‘The house, silly,’ said Lavinia.
The new sandstone face of 200 Cumberland Street was clean and friendly.
‘Look at the curtains,’ Lavinia said.
Letty looked. Through tall glass windows she saw crimson velvet drapes.
‘This employer isn’t short of money, Letty.’ Lavinia smoothed her dress. ‘When we get in there, try not to ogle, and drop your eyes. Pray she takes us.’
Lavinia was wearing her own washed clothes again. She looked so hopeful and pretty, Letty didn’t think anyone could turn her down. Letty’s old dress had been cut up for petticoats, so she had to keep wearing the too-big, borrowed one. Even after tweaks and fixes by Lavinia, it looked very worn. Letty did not feel she matched her sister. But Lavinia swept her along, around the garden, to the servants’ back door.
A short, cheery woman met them there and introduced herself as the housekeeper. ‘You’re the seamstress? Come and have a look round,’ she said. ‘I’ll explain the work.’ She pulled her apron off over her head. A bunch of keys bounced on her big bosom.
‘Well fed!’ Lavinia whispered. That was a good sign, according to the women at Mrs Chisholm’s home. Some employers thought servants could live off thin air, they told Letty and Lavinia.
‘The little girl had better wait in the kitchen,’ said the housekeeper. ‘Don’t touch the pastries,’ she warned Letty.
‘Letty’s very good,’ said Lavinia. ‘She’ll do exactly as you say.’
‘Lovely,’ said the housekeeper.
Lavinia followed the housekeeper down the corridor into the big house.
The little butterfly cakes with cream looked very pretty on their china plate. Letty breathed in the warm, sweet smell of the kitchen and held her hands firmly in her lap. She liked it here. No matter how delicious the cakes were, she would not take even a fingertip of cream. Not unless they were allowed to, when – if — they were living here.
When Lavinia and the housekeeper came back, the housekeeper’s eyes went straight to Letty’s hands, then the pastries. She gave a little nod. Letty felt she had passed a test.
‘I’ll send word to Mrs Chisholm,’ said the short woman, ‘once I’ve talked to the mistress about whether she’ll have you.’
Letty and Lavinia let themselves out. They strolled down the road, past grazing goats, to enjoy the view. Lavinia was very excited.
‘You should see the mistress’s wardrobe, Letty. She’s got the most beautiful taste – so many gowns! And a pile of mending nearly as tall as you. And there’s a maid’s room all to ourselves – with wallpaper! The paper has wreaths of blue roses, Letty. You’ll love it.’
Lavinia’s eyes sparkled like the sea. Letty, too, felt as sunny as the day. They could write and tell Papa that soon they would have their first home, together, in Australia. She hoped.
‘Your sister should stay put to wait and hear from Cumberland Street,’ Bridget said to Letty next morning. ‘But you must make yourself useful. I need you to go to Cribbs Lane, in the Rocks.’
Letty knew now that the Rocks was the name for the headland above the wharves. She and Lavinia had walked up through its close, jumbled buildings to get to Cumberland Street.
‘I want six loaves from Fry’s Bakery,’ Bridget instructed. ‘They’re cheaper there, but he won’t deliver.’
Letty didn’t like going around Sydney’s streets by herself. The thought of their first night on land made her shiver. But she didn’t dare refuse. Bridget made Letty a bit nervous. She had big arms in sleeves as puffy as boxing gloves, and she dealt with laundry, cooking pots and young women with equal speed.
Letty took Bridget’s sack and set off. She avoided the military men whisking past on their fast horses and made a wide circle around a pack of stray dogs. She stopped for a while on the jetty, looking for Abner’s ship, the Duchess. But there were so many ships in the harbour and they were too far away. Letty was sad that she couldn’t even pick which one he was on. She wanted to tell him about the room with blue roses on the walls. She would have to keep it to herself for now, and get her errand done.
Letty was proud of herself when she finally found the corner of Cribbs Lane and Cumberland Street. She knew she was in the right place by the wafting smell of baking bread. The door was slightly ajar. Letty knocked.
There was no answer. Not even when Letty took a deep breath and knocked again. Maybe the baker is out the back, thought Letty. Surely, since this was a shop, she could go inside and wait for him. She pushed the door open across a broken tiled floor, and stepped in.
The room was small and dim. Letty could make out a little table and a bed in the corner. The table had something bulky on it, covered by a cloth. Everything was still. She couldn’t see any bread.
‘Hello?’ Letty called.
There was a sudden movement in the corner. Letty jumped. The bedclothes heaved, and someone sat up.
Letty froze.
It was a woman. Young, like Lavinia, maybe. But strange. She was wearing a nightshift even though it was the middle of the day. She had heavy black shadows under her eyes. Her dark hair hung long and tangly. The woman gripped the blanket in front of her as if she were holding up a shield.
‘Get – out!’ she rasped.
Letty took a step backwards, too frightened to say anything.
‘Get away!’ The woman’s voice was rising.
Letty stumbled out over the threshold. She didn’t even close the heavy door behind her. She ran around the corner, hoping the woman wouldn’t come after her.
She nearly ran straight into a man. She got even more of a surprise when she recognised him as George, the card-player Lavinia had spoken to when they’d been lost on their first night in Sydney. He was smoking a pipe outside his doorway. Above his head a sign said ‘George Fry. Fresh Baked Goods.’ Letty felt small and silly. She had walked in the wrong door.
‘What the devil? Watch it, lass,’ said George, moodily.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Letty. ‘Bridget has sent me to get six loaves of bread,’ she added.
‘Is Bridget pretty?’ George asked. ‘She can have them, if she is.’
‘Not really,’ Letty had to admit.
‘Pity,’ said George. ‘Do I know you?’
‘I met you on our first night in Sydney with my sister and Abner, when we were lost.’
‘New chums,’ George said. Then he looked at Letty more carefully. ‘You’ve got an older sister, eh? I remember now – very nicely turned-out.’
‘We would like some bread, if you please,’ Letty reminded him.
‘No worries,’ said George.
George filled the sack. Letty took it and went home another way to avoid the strange lady’s front door. Letty hoped she wouldn’t have to come here too often.
When Letty got back to the Female Immigrants Home, the big-bosomed housekeeper from Cumberland Street was on the verandah, about to knock.
She hesitated when she saw Letty.
‘Won’t you come in?’ Letty asked her.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, her arms folded across her front, ‘but I’m in a hurry.’
Maybe that is why she looks a little uncomfortable, Letty thought. She remembered Lavinia’s advice and took her eyes off the housekeeper’s face. She looked down at her dress instead.
‘Can you please inform your sister,’ the housekeeper continued, ‘that she’s highly suitable —’
Hooray! thought Letty. They had got the position. She and Lavinia would have a lovely place to live and good money to live on. Someone wanted them. She wanted to shout it all around the Home.
‘But –’
Letty looked up. ‘But’ what? That one little word threatened to pop their bright dreams like bubbles.
‘– but the Mistress says we haven’t need for two of you. So the answer’s no. I’m sorry. I wish you luck.’
‘No?’ said Letty, aghast. ‘Do you mean you won’t employ Lavinia?’
‘Not on those terms,’ said the housekeepe
r.
Letty could not keep the next question back, although the words burned her throat. ‘Because of me?’
‘That’s it.’ The housekeeper’s bosom heaved in a sigh.
Letty stared miserably at the verandah boards. She saw how her boots were scuffed and broken. Her legs were thin as sticks. She wasn’t as pretty or useful as Lavinia. People didn’t want her.
There was something she could do though, Letty decided. She could move out of Lavinia’s way.
‘Can you please tell your mistress,’ Letty said, in a shaky voice, ‘my sister says she’ll be very happy to come by herself.’
The housekeeper beamed. ‘Excellent, dearie. The master will send the four-seater to pick her up tomorrow.’
Lavinia stamped her foot and yelled when she found out what Letty had done.
‘You speak for yourself, not me!’ Lavinia said. ‘I’ll decide what’s best.’ She snatched up her shawl and whirled it angrily around her shoulders. ‘Now I have to go up there to tell them there’s been a mistake. I’ll look silly. They’ll think we’re unreliable. If they talk about me to other rich people we’ll never be offered another job like that! It will be your fault, Letty.’
Bridget interrupted. ‘You won’t do no such thing,’ she said, wagging a wooden spoon at Lavinia. ‘Unless you want to be here still when Mrs C. goes on her next trip to the bush. She’ll find you an ex-convict to marry. And a bark hut to live in.’
Lavinia shuddered. She twisted the shawl ends between her fingers.
‘Right then,’ said Bridget. ‘We’ll look after your sister here. For now. You pack your chest and thank your lucky stars for such a position. You’re heading to the top end of Cumberland Street.’
Lavinia bit her lip and looked uncertainly at Letty. Her hand fluttered over Letty’s hair. She smoothed her little sister’s collar.
‘It’s just for a little while,’ she said finally. ‘The mistress might change her mind about you if she likes me enough.’
Letty did not think that made sense at all. Anyone could see she was not the same as Lavinia. But Lavinia had to find work or they’d be beggars. Letty did not want them both on Sydney’s streets again.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Letty said in a small voice, although she didn’t feel fine at all.
WHEN Lavinia left, Letty felt alone in the Immigrants Home, even though she was surrounded by people. Mrs Chisholm went into the country with a group of older girls. New women arrived, but many of them moved on quickly, too.
Only Letty and Bridget remained.
‘You can’t eat charity’s bread forever,’ Bridget said briskly to any girl who was slow to find work. Letty felt the words wagging at her like Bridget’s wooden spoon.
Letty knew about the bread. She paid six shillings for six loaves every day, with Mrs Chisholm’s money. Letty didn’t like going to the bakery. The Rocks’ streets were narrow, steep and muddy. People who lived there tipped slops, and even worse things, in the street. The bakery itself was not a whole lot better. Spider webs hung in strings from the ceiling and balls of dust collected in the corner, all thickened with a heavy coating of flour. Letty didn’t mind George, but in the back of her mind was always the thought of the woman who lived next door.
She told Bridget about her.
‘I’ve heard of her,’ said Bridget as she gave her the money in the bread sack. ‘She’s gone mad, they say. You stay away. She might be dangerous.’ Letty did not have to be warned. She was already spooked.
On her way to the bakery, Letty wandered along the nice end of Cumberland Street, where Lavinia’s house was. She sat down on the grass for a rest, opposite the tidy gardens. She wished it was Sunday, when Lavinia had a day off and was allowed to visit Letty.
Suddenly Letty felt something bump her back. She turned around and came face to face with one of the wild goats that roamed the headland. The goat had its head lowered. Its round, red-rimmed eyes were fixed on Letty.
Letty gave a squeal and scrambled to her feet. The bread sack fell on the ground. The goat made its move. It lunged for the sack and grabbed it in its long, yellow teeth. Then, with a flick of its hindquarters, the goat jumped away.
‘No!’ shrieked Letty. ‘Give that back!’
The goat did not ignore her, but it didn’t drop the sack either. It stood on the grassy cliff top, gazing at Letty and chomping on the sack. The sack drooped from either side of the goat’s mouth like a long moustache.
Letty guessed that the goat liked the bready smell of the old bag. It didn’t matter much if the animal chewed it up - what really mattered were the coins inside. It was bad enough that Letty had to rely on someone else for free food and shelter. But if she lost their money, too, would they even let her stay? Would they think she’d stolen it for herself?
Letty made a grab for the sack. But the goat saw her coming and skittled out of reach. Letty missed. She took another step towards the animal. It was so close to the edge of the cliff that it couldn’t move back any further. Instead it tried to dodge past Letty, knocking into her. Letty tripped and lost her footing. As she fell, she got one end of the sack. The goat tried to run, but Letty didn’t let go.
Neither did the goat. Its teeth clamped on the rough cloth. ‘Get away, you beast!’ Letty shouted. She pulled, but the goat pulled harder. The sack began to tear. Then the goat bucked its hindquarters again. The sack ripped completely. The goat leapt away, tossing its head.
Letty saw the shillings fly out of the ripped sack. The coins twinkled in the air, then pinged off a rock. They fell, spinning silver, over the edge of the cliff.
‘You stupid animal!’ Letty yelled at the goat. ‘Look what you’ve done! You’ve lost the money for nothing. There isn’t even any food in that sack!’
The goat did not seem to care. It trotted off down Cumberland Street, waving half the sack victoriously in its jaws.
Letty followed it with a heavy heart. George Fry would have to sell the Home’s bread to someone else today. She’d better tell him. Perhaps she could beg a couple of old loaves from him so Bridget would not get too angry.
However, George was frowning before Letty even opened her mouth. She explained what had happened and said she was sorry.
‘Might you have any burnt loaves you can’t sell?’ she pleaded.
George restacked the loaves on his counter without saying a word.
Eventually he sighed. ‘I’ll bet it was a nanny goat,’ he said. ‘Females are the worst.’
‘Are they?’ said Letty.
George tapped the old tobacco from his pipe onto the counter. ‘They’re deuced difficult.’
Letty winced at his swearing.
‘They’re impossible,’ George went on. He waved one hand in the air. ‘Working them out is worse than tying bootlaces blindfolded.’
Letty laughed. She hadn’t realised that George had a problem with goats, too.
‘How can I get them to like me?’ George said sadly. ‘I like them.’
Oh. Letty felt embarrassed. George was not talking about goats.
‘Women are impossible,’ he repeated.
Letty thought how the women she knew were not always easy to get along with. They could be forceful like Bridget, easily annoyed like Lavinia, or harassed like her Stepmama. But that did not stop Letty loving them.
Maybe, she thought, women would like George more if the bakery weren’t so dirty and he didn’t puff smoke everywhere. She would certainly prefer it.
‘Perhaps you should ask them what they would like,’ she suggested politely.
‘I’m asking you,’ George insisted.
Letty studied George. He had a rather grand hooked nose. George shared the name of the old King, and Letty thought his nose was royal-looking, too. His dark eyebrows and black wavy hair were also kind of handsome. At least they could be, but the white smudges of flour all through them made her want to giggle.
‘Perhaps if you washed your face and your waistcoat and didn’t use bad language?’ Letty suggested.<
br />
George looked down at his stained chest. ‘Scrub up, eh? Christ!’
Letty’s eyes went wide. George clapped a hand over his mouth when he realised that he’d sworn again.
‘Why can’t grown women be as honest as you?’ George complained.
Letty wasn’t sure how to answer that. Fortunately, it seemed the baker did not expect her to.
He grinned at her. ‘That advice is worth six shillings on my slate,’ he said. ‘You can take your half-dozen loaves.’
‘Thank you, but I haven’t got anything to put them in,’ Letty said.
‘Come out the back. We’ll find something,’ George said.
Letty followed George past the big brick oven. They threaded their way through sacks of flour and stacks of bread tins. Letty’s skirt caught on a tin and pulled it down with a clatter. George didn’t seem to notice. He stepped over a coal scuttle and knocked at another door. He held it open for Letty.
As soon as Letty stepped through, she recognised the room with a shiver. It was the mad lady’s house. The woman was there, in the corner.
George spoke to her. ‘Don’t worry about us, Mary. I’m just getting this lass a canvas bag.’
‘There’s one here somewhere,’ he said to Letty, pulling a crate out from under the bed. He spread stuff over the floor - a basket of apples, scissors, broken pipes, a pack of cards.
‘Have an apple,’ George offered. ‘They’re from the country.’ He held one out behind him.
Letty took it nervously. The woman did not tell Letty to get out. She didn’t speak at all. Letty wanted to leave, but she had to get the bread from George.
Letty saw the woman had pinned up her hair, at least, although it draped in loops around her face. She was still wearing a shift, underneath the heavy blanket wrapped around her. What was she doing dressed like that in front of a man? Was she George’s wife? Letty looked away in embarrassment.
A square of sunlight fell on the table. A large cushion was propped there. It was cylinder-shaped, and stuffed tight. It wouldn’t have been very comfortable to lean against, but Letty didn’t think that was what it was for. The top of the cushion was jammed with pins, standing in a tight pattern like an army of thin soldiers. Below the pins hung a bundle of little wooden rods. Out the other side flowed a trail of the most delicate petals of lace Letty had ever seen.
Letty and the Stranger's Lace Page 2
