‘It only happened when they were out of the house.’ Lulu tucked her hands in her jacket pockets as she looked up the road. ‘Grandma wasn’t well and spent a lot of time in hospital. Clarice would leave me behind when she went visiting; she didn’t approve of small girls in hospital unless they were patients – and I’d had my fair share of that. She never knew what really happened, because Gwen always had some viable explanation for the bruises, and I was too terrified to say anything against her.’
‘How did she explain the haircut?’
‘She never really did.’ Lulu’s expression was grim. ‘It happened the day before Grandma died, and as Gwen had done one of her disappearing tricks, and Clarice was wracked with grief, the subject never really came up.’
‘I’d be amazed if Clarice didn’t face her with it.’
‘They had a terrible set-to a couple of days after Grandma’s funeral, and it was only then that Clarice mentioned it. I was in the room with them, but they didn’t know, and I only understood half of what they were saying. But it turned out to be the last day I saw Gwen.’
‘No wonder you escaped to the beach when you could. It sounds like the house from hell.’
Lulu smiled and linked arms with her friend. ‘But I escaped, Dolly, and that’s all that matters. Clarice and I didn’t part on good terms, which I know she regrets as much I do, and that’s why I keep writing to her. She has loved me unreservedly ever since I was a baby and given me a life I never would have had if I’d stayed here.’ She laughed. ‘Funny, isn’t it? I’ve had to come to the other side of the world to fully appreciate my blessings.’
Dolly squeezed her arm and looked at her watch. ‘We’d better go soon. Molly wants us back in time to meet Eliza.’
Lulu was aware that her emotional journey back to the house had left her exhausted. Yet, as she looked up the track, she felt a lightening of her spirits. Memories could be powerful, bringing back forgotten hurts and fears, but the years had diluted them, and when she’d been called upon to do so, she had managed to face them – and thereby banish them.
‘I’d like to see if Primmy is still around,’ she said. ‘She was like a mother to me, and I can’t leave without visiting her.’
They walked up the narrow track and came to a halt outside a row of small peg-boarded bungalows. ‘She might not still live here,’ said Lulu as she opened the gate in the white picket fence. ‘But someone might know what’s become of her.’
The door was flung open seconds after Lulu knocked. ‘I knew you’d come to see me sooner or later.’ Primmy stood before them, plump and smiling, her grey hair plaited in a coil around her head. She opened her arms and Lulu stepped into the familiar warm embrace.
‘Oh, Primmy,’ she sighed. ‘It’s been so long.’
‘Come on in and I’ll make us a cuppa. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’ Her laughing eyes settled on Dolly. ‘Who’s this?’
Lulu made the introductions and they were led into a tiny neat room that served as sitting room and kitchen. Primmy fussed about making tea, chattering like a parakeet all the while, scarcely pausing for breath. She had three grown children, two grandchildren and a great-grandchild expected at any minute. Her life was busy, her husband had retired from his job at the post office and all in all she was very content.
‘But what about you?’ she said finally. ‘I always worried about you, you know – with that mother of yours.’
Lulu gave her a potted version of her life since leaving Tasmania, and finished by giving a dramatic, almost comic description of how Gwen had tried to run her over at the docks.
Primmy sniffed. ‘She’s not changed much, I know, but I suppose one ought to feel sorry for her, considering.’
Lulu set aside the teacup. ‘Considering what?’
Primmy settled back into her comfortable armchair and folded her arms. ‘I suppose you were too young to know all about her father, and I doubt your aunt would have said anything. Proud old lady, and not one to rake over family scandals.’
Lulu glanced at Dolly before encouraging Primmy to continue.
‘It was all a long time ago, but I remember the gossip as if it were yesterday,’ Primmy began. ‘Your grandpapa, General Bartholomew, liked the ladies by all accounts, and wasn’t too bothered that his wife knew about his affairs. But he had one too many and got caught by the lady’s husband.’ Her eyes gleamed with relish as she licked her lips. ‘That wouldn’t have been so bad, but then he was caught helping himself to military funds and was cashiered.’
Shocked though she was by these revelations, Lulu still found them fascinating. ‘Clarice certainly never told me any of this. Go on, Primmy.’
‘Well,’ she sat forward in her eagerness, ‘I heard tell he went to Brisbane and got involved with some tarty piece up there. He took to drink and buggy racing, both of which killed him in the end.’ She shook her head. ‘It was a terrible scandal,’ she said, ‘and it was thought at the time to be the cause of Sir Algernon’s fatal heart attack – but of course we’ll never know for sure.’
Lulu leant forward in her chair. ‘But Grandma Eunice had left him long before that to come to Tasmania?’
Primmy nodded. ‘That was the start of all the trouble with Gwen. She adored that no-good wastrel, hated her mother for leaving him and was heartbroken when he simply ignored her.’ She leant her elbows on her knees and sighed. ‘He never wrote to her, you know. The poor girl was devastated when she heard he’d been killed.’
‘None of that can excuse the way she was,’ said Lulu flatly.
‘I agree, and I’m sorry if all this talk has upset you.’
Lulu felt remarkably calm. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about my father?’
‘Sorry, my dear, but that was one subject Gwen kept to herself. None of us knew – but of course there was enormous speculation at the time because there were so many candidates.’ She patted Lulu’s knee. ‘Sorry, my dear, that was a little harsh, but then it’s all old history. And look at you – a fine, beautiful young lady with the world at your feet. I always knew you’d turn out right in spite of Gwen.’
Lulu and Dolly said their goodbyes half an hour later and, with promises to visit again, returned to the utility.
‘Good heavens,’ breathed Dolly. ‘No wonder Clarice tried to stop you from coming here. The scandal back then must have been horrendous.’
‘But it didn’t really concern her, did it? It was her sister’s husband and Gwen who caused all the trouble.’
‘Mud sticks, as we both know, and things were different in those days. Clarice was probably just as ashamed as her sister over what was a family scandal.’
Lulu wasn’t totally convinced, but as she had nothing sensible to add to the debate, she kept silent.
*
As they drove away, neither of them noticed the man who emerged from behind the shuttered kiosk to watch their departure. He stood in the shadows long after they had gone, and when he finally turned away it was with the slow steps of a person deep in thought.
*
It seemed to be a day of contemplation for Clarice – a day when the past haunted her and the future beckoned with icy fingers. She sat on the hard wooden pew and tried to ignore the erratic beat of her heart as she gazed at the shafts of sunlight coming through the stained-glass windows. They fell on the white altar cloth in a rainbow of colour and burnished the gold crucifix and candlesticks to an almost dazzling intensity.
Her gaze drifted from the chancel to the dark wooden pulpit, then on to the memorial wall plaques and engraved marble slabs on the floor that marked the final resting places of local gentry. She had been christened in the stone font with its ornately carved cover, and would be buried in the graveyard alongside her parents – it seemed her life had turned full circle.
The church had been built by the Saxons, and between these tranquil, silent walls she hoped to find the solace that in the past had eluded her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the perfume of candlewax, damp stone
, flowers and incense, her thoughts drifting.
Going to church had always been a duty – expected of her from the day she’d been born and carried out with reluctance. She had never quite seen the point of it all when God was so evident in the beauty of nature, and therefore had never found the same comfort as Algernon in the rituals and faintly ridiculous posturing of the sanctimonious clergy. But today was different, and as she sat there she could almost feel the tranquillity seep into her bones, bringing with it an assurance of an afterlife.
She must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes again she realised with a start that the sunbeams had moved and were now highlighting the ancient paintings of the fourteen Stations of the Cross. Gathering up her handbag and gloves, she rose stiffly from the uncomfortable pew and made her slow way down the aisle she had once trodden as a bride. Where had she gone, that young woman who’d been so full of hope for the future? How swiftly time had flown, and what a mark those passing years had left behind.
Clarice grew impatient with her thoughts as she stepped into the sunlight. Death would come soon enough – there was no point in dwelling on such maudlin meanderings.
The grass in the churchyard had been freshly scythed and the scent of it filled the air as she walked down the cinder path and through the shadows of overhanging yews. Most of the headstones in the older part of the cemetery were so weathered they were illegible, and the iron railings of the table-tombs had disintegrated with rust. The sight of so many blank-eyed angels and lichen-stained cherubs depressed her, and without sparing a glance for the family plot, she pushed through the lychgate and into the lane.
It was unseasonably hot again, and as she approached the side gate that led into her garden she began to regret her short outing. Her heart was beating far too rapidly, her head was buzzing and her swollen ankles ached. Staggering across the lawn, she collapsed on to the bench beneath the magnolia tree and mopped her face.
She would have liked a cup of tea, but as Vera Cornish was nowhere in sight, and she didn’t have the energy to go looking for her, she gave up on the idea. Too many restless nights and too many memories had taken their toll, and she couldn’t help but smile at the irony of having been told by Dr Williams that her blood pressure was far too high. She had used that ruse to try and keep Lorelei in England, now it seemed she was paying the price for being dishonest.
Regarding the freshly dug earth and neat wooden cross that marked Bess’s final resting place, her thoughts turned to the tiny cemetery in Tasmania, and another death. It had been stiflingly hot that day too, she remembered.
*
It was February 1903, and Clarice had long since given up the lease on the cottage to move in with Eunice so she could help with the bewitching Lorelei. Her sister’s failing health meant she was almost bedridden, but even on her worst days she insisted upon spending time with the child, and it was clear they both benefited from these short visits. A close bond had formed between them, and Clarice was thankful that Lorelei brought Eunice so much joy – for it was this delight in the little girl that kept her interested in life.
Despite her love for Lorelei, Clarice had soon discovered it wasn’t easy sharing a house with Gwen, who treated it like a hotel and showed little interest in her mother’s health or her daughter’s welfare. Her horses mattered to her more, and she was, thankfully, often away competing in the showjumping rings.
But these lengthy absences led to unsavoury affairs, and Clarice had had to swallow her disgust when brazenly presented with the latest conquest: usually an itinerant cowboy or stable hand. Gwen would never change, and while her sister, Eunice, was alive, Clarice would keep her opinions to herself and do the best she could to make sure Lorelei was raised decently.
Lorelei’s ninth birthday had been celebrated the week before, with a small tea-party for her school friends. Her heart condition seemed to be improving, and Clarice put that down to a healthy diet, plenty of sunshine and careful exercise – but there were other more worrying things which had never been satisfactorily explained.
The child was too quiet, especially when Gwen was at home, often disappearing for hours to the beach, or hiding away in one of the stables. And then there were the bruises which Lorelei insisted were the results of falls or rough games. Clarice had not been convinced, for those bruises only appeared after she’d been left with her mother.
She had tried to get to the truth, but was met by a barrier of silence, and all she could do was keep a closer watch on Lorelei. This too had proved almost impossible when Eunice had been taken into hospital, and although Primmy had her own family to care for, she’d helped when she could. Gwen was often the only one around to leave her with.
Late one afternoon Clarice had returned to the house in the bush, weary from a long day of sitting by her sister’s bed. Eunice was fading fast, and before she had fallen into an exhausted asleep she had asked to see Lorelei and Gwen. But as Clarice stepped into the kitchen, she could see no sign of either of them, just a note by the kettle informing her that Gwen had gone away for five days. She assumed Lorelei was in the yard, so set about making a cup of tea.
Her hand stilled as she heard the heart-rending sob. Finding the little girl hiding in a miserable curl under the table, Clarice had to coax her out. Lorelei emerged sobbing, shivering and fighting for breath.
Clarice stared in horror at the tufts of hair sticking out of the raw scalp, and felt rage gather at the dark bruising around her fragile wrists and the blood congealing on wounds obviously inflicted by a sharp blade. She took Lorelei into her arms and wept. She cried over the cruelty of a mother who could have done such a thing, shed hot tears for her sister who was already on her final journey and felt her heart break at the pain and suffering of the little girl she’d failed to protect. She should never have left her with Gwen.
It had taken a long time to soothe the child’s breathing, bathe the wounds and try to repair the damage done to the beautiful hair. Eunice must not see her – it would be too distressing – so she took Lorelei to Primmy’s house up the road. Primmy crooned and fussed over the child, finding her a pretty scarf to wear beneath the frilly bonnet, and Clarice had left reluctantly, but assured that Lorelei would be safe.
Eunice had never woken from her sleep, and slipped away as dawn lightened the sky. The years of heartache and shame had finally taken their toll.
Clarice made the funeral arrangements and returned to the house to care for the distraught Lorelei, mourn for her beloved sister and wait for Gwen.
The day of the funeral arrived and Gwen still had not returned. Clarice’s sadness deepened when it became clear that Eunice had made few friends during her years in Tasmania, for the only mourners to attend the short service were her doctor, her solicitor and Primmy.
Lorelei had begged to come, and Clarice had compromised by letting her stay in the carriage with the driver at the church gate. It wasn’t right for one so young to attend, and the child was still too traumatised by everything that had happened to be able to face such an ordeal.
The slam of the screen door two days later heralded Gwen’s return, and Clarice, unaware that Lorelei was playing with her doll beneath the table, steeled herself for what was to come. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked coldly.
‘None of your business.’ Gwen helped herself to a cup of tea and began to make a sandwich.
‘Leave that,’ snapped Clarice, ‘and sit down.’
Something in her tone must have registered, for Gwen plumped down on a kitchen chair and folded her arms like a petulant child.
‘There’s no easy way to say this, Gwen. Your mother is dead.’
A spark of something flitted in her eyes to be swiftly extinguished. ‘It was only to be expected.’ Gwen shrugged. ‘When’s the funeral?’
‘Two days ago.’
Gwen digested this, her gaze never moving from Clarice. ‘That was quick,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve only been away a week.’
‘It has been ten days,’ Clarice said
sharply. ‘She died the day you left, and I’ve had to deal with everything on my own.’
‘Poor you.’ There was flat insolence in her tone as she rose to resume making the sandwich. ‘When’s the will being read?’
‘It was read yesterday.’ Clarice folded her hands on the table, preparing herself for the storm that was about to erupt.
Gwen chewed on the sandwich, her eyes speculative. ‘She couldn’t have left much. We haven’t exactly been living in luxury since she left Daddy. But she did have some good jewellery, and that’s probably worth something.’
Clarice took a deep breath. ‘Your mother left her jewellery to me,’ she said. ‘The pieces were part of my grandmother’s collection, and will go to the next generation when I die. There were a couple of small bequests – to Primmy, and a charity for orphans.’ She kept her gaze fixed on Gwen. ‘This house and everything in it is yours, including the horses and farm stock, and she has provided a trust which will pay you a yearly income, but the bulk of her estate is to be kept in trust for Lorelei.’
Gwen was clearly shocked. ‘What do you mean, “the bulk of her estate”? What estate? I thought we were poor and this house was rented.’
‘Eunice didn’t want you to know how much money there was because she knew you would either fritter it away or attract unsavoury fortune hunters. She bought this place with what was left after your father’s debts had been settled from the sale of the house in Coogee.’
Gwen’s eyes narrowed, and her voice was dangerously low. ‘Just how much money did she have?’
Clarice opened the drawer in the kitchen table and pulled out the will. ‘Read it for yourself. It’s all quite clearly explained.’
Gwen snatched the will. It didn’t take long to read, but by the time she’d reached the end she was ashen. ‘She was rich all the time and never said a word,’ she hissed. Her fingers clenched around the document. ‘And she left everything to that … that … snivelling brat.’ Colour flooded into the bleached face and the eyes sparked venom. ‘What about me? I’m her daughter and by rights I should have it all.’
Ocean Child Page 24
