The Scandalous Life of Sasha Torte

by Lesley Truffle

  ‘Dolores, this is not good. Is our Tim in danger?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nah. I had a bit of a snoop around the Riff and bought drinks for them whores who service the wharfies. Those slappers would sell their grandmothers for a flask of gin. Anyway you haven’t got no worries. Those girls reckon Tim’s in the clear because money changed hands to buy him an alibi.’

  Dolores was right. Seven dockers lied through their teeth and swore they’d seen Tim disembark from the Desperado, which made port the day after Brick’s murder. And when the detectives followed it up, they found Tim’s O’Flaherty’s name boldly printed in the Desperado’s passenger log book.

  Despite the obliteration of an entire gang and Slipsey Brick’s very public murder not one single witness came forward. The whole of Wolfftown was closed mouthed. Even the Wolff clan didn’t feel any moral obligation to dob the killers in.

  It had been carnage on a grand scale but the law quietly closed the case. And let’s face it, the criminals who were under suspicion had all been picked off and murdered. It’s hard to prosecute when all the persons of interest have been buried. So the detectives went home to Hobart, and Wolfftown breathed a sigh of relief.

  If our beloved founders had been listening in from their crypt, they would’ve been immensely pleased. The deviancy, cunning and duplicity demonstrated by Wolfftown’s denizens was both exemplary and outstanding.

  We’d done Emerl and Marigold Wolff proud.

  26

  HIS LORDSHIP’S DEMON ROD

  So here I sit in this wretched place, feeling sorry for myself and mostly alone. Today my sole companion is a sulky goldfish. Alphonse has been out of sorts lately and I don’t know why. I’m suspicious that he’s hiding something because he’s been avoiding my gaze. Being a dragon eye goldfish this is difficult for him as his eyes are large, bulbous and somewhat telescopic. No doubt all will be revealed in the fullness of time.

  A few months ago I thought that Alphonse might cheer up if he had a companion and I presented him with a female goldfish named Dorothy. She’s a glamourous fantail goldfish with a glittering egg-shaped body and high dorsal fin. Alphonse was unimpressed and went into a black sulk. He took to relentlessly nipping poor Dorothy’s fins. You can imagine her distress. After three days of his ungentlemanly behaviour I had no choice but to get Bruce to release Dorothy back into Mill Pond. Alphonse always knows how to make his feelings known.

  If only one’s feelings were easier to hide. When I saw Viola yesterday she tried to lift my gloomy demeanour. ‘Sasha, cheer up. You’re rarely alone. You’ve always got a stream of friends visiting you, including Dolores, Charlie, Maggie, Tim and Snuff. Then there’s the ghosts: Adam, Lil, Brendan, Becky and numerous gaol shades to keep you company. And of course there’s your admirers, gentlemen bearing costly gifts and the ever so mattressable Ned Bantam. Don’t look so surprised! Becky tells me everything I want to know. I did warn you that she’s a mischief maker. Now for God’s sake, pull yourself together and let’s think of how we can extricate you from this ghastly predicament.’

  ‘I’m trying, Viola. Milton was here this morning. He warned me that even if the appeal goes well, the law moves extremely slowly. My incarceration could drag on for years. It’s impossible not to feel glum, even though Lily and Grandpa are optimistic about the outcome.’

  She touched me gently on the cheek. ‘We need you to toughen up, Sasha. Keep dwelling on the dark side and you’ll bring the devil to your door.’

  I know Viola’s right but I’m finding it increasingly difficult not to give in and become a passive victim. My thoughts keep reverting to the poison intended for Roger Dasher.

  I’m in a state of high anxiety. At present I find nourishing sleep both desirable and unachievable. Fortunately, Adam keeps strange hours and often at night I sense him watching over me. I love it when he manifests to tell me about his adventures with the gods, the underworld and Lucifer himself. I’ve yet to work out exactly what Adam gets up to between heaven and hell, for whenever I ask too many questions he distracts me by making love. It’s impossible to resist my captain. I won’t reveal any more intimate details but I will tell you this; sexual congress with a handsome, intelligent, insatiable ghost is one of the most extraordinary things that can happen to one.

  Three days ago Captain Delon arranged delivery of a wooden box to the gaol. It bore no customs seals, so presumably money changed hands to allow the poison clear passage without officials being involved. Delon must know whose palms to grease.

  Ned warned me not to open the box until he gets here. It’s grotesque, squatting on the ground floor like a malignant toad. I can feel its presence four floors up. Temptation in its purest form. The poison scares me yet I’m thinking of inflicting it on myself rather than my tormentor. I must put an end to these dangerous thoughts.

  Alphonse is lying very still in his bowl, dorsal fin sagging. Only his twitching bulbous eyes indicate he’s still with the living. He’s off his tucker and seems preoccupied. Obviously he can sense the evil downstairs. When he’s melancholy I usually transfer him to a jar and take him for an evening carriage ride. Alphonse enjoys the night air and it never fails to lift his spirits, as it does mine. Although I do wonder what Grandpa is getting up to in my absence. He opted to come back as a thirty-year-old and he’s having a marvellous time running amok and making mischief with the gaol’s ghosts. Lily is going spare trying to keep him in line.

  I’m no longer allowed to call him Grandpa. He reckons, ‘Now I’m a devilishly handsome young bloke it would be inappropriate. Besides, possum, I can’t have you cramping my style. Not that I’ve got any ghostly ladies in mind right now.’

  Viola and I suspect he’s wooing Becky but he denies it. I became aware he fancied her when he said, ‘I’ve noticed Becky has several Kane characteristics. She’s recklessly wanton, irreverent, flamboyant and unpredictable. I like that in a woman.’

  Recently Shirley has been steeping herself in morbid tales of ghosts, witchcraft and voodoo. She now cheerfully refers to Alphonse as ‘Miss Sasha’s familiar’. While other psychics cohabit with slinky felines or talking horses, yours truly is in close companionship with a bad-tempered goldfish. Somewhere, somebody is having a laugh at my expense.

  Theo was up here a few minutes ago. He doesn’t know what’s in the box but he’s wary of it.

  ‘Miss Torte, ah, I’m wondering about that strange box downstairs.’

  ‘Allow no one to touch it, Theo. No one.’

  ‘No worries. I don’t want nothing to do with it. Bruce and Shirley reckon it contains something dodgy. Nearly forgot to tell you, that yellow-bellied lawyer, Freebank, was seen again on the road up to the Dasher Estate.’

  ‘Good heavens, again?’

  ‘Yep. Your informant wants more money too.’

  ‘I see. How much is required this time?’

  Theo was so indignant he could barely get the words out. ‘Forty bloody pounds of his Majesty’s currency!’

  Poor Theo. At heart he’s an honest man. He hates having to deal on a fiscal level with such scum. Sadly scum always rises to the top. I gave Theo the requested amount, plus a little something for himself.

  Melancholic thoughts are pressing down on me and I can write no more today. I need a distraction.

  Well, I’m back at work, pen firmly in hand. Despite a monumental hangover. There’s no rest for the wicked in this neck of the woods. Last night, after I put my memoir aside, a distraction arrived in the form of a visit from Viola.

  Being engrossed by news of a maritime disaster in the Atlantic, she initially made no mention of the poison. She said the ship was a White Star liner called the Titanic. It’s a tragedy so preposterous that I suspect the vindictive hand of Nemesis.

  Viola refused to sit down and paced the floor.

  ‘Mr Denholm told me the news in the strictest confidence. He could barely contain himself. He knows everything. I suspect he gets his information directly from Rufus.’

  �
�Viola, get on with it!’

  ‘The cruise ship is best described as a maritime Hotel du Barry. If you belonged to the upper classes, you sailed in unparalleled luxury. But heaven help you if you were a stoker in the hell holes below. Clare Dasher and her eldest son, Lord Caesar Dasher, were on board. The two of them were on a research expedition. The Dasher Trading Company is expanding into European luxury cruise ships. Caesar wanted to get business out of the way before his impending nuptials. But two nights ago the ship sank, even though it was reputed to be unsinkable.’

  ‘Unsinkable? Is that even possible?’

  ‘Well, it was advertised as being the safest ship ever built and the most scientifically advanced. The owners bragged that their ship could survive anything contrived by man or nature. However, shortly before midnight she hit an iceberg.’

  ‘An iceberg!’

  ‘Yes, you know all that business about only a small part of an iceberg being visible.’

  ‘Ah. How dreadful.’

  ‘It’s a tragedy that shouldn’t have happened. Clare and Caesar went down with the ship. There simply weren’t enough lifeboats. One newspaper journalist claimed that it was a vanity decision because lifeboats had been deemed as unnecessary and unsightly.’

  ‘If it’s true the owners must be deemed culpable.’

  ‘Exactly. Apparently brave musicians played medleys and ragtime as the ship went down. The crew of an old liner, the Carpathia, saved as many as they could.’

  ‘One feels such helpless rage at the vicissitudes of life. How did Roger take this terrible news?’

  ‘He locked himself in the Dasher Estate cellars. I bumped into Rufus at the fishmonger’s and he quietly informed me that he’s telling everyone Roger is crazed with grief. But in actual fact Roger is carousing in the cellars with three of Clops McCoy’s whores and drinking deeply of the wines imported for Caesar’s forthcoming wedding. I really feel for Caesar’s fiancée.’

  ‘Is that the girl from Zeehan?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Julia Vargos. When she heard the news the poor girl had to be sedated. She’s very much in love with Caesar. Roger refuses to have anything to do with Miss Vargos or the Dasher family priest. He yelled through the locked door that he intends remaining in the cellar until he can legally assume the title Lord Dasher.’

  ‘I didn’t think he could sink any lower. But I was wrong.’

  ‘It gets worse. Rufus said Roger’s appetite is undiminished and he’s demanding trays of food be left outside the cellar door. He’s ordering up dozens of fresh oysters in their shells, accompanied by bread and butter soldiers. Roger is mad for live oysters. That’s why Rufus was making a special trip to the fishmonger’s.’

  ‘Why live oysters? Is it something to do with their aphrodisiac properties?’

  ‘No. He informed Rufus he’d developed, “A new appreciation for the taste of the sea.” Apparently he likes to watch the oysters squirm when he squeezes lemon juice on them.’

  ‘Christ. He never tires of contriving new ways of being obnoxious. Do you think Roger’s so twisted that he perceives Caesar’s death to be a stroke of good luck?’

  Viola said nothing but I knew what she was thinking.

  Hopefully Clare Dasher was in her usual inebriated state and not aware she’d come to the end of a lifelong party. What a horrible way to die. Freezing to death in icy foreign waters.

  After Viola left I asked Theo to track down a mainland newspaper. The gaol operates on black market principles and by tapping into this dark network of thieves, Theo managed to intercept a quality Melbourne newspaper, originally destined for Governor Clements. The newspaper contained an interview with one of the known survivors, Gemima Pinkerton, Clare Dasher’s personal maid. Gemima swears like a foot soldier, so I knew instinctively the journalist had rephrased what she’d actually said.

  Apparently when Clare realised the Titanic was going down she decked herself out with the entire contents of her jewellery casket. Gemima described Lady Dasher on that fateful night as appearing from her cabin wearing her best opera-length white fur coat and layers of diamonds. Caesar tried to persuade his mother to take her designated place on a lifeboat but she refused to get in. Instead she ordered Gemima to take her seat. Clare then placed most of her jewellery around Gemima’s thin neck. She’s quite a petite girl so she would have been weighed down by all those costly rocks. Clare only retained her favourite diamond choker and an elegant pair of diamond earrings. It saddened me to think of that brave woman, surveying her jewellery casket for the last time, choosing which pieces she should wear to ensure a dignified death.

  Lady Dasher was quoted as saying to her maid, ‘These diamonds shall be your dowry, Gemima. They are my parting gift to you. But there is one condition attached. My dear, you must promise me that you will only marry a man you know I’d approve of.’

  When Gemima tried to remove the diamonds from around her neck and refused to usurp her mistress’s place on the lifeboat, Lady Dasher strong-armed her into the boat. ‘Do as I say, or I shall get very cross. Caesar and I shall die together. I know my dear boy will not rest until he’s saved as many women and children as possible. For not only is Caesar a professional sea captain of great integrity but he’s also a Dasher by birth. And we Dashers are renowned for our unwavering commitment to the ideals of courage, self-sacrifice and moral fortitude.’

  Clearly her Ladyship didn’t have Roger in mind at the time.

  I’ve asked Ned to bring the poison upstairs. He wants to get rid of it but I refuse to do so. Such potency. It makes it hard to think. My intuition tells me the poison is keen to let the killing begin. I’ve hidden it in the sideboard cupboard so I don’t have to look at it. Subterfuge makes no difference as its ugly spirit has already entered my tower. The poison waits while I dither. Alphonse refuses to look me in the eye, he’s willing me to get rid of it.

  Ned stayed last night and not even his lovemaking could prevent me from thinking about the poison. One should never complain about having a libertine lover as they tend to be experts in the erotic arts. I’m sure many women could testify to Ned’s expertise. Myself included.

  During the night a storm raged up and down the coast, ripping at walls, nipping at roofs, tearing up trees and hurling hailstones onto the prison’s iron roof. Sleep was virtually impossible and I tossed and turned. Even Ned’s vigilant presence couldn’t calm me down. I sensed that strange creatures were abroad. Doors shook and rattled as ghosts peered through windows and clattered around inside cupboards and wardrobes. Ned’s dogs were on edge and they howled most of the night which stretched my nerves to breaking point. I also thought I could hear poltergeists and ghouls playing skittles with my champagne bottles.

  Theo told me yesterday, ‘Them rats is nibbling away at the Veuve Clicquot corks again. I ain’t been able to catch them. Not even with big chunks of your best French Camembert cheese.’

  Apparently the cellar’s rats can ease off the Camembert without setting off the traps. One despairs, yet at the same time I feel a grudging respect for their survival instincts.

  This morning at dawn, Ned leant his naked body over my pillow. ‘I’m very concerned about you, Sasha. You’re low in spirit and Shirley thinks you may harm yourself. Allow me to rid you of the poison. I can get my brother, Captain Sam Bantam, to take it on board his ship the Tiger and dump it in the ocean. Sasha, I’ve never said I love you but as you know –’

  ‘Oh, Ned –’

  ‘Don’t say it. I’m well aware that Captain Dasher possesses your heart. Jesus, I wish you’d lie to me occasionally.’

  I stroked his face. ‘If you insist darling, I will do so.’

  ‘Fine. And while you’re at it could you ask the captain to bugger off when I’m making love to you? It’s bloody difficult trying to pleasure you when all I can hear is Adam sniggering. At least Lil and Brendan have the grace to make themselves scarce at bedtime.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with him. You know, darling, I think you’re everything a woman
could possibly wish for in a lover.’

  He kissed me but I could tell he was really put out.

  I added, ‘Adam is just jealous of you, that’s all.’

  He looked tremendously pleased. It was my first blatant lie to Ned. I should lie more often.

  ‘Sasha, I’m going to Melbourne on business for three days. And when I get back I want you to hand over that fucking poison. It has to go or it will destroy you.’

  I know Ned’s right.

  Being incarcerated in prison is almost an invitation to contemplate suicide. We artisans have a less tenuous grip on life than most. Many men in the arts have been touched by despair: Blake, Coleridge, Balzac, Boswell, Tolstoy, Byron, Handel and Beethoven to name a few. Very little has been written about melancholic female artists, but I’m quite sure they’re equally unstable.

  On a daily basis I have to struggle against sadness and despair. My emotional state is not as orderly as those around me. Why grow old? Why fade? Why let joints stiffen? Why let the mind slow? No one wants to be around a misery guts so I try my best to be cheerful. But I’d be lying if I told you I no longer feared the Kane curse.

  I have no doubt that hedonism is a useful distraction from the abyss. As Bryon so ably demonstrated – love, lust, the arts, travel and fine cuisine can distract one from peering too closely into the void.

  Immoderation is my natural state. Sometimes when Ned and I are making love, I experience the desire to burst out laughing. Mirth grips me and buoyancy spins me up to the ceiling and flips me out of the prison. Lesser men would undoubtedly become nervous at having a woman turn hysterical in their arms. Fortunately Ned is supremely confident of his masculinity.

  I like arrogance in a man as long as it doesn’t seek to diminish me or harm others. But there’s nothing worse than a cowardly male who uses bluster and arrogance to camouflage his failure as a human being. Dear reader, you must know whom I’m referring to.