A Greater World: A woman's journey

by Clare Flynn

  'Isn't it a bit lonesome up in the mountains?

  'No, mate. McDonald Falls is a bonzer town. There's a railway, a new fancy hotel, stores, plenty of bars and plenty of women.' He gave an earthy laugh, which was echoed by his cohorts.

  'What they mining up there? Coal or what?'

  'Everything, mate. Gold. There's coal and bauxite and there's copper. Rocks are just full of the stuff. I tell you it's like digging money right out of the ground.'

  Michael had heard enough. Thoughts of becoming a sheep-hand abandoned, he pushed his way into the group and addressed the young man at the centre.

  'Where's this place and how do I get there?'

  'McDonald Falls. 'Eighty miles or so from Sydney. They're laying on transport for workers. A wagon leaves tomorrow from Circular Quay at sun-up. Just show up and they'll find a place for you I reckon. You'll need a couple of quid for the fare.'

  He appraised Michael coolly, then stretched out his hand towards him. 'Name's Burton - Fred Burton.'

  'Michael Winterbourne.'

  'Welcome aboard, mate! There's just time for your shout before six.'

  Every day for a week, Elizabeth returned to the green sward where she'd met Michael, but he was never there. Everywhere she went throughout the city she was mocked by the flags and bunting hanging from buildings and lampposts to welcome the Prince of Wales. She cursed her stupidity in failing to notice the flags the previous day, at being so wrapped up in herself that the world and its events passed her by unremarked. Now she came to think of it, she remembered that Peggy had commented on the Royal visit over breakfast, but she hadn't been listening properly.

  She asked why Michael's feelings towards her were so shallow-rooted that her failure to turn up on time had been enough to kill them? He must have heard of the Prince's visit so why hadn't he put two and two together? She'd had no means of contacting him, didn't know where he was lodging, so why hadn't he come back the following day? Or the day after that? Just as she was doing.

  When she finally accepted he wasn't going to return, she continued her walks along the harbour, immune to the gentle warmth of the autumn sunshine and the beauty of the harbour, with boats dotted over its deep blue surface.

  The passage of the time brought another worry. She had not had a period since two weeks before leaving Trevelyan House, more than two months ago. Although her slight figure still showed no signs of a pregnancy, she could not ignore the constant tiredness and occasional nausea. With dread, she acknowledged the possibility that she was expecting her brother-in-law's child. The thought was repugnant.

  Marrying Kidd paled into insignificance against the prospect of bearing Charles Dawson's child. Each morning she woke with hope mixed with fear, but the hope was dashed and the fear gained more ground. She wasn't sure if the spells of nausea were due to the pregnancy or her feelings about it. There could be nothing more that life could throw at her. Then she remembered that pregnancy was not a one-off event, but something she would have to live with every day for the rest of her life: a constant living reminder of the worst night of her life.

  She began staying in her room, pleading tiredness. Molly brought food up to her. The child noticed her pallor and increasing withdrawal and told her mother. Peggy, who had been avoiding Elizabeth out of guilt at her inability to ease her plight, climbed the stairs and confronted her guest.

  'Molly's worried about you. She says you're looking pale and she's absolutely right. Come on now. Pull yourself together girl. Moping all day long isn't going to make it better. There's worse things can happen to a woman than marrying a wealthy, old man.'

  She started to chuckle, then saw the distress in Elizabeth's eyes. She gathered her into her arms and sat beside her on the bed rocking her.

  'There, there, my honey. What's the matter? You frightened of Jack Kidd? Frightened about marriage to him? Are you nervous about leaving the city? I know you're far from home and with no family. Is that it? Tell me what's wrong.'

  Elizabeth's words were almost a whisper. 'I think I'm going to have a baby.'

  'Oh my good God! I knew there was more to it. You poor little thing! How long's it been?'

  'Over 8 weeks.'

  'Since the last time you've been with a man?'

  'There was only one time. He forced himself on me.' She stiffened and drew away from Peggy. The look of horror on the older woman's face angered her.

  'Yes I was raped.' She almost spat out the words.

  'Who did it to you, lovely?'

  'It doesn't matter who did it. It's enough that it happened. If I'm expecting a child I need to know. As well as being late, I feel sick all the time and seem to be drained of energy. And my breasts feel tender.' She almost choked on the words.

  'Yes I reckon you're in the family way.'

  'I can't possibly have this baby, Peggy! You have to help me.'

  'Help you?'

  'Yes help me to get rid of it.'

  'I can't do that, my love. It's against the law and I know nothing about such things.'

  'You must know. Surely? Please help me. I can't have it. I just can't. Tell me what I need to do. Where I can go?'

  'I don't think it's a good idea, Elizabeth. Not for a lovely girl like you. It's not nice what they'd have to do to you. And it's risky.'

  'I don't care about the risk. I've nothing to lose. If I can't get rid of this baby I'll kill myself. I've nothing to live for anyway.'

  'Don't talk like that dear. Please.'

  'My father did it, so I can do it too.'

  'Stop that talk now. I know you don't mean it. You're far too sensible for that.'

  Elizabeth lowered her head.

  After a few minutes, the older woman spoke again. 'Mrs Reynolds two doors down might be able to help. I'll have a word. If she can, you'll have to go there on your own. I have a reputation to think of. And I'll not have her in this house. I'll try and catch her at the fish market tomorrow and if she's willing, you can go to her place and she'll sort you out. It'll cost, mind.'

  'I have some money.'

  'You sure about this, girl? It's not pleasant.'

  Elizabeth nodded.

  'Very well, leave it with me.'

  Good as her word, Mrs Little made the necessary arrangements and Elizabeth found herself at the back door of one of the permanently curtained houses further down the street. The door was opened by a boy of about seven, who said nothing to her but shouted over his shoulder, 'Ma. For you.'

  She went in. It was a small, scruffy kitchen, smelling of fried fish and overcooked vegetables. Two ginger cats were asleep under the large deal table that dominated the room. Mrs Reynolds, a scrawny woman who looked as though she needed a good meal, looked Elizabeth up and down.

  'Quite the lady eh?'

  'Mrs Reynolds?'

  'Frank! Clear the table. Look sharp about it.'

  Ignoring Elizabeth, she went to a cupboard and began to rummage around inside, gathering together equipment. Elizabeth stood there, a feeling of mounting horror sweeping over her as she saw the length of tubing and the collection of metal instruments, all of which the woman pulled out of a canvass holdall. The boy grabbed the dirty plates and breadboard off the table and dumped them in the sink on top of an pile of unwashed dishes, then with the side of his hand, flicked the breadcrumbs onto the floor, where the cats sniffed them disdainfully.

  Mrs Reynolds turned to her. 'I need the cash up front. Did your friend tell you there's no refund if it doesn't work. But then it always works – one way or another. If anything goes wrong or you get ill and call a doctor you don't tell him about me. Clear?'

  Elizabeth nodded. 'Where are you going to do it?'

  'Here. Take your skirt, underwear and stockings off, and get on the table on your back, knees up and apart.' She turned to the little boy 'Hop it, Frank. Tell the girls I'm on a job and no one's to come in here till I'm done.'

  Elizabeth felt herself shrinking and took a step backwards.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. 'W
hat's up? Get on with it. Get yourself up on the table. I haven't got all day.'

  'It doesn't look very safe? Or very clean?' Elizabeth was speaking in little more than a whisper.

  'Bugger off then - you poms are all the same. Always moaning. If you want clean, white sheets, then cough up and get yourself a bloody doctor. The price you're paying me is the same as all the working girls round here pay and you'll get the same service they do. I'm risking the law to do this. When you're desperate you can't be fussy. So make your mind up and stop wasting my time.'

  Elizabeth jumped as she felt something warm brush against her legs. She looked down to see one of the cats rubbing itself against her ankle. A wave of nausea came over her and she stumbled to the doorway and out into the dark of the evening, gulping for fresh air.

  Peggy Little looked up and smiled as she entered the room. 'Couldn't go through with it? I'm not surprised, my love. She's not a nice woman that Mrs Reynolds and it's not a nice thing to do. Dangerous too. There's many girls die. I did warn you.'

  'It was horrible. It was so sordid. Her little boy was there and seemed to act as if it was normal and he was used to what was going on.'

  'Well, she's kept busy at it. She used to be on the game, but since she had her little lad I think she's concentrated on helping out girls that way.'

  'The place was filthy. The instruments she was going to use looked horrible. She was going to do it on the kitchen table with the dishes in the sink and the cats eating scraps off the floor. It was disgusting.'

  'I don't like to say it, love, but I told you so!'

  'What am I going to do now? I can't go through with what she wanted to do to me but I can't have a baby either!' Then she remembered that her panic over the baby had not removed the other looming problem – Jack Kidd and his intent to marry her in just a few days.

  'I'll tell Mr Kidd. He won't want to go ahead with the marriage when he knows I'm carrying another man's child.'

  'Are you crazy Elizabeth? You'll do no such thing. You must marry him. You'll need a father for the child. Don't tell him. Say the baby came early. Men often don't get these things.' She pressed on. 'You have to do it. Otherwise what'll become of you? You've no money and no family and once you have a child you've no means of working. No, my love, in time you'll give thanks that Jack Kidd came along when he did. Every cloud has a silver lining.'

  'I can't pretend the baby is his.'

  'Worry on that when the time comes. You aren't showing yet – by the time he finds out it'll be too late for him to do anything about it.'

  Elizabeth played with the corner of the coverlet, creasing it back and forth between her fingers. She weighed the older woman's words. With a new, hard edge to her voice she said. 'You're right. I have to marry him. I have no choice. I'll soon have a child I can only feel loathing for, so why not a husband I loathe too? It's almost fitting.'

  'Don't say such dreadful things, dear. I'm sorry about what's happened to you, but it's not the baby's fault. Don't take it out on an innocent child. God bless it.'

  'Don't be sentimental, Peggy. A man I hate forced this baby on me. I'll never look on it with anything other than revulsion. It'll be a constant reminder of the man and the humiliation and pain he put me through. It'll be easy enough for me to pretend that the child is Kidd's as I hold him in contempt too.'

  As she prepared for bed that night, Elizabeth looked in the mirror and saw a new hardness in her eyes. The sad young woman who had stepped off the ship was now determined. The unquestioning optimism that had once characterised her was gone. She found it hard to imagine a time when she had woken each day without a care beyond what clothes to wear and who would partner her in a game of doubles. It was even harder to imagine that she had once had hopes for a future that was contented, if vaguely defined. Now her future was a life sentence she had to serve.

  She slipped between the crisp cotton sheets, thinking about Michael Winterbourne. He was not the type of man she had been used to meeting in the drawing rooms of Northport. Many of those young men had gone off to fight the war and many, like Stephen, had failed to return or, like his friend Randolph Archer, had come back broken men, now closeted away because of "nervous troubles". Elizabeth had been saddened hearing the news of each, but in death they had become shadows, fading with each passing month. Even Stephen.

  Her relationship with Stephen had been affectionate and close. She had believed it was love, but she knew now it wasn't. Her feelings for him had never involved the longing and need that she had for Michael. She had not known what it was possible to feel for someone, until it was too late.

  She imagined Michael in shirtsleeves, walking across a field in the sunlight, his arms strong and his stride purposeful. It was hard to see him in an evening suit sitting in a box at a concert or sipping tea from a china cup. Yet she knew there was a depth to him. It was in his eyes - it was plain that he had lived through a lot, had suffered and was still suffering inside. The other men she had known lived life on the surface, inhabited the everyday world of commerce and social intercourse, never moving beyond these confines. Their talk was of politics, war and cricket, a ritual exchange of platitudes, never revealing what they really thought or felt. They discussed plans and ambitions, but centred on actions and events, never feelings or emotions: so it was hard to believe that they had any. Michael's emotions were exposed, raw and visible. The hurt was in the lines that furrowed his brow, the longing and hope in his eyes. She could not have done anything to avoid being drawn to him. And the pain he was going through at what had happened to his brother made her heart ache. She wanted to comfort him, reassure him, tell him how much she loved him.

  She would never see him again, nor enjoy a moment's happiness with him. But she could never be disappointed or hurt by him. He could be hers forever in a way that no one could take from her. She could not change what had happened, wipe out the memory of Charles Dawson, nor escape a lonely future as the wife of Jack Kidd, but she could build a refuge inside her head and share it with Michael Winterbourne.

  Chapter Eight – A Wedding

  The wedding service was mercifully brief. Peggy and Fred Little witnessed the ceremony and Molly was a charming but rather inappropriate last-minute addition as a bridesmaid, carrying a small bunch of daisies plucked from the pots that graced the guesthouse windowsills. Elizabeth would have preferred to conclude the matter without an audience and the presence of the little girl and her evident excitement at the romantic ideal of a wedding was almost unbearable. She herself carried no flowers. Her dress was a simple green silk shift, one of the few garments stuffed hastily in her suitcase by her sister. She wore it under her woollen coat as, when the sky clouded over, Sydney could be surprisingly cold. As if in acknowledgement of her own low spirits, it was a day of heavy cloud, with a bitter wind and driving rain.

  Jack Kidd wore the same ill-fitting suit he had worn to the funeral. From the way he fidgeted with the collar of his shirt, it was apparent that he couldn't wait to be released from it. Elizabeth avoided looking at him and whispered her responses so they were barely audible. She sensed him beside her and heard the heaviness of his breathing. When he placed the ring on her finger, she had to turn towards him, and she shivered as he held her hand ready for the ring. His hand was cold and dry, with callused fingers and dirt beneath the rough-edged nails. She glanced at his face, which was impassive. The wrinkles around his mouth and eyes were white against the tan of his leathery skin. She shuddered at the thought that soon she would be required to share a bed with him. There was no avoiding this either: not if she were to pass off the child as his.

  There was no wedding breakfast. Kidd was keen to get on their way. The journey would take two days and he wanted to waste no time. Elizabeth was relieved: standing around making small talk with the Littles held no appeal. What would in normal circumstances be a joyful event was the start of an indefinite prison sentence. Despite Peggy's good intentions and efforts at kindness, Elizabeth didn't linger over her goodby
es. A new life lay ahead. It might not be the one she wanted, but she might as well get on with it. There was no going back.

  They left Sydney in a pony and trap, the rear of which bore their luggage, such as it was. In Kidd's case, there was just a large canvas roll and in Elizabeth's, the bag her sister had packed. Her unplanned departure from England meant she had been ill-prepared for Australia, and the few garments she had were unsuitable for the life that lay ahead of her in the mountains. She mused on what it might hold for her as they trotted along in a silence for which she was grateful.

  From time to time she glanced sideways at the man beside her, but his expression was closed and he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His jacket, necktie and collar were consigned to the back of the trap in a heap under her luggage, and the top buttons of his shirt were now undone, under the protective cover of a large sheepskin coat.

  After several hours, the road left the plains and snaked its way through densely packed trees, curving with the line of the mountains ahead. The increasingly cold air was full of the scent of eucalyptus, which had an unchallenged dominance of the region. Mrs Little had told her that her journey would take her over the Great Dividing Range, into the Blue Mountains and that these had got their name from the blue haze that covered the hills. The road they were traveling on had been built with convict labour, in an engineering feat of about sixty years earlier, that was still the pride of New South Wales.

  Few motor cars or other vehicles passed them on the road, which took them through several settlements, but Kidd showed no sign of stopping. He swigged from a water bottle, which he handed to her, signalling silently that she could take a drink if she wished. She shook her head. Thirst was preferable to putting her mouth around the bottle after his. She leaned against the wooden seat and let the motion of the trap and the steady clop of the pony's hooves lull her to sleep.