Four Respectable Ladies Seek Part-time Husband

by Barbara Toner

  Lorna Stutt, formerly the redhead from the Post Office in Prospect, looked startled. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Maisie Jenkins stepped in. ‘You know very well what she’s talking about. You ran away with Frank O’Connell to Broken Hill.’

  ‘I did not,’ cried Miss Stutt in disbelief. ‘I went to Broken Hill. I didn’t like it. I came back to work at Myrtle Grove. Who said I ran away with him?’

  All eyes turned to Norah Quirk, who smiled foolishly. ‘It was a joke. What does it matter? These women advertised for a part-time husband.’ But it was too late. Everyone knew Norah Quirk and everyone now knew she wasn’t just a fibber but a liar.

  Adelaide, Maggie and Pearl held their tongues now that their reputations were reprieved but Louisa, believing she was onto a winning streak owing to the quite strong drink she had enjoyed, addressed the party. ‘All women need husbands of some sort, to protect and provide for us, don’t we, Mrs Mayberry? You said so yourself and you gave us no choice. Not all of us have men to protect, provide, defend or speak up for us when we should be able to speak for ourselves. So what were we to do, Mrs Mayberry? We found a voice. We advertised for one and we found one. It’s true that Martin Duffy has come to our aid and that four of us have shared him to tackle men’s work because we could not. But I intend to convert him to a full-time husband and to make an honest fellow of him.’

  If there was horror on the faces of her three co-wives, it was no greater than the collective amazement of the crowd, but Mrs Mayberry swatted it in an instant. ‘And that is the message I will be taking to Parliament. Fellows must be full-time and honest. There is no room for part-time commitment in marriage if we are to defend ourselves against the …’

  Popularity is a fickle thing. Perhaps it was the olive tree or the backbiting of the thoroughly peeved committee who were sick of being elbowed as they poured. Perhaps it was annoyance at her poor timing. Either way, the Mayor’s wife’s moment had come and her moment had gone as the crowd’s roar drowned her out.

  The Mayor, more experienced at spotting a drift, strode to her side. He said, ‘Well that’s quite enough excitement before we eat. Mr Stokes, if you wouldn’t mind carving the pig, I think everyone would like some tucker.’

  Chapter Forty-six

  The residents from Beyond The Arch had no stomach for tucker. Archie Stokes fumed that none of them had been taken into custody and he threatened to arrest Martin Duffy himself, but Joe Fletcher would have none of it. He personally would escort the party from Beyond The Arch home and if anyone felt like stopping them, they’d have to deal with him first. No one felt like putting him to the test. He was tenant of the largest station in the district, his fearsome one-eyed brother was something or other to do with the law and he was carrying a whip and a gun. So they departed amid murmurs that were both delighted and disgusted, hounded from polite society when only hours before they had been its very epitome.

  They made a sorry bunch: four ladies, one pushing a pram and another carrying a dress (unworn) on a coat hanger; two boys too tired even to shove each other; one waiter disinclined to fall into step with any of the ladies; and a man on horseback, riding to the side of them, acknowledging no one, intent on avoiding all gazes and attempts at conversation at which there was only one. ‘What’s your horse called?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Go To Blazes,’ was the answer, which Ed thought was rude.

  They reached the turn-off to Somerset Station without incident. Joe Fletcher fished a whistle from his pocket and tossed it to Martin Duffy. ‘Blow three short, three long, three short and I’ll hear you.’ Then he took off, leaving the rest of the party to examine each other in dismay, because surely one or all of them had betrayed another and now their lives were in ruins. They each turned towards their homes without relish, in need of comfort, reassurance and friendship; a captain, anyway, to steer their crazily storm-tossed ship.

  Maggie, whose landscape now included a father whose whereabouts were a mystery, clutched Pearl’s arm but Pearl could offer her no hope. All of hers had died, extinguished by the certainty that the shame she had brought upon the ladies was too much to bear. Not only had she failed Beattie, her foolish planning without thinking had brought ruin to them all, and where she had a different life many miles away, theirs was here.

  Yet as they huddled wretchedly in the street between Louisa’s and Adelaide’s, they looked to her for guidance because that’s what they did. She led. They followed. She had rolled into town and led them all astray, as it turned out. She said, ‘I’m to blame for all of this and I don’t know how to help.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Louisa, who imagined her own future to be miles rosier than it had been before Pearl’s arrival. ‘You’ll think of something.’ And because it was their general expectation, despite the horror they all felt for the damage each had done to the other, when Adelaide suggested they all go inside, by which she meant into her husbandless house, they agreed.

  The boys were given bread and butter though they whinged and carried on about missing the pig and they were instructed to stay in the kitchen and amuse each other but to touch nothing. Their elders and betters trooped into the drawing room, where for a full minute they sat in shell-shocked silence.

  Would a military doctor have counselled immediate return to the fray? Is it always right to address the implications of a battle when the bullets are still flying? Suddenly, as if someone had given the order to open fire, a hideous lethal exchange burst upon the tiny squadron and wounds were inflicted of the nastiest kind. Lying, stupid, thoughtless, selfish, insane. Think of an insult and its cartridge would have been on that floor somewhere. Only Pearl sat in silence, speechless from remorse, wanting to flee but knowing that to flee would result only in greater remorse. As suddenly as it started the barrage stopped and all eyes turned to her because she hadn’t spoken and she had a duty to do so. They waited. She waited, praying for words to enter her mouth that would convey an immaculately conceived plan to save them all. A few came but none with a plan.

  ‘There will be repercussions,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what but there will be.’ The sound of her voice encouraged at least one coherent thought because it was familiar. ‘We must face the facts and respond calmly and quickly.’

  Louisa looked as if she were going to speak but Martin did ahead of her. ‘Any ideas?’

  Pearl forced herself to address what she knew to be true. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Duffy. I know you were acting with the best of intentions but the town will always suspect you of something. Theft at least.’

  ‘I was looking for the contract Louisa signed with Mr Stokes. I thought it might have got lost in Maggie’s file while we had it.’

  ‘Which contract? What file?’ Adelaide asked.

  ‘A contract offering her an unlimited account at Nightingales that need be repaid only when she could afford it. Mr Stokes said you suggested it.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. I’d never suggest such a contract.’

  Pearl held up her hand. ‘Did you find it, Mr Duffy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The Mayor said nothing was missing so apart from everyone suspecting you, there might not be any other consequences from that but there will be from the advertisement. We can’t deny we placed it. It’s in the paper and someone is sure to find it.’

  ‘You were an idiot to admit it, Louisa,’ Adelaide snapped. ‘Such an idiot.’

  ‘Have you all forgotten that I proposed to Martin?’ Louisa replied. She was smiling at him as if she already had his ring on her finger. ‘It solves the problem once and for all. Martin came to work for me. We fell in love. We’ll get married and there we are, all respectable again.’

  ‘Thank you, Louisa,’ said Martin Duffy quietly. ‘It was a very kind offer. I’m grateful to you all for your loyalty.’

  ‘I wasn’t being loyal,’ said Louisa.

  ‘You’re not going to marry her, are you?’ Maggie demanded of her one true love. ‘You can’t.’

  �
�Of course not,’ said Martin Duffy.

  ‘Why of course not?’ Louisa continued to smile. ‘I wasn’t joking. I mean it. I really do want to marry you, Martin.’

  Martin Duffy stared at her in astonishment. He smiled back. His smile faded. He looked in anguish from Maggie to Adelaide and finally to Pearl. ‘Thank you very much, Louisa, but I can’t. It was part of the agreement. There were to be no romantic attachments.’

  ‘Noooo!’ howled Maggie. ‘I never agreed to that. I told you, Miss McCleary. I never did. You all did. But I didn’t and I have formed an attachment. I love you, Martin, and I know you have feelings for me. Don’t pretend you haven’t. We knew from the minute we met.’ Her pleading eyes took hold of his and insisted they stay on her, insisted they see what she had seen and understood what she had always understood. ‘Please!’ she cried. ‘You know how attached I am to you. My life is nothing without you.’

  Adelaide said gently, ‘I think we’ve all formed attachments to you, Martin. Even me and I already have a husband.’ Her own large grey eyes full of meaning, as an afterthought, she added, ‘Who has abandoned me.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ said Pearl. ‘And none of you should have.’ Her voice was returning, despite its reluctance. ‘You knew the terms. This was a business arrangement and no silly emotions were to come into it. If that’s what’s happened here, thank heavens he’s going.’

  ‘Going?’ repeated Louisa, Adelaide, Maggie and Martin Duffy.

  ‘Of course he has to go. He has to go because he’s made an enemy of Archie Stokes, and Mr Stokes is determined to destroy him and us into the bargain. It’s as plain as day. Surely you all saw it. He was working Norah Quirk and Maisie Jenkins like puppets.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to Martin in private,’ said Louisa.

  ‘So would I,’ cried Maggie.

  ‘Mr Duffy?’ Pearl couldn’t help him.

  Mr Duffy rubbed his eyes. ‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘This is so difficult. Speaking in private won’t help, Louisa. And, Maggie, you know how much I care for you. But even if it made all the sense in the world, I can’t marry either of you. I love someone else.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ Maggie yelled. ‘Who do you love?’

  Martin Duffy shook his head. He addressed Louisa, ‘I’m sorry, Louisa. If I misled you I am very sorry. I should have stayed at the pub.’

  ‘With Norah Quirk,’ bawled Maggie, whose rage and hurt and fatigue were overwhelming her.

  ‘Another pub. I should have stayed somewhere else.’

  Louisa was on her feet, swooping up the remains of her pride. ‘If you’re going to go, Mr Duffy, please collect your things and leave right now. I don’t want you under my roof a minute longer.’ She turned to Pearl. ‘And you can drop dead as well. Nothing has gone right since you took over. You’re a menace and a bore and –’

  ‘That’s enough, Louisa,’ said Adelaide, also getting to her feet. ‘Your problems are of your own making, you know they are.’

  ‘And they’re none of your business.’ Louisa was in the hall.

  Martin Duffy was also on his feet. ‘I’ll see you home,’ he offered.

  ‘Don’t you listen?’ she replied. ‘I never want to see you again.’

  The door slammed in his face and the boys in the kitchen, relieved that the night was finally ending, appeared in the drawing room. ‘We leaving now, Maggie?’ they asked. But Maggie didn’t want to leave. To leave now would be to walk away from the hope that had sustained her for so long. She had been going to marry Martin Duffy even when he’d hovered as a dim outline, waiting to take shape. Now he was living and breathing and within her grasp, how could she let him go?

  ‘I can’t,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t.’ And suddenly she was sobbing so hard that the boys could only stare at her. They stood, arms by their sides, faces aghast, hopeless, helpless.

  ‘What have you done?’ cried Al. ‘What have you done to my sister?’ Who there could explain to the luckless brothers that their sister’s dreams were shattered and not all the king’s soldiers or all the king’s men could put them together again?

  Martin Duffy knelt before her. He took her hands in his. He said, ‘Maggie, I wish you wouldn’t cry. Please, please don’t cry. I’m not worth it, I really am not. I would make a terrible husband. I was bad part-time. Think how dreadful I’d be full-time.’

  But Maggie pulled back her hands. She buried her face in them. She wanted to stop crying, she so badly did, but how do you stop sorrow this bottomless? Her father was not in Broken Hill. Her father had vanished. And now Martin Duffy would vanish and she’d again be all alone with no hope of a husband or a father or anyone to share her heavy load.

  ‘I promise you this though, Maggie. I will be your friend always and I will be there should ever you need me. I can’t be your husband, but I will be your protector for as long as you need one. However it can best be managed.’

  At which point, Maggie stopped crying but Adelaide’s eyes began to stream, and her breath to choke, because she understood the sorrow. The words were those she herself had wanted to hear her from the part-time husband she knew was about to be banished.

  She was his secret love. She was as certain as an unprotected woman could be.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  The rest of the night passed in misery for the residents Beyond The Arch. Martin Duffy walked Maggie and her brothers home with very little said between them. ‘I hit a bird today,’ Alec reported. ‘With a cricket ball.’

  ‘Did you mean to?’ asked Martin Duffy.

  ‘No.’

  ‘When everything dies down, I’ll come back to see you.’

  Once the lamps had been lit and the young O’Connells were as safe in their own home as they could expect to be, Martin Duffy walked slowly back to the Nightingales’, hesitating only briefly outside Louisa’s, from which no light shone. Pearl let him in and directed him to the tiny box room, which smelled of damp, and to the hastily found mattress, which also smelled of damp. A dismal hush descended on all the households because no one could bear to say another word to anyone despite the misery of their thoughts and the horror of their options.

  A very few hours later, as dawn broke, the Nightingale front door opened and Martin Duffy crept through it. He crossed the road and let himself into the Worthington house, tiptoeing to his room where he hastily shoved belongings into the suitcase he’d kept under the bed. He took a last look around the room and he left. As he pulled the front door behind him Louisa called, ‘You’re going.’

  He replied, ‘I am.’ And that was that. All his part-time wives bid farewell.

  He didn’t leave through the town. He headed in the opposite direction along the road that would take him to the coast, and he might well have been walking for days had not Joe Fletcher, up with the lark, come across him and offered him a lift on his cart laden with feed. They travelled quickly along tracks that were hardly tracks at all until they met the main road within walking distance of Myrtle Grove and there they parted company.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Martin Duffy, shaking the hand of Joe Fletcher. ‘You’re right. She’s a woman in a million.’ A couple of hours later, eating the sandwiches Pearl had packed for him, he opened the letter she’d included in his lunch bag.

  Dear Mr Duffy, it said. I am sorry to have sent you away but I know you understand there was no alternative. Please accept an additional week’s salary and my thanks for the help you have given us. I appreciate that the tasks were enormous and that you did your best. I have one more favour to ask. Could you please call on Annie McGuire at 94 Limerick Street, Bondi and give her the enclosed letter.

  ‘Oh, Miss McCleary,’ he sighed, hearing her bossy voice in every line. ‘I’ll miss you.’ His flibbertigibbet heart lurched disconcertingly, causing him to place his hand on it, to stop it from lurching again. But it would lurch and thump. The more he held the letter to his face to smell her soap on it, the worse it was. Dear God, he thought. It was she he loved. He hadn’t had anyone preci
sely in mind the night before when he’d admitted an attachment that precluded all others, but there it was, blindingly obvious now there was distance between them. Miss McCleary was magnificent. She had been from the very first day they met. She was infuriatingly, alarmingly sure of herself, and she was always just beyond reach. It was everything he found attractive in a woman. She had confided in him and trusted him and in the end, he reckoned, respected him. He congratulated himself on loving her. He would deliver this letter as if his life depended on it. If he imagined her hearing him and staring sadly into the mid distance because he was gone and she was bereft, he’d have been way off beam.

  Pearl might not have been any happier than he was, but once she’d seen him off, the fact that she had met Martin Duffy at all became just another cause for regret. She busied herself in the kitchen, numbing the terrible anxiety that gripped her innards. Very little had come from the facing of facts, apart from his banishment, and now she had to come to terms with the hopelessness that was left.

  Mrs Worthington remained pregnant, husbandless, penniless and afflicted by dozens of horses. Maggie was as unremittingly on her own with the same boys to raise and the same injustice concerning her land, still without a father but with no way of knowing where he was. Mrs Nightingale still had Mr Stokes to contend with and a husband unaccounted for, though that struck Pearl as a very small blessing.

  As for herself, she was no closer to finding Daniel Flannagan than she had been when she’d arrived and Beattie’s heart was no closer to finding peace. Everyone was worse off than they’d been before Martin Duffy had arrived, and she was responsible for Martin Duffy. Annie would have said, You made that mess, you clean it up. And so she must, whether she felt like it or not.

  Before anything else, she must see Mrs Worthington. Even in the cold light of day, marriage to Martin Duffy seemed to Pearl to be the worst solution imaginable to her problem. Martin Duffy was no more husband material for Mrs Worthington than he was a horseman. He might have made a husband for Maggie – it had been heartbreaking to see what hopes Maggie had pinned on him – but he hadn’t wanted her any more than he’d wanted Mrs Worthington. He’d behaved both sensibly and honourably, but she was relieved he was gone.