‘No lessons?’ said Poesy, her little mouth falling open in surprise.
‘Don’t worry. We’ve got better things to do. C’mon, the ship is ours!’
I hooked her arm through mine and we strolled along the deck. All the adults had gone below, but the Lilliputians were out in force. The boys kept to the forecastle and hung over the side, barking at the waves like a pack of silly dogs, but Charlie and Lionel Byrne stood a little apart from the other boys. I saw Charlie glance towards us and I grabbed Poesy’s arm and turned her away. I wasn’t fast enough.
‘Oh, there’s Charlie,’ she said, swivelling to wave in his direction.
‘Don’t make such a fuss!’ I said. ‘He’ll want to come and talk to us.’
‘What’s wrong with that? I like Charlie.’
‘Charlie is all right but Lionel is beastly, with his creepy puppet and his bossy manners. And you don’t get one Byrne without the other. Besides, you can’t count Charlie as a friend. He’s a boy and he’s younger than you.’
Poesy sighed, as if I was explaining something terribly complicated.
Valentine stood at the rails with a gaggle of the middling girls, tittering like sillies as they watched Melbourne grow smaller and smaller. I adored Valentine but sometimes she could be simply too giggly.
The older girls sat in deckchairs, arranged in a closed circle. They wrapped their coats tight and folded their arms across their chests as they leaned their heads together. The wind carried their gossip away. I dragged Poesy towards them and we perched on the end of Tempe Melbourne’s deckchair. There was nothing that Tempe was afraid to talk about. A girl could learn a lot from someone like Tempe.
That first night at sea, the ship’s doctor insisted that a whole party of girls sit at his table. I knew exactly what that slimy old quack was thinking. I’d been ‘examined’ by his type before. I asked Poesy to swap seats with me. It wouldn’t hurt her to learn a thing or two about dealing with men like that.
I saw it – the moment she discovered what sort of medicine the doctor dished up. She had a forkful of food halfway to her mouth when she suddenly froze. It must have been the instant when she felt his hand settling on her knee. Then her face flickered with confusion. Perhaps she imagined he was only pinching to see if she was healthy. You could tell by the burning blush that spread across her face that his horrid, bony fingers were kneading her leg, working their way up her thigh. She let her hair fall forward to cover her scarlet cheeks and wriggled away from him. I giggled and Poesy knew I understood. She stared at me, her baby-blue eyes as big as saucers. She really was too betwixt and between. It was about time she grew up.
I laughed again and made a little stabbing gesture with my fork at a slice of meat on my plate. Poesy curled her fingers around her knife and her knuckles grew white. For a moment, I thought she might plunge it straight into Dr Whitehead’s hand but she simply laid it across her plate. Then she turned to the doctor, smiled that slow, cat-like smile of hers and excused herself from the table. I was glad. Glad that she had found out. She was becoming a real Lilliputian.
10
LOCKED DOORS
Poesy Swift
The door to our cabin was locked when I came below deck. I knocked lightly and pressed my ear against the metal. Tilly and Valentine were still in the dining hall so it had to be Eliza in there. At first, I thought she must have been asleep. But I could hear someone making a low humming noise. Or was it the echo of the ship’s engine? After five minutes of tapping and calling her name, I wandered aimlessly up onto the moonlit deck. I simply couldn’t go back to the dining table and that doctor person. It was too horrible. I clung to the rails as a biting wind swept off Bass Strait.
‘Is that you, Poesy?’ said Eloise. She jiggled her baby, Bertie, to stop him mewling. ‘What are you doing up on deck?’
Eloise was Eliza and Eunice’s sister. She’d been a Lilliputian once but now she was nineteen, married to Eddie Quedda and had Bertie to look after.
‘I felt sick.’ I couldn’t tell her about the doctor. ‘So I went to my cabin. But Eliza won’t open the door. At least, the door won’t open. Maybe she’s not there.’
Eloise took me by the wrist and pulled me towards the stairs. ‘What can she be thinking?’ she muttered.
While I held baby Bertie, Eloise rapped loudly on the door of the cabin.
‘Lizzie, open this door at once.’
There was a murmur of voices from the other side. ‘Lizzie,’ said Eloise again, her tone more threatening.
The door opened a crack and Eliza’s pale face appeared in the gap.
‘Poesy was up on deck, freezing, because you wouldn’t let her in.’
‘I was sleeping,’ Eliza said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I didn’t hear her knock.’
Eloise tried to push against the door but Eliza held it firmly. ‘I’m not dressed, don’t push.’
‘Is there someone in there with you?’ asked Eloise.
Eliza glanced at me as I held baby Bertie awkwardly in my arms. ‘Why aren’t you both in the dining hall? What are you doing wandering about the ship?’
Eloise took the baby from me. ‘I was trying to settle Bertie and Poesy is unwell, but that’s not the point, Lizzie. We’ve talked about this before.’
Talked about what? I thought.
‘Go away, Lo. Just leave me alone. Don’t worry about me. Worry about that baby of yours.’ Then she turned to me. ‘Poesy, darling, be a chum and go and ask the steward for a jug of water, please. I’ve used up what was here. I’ll have everything straightened up by the time you come back.’ She pushed the door shut.
I looked at Eloise questioningly, but her lips were drawn thin as she jigged her baby in her arms, trying to still his sobs.
‘Go along then,’ she said, waving me away.
‘But can’t we ring for the steward?’
‘Maybe the bell isn’t working,’ said Eloise. ‘Go.’
I was halfway along the hall when I heard Eloise knock again and the argument with Eliza begin afresh. I could hear the rise of their voices and then the sharp retort of flesh against flesh. I felt my own cheek sting at the thought of Eliza being slapped.
By the time I got back to my cabin, Eloise was gone. I rapped softly and Eliza opened the door immediately. Everything in the cabin was as I’d left it before tea, but there was a funny odour in the air, warm and salty with a musky undertone. I crinkled up my nose. ‘What’s that smell?’ I asked.
‘Ships have lots of funny smells,’ said Eliza. She wore a long ivory nightgown with white sateen trim. She slipped into her bed again. ‘I’m sorry, Poesy. I was asleep when you knocked the first time. You’ll have to take the water from the steward when he comes. I don’t want him to see me in my nightie.’
‘But why are you in bed again already? It’s not very late.’
‘I always feel a little woozy on the first night at sea,’ said Eliza. ‘I’ll have my sea legs soon.’
She did look odd, but not unwell. Her eyes were bright, like two dark blue marbles with silvery flecks, and her cheeks were shiny pink.
After the steward brought the water, I climbed up into my bunk above Eliza.
‘You’re a quiet little stick, Poesy. I think we’re going to like each other.’
I hung over the edge of my bunk and looked down at her. Her face was so lovely, so luminous in the moonlight.
‘Are you all right, Poesy?’ she asked, as if she could read everything that had happened to me, as if it was written on my face. ‘Come down here, climb into my bunk and tell me what’s the matter.’
And so I did. She lifted the blanket and I slid in beside her, as if we were the oldest friends in the world. I told her about wanting to leave Melbourne and how guilty I felt, about Mumma and Yada and Chooky and them needing the thirty shillings, about all my fears about not being good enough for the Lilliputians, and even about the creepy doctor and not knowing how to stop him. After I’d finished, she stroked my hair and whispered to me softly.
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‘You’ll be right, little Poesy. You’re a peach of a girl and the audiences will love you. And I’ll watch out for you too. I think you and I will be great friends, and if you’ve any little troubles, you can tell me. Telling your troubles always makes them lighter.
‘But I think maybe we should be even better friends if we didn’t have to share with Valentine and Tilly. Perhaps we could ask to have a little cabin for two. Just you and me. Would you like that?’
I didn’t know how to answer her. I liked the idea so much, it felt wicked to want it.
‘Would they let us?’
‘If you asked Miss Thrupp, she could arrange it for us. Because it’s your first trip.’
‘Can’t you ask?’
‘My sister might intervene. She has opinions about everything, but she’s not the one in charge. It’s up to Miss Thrupp and Mr Arthur. Will you ask, Poesy dear?’
In that moment, I felt I would do anything for her.
‘Even if Eloise thinks she knows best, it must be nice to have a sister,’ I said, wishing that Eliza was mine.
‘There are nice bits and not so nice bits,’ replied Eliza.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Oh, I’m too tired. You get up in your little bunk now. I’ll tell you about it another time. When we have our own cabin.’
Snuggled down in my bed, I listened to Eliza’s breathing change as she fell asleep, but for a long time I lay awake, feeling the rhythm of the ship as it sailed up the dark coast; feeling the rhythm of my new life.
11
RUNAWAY GIRLS
Tilly Sweetrick
We docked in Sydney but no one was allowed to go ashore, not even Eloise, Eliza and Eunice, whose parents lived in Paddington. Only Miss Thrupp, that odd little matron who was meant to be in charge of us children, she took her baby nephew with her and disappeared. I watched her figure merge into the crowd on the docks and rather hoped she wouldn’t come back.
I really couldn’t take to that woman. Nor could I understand why she’d signed on to travel with the Lilliputians. She was such an unlikely matron. Everything about her was so tiny and birdlike – her hands, her wispy light-brown hair, her bright dark eyes that darted this way and that when anyone misbehaved. She was nothing like Mrs Essie. As soon as Mrs Essie walked into a room, every one of the children fell quiet. You knew you had to obey Mrs Essie. She never needed to raise her voice or even speak crossly to us. It wasn’t that we were afraid of her – it was more that she commanded our attention. But Miss Thrupp was like a sparrow, hopping about the edge of the troupe and twittering in a tiny voice. When we were all together rehearsing in the dining hall, it was as if she became invisible, fading into the wallpaper. Perhaps it was because of her baby. She said Timmy was her dear dead sister’s orphaned boy and she had promised to care for him. Maybe that was why he was a fractious little thing that hadn’t taken well to the sea voyage. Or maybe it was simply Miss Thrupp. She handled him as if he would explode at any moment, as if she was frightened of him. I think she was frightened of us too. I was almost surprised to see her struggling up the gangplank again later that evening. If she’d known what lay ahead, she would never have returned.
As we steamed out of Sydney Harbour and through the Heads, Poesy and I stood at the rails. I slipped my arm around her shoulder and she rested her head against me, nuzzling in closer, almost as if she were my little sister. I rather liked that about Poesy in the beginning. There was a sweetness to her that made you want to take her under your wing.
‘First, we’ll probably stop in Brisbane,’ I said. ‘And then from Brisbane, we’ll sail in one great big smooth line all the way to Honolulu in Hawaii. Then we’ll go to Vancouver and start a tour of Canada. They love us there. We’ll play St John and Winnipeg and then Montreal and Quebec City – oh, you’ll simply adore those French–Canadian cities. They’re so sweet. And then there’s Ottawa and Toronto and then we’ll do America properly.’ I counted the cities on my fingers, as if I was tapping out the beats of a lovely song. ‘New York, Boston, Chicago, Portland, Seattle, San Francisco. Mr Arthur has a house there, you know. We might stay in San Francisco for quite a while.’
Poesy looked up at me, almost breathless with wonder. I felt it too – that it was utterly wonderful to be going back to America. I’d been such a baby when Mrs Essie had taken me on my first world tour. This time I was an old hand; this time I was a thoroughly modern girl.
‘Aren’t you glad I told you to audition?’ I asked Poesy, expecting her to thank me. But instead she turned everything upside down.
‘So you are pleased Mr Arthur picked me, aren’t you? You don’t mind that he likes me so much?’
She said it in such a way that I felt quite uncomfortable. I let go of her shoulder and leaned over the railing to let the wind catch my hair and whip it out behind me.
‘You ask the silliest questions, Poesy.’
Next morning, Mr Arthur told everyone to be in the dining hall at ten o’clock sharp, as if it was an ordinary day, but he should have known better. Leaving Sydney had made everyone skittish. Perhaps it was because now the voyage was to begin in earnest and we knew we wouldn’t set foot in Australia again for two years. Whatever the reason, no one wanted to rehearse.
Mr Arthur came below deck to ferret out every single Lilliputian, though it should have been Miss Thrupp’s job to fetch us. He banged on cabin doors and was rather sharp with Freddie Kreutz and told him he was an insolent cur when really Freddie was only grumbling about having to put his boots back on.
Once rehearsal began, Mr Arthur seemed less grumpy. He worked each of us through our songs carefully. I’m ashamed to admit that I rather liked the way he tipped his head so his face was level with mine as I sang. It’s hard to believe, but in the beginning I liked the way he made you feel you were the only girl in the room.
We worked our way through ‘A Runaway Girl’. I was growing tired of all the other old musicals but this one was still my favourite. Even though I was only in the chorus, I was sure that at some stage I would play Winifred Grey, the beautiful Englishwoman who runs away to sing with bandits. It was exactly the sort of part that suited my voice.
Poesy stood behind Mr Arthur’s chair as we both watched Eliza sing her solo. When she’d finished, Poesy leaned over and whispered close to his ear, ‘Do you think, Mr Percival, sir, that one day I might sing a lead role? One day, like Eliza, I might play Winifred?’
I wanted to pinch the sly minx. Her whisper might as well have been a shout. I heard every syllable. It simply wasn’t done, to wheedle your way into a part like that. I expected Mr Arthur to rebuke her, but instead he turned around and took one of her hands and gave it a little squeeze.
‘Poesy, you mustn’t keep calling me Mr Percival or “Sir”. “Mr Arthur” is much friendlier, don’t you think?’
Poesy blushed, her usual, endearing ploy – and then muttered in a babyish voice, ‘Yes, Mr Arthur.’
When we stepped up to sing the next number with the rest of the girls, I tried not to think about Poesy. The lyrics swelled inside me and burst out so I could hear my voice above all the rest of the chorus and it felt as though it was my song, mine alone. ‘I’m only a poor little singing girl . . .’
12
ABRACADABRA
Poesy Swift
On the third day out from Sydney, Charlie came and leaned against the rail beside me. We hung over the side, staring into the churning seawater. Tilly was in one of her moods again and Eliza was having afternoon tea with Lo, so I was glad of his company. Sometimes, when he was sitting, watching the other boys, he reminded me of Chooky, or the sort of boy I hoped Chooky might become.
‘Queensland is out there,’ he said in that soft voice of his. ‘You can almost smell it. Once we get past the last of the coast, everything will feel different. No more Australia. We’re nearly through the Coral Sea and at the Torres Strait but we won’t stop again now until we get to Surabaya.’
‘Sura-what?’ I asked.
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‘Surabaya, on the island of Java. We cross the Arafura Sea to get there.’
‘But I thought we were going across the Pacific to America.’
‘Eventually, we’ll get to America,’ said Charlie, not looking at me.
‘What do you mean “eventually”?’
‘Lionel reckons we can’t afford to go to America yet. Old Man Percy told him we have to make some money first. This troupe isn’t as good as the last. Too many of the worst from the old lot and too many green ones that don’t know what they’re doing.’
‘Do you mean me?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘You’re all right,’ he mumbled.
‘I’ll be better by the time we get to America.’
‘I expect so. That won’t be for a year or more. We’ll be going to India first.’
I caught my breath. Tilly had told me so much about America that I could see it, taste it, long for it – but India? I’d read Mr Kipling’s books. India was wild and strange, full of boys and men, wolves and tigers. Yada had told me it was a country of great souls, and her hero Mrs Besant had said that India was the mother of all religions, but in my mind it was a dark place full of monkeys and snakes, holy men and soldiers.
‘Don’t you think they’re like magic words?’ asked Charlie. ‘Arafura, Surabaya,’ he chanted. ‘It’s almost as good as abracadabra.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That’s some of the route we’re taking. When we get through the Malacca Straits we cross the Bay of Bengal to reach India.’
He smiled and looked at me as if I felt as he did. ‘Say it,’ said Charlie, his green eyes shining. ‘Say it, Poesy. It’s only ten words. Say it like a magic spell. Arafura-Surabaya-Java-Sea-Malacca-Straits-Bay-of-Bengal-INDIA!’
‘Arafura-Surabaya-Java-Sea-Malacca-Straits-Bay-of-Bengal-India,’ I repeated, trying to make the words sink in, willing myself to feel the magic that Charlie heard in those names. But inside, I trembled. The future had grown dark and unknowable.
India Dark Page 4
