by Robert Gott
‘Because he’s still a child, Johanna.’
‘What Mr Abbot says to me is nothing, really. It’s schoolboy stuff.’
‘My brother, on the other hand, is another matter.’
‘Do you think I lead him on?’
‘No, Johanna, I don’t, and I believe every word of what you said. The question now is, what do we do?’
‘Should I report him to the police?’
‘You should, but I know my brother, and I know that he’ll make your life hell, and that it will be your reputation that gets destroyed, not his. He’s worked hard to get where he is, and he’ll do anything to protect himself. He’ll ruin your family, and think nothing of it.’
‘Can you stop him coming out to the farm?’
‘I don’t see how. What I can do is make absolutely sure that I’m with you at all times when he’s there. I know that’s not satisfactory and that just having him there is threatening, but I can protect you. Has he ever approached you in Port Fairy?’
‘No, never.’
‘That’d be risky for him. I think you’ll be okay here. What about Timothy? He won’t do anything silly, will he, when he thinks about what you’ve told him?’
Johanna was suddenly uncertain.
‘I don’t think so, but I don’t know him well enough. Like you say, he’s a child in lots of ways.’
‘But he’s a tall, strong child. I think we can sort this out with time. I’ll talk to Matthew, which will be extremely unpleasant, and threaten him with telling Dorothy that her fiancé isn’t the man she thinks he is. I think that has to come from me, Johanna. He can’t attack my reputation without compromising the family name.’
As soon as she’d said this, she realised that Aunt Aggie might be an unwilling ally in curbing Matthew’s baser instincts. He might listen to her. If he felt her disapproval, he might even feel some remorse. He was close to Aggie. Her opinion mattered, or so Rose thought.
‘Please come out to the farm tomorrow, Johanna. We can’t do without you. I can assure you that you’ll hear no more silly remarks from John, and I think I can safely say that Matthew won’t ever step out of line again.’
Johanna wasn’t entirely reassured, but she was relieved not to have been dismissed, and so relieved that Mrs Abbot hadn’t doubted her story that she agreed to turn up for work in the morning.
‘My parents must never know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what Dad would do if he found out.’
Rose stood up, and the sound of her doing so covered Tom Scotney’s retreat from where he’d been listening at the door.
Rose remained at the Scotneys’ front gate for a moment. She thought that the interview with Johanna had gone as well as could be expected. The fact that John had been no more than vulgar had removed an enormous weight from her shoulders, and the news about Matthew hadn’t really surprised her. If Johanna had told her that Matthew had actually raped her, she would have seen this as entirely consistent with his character. My brother, she thought, is an awful man. She didn’t hate him, did she? She thought about this as she walked to Aunt Aggie’s house. She hoped Matthew and Dorothy hadn’t gone back there with her after Mass. She wanted to speak with her in private, and she decided that she wouldn’t spare her feelings. Aggie wouldn’t want to believe that Matthew was capable of sexual impropriety — and Rose would use the term in the hope that it shocked Aggie into listening to her attentively.
Aggie answered Rose’s knock. She’d only just got back from Mass, and hadn’t yet changed out of her good clothes.
‘I didn’t see you at Mass.’
‘I was there, Aunt Aggie, down the back.’
‘Was John with you?’
‘No, he wasn’t.’
Aggie made a small sound, and admitted Rose. She offered her a cup of tea, which Rose declined. She wanted to get this out of the way.
‘Aunt Aggie, can we sit down? I want to talk to you about something very important, and it’s very difficult for me to do it, so I’m going to go feet first. What I’m going to say will upset you.’
‘Why would you want to upset me?’
‘I don’t want to do it, but something bad has happened, and I need your help.’
Aggie became less defensive.
‘Has your husband been hitting you? I always thought it would come to this. He’s a brute. No one in the family has the foggiest notion why you married him in the first place.’
‘My husband is not a brute, and he would no more hit me than he’d hit you, or anybody else, for that matter. He certainly would never hit a woman.’
Aggie, unconvinced and unapologetic, said, ‘Well, so you say. Go on.’
‘The person whose behaviour has been disgusting is Matthew.’
Aggie put up both hands.
‘No, no, no. I won’t get involved in some trivial sibling dispute. Whatever Matthew has done, I’m sure he had good reason, and if he said something unkind to you, I’m sure he was well and truly provoked. You can be very provoking. To call it disgusting is hysterical and ridiculous.’
‘Matthew interfered with Johanna Scotney.’
Aggie stared at Rose.
‘I was at Mass this morning,’ she said, ‘with Matthew and his fiancée and his future father-in-law. I can’t bear to repeat what you just said. It’s too ugly, and it’s quite simply an evil thing to say, and yet you come into my house and you say it.’
Aggie’s face was contorted with an emotion that Rose took to be hatred. Hatred — her aunt hated her.
‘It’s the truth, and it has to be said.’
‘The truth, is it?’
‘Johanna Scotney has no reason to lie.’
‘She’s that girl who works for you. She’s a Protestant slut who doubtless was surprised when Matthew turned away her advances, and this is her revenge.’
‘That’s absurd, Aunt Aggie.’
Aggie’s voice was ominously calm.
‘Did you think, did you really think, that you could come to me and ask me to help you ruin Matthew’s reputation by accepting the truth of that wicked accusation?’
‘I’m here because I want you to help me protect Matthew’s reputation by getting him to see that he has to stop.’
Aggie laughed.
‘You’re a stupid woman, Rose. You’re jealous of your own brother — of his looks, of his position in this town, and of his intelligence. I will not let you go any further with this nonsense. I have absolutely no intention of mentioning this conversation to Matthew, and I assure you, if I hear a whisper of this in the town, Johanna Scotney will pay dearly. I’d suggest you let her go. She’s a trollop. Next she’ll be accusing John of interfering with her.’ She paused. ‘She’s a poisonous little bitch, and so are you.’
Rose’s head snapped back in shock.
‘I don’t want you to come here any more. Your visits have never been pleasant. I’m ashamed of you. I’m ashamed that you’re my niece. Your mother, of course, is a Presbyterian.’
‘She’s also Matthew’s mother.’
‘Matthew is all his father. You should leave now.’
‘This isn’t going to go away, Aunt Aggie, just because you don’t want to talk about it. Matthew interfered with Johanna Scotney, and something must be done about it.’ These words were said fiercely. Aggie’s face flushed red.
‘Leave my house.’
Afterwards, Rose was amazed by her aunt’s control. Everything she’d said had been expressed without raising her voice. The effect was to make Rose see for the first time the extent to which Aggie was in Matthew’s thrall. There was something disturbing about this. This was more than an aunt’s affection for her nephew; it was more than family loyalty. There was an obsessive quality to it. All right then, Aggie was out of the picture. Not being welcome in her house was hardly
a punishment. The only thing about it that Rose regretted was that it made their family one of those tawdry ones whose members engaged in feuds, or refused to speak to each other. There was nothing for it now but to confront Matthew. He’d be as unreasonable and hostile as Aunt Aggie, and Rose didn’t feel up to approaching him that afternoon.
She walked back to the church, where she’d left the truck. To calm herself down, she drove around the streets of Port Fairy. It was a neat town, its uncomfortable, small cottages lending it an air of quiet, English respectability. People worked hard to earn a living here, and they weren’t given to extravagance of any kind. The houses themselves seemed to impose a modesty of expression and expectation. Port Fairy was not a place for grand gestures, either civil or personal. There were, of course, undertows beneath the slightly tired, surface elegance. Someone like Johanna Scotney could be dragged under by cruel innuendo. She had to be protected. Rose pulled over and tried to think how this might best be accomplished.
LATE ON SUNDAY night, Aggie Todd sat up in bed, reading. She always did this before going to sleep, and her preferred author was Trollope. She’d read it before, but she’d taken up The Eustace Diamonds again. For a moment, she thought she heard an odd sound near the front of the house. She always locked her back door to keep Selwyn from wandering into the kitchen uninvited. She rarely bothered to lock the front door, despite Matthew encouraging her to do so. ‘There are bad types in this town,’ he used to warn. It would never occur to Selwyn to come around to the front. He was too stupid — Aggie was confident of that. She listened for a moment, heard nothing more, and returned to her book. On the edge of sleep she turned out the light and splayed the novel on the bedclothes beside her. She’d always been a good sleeper, and would often say that she’d sleep through a bombing raid, should the Japs ever make it to Port Fairy. She slept deeply, and she hardly ever slept in. She was usually up and dressed by 5.30 am, especially in summer.
Monday morning was no exception. She looked through the kitchen window to Selwyn’s shed. The door was open, but Selwyn would still be in there, snoring and farting. Sometimes she locked him in at night. Mostly she didn’t. She’d rather he urinated in the backyard or the toilet than in a bucket, which she’d have to empty and clean. She put wood on to get the stove going, and set about making a cup of tea. She’d also have one of the eggs Matthew had brought. She thought about the incident with Rose, and her indignation flared. How dare that silly, jealous woman make such outrageous accusations against her own brother? She was tempted to warn Matthew that his sister had turned against him, but decided it was best he not know. Why should a man of his calibre have to be put in the ignominious position of defending himself against the slander of some jumped-up little slattern like … what was the girl’s name? … Johanna something-or-other? He shouldn’t be exposed to the poisonous jealousies of others.
As the egg clattered around the side of the saucepan in which it was being boiled, Aggie thought she might write her vile niece a letter, telling her exactly what she thought of her, what she’d always thought of her. She had no intention of ever speaking to her again, and she didn’t care if people noticed. They probably wouldn’t notice anyway. They were too busy with their own lives, and how often was she seen talking to Rose, anyway? At Mass from time to time, but when the ladies visited for morning tea they never asked after Rose — only Matthew. On a couple of occasions, Matthew had visited during an apostle-spoon event, and how he had beguiled them!
‘Such a good-looking young man,’ Mrs Crockett had said, ‘and such lovely manners. Dorothy Shipman is a lucky girl.’
Well, Lucy Crockett was right about Dorothy Shipman being a lucky girl. She wasn’t nearly good enough for Matthew.
A few sips of tea quelled Aggie’s fierce feelings about her niece, and she took the top off her egg and ate its just-right centre with one of her apostle spoons. It was the perfect size for scooping out the insides of an egg. The scrabbling of a bird’s feet on the edge of the guttering made her recall that unusual sound she’d heard the night before. Perhaps Matthew had left something for her on the doorstep, and it had been far too late to disturb her. He was thoughtful like that. She left the kitchen, and as she walked down the corridor towards the front door and passed the front room, she saw a shape of someone sitting in the armchair. She gave a little cry of fright, but relaxed immediately when she realised that it was Matthew. He was sleeping. He’d never done this before. Perhaps he’d had a row with Dorothy and hadn’t wanted to be on his own, so he’d come to her, let himself in, and fallen asleep in the chair. That must have been the sound she’d heard. It was so like him not to upset her, or disturb her. She smiled. He was so beautiful. Should she let him sleep? He looked uncomfortable. He’d have a terrible crick in his neck when he woke up. She decided to wake him, but before she did, she returned to the kitchen, made a fresh pot of tea, and put another egg on. At least she could give him something for breakfast. She went back to the front room and called his name softly.
‘Matthew — time to wake up.’
She opened the curtains, and sunlight flooded the room. When she saw Matthew’s face, she couldn’t immediately make sense of why his skin was such a peculiar colour. His tongue protruded from his lips, and drool had dried on his chin. A nasty smell came off him, which, to her horror, she recognised as excrement. She shrank back to the door of the front room and tried unsuccessfully to make some sort of sound. She was dizzy, and sat heavily against the corridor wall. For several seconds, Aggie’s world was one of echoes and nausea. She couldn’t force meaning onto the scene in the room. She must have passed out, because she found herself lying on the floor, the linoleum cold against her cheek. Something had happened, but what was it? Had she had a stroke? She’d been dreaming something, and now she was on the floor. Was she paralysed? She moved her limbs. Everything was working. There was something or someone in the front room. She stood, weak and juddery. That dreadful smell seemed to have been released by the sunlight, and it reached her. It hadn’t been a dream. Matthew Todd, the most important part of her life, the very best part of it, sat there, dead in the armchair. And Aggie knew who had killed him. Oh yes, she knew all right.
AGGIE OUGHT TO have telephoned the police. However, a strange calm had come upon her, and with it an absolute certainty that she had to act on Matthew’s behalf. Retribution was her duty. Matthew would demand nothing less, and he certainly deserved nothing less. There was a higher justice that needed to be attended to here, higher than the clumsy, slow-moving justice of the courts. The smell now coming from the front room threatened to diminish Aggie’s sense of Matthew’s death calling her to noble acts, as did the hum that signalled the arrival of the first flies. She closed the door, being careful not to catch another glimpse of that awful blue-and-purple face, and telephoned the Abbot’s farm. It was barely 6.00 am, but Rose and her husband would have risen long before to begin the first milking. Presumably the slanderous and wicked Johanna would also be there. There was a pause after the telephone was picked up, and Aggie surmised that John Abbot had answered it and passed it to Rose. Rose’s simple ‘Yes?’ was full of surprise that anyone would ring at such an hour.
‘It’s your Aunt Aggie, Rose.’
Aggie’s voice was unstrained.
‘Aunt Aggie?’
‘Yes. I’ve slept on what you told me yesterday, and I feel I was rather harsh and unfair to you.’
‘I see.’ Rose didn’t see at all.
‘I spoke to Matthew after you left, and I must say I was rather set back by the way he spoke to me. I mentioned that girl’s name, and he was, well, he became quite vulgar about her. I don’t know what’s come over him, but I’m sure there’s more to this than meets the eye. He’ll be here in half an hour. We need to sort this out now, this morning. Can you come? It won’t take you 15 minutes to get here, and we can discuss what it is we’re going to say before Matthew gets here. And come through the back gat
e. Matthew might not come in if he knows you’re here.’
Aggie spoke quickly, not giving Rose time to comprehend fully what she was saying.
‘It’s very early, Aunt Aggie. There’s the milking …’
‘Rose, if you don’t come I’ll have no choice but to take what you told me to the police.’
‘So you believe Johanna Scotney?’
Aggie paused for effect.
‘Yes, I’m afraid I do. I’ll tell you why when you get here.’
‘All right.’
Aggie collected her thoughts. She had only a vague idea what she was going to do. She had no choice; that much was clear. Matthew’s desecrated body gave her no choice. As she waited for Rose to arrive, she was elated by the sensation that she’d always had this in her, this capacity to act decisively and righteously. She’d never been called on to do so before. Her life had been one of quiet service, but building inevitably to this great test. The burden that Selwyn had placed upon her, and which she’d borne with fortitude, made sense to her now. Her reward wouldn’t be in Heaven — Father Brennan was wrong about that, but he was wrong about most things. Her reward would come to her in a few minutes.
There was one thing she needed to do. She went out into Selwyn’s shed, holding her breath against the fug of body odour and stale air, and picked up his slate. He was sound asleep, and didn’t hear her. Outside, she scratched on its surface, ‘I done it because I hate them.’ She held the slate away from her. That wouldn’t do — the letters were too well formed, and the word ‘because’ was too sophisticated to be convincing. As far as the people of Port Fairy were concerned, Selwyn had no vocabulary at all, but Aggie knew she could claim that this wasn’t the case, and that when he was at home he would often say a few simple things. People saw him scratching away on his filthy slate every day. How would they know whether or not he could form letters?
