When I opened her gift box on Christmas Day, it was with disbelief that I saw her present was a large navy-blue button. There it sat with frayed cotton around it in its elaborate box. What on earth did it mean?
The cricket match
The next time I saw Pearl was at the New Year’s Day cricket match. This was an annual event in Pencubitt. While Mother and I found the sport itself an utter bore, we always looked forward to the Pencubitt Show which accompanied the big match, complete with a coconut shy, pony rides, a clown with magic tricks and balloons, sideshows, writing and drawing competitions and, best of all, the dreaded Snake Pit! One of the highlights for Mother was the church choir’s performance at lunchtime. The Pencubitt and Burnie housewives tried to outdo each other for the best sponge cakes, apple pies, sandwiches, homemade ginger beer, cream meringues, lamingtons and pies while the teams battled it out on the cricket pitch. Everybody dressed up, the men in pinstriped suits and pork pie hats, the women in their best hats and gloves. Children brought along the few Christmas gifts they may have been lucky enough to receive for their friends to admire and envy.
I had selected my outfit carefully for the occasion: a pale sky-blue dress with lemon polka spots sewn from a Butterick pattern, teamed with a new pair of white court heels that I had saved up for nearly all year. Carole Lombard had worn something similar in a magazine. I wore a white straw hat and gloves and when I looked in the mirror I felt myself to be nearly beautiful. My hair fell in shining brunette waves where I’d had the cloth rags in all day yesterday. I had even dared to add some rouge to my cheeks and lips, hoping Mother wouldn’t notice.
Mother scowled when she saw me admiring myself. ‘Vanity is a sin.’
Father Kelly was meeting us at the house to accompany Mother. He was his usual dour, unsmiling self, although he did compliment me on my outfit, saying he liked blue on young women. We carried baskets of scones, fish paste and tomato sandwiches, together with a Victoria sponge cake we had baked for the picnic lunch.
As we entered the grounds and saw the paper chains strung around the trees and the large crowd of people dressed in their finery, I felt the old rush of excitement. Everywhere you could sense the joyous anticipation of the villagers: it was a new year, with a promise of better things to come and in apparent support of our optimistic feelings the sun shone in an aquamarine sky. After leaving our contribution to the picnic in the allocated tent, I left Mother in the shade of a tree with a bottle of lemonade and a couple of her friends and wandered off to the coconut shy to try my luck. I had never forgotten my joy when I was twelve and had won a beautiful fairy doll on a stick. Mother took it off me and gave it to the church for a little girl poorer than me. I cried and ached for that doll every night for months afterwards. I always hoped to match my triumph of that year and regain my childish joy in a beautiful prize, as foolish as my longing was.
‘Well, if it’s not the blue birdie of happiness,’ a familiar voice drawled. I froze, cursing myself for not remaining safely under the tree with Mother. In front of me at the shy was Pearl, with Violet, Maxwell and the two girls, Thomasina scowling at me over an enormous toffee apple. Pearl made a great show of kissing me on both cheeks, while Maxwell greeted me without meeting my eyes. I sensed a strange tension and wondered if it was because I hadn’t been to Poet’s Cottage since that terrible Christmas Eve. Maxwell had changed into a man I no longer recognised, not only in his outward appearance – he looked gaunt and aged – but also in his recent shocking behaviour with Angel. Pearl looked more beautiful than ever in a full-length lemon-coloured dress with broad navy stripes, white platform shoes and a long string of pearls. She carried a bright yellow parasol and her fashionable outfit attracted stares and some smothered giggles from passers-by.
Violet nodded at me but unlike our previous encounters she made no attempt at conversation. She held Marguerite by the hand and there was none of her usual girlish giggling. Looking closer I noticed her face looked pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes.
I felt awkward as I stood and chatted. With the exception of Pearl, they were acting as if they didn’t want to talk to me. After a few minutes of listening to Pearl ramble on about her latest book, I excused myself on the pretext of getting Mother some food.
As I walked away through the crowd I felt unbearably lonely. Despite our different temperaments, when I had first become friends with Pearl it was as if I had discovered a kindred spirit. Like me, she loved literature, poetry and the arts and I’d believed our shared love of culture would build a bridge between the more disparate sides of our personalities. That bridge had collapsed. I now felt like the outsider I was.
The cricket match had opened to a cheering crowd as the opposing captain tossed a coin. I sat next to Mother, wishing I was a thousand miles away. Despite the heat, Mother was in high spirits, sharing gossip, sandwiches and slices of iced watermelon with her friends. To my dismay, the Tatlows and Violet sat next to us, the girls in tow, lounging in the shade of a big tree. I fumed that with all the space available, they chose to rub in my exclusion from their circle. I could hear the girls squabbling and Pearl’s sharp tone as she scolded them. Maxwell glanced over and raised his hand but didn’t invite me to join them. At last, though, his eyes connected with mine and he seemed to offer some sort of apology. I looked down and pretended to study my new shoes, willing myself not to cry.
When Mother and her friends made disapproving noises I risked a glance up to see Teddy and Victor joining Pearl’s party. I hastily averted my eyes in terror that Victor would see me staring. He was back in Pencubitt for the holiday, no doubt.
‘I knew from the moment she came here there would be trouble!’ Mother huffed. There was a hum of agreement from the circle of women, who all had a story to tell about some licentious act of Pearl’s, each more outrageous than the last. I was only half listening when I heard Angel’s name mentioned.
‘She was always a silly sort of girl,’ Mother was saying. ‘Dim-witted and lazy. I knew there would be trouble when she went to work for them! Her poor old ma hasn’t heard anything from her since she took off. Not even a note. Wouldn’t you think the wicked girl would have sent her a note? Mind, her mother’s a simple fool and no mistake! All those children and she lets the chooks and sheep in the house as well! Can you imagine the mess?’ Her glance flicked over to Maxwell. ‘If you ask me,’ she said, her eyes reminding me of a toad with a juicy fly, ‘I’d say she got herself into trouble with that one, if you catch my meaning. Whenever I saw them in the street they were making cow eyes at each other. It might be a blessing on her ma that she took off when she did.’ There was an appropriate chorus of horrified exclamations from the assembled women.
Thinking over Mother’s words, I watched a large jack jumper ant crawling near my hand. It was news to me that Angel had disappeared, and it didn’t make sense that she hadn’t contacted her mother. Despite her faults she had seemed to be a loyal, caring girl to her family. I felt uneasy, knowing the secret that Mother had unwittingly stumbled upon. Had Angel been so distraught at finding herself in the family way (if indeed she was) that she had absconded? Where would she go with little money? Had some harm befallen her? And if Angel was, in fact, missing, shouldn’t the police be notified?
Mother removed her shoe and whacked the jack jumper to pieces. ‘Yes,’ she said, watching Maxwell with a satisfied expression. ‘I’d say that young man knows why the girl took off. She probably preferred to be gone lest the town find out she was a harlot and sinner.’
But she was in love with Maxwell.
There was muted clapping from the crowd as one of the Burnie boys hit a spectacular four. I stood up, needing some time to gather my thoughts.
At the lemonade stand run by the local Girl Guide group I bought a drink and exchanged a few pleasantries with an old school acquaintance. Married for five years, she already had four children and I felt slightly despondent as I considered the differences between our lives. Phoebe Green, who had been so unrem
arkable in all aspects of her life throughout our school years, knew a man’s passion and the curse of childbirth, while I – so lauded at school for my art and achievements and praised for my looks – was alone.
My eyes went again to the Tatlow family under the tree. Marguerite, as pretty as ever in her pale pink and red lace dress, ran around the tree making faces at Maxwell, her blonde hair flying behind her. Meanwhile her sister was ignoring the game and poking at the tree with a stick. No doubt she was trying to kill some insect.
‘Here she is! Didn’t I tell you she was the prettiest girl here today?’
I turned to see Teddy and Victor behind me. My cheeks flushed at Teddy’s compliment and I sipped my drink in confusion.
‘Victor was asking about you so I told him he had best find you quick before somebody snaps you up,’ Teddy said. The normally silent fisherman was more effusive than I was used to. Perhaps it was just the beer he was knocking back. ‘Well, now we’ve tracked her down, I’ll leave you two to natter.’ Teddy walked away towards Pearl and her party.
Victor asked me if I had eaten and when I said no, he suggested we get something from the barbecue that was doing a roaring trade behind the grandstand. After helping ourselves to a plate of sausages, onion rings and fried tomatoes accompanied by some withered lettuce leaves, we sat in the grandstand to watch the match. The time came for Pencubitt’s innings, and the locals shouted loud encouragement as their opening batsmen marched onto the ground.
Victor told me about his new job as a cadet on the Burnie newspaper. His father had been disappointed when he decided against joining the police force. ‘He was hoping I’d get trained and come back and take over here when he retired,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine, living in a dump like this all my life? I want to experience the world, Birdie! I want to work in London, Paris, New York. Oh, anywhere but here!’ I didn’t share his longing. I was happy in Pencubitt. I loved being near the sea and watching the difference in the tides and clouds. I understood his restlessness to see foreign shores but more than anything I yearned for a home of my own and children. I found it almost impossible to visualise travelling to Melbourne, let alone Europe.
From the grandstand I had a clear view of Mother and Pearl under their separate trees. Father Kelly approached Pearl’s group and spoke for a few minutes then left with an irate expression. Not long afterwards, Violet also stood up and shouted something at Pearl before walking away, her hand to her forehead as if she was distressed or in pain. I didn’t speculate overlong on what had occurred; Maxwell glanced at me at times and I was vain enough to think he might be jealous to see me with Victor. Inspired by this, I pushed away my festering resentment at Victor for his behaviour on the night of the murder party, and flirted with him in a manner unlike myself. He told me repeatedly how pretty I looked, that blue was his favourite colour, insisting he had missed me and that there were no girls to match me for wit and looks in Burnie. His flattery went to my head and when he reached for my hand, I permitted the touch, even enjoying the warmth of his hand on mine.
The match was ending. Burnie had won and there was a round of good-natured applause and cheers from the home side and vows to thrash Burnie the following year. Victor’s hand had increased its pressure; his thumb was exploring my palm, sending pleasurable shivers through me. His right leg against my thigh was having a similar effect.
Maxwell was looking up into the stand. I glanced at him. Was it possible Maxwell was jealous? All the cruel jibes Pearl had thrown at me about my feelings for Maxwell rose inside me. Maxwell, who had treated me as some girl-pal for years and yet who had been so loving to Emily. I could not bear it. Mother was abstracted with her friends. I threw caution to the wind and drew my head back for Victor. We kissed, lightly at first and then deeper. I drew him closer to me, loving the way his hands circled my waist but enjoying more the knowledge that Maxwell was watching from below. Perhaps I’ll marry Victor, I thought. He’s handsome enough and we could start over in another town where I wouldn’t have to see Maxwell. I would forgive Victor his one transgression with Pearl. How could I blame him? The way she threw herself at men – it would be difficult for any man to resist her.
Now Victor was nibbling and blowing into my ear. His breath was slightly unpleasant and I had to resist the urge to push him away. ‘I’m crazy about you, Birdie,’ he whispered. ‘You look so pretty today. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the party.’
But I was no longer listening. Pearl and Maxwell were standing up as if preparing to go. Before they left Maxwell glanced up once into the stands and raised his hand. Pearl didn’t look our way.
Mother, of course, was furious. ‘Making a total spectacle of yourself!’ she hissed as soon as we were safely home. ‘The entire town was watching you being pawed by that good-for-nothing boy. In front of all my friends and Father Kelly! I wanted to die on the spot! It’s her influence, infecting you with her alley-cat morals! Your poor father would have been so ashamed if he had been alive to see it!’
It was pointless to reason with her when she was in one of her moods. I had to sit it out and hope she would exhaust herself. I took refuge outside the house, sitting on the front verandah in the cool evening air. Being bitten by mosquitoes was preferable to listening to Mother. I could still hear her praying inside for the salvation of my soul. I can’t continue like this, I thought. I imagined running away with Victor, the two of us living in Burnie or even Hobart, where Mother couldn’t touch me. If I had learnt nothing else from Pearl, at least she had shown me that an alternative life did exist. A life where people didn’t worry about a judgmental God punishing them for all eternity but lived for the present and their own enjoyment. Where people dared to question the Bible instead of attempting to live literally by its word.
Victor’s mouth on mine had awoken some sleeping passion. I remembered the way he looked at me and I wanted him to look at me like that again. I wanted his mouth on mine.
Later, in bed, I moved my hands under the bedclothes, remembering the expression in Victor’s eyes, the touch of his skin and his mouth. When my pleasure had reached its peak, however, and I cried out into my hand so Mother wouldn’t hear, it was Maxwell’s face in my head.
It was always Maxwell’s face I saw.
Towards the end of that scorching January, I received this note:
Hello old chum,
Haven’t seen you at Poet’s for a while and thought you might like to know you’ve been missed. The girls were asking about you and wanted to know when you were going to join us again on one of our beach picnics. You won’t believe how much they have shot up!
All is much the same here. I’ve been working in the garden clearing out the servants’ quarters – I’m thinking of turning it into a tool shed. Pearl’s as busy as ever. She’s working on Gertrude Goanna’s tea party – or was it Billy Blue-Tongue and the Wattle Fairy? I don’t know . . . some silly nonsense. I lose track of them after a while! It keeps Pearl happy, however.
I suppose you heard that Angel did a runner? It’s a blow. She really was a lovely girl and so good with our two devils.
Damn it, Birdie! I really do miss you. Don’t stay away too long, old friend.
Much love,
Maxwell
PS Hasn’t it been a stinker? I keep thinking this heat has to break.
I read this note so many times; I knew each space, every indentation. I memorised the words so that I could recite them in my sleep.
But I stayed away.
January 1936 was one of the hottest summers I could recall. Everybody was irritable and everyone who could stayed in their houses to escape the heat. Flies and insects emerged in plague proportions. Meanwhile Edward VIII became King. Noel Coward’s new play, Astonished Heart, debuted in London. Mr Rudyard Kipling died. The Tasmanian tiger was doomed for extinction in a Hobart zoo in seven months’ time. And Pearl Tatlow had only six months left to live.
Dancing on graves
Pencubitt, present day
At Sadie’s look of horror, she cunningly went on, ‘And it would be lovely for Betty to meet some of the local boys. All the young people come along. And just think, you’ll be following in the footsteps of your grandmother. The barn dance has been held in late November since the town began – Pearl most probably shimmied away and scandalised the town when she was here.’ She added as a final lure, ‘Gracie would be so hurt if you were a no-show. The poor thing puts everything she can into organising it.’
The barn dance was held in an old shearing shed at Blackness House. That night as she drove Jack, Jackie and Betty to the dance, Sadie wished she had listened to her instincts and retired to bed early with Birdie’s manuscript. She had just read about the cricket match and was keen to discover what happened next. At the same time, she wasn’t sure how much of Birdie’s account she could trust; there was a false note to the book that didn’t sit well with her. Sadie couldn’t remember feeling as suspicious of Birdie’s account when she had first read the published Webweaver. Perhaps living in Poet’s Cottage made her more sensitive to nuances in the story? Had Birdie deliberately omitted or edited events to discredit Pearl? What did she stand to gain from doing so? Sadie could picture Maxwell, handsome, enthusiastic and charming, and a young, naive, pretty Birdie. Had Birdie deliberately blurred fact and fiction to disguise the truth? The more Sadie read, the more she had a nagging feeling she had missed something that might provide a clue as to who had killed Pearl and why.
Poet's Cottage Page 17
