Paddy laughed. ‘I'm called Billy – not Brandon. But sure you're right about Eddie. A scoundrel and a lazy bugger.’
‘Too much heart and not enough commonsense, that's our Bridie, especially when it comes to Eddie,’ said Biddy. ‘she was always a soft-hearted fool, that Bridie. Here she comes a-visiting me, after all these years. She watches out for old Biddy Ryan.’
Biddy laughed, a coarse high cackle like a wild bird. She strained to sit up and Paddy saw that she was strapped to her bed. He looked around helplessly, not knowing if he should do something, and was relieved to see Bridie come back into the room.
‘You take yourself out, Billy. I'll join you shortly.’
Biddy was writhing, hitting out with her hands as if pushing away invisible assailants. Mum stepped forward and held her wrists, gently coaxing her to lie still.
Paddy stepped out into the quadrangle and realised he was trembling. He wished he hadn't come. An old man stood on the end of the verandah weeping, until a nurse came and took him inside. Another man strode back and forth across the green, pacing like a caged tiger and muttering to himself.
Paddy ran to where the grounds gave way to thick bush, to a high point overlooking the golden river. Through the trees, he could see the dome of a distant cathedral. It looked so out of place in this wild, pale gold landscape. The cry of a bird whipped through the air and echoed off the water. He lay back in the long grass and thought of the Burren, of the way the wind moved across that landscape, how the air was always full of rain, not like this dry, light wind full of sun. He didn't hear Bridie approaching. She set her basket down in the grass and sat beside him.
‘She's a mad old thing, you mustn't mind what she says, Billy.’
‘Who was Brandon and why did she think I looked like him?’
Bridie looked startled. ‘Brandon! Why, she never even met him, the silly old fool. When we were young, I talked of him often enough. Brandon was my truest, dearest brother that I left in Ireland many long years ago. I made a promise to him which I haven't been able to keep and it haunts me to this day.’
‘Why don't you write him a letter and explain why you couldn't?’ asked Paddy.
Mum sighed. ‘I wouldn't know where in the world to send it.’
They walked in silence down the hill from the asylum. The horse-drawn tram moved slowly towards town. Paddy leant against the railing and stared at the silhouette of the city, dark against the winter sky. Where in the world was Violet? Would he ever be able to keep his promise to her?
Bridie had some shopping to do before she went back to Charity House, so Paddy went home alone. He was hoping that Eddie would have headed out for the evening. Ever since The Kelly Gang had finished, Eddie had had too much time on his hands. Before he'd even opened the gate, Paddy knew Eddie was still at home. He could hear the man roaring from out in the street. When he slipped through the front door, he heard the sounds of crashing crockery and furniture being overturned. Paddy pushed open the door to the dining room.
‘What the hell do you think you're up to?’ he said.
‘Are you talking to me, runt?’ shouted Eddie Whiteley. He was standing in the middle of the room amongst the mess, swaying.
‘That's Mum's good china! You bloody drunken idiot!’
Eddie Whiteley snorted. ‘Who are you, anyway? What right do you have to talk to me like that? A snivelling little charity brat.’
‘I earn my keep, which is more than you do.’
‘Shut up, useless little snot-rag. She keeps you busy with useless errands. Useless, useless little arse-worm,’ he said, the words slurring together.
Paddy clenched his fists and was ready to take a swipe at Eddie when Mum came into the dining room. She took in the situation at a glance.
‘Come with me, Eddie,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘You need a cup of coffee to settle you.’ Grumpily, Eddie allowed her to lead him to the door.
‘Billy, will you please set this room to order?’ she said over her shoulder.
Paddy stared at her, wild with disbelief. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Why doesn't he clean it up? It's his mess! Or better still, why don't you tell him to clear off? Why don't you make him go!’
‘Billy, you know this house is always open to you, but this is Eddie's home.’
She turned and left the room with Eddie. Paddy stared after them for a moment, then wrenched open the door and ran down the stairs, away from Charity House.
26
Taking chances
For the next few days, Paddy slept on the streets, finding shelter in doorways or under bridges. Sometimes in the early morning there was a chill in the air that made Paddy dread another night sleeping rough. During the day, he scavenged for food and kept out of the way of the police. There were other boys and men living on the streets and sometimes the police arrested them for vagrancy but Paddy had picked up a thing or two from Nugget. He knew how to make himself scarce.
He was sitting on the steps outside the Public Library waiting for it to open when he spotted a familiar figure hawking newspapers on the corner. Nugget took the steps two at a time and sat down next to Paddy.
‘I never thought I'd see you doing an honest day's work,’ said Paddy.
Nugget laughed. ‘No worries. Nothing honest about this caper. They're last week's news. Found ‘em in a lane-way. Soon as anyone buys one, I do a bunk. Like you. I hear you done a bunk, or did you let that scumbag Eddie Whiteley throw you out?’
‘Did he tell you he threw me out?’ asked Paddy angrily.
‘Nah, but it wouldn't be the first time. Mum's taken in strays before and Eddie likes to make it difficult for them. Didn't think you'd give up so easily. How long you been sleeping rough?’
‘Five days now,’ said Paddy, rubbing his back where the step had cut into him. ‘And I haven't given up. I needed time to think.’
‘Mum put the word out she's looking for you.’
Paddy put his head in his hands. ‘I don't want to sponge off her the way Eddie does.’
‘You was pulling your weight,’ said Nugget.
‘She got by fine before I turned up. I have to find a proper job and pay for my lodgings. I want to help her out like a man, not an errand boy.’
‘I could have a word with me uncle and you could do some cockatoo work for him, running bets for the tote.’
Paddy laughed. ‘that's your line of work, not mine. If I can't get work in a theatre, maybe I'll go bush.’
‘That's not going to help old Mum Whiteley. Besides, you'll starve in the country just as quick as here. Beggars can't be choosers, mate. If it's the theatre you want, you oughta get back to Charity House. Someone around there could put you in the way of a job. No one's gunna take you on if you're living on the streets.’
Paddy sighed and took one of the newspapers from Nugget, smoothing the printed page out before him. ‘But if I do go back, what am I going to do about Eddie? I can't stand being around the place with him out of work. Why does Mum put up with him?’
‘Dunno. She was married to his old man once, but Eddie's ma was someone else, an actress. Mum never had any kids of her own. My ma used to reckon that's why she liked me, ‘cause she didn't know what stinkers boys really are.’ Nugget laughed. 'mum don't have no blood kin. That's why she and my gran were cobbers. They came out on the boats together.’
‘But she does have blood kin. She has a brother.’
‘Get out! Where is he? Ireland?’
‘I suppose he's still there. I wish he'd come and throw Eddie out on his ear. If Mum had a real relative, then she wouldn't put up with Eddie.’
Slowly, an idea started to form in Paddy's mind. He traced his finger along the columns of print. Whenever Paddy read the papers to Bridie she always liked him to read out the advertisements. She especially liked him to read the personal columns, the people who were looking for wayward husbands, old acquaintances, missing children.
‘Nugget, will you stake me a shilling?’
‘A whole deaner?
What for?’
‘I need to buy paper and ink and some stamps. I'm going to write to the newspapers in Ireland. I'm going to put an advertisement in to find Mum's brother.’
‘What? Put a notice in? You have to pay for that too.’
‘Maybe. I'll convince them it's for a good cause.’
‘What a dreamer! Even if you did find him, he's not gunna come all the way across the world to turf Eddie out on his ear.’
‘Well, I'm going to try,’ said Paddy stubbornly. ‘I want to do something for Mum.’
‘He's probably six feet under. Waste of dosh, if you ask me,’ said Nugget, but he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out two sixpences all the same.
Paddy spent the rest of the day sitting in the reading room of the big city library, carefully composing some letters. He finished the first one and copied it out twice, addressing the envelopes to newspapers in Dublin, Belfast and Cork. As he tipped the clutch of letters into the post box, he felt as if he was a spinner, having just tossed the pennies in a game of two-up. The coins were in the air and no one could know where they would land.
Bridie ladled a spoonful of thick soup into Paddy's bowl and set it down in front of him, along with a cup of sweet black tea.
‘I'm glad you came back, Billy.’
‘I'm sorry for causing you worry. I've done a lot of thinking. I like living with you, Mum, but I can't just be running errands for my keep. I have to do more.’
‘You're right there, Billy. You need to be thinking about your future, and I know someone who can help you. I spoke to him on the telephone from the post office this morning. He wants to meet you.’
‘Is it someone who can help me get a job in a theatre?’
Bridie looked away. ‘No, Billy, not the theatre. We're going to see a gentlemen who can help you make a career for yourself, a powerful man in the Colony. Sir Gilbert De Quincey.’
Paddy stirred his soup, and let his hair fall across his face. Why wouldn't she accept that he wanted to be an actor? He wished he'd never told her about St Columcille's.
They travelled by tram across the city and past the Botanical Gardens to Toorak. Sir Gilbert's home was a mansion, decorated with cast-iron lacework all along its balconies and verandahs. A long gravel driveway winding through a garden full of soft, dark trees and clipped bushes led to the front door.
A maid ushered them into Sir Gilbert's study. An old man was sitting by the window, an open book in his lap. He stood up to greet them, taking Bridie's hand in his and smiling down at her with a familiarity that Paddy found bewildering. Paddy couldn't think how Bridie would be friends with someone like this.
‘Mrs Whiteley's young protege, I presume,’ said Sir Gilbert turning to Paddy.
‘Billy Smith, sir.’
Sir Gilbert nodded and ordered the maid to bring tea.
‘So you'd like a position as a clerk in a law office, I believe?’ said Sir Gilbert.
Paddy frowned and shot a look at Bridie.
‘No sir, I'd like to be an actor.’
Sir Gilbert laughed and turned to Bridie. ‘Another young thespian, Mrs Whiteley. I thought you said this boy was different?’
‘He is different, Sir Gilbert. He has a fine hand, can read anything and has a quick mind.’
‘Mrs Whiteley and I once knew another Billy. Billy Dare by name. An Irish lad, perhaps a bit like you. A wild reckless type. Good at pretending to be other people,’ said Sir Gilbert. ‘shot a bushranger, wasn't afraid of anything. You would have liked him.’
Bridie laughed, but Paddy could see she was annoyed. Paddy had that strange feeling, as if he was on the outside looking in at the old people, as if the air was heavy with memories.
‘I was thinking, Sir Gilbert, that this Billy could be a scholar, or a man of letters, given a chance.’
Sir Gilbert frowned. ‘You're too sentimental, Mrs Whiteley. It's the great failing of the Irish. Sentimentality. You thought that rascal Eddie was a fine figure of a boy too.’
‘Eddie never had any chances, Sir Gilbert. If you recall, he was obliged to leave school at fourteen. That was the year of the crash, the year that every penny of the small inheritance his father had left him was squandered by the Imperial Bank. The bank that you advised us to place our trust in.’
Sir Gilbert coloured and his blue eyes grew bright. ‘Bridie, that is not just. You know the De Quinceys lost a great deal in the crash. You, of all people, should know what a burden Degraves placed on us all with his land deals.’
Bridie folded her hands in her lap and grew very still. The silence hung heavily in the room, and Paddy could hear the mantel clock ticking loudly in the seconds that followed.
Finally, Sir Gilbert sighed. ‘We must be patient, Mrs Whiteley. The recovery has been slow but great things are afoot. I'm only recently returned from Adelaide. We approved a federal constitution. It is only a matter of time before the colonies unite. Do you have any idea what this could mean? A federal authority governing Australia!’
It was Bridie's turn to sigh. ‘A grand prospect, I'm sure. But this is a very small thing that I'm asking of you, Gilbert.’
‘I would dearly like to be able to assist this boy, but I cannot magic a position as a clerk out of thin air.’
‘Then you must try harder,’ said Bridie.
Sir Gilbert threw up his hands. 'mrs Whiteley, does your stubborn persistence know no bounds?’ He turned to Paddy. ‘do you have any experience of horses? We have need of a good stable boy.’
Bridie's face fell. ‘A stable hand?’ she said.
‘It's all I can offer, for the moment.’
‘It's all right, Mum,’ said Paddy. ‘I don't mind. I'm good with horses.’
‘I mind,’ said Bridie.
There were forces at play in this argument that Paddy didn't understand. He wished the appointment was over and they were riding the tram back into the city.
Bridie stood up and curtseyed to Sir Gilbert and suddenly her voice was stiff and formal. ‘Billy and I will discuss your offer. I appreciate you taking the time to see us, Sir Gilbert.’ She gestured to Paddy and he knew it was their cue to leave.
‘Bridie …’ said Sir Gilbert, his expression full of apology.
But Paddy knew the interview was over.
27
The unexpected
Three days later, Paddy picked up the paper to read to Bridie as she worked.
‘Sir Gilbert's dead,’ he said, in a voice that shook with disbelief.
All the colour drained out of Bridie's face. The costume she was working on slid from her lap.
‘Read it to me,’ she said.
When he'd finished, Bridie bowed her head.
‘He shouldn't have died before me,’ she sobbed.
In the following days, Bridie was caught in a daze of grief. In the mornings, the lodgers came downstairs to a cold dining room and quietly grumbled to themselves before going out to find breakfast elsewhere. She even forgot the birds that gathered on her bedroom windowsill, pecking expectantly at the glass. Messengers arrived at Charity House asking why hadn't costumes been delivered. Paddy and Eddie formed an uneasy truce, each trying to deal with the lodgers and the enquiries as best they could.
The funeral was held in the big Anglican cathedral, St Paul's. Bridie wouldn't set foot inside a Protestant church, so Paddy and Eddie stood with her in the street and watched the funeral cortege go by.
A week later there was a knock on the door. A young man, very smartly dressed in a stiff white collar and dark suit, stood on the doorstep. He had a wad of papers in his hand.
‘Mr Rupert Degraves to see Mrs Thomas Whiteley,’ he said. Paddy knew, without even asking, that the young man was a bearer of bad tidings.
Ten minutes later, Paddy heard Eddie and the young man arguing fiercely in the hallway.
‘Get out, damn you,’ shouted Eddie. ‘How dare you march in here with your legal claptrap and threaten a vulnerable old woman. Sir Gilbert meant for Mrs Whiteley to have a
home here always. They had a clear understanding.’
‘There is no paperwork to show any such “ understanding” with Mrs Whiteley. Our family never condoned a relationship that implied illegal “understandings”.’
Threateningly, Eddie stepped in close to the visitor.
‘Are you trying to imply there was something improper about my stepmother's relationship with Sir Gilbert? Because if you are …’
Rupert Degraves put his hands up in the air. ‘I don't mean any such thing. I'm sure my uncle's motives were honourable. But our family often had cause to regret his soft-heartedness, and as to Charity House, my mother is anxious, now that the property is her own, to realise its value.’
‘You mean sell it out from under Mrs Whiteley! Turn the old lady out on the street, after all these years!’
‘This is not our intention! We are giving her notice. Thirty days, in fact. Most generous, given that she's never paid more than a peppercorn rent!’
‘I'll give you bloody notice!’
Eddie pulled the front door open and shoved Rupert Degraves down the steps.
‘This is outrageous,’ yelled Degraves. ‘Who do you think you are?’
‘It doesn't matter who I am. But I know who you are. I know what a blaggard your father was, and you show yourself to be every inch your father's son.’
The young man looked even more incensed. ‘After all the generosity my family has shown Mrs Whiteley, we expect to be dealt with better than this!’ He straightened his jacket. ‘You'll be hearing from our solicitors. If Mrs Whiteley and all her lodgers aren't off the premises in thirty days, the police will be here to evict the lot of you.’
Eddie slammed the door shut, and suddenly all the rage flooded out of him. He slumped against the wall and ran one hand through his hair.
‘You handled him well,’ said Paddy, wrestling with the problem of having to actually congratulate Eddie. ‘What a bloody bugger, wanting to throw Mum Whiteley out!’
Eddie laughed, a dark and bitter laugh. ‘And he'll succeed, you can be sure of that. He and his mother own the place now. Sir Gilbert had a sister called Charity Degraves. That snake is her son. “Charity House” – be damned.’
Becoming Billy Dare Page 15
