‘I won’t look like a boy in them,’ Dulcie grinned. ‘Just you wait.’
‘Ross might not like it,’ Betty said darkly. ‘Men are funny about things like that.’
‘Too bad,’ Dulcie said with a toss of her head. Maybe she would rebel in her own little way. Her wages had been put up to two pounds a week since her seventeenth birthday, so she could afford to buy a few new clothes that would make Ross’s eyes pop out of his head. She wasn’t going to creep round him any more either. He’d have to come begging for kisses.
Chapter Fifteen
‘A maid!’ May exclaimed in horror. ‘You said you’d find me a job in an office!’
May’s fifteenth birthday was only one week away and for the last couple of months she’d spent every waking hour in daydreams of swarming around a city centre office being admired by all the male staff. When she was called over this afternoon to Mother’s study she imagined she was going to be told the location of this place.
‘With an office job you would have no accommodation, May,’ Mother said sharply ‘Rooms are too expensive for a young girl just starting out and I don’t believe you would be able to deal with living alone anyway. Besides, you need to learn to type and do shorthand to get a good office job, you can do that at night school with this job.’
‘Where is it?’ May asked suspiciously. ‘If it’s out in the bush I’m not going.’
‘It isn’t out in the bush, it’s here in Perth, in Peppermint Grove, and Mrs Wilberforce is a relative of mine.’
May was slightly cheered by Peppermint Grove. She had been there several times with Mother and it was a nice area with beautiful houses, set beside the River Swan, with Cottesloe beach only a twenty-minute walk away. But she didn’t like the idea one bit that it was to work for a relative of Mother’s. Everything she said and did would be reported back, not to mention Mother dropping in all the time.
But of course she couldn’t say that. ‘What does a maid do?’ she asked.
‘Answer the door and telephone. Washing, ironing, helping with the cooking, cleaning. Mrs Wilberforce entertains a great deal and when she has guests she’d expect you to wait at the table. But it is not a hard job, May, and the experience could be invaluable to you as Mrs Wilberforce is a real lady and likes everything done as it should be, you can learn a great deal from her. You can attend night school twice a week, and she’ll give you a whole day off, plus four pounds a week wages.’
The thought of four pounds a week almost wiped out May’s reservations. That was a pound more than Dulcie got at eighteen! ‘Can I meet Mrs Wilberforce first?’ she asked.
‘I shall be taking you there for an interview tomorrow,’ Mother said. ‘Now, just be sweet and willing like you can be when you want to, and I’m sure Mrs Wilberforce will take you on. You see, she particularly wants an English girl, and one who speaks well. She is English herself, her husband is Australian of course, he’s my second cousin. He is a banker, and they have two married sons.’
May didn’t entirely believe that this job would be a good one, she had stopped believing anything the woman said after she’d discovered she’d lied about Dulcie’s letters. She hadn’t forgotten either that she would probably never have been told about her father dying back in England but for Mr and Mrs French coming to the convent. Not that either of those things mattered too much now, all May wanted to do was get out of this place and away from Mother.
After being dismissed, May didn’t go back to the schoolroom as she should have, but skirted round the side of the chapel and sat down on a secluded bench. She’d missed many a morning or afternoon of school this way, the Sisters just assumed she was still with Reverend Mother. She put her arm down through the back of the bench and rescued her cigarette tin from its hiding place. While in Perth with Mother about a year ago, she’d gone into a sweet shop owned by an old lady and made conversation with her. By her second visit she’d made the old girl trust her so much she asked May to mind the shop while she went and put her kettle on for a cup of tea. It was so easy to steal a couple of packets of cigarettes and slip them up the elastic of her knicker legs. She did the same again every time she went to Perth, and it was doubly rewarding as the old lady always gave her a bar of chocolate just for coming to see her.
May would’ve liked to share the cigarettes with another girl, but there was no one here she could trust. All the girls were jealous of her, they would do or say anything to get her into trouble, and it wasn’t worth taking that risk now she had so little time left here.
Opening up the tin, she took one cigarette from the packet of Craven A inside and lit it, hiding the tin again afterwards. As she leaned back to enjoy it, her mind turned to all her other hiding places. There was a tin in the woodshed holding nylon stockings, lipsticks, nail varnish and other cosmetics. Down at the pig sty a small tin holding almost ten pounds was tucked away behind a broken brick. In the boiler-room was a cardboard box containing a tight pale blue skirt, a white blouse, some underwear and a pair of high-heeled shoes.
Clothes were so easy to steal, she’d got them on two separate occasions when she’d been in Boan’s department store with Mother. As she was already carrying a large store bag holding purchases Mother had made, it was a cinch to slip something else in. The real difficulty was getting it out of the bag when she got back here without Mother noticing anything. Fortunately both times Mother had sent her into the convent ahead of her, and she’d slipped her items into the broom cupboard a couple of doors away from Mother’s study, then retrieved them later, hiding them under her cardigan.
Stealing the shoes was her biggest triumph, for she’d done it right under Mother’s nose. Mother was buying a new pair for herself, horrible black heavy lace-ups, but another woman sitting just one chair away was trying on pair after pair of beautiful shoes. Maybe if they hadn’t been size fours, the same size May took, she wouldn’t have thought of it. But the dainty white ones with the peep-toes that the woman had already discarded as too young for her seemed to be saying, Take me, take me, so she did, slipping them into the shopping bag beneath the length of flannelette Mother had bought for the Sisters to make new nightgowns.
But now as she sat here thinking about all these goods and how she was going to retrieve them, it occurred to her that if Mrs Wilberforce was a relative of Mother’s and on good terms with her, she couldn’t start wearing all these things right off without drawing suspicion on herself.
‘You evil old witch,’ she murmured. ‘You’re still going to try and keep me in your web, aren’t you? You won’t succeed though, I’ll do it your way for a while, but only till I’ve got some money behind me.’
May had remembered Dulcie’s words about needing money to get anywhere, and although she’d managed to steal some change from the donation box in the chapel every time she was sent in there to do some cleaning, the visitors were mean and the most she’d ever got at one time was two shillings.
But it mounted up, she had almost ten pounds now, and maybe at this job she’d find some way of adding to it, on top of her wages.
She’d been stealing things for so long now that it was second nature to her. If she saw something she wanted, she took it. It was her way of getting back at all those who had so much and didn’t care that girls like her were shoved into orphanages and forgotten. Although she wasn’t clever in the classroom, she felt she could outwit almost anyone, and she’d had considerable practice.
A thought sprang into her mind and she smiled at its cunning. As soon as she got to this new job, she’d make up a parcel of the things she couldn’t explain, and post them to herself. Then she could tell Mrs Wilberforce that Dulcie had sent her them as a present. She might even be able to get the woman’s sympathy by hinting that Mother had intercepted their letters in the past.
Suddenly she felt optimistic again. She dogged out her cigarette, pulled the tip apart and scattered it in a flowerbed, then made her way round the back of the convent to the schoolroom.
Eunice Wilber
force kept glancing out of the window the following afternoon. She was nervous because she didn’t want one of Miranda’s girls, she’d hadn’t liked Edward’s cousin even before she became a nun, and she liked her even less now.
‘What possessed you, Edward, to tell her I needed help?’ she murmured to herself. ‘I’d have been much happier with a girl I’d found myself. I don’t want some cowed, frightened little thing. I want someone with a bit of personality, a pretty, fresh-faced girl I can have some rapport with.’
Edward didn’t like Miranda much either, he’d spent a great deal of his early childhood with her and even though he was six years older than her, she had continually got him into trouble. But being a strong Catholic he felt proud she’d taken her vows and risen to become a Reverend Mother. He got his bank to make donations to St Vincent’s, and every year at Christmas he always sent out a huge hamper of treats for the girls.
Mrs Wilberforce glanced around her very English drawing-room with pride. There were oriental rugs on the polished floor, a sumptuous couch and armchairs, and an antique china cabinet filled with old Worcester porcelain that had been in her family for generations. The older she got, the more important maintaining her Englishness seemed to be, though she couldn’t for the life of her explain why.
She had lived in Australia for thirty-eight years and whilst she was happy and considered herself very fortunate, she still ached for all things English. That was why they bought this two-storey-house in View Road. She fell immediately for its English Edwardian grey stone, its bay windows and cast-iron railings surrounding the overgrown front garden. It bowed to Australian style in as much as the original house had been extended to one side with all the new upstairs rooms opening up on to a veranda, but it had a tiled roof, not the usual tin, and the downstairs rooms had all the elegance and graciousness of the Edwardian period.
Before and during the war they’d had both a live-in maid and a daily woman to do the rough work. Mrs Wilberforce had dispensed with the maid once the boys got married and moved into their own homes, and her daily gradually dropped first to three days a week, then two, and finally retired a year ago, since when she had had to struggle on alone.
It was now too much for her to manage, she did need help, but she regretted telling Edward that, for she might have guessed that he would immediately see St Vincent’s as an ideal source. It wasn’t that she was averse to taking on an inexperienced orphan, heaven knows they needed a start in life more than anyone. It was just that Edward had cooked this up with Miranda without first consulting her, and she felt she would have to take whoever was offered, whether she liked them or not.
She heard a car draw up and peeped through the lace curtains. It was Miranda. Just the sight of that tight wimple round her face made her own face tighten with irritation.
But as she watched the girl got out of the car, and Mrs Wilberforce had to blink to make sure she was seeing right. A very pretty blonde girl, not the kind of mouse she’d expected.
‘If I’ve got to have her, it will be on my terms,’ she said aloud to make herself feel stronger, and glanced at herself in the mirror over the mantel before going to open the front door.
Mrs Wilberforce was fifty-seven, but no one thought she looked it. Her hair was a deep auburn, only slightly grey at the temples, and she’d retained her slender figure, unlike most of her girlfriends. Why should she be intimidated by a nun?
The bell rang and she made her herself walk slowly to answer it.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Wilberforce,’ Miranda said. ‘This is May Taylor. May, this is Mrs Wilberforce.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, mam,’ May said, and smiled.
Mrs Wilberforce was taken aback by the girl’s looks. Her hair gleamed like gold satin, her eyes were wide and almost turquoise blue, her skin was peachy toned, with not a blemish in sight, she even had straight, white teeth.
Mrs Wilberforce took them through to the dining-room at the back of the house. She had already laid out tea things there, and as the afternoon sun came through the French windows, it was far more pleasant at this time of year than the drawing-room.
Half an hour later, the tea drunk, biscuits and cake eaten, Mrs Wilberforce had heard only Miranda speak, the poor girl had hardly been able to say a word for herself.
‘Reverend Mother,’ Mrs Wilberforce said – she had to use the woman’s right title in front of the girl – ‘would you mind waiting in my drawing-room while I speak to May alone? We won’t be long.’
‘Of course, Mrs Wilberforce,’ Miranda said politely, but as she got up, the stiffness of her stance and facial expression showed her displeasure.
Mrs Wilberforce waited until the door was shut and she’d heard Miranda go into the other room. ‘Would you like to be my maid?’ she asked point-blank. ‘Or have you been pushed into this?’
She liked what she’d seen of this girl, she spoke well, she appeared to have good manners, but she was almost too pretty, those big blue eyes looked so hungry for affection.
‘Yes, I do want to be your maid,’ May said, but hesitated, as if there was a ‘but’.
‘You can say anything you like. I’d like to know what is on your mind,’ Mrs Wilberforce said firmly.
May shot a look at her as if trying to summon up the courage to say something.
‘Reverend Mother can’t hear you,’ Mrs Wilberforce prompted. ‘I don’t want to take someone on who isn’t really happy about it.’
‘Well, it’s just that I’m scared she’ll always be coming round here,’ May said, looking down at her hands. ‘I know she is your relative, but I want to forget St Vincent’s, I haven’t been very happy there.’
Mrs Wilberforce smiled inwardly. She had got the initial impression that Miranda and the girl were equally fond of one another. Clearly this wasn’t so.
‘Reverend Mother rarely calls here,’ Mrs Wilberforce said. ‘She’s my husband’s cousin, not mine. I wouldn’t be encouraging her to visit, not unless you want me to.’
May suddenly beamed. ‘Then I’d like to come if you’ll have me,’ she said. ‘But please don’t tell her what I said.’
‘Of course not, May.’ Mrs Wilberforce felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. ‘Now, is there anything else you want to ask me before I show you round?’
‘Will I be able to go to the beach on my day off in the summer?’ May asked.
‘Of course, and you can often take a walk down to Keane’s Point on the river too in the afternoons when there’s nothing to do.’ Mrs Wilberforce smiled. ‘As long as you do the work I ask you to do, and do it well, be polite to my guests when they call and come straight home from your evening classes, I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.’
‘Mother said you are English too?’ May said. ‘It’s so nice to hear your voice. It makes me think of home.’
That pleased Mrs Wilberforce – after all her years in Australia she was often afraid she might have inadvertently developed the ugly native drawl. May had partially retained her English accent too, and she thought that with a little coaching she could bring it back completely. ‘I come from a place called Worcester,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine you’d know where that is if you were only seven when you were sent out here, but I could show you pictures of it. But tell me, May, do you like Australia?’
‘I don’t know yet, mam,’ May said, looking at her with wide, appealing eyes. ‘I haven’t liked it much so far. But maybe it will be different once I leave St Vincent’s.’
Mrs Wilberforce felt a lump come up in her throat. She had been out to St Vincent’s twice with Edward, and on both times she’d come away feeling tearful. She had seen nothing to alarm her, yet she had the feeling that unpleasant things did go on there. Perhaps she’d discover the truth once May settled in.
‘Come along then,’ she said, getting up. ‘I’ll show you the rest of the house.’
As Mother drove May back to St Vincent’s half an hour later, May knew she was cross about something, almost certainly becaus
e she’d been sent out of the room. But May didn’t care. She liked Mrs Wilberforce and felt she liked her too. The house and garden were lovely, and even if her bedroom was very small, it was much nicer than she’d expected. But best of all was the certainty that Mrs Wilberforce didn’t like Mother, she hadn’t said so of course, but May had felt it, and maybe with her help she could break free of the woman for good.
‘I’m going to miss you,’ May said, forcing herself to sound really sad, because it wouldn’t do to show she was delighted with this job. ‘Mrs Wilberforce wants me to start on Saturday, I won’t even be at St Vincent’s for my birthday on the Tuesday afterwards.’
‘I’ll pop in to see you that day and bring any mail from your sister,’ Mother said, glancing at her sideways. ‘We can meet for lunch sometimes on your day off too.’
‘That would be nice,’ May lied. ‘Mrs Wilberforce said I could keep up my piano practice too.’
Mother put her hand on May’s knee. ‘You’ll always be my special girl,’ she said. ‘That’s why I found you such a nice job. I hope you appreciate it?’
May looked down at the hand on her knee and shuddered. In the last year that same nasty veiny hand had been right up her knicker legs, prodding, poking, stroking, making her feel sick, and she wished she dared brush it off now and tell the dirty bitch to leave her alone. But she couldn’t, not yet. It wasn’t safe. She knew too she would have to submit to even more fondling before she got away.
But one day she’d make her pay.
Dulcie was kneeling down in the garden planting out some petunias as Bruce and Betty arrived home one afternoon from a shopping trip up in Kalgoorlie.
‘There’s a letter for you, Dulcie!’ Betty called out as she got out of the car. She had picked up the post on the way home and she recognized the handwriting as May’s, the first letter to come from her in over three months.
Trust Me Page 35
