‘I can do that, Mrs Gilbert,’ said Mrs Murphy. ‘Murphy can just have his supper cold for a while. I’ll make sure the schoolmaster has something good and hot every night, one of my stews or a nice roast so he can have the leftovers for his sandwiches.’
‘I . . . I’m sure you can.’ Mama seemed even closer to tears. ‘But I’ll be staying at a hotel near the hospital, and I couldn’t leave Hannah alone there. I have my brother and friends in Sydney but they live too far from the hospital. Hannah, I’m going to pack Angus’s things — I don’t want to risk you catching the infection — then I’ll pack my own. Mrs Murphy, would you mind preparing us a picnic basket? A flask of stewed fruit perhaps — I’ve no way to keep a custard cold — and a quick beef tea if you can manage it.’
‘Of course, Mrs Gilbert. I am that sorry for the little lad, I really am, and for you too. Breaks a mother’s heart, things like this.’
Miraculously Mrs Murphy said no more, but went out to get the beef from the Coolgardie safe on the veranda.
Mama went back up the corridor, and Hannah ran after her and clung to her. ‘Mama! I want to be with you and Angus. I can help.’
‘The best way you can help is by making sure all is well here. Don’t let Mrs Murphy slacken off while I’m away. She will if given half a chance, and you know how particular your father is. Make sure she boils Angus’s linen well as soon as we’ve gone, and washes anything else he may have touched with Condy’s crystals. Don’t touch anything in his room yourself.’ Mama shut her eyes for a moment. ‘Papa will come to the station with me if Mr Harris will let us use the automobile. Make sure you leave a note for the butcher twice a week.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You’ll find the housekeeping money at the back of my camisole drawer. There’s enough there for a month, but if you need more ask Papa. You can manage to cook dinner, can’t you?’
‘Of course. Mama . . . Angus isn’t going to die, is he?’
‘No,’ said Mama firmly. ‘Papa is going to wire for a sleeping carriage on the train, and then to your Uncle Ron to meet us at the station. If Angus is improved we’ll go to his place, but if . . . if not, he can take us straight to the hospital. Dr Weaver will have arranged it all. I’ll send a telegram as soon as I have any news.’
‘Mama, what about Mrs Zebediah and Jamie?’
‘Tell Mrs Zebediah on Saturday at the market. She’ll understand.’
Hannah peered into Angus’s room again. It seemed impossible that the bright boy playing cricket only four days ago could be so sick now. He was asleep at last, but his face was white below his tan, with deep shadows under his eyes. He moved restlessly, as if in too much pain to sleep soundly.
‘You won’t forget Monkey, will you?’ Hannah added.
‘No,’ said Mama, and now she really was crying. She hugged Hannah again, hard. ‘I won’t forget Monkey.’
‘Can I go in and give Angus a kiss goodbye?’
Mama hesitated, then shook her head. ‘We can’t risk you catching it too. You’ll tell Papa at once if you get a sore throat, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Mama.’
‘And make sure you get plenty of rest and sunlight. You . . . you will be all right here by yourself with Papa, won’t you? It’s just . . . I don’t know what will happen in Sydney, or even where we’ll be.’
‘Mama, I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll look after Papa.’
‘If only we’d never come to this benighted spot. Oh, I can hear the car. Thank goodness!’ Mama ran to the door, quickly brushing away her tears and blowing her nose.
Mr Harris puffed his way up the front stairs. Hannah curtseyed to him quickly. Below them she could see the automobile.
‘Oh, Mr Harris, this is so good of you,’ Mama said, brushing away tears again.
Mr Harris stared at her. Hannah realised this was the first time he had seen Mama without the veil over her scar, except that first night they’d arrived. But it had been night then, and the lighting dim.
‘Luckily John was driving me down to the mill when I saw your good husband,’ he said. ‘Now don’t you worry about a thing, Mrs Gilbert. I’ll get Mrs Frogmore to make up a bed for the little chap in the back and she’ll pack provisions for you too. John will drive you, and stay till the train arrives in case it’s delayed with cows on the track. It’s a bit of a trek for an old fellow like me, and there’s likely to be a puncture or two along the way. But John will do whatever is necessary to get you there. I’ll have a word with the post office to make sure any telegrams get brought up here straight away, no matter what time of the day or night.’
He means so Papa can know if Angus gets worse, thought Hannah desperately. So we can take the train to Sydney if they think Angus might die.
‘You go and pack, Mrs Gilbert. Now, little Miss Hannah, I’ve invited you and your father to stay up at the big house, but he’d rather stay near the school. But I don’t want you on your ownsome every day. You come up to the house any time you like and use our library — I know how you like books — or even practise on the piano. Have a walk in the gardens too.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hannah, though she’d already read all the books in his library that were interesting and she hated playing the piano.
‘Mrs Frogmore will see to anything else you need. Whatever it is, just ask her.’
Mama gave a small hiccuping cry. ‘You are so kind, Mr Harris. We can’t thank you enough.’
For the first time, Mama sounded totally sincere with her thanks to Mr Harris.
CHAPTER 18
ALONE
Hannah watched the automobile vanish down the road to Port Harris and the turn-off to the inland railway.
Her family was gone. All of them. Even Papa wouldn’t be back till early in the morning. Would she have to go and tell the school students he was away, and try to take the class herself? They’d laugh at her. No, surely Papa would be back. But if he wasn’t, she’d have to try.
There was so much to think about. So much she couldn’t bear to think about, like Angus dying. It was impossible that he might die! Or what if Mama got tonsillitis too, because if an American president could get it, so could she. But by then she’d be in Sydney, where there were surgeons.
Mama’s bitter comment had surprised her. She hadn’t realised the depth of her mother’s unhappiness here. Suddenly Hannah longed for the comfort of Mrs Zebediah’s kitchen. It had been a haven before, and she needed it again now. She was all alone.
‘Now don’t you worry, Miss Hannah, I’m not leaving you all by yourself.’ Mrs Murphy plonked herself on the chair next to Hannah, and patted her hand. ‘I’ll just pop home and tell Mr Murphy and we can all have supper here in the kitchen. I’ve got some lovely tripe simmering at the back of the stove at home. I’ll bring it round with some white sauce, and Murphy and I can kip in your ma and pa’s room—’
‘No!’ said Hannah, startled. ‘I mean, it’s very kind of you, but Papa will be back early in the morning.’
Mama and Papa must have assumed that Mrs Murphy would stay with Hannah, but she was sure they wouldn’t want Mr Murphy in the house, or Boodle.
‘Not if they get a puncture he won’t.’ Mrs Murphy looked at her sideways. ‘By the by, don’t you be telling anyone what I was saying about our Jimmy.’
‘No, Mrs Murphy.’ Hannah suddenly realised that Mrs Murphy’s strange remark about Jimmy meant he hadn’t been Mr Murphy’s son. Had Mrs Murphy been married before?
‘Mama asked if you wouldn’t mind boiling Angus’s bedclothes and adding Condy’s crystals to wash up any cups or spoons he might have touched.’
Mrs Murphy heaved herself to her feet. ‘I’d best be doing that now. I’ll make his bed up fresh too, just in case the little boy perks up so much on the way they’re all back tomorrow. You won’t say nothing about you know what now, will you?’
‘No,’ said Hannah, which was true as she didn’t understand what it was she wasn’t supposed to talk about. ‘You are very kind, Mrs Murphy.’
Mrs Mur
phy gave her a quick hug, smelling of Sunlight soap and sweat. Hannah realised with a shock Mrs Murphy actually liked her. ‘Don’t you be fretting, pet. Your little brother will be all right.’
But he mightn’t be, thought Hannah.
Angus should never have got sick, and Mama should have taken Hannah with her to Sydney, and Papa should never have gone in the automobile, leaving her to face the school tomorrow. She could not bear it.
Suddenly she couldn’t stand being alone. And if Mrs Murphy stayed it would be worse because that would bring Mr Murphy too. She didn’t know why she was frightened of Mr Murphy, but she did know she didn’t want him in their house, especially not with Papa away.
She found Mrs Murphy in Angus’s room, pulling the sheets from his bed. ‘Mrs Murphy?’
‘Yes, pet?’
‘I . . . I’m going up to see Mrs Frogmore now.’
Mrs Murphy’s face softened even more. ‘That’s a good idea, pet. You’ll get better than my tripe from Mrs Frogmore. She taught me all I know about cooking, but not all she knows.
‘Don’t forget to take your night things. And I’ll be here to make your pa a good breakfast when he gets back.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Murphy.’ She found she couldn’t say more.
She hurried to her room, pulled a drawer out then shut it again to make it sound like she was getting a nightdress and clean underwear, then ran down the front steps and up the road. She didn’t need a nightdress. She was going to the one place in Port Harris where she knew there would be love and comfort: Mrs Zebediah’s kitchen.
Hannah could hear Boodle barking down the hill as she walked swiftly through the paddocks, and Mr Murphy yelling at him. He used words that weren’t ever supposed to be said in front of a lady, and another word she didn’t know but suspected was as bad as the others.
The sun hovered above Eagle Rock. For a few seconds the cliffs turned gold, and then grey as the sun sank further. It took an hour to get to the farm on foot, and would take another hour to get back. Hannah should have brought a lantern.
But now there was a drift of smoke ahead of her — kitchen smoke. She could almost smell coconut scones . . . She pulled up her skirts, pushing them into her drawers in a way no lady should but quickly learned how by doing so she could move swiftly, and ran through the gate in the paling fence and across the paddock.
‘Miss Hannah!’ Mrs Zebediah appeared from behind a tree. Hannah hadn’t noticed the bulging sacks on the ground next to the row of orange trees.
Jamie came running from the other side of the orchard. ‘What is it? Is something wrong? I was that worried when you and your ma didn’t come this morning.’
‘Ev-everything,’ Hannah choked, and suddenly she was sobbing, hardly able to stand up.
‘There, there, pumpkin.’ Mrs Zebediah’s arms were warm around her, her voice full of love and worry. ‘Come inside and tell me all about it. Is it your ma?’
Hannah shook her head, and felt Mrs Zebediah soften a little in relief. ‘It’s Angus. He’s got tonsillitis and it’s really bad and Mama is taking him down to Sydney on the train for an operation and Papa has gone to put them on the train.’
‘Oh, my dear.’
Hannah waited for Mrs Zebediah to say Angus would be all right, but she didn’t. Mrs Zebediah knew how often things didn’t turn out all right. Somehow Hannah felt comforted by the absence of the automatic lie.
‘Now you come in and we’ll have an early supper,’ Mrs Zebediah said. ‘The oranges can wait. Fruit bats haven’t learned to open sacks yet, cunning as they are!’
It was as warm in the kitchen as Hannah had expected, not just from the wood stove but because it was a place where people had done their best to love and be happy, despite the world around them.
Mrs Zebediah handed Hannah a cup of tea — real tea, with just a splash of milk and lots of sugar. ‘You drink that, pumpkin — I mean Miss Hannah. Nothing like a cuppa to make things bearable.’
‘I . . . I like “pumpkin”. Or just Hannah.’
Mrs Zebediah shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Why not?’
Mrs Zebediah smiled suddenly. ‘No good reason in the world. Now you just sit there and drink your tea while I put the dinner on. Jamie caught some lovely flathead this morning. Jamie, more wood for the stove and a bucket of water? Oh, and some lemons too, and pull up some carrots, there’s a love. Now, what’s your ma going to do in Sydney?’
Hannah told her: about wiring Uncle Ron to meet them, and Dr Weaver arranging a surgeon, and how Uncle Ron lived over in Mosman, too far on the ferry for Mama to stay with Angus when he was in hospital, and about Mama’s friends, who she saw only when the family went to Sydney on holidays but they wrote to each other often. Gradually it all didn’t sound strange any more, nor impossible.
It was only when Mrs Zebediah put the plates on the table that Hannah realised how late it was. She looked at the food regretfully. ‘I need to go. It’ll be dark soon.’
‘Nonsense. You’ll stay here the night, Hannah love. My bed’s plenty big enough for two.’
That was impossible. ‘Papa may get back early in the morning if the train is on time,’ she said. ‘He’d worry if I wasn’t there.’ And also want to know where she had been.
‘Then Jamie and I’ll take you. I know the way as well as I know my face, but we’ve got the lantern too. You say your pa will be back in an automobile? Well, Jamie can take himself home, and I’ll stay with you and nip out the back if I hear an engine. Now you get your dinner inside you.’
The flathead had been filleted and cooked for maybe two minutes on either side, and tasted wonderful. The carrots were boiled with butter and sugar, and served with finely chopped red cabbage that was like no cabbage Hannah had ever eaten. She said so.
‘The secret with cabbage is not to let a drop of water near it,’ Mrs Zebediah said. ‘Chop it thin and let it cook in its own juice with a bit of butter or dripping, then mix in a little tomato pickle when it’s soft, not before mind or it’ll toughen, and it’s fit for the King.’
‘How did you learn to cook like this?’ asked Hannah in wonder.
‘Mrs Frogmore. She was undercook in a grand house in England afore she came out here. That was back when I was working up at the big house.’
‘You mean for the Harrises?’
‘Started learning to cook when I was there as a kitchen maid. I liked it well enough, and Mrs Frogmore said I could be a cook myself one day, which would bring me better wages even than a foreman. But then there was the scandal about Bridget and my pa said I had to come home.’
‘What scandal?’
‘One that’s not fit for young ears.’
‘I know what it was,’ said Jamie. They were the first words he’d spoken since he’d sat down.
‘Well, don’t you go telling her,’ Mrs Zebediah said.
‘Why not? Maybe she needs to know.’
‘Well, she doesn’t. You don’t think Mr Harris would play any of his tricks with the schoolmaster’s daughter?’ Mrs Zebediah suddenly realised what she’d said. ‘Oh, very well then. One of the maids was going to have a baby and she told us Mr Harris was its pa.’
‘But wasn’t he married then?’ Hannah asked.
‘He was married all right, but his wife isn’t there in the summer. Mrs Harris knows what her old man gets up to, but the life suits her — a grand house here and one down south, and all the diamonds that can fit on one person. Anyway, Bridget was already showing, and she wasn’t going to be quiet about it, like the others, and go down to Sydney to have it and come back with people none the wiser.’
‘But the baby! What would have happened to it?’
‘Orphanage in Sydney,’ said Mrs Zebediah briefly. ‘Where do you think most “orphans” come from? But Bridget wasn’t going to give up her baby to no orphanage, and I don’t blame her, for I wouldn’t have either. There’d been an accident at the mill — two men burned when one of the boilers came loose. Poor old C
lyde Donegan died and the other man was too badly hurt to work, so Mr Harris offered him a house and five shillings a week if he’d marry Bridget.’
‘Bridget is Mrs Murphy,’ said Hannah softly.
Mrs Zebediah looked startled. ‘How’d you guess that? Well, never mind. It’s been a hard life for her, with her Jimmy dying and Murphy good for nothing, which is why she works for you because five shillings just about keeps him in rum and trousers. Now, here’s the coconut pie I made for you and your ma to eat today. The pastry’s made of eggs and cream and coconut instead of flour — that’s my own idea, not Mrs Frogmore’s — and a lemon butter filling. And then me and Jamie will get you home.’
‘Thank you,’ began Hannah, but Mrs Zebediah shook her head. ‘Friends help each other with no need to say thank you. Now you eat up.’
***
Hannah woke to the sound of Mrs Murphy’s feet the next morning. She was in her own bed, having somehow fallen asleep almost as soon as Mrs Zebediah pulled the sheet over her and gently kissed her cheek, before taking the lantern out so Jamie could find his way home.
Hannah ran to Papa’s room, but the bed hadn’t been slept in.
‘Is that you, pet?’ called Mrs Murphy.
‘Yes.’ Hannah threw off her nightgown and wriggled into a dress that buttoned up the front, then pulled her boots on without bothering with stockings. Now for her hair . . . ‘I came back early.’
‘And no sign of your papa either. But don’t you be worrying, it will all turn out well. How about a nice bit of liver and bacon for breakfast?’
‘Could I just have an egg, please, Mrs Murphy.’ Hannah took a deep breath. ‘And some sandwiches too. I’ll need to take Papa’s place at the school till he gets back.’
‘You?’ Mrs Murphy appeared from the kitchen, tea towel in hand. ‘But you’re—’
‘Thank you, Mrs Murphy. I don’t know when Papa will be back, but could you make an egg and bacon pie for him as soon as you’ve served my breakfast, please? I need to get some things ready to take to the school.’
The Schoolmaster's Daughter Page 14
