‘What was that for?’
‘For being a nasty, rude little brat,’ she said.
I hated Freddie for provoking Lizzie, for making her act that way. It wasn’t really what she was like. She was the gentlest soul in the world and it was awful to see her so angry.
I took Flora by the hand and led her away behind the tent to sit with Charlie. I wished Miss Thrupp would come and help us with our costumes but no one had seen her since her fight with Ruby. She and baby Timmy stayed locked in their cabin. They hadn’t even come ashore with us.
While we sat in the makeshift backstage area, Lionel carefully unpacked Danny McGee. I know it was babyish to be frightened of a doll. That’s all Danny was – a ventriloquist’s dummy – but when I saw him perched on Lionel’s knee I shuddered. In the dim glow of the gaslight, he looked like a shrunken corpse.
‘You wait,’ said Lionel, grinning. ‘Everyone’s going to be astonished by my Danny.’
Mr Arthur frowned. We knew he thought it was bad luck to boast before you went on stage. Better to be nervous. Maybe he was right. He lifted the tent flap and gestured for Lionel to follow him.
‘C’mon,’ said Charlie. ‘Let’s watch.’
Even though it wasn’t allowed, Charlie and I carefully folded back a piece of canvas and peeked. Lionel sauntered onto centre stage carrying Danny McGee and made himself comfortable on a stool before introducing himself. Then he turned to Danny and told him to say hello to the audience.
Danny’s eyes swivelled about in his ugly little head and his jaw dropped open. Lionel wasn’t very good at throwing his voice. It sounded as if someone was strangling him, his words growing even squeakier and higher as he tried to force the sounds out from between tightly stretched lips. There was a murmur of unease from the crowd.
Except for the front row of Dutchmen sweating in their over-tight suits, the tent was full of dark-skinned men. There were a few women sitting with their children at the very back. They were wrapped in strange pieces of coloured cloth instead of ordinary clothes. I had never seen anyone like them. Their skin was coppery brown and every single one of them had dark eyes. It was hard not to stare.
‘How do you think he’s doing?’ asked Charlie anxiously, leaning so close to me that I could feel the heat coming from his body. ‘Do you think they like him?’
‘Nobody is laughing.’
‘They probably don’t understand the jokes. I told him he’d have to be careful with the jokes.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ I said. ‘Something’s wrong.’
The murmur of the audience grew louder and a small boy began to wail. When Lionel made Danny McGee jump up and do a little song-and-dance routine, the whole of the native audience leapt to their feet and fled, pushing the benches over in their hurry to leave the tent. Mr Arthur shouted at Mr Shrouts and Mr Shrouts started yelling in Dutch at the man who’d been selling the tickets, who ran out after the retreating crowd of Javanese people as they disappeared into the night.
Lionel sat frozen on stage, his mouth trembling. Backstage, we all stared at each other. No one knew what to do. Mr Arthur lifted the back flap of the tent and crossed the stage.
‘What did you do, boy?’
‘Nothing. Only what I always do.’
A short, round Dutchman got up from his seat at the foot of the stage and approached them.
‘It’s not the boy’s fault. You know, here in Java they believe in magic. They think the boy has bewitched the doll. Black magic. An evil spirit is inside the mannequin and the spirit is speaking, not the boy.’
Lionel’s face crumpled and Arthur slapped his forehead and exclaimed, ‘That’s scuppered it, hasn’t it? We won’t be doing a second show, not now they’re all terrified.’
But as he spoke, a small group of Javanese returned to the tent, shepherded by Mr Shrouts and the ticket-seller.
‘You must show them it is only a toy,’ Mr Shrouts said, breathless from his pursuit. ‘Show them it’s mechanical, show them how you do it. Then they’ll be all right and we can get on with the show.’
Lionel slipped off his stool and held Danny McGee up, showing how his hand fitted neatly under the dummy’s coat. He took off Danny’s clothes and laid them on the stool; the red-and-black checked jacket, the green bow tie and the dusty grey pants. All the time he spoke to the audience about how the dummy was made. Then he took Danny’s head apart and showed them the workings and how he made the dummy’s eyes roll and mouth open.
Charlie and I watched the audience anxiously. They still looked apprehensive but it seemed that they were starting to trust Lionel. It was only when the head rolled off the stool and hit the floor with a crash that a few people jumped to their feet again. But Lionel simply leant over and picked up the head, holding it out to the audience to show them it was an empty object, not the vessel of an evil spirit.
When Lionel came off stage, his shirt was soaked in sweat. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth was set in a grim line.
‘Are you all right, Leo?’ asked Charlie, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
‘It killed him. It killed Danny.’
‘What do you mean? You’re being silly,’ said Ruby. ‘He wasn’t ever alive.’
‘He was for me. And now he’s finished.’ He shoved the head of the dummy at Charlie and ran out into the night.
Charlie turned Danny McGee’s head over in his hands and we all saw the ugly black crack in his forehead from where he’d hit the stage. One of his eyes sat at a skewed angle while the other stayed shut.
‘Perhaps he can fix it,’ I said dubiously.
‘I don’t think so. The fall has damaged its mechanisms,’ said Charlie.
‘Poor old Danny McGee,’ I said.
‘It’s not the dummy I’m worried about,’ said Charlie, looking to where Lionel had departed through the open tent flap.
After the show, we walked silently back through the streets of Surabaya. Mr Arthur carried Daisy asleep in his arms. The dim gaslight outside the hotel sizzled as bugs flew into its glow. Nightjars swooped through the eaves of the verandahs. Then, from between two buildings, we saw a flickering movement, a flaring light and a collage of shifting shapes. Beyond the laneway stood an odd little temple of some sort. Seated on the ground, a crowd of Javanese watched shadow figures move across a screen. We heard a babble of foreign words while the shadowy forms on the screen fought and danced, their shadows lengthening and then shrinking as if by magic.
Standing at the edge of the laneway, silhouetted against the soft light, was Lionel. Charlie called to him but Lionel ignored him, transfixed by the play of shadows. Mr Arthur handed the sleeping Daisy to Eddie Quedda. Then he walked over to Lionel and put an arm around his shoulder to draw him away. For a brief moment Lionel resisted, but then suddenly he slumped against Mr Arthur and allowed himself to be led over to where Charlie and I waited. Behind them, the shadow figures writhed and twisted in an intricate play of movement.
At the steps of the hotel, Lionel stumbled and Mr Arthur caught him gently and guided him towards the entrance.
‘It’s all right, young Lionel,’ said Mr Arthur. ‘You did your best.’
Lionel turned his stricken face upward to gaze at Mr Arthur and his expression grew soft with gratitude.
‘Thanks, sir,’ he said. ‘I won’t never let you down again.’
It was such a tender moment. I wanted to cry out, ‘I won’t let you down either, Mr Arthur.’ But it would have been a promise I couldn’t keep.
16
LOVING LIZZIE
Poesy Swift
The next morning we were back on board the steamer. Mr Arthur had said he couldn’t afford to pay for another night’s lodging in Surabaya if we weren’t doing a show, and that meant we’d have to sleep on the ship. Some of the girls wanted to wander about the town, but Mr Arthur said it was improper so they sat restlessly fidgeting on the deck.
I went to my cabin and lay on the bed. I tried to write a postcard home:
This morning as we walked back to our ship, Mr Arthur insisted Eliza and I stop at a roadside stall and try a piece of an awfully peculiar fruit called durian. It smelt so unpleasant I had to peg my nose but when I popped a piece in my mouth it was sweet and juicy and oddly delicious. You can always trust Mr Arthur’s advice.
Then my pencil hovered above the card. I didn’t really want my family to know I was in Surabaya. Could you buy durian fruit in America? Would Yada realise that I hadn’t gone where Mr Arthur had promised to take me? How could I explain it? I sighed and pushed the unfinished postcard under my pillow.
‘What’s the matter, darling Poesy?’ asked Lizzie.
‘Do you think Mr Arthur was right to bring us here?’
‘You mustn’t be disheartened, Poesy,’ said Lizzie. ‘We only stopped at Surabaya because the Ceylon had to deliver cargo. This isn’t what things will be like everywhere we go. Batavia will be much better. It’s bigger and prettier.’
‘Have you been there before?’
‘No, but Mr Arthur has and he said it’s very civilised. And after that there’ll be Singapore, which I have visited and it’s lovely. There’s a big theatre and plenty of white people to come and see us so we won’t have to worry about the audiences.’
‘Don’t they let the coloured people come?’
‘Oh, I can’t remember. Perhaps there are Chinamen up in the gallery, but the stalls and balconies are full of the nicest people and they give you presents and ask you for afternoon tea.’
‘Tilly says they only ask the prettiest girls. She said I shouldn’t expect too much. She said she might let me come along with her because she usually gets a lot of invitations, doesn’t she?’
Lizzie laughed. ‘Tilly? Do you really think Tilly is one of the prettiest? Prettier than you?’
She stood up and leaned in close to my pillow. She put one finger on the tip of my nose and put her face next to mine, so close that I could smell the minty sweetness of her breath. ‘You are far prettier than Matilda Sweeney or Sweetrick or whatever she may call herself now. That girl can’t hold a candle to you, dear one.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘Don’t let Tilly or anyone else make you doubt yourself, Poesy Swift. You’re pretty and clever and a wonderful little actress.’
I wanted to fling my arms around her and hug her. I wanted to bury myself in her lovely soft embrace but she had thrown herself down on her bed again and was flicking through the pages of a magazine. I hung over the side of my bunk and my hair fell like a pale waterfall about my face.
‘Can we be friends forever, Lizzie?’
She raised one hand and gently touched my cascading hair.
‘Yes, my little pixie. We shall be friends forever and we shall both live happily ever after.’
And I believed her.
17
HEADS AND TAILS
Poesy Swift
The next day, I sat alone in the forecastle, watching the coast as the steamer churned its way north. Tilly and Valentine found me there.
‘This air, it’s so sticky, don’t you think?’ said Tilly. She lifted her petticoats and flapped them into the wind.
‘Tilly!’ I cried. ‘You’ve got no knickers on!’
‘It’s delicious,’ she said. But Valentine shook her head. ‘You won’t like it when we’re ashore. Your thighs will stick together when you walk.’
I covered my ears. Those two could talk about the rudest things.
As we steamed towards the town of Batavia we passed hundreds of small islands. Some were no more than a single palm tree standing up out of the sea quite by itself. When we passed through the entrance to the harbour, Batavia came into view. Dark green hills dotted with elegant mansions rose on either side of the town. A rickety boat pulled alongside the steamer and we all squealed when we discovered we were going to take the journey ashore in a sampan.
Batavia was nicer than Surabaya had been but people still stared at us as we travelled through the town in open carriages. As we rode into the central square, Freddie Kreutz pointed at an odd tower set into a well in the ground.
‘That’s where the Dutch execute prisoners,’ he said with spiteful glee. ‘They take them underground from the court house and then . . .’ He made a slitting motion with his fingers across his throat and a horrible gargling noise.
Max laughed and put his hands around Freddie’s neck. ‘Now, you are my prisoner . . .’ Then the two of them were wrestling with each other on the floor of the carriage and all the girls had to raise their feet up onto the seat. I pulled my skirts over my knees and shivered at the thought of men having their heads chopped off under the ground while above them people were promenading with their parasols in the tropical heat.
Outside our hotel, we clustered in the shade of the verandah. For some reason, we weren’t allowed inside. Mr Arthur stood at the counter, arguing with the manager, while we waited. Daisy and Flora kept tiptoeing over to the door, peering into the cool darkness of the foyer and giggling. The boys sat on the edge of the steps scuffing their feet in the dust and we girls flopped on benches, fanning ourselves with our hands.
It was almost too hot to talk. I wandered across the verandah and stood behind Charlie and Lionel, watching over their shoulders. They were doing a trick with a shiny silver coin. Charlie had it in one hand and then, as if by magic, it passed through the skin of that hand and into the other.
‘See, it’s easy,’ said Charlie, handing the coin to Lionel. ‘You have a go.’
‘I still can’t see how you do it. You’re not showing me properly,’ said Lionel, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He glanced up at me. ‘You should go away, Poesy. Magicians can’t let other people see their magic.’
‘But Charlie’s letting you watch. He’s teaching you and you’re not a magician.’
‘That’s different. He’s my brother.’
‘Please, Charlie,’ I said, jumping down from the verandah to stand in front of the boys. ‘Show me too.’
‘Lionel can show you. Go on, Leo – give it a go.’
Lionel scowled as he fiddled with the coin, passing it clumsily from one hand to the other until finally he lost control altogether and it slipped out of his hand and landed in the dirt with a plop. The sun bounced off the image of the King’s head and I picked it up.
‘Can I try?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Lionel. ‘Girls don’t do magic.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Charlie. ‘She probably won’t be able to work it out.’
The coin was slippery with boy-sweat, and warm from Lionel’s hand. I shut my eyes, picturing the movements that Charlie had made. In my mind’s eye I could see exactly what he had done.
I took a deep breath and laid the coin on the palm of my left hand and then ran my right palm over it. The first time, the coin stayed there, but on the second try I managed to ‘palm’ the coin away so my left hand was empty. I looked up at the boys for approval. Charlie smiled, but Lionel’s face grew dark. He scowled at Charlie.
‘You’ve showed her that before, haven’t you? You two are trying to make me feel stupid. I don’t have to stand for that.’ He turned away from us both and stomped into the darkness of the hotel foyer.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ said Charlie.
‘You can hardly say that’s my fault!’ I said, handing back the coin.
‘Don’t be cross, Poesy. Lionel was right. Girls aren’t supposed to learn magic. It’s against the magicians’ code.’
He looked both serious and stupid in equal measure. I couldn’t help but laugh. Suddenly, he laughed too. ‘That’s the last time I let you close to me when I’m doing a trick.’ Then he reached up behind my ear, and when he drew his hand away he was holding a coin.
‘That was clever,’ I said.
‘I’ve been practising. Mr Arthur said that if I get really good, maybe I can do a magic act next time we stage a revue.’
‘Tilly says we’ll never do a re
vue again. Not after what happened in Surabaya.’
Charlie shrugged. He was funny like that. He never liked to talk about anything that he thought was gossip or start an argument, not even with Lionel. Not like the Kreutz brothers. Mr Arthur was always having to pull Freddie off Max or Max off Freddie. They were like two bears that set upon each other without the least provocation.
As we waited outside the hotel, Max and Freddie began to shove each other restlessly. The little girls began to whine. Why weren’t we allowed inside?
Mr Arthur strode out onto the verandah looking haggard and called all the grown-ups into the hotel foyer. A few minutes later, Miss Thrupp scurried out and began flapping her arms, shrilly rounding up children and making us march into the street. Everybody grumbled but Miss Thrupp wouldn’t say why we had to leave in such a hurry. She wouldn’t even let us wait for the carriages to return.
The few bags we’d brought with us from the steamer were loaded onto another cart and we were all forced to walk back along the dusty roadways to the waterside again, as if there wasn’t even time to wait for carriages. As we tramped past the fish markets towards the dock, Tilly sidled up to me and grabbed my arm.
‘Did you hear?’ she asked. ‘Cholera – it’s been through the hotel and they’re not letting anyone stay ashore.’
The stink of the fish market suddenly seemed horribly rank. ‘Cholera?’ My stomach lurched and my limbs felt weak. ‘Why didn’t Mr Shrouts warn us?’
‘He sailed straight to Singapore – that’s what advance agents do. They travel ahead of us for most of the tour.’
She spoke in such a snappy tone that I lowered my head and decided to keep my thoughts to myself.
‘I don’t want to go ashore in Batavia ever, ever again,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait until Singapore. At least it’s a British colony. Really, the Dutch aren’t like us. They simply aren’t like us at all.’
I couldn’t see that the Dutch were very different or what that had to do with cholera, but it wasn’t worth saying that out loud with Tilly in such a huffy-puffy mood.
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