I looked down at Violet’s pretty little face, framed by pinned-up golden curls; her beauty was marred by what seemed like a permanent sneer of boredom. ‘Pleased to meet you, Violet,’ I replied. ‘Actually, I find history very interesting. You’re fortunate to live in such an atmospheric home.’
‘Fortunate to live in that draughty, rat-infested mausoleum? If it was up to me I’d knock the whole thing down and build something more modern and practical. Something amusing to live in. Perhaps in the art deco style.’
‘Then if you forgive me, I think it’s fortunate it’s not up to you.’ Shocked, I had found my tongue. ‘Our history has to be preserved. Future generations will benefit enormously from Tasmania’s stately homes remaining intact.’ Mrs Bydrenbaugh shot me an approving glance although her daughter’s expression said clearly, What a frightful bore you are!
I glanced at Father Kelly, sitting in a chair by the fire looking totally at home. He glanced meaningfully between Maxwell and myself before nodding to me coldly – no doubt thinking of my last confession (I hated to recall the contempt in his voice). I had believed priests to be without judgment but I was clearly wrong. No Hail Marys could erase my embarrassment that even a man of the cloth had found my secret so objectionable.
Pearl returned to the room, her shawl top even more askew. I think we all noticed it, although we pretended not to. I avoided looking at Maxwell in case he shared the same suspicion.
‘The girls won’t let Victor get away,’ she said. ‘Thomasina is insisting on him reading her Milly-Molly-Mandy. Telling more fibs about her tooth to get attention.’ She lit a cigarette. ‘It’s blowing a gale outside,’ she said. ‘After the murder, we should all strip naked and dance under the moon.’ Victor, re-entering the room, laughed at her and I pretended to examine my nails, fuming over how cheap and obvious she sounded.
‘Never!’ said Mrs Bydrenbaugh, glancing at Father Kelly. ‘After your murder, I’ll be tucked up in bed listening to that wind. You won’t tempt me into your pagan activities.’
Violet erupted into a fit of giggles, presumably at the thought of her mother dancing naked. She sounded like a horse having hysterics.
‘Hark! Hark! The dogs do bark!’ Pearl said. ‘Can you hear that old scruffy two doors down? One day I’m going to throttle that dog. Barks at anything all day and night. Our other guests must be arriving!’
There was a knocking on the door and she ran to answer it, returning with two local men I knew by name, Edward Stephens and his brother Arthur. The family resemblance between them was obvious although Arthur was slightly heavier in build. They wore cheap-looking suits and gumboots on their feet which I could hear Pearl ordering them to wipe or remove before they could enter.
‘Teeming down out there,’ Edward said. Both men had wet hair and moisture on their faces.
‘We’re nearly all here,’ Pearl said brightly. ‘Just waiting on our medium.’
As if on cue, there came the sound of horses’ hooves on the dark road and a ‘Whoa! Steady up, Dobbie!’
‘Sounds as if she’s arrived! Why do they always call their horses Dobbie? Why not something interesting, like Brutus?’ Pearl rushed to the door.
The arrival of the Stephens brothers had altered the atmosphere in the room. They reminded me of bulls set loose in a china shop. They were both handsome in an obvious, rough-featured way. Violet stared at them, eyes wide, but Diana looked unimpressed to find local fishermen attending any social gathering she was part of.
Father Kelly stood up and went out to the front door. I could hear raised voices. It was easy to surmise that he was objecting to a medium being present. Pearl was laughing as she sometimes did after too much wine. It was so typical of the man to accept the invitation and use it as an excuse to foist his judgments on all present whilst knocking back Maxwell’s wine.
Maxwell, always the consummate host, offered drinks to the new arrivals. The Stephens boys settled for cider. I tried not to ponder what Pearl had been doing with Victor. Surely she would respect the fact that he was my date? I was her friend after all; not just that, but Maxwell was right there. Was it my imagination, or did Victor seem more remote now? Was his conversation suddenly more animated even as his eyes darted away from mine?
I heard a door bang; shortly after, Pearl entered the room followed by a large woman who had a crisp, no-nonsense air about her and grey-flecked black hair that fell to her waist. ‘Father Kelly had another appointment, bless his boots,’ Pearl said. ‘This gorgeous woman is Jean or, as I call her, world-famous Madame Rosa Drake.’
Jean seemed ill at ease – little wonder when she had been met at the front door by a ranting priest and a half-naked bohemian. ‘Yes, madam, I’m Jean. You can keep your Madame Drake! Jean is a good simple name. Was my mum’s name and her mum before her. Passed on their gifts to me too.’ She glanced around the room and I guessed she longed for a mop, soap and water. ‘No alcohol for me, sir,’ she said, waving away Maxwell, who hovered with a bottle of wine. ‘The spirits aren’t as clear if I indulge. The old town hasn’t changed at all. I came here as a little girl. It’s as dead as a doornail out there. Not a living or dead soul on those streets, and I thought Hobart was bad!’ She shivered. ‘The spirits are strong tonight, gathering around. They must have something to convey.’
‘How perfectly divine,’ Pearl said, as Mrs Bydrenbaugh sniffed her disapproval.
‘I must say,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure that I agree with disturbing the sleep of the dead. How do we know that what you tell us tonight isn’t a load of codswallop?’
Jean nodded as if she had heard this a thousand times before. ‘Good for you, madam,’ she said. ‘I, however, don’t have the luxury of deciding whether or not to believe or disturb their peace. I’ve been seeing spirits and angels and hearing their songs since I was a babe suckling at my mum’s bosom. My old nan had the same gift. Mum, bless her soul, couldn’t see the spirit world but she could hear them. My brother heard the whispers when he was small but no more. Lovely music the angels make! Some people might find that disturbing, but it comforted my old mum. They even told her the exact day and time of her death. Angel whispers, she used to call it. They whispered to her the time of death and then they came for her.’
‘How ghastly!’ Violet cried. ‘I’d have died of fright. How irresponsible of the spirits or angels. Such things should be a mystery.’
‘Well, we’re all different, love. My mum found it heartening. She had her best clothes on and all her arrangements made when they came for her. But that’s Mum. It helps if you have faith. Not many people want to know the exact day and manner of their death. Luckily, the spirits keep it back from people – mostly.’
Her words seemed to cast a chill upon the room. Maxwell put another log onto the fire.
‘The room is cold because so many spirits have gathered,’ Jean said, shivering. ‘That’s a sign of their presence.’
‘There must be billions of them at Blackness House. It’s always freezing there,’ Mrs Bydrenbaugh said with a scornful laugh.
‘Diana, shut up or I’ll murder you,’ Pearl said. ‘Speaking of which, it’s now time for our murder – before people get too drunk.’
Maxwell lifted the lid of the window seat and began removing items of fancy dress, distributing them around the room for people to put on over their own clothes. Mrs Bydrenbaugh became an archaeologist, while the Stephens boys were dressed as Egyptians. Jean was a movie producer and I was ‘his’ ingénue, complete with long blonde wig. Maxwell put on a woman’s skirt and blouse, even adding make-up and a string of beads. I marvelled at Pearl’s ability to gather so many costumes together.
Once we were all informed of our new identities, Pearl handed out scripts. What followed was a hysterical game of murder set at an archaeological dig in Egypt. Violet was the ‘victim’. Amid shrieks of laughter she was positioned on the floor near the doorway where she had supposedly been beaten to death with a heavy object. The remaining characters had to ask questio
ns of each other to determine the identity of the murderer. There was plenty of frivolity and even Diana joined in the fun with good grace, excelling herself by unearthing me, the ingénue, as the murderer; I had killed Violet after she witnessed me substituting an imitation beetle brooch for the genuine article.
Only Jean didn’t seem to enjoy the game. She kept glancing around the room, her face turned slightly upwards as if she was listening to her angel music. When Pearl urged her to participate more fully by using her gift to determine the murderer’s identity, she shook her head. ‘Murder is not a game,’ she said firmly. ‘The spirits and my old mum wouldn’t like it if I mucked about with the gift like that.’ She shivered again and moved closer to the fire. ‘Besides, they’re all so busy tonight; I’ve got my work cut out trying to follow them.’
Shortly afterwards we sat down to eat a supper of savoury hors d’oeuvres, sliced cold meats and salad followed by pavlova and trifle. Several popular songs played on the gramophone. But in spite of the merriment and shrieks of laughter around me, as the night wore on I became increasingly uneasy. There was a terrible false note to the evening – something was wrong. Perhaps it was simply Jean’s influence, her insistence that the inhabitants of the other world were restless and gathering. But somehow I felt there was more to it. In his beads and gaudy make-up Maxwell looked effeminate, even weak. Was the false feeling I sensed coming from Maxwell? I wondered why he allowed his wife to behave as she did. I confess, for the first time I despised Maxwell for his blind spot towards Pearl; singing along to ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’ he watched his wife like a love-struck puppy. My eyes travelled to the Stephens boys who seemed uncomfortable in their ‘Egyptian’ sheets. They watched Pearl with a hungry air, like wild dogs sniffing delicious meat denied to them.
Violet, too, was fixated on Pearl. Her conversation was animated but she spoke in a loud, shrill tone and her facial expressions were exaggerated as if she was trying too hard to seem social. Her mother, meanwhile, had a strange smirk upon her face as if something was secretly amusing her.
Victor continued to avoid my gaze, which made my throat swell with emotion. What had happened between him and Pearl while they were upstairs? Had my friend betrayed my trust?
For her part, Pearl continued to laugh uproariously and make silly toasts. ‘I propose a toast to all dead poets, the restless undead, the hollow men, Dionysus, Jean Cocteau, Old Mother Hubbard, the p**** and c*** that made you. Sweeney Todd, Rudolph Valentino and, of course, the King!’
I admit I found Pearl tedious that night; her behaviour, as my mother would have pointed out, was immature and vulgar. I longed for a quiet sanctuary where I could nurse my growing disillusionment.
After the ample dinner, Pearl insisted we all troop outside to dance under the moon before the séance. It was still raining, but as usual Pearl got her way.
‘Hail Artemis and Hecate!’ she called, swaying like a dervish. She grabbed one of the Stephens boys and began attempting to swirl with him. I half expected at any moment for her to shed her clothes and bay at the moon. I envied her her lack of restraint but at the same time I felt repelled by her. That was the first time I really sensed the almost childlike coldness at the core of Pearl’s being; the grasping, greedy centre of her that cared nothing for others’ feelings or needs as long as her own were immediately satisfied.
With the exception of Jean, we gathered in a half circle. I looked across at Maxwell as he watched his wife embrace another man on the lawn and I couldn’t tell if it was tears or the rain upon his face. I believe that in some mysterious fashion, it was then, as she performed her Bacchanalian rites, that Pearl’s fate was sealed.
‘This is my most valued friend in the world,’ Jean said as we eventually returned inside and seated ourselves at the kitchen table, ready to begin the séance. ‘It was passed down to my mum by old Nan.’ With tender care she unwrapped a black crystal ball.
‘What’s that the lady’s holding?’
The question made us jump. Standing in the doorway wearing a grubby green dressing-gown was Thomasina.
‘Oh! You naughty child!’ Mrs Bydrenbaugh said. ‘What do you mean sneaking up on us like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!’
Pearl’s face had also changed from merriment to rage. ‘What is it now? Didn’t I tell you not, under any circumstances, to come downstairs?’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Thomasina said. ‘You were all making too much noise. My mouth and tummy and head are hurting. And when I looked out of the window, I saw a ghost in the garden and heard noises in the kitchen.’
‘Don’t speak back to your elders and betters, little girl,’ Mrs Bydrenbaugh said.
‘You’re always ruining everything!’ Pearl hissed at the child, who returned her stare with loathing. ‘When I tell you not to do something, it means don’t do it!’
‘I’m hungry,’ Thomasina said mulishly. ‘You were all laughing and yelling. Why is this lady in the kitchen with a ball? Is she telling fortunes?’
‘That’s none of your business! Now, I’m about to tell you your fortune: you’re returning to bed right now and for an entire week there will be no treats for you. All those sweets you guzzle rot your teeth! Come on, before I belt you in front of everybody.’
‘I’ll take her,’ Maxwell began, but was silenced by Pearl.
‘You’ll do no such thing. It’s because of you mollycoddling her that she thinks she can get away with anything. I won’t have her defying me in front of my guests!’
Feeling Pearl’s hand on her arm, Thomasina began to struggle. ‘Don’t take me back upstairs! The ghost will come and get me!’
‘Shut up, you wicked child! If a phantom did take you away, it’d be a good thing! It’d give me some peace for a change. You tell more stories than I do! Why do you always have to vie for attention? I’m sick to death of your fibs!’ Pearl dragged Thomasina out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
We sat in silence, listening to mother and daughter screaming at each other, followed by a loud slap and then weeping. I had never particularly liked Thomasina, finding her sulkiness and surly attitude off-putting. A gypsy brat, Pearl often called her; cruel as the jibe was, it did seem to fit Thomasina.
‘She’s going to be a handful,’ Mrs Bydrenbaugh said to Maxwell. ‘If you spare the rod now, you’ll pay for it later.’
Pearl re-entered the kitchen. ‘Exactly, Diana!’ she said. ‘But you can talk to Maxwell about this until you’re blue in the face. He indulges them until they feel they can get away with murder. You should have heard the abuse she gave me just then. I could really kill her at times. I found Angel: she was trying on my cosmetics, the vain girl. She got a tongue-lashing too. Domestic help have no respect these days!’
‘Pearl, do shut up. You’re frightening the spirits away,’ Violet said.
‘Oh, stuff and nonsense, Violet!’ Mrs Bydrenbaugh said.
As one, we all looked at Jean, who was sitting at the head of the table with her head bowed as if in prayer, holding the crystal ball to her forehead. After making the sign of the cross, she raised the ball above her head. We were mesmerised by the performance.
‘This house has known much suffering, sorrow and sadness,’ she said into the silence. ‘A deep grief is everywhere.’ There was a nervous giggle from Violet and Pearl glared at her. ‘The soil that the house is built upon is not happy. The soil wants a blessing. The Red Dragon needs to be fed and soothed. The Red Dragon mutters restlessly in his great dreaming. He sleeps the sleep of the disturbed under the soil, below the sight of mortal man. There is a locket with hair and a mother’s tears – the Red Dragon keeps the locket safe between his toes, way, way down in the soil.’
I shivered, imagining such a scene, miles below in the earth’s depths. I could almost smell the dankness and see the great, dirty black claws of the dragon holding fast to the locket and hair.
‘Cheerful old stuff you’re channelling, Jean,’ Pearl said, placing a cigarette in a holder and lighting it. ‘Can�
�t you tune in to any restless wraiths that want their gruesome deaths avenged? Not dreary old red dragons. We need traditional ghosts. Somewhere in the house there must be a grey nun or a child who can’t sleep in its coffin. All the best Tasmanian houses have them!’
‘Be careful what you wish for, old girl,’ Maxwell said. ‘And stop talking such tosh. You’re frightening Violet.’
‘Boo!’ Pearl shouted. Violet cried out in fright and Pearl laughed until she wept.
Jean glared at her. ‘I repeat: all I feel from your home is unhappiness and despair. The angels’ songs are a warning you would be foolish to ignore. I do not refer to the past now but the future.’
Tension crept around us. As if in response to her words the fire spat sparks and the wind rattled the shutters.
Pearl laughed harder. ‘Don’t, darling!’ she said. ‘It’s too wonderfully grim. You’re going to announce in that sombre tone that we’ll all be dead within a year. We’re characters in a Dumas novel!’ She looked around at us but nobody responded. We were all staring at Jean.
‘I am not telling you anything, madam,’ Jean said. ‘I’m merely reporting to you what the angels whisper to me.’
‘Of course,’ Pearl said. ‘Well? What are their whispers saying? Pray, don’t leave us in suspense, do tell!’
Jean’s face was half in shadow from the fire. When she spoke again, her voice was deeper, older. It was easy to believe that other voices from an alternate world were speaking through her. The room was somehow transformed; the air was charged with a prickling sensation and everyday life as I had known it seemed distant and unreal. Even Mrs Bydrenbaugh had lost her expression of distaste.
Only Pearl seemed unconcerned. ‘Who’s for the chop then?’ she asked. ‘You might as well deliver now. Me, I suppose? The glamorous femme fatale always seems to get the choppy-chop in these affairs. It’s the good, boring girls who live and prosper.’ Her eyes flicked at me.
‘Don’t say any more, for heaven’s sake!’ Violet began.
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