Nick drummed his fingers on his knees. ‘What’s eventually going to happen to Dolly?’ he mused.
‘I can’t believe you’re all acting as if we should feel sorry for her!’ Ginger snapped. ‘If the Sharp women hadn’t been keeping wild animals in the first place, the Partridge family might be alive today!’
‘I disagree,’ Elizabeth jumped in, irritated by Ginger’s inflexibility. She still found it difficult to fully comprehend that she was related to Ginger, and that her mother had been the innocent victim of Doris and Ginger’s deceit. Her mother’s life had been ruined because of Ginger’s selfishness in abandoning her child in the first place. Anger rose in her again at the pain her mother was going through while Ginger was here flirting with Patrick’s son. ‘Dolly was only a child. She’s not an evil person. She’s just different. An outsider, who has no one and really never did.’
Nick got up from his chair and knelt in front of her. ‘It’s alright, Elizabeth,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t go getting yourself all worked up over Dolly. She’s a tough old bird. Whatever happens, she’ll survive.’ He shot Ginger a warning look and Ginger rolled her eyes.
‘Would you like to see what Mother sent me for safekeeping?’ Stewart offered, speaking up for the first time. ‘Because I was so busy with moving and her death, I hadn’t had a chance to examine it. I had packed it away with all of the other things she sent me. It wasn’t until Ginger called, that I dug it out again. Towards the end she was often drunk,’ he said with a catch in his throat. ‘I don’t think she ever coped with seeing Shalimar’s body, and all the shocking scenes that came afterwards. She had hoped by writing Murder at the Manor she would lay to rest her trauma over that day. Of course, her garbled version had hints she knew more than she was letting on, but she lacked the courage to reveal the full truth. She had obviously been terrorised into keeping quiet by the dollmaker and she tried to forget. But I know how sensitive my mother was; it wouldn’t have sat well with her. I’d fallen out with her just before she died. She kept trying to touch me up for money to support her drinking and I cut her off.’ He bit his lip as he fought back emotion. ‘It’s all water under the bridge now, but although she’s no longer here to do the right thing, I feel honoured to be here in her place.’
He passed Elizabeth a manila folder. ‘I think these belong with you,’ he said. ‘In there are Patrick’s book and a newspaper clipping from 1942 when the Americans were staying at Currawong Manor. There are also some photos – photos I believe Rupert must have taken.’
Her heart racing, Elizabeth flipped open the folder. On top was the newspaper clipping, a grainy black and white photo showing two smiling young American officers with a couple of panther cubs on leashes. Elizabeth recognised them from Kitty’s photo.
‘That’s the property of the Historical Society!’ Patrick exclaimed. ‘I knew Kitty must have stolen them!’
Beneath the clipping was a small, yellowing envelope. Elizabeth held her breath, her pulse jumping. She already knew what it must contain. She opened the envelope and the images seemed to fly into her hand – photographs of Shalimar, naked and posing for her father’s camera. Elizabeth studied them carefully, while the others in the room maintained a respectful silence.
Breaking down, Ginger wept quietly into her hands while Pip rubbed her back. Holly was also dabbing her eyes. A lump came into Elizabeth’s throat as she shuffled slowly through the photos. They were the most beautiful nude shots of a young girl she had ever seen. Photographs of a child loved – no, revered – by her father. A young girl on the cusp of becoming a young woman. Shalimar’s long hair fell to her buttocks; in some shots her hands or hair covered her breasts, but mostly she displayed herself openly. Her angelic face held an enigmatic smile that was both innocent and knowing. She posed with no self-consciousness. Some of the shots were taken in the studio, but in several the backdrop was Mermaid Glen. A disturbing mixture of eroticism and innocence, they preserved for all time the beauty of a young girl who was never going to flower to full bloom.
‘My God.’ Elizabeth drew in her breath. She knew she was holding in her hands some of Rupert Partridge’s best work. She did not believe they were in any way pornographic. All she could truly sense from the black and white images she held was beauty, artistry and love.
‘Doris accused him of terrible things that day,’ Ginger said. ‘And Shalimar would have heard it all. Her mother screaming that her father was depraved, sick, trying to train his daughter up to be no better than a Flower. Doris could be a terrible snob about things you wouldn’t expect. She threatened to leave him. And that’s when Shalimar disappeared into the woods.’
James looked distressed as he listened. ‘I don’t think Dad ever forgave himself,’ he said. ‘He always said how everything that happened to the family on the ninth of November was his fault. He blamed himself for the rest of his life for showing Doris them.’ His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, I just know how badly it impacted on Dad.’
‘Not as badly as it impacted on the Partridges,’ Ginger pointed out. She was shaking as she watched Elizabeth examine the photographs closely.
Elizabeth rifled through the photographs, her mind trying to comprehend the graphic images. ‘Why would Doris have accused Rupert of depravity?’ she asked Ginger. ‘She’d posed nude for him before he installed his models at the manor. I don’t understand her extreme reaction. Was she really such a snob – or was she jealous of her own daughter?’ A flickering in Ginger’s eyes alerted her.
‘What else are you holding back, Ginger?’ The photographs suddenly seemed heavy and sticky, loaded with a hidden message.
Ginger looked defeated, grey and drained. ‘Just one thing,’ she admitted. ‘But I refuse to tell you here in front of everyone, Elizabeth. If you want to share it afterwards, that’s your affair. Walk in the garden with me. It won’t take long.’
Elizabeth glanced at Holly to see if she knew what Ginger meant, but Holly looked as surprised by Ginger’s admission as everyone.
Nick reached for Elizabeth’s hand as she stood to follow Ginger from the room. ‘If you need me, Elizabeth, just whistle,’ he said. Elizabeth impulsively stooped down and kissed him, ignoring the interest this generated in the others. ‘Thank you, Nick,’ she whispered. ‘Thanks for caring.’
‘Whatever she has to say won’t alter anything between us,’ Nick promised. ‘You do know that, Elizabeth? I’m mad for you. Did you hear me, Ginger?’ he called to the woman waiting at the door. ‘If you manage to turn into a bloody currawong and cover the towers in flocks of your feathered friends, I’m here for your granddaughter. Nothing you can say or do out there will change what’s happening with us.’
‘That’s just beautiful, Nick,’ Holly said. She slapped her husband on his arm. ‘Why don’t you ever say such romantic things to me, Bob?’
‘What?’ Bob scowled, but his eyes sparkled with devilment as he teased. ‘A load of old cobblers about turning into birds? It’s not exactly, Keats, Holly!’
Elizabeth felt hot tears sting her eyes at Nick’s public declaration. He made her heart feel as if it was pumping new life to every cell of her being, spreading optimism and joy throughout her body. It would be alright. He was falling in love with her. Everything would be alright.
‘That’s all very romantic, Nick,’ Ginger said. ‘I wouldn’t have pegged you to be so passionate. I just hope you aren’t too old for Elizabeth, and she knows what she’s getting into.’
‘Ginger!’ Elizabeth immediately protested. ‘Don’t you dare have the hide to say anything about age when you’re . . .’ her eyes went to Pip, who flushed as the room fixed their fascinated attention on him.
‘Elizabeth’s right,’ Nick said. ‘Don’t be a hypocrite, Ginger. You can’t have it both ways. No point in you acting all ageist when you’ve been enjoying playing Mrs Robinson. Go on, Elizabeth, hear her out.’ He jerked his head towards Ginger. ‘If you need me, just whistle.’
‘You know how to whist
le, don’t you?’ Elizabeth finished the Lauren Bacall quote, as she smiled into his eyes. ‘Just put your lips together and blow.’
Outside in the garden it was so cold their breath hung in the air. It was only mid-afternoon, but the evening mist seemed to be already approaching. As if by instinct the pair walked together to the Diana statue, their footsteps crunching on the pebbled path.
They sat on the iron seat by the folly and Elizabeth faced Ginger. ‘What is it you’ve held back?’
‘I’m not surprised to see Nick falling for you, Elizabeth,’ Ginger said. ‘I had an inkling you two would be good for each other.’
‘The photos,’ Elizabeth said, trying to gather her suspicions and calm her apprehension. ‘Stop trying to change the subject. You know more about the photos, don’t you?’ She remembered Ginger’s account of coming upon Shalimar drowned, and how Rupert had run off into the bush. ‘You followed him after Shalimar died, didn’t you?’ Elizabeth said. ‘You know exactly what happened to him.’
Ginger’s breath smelt of medication, disease and a body decaying from within. ‘This isn’t easy, Elizabeth,’ she sighed as she studied her hands, turning them upside down, twisting them around.
‘You followed him to Devil’s Leap?’
Ginger nodded. Her eyes flickered to the bush behind them and she shuddered.
‘Tell me the truth, damn you!’ Elizabeth shook Ginger’s arm. ‘Stop holding things back. You owe my mother and me this much. What happened to Rupert?’
‘Didn’t I warn you?’ Ginger faced Elizabeth directly. ‘When you start turning over the rocks of the past, you risk uncovering things best left hidden. You might be happier not knowing. Knowledge can be power, but it can also fester within you. It has with me. Ignorance is sometimes the better choice. I never intended to keep anything secret from you, Elizabeth. I planned to reveal the full story, but I needed to pick my time. I had to make sure you would believe me. In 1945 we made a choice that I deeply regret and feel ashamed of, but it was all so crazy at the time. I was devastated by Shalimar drowning – and Doris’s death the same day. All I wanted to do was get away from this cursed place as quickly as I could – and now look at me! At the end of my life, back here again!’ She gave a half-sob and then inhaled, seeking to centre herself. ‘You want the full story – well here it is, but remember there’s no point feeling sorry for yourself afterwards when it’s time to decide what to do with your new knowledge. We kept as silent as we did over the photos out of respect for Rupert’s family – which, of course, includes you.’
As she spoke, her eyes drifted towards the towers as if she expected to see the birds return. Elizabeth listened intently, her stomach in a tense knot, dreading the revelation she was about to hear.
‘I must have known his intentions from the moment he pulled Shalimar out of the glen. I’ve never seen a man so distraught. His howling still echoes in my ears. Miss Sharp was trying to calm him down, but he rounded on her, accusing her of all sorts of things and claiming Dolly was responsible. Dolly was catatonic. She held her mother’s skirts, a strange half-smile on her face, as if she didn’t register fully what had happened. Wanda and Kitty were right off their heads. Wanda tried to restrain Rupert at one stage, but he shoved her away.
‘He ran into the bush and Miss Sharp yelled at me to follow. I didn’t pause to consider my own safety with those beasts roaming around, or that Rupert had lost his mind in his grief. I followed him to try to help him.
‘I could see where he had crashed through the bush – he was heading for Devil’s Leap. It wasn’t a track I was familiar with, as we weren’t encouraged to use it for safety reasons, but I knew even without seeing his footprints in the dirt where he had gone. He had followed in his own father’s tracks – or what Reg was meant to have done. Everything around me seemed heightened, outside of time, like a movie. My heart beat felt outside my body. Trees flashed past me, just nightmare flashes of bark, trunk and leaves. The bush seemed to mock me as I ran, screaming for Rupert. I tore along the track; in my frantic panic it seemed to no time at all. I prayed my instincts were wrong and that Rupert had somehow slipped home by a side path, that I’d find him safe in his studio where he could continue to exorcise his demons with his art. He had survived so many other nightmares – his upbringing, the war – but I knew how much he loved Shalimar and all she meant to him.
‘He stood with his back to me at the edge of Devil’s Leap when I came upon him. It was unfenced. I stopped cold, terrified he’d throw himself off if I alarmed him. In different circumstances, I might have marvelled at the magnificent panoramic view. It seemed a mockery that Devil’s Leap should shimmer with so much rich beauty. The rocks shone with multi-jewelled browns, copper and rust tones. We were on the edge of the world and the air was filled with ancient magic and dreaming. Hundreds of feet below us stretched thick bush, strewn with rocky outcrops. Anything you could imagine might be down there. Even the stones seemed to carry power and ancient stories; the forest might be filled with birds that knew the secrets of time. Oh, don’t look at me like that! It sounds fanciful, I know, but I’m telling you how I felt. It was like no place I’d ever been in. It seemed to vibrate before me.
‘Rupert turned and when he saw me, he laughed – a chilling awful sound. A montage of memories seemed to bind us together as we stood there. Our first meeting at the art gallery and the larrikin, loveable, tender intensity of him. At Luna Park that same day, hand-in-hand, uncaring of his wife and friends abandoned at the gallery. Enjoying our truancy in a crowd of joy-seeking doughboys and Sydneysiders, eating fairy-floss, the Coney Island rides, abandoning ourselves to the gaiety of a Sydney glowing and throbbing with war-time passion.
‘I heard his cry as we made love that afternoon in his friend’s studio in The Rocks, the hot rush of his seed as he came inside me. A million and one memories connected me to this complex, fascinating man. Then I saw again the photographs of Shalimar. The revolting, sensual, knowing expression on the child’s face as she posed for her father. Dennis was right. It was filthy. She was a child and it wasn’t right.
‘A cold rage filled my heart. I’d given up my child – your mother – for this man. I had allowed him and his snooty, cold-fish pommy wife to take my baby. I trusted their housekeeper to deliver my baby in the middle of the bush. I was kept from my own family for months to cover up their secret. And how had he repaid me for all I had sacrificed? He mocked me with his Trollop painting. He’d shown only amused indifference when I broke off our affair. He stood by and watched his wife take my baby in her arms and act as if I was nothing to either of them. They had both treated me like some worn-out shoe to be thrown out with the rubbish. In a few short seconds, I became as indifferent towards him as the stone cliffs surrounding us. I filled with the cold power of the rocks. It was time for justice.
‘ “Are you up for an adventure?” The words he had spoken so chirpily to me on our first meeting came out of my mouth. The wind picked them up and tossed them over the view and to the valleys below, shrouded by low-lying clouds. Those words often return to me at night as I lie in bed, waiting for sleep. If words can haunt a soul then they forever echo – entwined with his laughter and the creaking of Shalimar’s swing – to torment me.
‘His eyes – a terrible, lost, searing look that imprinted my very soul. He was seeking my forgiveness. He wanted my absolution. And he was too afraid to take that fatal step forward.
‘I nodded towards the cliffs and gave him a half-smile, which he returned.
‘One more glance between us. His eyes, already vacant, his spirit already gone. That awful laugh again. A laugh like the devil himself, looking forward to his return to hell. But I believe he laughed for a different reason. He had suffered so much already in this world, seen so many horrors inflicted upon men in the war, and in the shadows of his own mind, that he couldn’t wait for a free ticket to a better world. He probably hoped Shalimar was waiting for him and must have felt he could jump to a better place. Anyway, tha
t’s what I tell myself when I can’t sleep. If I don’t, his empty eyes and hollow laughter fill my dreams.
‘I watched him, my hands on my belly, on my inner-core, the womb that was forever mourning what was torn from it and given up. My entire mind screamed for him – I still loved him, you see. I still loved him, despite everything he’d done. But I did nothing to stop his mad dive. I did nothing.
‘He threw himself over head first.
‘He flew.
‘I returned shortly afterwards to Miss Sharp and said I couldn’t find him. But her perceptive look revealed clearly that she suspected the truth. I believe she’d seen it all along: “You’re carrying death into the manor,” she’d told me when I first arrived. But my secrets would be safe with her; she held so many. She was one person who didn’t judge.
‘In my brief absence, she had sent Wanda and Kitty to have Dennis carry Shalimar’s body home. We returned Shalimar’s body to her mother, and of course that’s when Doris, overcome with grief, ran from the manor . . .’
Elizabeth sat stunned. In the painful silence that had fallen, she heard a bird call. The air around them had chilled and the mist was thickening. She leant back and exhaled, glancing up at the stone Diana.
‘You let him jump? Let me get this perfectly straight – you encouraged Rupert to jump? How could you do that to him? God, what sort of a person are you? And you have the nerve to accuse Dolly of doing nothing when Shalimar drowned!’
Ginger’s jaw was shaking. ‘The photographs – you didn’t see them. Doris ripped up the worst of them. They weren’t normal. And Doris picked it straight away. Of course she wouldn’t have objected to a few nude photos of Shalimar, as you guessed. No – the pair of them weren’t right. He wouldn’t have been able to go on without Shalimar. I’m sure he was trying to summon his courage to jump anyway.’
Currawong Manor Page 32
