by Helen Goltz
‘Love comes in many forms,’ Mr Hayward said with a shrug.
‘Perhaps, Pa,’ Matilda agreed, ‘but Mrs Tufton whispered, “help me” to me as I left, and I think she is being made to work there.’
‘She could pick her husband up and throw him away if she didn’t want to stay,’ Daniel said and chuckled, continuing to be irreverent.
Thomas did his best to repress a laugh, but Daniel had a way of making him forget he was a responsible adult these days.
‘The letter she slipped you, what did it say?’ Mr Hayward asked.
‘It said that her husband was forcing her to work and threatened to sell her or have her institutionalised if she refused. Then it said, please help.’
Mr Hayward sighed. ‘That poor woman is in a desperate situation.’
‘I bet he’s making a reasonable income from her,’ Daniel said. ‘When I stayed on, I spoke to the hairy guy—’
‘—Daniel, really,’ Matilda rolled her eyes at his lack of diplomacy as Thomas and Mr Hayward smiled.
‘Sorry Tillie,’ he said, using her nickname and giving her a most endearing look that he knew would make it impossible for Matilda to be angry with him. After all, they were best friends as well as sister and brother.
‘Hmm, so what did Mr Jo-Jo say? I believe that was his name,’ Matilda said, trying to sound stern.
Thomas smiled at the pair of them and their antics.
‘Mr Hairy?’ Daniel joked. ‘He said he had bought two properties on the profits of his venture and would soon settle down, take a rental income for one and never be seen again.’
‘Heavens!’ Matilda exclaimed.
‘I’m in the wrong job clearly. I need to come up with an act,’ Thomas said.
‘I could think of a few,’ Matilda offered.
The men laughed.
‘Thank you, Matilda, how helpful of you,’ Thomas said, giving her a wry look which only made her laugh again.
‘But you don’t think they are acting, do you?’ Matilda asked. ‘Daniel, you were there, do you think it is an act? They seemed very real in their irregularities.’
Daniel nodded. ‘I believe those two are genuine, but there are some that are fakes, I’m sure. Do you remember, Pa, that show that came through when we were boys with the real-life mermaid?’
Mr Hayward laughed. ‘Yes, that was definitely a fake.’
Matilda looked from her father to Daniel. ‘I didn’t see the mermaid!’ she said most indignantly.
‘No, dear, that day you were with your mother, I believe taking tea with a friend,’ her father answered. ‘It was many years ago and you were young – about three or four.’
Matilda sighed. ‘I would have liked to have seen the mermaid. But now, with Ma gone, I wish I remembered taking tea.’
‘I know. But back to Mr Jo-Jo, before we become melancholy and ruin the evening,’ Mr Hayward said. He finished his dinner and returned his attention to his brandy. ‘Clearly he is a clever man who has made the most of his adversity.’
‘What do you think, Thomas?’ Matilda asked, startling him. Until now he had been enjoying eating and being on the periphery of the conversation, even if he knew that wouldn’t last for long.
He put his eating utensils down and sighed. ‘I suspect, Matilda, that the giantess’s situation is quite common, sadly. I swear half my cases at the moment are female assault cases.’
Matilda’s jaw tightened and she shook her head. ‘What sort of world is this? It is 1888! We are about to enter a new decade, and we’re close to a new millennium. How can our modern society be so backward when here in my hometown women are being manhandled? If I marry I cannot buy, keep or sell my own property; we cannot cast a federal vote; and if it were not for my small income, I would be quite dependant on you, Pa.’
‘Which would be my pleasure and honour, Matilda,’ he said, and she softened and smiled at him.
‘Thank you, Pa.’
‘Should you find the right husband, you won’t be concerned about owning property separately,’ Thomas added.
‘Is that so, Thomas?’ Matilda asked. ‘I imagine I should be readily prepared to be in the family way too and fulfil my duties to my husband?’
Thomas shuffled uncomfortably, not averse to the idea.
Daniel came to the rescue. ‘It is about time someone produced a grandchild for Pa, although we should expect one soon from Amos and Minnie, I imagine.’
‘Yes,’ Matilda agreed. ‘Best Amos takes care of that and has a son so that the family name may continue. I will, after all, lose my name when I find the right husband,’ Matilda said, paraphrasing Thomas and glancing his way with a look that could not be taken for kindness.
‘Nevertheless, Matilda, the women’s movement is gaining momentum and it is only a matter of time until you get the vote in our fair city. As for property ownership for married women, I’ve heard rumbles that is soon to change too,’ Mr Hayward said. ‘But to Mrs Tufton. What next then?’
‘What indeed,’ Matilda said. ‘With Amos and Pa qualified in the law, and you, Thomas, in your police role, surely the resources available to me can provide some assistance?’
‘What about me?’ Daniel asked, his tone indicating offence.
‘Your illustration of Mrs Tufton, once done, will create great sympathy for my cause, Daniel, I am sure,’ Matilda appeased him, and he appeared satisfied.
Thomas inhaled and sat upright. ‘If I can find time in between working on the many show acts you believe I could develop, I could see if her husband is known to us,’ he teased, and was rewarded with a smile from Matilda.
‘Thank you, Thomas, that would be appreciated.’
‘And, my dear,’ Mr Hayward started, ‘before I offer any legal advice, may I suggest you talk to your editor and see what Mrs Lawson has to say. She has her own resources, trust me, and she is quite formidable. But failing that, if the giantess – Mrs Tufton – is in a position to pay, then I suggest you offer her the legal services of your brother Amos, to support his business, but I am at your disposal.’
‘Yes, you are right, Pa, thank you. I shall do just that and you are most kind to offer yourself for our cause. Mrs Tufton cannot spend any longer than necessary in that horrible—’
‘—Freak show,’ Daniel supplied, saying the words with dramatic flair.
Matilda sighed, Mr Hayward shook his head and Thomas suppressed a laugh. The dinner plates were cleared.
Chapter 4
The noise of an office full of women absorbed in various tasks, all of which required regular communication, created an exciting atmosphere that Matilda loved being part of, especially just before the fortnightly print deadline. The mood in the editor’s office was, however, quite the opposite.
‘Appalling!’ Mrs Dora Lawson, editor of the Women’s Journal, exclaimed, rising from her desk and pacing up and down the large window that looked out at her working ladies.
She had a fine figure for a woman in her middle years and a forbidding pile of white hair atop, pinned and restrained to within an inch of its life. She liked order and the meeting of deadlines. Matilda admired her terribly.
‘Matilda, you are on to something here. Something big,’ she agreed after Matilda’s summation of the giantess’s situation.
Matilda opened her folder and passed Mrs Lawson the illustration of the giantess.
‘This is Mrs Anna Tufton. The illustration is ours to use should you wish to do so – my brother did it to accompany my story. I’m paying him from my fee, but he does not need to know that.’
‘I prefer to pay women in my employment, but if the fee is reasonable, I will happily pay for this illustration,’ Mrs Lawson said, admiring it. ‘It’s impressive and detailed. The resemblance?’
‘Completely accurate and I say that without favour,’ Matilda assured her editor. ‘But now how to proceed? I can write a general story about the Freak Show and representation of women within it to meet this issue’
s deadline…’
‘Yes, we have left space for that story and the owner, Mr Burnham, has expectations of it appearing,’ Mrs Lawson said. ‘Once published, that would give us the freedom to pursue Mrs Tufton’s story in more detail while satisfying the exhibition owner that the article I promised has been printed while his Freak Show is in town – so distasteful!’
‘Then I shall write a general piece now and include the illustration. Should I revisit the exhibition to alert Mrs Tufton that we are working on her behalf?’
Mrs Lawson turned from looking over her newsroom to face Matilda. ‘Yes, I think that best. You could take two advance copies and offer them to the owner and Mrs Tufton as an excuse to get an audience. What do we know of the husband?’
‘My friend, Detective Ashdown, came to dinner last night. He is an old family friend and my brother’s closest ally,’ Matilda explained, and Mrs Lawson cut her off.
‘My dear, I may run a women’s magazine and push for women’s rights, but I am not averse to men or appropriate relationships.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling, imagining heaven beyond, and continued, ‘My Harold, God rest his soul, was not the role model for husbands, but he tried, and we produced some fine young citizens. Mind you, Harold had little to do with that, past the act of conception.’ Mrs Lawson sighed and returned her attention to Matilda. ‘Did you mention your concerns to the detective?’
‘Under secrecy, yes. He said he would look to see if Mrs Tufton’s husband is known to the police, and my father has offered his legal services should you need them.’
‘Most kind. Please pass on my gratitude, but at this stage, the decision lies with Mrs Tufton should she wish to seek legal representation.’
Matilda nodded. ‘I’d best get to work. I would value your feedback again on my work if you have time, Mrs Lawson.’
‘Of course. Do keep me informed every step of the way with your investigation, Matilda, and should you need extra resources, I can pair some ladies with you.’
Matilda rose and left while Mrs Lawson, still holding the illustration of the giantess, returned to her desk, her lips pursed as she thought about all she had heard.
Matilda hurried to her desk. The sooner she wrote the piece, the sooner she could begin the story she wanted to write.
Women’s Journal
Tuesday, 8 May 1888
Fortnightly edition Vol.1, No.12. Price, 3d.
Special Feature, ‘Freak Show’ in town for two weeks
A report by Matilda Hayward
Illustration by Daniel Hayward
Arriving in Brisbane from Sydney on Saturday morning was a collection of performers quite different to the theatre performers our readers may have recently celebrated.
Mr Alfred E. Burnham’s “Freak Show” has established its exhibition space on the Town Hall Reserve and has already attracted a sizeable crowd of visitors.
Reporting on behalf of the Women’s Journal, it surprised me to find so many women in attendance to see what Mr Burnham refers to as “wonderful freaks of nature” or “medical marvels”.
The kind and sympathetic face of Jo-Jo the Russian dog-faced young man accosts the viewer on entry. Jo-Jo’s face is covered with a long wavy mass of silken, dark brown hair. I ventured past ‘Unzie’, a young man with hair and skin delicately fair and pure white, with eyes of pink.
Perhaps most fascinating to this writer was Mr Burnham’s giantess, Mrs Anna Tufton, aged 23, from south-east Queensland. A woman of remarkable bearing and composure, her particulars include the weight of 42 st. 10 lb and 90 in. around the body. Her strength was such to lift two grown men – a show which I witnessed in person – with a man held under each arm and their combined weight totalled 26 st.
Mrs Tufton informed the writer that she was a normal-sized child until the age of eight, when she then grew at an incredible speed, overtaking her three brothers and finding herself most useful on the family farm where strength was an asset.
Mrs Tufton has toured Australia with the exhibition and will next travel to north Queensland, which she was looking forward to visiting.
Mr Burnham’s show will continue until 20 May from 10.30am to 10pm. Admission is 6d.
Chapter 5
Detective Thomas Ashdown collapsed into the chair behind his desk and sighed at the collection of files that had emerged since his absence. He rifled through them, looking for one name in particular. There it was – Carl Tufton, husband of Anna, the giantess.
‘What’s that one then?’ Harry asked, storming into the detective’s office with a hungry look on his face.
‘Not a crime yet, but one in the making,’ Thomas said, sticking the file back in the pile and trying to divert his partner’s attention.
‘We’ve got enough to do without chasing down crimes that might never happen,’ Harry said. ‘It’s well past the lunch hour and I’m betting you didn’t breakfast either?’
‘No, but I ate well last night at the Haywards. Their cook is the best in this town, I am sure of it.’ Thomas sighed at the memory of it.
‘I believe my wife has that title,’ Harry joshed him, and Thomas laughed.
Harry added, ‘Shall we go to the dining room for lunch? I hear they’ve got some fancy German sausages today.’
Thomas needed no persuasion to go to lunch, but the thought of going to the police dining room didn’t hold great appeal. ‘How about the Prince Alfred instead? If we take these files we could call it a working lunch,’ he suggested.
‘Done then,’ Harry agreed, his hat already in his hand.
Thomas scooped up the files, grabbed his hat, and followed his partner out the door and down the hallways of the police station. The nearby hotel served a decent sized lunch on a budget for the working man. Thomas and Harry were no strangers to its menu, and the Prince Alfred was no stranger to the clientele from the police department and the military officers stationed at the nearby barracks.
Once seated in a booth, the men ordered, and Thomas shared the folders with Harry and kept the file of Mr Tufton to himself.
Harry sighed as he opened their most recent case – the murder of prostitute and mother of five, Florence Anderson.
‘Ah, the poor kiddies,’ he said, and sighed. ‘Let’s hope they can rise above this and not end up on the wrong side of the law themselves.’
‘I was mulling on that case late last night, running through the constable’s notes and statements,’ Thomas said, and ran a hand over his light beard as he thought.
‘Of course you were,’ Harry said. ‘And what did you come up with?’
‘The man who found her, the neighbour, killed her.’
Harry’s eyes widened with surprise and then they narrowed as he studied the younger detective to see if he was having a joke at Harry’s expense. He waded through the paperwork in the file until he found the statement of the neighbour.
‘Herbert Poolman,’ he said and sat back to accept the lager placed in front of him with a nod of thanks to the waitress.
‘That’s him,’ Thomas said.
‘Go on then, tell me your theory and we’ll have Herbert Poolman arrested,’ Harry invited him.
Thomas took an appreciative gulp of the cool amber fluid and righting the glass began.
‘At first it looks as if it would fit any of the usual scenarios – a client didn’t pay, Florence’s pimp arrived and cleaned him up; or a lover, husband or client walks in on another and kills him in a rage of passion. But no. The other neighbours said Herbert Poolman was always hanging around Florence’s door, especially when he had a bit under the skin. Florence’s friend who lived a few doors down the hallway said he’d never show his money, just expect Florence to open the door to his charms. Poolman’s got a history of drunken and lewd behaviour, and it was interesting that he heard the screams and was first on the scene. I recall his neck had scratches on it that he had attempted to hide by pulling his collar up high. His trousers had some dark stains on them which mig
ht have been blood and might have been fresh.’
Harry nodded, impressed. ‘He’s probably washed them by now but go on.’
‘My theory is that he didn’t get what he wanted and heard she was having some fun with someone else, so he barged in and threatened Florence and her client. The client’s run down the hall, Poolman has stabbed Florence in a fit of rage, she’s scratched and clawed to get him away and once he’d realised what he had done, he’s hidden the knife, raced out into the hallway and yelled for help. The tenant on the bottom floor saw the client running out a bit earlier and Poolman claims to have found Florence that way thus pinning it on her last client.’
‘One of the witnesses said they saw two men.’ Harry fished around in the file for the relevant statement.
‘Yes, but a tenant was coming home around that time according to the building manager and the milkman had just been, so either of those might have been the second sighting.’
‘Right you are then,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll get a senior constable with me, and we’ll go and visit Mr Poolman this afternoon then. We’ll take a look at his wardrobe too.’
‘Be careful,’ Thomas warned, remembering Harry was only a few years short from hanging up his badge. He wanted to see Harry get the gold watch and farewell party so Harry and Mrs Dart could do the exploring they wanted to do – birdwatching trips. No crime there. Thomas continued, ‘If my theory is right, there’s a knife somewhere still in that room or thereabouts, and he’s not afraid of violence. Get the doctor to check out those scratches he’s sporting, too.’
Harry nodded as he wrote a few notes on the file and closed it. ‘You obviously think well in those late hours of the night.’
‘I’ve done some of my best work then,’ Thomas said with a hint of innuendo and a sly grin. He cleared the thought from his mind and moved his files to allow for the first of two courses – a bowl of thickened chicken soup – delivered to him with a fresh bread roll. The two men need not worry about table manners in the company of each other and proceeded to eat their soup like two starving men and read at their leisure. Harry moved onto another file while Thomas opened that of the giantess’s husband, Carl Tufton.
