The children squealed with joy as they all squabbled to touch the new treasures. Violet took a brown paper bag of fruit from the basket over Sally’s arm and passed it to Nikolai to distribute to the children.
‘It’s a very simple house, miss,’ Sally explained as she led the way onto the porch. ‘It’s a little crowded when everyone is home.’
Maisie answered the knock at the door. Violet followed Sally down a narrow hallway, with paint peeling from the ceiling and walls. There were two tiny, dark bedrooms at the front of the house, which were crowded with beds and belongings. The third room was a kitchen overlooking a small, dusty yard.
In the corner, a gaunt, grey-haired man was sitting on a chair, staring at the floor and absently stroking a tabby cat on his lap. He looked up, rather confused, as they came into the room. Violet suddenly realised that one shirtsleeve was empty – he was missing his right arm.
Sally leaned over and kissed him on top of his head. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea, Da? Have you had anythin’ to eat?’
‘Sal, my girl,’ he said in a hoarse voice, as though he rarely spoke. ‘What’re you doin’ here? Is it Sunday already?’
Sally heaved the basket onto the kitchen table. ‘No. It’s Thursday. I’m just here to check on Ma, and Miss Hamilton has brought us all some food from Riversleigh.’
Violet shook his limp, listless left hand. ‘Glad to meet you, Mr Burke.’
Sally took a triangle of sandwich from one of the cloth packages and gave it to her father, who nibbled at the crust.
The atmosphere of sickness and squalor saddened Violet. Sally had often chatted to her about her family and the cheery meals they had whenever she went home on her afternoons off, and Violet had imagined an idyllic, cosy cottage with roses around the door. The reality was much bleaker.
On the wood stove was a large, black kettle that Sally took outside to fill with water from the tap near the outdoor washhouse. Sally stoked the fire with kindling from a bucket and put the kettle on to boil.
‘Ma’s in the second room,’ said Sally. ‘I’ll just check on her an’ straighten up a little.’
‘Why don’t I make the tea?’ Violet suggested. She had never made tea at home, but how difficult could it be?
Sally smiled back at her, as though at a helpless child. ‘No, that’s all right, miss. It might be best if I might make the tea. I know how Ma likes it.’
Violet looked out the back door at the courtyard with its washhouse, single tap and rope washing line laden with drying clothes. A stack of firewood was piled against the sagging fence. A makeshift table held iron buckets and a bar of soap for washing. Another tabby cat ran across the paving and jumped up onto the roof of the lean-to next door.
Sally came back to the kitchen after a few minutes to make the tea in a big enamel teapot. She poured an earthen ware mug for her father, and his one hand trembled so violently as he held it that the hot liquid slopped over the sides.
‘Leave it till it cools down a little, Pa, or you’ll burn yourself,’ Sally suggested, calmly wiping up the mess.
Violet declined the offer of a mug of tea, following Sally back into the bedroom. Mrs Burke was sitting up in a dishevelled bed, the sheets tangled around her. Under her grey nightie she was very thin, and when she coughed her whole body was wracked with spasms.
‘I’m fine, Sally, don’t fuss,’ Mrs Burke said, her voice raspy and breathless. ‘It’s lovely to see you, but I’ll be better after a couple more days in bed.’
Sally handed her mother the mug of tea. ‘Well, I’d feel better if you ate somethin’. Miss Hamilton brought you a basket of good food to help you get better.’
Mrs Burke shook her head weakly. ‘Maybe later. I’m not hungry now, but I’ll take a sip of this tea.’
Violet wanted to help, but she felt rather useless as Sally straightened the sheets and tucked them in. She was not used to doing any domestic chores. Finally, Violet hung back near the door, out of the way.
‘I’m sorry, Sally,’ Violet said, checking her wristwatch, ‘but we can’t stay any longer. Mrs Darling will be furious if I don’t get you back in time to help with the dinner.’
Mrs Burke nodded at the girls. ‘You go, Sal. We can’t have you losin’ your job right now.’
Sally hugged her mother. ‘Everythin’ll be all right, Ma. We’ll muddle through.’
9
The Scrapbook
Hawthorn, modern day
Marli chained up her bicycle to the pole outside the gates of Riversleigh and peered through the bars. The house seemed more beautiful to her now that she had seen the photographs of what it looked like in its heyday. Marli was determined to explore the estate more thoroughly. Perhaps she could even find a way into the house.
Violet’s scrapbook was stowed safely inside her backpack, along with her dad’s digital camera and its long zoom lens, which she’d borrowed to take photographs of the house and garden. Hearing Didi talk about her great-grandmother’s love of photography had reminded Marli how much she loved taking photos. Marli pulled the camera out and took a photograph of the wrought-iron gate with the Keep Out sign.
There was no-one around, so she crept into Luca’s front garden, scrambled up the tree and onto the wall. She felt a buzz of exhilaration as she dropped over to the other side.
She waded through the thigh-high grass, photographing the summerhouse almost swallowed by the wisteria vine and the rose garden with its snub-nosed cherub statue. She tried to take a photograph of the fairy wren chasing insects through the waving grass, but he was far too quick and the photo was just a blue-and-brown blur.
While grass and weeds had overtaken many of the formal beds, there were still some flowers that bloomed regardless – a ragged hedge of pink hydrangeas, a bank of blue agapanthus and a drift of white freesias under a spreading oak tree. It was so different to her tropical garden in Brisbane, which was filled with frangipanis, hibiscus, palms, birds-of-paradise and an ancient mango tree.
A familiar hacking cough sounded behind her. It was Luca, once more wearing his uniform – black jeans, grey T-shirt, white earphones – and walking around the side of the terrace.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I saw you from my bedroom window and thought I’d come over.’
Marli wasn’t sure if she was annoyed at the interruption or happy to have someone to talk to. ‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘I’m just poking around.’
Luca came closer. ‘I talked to Nonno about the gardens. He said this area here, to the north, used to be the croquet lawn.’
Marli looked around. She tried to imagine it as a smooth rectangle of manicured lawn, but it was impossible.
‘There used to be a boathouse down near the river,’ Luca continued, ‘but it was swept away in the big floods of 1934.’
‘What a shame,’ Marli said.
Luca gestured to the left. ‘Our block used to be the horse paddocks, then our apartments were built in 1923. There’s still a door that leads from the old carriage house into our garden, but it’s locked now.’
‘It must have been gorgeous, surrounded by paddocks,’ said Marli. ‘I have some photos here of the house and the garden as it was. Would you like to see them?’
Luca’s face lit up. ‘Sure. That’d be great.’
Marli thought it was the first time he had looked friendly. ‘Why don’t we go and sit on the steps?’
They wandered back towards the house. Luca stooped and pulled a few clumps of grass from between the freesias. He began to cough severely and had to lean over until the spasm passed.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Marli, feeling concerned.
Luca didn’t answer for a moment, his face red with the effort of breathing. ‘Sorry,’ he replied in a raspy voice. ‘I have whooping cough.’
‘That sounds nasty,’ Marli said, inadvertently stepping back. Didi’s younger sister had died of whooping cough as a baby.
‘I’m not contagious anymore, but the cough goes on for ages.
It’s exhausting. The Chinese call it “the hundred-day cough”. So the doctor said I had to stay home for the rest of term to build up my strength.’
Marli felt a wave of sympathy for the thin, pale boy. ‘So you’re missing school too,’ she replied. ‘I’m down here to spend “quality time” with my father while Mum’s away overseas. But Dad’s at work all the time, so I hardly see him.’ She explained about her mum’s trip to Cambridge and missing all her friends.
‘I know what you mean,’ he replied. ‘My sisters and all my friends are at school every day. Now that Mum’s gone back to work, I’ve just been hanging around, visiting my grandparents and watching TV. It sounds like fun, but it’s dead boring after a while.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Marli, rolling her eyes.
The two sat on the stone steps in the sun. Marli carefully took out the old scrapbook from her backpack.
‘It’s Violet’s scrapbook from 1922,’ Marli explained. ‘My grandfather gave it to me.’
The two pored over the pictures of the house and garden, and the servants lined up on the driveway.
‘I wonder if one of them might be my great-grandfather?’ Luca said, examining the photo. ‘Perhaps Nonno could tell us?’
‘We can ask him,’ Marli said. She turned the page. ‘There’re some incredible shots of barefoot children in the slums here.’
‘It must have been a very hard life to be poor in those days,’ Luca added.
‘A huge contrast to life at Riversleigh.’ Marli hesitated, then looked behind her at the boarded-up doors of the house. ‘I was thinking, it would be pretty awesome if we could get inside and explore.’
Luca looked uncertain. ‘You mean break in somehow?’
‘It’s not trespassing,’ Marli assured him. ‘Didi will get the key in a couple of weeks, but I can’t bear to wait that long. We might be lucky; there could be a window or something open. Shall we take a look?’
Luca laughed. ‘I’ve lived next door to this house all my life, and I’ve always been curious about it. I’d love to see inside.’
The two circled the house to see if any of the doors or windows might open, but all were securely boarded up. On the southern side of the house was a bluestone cobbled courtyard, a collection of outhouses and a large, two-storey garage with a set of stairs on the outside.
‘The old carriage house and stables,’ said Marli.
‘I think the door that leads to our garden is in there,’ said Luca. ‘The door’s locked, but perhaps we can open it from this side.’
The carriage house had an old-fashioned arched doorway with blue timber double doors, one of which was hanging lopsided from its hinges. Luca dragged it open.
Light flooded inside, revealing rusty tools, an old mower, paint cans, a pile of musty furniture and a jumble of milk crates. Right at the very back was another set of double doors with peeling blue paint, which were locked with a wooden crossbar.
Luca pulled away some of the junk to make a path through to the back wall. Marli dragged back the crossbar and the door creaked open, revealing a glimpse into Luca’s garden.
‘We can get in and out now without breaking our necks,’ Marli joked.
Luca rummaged through the carriage house, setting aside two wooden chairs and an old chest. ‘I wonder if this stuff belonged to your family, or if it was just hospital junk?’
‘It all looks really old,’ Marli said. ‘And look, there’s an old gramophone. I bet that didn’t belong to the hospital.’
The brass horn of the gramophone was tarnished and blackened with age. Marli rubbed at the dust.
‘I wonder if there’re any old records in here?’ Luca said. ‘This place is like a time capsule.’
Marli picked up a cracked china doll with one arm. ‘Maybe this belonged to my great-grandmother.’
Luca reached for a rusty rake with a snapped handle and brandished it in the air. ‘Perhaps this was used by my great-grandfather.’
Marli laughed and put the doll aside. ‘I wonder what happened here. Do you think the Hamiltons were really cursed? It all sounds so mysterious.’
‘Perhaps we should try and find out,’ Luca suggested, sitting backwards on one of the chairs. ‘We could search the internet to find out some of the history. There must be newspaper articles or records that will tell us something.’
‘That would be brilliant,’ Marli agreed. ‘Would you really help me?’
‘Try and stop me,’ Luca said, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘It’ll be an adventure.’
10
The Dinner Party
Riversleigh, 17 November 1922
At seven o’clock the dressing gong sounded from the hall to remind the family to prepare for dinner. Violet bathed and dressed in an ivory silk teddy, white silk stockings and white Mary Jane shoes, with a kimono dressing gown over the top in shimmering peacock colours of turquoise, emerald and amethyst. She sat at the dressing table, thinking about all she had seen in her visits to Richmond over the last two days.
It seemed such a contrast to be sitting here, in her exquisite bedroom, surrounded by luxury, while children just a mile away were living in abject poverty. She mentally shook herself – now was not the time to think about that. She had to be on her best, sparkling behaviour for Dad and his business associates. With her mother gone, it was Imogen’s role to be the charming hostess for their dinner guests, and it was Violet’s job to help her.
Violet pulled the lever for the servants’ bell, signalling Sally to come up and help her finish dressing. She sprayed on some perfume and began to lightly powder her face. Imogen had lent her some make-up to wear but warned her to be very subtle or ‘Daddy will have a fit’. Lastly, she blackened her eyelashes with a smudge of mascara and added a slick of crimson lip colour.
Sally huffed in, wearing her black evening uniform with starched white collar, cuffs, cross-over apron and ruffled cap. ‘Pardon, miss. Mrs Darling wouldn’t let me come until she’d checked the table settings an’ all the flowers. Lucky Joseph did such a good job with the roses.’
Sally began brushing Violet’s long, wavy hair with a silver hairbrush.
‘That’s fine,’ Violet replied. ‘I hope Mrs Darling wasn’t too cross about me stealing you away.’
Sally chatted on as she worked, twisting Violet’s copper-red hair up into an elaborate chignon at the base of her neck. Then Violet stood and Sally slipped the evening dress over her head and carefully did up the buttons at the back. Violet had borrowed the dress from Imogen, as she had nothing suitable of her own to wear. Imogen had bought a wardrobe of stylish new clothes for her first social season after finishing school.
The ankle-length dress was filmy turquoise silk with crushed velvet detailing at the waist and hem. She wore no jewellery, but simply pinned a creamy gardenia flower above her right ear.
‘You look a treat, miss,’ Sally said as she pinned the last stray curl into place.
‘Thank you, Sally,’ Violet replied. ‘You’ve achieved wonders.’
‘S’all right, miss,’ Sally said, then paused. ‘I want to say thanks to you for helpin’ me today. Some of my friends in service, their mistresses treat ’em like dirt. But not you – you’ve a good heart.’
Violet felt her heart sing. It felt good helping Sally and her family. Although it had been confronting, Violet had enjoyed her trips to Richmond more than anything she could remember in a long while.
Imogen popped her head around the door as she passed. ‘Come on, Violet. Time to go down.’
Imogen and Violet walked down the stairs. Their father, Albert, was already waiting in the drawing room, wearing his black tailcoat, winged shirt and white bow tie. He glanced up as the girls walked in together, a look of surprise sweeping over his face.
‘My dears,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘You look … you both look so beautiful, so grown-up.’
Imogen inclined her head, pulled her rose-pink skirt out and curtseyed, as though being presented to royalty. ‘Thank you,
Daddy. I had to lend Violet a dress, as she has nothing suitable to wear. Doesn’t she look adorable?’
‘Yes, she does,’ said Mr Hamilton, looking at Violet tenderly. ‘I have never seen her look prettier.’
Violet felt warmed by the unusual praise. She couldn’t help taking a quick glance at herself in the gilt-framed mirror above the marble fireplace. The reflection reassured her that she did look very grown-up and stylish.
‘Now that Violet is on holidays, I do think she needs some new clothes,’ Imogen continued as she took a seat on the linen sofa. ‘We can’t have her looking like a ragamuffin, can we?’
‘I never look like a ragamuffin,’ Violet objected, perching on the edge of the rose chaise longue. ‘It’s just that I seem to have grown taller.’
Imogen raised her eyebrows and laughed. ‘We don’t want the neighbours thinking that Daddy and I don’t take care of you.’
Deep down Violet knew that her father loved her, but ever since her brothers and mother had died, he had been different – distant and distracted, even cold. He had buried himself in work and golf, and seemed so ravaged by his grief that he hardly noticed what the girls were doing, let alone what they wore.
At Imogen’s comment he looked taken aback. ‘Definitely not. Of course Violet must get some new clothes. Just order a few things and have the invoices sent to me. But please try not to go completely overboard – I don’t want to be sent into total bankruptcy.’
‘Thank you, Dad,’ said Violet, touched. ‘That would be terrific.’
Violet glanced around the drawing room. It was one of her favourite rooms in the house, with its bay window overlooking the fountain, soft ivory walls, large Chinese rug, crystal chandeliers and furnishings in muted shades of rose silk and blue velvet. Pastel paintings of flowers and Italian landscapes in gilt frames adorned the walls. Her mother had collected many treasures during the family’s trips to Europe before the war.
The grandfather clock in the hall marked the hour with eight resounding clangs.
The Lost Sapphire Page 10
