by Lily Hammond
Maxine nodded. ‘I know,’ she said.
‘Ask Clemency to go with you,’ Ruth said impulsively. Maxine was pale. She did look nervous. ‘I’d ask Clemency to come and stay here, but that would be next to useless.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’d ask Riley, but then what on earth would Clemency do?’
Maxine shook her head. ‘It’s all right, love,’ she said. ‘I already asked Clemency to come with me.’
Ruth sagged in relief. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘That’s good. That makes me feel better. She might not be able to cook anything more than a piece of toast, but she has a good head on her shoulders, nonetheless.’
And money enough to take care of anything that might arise, but Ruth didn’t voice that thought. Their own money was wrapped up in the household expenses, and helping the women they took in. Ruth wouldn’t have it any other way, but it didn’t leave anything much left over.
‘Okay,’ she said, sighing a little anyway. ‘So, Eliza is still going to the job in Greymouth, and Clemency is going with you to Hokitika? Do I have it right?’ She picked up a pillow and stripped the pillowslip from it.
‘Yes.’ Maxine sighed. ‘I hope the trip won’t be as bad as it sounds like it could be.’
‘With both Clemency and Eliza there together, you mean?’ Ruth asked. ‘I was hoping Clemency really only wanted to photograph the girl.’
Maxine shook her head. ‘Clemency wants the pretty girl in her bed, is what Clemency wants.’
Ruth laid out a clean pillowslip and slid it over the pillow, then shook it to plump up the feather filling.
‘Clemency is hard to read at the best of times,’ she said. ‘But we all know how lonely she’s been the last year or so.’
‘A mute girl will only solve that for a short time. Libby is a much better choice, and I think Clemency is well aware of that.’
‘I agree with you,’ Ruth said. ‘And it’s only a few hours on a train together. What can happen on a train?’
Maxine sat down on the bed again. She was nervous and rubbed her hands together. Truthfully, she was tired of the whole Clemency and Eliza saga. She was glad they would be dropping the girl off onto someone else’s plate. There was another headache coming on. It was the tension.
Still. Only a week or two more, and then she would have resolved her own situation one way or another.
‘Maxine?’
She looked at Ruth. ‘What?’
Ruth shook her head, eyes shadowed with worry. ‘You didn’t hear a word I said.’
‘Sorry love. I guess I just wish I knew how it is going to go with the wh̅anau.’
‘Your family must want something important, to call you over to Westport like this, out of the blue.’
Maxine shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about it. She was a lousy liar, and she knew Ruth knew she wasn’t telling her everything. The sooner Sunday came and she was away, the better. She changed the subject.
‘I’m going to go find Eliza and let her know her new life awaits.’ She sniffed and got up from the bed, walked over to Ruth and kissed her on the forehead, closing her eyes for a moment and inhaling the warm scent of the rose soap Ruth used. ‘Then I think I’ll dig up some of the spuds.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Take out some of my worries on the poor defenceless vegies.’
She found Eliza out in the garden, wearing an old straw hat and an absorbed expression on her face as she cut flowers with a pair of scissors and laid the blooms gently into a trug. It didn’t look like useful work to Maxine and she sighed. The girl was a dreamer, and that was putting it generously.
She called out. ‘Eliza?’
Eliza jumped, and turned her wide, guileless eyes onto Maxine, her lips stretching into a smile that Maxine found herself returning, despite herself. Whatever else Eliza was – or wasn’t – she was a good soul, if maybe a bit lost.
‘Those are pretty,’ Maxine said, nodding towards the flowers. Digging up the beets would have been a more productive pastime, but she wasn’t about to complain. At least the kid was keeping herself busy, and not bothering anyone.
Eliza looked down at the flowers and nodded. She’d taken the scissors from the kitchen and hoped no one would notice. She slid the hand holding them behind her back. But the flowers were lovely. Fat red roses, and others that she didn’t know the names of, white lacy things that the bees had been buzzing all over. The red and the white looked wonderful together, she thought. They would go in one vase – she hadn’t seen any vases in the house, but an old milk bottle would do just as well, and there were several of those. She was going to go around to the garden shortly and cut some of the sweetpeas for another posy. They were of almost every colour – pink and blue and white and yellow.
Then she’d have to find the perfect place for them in the house. She wanted somewhere where the light falling on them would make them glow, making the red of the roses velvety and mysterious. She sighed. It was better than worrying about this Greymouth business, because that she’d done all night, and she’d still not come up with a plan of what to do that she really liked.
She thought she was probably going to have to run away. This coming midnight. She’d pack her suitcase with her few things and steal out of the house when everyone was asleep. It would be late, because Maxine didn’t go to bed until long after everyone else in the house – Eliza had seen her still up one night when she had gone downstairs for a drink of water.
And then she would go to Clemency. She’d have to walk, since she couldn’t use the telephone. But that was all right. She was much stronger after the weeks of living with Ruth and Maxine. She could walk the road around the harbour, the water nosing up against the road to see where she was going.
Eliza was confident that Clemency would let her stay. That didn’t worry her. She would make herself useful. She might not be able to read, or talk, but there was still plenty that she could do. And she was a hard worker.
The only thing that felt wrong was leaving Ruth like this. Ruth had been so good to her. She was a very kind lady. That was why Eliza was picking the flowers. She thought of how beautiful the flowers in the vases had looked inside Clemency’s house and wanted Ruth to be able to see something like that too.
Chapter Thirty-Six
‘Well, you look dreadful,’ Riley said, reaching for the tea kettle.
‘Hmm,’ Clemency replied, and took a seat at the wide, well-scrubbed kitchen table. ‘I think I’ll have coffee this morning, please.’ She rubbed the heels of her hands against her closed eyes and then rested her elbows on the table and looked at Riley.
‘What is it?’ Riley asked. ‘I can feel you staring at me. What’s going on?’
‘Where’s Dot?’
‘Scullery.’
‘You’re still happy with her?’
‘So far so good,’ Riley said, frowning as she fussed with the coffee beans. She liked the smell of the coffee but hadn’t been able to tolerate the taste. It did seem to perk Clemency up when she drank it though. ‘That’s not what you’ve sat down at my table to ask me though, is it.’ This wasn’t a question.
‘No.’ Clemency twisted in her chair and looked out the back door into the large kitchen garden. How Riley found the time for everything, she didn’t know. ‘I’m glad Dot is a help to you.’
The woman in question came into the room. ‘Did I hear someone say my name?’ she asked, then almost stopped dead when she saw Clemency. Clemency didn’t actually come all that often to the kitchen. Dot swallowed, taking in the sight of Clemency in a nightdress and dressing gown, her feet bare. It made her uncomfortable, seeing her employer in such a state of undress. Especially knowing the way her inclinations lay. Dot clutched her bag of flour to her breasts. Did Clemency fancy her? she wondered. She’d never given any sign of it, but Dot didn’t know how it worked, so she guessed anything was possible. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression, that she was receptive to anything like those sorts of goings on. She was making nice inroads with the butcher down in the Port. He was a h
andsome man, nice strong forearms.
But then she remembered the kerfuffle in the house the day before, and thought she was, in all likelihood, safe enough. Clemency was involved with the Eliza, the one who couldn’t talk, that little Martin had found on the beach like she’d just been washed up there with the tide.
‘I was just saying how glad we are you’re here, Dot,’ Clemency said.
‘I’m awfully glad for the job, Miss,’ Dot said, daring to put the bag of flour down on the table. She was going to make bread.
Clemency shook her head. ‘Please, call me Clemency. This is the nineteen thirties. We’re not in the dark ages anymore.
Dot nodded and swallowed. ‘Clemency, then. Thank you.’ She forced a smile. It might be the nineteen thirties, but Clemency still had them cooking and cleaning for her. She reached sideways for her apron and slipped the serviceable gingham on over her neck. Mind you, it wasn’t like Clemency knew any different, and she wasn’t snobby with it or anything. Dot had high hopes for the butcher, but in the meantime, this certainly wasn’t the worst place in the world, by a long stretch.
Clemency looked towards Riley, over at the kitchen counter fussing with the coffee. She got up and nudged Riley aside.
‘Here,’ she said kindly. ‘Let me do it.’
Riley backed off willingly. She’d never got the hang of grinding the beans just right.
‘I’m going away on tomorrow,’ Clemency said, checking the beans were ground fine enough, then giving the grinder an extra crank for good measure. She slid out the metal box with the grounds and spooned out two measures into the jug Riley put in front of her.
‘Tomorrow?’ The kettle whistled on the stove and Riley shifted so that Clemency could pick it up and pour water into her jug.
‘Do we have milk?’ Clemency asked.
‘Of course we do,’ Riley told her and fetched a bottle, tipped some into a small saucepan. She folded her arms while the milk warmed on the stove. ‘This is sudden, isn’t it? Where are you going?’ Clemency rarely went away. For all that she could, she seemed to prefer staying put, more often than not. Of course, she’d always had the studio in town to take care of. ‘Is this about giving up the studio?’ she asked. ‘Your street photography?
Clemency shook her head. She watched the water in the coffee jug turn brown. ‘No, although I will be taking a couple of the cameras with me.’ She nodded at the thought. Maybe she could photograph life on the marae. That would make the trip doubly useful. ‘I’m going with Maxine,’ she said. ‘She’s asked me along – her mother’s family has summoned her.’
Riley raised her eyebrows. ‘They’ve summoned her?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Clemency answered. ‘Sounds bad, doesn’t it. She didn’t say her mother was sick or anything though, just that Auntie Hinemoa needed her there. For something.’
‘Shouldn’t Ruth be going, then?’
‘Ruth can’t get away.’ Clemency lifted the saucepan of milk from the stove. ‘Or at least, that’s what Maxine said.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t really know what it’s about. I just know that Maxine asked me to go along.’
‘Then of course you have to go.’ Riley nodded over at Dot. ‘We’ll get along perfectly well here together, and Dot can take the bus in and help out Ruth too. How long will you be gone?’
‘Maxine says a week, maybe two.’ Clemency pursed her lips, thinking about her promise to go house-hunting with Libby, who had said ruefully that her grandmother’s cottage wasn’t really suitable. She needed somewhere of her own.
The hotel where she was staying was expensive, too. Clemency had a wild idea and poured coffee into her up over the hot milk.
‘Do you think you’d mind if you had a guest for a week or so while I was away?’ she asked. It wouldn’t do any harm if Libby stayed at the house while she was gone, Clemency decided. ‘Only Libby Armstrong – who is taking over the George Street studio – hasn’t a place to stay yet. I promised to help her find one, but I’m going to be gone now. She could stay here while she looks.’ Clemency glanced outside at the fine blue sky. There was a brisk breeze outside, but that was good – it had blown the clouds clear away.
‘It’s a fair way to town,’ Riley said. ‘How’s she to get around?’ It seemed unlikely to Riley that this Libby Armstrong, whoever she was, would want to wait at the side of the road for the local bus to trundle up upon her.
‘She can use the motor,’ Clemency said. ‘I won’t need it.’
Riley stared at her. At the table, Dot paused in her measuring to listen.
‘You’re going to let someone drive the Ford?’
Clemency swallowed. There was still time to back out. It had just been an idea, a rather vague one. She waved a hand airily. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘No harm will come to it.’ She tried a smile on her housekeeper. ‘How about it?’
Riley narrowed her eyes at Clemency. She knew that smile and it didn’t have to work on her. She could resist it if she wanted to.
But then she had another thought. What if this Armstrong woman was...someone suitable? Riley didn’t articulate what exactly she meant by suitable. She didn’t have to. She knew absolutely what she meant by it. Not the girl from yesterday, who clearly didn’t know up from down, in from out, despite seeming to be quite a sweet young thing. Suitable was someone from Clemency’s own class, someone with shared interests. Someone who could talk, at least.
‘I’ll make up a room for her,’ she said. ‘She can have the yellow room. I’ll air it out this afternoon.’ She nodded, pressed the sugar bowl on Clemency, and smiled. ‘Then it will be ready. When will she come, do you think? Before you leave? That would be appropriate, don’t you think? What day is it?’
‘It’s Saturday,’ Dot piped up to say. ‘I was only thinking this morning how fast the week has gone.’ She was fascinated by what was going on before her very eyes in the kitchen this morning. She’d been scandalised by the events of the day before, but it was all very enjoyable, she admitted, watching such different and titillating goings on. Not, of course, she hastened to remind herself, that she condoned it, or was that way inclined herself – the butcher was far more to her taste – but it did at least make life very interesting.
Clemency turned and nodded at Dot. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s Saturday.’ She looked back at Riley. ‘I’ll invite Libby today, so that she can come at her leisure.’ Inside her head, she felt dazed, and not quite in control of herself. Everything seemed to be happening at once.
‘Be sure and let me know her reply,’ Riley said. ‘Dot and I will put together a special dinner.’ She glanced out the window. ‘Perhaps on the porch, since the sun is still up until so late. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’
Clemency wasn’t sure, actually, but it seemed too late to backtrack now. She smiled instead and picked up her coffee, ready to retreat elsewhere. Anywhere elsewhere.
‘I’ll telephone her after breakfast,’ she said.
‘I’ll bring breakfast upstairs for you,’ Riley told her. ‘You can have it on the bedroom veranda.’
Clemency was at the door. ‘Yes,’ she said, turning to look briefly, bemusedly back. ‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’
Upstairs, back in the safety of her bedroom, Clemency put her coffee cup down and pressed her hand to her forehead instead. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked herself out loud.
No answer was forthcoming, however, and confirmed her own suspicions.
She didn’t have the faintest idea.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tomorrow, Eliza was due to go to Greymouth, and her suitcase was packed.
It was under the bed, and inside it, Eliza had packed her mother’s handbag – she still thought of it as her mother’s, although she supposed it was hers now. Not that she could really bring herself to use it. Beside the handbag with the folded bundle of paperwork inside it, lay her winter clothes from home, neatly folded, her skirt and blouses. Her spare set of underwear. She wore the blue dress. She’d had left the few pieces of c
lothing Ruth had given her tucked still in the drawers. It didn’t seem right to take them, not without asking, and Eliza wasn’t going to ask. Next to the suitcase was her pair of shoes, neatly aligned. She was barefoot, her stockings folded into her shoes, waiting for her to put them on. She looked down at them, nibbling on her lower lip, then nodded, heaved a silent sigh, and looked around her room.
She would be sad to leave it. Ruth had given her a nice room. The nicest she’d ever had. And she liked the women here too. She enjoyed their noisy chatter, the way they paid almost no notice of the fact that she didn’t speak. They didn’t talk to her much, but she liked the life and energy of the house. It made her feel part of something. Eliza recognised that being part of something was important.
People were not designed to be on their own.
But, she reminded herself, and here she smiled, a blissful, secretive smile, she wasn’t on her own anymore. She had Clemency. They had lain together. Clemency had touched her – touched her heart at the same time as she’d run her hands and tongue over her body. That sort of thing joined people together, Eliza thought, feeling herself joined to Clemency.
Not that she would cry or cling, Eliza thought. Being joined to someone with your body and your heart didn’t mean you cried or clung to them. She stood straighter and the late afternoon sun slanted in through the window. Eliza reached out her hand to touch it and the golden light dripped through her fingers. She shivered pleasantly.
Where was she? Eliza searched for a moment for the dropped tail of her thought. Being joined to someone meant you were no longer a child, she considered. It meant that the world opened up to you, and while you were not alone anymore, you were also stronger when you were by yourself. She blinked, caught up in the puzzle of her thoughts and the dance of light on her hand. Love, she decided, made you stronger. It made you braver.
That’s how she felt, she decided. As though, with the spreading of her thighs to Clemency’s tongue, she had spread herself open to the world, and taken it into herself. It was no longer a frightening thing, the world. It wasn’t something she had to scuttle around the edges of, afraid always of losing her way. She took a deep breath.
