Skylark

by Jenny Pattrick

  My health was a welcome diversion for Lily, I imagine. Her usual whirlwind arrival was somewhat muted, but oh, it was good to see her dear, lively face!

  ‘Mattie, Mattie!’ she cried, running upstairs to me, hardly giving a glance to Jack or the others. ‘Look at you, my poor darling, we must get you on your feet and out into the sunshine!’ Swish, swish, back went the curtains, up with the window sash, fresh, sweet air rushing into the room, lifting my soul for all its chill. Lily knows what I love. She has that knack of always knowing what you are thinking or feeling. I suppose it is the actress in her. You might call her selfish — many’s the time we’ve all said that of her — but we must take the rough with the smooth, in our friends as in life, or where would we be in this world? I wept tears of joy to feel her arms around me and her bright kiss on my cheek.

  ‘Wait, wait!’ she cried gaily, whirling around and dashing for the door, leaving me to wonder what new plan had taken her fancy. I heard the door bang and shouts in the garden below my window. Up she came again, taking the steps by twos as she always did, and entered the room triumphantly, a handful of snowdrops held aloft. Oh, the beautiful, delicate things! She remembered!

  ‘Elsie!’ she shouted down the stairs. ‘The jar, the jar!’ And in came my quiet Elsie, beaming to be so useful, carefully carrying a jam jar filled with water. Lily held the flowers to my nose and then arranged them on the table by my bed, where I could breathe in the faint freshness of them. So perfect.

  ‘Like a company of ballerinas,’ said Lily, laughing.

  Trust her to find a theatrical likeness. But that is exactly what they look like: tiny white bell-skirts, each petal with its perfect green dot at the hem, the skirt hiding its little ring of butter-yellow pollen. Oh, how I loved to see those snowdrops: first signs of spring. Surely everything would go well now.

  For a good week Lily behaved, busying herself about the house — no doubt getting in the way of those who could manage better without her — but transforming every broken pot or burned dish into a comedy that had us all rolling around like a litter of kittens, and near turning herself inside out to be pleasant and loving to Jack. No mention of Teddy and the Lilliputians.

  But of course, that couldn’t last. Lily could never hold a pose for more than a few minutes. That whole week must be a record, surely. On the first night that I managed to come downstairs for dinner, Lily brought up the matter that was burning in her mind. We were all at table, even Bert, who was apprenticed to the Waitotara blacksmith, and came home only for the weekend. Samuel and Jack had built a long plank table and benches each side which would hold all fifteen of us. My greatest joy was to sit at one head, Jack at the other, all the children scrubbed and clean, and Lily squashed somewhere down the middle, usually with the twins or Teddy next to her. It had never mattered to Lily to be head of the household or Mrs Lacey; that was me. Lily was special, but in a different way.

  That night she had dressed for dinner. Jack liked that. She wore her green silk, with the big rope of amber ‘given by an admirer’ hanging almost to her waist and a feather or two in her dark hair. I suppose I looked like an old washcloth by comparison, pale and weak as I was, but never mind that. We all knew that some announcement or plan would be aired as soon as we were eating. One of Lily’s rather annoying habits was to introduce a new idea when all our mouths were full, reducing our powers of argument until the ‘full glory’ of her idea was laid out.

  So it was this night. Having swallowed not two bites, she laid down her knife and fork carefully, cleared her throat for attention, and began.

  ‘Jack, my dear, Mother Mattie is still not well. Doctor Ingram has urged that we take her in to the new hospital in Whanganui for an inspection, as soon as she is able to stand the trip.’

  Jack nodded, waiting for the rest. He knew, as did we all, that a plan was afoot.

  ‘Now, surely it is time for all these good children to enjoy a little treat? We have sadly lost our sister and daughter, little Mathilda, but now let us look forward!’

  Lily was warming to her topic now. Her hands began to weave pictures, her voice deepened; she knew when she had us enthralled.

  ‘Here is the train, newly reached our very doorstep at Waitotara, and I am the only one to have ridden it! Jack, all the children must experience this wonder, surely? A new age of locomotion in our midst! Shall we all ride to Whanganui with Mother Mattie, spend a night seeing the sights, and ride back again? What do you say, Jack?’

  This brought out cries of excitement from all, especially young Oberon and Joe, who leapt from their seats and began to dance around the room, choo-chooing and whoo-whooing, stopping to hug Lily when they came near to her. Lily was skating on thin ice here, as Jack was not entirely in favour of the railway. Who knows what it will do to the horse industry? he said. But he was curious too. We all were.

  Jack smiled at his radiant Lily. ‘Well, why not? But I’ll warrant you the drive in to Waitotara in our sprung wagonette will be the better ride.’

  At this a cheer went up. Jack was hugged by the young ones; Frank started in on me about what suit he might wear; Bert demanded that the treat be on a weekend so he could come too; while Samuel and Sarah began an argument about the merits of horse-drawn versus steam travel.

  In all this buzz, Phoebe’s clear voice suddenly piped up. ‘And will we see Teddy and the Lilliputians? The Chronicle says they are in Whanganui.’

  Silence at this.

  But only for a moment. Lily was ready as always. ‘Yes they are, Phoebe, and I expect Teddy will play a lead role. I for one will certainly see him.’ She said this in such a simple, quiet way, no hint of challenge, just a loving remark — an aside, really — that it quite took my breath away. How does she manage it? As we all watched, she rose and walked around to the head of the table where Jack sat, silent. The hand she laid on his shoulder stroked the cloth gently, then, for a quick moment, tugged lightly at his earlobe. She knew I was watching and sent a quick apologetic smile, then in the same instant returned to her sober mood. ‘My dear,’ she said quietly, ‘I did wrong over Teddy. I should never have lied about you. But our clever son is here in Whanganui, the toast of the town. What will he think if his family is not there to cheer him?’

  My Maud, eleven years old and closest in age to Teddy, walked solemnly around the table to stand at her father’s other side. ‘I would like to see Teddy, Father,’ she said in her quiet voice. ‘He will be sad if we don’t come.’

  Jack knew when he was beaten. And of course he wanted to be proud of his son, too. But he made us wait, as is proper; he is head of the household. He took a sip of his porter, cleared his throat, smoothed his waistcoat, fingered the gold watch-chain which lay across his stomach: a golden rainbow, leading to the pot of gold in his fob pocket. A fine, solid husband, my Jack.

  ‘Lily, Lily, you are unfair to trap me like this,’ he said.

  Lily bowed her head in contrition. She knew the battle was won.

  ‘I will not hide,’ he warned. ‘I will be there as Teddy’s father, for all to see.’

  For a moment I feared Lily might argue. She would be thinking about that contract she signed. What would the famous Mr Pollard say if he saw a ‘dead’ father walk into his theatre, large as life? I held my breath — we all did — as Lily and Jack exchanged a long look.

  Then, placing his hand over Lily’s where it still lay on his shoulder, he smiled at his waiting brood. ‘But I have a fancy to see what my rascally son is up to. Let us see if he is as good as you promise, my dear. Shall we all go?’

  Oh, what a cheering and dancing that brought on! Sarah’s fine apple pie was completely forgotten. While Jack received the shower of hugs and pats, Lily came and sat quietly by me.

  ‘Can you manage the trip, do you think, Mattie?’

  Of course I had to say yes, but the thought filled me with dread.

  [Archivist’s Note: This is the last entry made by Mattie. She did add the recipe for Sarah’s apple pie, which I have not in
cluded. It is similar to modern recipes. Also pasted in is a cutting from the Wanganui Chronicle giving the train timetable both ‘up’ and ‘down’: i.e. Whanganui to Waverley and back. In 1881 the journey from Waitotara to Whanganui, with five stations between, took two hours. E. de M.]

  SCENE: The Theatre Royal, Whanganui

  Teddy plays the lead

  [Archivist’s Note: Written directly into the journal in the hand of Lily Alouette. E. de M.]

  It has been agreed that I shall write this scene — this chapter. An honour as well as a burden. You will listen solemnly as I read, waiting to catch me out, yet also wanting to hear the story. Needing to hear it and understand. Ah, my dears, listen then.

  On the morning before the last Whanganui performance of H.M.S. Pinafore, Teddy nervously leaves his sword practice and walks across the stage. In the orchestra pit, Mr Jim Pollard, musical director, is arranging music stands and laying out music. Teddy, like all the children, is a little afraid of Mr Jim. He is not as genial as his father or his brother Charles. Mr Jim will not tolerate any ‘tomfoolery’ during singing rehearsals, while Mr Derbyshire, who teaches their steps and gestures, and often performs with them, loves to joke and tease and goad his cast into silly antics.

  Mr Jim Pollard looks up at the boy who stands on the edge of the stage. He frowns. ‘Shouldn’t you be at your practice?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Pollard, but …’ Teddy clears his throat and tries again. ‘Would you not let me play Rackstraw tonight, please, Sir?’

  ‘I think we’ll let May sing the part tonight, Teddy, I thought you understood that.’

  Teddy wants to burst out angrily: the Pollard girls get all the good parts anyway. May doesn’t need to sing Ralph Rackstraw. Last night she had three encores for her ‘Queen’s Navee’ solo and Olive was allowed to play two violin pieces in the middle of Ralph Rackstaw’s scene. The Pollard girls are always favoured.

  Trembling slightly, but determined, Teddy continues. ‘It’s just that my family is coming tonight, Sir. They were hoping … that I …’ Teddy turns away to hide the tears he can’t control.

  Jim Pollard clears his throat, puts a pile of music on the piano, drums his fingers on its polished wood. ‘Teddy,’ he says, more kindly, ‘last night you cracked on your high note. I think your voice needs a rest.’

  ‘Oh no, Sir, that was just a crumb in my throat. I shouldn’t have eaten that biscuit, Sir. I won’t crack again …’ Teddy curses the wretched catch in his throat which has happened three times now in rehearsal.

  ‘Your voice was not as clear as usual this morning, I noticed, which is why I think May should sing Rackstraw tonight.’

  Teddy can see he is losing the battle. ‘Please give me a chance, Sir, please.’ But Mr Jim has turned back to his music.

  Suddenly a voice booms out from the back of the auditorium. ‘Mr Pollard, I wonder if I might have a word?’ Teddy is overjoyed to see his mother, dressed splendidly in dark red silk and a great pile of a hat, gliding down the aisle out of the gloom and into a pool of sunshine, where she pauses, aware of the effect. Her beaded purse, catching the sun, sends dancing flashes of emerald and ruby over the dark walls and ceiling of the theatre.

  Jim Pollard smiles to see her. ‘Madame Larkendale! Welcome!’ Lily, who performed recently with J.C. Williamson’s company in Wellington, was well known there not only for her splendid comic performances in the farces, but also for her support of the Pollard company. Lily gives Mr Pollard a regal hand to hold, blows a kiss to Teddy and waves to the rest of the boys who have stopped their fight-moves to stare.

  Teddy wants to cheer out loud. His mother will save the day, surely?

  ‘All Whanganui,’ says Lily, in a voice that reaches Mr James Pollard Senior at the back of the theatre, ‘is looking forward to hearing Theodore tonight. He is one of a performing family, well known in this town.’ She smiles grandly. ‘Trained by me, of course.’

  Teddy wonders if his mother is overdoing it, but Mr Pollard Senior steps forward to take Lily’s silken arm. ‘Well then, my dear, we don’t want to disappoint a good audience, do we?’ He cocks an eyebrow at his son. ‘Shall we let the local prodigy sing for his family and friends?’

  Mr Jim looks steadily at his father. For a moment it seems as if he will argue, but then he nods curtly.

  Teddy breaks into a smile as bright as the spring sunshine outside; can’t help dancing a little jig of joy; then quickly runs back to join his friends, waving his wooden sword in triumph.

  Back on the floor, Lily draws Mr Pollard Senior away for a confidential word. Her hand rests on his sleeve. ‘Now, James, I fear I must make a confession.’ Her smile manages to be both rueful and charming. It suggests that the misdemeanour will be slight.

  James Pollard smiles back, all attention.

  ‘I’m afraid I misled you back in Wellington, on the matter of Theodore’s father. Teddy does, in fact, have a father, Jack Lacey, who will be here tonight to see his son. The Lacey family is — how can I put it — a little unconventional, but nevertheless respected in this part of the country for their musical and theatrical ability.’

  The entrepreneur fingers his moustache, frowning.

  ‘Not a patch,’ Lily hastens to add, ‘on the Pollard family prodigies, of course, but …’ She spreads her be-ringed hands and shrugs in her most appealing manner.

  Mr James Pollard is only half won-over. ‘I am most particular about …’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Lily hurries on. ‘The contract. The father’s signature. But you see, Teddy has such talent! I could not let it be stifled! And also …’ Lily lowers her voice to speak into Mr Pollard’s well-groomed ear. ‘Teddy is not legitimate. Strictly speaking, I am not married to Mr Lacey.’ Lily sighs, lowers her eyelashes demurely.

  For a long moment, James Pollard is silent. Lily imagines he is weighing up matters: the boy’s value to the company; the risk of another court case from an angry parent; the slur of having an illegitimate child among the peerless Lilliputians. When he speaks, his voice is brisk again. Businesslike. ‘Mr Lacey will attend the performance tonight?’

  ‘He will,’ says Lily. ‘If he sees his son in a leading role I am certain that he will withdraw any reservations he might have had.’

  ‘Then I will require a new contract, signed by Mr Lacey.’

  ‘That will be no problem,’ says Lily brightly, although she is not sure at all. ‘We look forward to the performance tonight.’

  Lily gives a last wave to her son and sweeps out of the theatre.

  That evening begins as the happiest of Teddy’s life. Backstage, all is quiet concentration as make up is applied and costumes are donned. Teddy inhales the wonderful, rich smell of greasepaint and face-powder, as he stares at himself in the dressing-room mirror. The face that stares back is ruddy-cheeked, the eyebrows darkened, a small dot of carmine in the corner of each eye, as he has been taught. His golden hair shines with oil. Tonight he will show his family how right it is that he should stay with the Lilliputians. Tomorrow he will sail with them to Auckland and then to Australia. After that, maybe even to the Orient, Mr Pollard says! Teddy hums the opening bars of his solo.

  Cornelius is standing behind him, watching as Teddy dabs powder over the greasepaint. ‘I tell you what,’ he says. ‘When that high note is coming up, take a good sharp breath and hold your air really steady.’

  ‘I won’t crack tonight,’ says Teddy, annoyed that Cornelius has mentioned the problem.

  Cornelius nods. ‘Well, that’s what I do. My voice is doing the same. But if you’re only eleven it won’t be breaking yet.’

  ‘Breaking?’ Teddy laughs. ‘My voice won’t ever break!’

  Cornelius snorts. ‘Of course it will. Why do you think Mr James has signed on those two new boys from Thames? My replacements, that’s why. My voice is breaking. Auckland will be my last performances.’

  Teddy doesn’t want to hear such nonsense. He walks away, looking for his costume.

  The show is a triumph. Wha
nganui claps and cheers. The Lacey family (minus Mattie who is, after all, too weak to travel, and Sarah who stayed to see to her) stand in a solid phalanx at the end of Teddy’s solo, throwing roses and kisses. Teddy is almost brought to tears to see his father is there, cheering too. Teddy’s performance has been flawless, his clear voice floating over the orchestra. Mr Jim allows him an encore. This time his voice falters for a moment but recovers quickly. Teddy hopes no one has noticed, especially not Mr Jim.

  Afterwards Lily brings them all backstage. His brothers and sisters crowd around him, touching his costume, praising his singing.

  Phoebe kisses him. ‘You were wonderful! I’m so proud.’

  The twins, Lydia and Lysander, vow that they will soon be Lilliputians too. Even solemn Samuel is grinning, and Bert presses a shilling into his hand — ‘for luck’.

  On one side of the stage, Mr Pollard Senior is supervising the lowering of the painted backdrops and the dismantling of the flats and rostra, preparing them for loading onto the steamer tomorrow, bound for Napier and then Auckland. Stage hands are bustling here and there, while the other Lilliputians are being herded off to bed by Auntie Pollard. The only still group in all this activity is the knot of Laceys, watching as their father walks over to the entrepreneur. Lily hurries after him, skirts swirling, silk scarf trailing, ready to smooth any ruffled feelings on behalf of either of these two forceful men. Teddy holds Bert’s lucky shilling, digging it into the palm of his hand.

  Mr Pollard, red-faced and sweating from all the exertion, eyes the immaculate Jack Lacey: his shining boots, his dark red cravat, his twirled moustaches and gleaming watch-chain. Jack offers a hand and a word of congratulation. Mr Pollard accepts both rather curtly.