by Lily Hammond
It was a wide landscape, rocks and ocean and a ship with its sails billowing with wind. Eliza wrinkled her nose at the scene, tracing the waves with her finger, glad she hadn't crossed the ocean in such a vessel, which to her eye was leaning perilously close to a jagged outcrop of rocks.
The thought of ships dragged seaweed-laden memories of her mother to the surface, and Eliza turned away from the painting, standing on the rug in the small, cosy room, a hand on her diaphragm as she breathed in, calmly in and out, until her mind cleared.
She went back to the bed, picked the shell off her soft-boiled egg, and popped it into her mouth, eating it in two bites, then washing it down with several gulps of tea.
The window overlooked the garden Ruth had told her about, and she peered down curiously, looking at the neat rows of vegetables. There was a riot of colour against one end, and she smiled, turning to glance at the vase of flowers in her room. Sweetpeas, they'd been named, and she held the word silently in her mouth. It was a lovely word.
There were women working in the garden, three of them, backs bent in the growing sunlight, which glinted off their bare heads. One of them straightened, and called out something to another, whose answering laughter reached Eliza standing behind the glass. Two children came racing out of the shadow of the house below her, and one, a boy, held something in his hand, and spread his arm out, holding it aloft, running in a circle around the garden bed, yelling and making growling engine noises.
Eliza blinked and moved back from the window. She looked at the tray and picked it up, putting it carefully on the dresser before straightening the bed she'd slept in, pulling the sheets smooth, appreciating that these ones were white, smiling at the clear brightness of the cotton. Someone had washed these well, and she wondered if that were a job she might do here, to help, as well as work in the garden.
She pulled up the eiderdown and plumped up the pillow before standing back in satisfaction and looking around the room. She needed her clothes, and they were there, as if by magic, folded neatly on a chair that stood by the door, its feet turned out under curved legs and an upholstered and buttoned back. Eliza shed her nightgown, admiring the swath of white cotton, fingering the light purple ribbon at the neckline for a moment, before folding it neatly and placing it on the bed.
Her clothes had been shaken out, all the sand gone from their folds. She slid them on and buttoned the dress up, trying to remember ever taking them off. She found a memory, but it was only vague, of soft hands and kind voices. Tears stood in the corners of her eyes as she threaded her feet into her stockings and put her shoes on.
Standing, she smoothed the dress with its cheerful boats down over her jutting hips and then, pressing her lips together in concentration, she picked up the breakfast tray and opened the bedroom door.
There was no one in the kitchen, but that was all right, she decided. Maybe even best. For a moment, she stood holding the tray, undecided. Should she wash the dishes first? Or should she hurry to do what she needed to? The indecision gnawed at her, and then the pressure in her bladder decided for her. She put the tray down on the wide counter and hurried in search of the lavatory.
Afterward, clean, tidy, her head aching only a little, Eliza sidled past the kitchen where she could hear voices rising and falling in patterns she recognised as cheerfulness and fretfulness, all spoken in an accent she knew was different to back home where she’d lived her whole life.
She scurried into the dimness of the entranceway, not quite knowing why she didn’t want to see anyone yet – perhaps it was because she was in a hurry to do her task and get her things and live here properly. Her heart swelled with joy at being able to stay in this house with its big kitchen, chattering women, rows of carrots and beans, and little boy playing at aeroplanes in the sunshine.
Her lips curved in a smile as she let herself out through the heavy front door and slipped away down the driveway to the street, where she stood for a moment, before picking what she was sure was the right direction and scurrying down the road. She pressed her palms to her stomach as she walked, happy at the thought of the breakfast she’d had – and in bed, no less. Sometimes her mother had brought her a cup of tea in bed, if she was suffering particularly with her monthlies, but it had never been on a pretty tray, with an embroidered cloth under it.
At the boarding house, the stairs creaked even as she ran lightly up them, ignoring the ache behind her temples that lingered although she felt so much better otherwise. She climbed up to the first landing and continued upwards without stopping. Reaching her room, she tugged the door open and gazed around at the dust, and the spider webs that clogged the corners of the roof overhead. The window was closed, and inside the room the air felt thick and hot in her lungs even though the sun was not yet directly overhead.
She blinked, then knelt on the floorboards in front of the window and took in the view. It was different from the one outside the window at her new home and was the one and only thing she would miss from this small bleak room.
The harbour spread out below her and she pursed her lips at it, watching the way the sun threw diamonds down onto the waves to catch its own light.
Then she swivelled around and tugged her cardboard suitcase out from under the bed. It came on a wake of dust that made her sneeze.
There were only a few items of clothing to pack into it, and she picked those up from the untidy heap on the floor where she'd left them. She wouldn't do that in her new room, she decided. She would fold them all every day and put them away. Perhaps she might be given a drawer for them. She wondered if she would get to stay in the little room with the spaniel on the wall, if that room could be hers. She hoped so, the thought of it making her heart hurt with pleasure so that her hands shook as she snapped the case shut.
The landlady's door stayed closed as Eliza crept by on her way out. She blinked at it in the gloom as she tiptoed past, remembering the sight of the woman's red mouth as she'd chewed on the sausage while she'd talked.
Then Eliza was out the door in a flash, standing on the footpath panting in a wild blush of elation. Without a single glance back at the boarding house, she turned and retraced her steps to her new home, her heart singing inside her as she walked, listening to the clomping of her heels on the path, the shouting of the red-billed and red-footed seagulls, the whine of gears and brakes and engines from the road, and under it all she whispered to herself that she was safe, that she was going to be all right. The woman – Ruth, she'd finally remembered her name – was going to look after her, show her around this strange, back to front land, and Eliza knew, with a certainty that blocked her silent throat with gratitude, that Ruth would take her to the laundry at the hospital where she would be able to get work.
Her case bumped against her knees as she walked, and when she went past the cafe where Jessie, beetling her heavy brows together, stared at her through the window, Eliza lifted a hand and waved, a smile on her face.
Chapter Nineteen
The spoon clattered back onto the saucer, falling from fingers that were suddenly bloodless. Clemency cleared her throat self-consciously, but made no move to pick up the spoon, or clean away the sugar crystals that littered the shiny cotton of her skirt.
Ruth jumped up. 'Eliza!' she said, looking at the young woman who stood hatless in the bright sun, her hair a loose mane of red tangles and gnarls that burned like fire in the noonday heat.
Eliza nodded, suddenly shy, standing there in her heavy stockings and shoes, the suitcase swinging from her fingers. She tipped her chin down and looked at the people sitting at the table under the tree by the garden.
Ruth, of course, she recognised, and her heart leapt again, then settled back down to bump along inside her ribcage. Seeing Ruth there made her braver, and she looked at the other person, taking in her brown skin and wiry dark hair with frank interest. She'd never seen a woman who looked like that, although several of the men working on the boat during the crossing had had the same brown skin and broad smilin
g faces. This one was beaming at her, and she found herself smiling in return as though the happiness was infectious.
She turned to look at the third person, and her smile became a frown. She'd seen her somewhere before; she was sure of it. But where? A dim memory came to her as she looked at the wide mouth, the tidy waves of short, fair hair and the pale freckles that printed themselves across the lightly tanned skin. She had seen this woman on that terrible day in town, when she’d fallen over in the road.
Clemency was thinking the same thing. That standing in front of her was the woman from that day, the one she’d photographed after pulling her from the street and the oncoming crowd of men. It was certainly her, the woman from the photograph. Clemency blinked as though to make sure, but the vision stayed the same. Slim, standing uncertainly in a wildfire of hair. Definitely her. Clemency wanted to take out her camera and photograph her now, where she stood, the sun at her back, a bright dazzle behind her when Clemency narrowed her eyes, staring through her lashes at the girl.
'Eliza!' Ruth said again, leaping forward to touch the girl on the arm, leaning towards her. 'Are you all right? I thought you were sleeping!' She cursed herself for not checking in on the girl again, but she'd been so busy and just hadn’t gotten to it.
Eliza tore her gaze away from the woman sitting under the tree, with her shingled hair and neat summer suit, and her eyes that stared back at her in shock, narrowing then widening so that Eliza could see how green they were, as green as the deep and secret ocean.
'Eliza?' Ruth gave the poor thing a shake, then turned to see what she was looking at so intently. It wasn't Maxine, who was sitting with her big straw hat on, an even bigger smile on her face. Ruth looked across her at Clemency.
Who was staring at Eliza, her eyes unblinking. Ruth straightened slowly, looking at Clemency, then back to Eliza, whose lips were parted slightly as though she wanted to say something, and whose gaze was fastened upon Clemency's as solidly as Clemency stared at her.
Ruth felt the sun hot on her bare head and lifted a hand absently to her hair, pushing it back from her eyes, then she touched her throat, and unaware of the gesture, pressed her fingers to her chest, feeling the warm solid beat of her heart there. She blinked and the sun went behind a cloud, and Clemency retreated into the shade of the tree so that Ruth could barely see her anymore.
She cleared her throat with a glance towards Maxine, who had turned to stare at Clemency, and then she looked at Eliza.
'You shouldn't have been out again so soon, not in this heat,' she scolded, confusion making her voice rough. She took the suitcase from Eliza and looked down at it. The case was cardboard, scuffed and battered, and Ruth blinked suddenly as her mind cracked open on the meaning of the case in her hand.
'Did you go and get this?' she asked. 'Does this have your things in it?'
Eliza stared as the woman who had rescued her in her tumble on the street retreated into the shadows of the tree, while she remembered the card pressed into her hand before the stranger had disappeared as quickly as she'd been there.
The card was in the case. She'd taken it off the shelf above the bed in the attic room not an hour ago and tucked it into the bottom of the suitcase.
Slowly, she turned to Ruth, who held the case and talking about it. She leaned her head forward to make sense of the words, then nodded, feeling a wide smile bloom on her face. Yes, these were her things, yes, she'd gone to get them so that she could live in the sweet little room with the spaniel on the wall. She patted the suitcase with her fingers while she nodded, and then her smile faltered. Was that okay? she tried to ask, touching Ruth's hand for a moment, a frown knotted between her eyes before lifting with the question.
But Ruth saw the question and answered it. She held up the case.
'If you'd told us where you were going, one of us would have come with you.' She stopped talking and snapped her lips shut. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'I'm sorry, I know you couldn't have told us.'
Clemency's voice sounded faint and faraway to her own ears, as though forced up through water, from the bottom of the ocean.
'This is the girl who can't speak?' she asked and made herself look down to brush the sugar from her clothes at last.
Ruth laid a protective hand behind Eliza's back. 'This is Eliza,' she said. 'Eliza Mia Sparrow. She's come here to stay with us.' She turned to Eliza and smiled. 'Haven't you?'
Eliza’s gaze had gone back to the woman under the tree again. She had a nice voice, the woman, one that Eliza could happily listen to for hours on end, she thought. It was rich and mellow at the same time and reminded Eliza of the birds she’d heard outside her window, the ones that had sung such an odd but pretty song that said quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle. Ruth’s voice was much lighter, higher, a sweet voice and Eliza looked away to answer Ruth’s question, melting at her words and she nodded her head, reaching out to touch Ruth's arm in a gesture of thanks. Her heart swelled under her cotton dress and she grinned, feeling suddenly like she could burst from happiness.
Ruth laughed. 'Come on then, let's get these things put away, and then you must have a rest. I insist on it.'
Clemency watched them go, her mouth dry, her head muzzy and dizzy, even in the shade. She picked up her cup and swallowed a mouthful of the strong tea, staring out into the dazzle of the day, not knowing what she was feeling, only that every nerve ending buzzed, thrumming in the hot breeze like a telegraph wire.
She realised that Maxine had said something, and she turned her face to her friend's.
'I saw her on the day of the men's march,' Clemency said.
'What?' Maxine raised her eyebrows. 'You never mentioned it.'
Clemency shrugged and looked towards the door into the house, as though the girl would suddenly reappear. 'It was the briefest of encounters,' she said, and shivered at the words. She cleared her throat again and made an effort to sound her usual self, to sound normal. 'She tripped in the road and I helped her up. We didn't even speak.'
Because it had been the briefest of encounters. Because the girl couldn't speak. Clemency reached for her satchel and unbuckled the straps. 'Look,' she said, and drew out the photograph, thrusting it into Maxine's hands. ‘I took it on a whim, because her face seemed just so expressive.’
Maxine took the print and looked down at it. Sure enough, it was Eliza, her eyes wide and frightened as she looked at Clemency with her camera.
'She looks terrified, the poor thing,' Maxine said, and sighed over the picture before brightening. 'But I guess she's happy to be here, having gone to fetch her things so she could move in properly.'
Clemency didn't reply, and Maxine looked at her friend. 'Are you all right?' she asked, frowning. It was just a coincidence, the photograph, the girl. Just one of those happy coincidences life seemed to throw up in your path every now and then. But Clemency looked vaguely back at her, as though there was more to it.
And Clemency couldn't think of an answer.
Chapter Twenty
Clemency stood in the back doorway, her dressing gown tied loosely over her pyjamas, feet bare, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands.
'Your hair looks like a bird nested in it,' Riley observed, squeezing by with a basket and some newspaper. 'Are you still not sleeping properly?'
Clemency blinked at her, then slid her eyes half closed against the glare of yet another sunny day.
'How do you know I'm not sleeping properly?' she asked, sitting down on the back step and yawning into her tea.
Riley bent over the carrots and gave one an experimental tug. 'I've looked after you since you were just a babe,' she said. 'And even if I hadn't, those dark shadows under your eyes would tell me the story perfectly well.'
Clemency touched the soft, thin skin of her face and sighed. She took a sip of tea. 'How's our houseguest working out?' she asked and peered around the kitchen garden. 'Where is she?'
Riley lowered herself to her knees with a grunt and pulled the carrot from the ground in a shower of soil t
hat was rich with nutrients from the seaweed she spread over it each year, then inspected it and nodded in silent appreciation.
'She's gone to the shops for me,' Riley said. 'We're out of some necessaries, and I must say, I'm glad to not be walking up and down that hill myself. It requires younger legs than mine these days, especially with the weather so warm.' She leaned forward to attack another carrot. 'I'm not getting any younger, you know.' She slid a sideways glance at Clemency as she shook the dirt from another carrot.
Clemency blew on her tea and eyed the housekeeper over the rim of her cup. 'Is Dot looking for a job then?' she asked, keeping her voice neutral. ‘It is Dot, isn’t it?’
'Yes, she likes to go by Dot or Dottie, and she's a hard worker. I don't think I've seen the place looking brighter in years.' Riley, whose Christian name was Amaranth, which was just too silly for words to her mind, and which did not lend itself to shortening, huffed a straying strand of grey hair from her face and tugged her straw hat lower. This summer was a sultry one, to say the least. She looked at Clemency out of the corner of her eye. 'I believe I've kept Dot too busy here to go traipsing out looking for work elsewhere.'
Clemency lowered the teacup and breathed deeply. The air smelled of the limes for which her father had named the property the rather romantic name Lime Grove, and the apples that were just coming ripe in the orchard next to the garden.
'I suppose you'll be wanting to put away all those apples, and the citrus,' she said, looking out at the trees with their branches heavy with ripening fruit.
'And the blackberries, and raspberries, and currents.' Riley finished plucking the carrots from the ground and moved onto pursing her lips at the lettuces. She shook her head. It was a good big carrot cake she wanted to make.
