Curses and Confetti

by Jenny Schwartz

  The shopping district gave way to the warehouses that edged the harbor. Fremantle was a working port. Apart from gold, the colony exported wheat and horses, sandalwood and sheep. Everything was busy and organized to the nth degree. A small train puffed importantly along its harbor rail carrying a load of coal. Porters waited impatiently for it to pass, then hurried on with their business. Grey suited clerks strode just as briskly about their business, satchels tucked under their arms. Seagulls soared in lazy circles above the scene or perched on rails, waiting for the next fishing trawler to arrive.

  Esme shaded her eyes with her gloved hand.

  Her timing couldn’t have been better. The Athena was sailing into harbor as Esme rounded the Harbor Master’s building and walked out onto the wharf. The skimmer-boat’s white painted wood, steel and gleaming brass shone in the clear sunlight as she sailed over the waves with the elegant efficiency of a water beetle, light-weight and fast. Uncle Henry, piloting on the bridge, grew increasingly distinct as the distance between them lessened. Esme squinted and saw the faded grey of his dungarees and his battered navy hat. As always, he’d wait till he was on land to “scrub up”. He had little patience for passengers who thought their captain ought to be a “gentleman”.

  Esme had been raised to recognize a gentleman by what he did, not what he wore.

  The Athena docked with neat efficiency, her crew moving with practiced speed, happy to be home. Since this last trip had only been to Australia’s eastern colonies and not overseas to England, India or Africa, the customs regulations were minimal. They’d be free to go about their own business in an hour or two.

  Uncle Henry saw her and raised a casual hand in salute, but instead of waiting on the bridge as he usually did, he ducked below deck. It was two sedately suited middle-aged men, bankers by the look of them, who first descended the gangway. They nodded to the customs clerk who nodded back before boarding the Athena. He exchanged friendly greetings with the crew and the latest news.

  “Pete, your sister’s had her baby.”

  The cabin boy dropped the rope he was holding. “So early?”

  “Three months too early.” The customs clerk laughed. “But a big, healthy baby. Seems her marriage wasn’t any too early.”

  Rough but not unkind laughter greeted the sally before Galloway, Uncle Henry’s second in command, took the clerk below deck to deal with the paperwork.

  Uncle Henry emerged from the passengers’ quarters escorting an elderly lady. The short, slight, but fiercely upright old woman ventured on deck with small but determined steps.

  Esme took advantage of the familiar sway and spring of the gangway to put a little extra bounce in her step as she boarded. She noticed the old woman studying her critically.

  “Mrs. Reeve,” Uncle Henry boomed. “May I present my niece, Esme. Esme, this is Jed’s grandmother.”

  Oh, flying fishes. Esme froze a moment. Jed’s beloved Grandma was here? and where was he? Chasing off after some gypsy woman and—But there was no time for recriminations. “Good morning, Mrs. Reeve. How wonderful to meet you and such a surprise.” She flashed her uncle a look of burning reproach. He could have sent a telegram before the Athena sailed from Sydney.

  Mrs. Reeve grasped her hand and held it in a strong grip. Her dark eyes were bright with intelligence and full of a lifetime’s wisdom. “So you’re the girl my grandson’s decided to marry?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that.”

  Chapter Four

  The bustle of getting Mrs. Reeve off the boat allowed Esme a few moments to step back and try and steady her response. Anger and apprehension had spiked at the old lady’s “well, we’ll see about that.” Just what did she intend to see?

  Without false modesty, Esme knew she couldn’t be faulted on her looks. Regular features, blonde hair, blue eyes and an hourglass figure took care of that. And her family were respectable enough—or at any rate, wealthy enough to buy respectability if they took a fancy to it. The real question was whether the eldest Mrs. Reeve could stomach Esme’s political activism and independence. Her daughter in law, Jed’s mother, was a traditional wife, mother and socially adept, upper class lady.

  “Of course, you’ll stay with us,” Uncle Henry said to Mrs. Reeve, extending hospitality on behalf of his brother-in-law.

  “You must.” Esme roused herself to press the invitation. “Jed’s boarding house is just down the road. You’ll see him frequently.”

  “Hmph. Thank you. But where is the boy, now?”

  Esme maintained a prudent silence. Somehow confessing Jed had traipsed off with a gypsy lady seemed likely to provide Mrs. Reeve with unnecessary ammunition.

  “Drat it. Never a hackney when you need one.” Uncle Henry frowned around the busy wharf scene. “Just a moment while I phone Aaron to send a carriage. Aaron’s my brother in law,” he added for Mrs. Reeve’s benefit. “I’ll phone Jed’s boarding house while I’m at it.” He ducked into the Harbor Master’s office.

  Mrs. Reeve leaned on her walking stick and looked around the busy port.

  Esme realized she was standing there twisting her sapphire engagement ring around and around. Idiot. No need to announce to the world, and one eagle-eyed lady in particular, the state of her nerves. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

  “There. I got Aaron. He’s sending the carriage down to fetch you.”

  With fate’s mischievous timing, one of the hackneys that had been so conspicuous by their absence, then rolled up.

  “Neptune’s trident,” Uncle Henry swore and slapped his hat against his knee.

  The hackney horse, accustomed to the vagaries of humanity, didn’t blink. Its driver greeted the party cheerfully. “Need a ride, folks?”

  “Never mind, Uncle Henry,” Esme said. “Three of us in the hackney would have been a squeeze and the carriage can take the luggage.”

  “True enough.” He replaced his hat. “I’ll wait for it. You two go on and get acquainted.”

  Esme glared at him.

  He smiled back with improbable innocence and scarcely hidden amusement.

  She supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t informed Mrs. Reeve that her grandson was off adventuring with a gypsy—or had Jed’s landlady been uncharacteristically discreet on the party line?

  The hackney set off, rocking slightly as it crossed the rail tracks that the small harbor train ran on. A steam powered crane puffed in the distance, loading a sandalwood shipment.

  “Well, now.” Mrs. Reeve tucked her purse and walking stick on the seat beside her. “Isn’t that just like a man to duck the issue?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You and me, honey. Captain Fellowes ought to be with us, making sure our first conversation starts off on the right foot. But men, give them a tense emotional situation, and you won’t see them for dust.”

  Esme hesitated, unsure how to respond.

  “Never mind.” Mrs. Reeve wasn’t at a loss. “You play the tour guide and we’ll save the getting-to-know-you discussion for when our menfolk are there to suffer through it, too.”

  A small, natural smile escaped Esme. Maybe Mrs. Reeve wasn’t as hostile as she’d feared—or merely saving the drama for when they had an audience? Her smile died.

  “Now, what’s that church? Episcopalian or Catholic?”

  “It’s St Patrick’s, Catholic.”

  “Nice looking building. And this, on the left. What do they call that fancy style?”

  “Neo-gothic. It’s meant to be a fine example.” Esme grimaced. “Actually, it’s the Ladies Lunatic Asylum.”

  Mrs. Reeve looked at her in obvious disbelief, then back at the elaborately designed limestone building. “Well, I’ll say something for your Swan River Colony. If you can afford to house your lunatics in such style, you must be doing well. Tidy houses.” A pause. “Is that a kangaroo?”

  “A wallaby, it’s a small cousin of the kangaroo. Mr. Powell keeps it for his kids as a pet. Jed t
ried to study it to refine the design of his bounding vehicle, but Skippy refused to jump. He just ambled along even with a bribe of carrots.”

  “Jed’s still inventing, then? And what do you think of—No, ignore me. Save it for later.”

  But Esme had recovered her poise. “You were going to ask me what I thought of Jed’s work as an inventor. I support him. He has a clever brain and a gift for seeing possibilities. It would be criminal if he didn’t use his talents.”

  “Hmm.”

  “If you look to your left, Mrs. Reeve, you should be able to glimpse the Swan River and a small paddle steamer on its way to the city of Perth.”

  The hackney continued uphill, taking the ascent easily.

  “Nice houses. Jed wrote that the climate was somewhat similar to California. It seems he was right. I recognize many of the plants in the gardens.”

  “Citrus do well, here. Lemons and oranges. Italian and Greek fishermen are bringing their families over and they’re planting olives and grape vines, bringing something of home with them. And speaking of home, we’re almost there.” None too soon, either. Despite their attempt at polite conversation, the atmosphere was tense.

  The hackney drove alongside the limestone wall that encircled the Smith mansion, garden and outbuildings, and turned into the main driveway, rattling up the gravel to pull up with a flourish at the front steps.

  Her father opened the door. He’d replaced the shabby blue jacket he wore for walking the dogs with a new grey one, with clean pressed trousers to match. “Good morning, Mrs. Reeve. Welcome to Swan River. Henry telephoned to say you’d found your own way here.” He helped her carefully out of the hackney. “We’re delighted to have you.”

  Esme jumped out unaided and walked around the hackney. Faces at the drawing room window, not quite hidden by the red velvet drapes, showed that the staff were just as eager to see Jed’s grandmother.

  She was a formidable old lady, sharp, shrewd and definitely possessing an agenda. This was no friendly visit.

  Esme twitched her skirts straight and polished her engagement ring briefly against the waist of her jacket.

  Her father escorted Mrs. Reeve into the house and upstairs to the library. Someone had lit a fire there and he seated her by it. “Would you care for tea or coffee? Some refreshment?”

  “I’ll wait for Jed and Henry, thank you.” Mrs. Reeve leaned back in her chair. “A lovely room. So many interesting things.”

  Her father coughed and sidled around so his broad shoulders blocked their visitor’s view of a skeleton. He’d been studying “Bones” in an attempt to construct a clockwork butler. The idea was the butler could be stationed at the door to collect people’s coats when they arrived at Esme and Jed’s wedding reception.

  Mrs. Reeve’s gaze moved on, travelling over the shelves crammed with books and curiosities: shells, geological specimens, a coffee geyser. A clockwork dragonfly dangled from the ceiling. In hot weather, its wings fanned the air.

  Esme skirted a suit of armor to sit down in a chair politely near the old lady, but even nearer the door.

  “Your wood smoke smells funny,” Mrs. Reeve said.

  “We’re burning jarrah, a local hardwood. I can replace it.” Aaron started for the door. “We have some apple wood from when Old Bart cut down his sorry excuse for an orchard.”

  “No, no. It’s a warm enough day. I don’t need a fire at all. Although it is welcoming. Smells something like liniment.”

  “Jarrah is a eucalypt.” Aaron grimaced at the skeleton as he realized his hasty dive for the door had left Bones exposed to Mrs. Reeve’s gaze. “So it probably does smell like some liniments you’ve used. Eucalyptus is quite warming.” He fidgeted, glanced once or twice at Bones, then sat down. He sprang back up. “Ah, here’s Henry. No missing my brother-in-law’s sea captain roar.”

  “Captain Fellowes is a good man.” Mrs. Reeve approved of him. It was evident Esme and Aaron were still in doubt.

  Uncle Henry entered with Maud, the housekeeper, hard on his heels. Two maids followed, wheeling laden tea trolleys.

  “I thought you might like a snack to settle your stomach now you’re on land again,” Maud said.

  “Damn fine idea.” Uncle Henry dropped into a solid leather armchair. “I left the crew to get the luggage unloaded and sent up.

  Tea served, the servants retreated. The two maids giggled in the hallway.

  “So, Mrs. Reeve,” Aaron began cautiously. “This is a surprise. You must have set off before the news of Esme and Jed’s engagement reached San Francisco.”

  “I’m not so old I can’t see which way the wind’s blowing.” Mrs. Reeve selected a sponge finger and tasted it. She gave a tiny nod of approval.

  Well she should. Maud’s housekeeping couldn’t be faulted. Esme helped herself to a piece of pumpkin fruitcake plump with sultanas and redolent of nutmeg.

  “You have a fine house here,” Mrs. Reeve said to Aaron.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I designed it myself.”

  “No expense spared,” she continued.

  “I can afford it.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She looked at Captain Fellowes, who radiated innocence in his dirty dungarees.

  Esme leaned forward. “What else have you heard?”

  The two women measured looks.

  “I’ve heard you have a mind of your own, missy.”

  Missy?

  “That’s true.” Esme smiled. Well, she bared her teeth.

  Aaron hurried into speech. “How was your journey?”

  He needn’t have worried. An even louder interruption distracted the combatants.

  “Grandma’s here?”

  Jed had arrived.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t come alone.

  Chapter Five

  “Grandma, you look wonderful.” The old lady bore up well under the fervor of Jed’s hug. He released her a fraction to stare down into her smiling face. It was so good to see someone from home. “But what are you doing here?”

  She swatted his arm. “Is that any sort of question to ask? I’m here to see the girl you say you’re going to marry, Esme Smith.”

  The addition of Esme’s name was pointed.

  Jed winced. “Ah. Esme.” He looked to his beloved.

  She was looking beyond him at the woman he’d brought into her home.

  “Grandma, this is Miss Anabel Lee.”

  The gypsy woman stood just inside the door of the library, watching. In contrast to Esme’s fashionable but discreet walking suit and Grandma’s navy and severe dress, Miss Lee wore a flamboyant gown in royal blue and strident yellow. There were even flounces around its scandalously short hem.

  Grandma’s pinched expression said everything.

  Jed didn’t need reminding about the gypsy woman’s unsuitability for a respectable house. The problem was he hadn’t been able to shake her. In hindsight, he should never have accompanied her to the fairground. Then again, hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

  Miss Lee walked forward, the skirts of her gown rustling. She stopped a fraction too close to Jed.

  He hurriedly shuffled aside. “Esme, Miss Lee is somewhat concerned about her situation, given Alfred Brixton’s death. You did read of his sudden death in the papers this morning?”

  “I did. How do you do, Miss Lee?” There was little real welcome in Esme’s cool voice.

  “Good morning, Miss Smith.”

  Jed introduced the other people in the room and figuratively mopped his brow. Grandma was disapproving, Aaron Smith shocked and even Captain Fellowes appeared startled. They were right. Adding Miss Lee to this first meeting between Esme and Grandma was hardly helpful—even if he hadn’t known of Grandma’s arrival. He plunged into explanations to excuse his inadvertent clumsiness.

  “Miss Lee approached me this morning requesting my assistance in examining her Gypsy Oracle machine.”

  “Just because that awful man had his hand stamped with a vulture mark at my fairground performance is no reason to
link me to his death. But people are foolish. So I requested the esteemed inventor, Mr. Reeve, to examine my little machine. He can assure people that it is safe.”

  “The thrill of danger will probably increase people’s interest in your machine, whatever it is,” Captain Fellowes said. His prosaic voiced lowered the emotional tension generated by the situation and by Miss Lee’s throbbingly dramatic tone. “Sit down. Have a cup of tea.”

  “Thank you.” Miss Lee hesitated and glanced across at her hostess, who didn’t second the invitation. “Perhaps another time. I must go.”

  Jed scowled. “You wanted to talk to Esme.” The woman had clung like a leech, going on and on about being alone in the colony and needing a woman’s understanding and advice—though why she’d decided to pick on Esme, he didn’t know. Now, just as abruptly, she intended to leave.

  “This is not a good time,” Miss Lee informed him.

  I had noticed. Good manners kept the words unsaid. Barely.

  Esme rose and walked with him to escort Miss Lee out of the house. “We can speak this afternoon,” she offered her uninvited guest.

  Jed took a deep breath, free of the disapproving observation of his elders. He tugged at his necktie.

  “I have performances this afternoon and evening,” Miss Lee said.

  “In between,” Esme responded firmly. “I’ll see you at the fair.”

  Miss Lee bowed her head. “It is very good of you.”

  “Not really. I have a feeling that by this afternoon I’ll want to leave the house.”

  The front door closed behind the gypsy woman.

  Jed sighed deeply. “That was not my fault. I didn’t know Grandma would be here.”

  “No. Uncle Henry decided we’d enjoy the surprise.” Esme smiled wryly.

  Jed relaxed and grinned back. “And did you?”

  “Your grandmother is a remarkable woman. It’s a long journey from San Francisco for someone her age.”

  “Nothing daunts Grandma.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  They were back at the library door, Jed close behind her.