That settled to her satisfaction, Pearl wiped her face with her sleeve and decided that life would be better with the Captain out of the house and matters could be taken more firmly in hand. ‘Good!’ she remarked as she turned the pram and headed for home. If the plights of Daniel and Beattie Flannagan were completely absent from her calculations, it could only have been because the plight of the mother she’d never known had driven them from her aching heart.
Chapter Forty-three
Adelaide adjusted overnight to the absence of her husband. It felt more familiar, she explained to Pearl. Most of their marriage had been spent apart, when, despite the distance between them they had remained devoted to each other. Maybe they would always need distance between them, she confided. The distance felt normal. In the spirit of this normality, she threw herself at once into the matter at hand, no longer the horror of the ledgers but the Mayberry party, which held all the promise of dances before she married.
‘Martin must come with us,’ she said. ‘Obviously.’ But Martin couldn’t go with them because he was attending as a lackey, a bombshell that had yet to be dropped on her. Unaware, she could easily imagine a delicate heart-stopping encounter in a sweet-scented arbour, so she fussed over her dress, she tried different hairstyles, she fished out dainty little shoes that hadn’t been worn in years, she plastered her face in paste that would restore bloom and freshness and she allowed herself the glorious anticipation of a night to remember when she would be looking and sounding her best and she would charm the socks off a wonderful man she knew already was just as charmed by her.
Louisa was imagining an equally poignant encounter in a shady moonlit nook where she would confide her love and her very great interest in converting the part-time arrangement to full-time regardless of the interests of the other wives. Hers would be a simple but elegantly worded proposal, huskily delivered, and his delight would be her delight. He might not be everything she’d ever wanted in a husband but he had distinct advantages such as charm, kindness, good looks and a dreamy way of speaking which she knew could soothe her into old age. Possibly not old age. Possibly until she had enough money to escape abroad with her wonderfully handsome son who would escort her to the finest restaurants and hotels and health spas in the world where she would be mistaken for his sister.
Oddly, the part-time wife who’d unequivocally claimed first dibs on the part-time husband had positively no idea she had rivals. In the two days before the party she expected would change her life, Maggie had given very little thought to the others because no one had given her any reason to. No one had mentioned any missed periods, or morning sickness, or ghastly pallor or confirmed state of affairs and no one had mentioned any accusations of infidelity on the part of either Nightingale. Certainly there was no hint that the Captain had done a bunk. Not even the ever watchful Maisie Jenkins had seen him hop up alongside Cocky Watson, and since nothing had been seen or heard of that driver once he’d left town, no reports had trickled back. Maggie knew nothing because no one had told her because no one had thought it necessary.
It hardly mattered. She was busy. She hadn’t been entirely truthful about her costume. She intended to serve food and drinks for no more than two hours and then she would change her clothes in Mrs Mayberry’s bedroom and emerge belle of the ball. The world would be unable to take its eyes off her and Martin Duffy would know that she could be no man’s but his.
Not only would her dress fall from her shoulders, sweep down her slender body and spread into a kind of mermaid’s tail a good nine inches from the ground, her pretty strawberry blonde hair would be short and shiny, because even as Pearl was striding, Adelaide was musing and Louisa was flirting, Maggie was cutting a good two feet of tress from down her back, and what with the trimming from here then here then here to get a straight line, it was shorter than intended, barely grazing her chin, but wonderfully modern and carefree. She would be the smartest thing at the party, courtesy of Mrs Mayberry’s magazines, talk of the town and imminent fiancée of the mystery man known mostly as The Housekeeper’s Cousin.
The mystery man was as oblivious as Maggie to the dramas that had unfolded in Louisa’s house and the one opposite. The closest he’d come to being told anything was Louisa casually remarking over early dinner that she sometimes thought Adelaide made goo-goo eyes at him, but when he’d stared at her in amazement and said, ‘That’s ridiculous. She’s every inch a lady,’ Louisa had let it go, observing simply that if he meant stuffy and dull, then she could be that, definitely.
Now he was to be found in his own room while Louisa busied herself with beautification in hers. He was making notes in the exercise book he’d divided into four so that he could keep track of his progress with the problems of each of his part-time wives. Under Adelaide he was pleased to note: Progressing well. Audit in hand. Exposure imminent. Dishonesty confirmed to own satisfaction. Under Pearl he’d noted: Out of my hands. Can do no more. Breaks my heart. Under Maggie: Chook shed up, boys learning to throw before they can shoot, need to chase up lawyer. Under Louisa he began to jot, Money matters in hand, when it occurred to him he had no idea where her signed agreement with Mr Stokes was.
He’d offered to deliver it but he hadn’t seen it since the moment he’d given it to her. Maybe she’d changed her mind. He hoped she hadn’t. He was pleased with his work on that score. He’d ask her in the morning. He put his book aside, closed his eyes and went to sleep.
In the Mayberry household, the Mayor had also decided to set aside the matter on the basis that, although it had implications for him, they were not as serious as the implications for Mr Stokes, and Mr Stokes, having been alerted, would sort things out. He’d informed Mr Stokes that the incriminating scrap of paper had been in the folder that had gone missing and now it was up to Mr Stokes to decide what to do about it. That’s what he told himself as he rested his eyes in front of the fire in the small sitting room where his wife, with a mirror propped up on the table before her, companionably massaged cream into the lines of her neck. At least he’d had the forethought to remove the ‘missing papers’ from the folder while he examined it. At least they were safely locked away for him to dispose of as he saw fit.
The Mayor found himself more or less comfortable with the state of things. But he did wonder why the file had been at Mrs Worthington’s. He didn’t for a moment suspect the lovely widow, whom he knew from common report to be an arrogant, selfish young woman who never showed any interest in anyone or anything that didn’t involve herself. He suspected her lodger, as did Mr Stokes. Mr Stokes would deal with him, and that would be the end of it. He didn’t much care for Mr Stokes but Mr Stokes had a decisive way of snuffing out trouble before it sprang into life. Then from nowhere came a brilliant idea that would restore both honour and sense to his life. He knew precisely how to deal with the missing papers. He could get rid of them and never be connected to them ever again while doing immense good.
‘The very fortunate thing, George, is my acquisition of a young man from Sydney who has served in the finest establishments to oversee the service.’
‘Mmm?’ said her husband. Did he care? He did not. But he wanted – no, needed – to be on good terms with his wife for at least the next twenty-four hours because to not be on good terms with her in public could only hurt him. He needed nothing to hurt him at this point in the delicate negotiations over who was paying for the railway station when there were claims for stations being made by towns all over the country. ‘What young man? A returned soldier, is he? Good thing. We must employ our fighting men where we can.’
‘I don’t think he’s returned. I think he’s visiting his cousin. A lovely young fellow. Irish but charming.’
‘Name?’ asked the Mayor, suddenly wide awake.
‘Liffey,’ said his wife. ‘A Mr Liffey lodging with Mrs Worthington. He’ll have the girls working like clockwork.’
‘Did you tell Mr Stokes?’
‘Why would I tell Mr Stokes?’
‘Bec
ause he is catering.’
‘He’s only providing some of the food and some of the drink. The rest is being supplied by the committee, and the committee are delighted I have found Mr Liffey.’
It shut the Mayor up until morning when he was out of the house before breakfast and hotfooting it to Nightingales, where he found the grocer and informed him that the housekeepers’ cousin had wormed his way into the event and would need to be monitored. To which Mr Stokes replied, ‘Thank you, Mr Mayor, I thought as much,’ and had at once despatched Ginger to The Irish Rover to ask Miss Norah Quirk to drop by at her earliest convenience.
And so Prospect’s Peace Celebration began in the time-honoured tradition of community functions the world over: with anger, suspicion, resentment and the threat of violence.
Chapter Forty-four
Much to the dismay of Adelaide and Louisa, whose hopes were diminished (though not extinguished) by the realisation that their love trysts would be with the waiter, it was agreed that Martin Duffy would escort Maggie and the boys two hours before the party was to begin, as required by Mrs Mayberry. Pearl, Adelaide and the baby would escort Louisa, as required by common courtesy.
Iciness had given way to tolerance once Louisa had dropped a note to Adelaide begging forgiveness and understanding for her abominable behaviour. It had been brought on by the horror of her situation to which, Adelaide would be gratified to hear, she now saw a solution, which she was, for the time being, keeping to herself since the matter was such a private one.
‘She must have spoken to the father. Or written to him,’ Adelaide speculated and Pearl agreed since nothing else would really do. So when the Nightingale household, dressed to the nines, collected the head of the Worthington household, dressed just as effectively to the eights out of respect for her late husband, and after everyone had exclaimed to everyone how beautiful they all looked, though each was naturally most interested in comments directed at herself, the party joined the throng as the entire town drifted towards the Mayor’s house, which had only the day before been named Tranquillity Park.
‘We always conthidered it Tranquillity Park we juth never put the sign up,’ Mrs Mayberry was explaining to the group she was greeting before she extended her hand to the Worthington/ Nightingale party. ‘It was one of the reasons we thought it would a good idea to have the Candlelight Garden Party for Peace here.’ Mrs Mayberry was wearing a tiara. It was the only tiara in Prospect at that time.
She shook hands and nodded and smiled and urged them on with a deft flick of the wrist very much in the manner of royalty. She chose her words judiciously as a Member of Parliament might, though less as a woman of the people than as a leader of the people, which led her to impart some little wisdom or other to anyone she thought might benefit from it. To her social equals this was, ‘I think we have made the world a better place.’ To the hoi polloi it might be, ‘Please don’t pick any flowers or enter the house.’ Or, ‘All food and drink has been arranged on both the east and north verandahs.’ The very lowly were advised, ‘There are tents behind the kitchen garden for your convenience.’
There was indeed an impressive array of tents. The paddock behind the house had been annexed for the event and now was overtaken by a very large construction for the dancing and speech-making. From deep within it, the Prospect and District Military Band was playing marches in the spirit of Victory, very soon to be embodied, along with Peace, by the Mayor’s wife. There really had been nothing to match it in the town’s history, Mrs Mayberry announced every five minutes, and everyone thought she was probably right. The opening of the butter factory had involved far fewer tents. It was a great occasion and the people of the town were prepared to enjoy it to the full. They mingled and laughed and chatted and rediscovered each other in wonder even though they’d seen each other in the street just that morning.
‘Adelaide,’ roared Baby Worthington, a muscular blonde woman whose expensive clothes and weather-beaten face could have been fashionable though somehow were not, but whose small, shiny eyes suggested impishness of one sort or another. She clutched Adelaide to her chest in what might have been a wrestling move. ‘How long is it since we’ve seen each other? I was saying to your mother-in-law, where’s Adelaide got to? Haven’t seen her in donkey’s years. Is she dead?’
Adelaide detached herself and rubbed her front. ‘We’ve been busy.’ She nodded into the pram. ‘And Marcus hasn’t felt very sociable.’ Baby scanned the scrum for sight of him but Adelaide said he wasn’t with her. ‘He sends his apologies. He’s gone away for a few days – hello, Larry – to see his mother.’
‘Hello, Adelaide,’ said Larry Murdoch, a small, dapper man whose teeth were too large for his mouth. ‘I thought Phyllis was on her way to America. Maybe not.’ He leaned in to whisper confidentially, ‘Not the time to discuss it but, just so you know, happy to do that audit to set your mind at rest.’ He stepped back. ‘Let’s have a look at the son and heir.’
‘He’s sleeping,’ said Pearl.
‘This is Miss McCleary, our housekeeper,’ said Adelaide. ‘Louisa is somewhere around. Have you seen her already? I’m sure she’ll be looking for you.’
Baby Worthington’s expression soured. ‘For my husband, possibly. She’s a husband woman, isn’t she, Larry?’ Oblivious to the tumult this caused in Adelaide, Baby turned to Pearl, those beady little eyes alight with curiosity. ‘The housekeeper with the cousin.’ So frank was her inspection that Pearl dropped her gaze as a housekeeper might.
‘I’ll take Freddie for a stroll, I think,’ she said. ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ and away she hurried, composing her features to betray nothing of her confusion, which had nothing to do with Martin Duffy being known as far afield as Upsand Downs, or Baby Worthington’s witting or unwitting reference to the situation between Louisa and Marcus. It had everything to do with blinding comprehension. In flashes that came thick and fast, Pearl now understood the following. Baby Worthington’s was the mannish voice of the rider delivering horses. Baby Worthington loathed Louisa. Baby Worthington was Louisa’s blackmailer. Louisa knew already.
She found a seat in a far corner of the main garden under a tree decorated with streamers and Chinese lanterns to digest it all and as she stared into the crowd she asked herself the following. If Baby Worthington were the blackmailer, where did Archie Stokes fit in? Because it was surely Stokes the Fletcher brothers suspected.
He was no more than fifty yards away holding court by the pig on a spit. Everything about him said Up to no good, even the way he was chatting in lowered tones to Larry Murdoch. And what of Larry Murdoch, who’d done no more than smile in the face of his wife’s insinuations about him and Louisa?
She watched as Mr Murdoch leaned towards Archie Stokes to hear him above the crowd and it seemed to her that both men were anxious, even angry. She saw Louisa, in her widow’s black dress with its shiny scarlet trim, approach and she saw Larry Murdoch turn his back on her in order not to welcome her into his conversation. She watched as Louisa, without missing a beat, turned to Maggie and took from the tray she was carrying a glass of punch, then she watched her glide towards Martin Duffy, who was lingering in the most peculiar manner behind a hedge on the other side of the pig. Was he eavesdropping on the conversation between Mr Stokes and Mr Murdoch? They both turned abruptly to stare at him when Louisa called, ‘Martin, is there anything stronger than this unspeakable punch?’ Planning was impossible when no one was behaving as they should.
‘There you are, Miss McCleary.’ Joe Fletcher emerged smiling from the shadows behind her. ‘A friendly face at last. Mind if I join you?’ And if she’d intended to respond to his approach with all the composure of a woman who’d never been in love and never expected to be, but who was beautiful and amusing and sophisticated in case he hadn’t noticed, her body forgot in the clamour of the moment.
She jumped to her feet, gave the pram a shove to make room for him and, in doing so, caught her dress in the pram’s large wheels. When Mr Fletcher galla
ntly bent to free her, she also bent and rammed his head with hers causing him to sit abruptly, less gallantly. She also sat, hot and unamused, forget amusing. When she looked back into the crowd, she saw Martin Duffy winging his way through it, ducking and diving, looking to neither right nor left, hell bent, apparently, in his search for a decent drink for his landlady. As she followed his progress she saw him enter the house. On his heels was the girl she recognised from the Post Office as Norah Quirk, following him, but taking care not to be seen by him. ‘Good heavens,’ she said.
‘No good heavens about it,’ said Joe Fletcher. ‘You may look like a slip of a thing with the grace of a dancer but that was clumsy.’ When she didn’t reply, he added, ‘No need to be glum about it. I’m a bit of a clodhopper myself.’
‘I know who’s been delivering the horses to Mrs Worthington,’ Pearl whispered urgently, any notions of impressing her company with wit gone for the night. ‘Her sister-in-law. Mrs Murdoch from Upsand Downs.’
The smile that had softened his teasing vanished. ‘Can you prove it?
‘I recognised her voice from the other night. It’s as deep as a man’s.’
‘Drink, Miss McCleary?’ Maggie asked, shoving her tray between them. ‘Mr Fletcher?’
‘Do you know Maggie O’Connell?’ Pearl said. ‘Of course you do. You’re neighbours.’
‘How are you, Miss O’Connell?’
‘Have you seen Martin, Miss McCleary? Mrs Mayberry’s looking for him.’
‘In the house I think, Maggie.’
‘Thank goodness. That’s where he’s supposed to be.’ Which it both was and it wasn’t. Adelaide would have liked him to be by her side even if he did look like a waiter. Louisa would have liked it less had he not been a waiter but still wished he were with her. He was where Mrs Mayberry wanted him to be very roughly.
Four Respectable Ladies Seek Part-time Husband Page 24