At Home with the Templetons

by Monica McInerney

‘No, it’s not. Mum told you I was coming. I have some questions for you.’ She glanced down at her notebook. ‘Name?’

  ‘Henry Charles Templeton.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘A youthful-looking forty-nine.’

  She was very businesslike now. ‘Please tell me something about your childhood.’

  ‘I grew up under the blazing African sun, rising each day to the sounds of the wildebeest … Oh, Gracie,’ he said, laughing at her cross expression, ‘you really don’t want me to have any fun, do you?’

  ‘It’s not me. It’s Mum. She’s very hard to please. I had to write my essay on the Tudors three times before she passed it. Can you please tell me all about your ancestors?’

  ‘Gracie, I’d be honoured. Pen ready?’ At her nod, he began. ‘As I think you know from your many tours here, my great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side was born and raised in Yorkshire, at a property twenty or so miles from the coastal village of Whitby —’

  ‘Is that where he met Captain Cook?’

  ‘I certainly believe so, Gracie. So it must have been destiny that a descendant of his decided to come to Australia too. Your great-great-great-uncle Leonard, during the goldrush that began in 1851. Is he the one you want for your essay?’

  Gracie nodded, opening her notebook to a new page.

  Henry began reciting the facts, in a singsong voice at first, until Gracie gave him another stern look. ‘Leonard first came to Australia in 1855, Gracie, while employed by the Smithson & Son Trading Company. His drive and ambition placed him in an ideal position on the goldfields, as he imported all the goods a working miner, and more importantly, an officer and his family, might require. Fabrics, equipment, foodstuffs. Before many years passed, he was one of the richest businessmen in Victoria.’

  Henry stood up and leaned against his desk. ‘Leonard had all a young man could possibly desire. Untold wealth, a thriving business, standing in the community … All but love. Underneath all the trappings, Gracie, he was a lonely man, because back home he had left behind his sweetheart, Julia Smithson, the nineteen-year-old daughter of his employer. He was determined to bring her home to Australia with him and he set off to London with that express purpose in mind. Their reunion was romantic. He proposed to her, within an hour of arriving. To his great joy, she accepted. For twenty-four hours he was the happiest man in London.’

  Gracie sighed with enjoyment.

  ‘He returned to Julia’s house the next day to formally ask for her hand in marriage. When Mr Smithson not only agreed, but also expressed his admiration for his future son-in-law’s business acumen, Leonard went in search of his beloved with the happy news. They would marry swiftly, he told her. She could return to Australia with him, as his bride.

  ‘And there the fairytale began to fall apart. “Australia?” Julia said. “Oh, no.” She’d heard only stories of horror and wildness and dirt and depravity from the colonies. “If you truly loved me,” Julia said, “then you would want to make me happy and live here with me in England.” But his life was in Australia, he told her. His business. His future. Back and forth they went, without agreement. It was with great sadness that his departure date came. He could put it off no longer. He assured Julia of his love, as she assured him of hers, and they farewelled passionately on the docks of Southampton.

  ‘As the ship sailed, Leonard had plenty of thinking time. Julia had told him all she loved about England. Her family house, most of all. He made his decision before the ship was halfway across the seas. He would build his Julia her own piece of England in Australia. The perfect replica of her family house, gardens and all.’

  Gracie was now sitting completely still, barely breathing.

  ‘Once he arrived back in Victoria, he took to work in a fever. His business continued to thrive, while he hired the finest architects, builders and gardeners in the colony. Less than a year later, his beautiful new two-storey mansion was completed. It was time to go back to England to fetch his fiancée, plan a lavish wedding and begin their married life together in the home he had built especially for her.’ He paused. ‘And then tragedy struck.’

  ‘She died,’ Gracie said in a whisper.

  ‘No, Gracie.’

  ‘She got scurvy.’ Gracie had recently done a project on scurvy and eaten barely anything but oranges for a fortnight afterwards.

  ‘Not scurvy, either. Sadly, Gracie, young Miss Julia Smithson broke the news to my poor great-great-uncle that while he was busy in Australia building her dream house and increasing his wealth tenfold so she could have all the fine dresses and jewellery and gloves that her little beating heart would desire, she had been busy too.’ Another pause. ‘Falling in love with someone else.’

  Gracie stared, wide-eyed. ‘Did he kill her?’

  ‘I’m sure he wanted to. But no, he fought against his baser instincts like the fine gentleman he was. He demanded to meet his rival. He was a doctor, from a very well-known family in London. He was as wealthy as Leonard was. And perhaps more importantly to Julia, he had absolutely no desire, intention or wish to up sticks and go sailing across the world to a hot, untamed wild land like Australia.’

  ‘Didn’t he show her photos of the house? Try and change her mind that way?’

  ‘There weren’t photos back in those days, Gracie. Nothing like we have today, anyway. We’ll discuss the technological advancements of the late nineteenth century another day. Try as he might, Leonard couldn’t persuade Julia to change her mind.’

  ‘Poor Leonard.’

  ‘Poor Leonard, indeed. But then his luck changed.’

  ‘The doctor died?’

  ‘You’re keen to kill people today, Gracie. No, he met someone else in Julia’s house.’

  ‘Her sister?’

  ‘No, he met the governess. A young woman called Louisa, who had been taken on to teach Julia’s much younger brother. You see, homeschooling has a rich and honourable tradition. And can you guess what happened next?’

  Gracie shook her head.

  ‘Gracie! Where is your sense of romance and drama? Leonard was so cross with Julia, that he decided to invite Louisa to dinner, knowing it would cause a scandal. And it did.’

  ‘Was she ugly?’

  ‘No, she was quite beautiful, in fact. But she was from a different class than him.’

  ‘Like a local here?’

  Henry’s lips twitched. ‘Not exactly. In any case, Leonard soon decided those old rules didn’t matter to him any more. He also realised Louisa had far more spark, intelligence and natural beauty than Julia had ever possessed. Six weeks later, Louisa sailed back to Melbourne with him, as his wife, and they took up residence in this beautiful building we now call home.’

  ‘She didn’t mind it was based on Julia’s house?’

  ‘Not at all. She’d always loved Julia’s house. It had been her home for many years too, remember. And so Leonard and Louisa lived here, happily ever after, for many years.’

  From the doorway came the sound of a slow handclap. ‘What a beautiful story, Henry.’

  Henry turned and gave his wife a small bow. ‘I aim to please, darling.’

  ‘I can’t wait for you to tell Gracie how you and I met,’ Eleanor said.

  Gracie looked up eagerly. ‘Can you tell me now, Dad?’

  ‘When you turn twelve.’

  ‘That’s not for months.’

  ‘It will be even better for the waiting. So, any questions, Gracie? Did you get all of that?’

  Gracie glanced down at her page. It was blank. Eleanor walked away, shaking her head, as Henry pulled up a chair and started to tell the story again.

  Later that night, Eleanor knocked gently on the door of Henry’s study. He was sitting at his desk, a glass of whisky beside him, a pile of magazines to his side, a folder of accounts in front of him.

  He glanced up and smiled. ‘Look, darling, I’m working. Doing the accounts. Being responsible.’

  ‘So you are. Can I interrupt you?’

  ‘I
wish you’d interrupted me an hour ago. I’m bored rigid. Drink?’

  She shook her head. ‘Henry, you have to stop telling Gracie those stories. She believes every word of them, you know.’

  ‘Of course she doesn’t. How could she?’

  ‘Gracie is eleven years old. A well-educated but also gullible, earnest eleven-year-old. She desperately wants to believe that every story she hears about Templeton Hall is true.’

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone quite so far with Leonard’s story?’

  ‘No, perhaps not.’

  ‘I didn’t seriously think she’d believe it. I mean, a merchant flitting back and forth between England and Australia like that? On those ships?’

  ‘It’s your fault. You made it sound so authentic and romantic. She’s up in her room right now writing the best essay of her life.’

  ‘Then make sure you give her an A, won’t you?’

  ‘For fiction or essay writing?’

  ‘Well, now, that moral call is up to you.’ He took a sip of his whisky. ‘The other children don’t believe every story they’ve heard me tell, do they?’

  ‘No, of course not. Yes, perhaps. I don’t know. You can be very persuasive. And the basic facts of them are true, at least, aren’t they? All that family research you did before we arrived here?’ She laughed briefly. ‘Now, that would be funny, if you’ve pulled the wool over all our eyes, mine included.’

  ‘Eleanor! How devious do you think I am?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll answer that.’ Eleanor sunk gratefully into the plush antique chair opposite his desk, closing her eyes for a moment. ‘The sooner today is over, the better.’

  ‘How is she now?’

  ‘Locked in her room still, thank God.’

  ‘Have you managed to talk to her yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve been trying all day. This morning she was too drunk, when she sobered up she was too angry, and last time I tried she was too tearful. I’ll try again tomorrow. It can’t go on like this, Henry. It’s impacting on Gracie and Spencer’s schoolwork again, all of us tiptoeing around her. I have to try to get her to see —’

  ‘You have tried. You’ve been nothing but a good sister to her.’

  ‘I’ve been nothing but a foolish sister. I’ve put up with it for too long, yet again.’ She sighed as she stood up. ‘Are you coming up to bed?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ll finish the accounts first. Make a start on next year’s business plan too. Look at our visitor numbers. They’re down again, unfortunately. Nothing I can’t fix, I’m sure.’

  She came across and kissed the top of his head. ‘You’re a saint, Henry Templeton.’

  ‘And you, my love, are an angel.’

  He didn’t go back to his accounts after she left. He sat staring out the window instead.

  The next afternoon, Gracie was in her bedroom. She’d just finished her essay and if she did say so herself, it was fantastic. Her mother had asked for six hundred words. Gracie had found it hard to stop at two thousand. She would have kept going only she’d reached the last page of her copybook. So she’d written To be continued in her neatest handwriting. It was amazing to think that all the stories her father had told her about his ancestors were her stories too. And she hadn’t even started on her mother’s side of the family tree yet. Her mother had said there was plenty of time for that. ‘One branch at a time, Gracie,’ she’d said. ‘And there’s the small matter of your other subjects too.’

  Gracie had just started on her geography homework when there was a knock at the door.

  It was Spencer. ‘Quick, Gracie. Come with me. I need to show you something.’

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ll show you when we get there. Come on, quick.’

  Fifteen minutes later Gracie was standing beside the dam several paddocks away from Templeton Hall. She wasn’t happy about it. ‘That was a mean trick, Spencer. I don’t want to go fishing for yabbies. Do it yourself. I’ve got homework to do.’

  ‘It’s easy. Look. You just tie a bit of meat to the end of the string and wait.’

  ‘It’s disgusting. The meat and the yabbies. What’s the point of catching them, anyway? They sound horrible. You may as well eat cockroaches.’

  ‘There’s no meat on cockroaches. Come on, Gracie. It’s fun.’

  ‘It’s not. I’m going home. Why don’t you ask Hope to come and play with you?’

  ‘She’s still locked in her room, that’s why.’ He threw a rock into the water, deliberately splashing her. ‘Why did I have to be the only boy in this family?’

  ‘Because two of you would have been even worse. Why don’t you get that boy Tom to come over again? He was nice.’

  ‘He’s banned. We’re a bad influence on him, apparently.’

  ‘We’re not!’ Gracie said, indignant. ‘His mother was just upset that he went missing.’ Gracie had heard the fuss with the policeman. ‘She didn’t even meet us.’

  ‘She didn’t need to. She rang after she got Tom back. Dad told me. She wasn’t happy.’

  ‘So get Dad to go and talk to her again. Go with him. Try and pretend you’re normal for a few minutes.’

  Spencer pulled a face. ‘Adults don’t usually like me.’

  ‘She might be the exception.’ Gracie stood up. ‘I’m going, Spencer. This is boring.’

  Spencer didn’t try to stop her that time. Yabby catching wasn’t boring. It was sisters who were boring. As he sat impatiently watching for a tug on the line, throwing pebbles across the dam, he thought back to what Gracie had said. He sighed. Maybe it was worth a try. It couldn’t be any worse than sitting around on his own like this for days on end.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nina rarely had a night to herself. Not completely to herself, when she was alone in the farmhouse, a whole evening stretching out in front of her, the prospect of a lie-in in the morning a reality rather than a longing. Now, as she drove back along the highway from Castlemaine, she realised it was an unfamiliar, almost unsettling feeling. When he was younger, Tom had hated spending a night away from her. Now, he seemed to take any opportunity he could to stay in town with one of his friends.

  She knew she wasn’t the only mother of a twelve-year-old son finding the relationship between them changing. What had happened to the Tom who would tell her everything he had done, was doing or planned to do in great detail? She missed him. She didn’t know this new Tom yet. He was becoming secretive. Independent. Grown-up.

  ‘He’s not turning against you or suddenly hating you,’ Hilary had said. It had been just the same with her two stepdaughters, she told Nina. ‘He’s just stretching his wings. Testing the boundaries. He has to change some time. He’s nearly a teenager, remember.’

  Nearly a teenager, yes. And she still hadn’t told him the truth about his father. She’d had every intention of doing it that night in Castlemaine a few weeks previously. Throughout the drive to collect him, she’d rehearsed what she would say, even decided what stage of the dinner she would raise the subject. When it came to that moment, though, after their main course and before dessert, she simply hadn’t been able to do it. Hilary had been angry with her, as she’d expected. ‘The longer you leave it, the worse it will be. Don’t make an occasion of it. Just tell him.’ But she was too nervous now, Nina realised. Too worried it would change things even more. Create a bigger gulf between them.

  Even tonight, as she dropped him off at his best friend’s house to stay for the night, she noticed the difference in him. He barely said goodbye to her. Just thanked her for the lift and went straight in the front door to Ben’s room.

  At the car her friend Jenny sympathised. ‘You’d swear they’ve been taken over by aliens, wouldn’t you? Our beautiful boys replaced by these strange creatures. He’s still in there, don’t worry. Ben’s my fourth and it’s been exactly the same with each one.’

  Home alone now, Nina decided to try and be positive about it. Enjoy the night to herself. Have a glass or t
wo of wine. Play the music she wanted. Watch the TV programs she wanted. Paint until three a.m. if she wanted, in the knowledge that she didn’t have to wake up at seven to get Tom organised for school or cricket.

  The phone rang and she actually ran to answer it. It would be Tom, homesick, wanting her to come in and get him. It wasn’t Tom. It was another of the school mums, confirming an arrangement for tuck-shop duty the following week. It was a friendly, brief and businesslike conversation and it didn’t last long enough for Nina.

  Two glasses of wine later, she was finally starting to relax. She’d eaten a simple dinner of tuna salad. She’d read a glossy magazine from cover to cover. She was just deciding whether to turn off the TV or watch a video when she heard the sound of footsteps outside. On the gravel and then on her verandah.

  She froze. She hadn’t heard a car and people didn’t visit her on foot, not this far out of town. There was a knock at the door. A fast, efficient knock. A burglar wouldn’t knock, would he? She stood up. This was ridiculous. Why was she so jumpy? If Tom had been here, she would have been fine.

  ‘Hello? Is there anyone home?’ It was a woman’s voice.

  Nina instantly relaxed. Women didn’t tend to be burglars, rapists or escaped prisoners. She opened the door, a welcoming smile on her face, and then stopped. Standing on her front verandah was Hope. Hope from Templeton Hall.

  ‘Good evening,’ Hope said graciously, as if she was the one welcoming Nina. She gave no indication that they’d met before. ‘I’m Hope Endersley. From Templeton Hall.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know.’

  ‘And you are?’

  Nina blinked. ‘Nina Donovan.’

  ‘May I come in?’ Hope said.

  For a moment Nina hesitated. If this woman didn’t know who she was, why was she visiting?

  ‘It’s quite cold out here,’ Hope said.

  ‘I’m sorry. Please, come in.’

  Nina had heard plenty of stories about Hope since the fete. Antics during tours, gossip that she had a drink problem, a drug problem, a drink and drug problem. That she was inclined to swan around Templeton Hall in ridiculously over-the-top clothes. She seemed sober tonight, and she was wearing quite an ordinary sundress. Not so ordinary, perhaps, Nina thought again, noting the beautiful fabric and cut. She suddenly felt too aware of her own faded T-shirt and jeans. Hope was also wearing a beautiful pair of red, high-heeled shoes. They were covered in dust. She’d obviously walked over. Nina’s own feet were bare. As she opened the door and let Hope go past her, she hurriedly slipped her feet into a pair of Chinese slippers.