never did. When he was speaking, all that mattered was what he was going to say next.
‘It’s a new law and it hasn’t worked, you silly woman. How many females are there in Parliament in the state of New South Wales? None. And they’re not there for a reason. It’s a man’s forum and I will not allow any wife of mine to be part of it. I forbid it. For-bid-it. Do you hear? Do you understand?’ He was spitting. Then he stopped spitting to wheedle. ‘Please, Florrie, you’re my wife. I’m on the brink of the greatest achievement of my life and in that I include the butter factory. This railway is the greatest achievement any mayor of this town has ever’ – he groped for the right word – ‘achieved. There would be no railway without me, and if I take my eye off the ball, or if I become a laughing stock, there still might not be a railway. Do you know how difficult a time this is for me?’
‘For you, George. This is my point.’ There was no trace of a lisp but her tone was undeniably nasal. ‘I have no time for your precious railway. I hate
your railway. You’ve never once discussed with me how I feel about it, and if we are speaking frankly, George, I feel it is A Threat To Our Peace of Mind. You don’t know who it might bring to town. What pollutants. What Bolsheviks.’
The Mayor looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean, Bolsheviks? What do you know about Bolsheviks?’
Only what she’d heard in Melbourne but it was the cornerstone of her platform, as any decent husband would have known had he been in the audience to support her maiden speech. ‘I have struck a chord with the nation. I owe it to the people who have such faith in me to represent their interests. The railway is not in their interests.’
George thumped the table. The cruet bounced along it. ‘Baloney!’ he yelled. ‘Baloney, Florence, and you know it. You made a speech that wasn’t yours and you had an audience because you are married to me. They went to hear you because you are my wife. You know nothing about the railway and even less about Russia. Do you even know what they drink in Russia? You do not.’
A month ago she would have seen his point and apologised. But now there was no regret in her heart, no small voice admitting he was a brilliant man who had always been kind to her. She had hardened. Universal adulation had coated her in confidence and now it clung to her like a new and tight-fitting armour. Florence felt ready for battle. She said, ‘Had you been there you would have seen how well I was received.’
‘What? Women back to the kitchen was well received? Men’s jobs for men? Do you hear yourself, Florence? Do you hear how you’re preaching one thing for everyone else but demanding a special exemption for you? You should practise what you preach. You should lead by example. Parliament is for men. You should go back to the kitchen, though Christ alone knows you’re useless even there.’
George glowered at his wife and through the mist of rage saw what he thought was malice in her eyes. Surely not malice. She was his greatest champion. ‘Let’s not fall out, Florrie. I need you now more than ever. I’ve worked so hard. Please will you listen to reason?’
But what a peculiar thing reason is. There was his and there was his wife’s and neither bore any resemblance to the other. There was Pearl’s and there was Adelaide’s, which was no less awkward given the similarly great need each had of the other.
Chapter Ten
Dinner was no sooner eaten, and Captain Nightingale no sooner departed for his bottle, than bottomless stores of frustration, misery, loneliness and resentment welled in Adelaide’s heart and hurled themselves at her housekeeper. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ she hissed. Who knew how much a very drunk man could hear a room away? ‘I don’t know what you imagine my husband is but I can assure you, although he isn’t himself at the moment, he both protects and provides. He’s more than a husband. He is head of our household. He protects and provides for you as well, yet here you are suggesting – well, I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but I’ve never heard anything so ungrateful or so un-Christian. To be honest, Miss McCleary, I thought you had more sense. What’s more, I resent the fact that I’m being lumped together with the rest of you, who I don’t doubt for a minute need help from somewhere.’ She was tired.
Pearl was tired. The gin had worn off and she too was less confident of the sense she’d seemed to make just a few hours before. She stood with as much dignity as she could muster and excused herself saying it had been a long day and she’d certainly no wish to offend.
‘Can I have your assurance that you won’t proceed with such a stupid idea?’ Adelaide demanded. But Pearl would give no such thing. She retired to her room, leaving ambivalence to hang around in the kitchen. The certainty she took with her was this: although Adelaide alone was respectably married to a protector and provider, which the rest of them were not, her protector and provider was Marcus and only a very deluded wife would be foolish enough to rely on him.
By morning, this same certainty had revived her confidence and the plan it had formed was ready to be acted upon. All that had changed was its contents. It no longer included any other wives, part-time, full-time, widowed or hopeful. Just a man handy with his fists, as recommended by Annie, who could go into battle a step ahead of her. And to the railway.
She had no idea where Adelaide would stand on the matter after a good night’s sleep but she would insist on clarity from her employer because her own intentions were perfectly plain and she wanted to proceed with them honestly. ‘I think we need to be clear about my position,’ she said as she hung nappies on the line after breakfast and Adelaide rocked Freddie in his pram parked in the small shaft of sunlight by the peg basket.
She spoke without rancour. She sounded as reasonable as could be. But she didn’t look at Adelaide. She looked only at her pegs. ‘I will abandon my plan to find someone to act for all of us but I intend to look for my fiancé. I won’t work any less hard but I’ll need reasonable time off. You might like to think about it a little longer.’ She picked up the clothesbasket and headed back to the house. ‘Can you spare me for an hour later today? I have a couple of errands to run.’
Poor Adelaide. She hated gauntlets and now she shivered. She trembled. It was another bitterly cold day and although the sun shone on the kitchen door, there was no heat in it. Not even warmth. She desperately wanted to ask what errands but settled for, ‘Once the jobs are done.’ And with that, she went to her books feeling even more out in the cold than she had by the washing line. The arm’s length between her and Miss McCleary had grown to a very long leg and she regretted it. Repugnant though the idea of a part-time husband had been to her, she could see a mad kind of logic to it. Sensible, calm, dependable Miss McCleary had made it sound like the right thing to do. If it was the right thing to do, then surely she should be included in it. But how, when it was also, quite clearly, the wrong thing to do?
In the office, at the desk on which the treacherous ledgers were neatly stacked, she tried to make sense of the situation by converting the pros and cons into lists. Something on paper that didn’t involve numbers would surely reveal the truth. She tore a page from the current ledger, ruled it down the middle and under Why We Are All In Trouble, she itemised individual needs, which included thoughts such as thieving store manager, untrustworthy housekeeper, unnaturally hungry baby, look ugly, future bleak; then: no money, no job, out-of-control brothers, future bleak; and too many horses, too much make-up, never enough clothes on, future bleak. As an afterthought she considered her housekeeper: blind to danger to self and others, no other cares or responsibilities, future secure.
On the other side of the page she labelled a list of Possible Solutions. She stared at it long and hard, but it remained steadfastly empty. When she heard Pearl tiptoe into the nursery, deposit the baby in his crib, then tiptoe out again, she accosted her in the hall and beckoned her into the kitchen, where her authoritative tone wavered in the face of Pearl’s gaze, which was never anything but steady. ‘I wonder … if your errand includes conversations with Mrs Worthington and Maggie O’Connell on the subject of last night’s … subject?’
Pearl hesitated but only fractionally. ‘It does,’ she agreed.
‘Then I would thank you to have it in your own time,’ she said.
So, only three ladies gathered in Louisa’s dining room during Freddie’s six o’clock feed, and without benefit of alcohol Pearl wasted no time. ‘I’ve had second thoughts,’ she said.
‘No!’ cried the others before she could continue, but continue she did.
‘Mrs Nightingale is thoroughly opposed to the idea and I don’t think I can work around her or even if I should work around her. It would be irresponsible and none of us would benefit. I will continue to deal with my problem as best I can and leave you all to manage yours as best you can. I’m sorry.’
‘You can’t. You can’t,’ said Louisa. ‘You’re our only hope. Our lives depend on you to fix them.’ She clung to Pearl’s arm. Her dark tendrils fell about her beautiful pale face. ‘Promise you won’t abandon us. Please promise.’ Such fear rose in her eyes.
> ‘Promise,’ whispered Maggie. ‘Please promise.’
‘I can’t,’ said Pearl and she left at once, taking every drop of hope from that house, leaving it as bleak as a bleak house could be.
Chapter Eleven
The house she returned to was even more miserable. Freddie was crying as lustily as he always did when woken by cold air, warm air, a mother, no mother or discovering he was where he didn’t want to be. ‘Hello,’ said Captain Nightingale emerging stark naked from his office. ‘Been for a walk?’
‘Just coming, Mrs Nightingale,’ Pearl called. ‘I’m sorry, Captain Nightingale, the baby. And you seem to have no clothes on.’ She spoke loudly so her words would carry to the nursery.
Adelaide, bouncing young Freddie for all he was worth to shut him up and to soothe her own shattered nerves, heard them and was sickened. They required action but what action? She threw open the nursery door and yelled, ‘For God’s sake, Marcus, get some clothes on! Get some stupid clothes on or go back into the office and stay there. Miss McCleary, get dinner. We’ll discuss your position once we’ve eaten.’ It was as decisive as a dithering woman could be.
Pearl gathered strength for the confrontation but there was none. Dinner – leftover rabbit pie with mashed potato followed by lemon jelly – was eaten by each of them separately, and nothing of consequence followed. Pearl took Adelaide’s on a tray to the nursery where it was received with a curt, ‘Leave it there, thank you.’ She deposited an identical tray on the bookcase in the office where Marcus, in his dressing gown, mumbled that he wasn’t hungry.
She ate at the kitchen table, she washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen then knocked on both office and nursery doors to ask if anything more was needed. Adelaide said, ‘Nothing, thank you.’ There was no reply from the office and so the day appeared to be over.
Pearl took a jug of water to her room, lit the lamp, closed the door, then argued with herself over the wisdom of leaving lamps ablaze in the kitchen and the doors unbolted. The doors were Captain Nightingale’s duty, possibly his only duty, so she’d left them for him as a respectful housekeeper might. She would abide by the protocols of the household, however slapdash, hostile or naked they were, however disconcerting the idea of bushrangers on the prowl nearby. Did bushrangers hold up respectable households? What if they attacked the houses of Maggie and Louisa, which were even less protected than this one? She hoped their doors were bolted. Their lives depended on her, they had said. She wondered if she should hurry across and along to check on their safety. God, what had she done?
Four Respectable Ladies Seek Part-time Husband Page 7