Rhythm and Rhyme
Dixie Carlton
Copyright© Dixie Carlton 2019 All rights reserved.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of study, research or review, as permitted under the copyright act, no part of this book may be reproduced by any process without written permission of the author.
Every effort has been made to trace and acknowledge copyright material; should any infringement have occurred accidentally; the author tends her apologies.
Disclaimer:
Every effort has been made to ensure this book is as accurate and complete as possible. However, there may be mistakes both typographical and in content. Therefore, this book should be used as a general guide and not and the ultimate source of information contained herein. The author and publisher shall not be liable or responsible to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to have been caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
Published by: Authority Authors
www.AuthorityAuthors.com.au
QLD 4019, Australia
Kindle Edition
For Alexander, who was born with
Margaret’s indomitable
spirit and extraordinary charm.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Author’s Notes
About Dixie
Books by Dixie
CHAPTER ONE
She looked down at the people on the dock, small creatures moving about; everyone with somewhere to go, something to see, or someone to meet. No one was there for her, no one was even aware of her existence. She lit up a cigarette and waited for the ship’s crew to complete the docking. Gangway in place and the ability to leave the ship complete, she was finally back on dry land. The journey had only been a few days, but long enough for it to feel like the earth was still moving below her feet for a while.
Finding her bags was easier than working through the process of arrivals, having her papers checked, stamped, and being questioned about why she was in Australia. “Just a holiday... Yes, I have a hotel to go to.” “Yes, I am traveling alone.” “Thank you.”
Finally, papers stamped, looked over again and waved on her way, she emerged from the arrivals building and found a line of waiting taxis. “The George Hotel, in Darling Harbor… thank you.”
The driver looked at his passenger as she set down her bags beside his car. She was 30ish, elegant, well dressed and she had the most extraordinary shade of red hair which was pulled back firmly under her hat and tied neatly into a full knot at the back, but with a few strands peeking out below one ear. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, fringed with thick dark brown lashes. Her lips sat permanently pursed, her pert nose suited her sharp features perfectly and she exuded a no-nonsense attitude that made him glad he’d married a simpler woman. “Yes Ma-am.” He opened the door for her and stowed her bags.
The journey was less than 30 minutes long and filled with awkward silence. He tried to engage her, with a question about whether this was her first time in Sydney. She said nothing and seemed content just staring out the window at the world racing by. He wound the window up a smidgen and left her to her thoughts.
What he could not have known was the upheaval going on inside her as she reviewed her plans so far. She was here with everything she needed to succeed: money, time and passion. What she lacked was patience; but she needed her children back like a fish needed water. If it took a year or more, Margaret McKenzie was going to get what she wanted.
The driver eyed her in the reflection, he ferried many people from the harbor every day; few of them were as fascinating as this unconventional woman sitting behind him now. She was captivating. The way the wind whipped her hair, like a candle kissed by the wind, gladly filled his head with creative fancy. He imagined she was an actress or a singer, the kind of woman who was used to being looked at, for she didn’t seem to mind, or even notice him staring at her through his mirror. He thought she had a toughness to her; the way she sat, with her head poised high and her shoulders back, gave her a strength he didn’t often associate with women.
He pulled up outside her hotel and rang up the meter. “That’ll be three shillings, love.” She absently handed him an amount as she stared intently at the hotel. The driver rushed around to the side of the car to open her door and unloaded her bags as she exited the vehicle. He could see a determination in her eyes now and as she walked towards the lobby, he couldn’t help but wonder who it was he’d just been in the presence of.
Margaret McKenzie had finally arrived in Sydney. A long journey, albeit a short simple crossing of the water, had brought her here. She entered the hotel and dropped her two bags as she stood at the reception desk, waiting for the man behind the counter to finish what he seemed intent on doing with his pen and ledger, finally growing impatient and tapping her fingers on the desk.
Patience was something she possessed little of. In fact, she was far from conventional in many ways for the era she’d been born into.
No stranger to adversity, she had always seemed to land on her feet and work out a good way forward when things went awry. This was one of those times, although arguably a much bigger derailment of her life than she had ever thought possible.
Finally, her registration details were collected and a deposit paid for one week at the hotel, then she was shown upstairs to a comfortable and very pleasant room with a view of the magnificent Sydney Harbour.
“Ahh well”, she thought to herself as the she removed her hat and gloves, tossing them casually on the bed before focusing on the view outside. “Let’s get started on putting things back together.”
CHAPTER TWO
Margaret’s first three days in Sydney were spent learning about the city. How to get around, where the ferry terminals and bus stops were and how the rhythm of the city worked. The docks gave way to the waterfront markets. Water-taxis danced all over the harbor like drunken patrons on a Friday night; so, finding a vessel that ran sightseeing ventures around the harbor was easy, if not sanitary. Indeed, Sydney was so much bigger and felt dirtier than Auckland had been. Everywhere she looked there was litter and the railing of the boat felt like it had been last washed down from the build-up of salt spray a decade or more ag
o. Her cream gloves showed the lack of care quickly and she sniffed at them dubiously. Fishy, or something, she decided.
She had the best view of the house she had wanted to see, Landsmere Cottage. She had quickly discovered that the view from the street was limited due to the large, wrought-iron gates and a long curving driveway sheltered by neatly manicured hedges. Access on foot would be near impossible if you were unexpected.
Her business was not about to be broadcast and turning up unannounced was not really an option. She looked up at the imposing turret-styled manor, set back on a rocky cliff top, partly shielded by trees. It crossed her mind to wonder at the sense of humor behind naming the giant estate as a ‘cottage’, as the boat moved quickly past but she knew she had the right place from old photos she’d seen years earlier featuring her lover Nathaniel Cook on the front lawn. It was his grandparents’ home and he’d once spent a long summer here as a child. She could picture her children here and sighed as she imagined them playing happily in such a large home. House, she corrected herself quickly. This was just a house - not their home.
By the third day, she was ready to focus on the priorities of finding a more permanent place to stay, preferably in the city, but first, some kind of work. She knew it would take a while to form a solid plan; simply turning up would do more harm than good, just being nearby would be enough for now. “It had to be.” She told herself.
Time would certainly drag by if she had nothing to do, and besides, she reasoned, meeting new people who might be helpful to her cause, would be easier done by working, as she had no social connections here.
She scanned the paper to see if anything jumped out. The idea of a nanny or governess position was not ideal, but a housekeeping role might work. She lit a cigarette and tossed the paper away across the table. Nothing of interest, but there were two agencies who might be worth checking out later. As she sat back in her chair and took a long drag on her cigarette, she looked up at the ceiling and slowly released the smoke upwards.
Glancing back down at the table, she spotted an advertisement for a local club, seeking a singer to perform with a live band that week, and just around the corner. Could she? She shook her head. No, those days were over, weren’t they? Besides, she wasn’t even sure she could sing any more. But the idea tugged at her mind for the next few minutes as she finished her cup of tea, until finally she decided to take a walk to the club and see how she felt once she arrived.
The doors were closed, but the windows were open on the ground floor. Painted red frames around each of the four windows, where new posters had been pasted over old ones so many times that a chisel would surely be needed to ever let daylight through, did not fill her with confidence about her career prospects here. She looked over the photos and information about some of the club’s regular and featured events, with mild interest. She noted that the regular shows featured mostly jazz bands and cabaret.
She decided to enter the building, finding the side door was open, and darkness enveloped her as she stepped into the room. Startled by the dark, she accidentally walked headfirst into a ladder set up with a small tin of paint balanced on the top rung.
Thwack!
She suddenly found herself on the ground, legs buckled beneath her, her purse open and spilling keys, lipstick and coins into a mess of white paint oozing from the tin. An older man was apologetically trying to help her up while at the same time trying to stem the tide of the paint with his heavily booted foot. “Oh, missus, I’m so sorry, missus, are you alright? Oh, blow me down, I’m ever so sorry, Ma-am… um… are you hurt?”
Margaret slowly stood up and found that aside from a couple of bruises to her knees, the only real casualty was to the dress she was wearing. Paint was splattered all over her skirt and her shoes were not only scuffed but also caked in the slippery white mess. She was also able to look at her assailant for the first time. He was wrinkled from a life lived mostly outdoors, leathery almost, with very bushy brows and gray hair sprouting from all corners of his face, ears and neck. He’d clearly shaved that day, but in haste or in the dark perhaps. His cap was wildly askew on the back of his head and his enormous nose perched above a wide mouth with very few teeth. He looked back at her and grinned. “Missus, I’m so terribly sorry. Here, shall we try that again?” He had very kind eyes and she knew he was indeed sincere in his apology.
She smiled back and relaxed her shoulders a bit. “Oh well, clearly we were supposed to meet today and truly, it was most likely my fault for not thinking about where I was when I stepped back. I should apologize to you.”
She finished putting her purse back to rights and closed it with a snap as she stood up and surveyed the absolute mess of paint that was now a sticky pool that had quickly spread across the tiled floor.
Upright again, but feeling the effects of gluggy paint on her no-longer beautiful dress, she looked about wondering why the man was painting in the dark, and wondered if she should return to her hotel and change before asking about the job.
The man, sensing exactly what she was thinking, quickly voiced his opinion that she’d perhaps need to get cleaned up a bit before trying to get on a train, bus, or taxi. “Missus, if you don’t mind my saying so, I don’t think you can go far like that, so p’raps we best get you cleaned up a bit, aye?” Margaret looked at him. not quite understanding, and he turned away saying: “Follow me Missus, just in here, and we’ll fix this up for you.”
With that, he led the way a through a side door and gestured to her to move ahead of him into a hallway. Seeing it was carpeted, she thought to remove her shoes. “You can leave those there for the moment if you like. I’m not sure they’ll clean up much, but no one’s likely to steal them anyway.” She caught his smile, and returned it. Walking through the winding rabbit-warren that was the backstage area of the club, she peeked in at the various rooms they passed, noticing things like plastic flowers in vases, heavy curtains that served as doors and room dividers in some places, and the stale smoky smell of the place. It was just like clubs she’d been in before and the familiarity was friendly and warming to her. She felt the memory of old songs tickle her throat as she thought about the many times that she’d emerged from such rooms herself years before, to walk confidently to the stage and perform for waiting crowds of diners and dancers. “Yes”, she thought, “I loved this life… and I could easily do it again."
They finally emerged into a brightly lit bathroom that was in the midst of being repainted, hence the paint the man had been carrying. Drop cloths were on the floors and covering basins. A ladder and some brushes were sprawled out in the corner, and the bath contained a collection of rags and buckets.
“I think this might be the best place for you to wash down a bit,” said the man. “If you wait a minute, I’ll get you a…”. He disappeared for only a moment and returned holding out a folded towel and wash cloth. Shuck down your clothes and I’ll find you something to change into upstairs.” With that he was gone again, leaving her to shed the destroyed dress, and use the cloth to wash the paint splatters from her legs and feet. As she was finishing, a gentle knock sounded at the door.
“Yes?”
“Missus, I found a dress you might like to pop on for now, I’ll just leave it out here for you to grab when you’re ready.”
“OK, thank you, I’m almost done.” She wondered what kind of dress he might have found in a place like this, and thought of the extraordinary clothes she used to wear on stage. Sequins, gowns that were designed to inspire the men and the women she performed in front of. To her surprise, when she opened the door, hanging on the outside handle was a simple black dress, that was a little large on her, and made of a heavier wool than she might have wanted for such a warm day, but was more than adequate for the moment. She emerged from the bathroom and looked about for some sign of a direction to head in, and called out as she ventured in the opposite direction from where they’d come from on arrival.
“Ahh, there you are.” The man appeared suddenly in fro
nt of her as she found her way into very large kitchen. Clearly this was where meals were prepared, and it was sparkling clean. The man had also taken a few minutes to change out of his badly paint splattered overalls and was now wearing old brown pants and a loose-fitting shirt. He held his hand out to her and said simply: “Hello, my name is Brian Bennett and I’m delighted to meet you. Please call me Brian - everyone does.”
She smiled and grabbed his hand firmly. Hello Brian, I’m delighted to meet you too, my name is Margaret McKenzie.”
“Would you like a cuppa, Mrs McKenzie?”
“Thank you, that would be lovely, and please, would you mind calling me Margaret.”
He glanced at her sideways and poured a kettle filled with hot water into a very large silver teapot, setting out two cups without saucers. A jug of milk appeared, and he pulled out a chair for her, before sitting opposite at what she presumed might be the table for the staff to use in the corner of the kitchen.
“Welcome to Bennetts - this is my brother’s club. I’m the maintenance man and part owner, but Tim, my brother, is the boss here.”
CHAPTER THREE
He paused and looked directly at her, then poured them each a cup of tea, the invitation written clearly across his face for her to tell him a little about herself.
She hesitated for a moment, wondering how much to tell him, then took a deep breath. “I arrived here in Sydney just a couple of days ago, from New Zealand, and decided to stay for a while. I have no family left back there, so thought it might be good to explore the world a little. And this is a good place to start.” She paused and sipped her tea, looking at him, wondering if he might be worth asking about some work. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she continued. “Before the war, I was a performer: cabaret, Jazz, Blues… at Mike’s Bar in downtown Auckland. That’s why I was standing outside of here when we met”, she smiled at that, and he returned it in full, eyes twinkling in merriment at the memory of them both sitting on the pavement outside covered in white paint, “looking at your hoardings wondering if there might be a chance I can still perform, and whether an old dame like me might be still considered worth hiring.” She looked askance at him, trying not to be too overt in her suggestion, but hoping he’d continue the line of conversation.
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