It wasn’t the first time they’d attended one of these travelling shows, and the seats were inconspicuous. However, Hamilton was uncomfortable at public events. He was a loner by nature, a useful personality trait considering his profession, but also wary of flaunting his relationship with Gloria until the matter of a husband for Edwina had been settled. The rich and the well-bred, the two of which were rarely mutually inclusive, were terrible hypocrites.
‘Get your lettuce here, bravest hearts you’ll find,’ yelled a young grocer from his vegetable cart.
At the corner bakery Hamilton purchased two Cornish pasties and continued his journey. Every available wall space along the street was plastered with posters advertising the circus, while the roads were littered with manure. Horses and elephants, wool wagons and parades did nothing for pedestrians he decided. And the band. If he’d heard one more fart of a noise from the wind section earlier he’d have rushed outdoors and shoved something up the dreaded instrument. How was a man supposed to attend to a lover’s duties with that fracas going on?
Five minutes later Hamilton reached the corner of Chinaman and Webley streets. Here he turned right, passing the substantial brick edifice that was the Commercial Banking Company of Sydney. The two-storey Edwardian-style building with its open colonnades and domed copper roof was quite the landmark in Wywanna and yet, Hamilton thought with satisfaction, one didn’t need such trappings to do business. Traffic was busy for a Saturday afternoon. Horses, buggies, automobiles and pedestrians were heading in the direction of the showground across the river where Colby Brothers had erected their circus tents. It was close to 4 pm and the organisers of the extravaganza were opening their zoo to the public before the commencement of the main show at 8 pm. Hamilton recognised some of the men and women and greeted them accordingly. As usual they were reservedly polite. Having devoured one of the meat and vegetable pastries, Hamilton whistled, throwing the uneaten food to a swaggie walking outside the iron palisade of the courthouse. The man gave him a broken-toothed grin.
Hamilton’s destination, The Wywanna Guild, was situated rather conspicuously between two weatherboard post-and-slab dwellings. He dismounted sedately, spending adequate time securing his horse and dusting off his clothes. The Langer family drove past in their open automobile and he tipped his hat, receiving a similar greeting. Excellent, Hamilton thought; it was always important to be seen by those who wanted to be seen as well. And Mr Langer, one of the leading agents in the stock and station fraternity, was yet to be accepted as a member of the Guild.
Pausing at the gabled entrance Hamilton noted the number of tethered horses and the three automobiles already lined up outside. Undoubtedly it would soon be a full house, he speculated. The Guild President was visiting town for the week and the added entertainment of the circus would be a drawcard for many. Inside he signed the members’ book with his usual flourish, surreptitiously checking the names already registered, a tap of a forefinger on the lined page of the ledger the only sign of his approval. This then was the true centre of business for the region, indeed for the south-west of Queensland and beyond, for the greater district of Wywanna acted as a gathering point for some of the largest landholders. And here he was, Hamilton Baker, about to join the crème-de-la-crème of pastoral enterprise.
Hamilton handed his hat to the attendant at the reception desk. ‘How are you, Andrew?’
‘Very well, thank you, Mr Baker.’ The youth discreetly slid a folded piece of paper across the desk. Hamilton quickly pocketed it and in return gave the lad the change in his pocket. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Andrew stared at the coins. ‘You’re very generous.’
The words young upstart came to mind. Hamilton placed a pound note on the desk, which the boy was quick to grab.
‘Your usual table, Mr Baker?’ asked Andrew, as he led the way along a short hallway lined with portraits of committee members.
‘What do you think?’ growled Hamilton.
Chapter Seven
Edwina held on to Mason’s arm as H.J. purchased tickets for the menagerie. A gruff man was advising people to line up and be quick about it else they’d miss the chance to see the wondrous zoo within. A mix of people of all backgrounds jostled for position around the ticket counter. Edwina smelt lavender water, perspiration and tobacco but there were also softer scents like Pears soap, a heady combination blending with the press of bodies. Were she not clinging to Mason, Edwina may have felt uneasy. Never had she seen so many people in one place at one time.
They waited until the initial queue dissipated but there was still a throng of people within the man-made alley set up next to the circus tents. Lions roared, monkeys chattered and dogs barked as they entered the area bordered by gaudy red cages. Each enclosure held a variety of animals, with only the smallest and the safest creatures part of the petting zoo.
‘It’s feeding time,’ one of the circus attendants announced to anyone who would listen. ‘And some of the animals are very, very hungry.’
Mason led the way through the crowd, Edwina holding tight to his arm. For some reason she felt quite light-headed and everything around them seemed extremely funny. Together she and Mason looked at monkeys and squealing pigs, two sheep, white horses in spangled harnesses and a sour-looking donkey. These exhibits received only minimal interest from the rest of the ticketholders. Most rushed forward, eager to see the big cats and elephants.
‘Grown lions eat fifteen pounds of beef every day,’ H.J. shared, reading from the program as a monkey peeled a banana in a cage. ‘Then they have to fast on Sundays in case of over-feeding.’
‘Where are the lions?’ asked Edwina, feeling a little woozy. The monkey tilted its head, ate a portion of the creamy flesh and returned Edwina’s stare.
‘At the end, little lady,’ a bearded guide advised. ‘Save the best for last we do. The best for last.’
‘Have you ever drunk champagne before?’ asked Mason.
‘Of course.’ Edwina couldn’t recall how many glasses of the fizzy drink she’d consumed, nor who’d purchased the roasted meat sandwiched between bread. But the floaty sensation of earlier was starting to dissolve and she was becoming terribly thirsty. Edwina slipped her hand from Mason’s arm, realising with a shudder of embarrassment that she’d been clinging to him.
‘The big cats are my favourite,’ said Mason.
‘I really don’t know if I could be bothered seeing the show,’ announced Debra loudly, making a point of keeping to the middle of the path as she walked disinterestedly behind them. ‘I mean if you’ve seen one flying trapeze artist you’ve seen them all. And look at that monkey. It’s half bald. And no doubt full of vermin.’
They peered at the offending creature and in response the monkey threw the banana peel through the bars. H.J. and Mason laughed in amusement.
‘How disgusting!’ Janice lifted her feet one at a time as if avoiding something unmentionable. ‘Let’s leave and have dinner. I’m absolutely starving.’
‘They say,’ H.J. interrupted, pointing at the circus program, ‘that there is a woman who drives eight ponies and that she turns somersaults on a cantering grey. I’d pay to see that.’
‘The horses or the woman?’ teased Debra. ‘You always were one for sequins. Anyway, I like bears. I saw some bears performing in Sydney and they rode bicycles and walked on stilts.’
H.J. ran a finger down the list of events. ‘There’s bears as well.’
‘Have you been to Sydney?’ Mason straightened Edwina’s necktie, warm fingers brushing her skin.
‘No.’ Edwina tucked her hair more securely under her father’s hat.
H.J. cleared his throat. ‘I say, whoever wrote this has a way with words. “Wolves from the frozen wastelands of the Arctic stand next to the denizens of the African and Asiatic jungles.”’
‘I heard a story once,’ Janice began, ‘about a donkey that was painted so that it looked like a zebra. Can you imagine?’
‘My father shot one on safari,’ H.J. announced. ‘The
poor animal’s mounted on the wall. Sad-looking thing really, but nevertheless impressive.’
Mason led Edwina away from their group. ‘You’re looking a bit flushed. Would you like to go outside and get some air?’
‘Yes, I mean no, I mean tell me about Sydney, Mason.’ The thought of fresh air away from the crush of people appealed, but to walk outside with a man she barely knew, alone?
‘Ah, where to begin? There are tea rooms and coffee shops and American-style soda bars where you can eat confections like banana splits with ice-cream and cream.’
Debra interrupted. ‘Yes, yes. That’s during the day, but at night we party. We dance and drink and stay out all hours and then we wake up and do it all again. Are you quite shocked?’ Debra lit a cigarette, passing it to Edwina.
She took a puff, her eyes smarting from the smoke.
‘Go on. The odd ciggy isn’t going to kill you,’ Janice enticed. ‘I think we’re quite corrupting you, aren’t we?’
Handing the cigarette back to Debra, Edwina turned to view hamsters running relentlessly around a wheel. She was beginning to dislike Mason’s friends. All they did was party and travel on grand ships to places like London. They did everything together, much like a pack of dogs. She couldn’t understand why Mason would want to be with them.
It was noisy and congested in the menagerie. Apart from the din made by the various beasts, children screamed and laughed, the adults talked extraordinarily loudly and they were continually bumped by people trying to get as close as possible to the animals on display. Edwina tugged her hat brim lower as two matrons from the town passed by. They stared at Debra’s above-the-knee dress and short glossy hair before paling at the sight of the cigarette between her fingers.
‘Flappers,’ one of the women announced in disgust.
Her companion, dressed in dove grey with a long string of jet beads about her neck, turned her attention on Edwina, showing a flicker of recognition. It was the widower, Mrs Hilton.
‘Stuffy old busybodies,’ complained Debra.
‘They’re probably what passes for the establishment out here,’ said Janice. ‘Food? The extravaganza doesn’t begin until 8 pm. We can return to the boarding house and cajole that frightful Mrs Parkinson into cooking us up something edible.’
Edwina recalled the paltry piece of bread in Heidi-Hoe’s saddlebag and the lack of firewood back at the farm. ‘Heidi-Hoe,’ she said aloud unintentionally. ‘I really should go home.’
Mason gripped her arm a little more firmly. ‘No-one will take your horse, Edwina. And what is the point of going home? You said yourself your father is staying in the town tonight, so we can take you back there after the circus.’
‘I can’t go back there.’ Overhead the blue sky was now an elongated strip of fading light.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I have to get home.’ The return journey would be long and tiring with most of it in the dark. And Aiden? Where was her brother? Heavens, she’d almost forgotten about him. Regretfully, Edwina knew it was time to leave. She glanced at Mason, knowing the probability of seeing him again was never. ‘I must find my brother and get home before it’s too dark.’ She tripped, falling forwards.
Mason grabbed at her waist, steadying her. When he pulled Edwina close it was more than manners required. ‘Just stay a little longer; I want to ask you where you live and –’
H.J. tapped Mason on the shoulder and pointed to Louise. ‘Here we go again,’ he sighed. ‘It’s your turn, Mason. You rescue her.’
Louise, cornered some feet away between a tall man in a red jacket and white jodhpurs and a cage full of little dogs with ruffled collars around their necks, stood on tiptoe, waving in an attempt to attract their attention.
Mason, placing both hands on Edwina’s waist, lifted her gently to one side, out of the crowd’s path. ‘Don’t move. You know I really don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so damn good in a pair of trousers.’
Edwina blushed. It was her first compliment. She lingered next to a woebegone gorilla who clung to the rear of the cage, watching as Mason shook hands with Louise’s admirer. It would be best, Edwina decided, if she just slipped away. There was little point in putting off the unavoidable.
‘Are we taking her with us?’ Debra asked H.J.
Edwina knew Debra meant for her to hear the comment.
‘She looks positively dreadful in that outfit,’ complained Janice. ‘I mean she’s a nice enough girl, but do you think it’s fair to Edwina to bring her along like a plaything. The poor girl’s all starry-eyed over Mason.’
Edwina brushed the worn lapel of her mother’s riding jacket, wishing she were somewhere else. Through the cage bars the gorilla let out a dismal moan.
Mason, having rescued Louise from the jodhpur wearer, was navigating them expertly through the crowd.
‘It’s Mason’s call,’ said H.J. ‘But he looks to me to have taken quite a fancy to her.’
‘He’s been in the outback for too long.’ Debra’s tone was slightly bored. ‘But who am I to stand in the way of true love for one night? You’ll have to rustle up some supplies, H.J.’
‘I know, I know. Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker.’
Edwina thought she would be ill. There was a connotation to Debra’s words, an awful, unladylike implication. Backing away from the redhead’s scrutiny, she pushed through the crowd, feeling the press of bodies swallowing the gap between the dream of the afternoon and her real life. Edwina walked the length of the menagerie, searching for the exit, coming to a halt where the big cats were caged. The lion tamer dressed in blue and gold stood before the long pen telling people to stand back or they’d be eaten alive. Five lions were prowling back and forth across a hay-strewn floor stained with blood.
‘Look at that magnificent mane! That power! The strength of the beast! Don’t be shy, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. This is the only chance you’ll get to see them up close. In the cage these lions are pussycats. But in the big top, in centre ring, well that’s quite another matter. Have you got your tickets for the show? You don’t want to be the only person in Queensland who didn’t witness the most breathtaking, the most death-defying act ever performed in the southern hemisphere? Do you?’
The smell of urine and hay mixed with the stench of offal. Edwina tried unsuccessfully to squeeze past the audience. They were hemmed in by the larger number of onlookers at the elephant’s enclosure, a cordoned-off area within which the elephant’s leg was chained to a stake in the ground.
A slight distance away from the spruiker of all things ferocious stood a grey-bearded man with a deeply pitted face. Children pushed and shoved each other around a wobbly table, the attraction a beautiful lion cub lying on a square of red velvet.
‘A shilling for a pat,’ the keeper of the cub repeated continuously with a slightly American drawl. ‘One shilling only.’ Slapping away children’s eager hands, he grabbed the mewling animal when a freckled-face youth made a lunge for the baby beast. ‘Get away with you, you young rascal! I’ll have the constabulary on your doorstep quicker than you can say bread and lard if you do that again. A shilling only. One shilling for a pat of this wondrous baby lion. And I’ve one for sale too.’ He petted the cub roughly. ‘Hard to raise the young in captivity it is. The lioness is a peculiar beast. She doesn’t like to share. Well, I know women like that.’ The comment provoked sniggers. ‘Hides her babies away, the lioness does, rather than let you or I take a peek, and then what happens?’ He made a slapping noise on the table with his palm. ‘Squashed flat they are. And then, then she eats them.’
The assembled people were in awe. Men were fascinated. Women disgusted. Children dumbstruck. Her own problems momentarily forgotten, Edwina cooed with those around her as the lion tamer swapped the baby cub for one the size of a small dog from a cage on the ground.
‘I’ve too many lions. I’ll swap this young fellow for a black panther. Anyone? Anyone?’
A ripple of laughter swept through the
onlookers.
He lifted the baby lion. ‘He’s close enough to weaning. Nearly four months old and already a meat eater. Anyone, anyone?’
The cub shrank back into the man’s arms. Edwina thought the animal appeared weak, in need of a good feed. She guessed he was the runt of the litter.
‘How much?’ someone called.
‘Twenty pounds.’ The man nuzzled the cub, receiving an affectionate paw to the side of his face in response. ‘Just like dogs they are.’
‘Twenty pounds,’ a townie in a tweed cap repeated. ‘Anyone would think I had a regular job.’
‘What do you want, a regular job or an unregular pet?’ the circus man responded.
‘In these times I’d take a regular job. The way things are I might have to eat the unregular pet.’
The audience laughed again. The cap wearer bartered for a time, but when it became obvious the cub holder wasn’t budging on the price, one by one those watching began to drift away.
‘I can give you a fiver, and work off the rest.’
Edwina observed the young man who appeared by her side. He was tall, with a twang to his voice. His suit, although clean, was roughly patched in places. Digging deep in a pocket he retrieved the fiver and, holding it by each end, displayed it proudly. His thumbnails were filthy.
‘I’m looking for work. I could work for you, mister. Muck out the straw, feed the animals. Cut wood. I’m good with an axe.’
‘Then find yourself a tree.’ As the crowd began to disperse, the grey-bearded circus worker sat in a wooden deck chair.
‘Five pounds. It’s a good offer,’ the young man persisted.
‘A fiver for a lion?’ The man stroked the cub. ‘Daft, the world’s gone daft.’
‘He’s not a lion yet,’ the lad argued, moving closer to the table that separated them. ‘In fact he looks half-starved to me.’
An Uncommon Woman Page 7
