The contract in his pocket was proof that he’d been about his business and that even a quiet beer with a pretty girl was in the interests of the job he’d been brought here to do. He found Louisa lying on the sofa with a rug tucked under her chin and a book on her lap. There was nothing to suggest she’d picked it up the minute she’d heard him turn in at the gate or that she’d hastily assembled her features into those of a woman who hadn’t been counting the minutes until he returned, so he, unsuspecting, asked, ‘Had a good morning?’
‘Very pleasant, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I fainted into the arms of Adelaide’s husband, she accused me of having an affair with him, he stormed off and she went with him, Miss McCleary stayed for ages boring me half to death about her fiancé who’s obviously a complete fool, then she went home and I decided to bring myself in here because my bedroom was depressing and I wasn’t sure how sick I was. I’ve given almost no thought at all to the hundreds of horses in my paddock because we’re going to catch the devil who’s delivering them in pitch darkness and then do something we haven’t decided with him. I’ve given even less thought to the money I don’t have because I have a lodger whose upkeep is my responsibility and he only turns up to be fed when it suits him.’
She was speaking very quickly and the pitch of her voice suggested a tantrum, or a fever. On the other hand, it might just have been the relief of a nervous wreck giving vent to the single person in the world she believed she could trust with her misfortune, however huge. Whatever it was, it spurred Martin Duffy to an action he might otherwise have taken a little time to introduce properly. He pulled the contract from his pocket in triumph. ‘I’ve been to see Mr Stokes,’ he announced. ‘I told him there was no way you would consider selling the horses for meat and –’
‘Why?’ cried Louisa, tearful now. ‘Why would you do that? Why would you? I’ve changed my mind. I wish you’d asked me if I was sure before you told that horrible man I was.’ Martin Duffy dropped to the floor next to her because he knew from experience that his physical closeness soothed her. They often sat side by side when rum caused them to feel more than usually comfortable in each other’s company despite such a short acquaintance.
‘He knows things are hard for you and he wants to help,’ he said gently.
‘He does not,’ said Louisa.
‘He’s offering you unlimited credit through the shop and all you need do is pay a token amount each month until you get yourself straight. You have collateral, he says. The house. He trusts you. And he says a woman like you won’t remain a widow for long.’
Louisa wiped her eyes. ‘What did you say to that?’
‘I said he was right.’
‘Did he put it in writing?’ she asked. Martin handed her the agreement. ‘And have you read it?’
‘I have.’
‘And if you were me, would you sign it?’
‘I would. It’s just for the time being. You won’t be a landlady for the rest of your life.’ Martin Duffy clambered to his feet. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I need to hop across the road and see Mrs Nightingale because I have news for her.’
‘And when will you have time for me? Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow it’s Maggie. The day after, maybe. Right now it’s Adelaide.’
‘Watch out for her husband,’ Louisa called after him and he laughed because it sounded like a joke. It wasn’t.
Marcus had returned from his march into town on Lord alone knew what business. He answered the door and Martin Duffy, unable to ask for Mrs Nightingale, enquired instead for his cousin. ‘She’s busy,’ snarled Captain Nightingale. ‘Call on her when she’s off duty.’
‘And when might that be?’
‘When my wife decides she doesn’t need her, that’s when.’ He closed the door in Martin’s face only to open it and ask of Martin’s back, ‘And who are you, anyway? What are you doing here? That’s what we all want to know. Who are you?’ He closed the door, leaving Martin to hover in case he opened it again to hear the answer. Had Pearl not heard the exchange and hurried out the back door, through the side gate to the front of the house and called ‘Pssst,’ he might have wandered back to Norah Quirk, whose troubles, if she had any, were no concern of his.
Pearl put a finger to her lips as he approached in case he bellowed a greeting. ‘We can’t go back to the railway first thing tomorrow,’ she hissed. ‘I haven’t had a chance to ask Mrs Nightingale for time off or to book a trap. We’ll leave at lunchtime.’ Like Marcus, she wanted no response from him but hurried back the way she’d come, mission accomplished.
‘I can’t,’ he called after her. ‘I have other plans for tomorrow.’
Pearl stopped in her tracks. ‘What plans? You’re not paid to have other plans.’
‘I’ve promised Maggie she can have me tomorrow. It’s her turn.’
‘It isn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s not for you to promise her anything. We’re tackling the problems in order of urgency.’
‘Miss McCleary,’ said Martin unfazed. ‘All your problems are urgent and you all think your own is the most. So in the interests of fairness and common sense, I’m deciding the order in which I tackle them. I know you’re a fair person with bags of common sense but Maggie is getting overlooked. Have you had a chance to read that file of hers?’
‘I left it at Mrs Worthington’s on the hall table. Surely you saw it there and took it back to her.’ Every syllable accused him of stupidity even though the mistake had been hers.
‘Well I didn’t and I haven’t and it’s not on the hall table now. Ah, Mrs Nightingale. The very woman.’ And without so much as a See you the day after tomorrow, Martin Duffy strolled away from Pearl McCleary to greet Mrs Nightingale, pushing the pram wearily up from the river. ‘Mrs Nightingale, Adelaide,’ he called. ‘I’ve had some advice about your bookkeeping.’
‘Shhh,’ hissed Adelaide in alarm. ‘We can’t talk here.’
‘It will take just a minute,’ whispered Martin Duffy. ‘My contact says you need to get an audit. It’s the only way you’ll catch the bugger out.’
‘I don’t know what that means,’ Adelaide whispered back. ‘Meet me by the river, tomorrow morning at eleven.’
‘I wish I could. But tomorrow is Maggie’s day. She has a lot on her plate and I’ve hardly lifted a finger to help.’
‘Maggie!’ cried Adelaide. ‘When did her problems become more important than mine?’
‘Not more important,’ said Martin Duffy. ‘Yours are under control.’ He spoke so charmingly that Adelaide could only agree. Because she didn’t want him to leave without touching him if he wasn’t able to touch her, she reached out and patted him, not on the shoulder as she’d intended, but on the back of his head because he was off and into Louisa’s before he’d seen the need in her eyes.
‘Have you seen a brown folder thing tied with pink tape?’ he called the minute he was through the Worthington door. ‘Miss McCleary says she left it on the hall table but it’s not here now and it has to be somewhere.’
‘Are you talking to me?’ Louisa asked icily from the sofa on which she continued to languish. ‘Can you spare me the time of day now you’ve lost something that might be useful to your precious Maggie?’
‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ he replied. She was no longer tearful or smiling through tears. She was resentful, but distracted, which was both good and bad since it was by business that wasn’t her own. The contents of the file were spread across the floor. ‘Oh God! It’s got to go back to the Mayor. She’ll be in awful trouble.’
‘She should have thought of that before she stole it.’
‘It was hers to steal.’
‘Then what’s the fuss?’ Louisa began to pick up the scattered sheets. ‘Have you read it? It is odd. I mean, why on earth was my brother-in-law advising the O’Connells? Larry Murdoch isn’t a lawyer. He used to be an accountant. And he hates the Irish, no offence.’ She sifted the pages, searching for one in particular. ‘Also, who does own the 400 acres on the bord
er with Somerset Station? Frank O’Connell says here that he bought the land fair and square, but he couldn’t prove it because the documents are missing.’ Louisa yawned and stretched. ‘It’s a mystery. Now, you get tea and I’ll put this back the way I found it. No one will ever know I’ve been snooping.’
And no one would have, had she not included among the papers an important one of her own, to whit the contract she had lazily signed from Archie Stokes. She discovered it was missing well after Martin Duffy had swallowed his tea and legged it across town to the Mayor’s house where he dumped the folder into the overgrown hydrangeas, unaware of the bombshell it contained.
In his ignorance he might well have turned for home, to apply his overtaxed energies to, say, Louisa’s difficulties, but he was, quite suddenly, overtaken by a plan at the heart of which he knew was genius. It involved him inveigling his way into the Mayberry household to further investigate the bewildering implications of Maggie’s file, and it was so simple and brilliant that even the disapproving Miss McCleary would gasp at his cleverness. Bright as a button, he proceeded to the Mayberry front door and rang the bell.
Chapter Thirty-four
‘Hello,’ he said to Mrs Mayberry, who opened the door. ‘My name is Martin Duffy and –’
‘No thank you.’ Mrs Mayberry closed the door on him before catching the briefest glimpse of a smile, which encouraged her to open it a fraction.
‘I’m hoping you are Mrs Mayberry. I come with a recommendation from the Nightingale family.’ She opened the door fully in order to stare at him.
‘What kind of recommendation?’ she asked.
‘Catering. Catering is my trade. I wanted to offer my services for your very worthwhile garden party on Friday. Extra help, unpaid obviously, for such a good cause. Peace.’ They considered each other, exaggerations forming on Martin Duffy’s lips, delight gathering in Mrs Mayberry’s eyes. ‘I know it’s odd, turning up unannounced, but Mrs Nightingale spoke so highly of you.’
Mrs Mayberry considered his reputable appearance and rapidly concluded that along with his pleasant manner and reasonable connections, it overrode his accent. She scanned his figure from top to bottom and, on the strength of what she saw, recalled she didn’t mind the Irish. She wasn’t one of those Anglicans who regarded them to a man as reprobates and thieving revolutionaries. She was against dangerous subversives – she would take up arms personally against dangerous subversives – but this young man looked normal by anyone’s standards so she invited him into her house, an act she at once congratulated herself on. She was a woman of the people and this particular person, with his charming manner and fine looks, could only add quality to her event.
‘Are you able to manage thtaff?’ she enquired and wasn’t surprised when Martin Duffy assured her he could. She invited him into the Mayor’s study, where she described the vast hordes she was expecting, the enormous quantities of food being donated (mostly by the Nightingale family via Mr Stokes) and the gallons of punch the committee had agreed to make. She explained the number of tables and benches that would be arranged around the gardens and verandahs and she described the order of play, which would involve her emerging through the drawing-room doors to a fanfare of trumpets from two local soldiers who had been commissioned by her son, Lieutenant Mayberry, although he, personally, seemed to be held up in Sydney.
When Martin Duffy was eventually able to speak, he congratulated her on her wonderful gift for organisation and said it would be a pleasure to help. She nodded and led him into the kitchen, where Maggie had been sewing so long her shoulders were stooped and aching with the effort. The hem of that dress was many miles around. ‘This is my maid. Her name is Maggie. She will be assisting you. She’s quite competent.’ Maggie, peering around the mountain of frock that engulfed her, betrayed nothing of her shock and joy at the audacity of the man she loved. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ was all she said.
‘This is Mr Liffey. I’m employing him to oversee the serving of food and drink on Friday. He’s an experienced caterer so he’ll be able to guide you. It’s a godsend really, Mr Liffey …’
‘Duffy,’ Martin corrected her, but she blinked at the interruption and pressed on.
‘… because I’m not sure who else in this town has city experience. I’m bringing in Norah, whose mother runs one of our hostelries, and another girl from the Post Office in Myrtle Grove. Both are experienced in waiting but you’ll also have the services of the committee who, I’m afraid, are mostly elderly ladies and not really what I’m looking for in the way of efficiency and normal appearance.’
Not even a sneakier man than Martin Duffy could have found a way to signal to the girl he wasn’t supposed to know that her precious file was dumped outside in the hydrangeas. When Mrs Mayberry showed him the door and waved him off, he had no choice but to keep going, so the file stayed where it was, under the bush and no one thought to tell Pearl McCleary. Not even Maggie, who was finally informed of its whereabouts when Martin joined her an hour later and walked her home. ‘It’s as safe there as anywhere else,’ was her happy view of the matter.
Pearl, on the other hand, remained on tenterhooks well into the evening, though less from concern for Maggie than for herself. She cooked and served the shoulder of mutton, she cleared up after the meal, she asked if either Nightingale needed her further. Captain Nightingale didn’t reply, which was unsurprising since he seemed to have decided the women in the house were invisible. Adelaide said no thank you, but would she please check on the baby before she went to bed.
Pearl said, of course, but one more thing, she was sorry to trouble them, she would work many days on the trot, but she would need to take the day after tomorrow off because she had urgent business. The Captain finally broke his silence. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘It’s my cousin’s business,’ said Pearl. ‘It involves another trip to the railway.’
‘No,’ said Adelaide.
‘The sheep bleats,’ said her husband, leaving the table to drink himself to sleep or possibly death in the drawing room.
‘If your answer is final,’ Pearl said, ‘then I’ll hand in my notice, effective immediately.’
Again, Adelaide thought. Always wanting to leave. Perhaps she should fire her and be done. ‘Why is it so urgent?’ she asked instead.
‘My fiancé has written. I know he’s somewhere close.’
How difficult it was when Adelaide wanted only to be considered the good person the world believed she was and the good wife her husband believed she wasn’t. Does a good wife risk a husband’s wrath or does she show kindness to an insubordinate but well-intentioned housekeeper? She leaned back on her chair, closed her eyes and imagined life without Pearl. ‘Go,’ she said angrily. ‘I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you that you work for me and not the other way round.’ Then she too left the table where her place was taken by a chill that Pearl decided was friendlier than it might have been.
She ate her own meal, cleared it up and then went to her room, where she sat on the bed and re-read the letter from Daniel. She read it, she put it in her lap, she stared into space where she found no answers. She too pondered the right thing to do. She asked herself how an honourable, sensible, decent fiancée would act in the face of such a thing. She asked herself who was most important. Daniel, Beattie, Annie or herself? That was what it boiled down to. Then it turned out not to be. What did it matter how well she behaved towards those she loved, or even whom she loved more? What mattered was what exactly she could do to alter a situation she so greatly risked making worse. She’d promised Beattie she’d find Daniel. Daniel was begging her not to find him. She closed her eyes to search for an answer but all that came to her with a sickening jolt was that Maggie’s file was missing. She’d left it at Mrs Worthington’s, Martin Duffy had said it wasn’t there and he didn’t have it.
She jumped to her feet. What kind of person had she become, so intent on her own concerns that she could forget completely the more urgent problems of others? S
he pulled her large shawl about her shoulders, she crept into the hall and she opened the front door quietly to look for signs of life in the house opposite. Seeing lights in the windows, she put the door on the latch and hurried across the road.
Who knows what caught her eye? It was less her eye, she thought later, than her ear. The horses at the far end of Louisa’s paddock were restless, trotting up and down the fence calling to each other. She knew nothing of horses. What she saw at once was that their arrangement in the paddock was peculiar, that their behaviour was not what she was used to. It had been to watch for this very oddness that she’d suggested Martin Duffy and Louisa spend night after night outside in the cold.
She didn’t bother alerting them. No time, she told herself. She let herself into the paddock and, crouching, she scampered to where the fence bordered the neglected garden so she could advance in the shadow of the overhanging trees to where she had a better view. Her heart was cantering. Anyone could hear it.
She paused where the treeline stopped and there was no more cover. Dozens of horses were gathered in the far left-hand corner of the paddock, many more than there had been that morning. She strained to hear above the neighing and the munching of the few animals closest to her. She ran along the top fence line, bent so low she was almost on all fours, hugging the shawl tightly to her body to contain any wayward garments that might catch the moonlight. She didn’t ask herself what she intended to do when she confronted the half a dozen burly delivery men. She was no more than fifty yards from the main body of horses when she saw quite clearly that the northern gate was open, that a rider was guarding it to keep the resident horses where they were and that another was driving more through it. ‘Oi!’ she yelled loudly without giving it a thought. ‘Oi, what do you think you’re doing?’
The rider at the gate said, ‘Jesus! Let’s go.’
The rider herding the horses said, ‘Close the gate, you fool.’ But the fellow manning it had taken off, leaving the herder no choice but to take off after him. Half the horses in the paddock followed his lead, charging through the open gate in the same direction, back across the untended land that belonged to the nation and up onto the bush track that ran behind the town. Some headed in the opposite direction towards the river. Others, in a panic, ran back down the paddock and out the bottom gate Pearl hadn’t closed on her way in. ‘Cowards,’ she called. ‘Cowards! I know who you are.’
Four Respectable Ladies Seek Part-time Husband Page 19