‘Violet, what on earth have you done to your hair?’ he demanded, his voice rising. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve cut it.’
‘Dad, yes … I … decided to cut my hair today,’ Violet confessed, looking down at the toes of her Mary Janes.
Her father’s face flushed. ‘What were you thinking?’ he shouted. ‘How dare you cut your hair? No daughter of mine will be seen in public looking like that. It’s just not … seemly.’
‘Daddy, lots of girls cut their hair these days,’ Imogen interjected, trying to restore the peace.
‘I sold my hair,’ Violet explained. ‘I gave the money to Sally for her family. Her mother will be in hospital for months with tuberculosis, and I don’t know what they are going to do to get by.’
Albert’s face crumpled, as though he would break down in tears. ‘But why didn’t you just ask me for some money? I would have given them something.’
‘But I tried last night, Dad,’ Violet objected. ‘We talked about it and Mr Ramsay said it was just a story to bamboozle me. You were so angry that I’d been to Sally’s house that I didn’t dare ask you to help them.’
Mr Hamilton came over to Violet. She braced herself for more scolding, but he simply ran his hands through her short curly hair.
‘It was your mother’s hair,’ he said softly. ‘Red-gold, like copper. It was always her greatest beauty.’
Violet felt as though she had been slapped. She had not heard her father mention her mother for four long years. It had been as though she’d never existed. Or her brothers. Their names and memories were sealed away, just like the locked tower rooms.
Imogen stood up and clutched his arm. ‘Daddy, it’s all right. It’ll grow back.’
Mr Hamilton turned away abruptly, shaking off Imogen’s hold. He looked at the two girls coldly. ‘Saunders, please give my apologies to Monsieur Dufour. I have just realised that I have another engagement, so I won’t be here for dinner. Can you please send for Khakovsky? Tell him he’s to drive me into the city and wait until I’m finished. It could be late.’
‘Of course, sir,’ Saunders replied. ‘May I fetch anything for you, sir?’
‘No, Saunders,’ Mr Hamilton said heavily. ‘Tell Harry he needn’t wait up for me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Saunders, and he turned to go.
‘On second thought, Saunders, bring me a whisky in the billiard room,’ Mr Hamilton added. ‘And call me when Khakovsky’s ready to go.’
Mr Hamilton left the girls in the drawing room and crossed over the hall. Imogen and Violet looked at each other as the billiard room door banged shut.
‘Well, that wasn’t so bad?’ Imogen said.
‘I guess he could have locked me in my room and thrown away the key,’ Violet replied darkly.
Imogen laughed. ‘Oh, don’t be so glum. Let’s play some music. When Daddy’s gone, we’re going to practise your dance steps. We have the Russian Ball coming up in a few weeks, and I can’t have you disgracing me by treading on all the boys’ toes.’
A few minutes later, they heard Saunders open the front door and their father stride out without a word to them.
Violet shrugged, her stomach heavy with disappointment. Imogen jumped up, went to the wooden gramophone with the shiny brass horn and cranked the handle. She pulled a record out of its brown paper sleeve and put it on the turntable, carefully dropping the needle onto the track.
‘Cheer up, Violet,’ Imogen said. ‘This is my favourite foxtrot, “Angel Child” by Al Jolson.’ The jaunty song blared from the horn. Imogen dragged Violet up from her chair. ‘I’ll be the boy.’
‘Do we have to?’ Violet complained. ‘I don’t particularly feel like it.’
Imogen ignored her and, grabbing her hand, began to dance. Violet laughed despite herself as Imogen crooned along to the music.
The two girls swept around the drawing room, avoiding the furniture, then moved out into the hall where there were fewer obstructions.
‘Not quite so upright. Lean into me a little,’ Imogen instructed. ‘Not so heavy on your heels. Put your weight more on your tippy-toes – and glide gracefully.’
Violet obeyed, concentrating on the rhythm. She went to dance classes every week at the Town Hall, but the Russian Ball would be her first large ball, and she was keen to dance well.
Imogen directed her into a spin.
Saunders came into the hall from the passage that led to the kitchen. He stood by, watching the girls until the music ended. His normally impassive demeanour slipped, and Violet thought she detected a look of affection.
‘Dinner is served, Miss Imogen,’ Saunders announced. ‘Mrs Darling thought you might like something simpler tonight, as Mr Hamilton is out.’
‘Thank you, Saunders,’ said Imogen, dropping Violet’s hand. ‘That would be heavenly.’
Saunders hesitated for a moment. ‘Don’t be too upset by your father, Miss Violet. Mr Hamilton means well, but he just doesn’t know how else to deal with his sorrow.’
‘Sometimes I think that Dad doesn’t care much about us anymore,’ Violet confessed, looking at the carpet.
‘No, don’t say that,’ said Imogen, horrified. ‘You know Daddy loves us. He just has lots on his mind these days.’
‘I’ve worked for your father for twenty-five years – ten years as head footman and fifteen years as the butler,’ said Saunders. ‘He was always such a kind and funny man, but all that changed when your brothers ran away to war. Then, when the telegram came and your mother … Well, it was just too much for one man to bear. It was too much for any of us to bear.’
Violet blinked back her tears. She felt comforted by this unexpected support from Saunders, the perfect butler who was usually so discreet. ‘It was too much to bear – you’re right, Saunders.’
‘Now we don’t want to raise the ire of Monsieur Dufour by ruining his meal,’ Saunders reminded them with a wry smile.
The girls trailed into the dining room. The huge table had two lonely places set, with all the silver, crystal and candelabra in place. Saunders served a simple meal of roast beef with asparagus and baked potatoes, followed by a green salad. Imogen and Violet chatted about the Russian Ball and all the ideas that Violet had come up with so far.
Saunders cleared the plates. ‘Would you like me to serve the pudding, Miss Imogen?’
Imogen exchanged a quick glance with Violet, who shook her head. ‘Thank you, Saunders, but we’re finished.’
After dinner, Imogen demanded that Violet continue to practise her dancing, but this time she asked Harry to move the gramophone into the ballroom.
‘I’ve selected a lovely set of records, and there’s plenty of room in the ballroom,’ Imogen explained as she threw open the door and flicked on the light.
The ballroom was a huge open space across the back of the house, overlooking the lawns towards the river. It was painted a pale Wedgwood blue, with the ceiling and plaster mouldings in white, and a waxed timber parquet floor. In the old days, the French doors would all be opened onto the terrace so guests could mingle in the fresh evening air.
The room had very little furniture other than a glossy grand piano, which was rarely played anymore, a few velvet banquettes along the wall and two side tables. Gilt mirrors hung along the inside wall to reflect the light from the chandeliers and the wall-mounted candelabra. Harry set the gramophone up on one of the cedar side tables.
‘Will that be all, miss?’ asked Harry.
‘Yes, Harry,’ Imogen replied, and the footman left, closing the white panelled door behind him.
Violet practised her foxtrot steps by herself, gliding around the floor, arms held wide, while Imogen rifled through the records.
‘Do you remember that very wet Easter, when it rained for days on end?’ Violet asked. ‘And Nanny made us play in the ballroom?’
A shadow passed over Imogen’s face and she put the records down on the table. The girls usually avoided sharing childhood memories. Imogen nodded stiffly. Violet stopp
ed mid-twirl.
‘Do you remember Archie and Lawrie had been playing the most dreadful pranks on everyone?’ Violet continued. Their names felt unfamiliar on her tongue. ‘Salt in the sugar bowls at breakfast. Buckets of water balanced on the tops of the doors in the servants’ wing. And we dressed up as ghosts, in the bedsheets, and haunted the maids’ sitting room.’
Imogen laughed at the memory. ‘And we used the fire pokers as swords and battled up and down the stairs,’ Imogen’s eyes grew misty, ‘pretending to be the Knights of the Round Table.’
‘Archie thought we girls should sit on the top step and be Queen Guinevere and her lady, and cheer the knights on,’ Violet said. ‘But we soon grew bored with that and attacked them with our own swords.’ She mimed stabbing Imogen in the stomach.
‘Then, when Nanny banished us to the ballroom, Archie crept upstairs and stole all the chamber pots,’ Violet reminded her. ‘And we had a battle where we slid the chamber pots across the waxed floor to see whose would go the furthest.’
Imogen giggled helplessly. ‘And Nanny was furious because we smashed three of them.’
‘Luckily they were empty,’ said Violet, trying to keep a straight face.
Imogen laughed even harder. ‘That was hilarious, but when Daddy came home, instead of getting cross with us, he just laughed out loud and promised to take us to the cinema.’
Violet’s throat closed tight as tears welled up. ‘I miss them, Immy.’
Imogen hugged her close. ‘I miss them too, Vivi.’
‘We never talk about them,’ Violet said. ‘It’s like they never existed.’
Imogen nodded. ‘It’s for Daddy. He used to get so upset if we ever mentioned their names, so it was easier just to pretend it never happened.’
Violet scrubbed her face with her handkerchief and sniffed. ‘I miss the old Dad, too. He always had time to play with us, take us swimming or boating or riding.’
‘Do you remember when we were young, and Daddy used to play that game of hide-and-seek with us?’ asked Imogen. ‘And Romeo would have to track us down?’
Violet nodded. ‘We’d run and hide in the gardens or the stables, and Romeo would always find us.’
‘He always had an excellent hunting nose,’ Imogen said.
Violet hesitated. ‘And Mamma? Sometimes I think I catch a hint of her perfume.’
Imogen smiled. ‘Sometimes I feel I can sense her presence, as though she’s just left the room, or she’s watching us.’
‘Me too – maybe she is still watching over us.’
Imogen walked to the door and pulled the lever for the servants’ bell. Harry appeared a moment later. He looked like he had hurriedly left his own meal.
‘Harry, I wonder if you could please bring us some hot chocolate?’ Imogen asked. ‘And perhaps some of that delicious raspberry cake that was left over from tea? We’re going to have a little picnic in the ballroom.’
Harry did his best not to look too surprised by this request.
‘Do finish your own dinner first though, Harry,’ Violet suggested.
‘I’ll fetch it straightaway, miss,’ said Harry in a tone of mild reproof. ‘It will only take a few minutes.’
The girls sat on a rug in the middle of the floor and enjoyed their picnic of hot chocolate and cake. They laughed and chatted and shared memories from their childhood. Violet liked to imagine that the ghosts of her brothers might be sitting on the rug with them, enjoying the stories and thinking up more mischievous pranks.
It hurt to talk about the boys and Mamma, but it somehow also felt good, like a wound that was slowly beginning to heal.
13
Break In
Riversleigh, modern day
Marli parked her bike against the stone wall and went upstairs to knock on the door of Luca’s flat. The last few days it had been raining, so the two had spent hours researching old newspapers on the internet and exploring various websites that had revealed grainy photographs of Riversleigh and Hamilton’s Glove factory, snippets from social pages and gossip columns, and news reports of the house being given away. The local historical societies had websites with interviews from old residents who had worked at the glove factory and Ramsay’s tannery.
Luca and Marli had caught a tram to Victoria Street in Richmond to see the old red-brick building that had once been the glove factory and was now the slick offices of an advertising agency. They had made copious notes about the Hamilton family from what Didi had told them, their internet research and the material they had found in the scrapbook. They had also made popcorn, watched old movies and played endless card games. It had been fun.
Today was sunny again, so the two planned another adventure into the Riversleigh gardens. Marli had borrowed her dad’s camera again, but she hadn’t told him what for. She felt it should be a secret – a secret between Luca and her.
Luca came out and the two headed for the old blue double doors in the wall that led into the garden. Both of them looked around surreptitiously to make sure that no-one was watching before they pulled open the door and slid through. Marli locked the crossbar behind them. It was dark in the garage. Luca used the torch on his phone to light their way, stumbling through the piles of junk. Marli pulled an old hammer off the wall.
They stepped through the double doors at the other end of the garage and out into the rampant beauty of the sun-filled garden. White butterflies danced above the rose garden. The fairy wren swooped and flitted through the golden air, chasing his tiny brown mate. Hidden bellbirds tinkled their chimes from the shrubbery.
‘It’s so beautiful, but it looks so unloved,’ Marli said with a sigh.
Marli pulled out her dad’s camera from her backpack and shot off some photographs of the house, the garden and the garage.
‘My grandfather would be horrified,’ Luca said. ‘I was thinking that we could do some tidying up in the garden. I might be able to borrow Nonno’s brush-cutter and mow through the long grass. Then we won’t have to worry about snakes.’
Marli imagined what the gardens could be like with some care. ‘That’s a brilliant idea. And we could get rid of some weeds – I feel sorry for those beautiful roses all choked up.’
Luca nodded. ‘It could be a project to do while we research the family.’
Marli looked towards the old house, with its boarded-up windows and peeling paint. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, swinging the hammer in her hand. ‘Shall we explore? Maybe we can find a way inside the house.’
Luca looked at the hammer in dismay. ‘You mean break in? What if someone hears us? What if they call the police?’
Around her neck, Marli was wearing the old-fashioned key on its threadbare velvet ribbon that she’d found in Violet’s hatbox. She held it up by its ornate bow. ‘No, we shouldn’t need to break in. I’ve got the key, and I’m sure it must open one of the doors.’
The first door they tried was the huge, arched front door. Luca used the hammer to carefully prise away the plywood hoarding, revealing a cracked cedar door with a huge iron lion’s head knocker. It had clear glass in the middle panels and ruby glass in the sidelights and fanlight above. Marli’s hands were trembling with excitement as she tried the large iron key in the lock. The key slid in, but when Marli tried to turn it, the lock wouldn’t budge.
‘It doesn’t work,’ Marli complained.
‘Let me try,’ Luca offered. ‘Maybe it’s just stiff.’ But Luca couldn’t unlock the door either.
‘We’ll try the side door and the French doors on the terrace,’ Marli suggested. They carefully removed the hoarding one by one from these doors as well, but the key didn’t open any of them.
‘It’s no use,’ Luca said. ‘The key could be for anything.’
‘I felt so sure that it would open a door at Riversleigh,’ Marli said.
The two prowled around the house, checking every potential opening. They peeled away the corners of several boards, but all the windows on the ground floor were locked and there was no
way to reach the second-storey windows. At last they came to the back service door, which opened onto the old stable courtyard on the southern side.
‘It’s the last door,’ Marli said hopefully.
‘Let’s give it a go.’
Luca used the hammer to pull back each corner of the plywood board where it was nailed into the doorframe. The top left-hand side was difficult to loosen, and he had to tug extra hard. The board came away suddenly, smashing down on him. The unexpected weight proved too much and he dropped the board. It clattered loudly onto the stone paving beside him, followed by the hammer.
‘Ow,’ Luca yelled, pulling a pained face.
‘Shhh,’ Marli reproved. ‘Someone might hear you.’
‘Sor-ry.’ Luca checked his arm. There was a long, red graze oozing blood.
Marli was contrite. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Just try the key,’ Luca snapped, rubbing his arm.
Marli took a deep breath and slid the key into the lock. It wouldn’t budge.
‘It’s not the right key,’ Marli cried, slumping down onto the brick step. ‘It doesn’t open anything.’
Luca leaned against the wall, then he noticed a small wooden hatch at waist height, near the servants’ entrance. He pulled the knob and the hatch opened to reveal a cavity with a matching door further inside. He leaned through and pushed, and the door swung open.
Luca turned to Marli. ‘It’s an old service hatch. We have one in our apartment. Nonno says deliverymen used it to leave milk or groceries. Do you think you could squeeze through? There’s no way I’d fit.’
It was a very narrow gap.
Marli hesitated, feeling uncertain now that there really was a chance to get inside. She tucked the key on its ribbon back inside her shirt. ‘I’ll give it a go. Let’s hope I don’t get stuck halfway like Winnie the Pooh.’
Marli took a deep breath and exhaled, then squirmed her way in headfirst. For a moment she felt claustrophobic and had visions of getting jammed. But she kept wriggling through until she tumbled onto the hard floor.
It was dark inside, with the only light coming through the open hatch. The house seemed to creak and groan around her. Something scuttled across her leg. Marli screamed in fright. She pulled out her phone to use as a torch and scanned around, searching for the creature. Her eyes strained to see into the shadows, but there was nothing. Marli shuddered with disgust.
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