‘They can ‘ear you all over the ‘ouse,’ said Jessie as she closed the door behind her.
‘Get out,’ screamed Irene. ‘This is a private conversation.’
‘Not when ‘alf the ‘ouse can ‘ear it,’ said Jessie as she folded her arms and stood squarely in the centre of the room.
‘Jessie stays,’ snapped Eva.
‘Why? She’s only a nosey housekeeper. A servant!’
The slap was sharp and unexpected on Irene’s cheek. ‘Jessie helped to bring you up, you ungrateful girl. She loves you as much as I do and I will not have you being so insulting. She stays.’
Irene was shocked into silence. The rage, the shame, the sheer terror of her secret being discovered were all swept away in that one, swift act of retribution. She put her hand to her cheek. Eva had never slapped her before and Irene could still feel the sting of those striking fingers. Yet she was aware she must get her emotions under control. Aware she would have to appear calm and firm in her denials if she was to make them believe her.
‘I’m not expecting,’ she said stubbornly. Her pulse was racing, the heat driving up through her body and into her head, making it swim.
Eva put her arm around Irene’s waist. ‘I’ve suspected for some time,’ she said softly. ‘Our bedrooms are next door to one another. I’ve heard you in the mornings.’
Irene stared back at her. She hadn’t realised the walls were so thin. Hadn’t realised every sound had been transmitted during those awful, bilious attacks that seemed to assault her every morning. She felt the fight and defiance leave her as she sagged against Eva. It would almost be a relief to confess, to share the terror of what was happening to her.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I am pregnant.’ She looked at her mother. ‘But everything will be all right. He’ll come back to Melbourne after the trip, leave his wife and we’ll set up home together.’ She grasped Eva’s hands in an attempt to emphasise the truth of her words. ‘We’ve made plans, Mama. So many plans,’ she added breathlessly.
‘Won’t ‘appen, luv,’ said Jessie as she plumped down on the couch. ‘What’s ‘e want with another mouth to feed? He’s ‘ad ‘is fun, and believe me, gel, once that’s over, he’s gorn.’
‘The scandal of this could destroy him and his wife,’ said Eva. ‘His reputation will be ruined, and he’ll lose your father’s esteem. And he’ll need that if he’s to attain his ambitions, Irene. That’s why he won’t stand by you.’
She paused for a moment, her eyes bleak. ‘It will also destroy your reputation and shatter your father’s trust if this gets out.’ She put her hand on Irene’s shoulder. ‘How could you be so foolish?’ she asked softly. ‘Silly, silly girl to think he meant anything he said in the heat of the moment.’
With dread, Irene began to realise they could be right. She thought back over the past four months and suddenly saw the affair for what it was. Shabby, secretive and rather seedy. She had approached the subject of running away together and he’d been evasive. Had tried to make him promise to leave his wife, but he’d always found some excuse. He never took her out to dinner, or to the playhouse, never took her dancing. They met only in the decaying rooms above the feed merchants in Flinders Street that were leased by a bachelor acquaintance. But surely, after all they had been to one another, he wouldn’t abandon her – not now – not when she loved him so passionately?
‘I’m not making any plans until I’ve spoken to him,’ she said finally.
She caught the look that passed between the two women and stamped her foot. ‘This is my baby and my life,’ she screamed. ‘I’ll do what I want.’
She was in the throes of storming out of the room when Jessie caught her arm and pulled her back. ‘You know full well it ain’t gonna ‘appen, miss,’ she said firmly. ‘Let me and yer Ma sort this out proper, like.’
Irene was sobbing as she looked from one woman to the other. They were bitter tears. For in her heart she knew they were probably right and that he wouldn’t stand by her. ‘What can I do?’ It was a plaintive wail.
Eva patted the seat beside her. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘Sit down, Irene, and blow your nose. I know you’re frightened and feel very alone at the moment, but if we use all our resources, I’m sure that between the three of us, we can come up with a plan.’
*
There was the most God–awful row going on in the kitchen to which everyone in the dining room was unashamedly listening. It made for an interesting start to the day – a change from the usual slumberous morning ritual – and there were knowing grins exchanged as the entertainment carried on full flow. Not that many of them understood the babble of native gobbledygook that was being screeched at full blast by at least three women to the accompaniment of crashing pots and shattering china – but one of the shearers very helpfully offered to translate so they could at least get the gist of what the argument was about.
Giles was eating breakfast, so fascinated by what was going on around him, he hardly noticed the toast was cold and like leather and the bacon so crisp it was on the point of cremation. The original argument was over who had the right to fry the eggs in the new pan Sam had brought back from Cairns – things had rapidly deteriorated into a slanging match which involved name–calling and accusations of heinous crimes such as sleeping with another woman’s husband, and stealing someone’s grog.
Giles grinned as he finished breakfast and poured out a cup of tea. Someone had put the milk in the urn along with the tea and sugar and the whole mess was almost undrinkable. Sam would be so glad to have Maggie back in charge after this shambles, Giles wouldn’t be at all surprised if she didn’t get a raise in her wages. She was certainly worth it – even if the entertainment this morning had been enjoyable.
Everyone’s attention was snatched from the argument by the slamming of the side door. They watched as Sam strode into the hall, and there was a deathly hush in the dining room as they waited for his explosive roar that would bring the row to an abrupt halt.
It didn’t happen. Instead, ashen–faced, he ignored everything and reached for the telephone.
Giles, not usually nosy, wished he could hear what was being said so earnestly into the receiver. He saw Sam turn his back to the dining room and almost hunch over the telephone as if determined to keep the call private. Not that there was much chance of anyone overhearing a word with all that screeching going on in the kitchen.
He left the lukewarm tea and wiped his mouth on the napkin, his thoughts whirling. Could this urgent call have anything to do with Maggie or Olivia? Sam had stormed out of the hotel looking for Maggie and had been gone quite a while. Deciding it was none of his business, but loath to miss the drama, he lit a cheroot and leaned back in his chair. As a spectator sport, this was almost better than watching The Arsenal playing at Wembley in the football cup final.
Sam was still talking on the telephone when Maggie and Olivia entered the hall. Giles was about to signal a greeting when he saw the two young women hug before going their separate ways. Maggie disappeared in to the kitchen, and Olivia wearily climbed the stairs.
‘There’ll be fireworks now, I reckon,’ said Hopalong with a nudge of his elbow. ‘Maggie won’t stand for it.’
‘Shut up!’ Maggie’s voice echoed around the hotel in the ensuing silence. ‘Put that down and clear up this flamin’ mess. One more word out of any of you and I’ll bloody well take this broom to your backsides.’
There was a deathly hush in the dining room, with every eye turned towards the kitchen as Maggie emerged and stood in the doorway, hands on hips, face red with fury. ‘The entertainment’s over,’ she shouted. ‘Get on with your tucker or clear off.’
Chairs were scraped back, tea was gulped and plates swiftly emptied. The mass exodus left Giles still sitting at the table with a broad grin on his face. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You’d have gone down a treat as a Sergeant Major.’
Her shoulders lost their rigidity and she folded her arms. ‘Someone has to take charge,’ she said. ‘That lot of bludgers don’t know their arse from their elbows most of the time.’ She blushed, perhaps realising what she’d said might offend him, and turned back towards Sam, who had finished his telephone call and was standing in the hall, arms folded, a deadly twinkle in his eyes.
‘Reckon you could be right there, Giles, mate,’ he drawled. ‘Proper little harridan when she gets going. Fair frightened the flamin’ life outta me.’
Maggie swiped at him, but missed as he ducked away. ‘I’ll do more than frighten you if you don’t get in that flamin’ kitchen and help clear up the mess,’ she said with dark, comical menace.
Sam was grinning broadly as he winked at Giles and meekly followed Maggie into the kitchen.
Giles left the dining room and ran up the stairs. It was odd Olivia hadn’t joined him for breakfast, he mused. She must be hungry after being out so early this morning. He opened the door into the connecting lounge, his cheerful mood dying as he looked into her bedroom. Olivia had an open suitcase on the bed and was packing.
She shot him a glance over her shoulder as she threw her clothes into the case. ‘We’re leaving,’ she said.
‘Why?’ Giles closed the door behind him and went to stand beside her.
‘Because,’ she replied.
He reached out and stilled her hand, forcing her to look at him. ‘That isn’t an answer,’ he said softly. ‘What happened down on the beach this morning, Ollie?’
‘Nothing,’ she said with uncharacteristic shortness.
Giles took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Why did women always say there was nothing wrong when it was patently obvious there was? His mother was a past master at it and would send his poor father demented. ‘You were gone far too long for it to have been nothing,’ he said firmly. ‘I saw you with Maggie. You were crying.’
She turned from him, her hair coming loose from the plait and masking her face. ‘That was Maggie,’ she said as she resumed her packing. ‘I was merely in the right place at the right time when she needed to get something off her chest. I don’t know why you have to make such a fuss, Giles. It’s unimportant.’
He edged around her, closed the case and sat on it. Ignoring her protests, he put his arm around her waist and drew her close ‘You’re lying,’ he said softly, the accusation tempered by a teasing light in his eyes. ‘Come on, Ollie. I know you too well, remember? You always were a lousy liar.’
She dipped her chin as she gave a wan smile. ‘I never could fool you, could I?’
‘Not in a million, trillion years,’ he said, echoing their childhood declaration. He was tempted to kiss that smooth cheek, to run his hand through that lovely hair and pull her closer – but he knew that if he did that he was lost. Olivia needed to talk, needed to let go of whatever it was that troubled her. ‘Why are we leaving?’ he asked again.
‘I need to get away from here,’ she replied. ‘Need time to think.’
There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but knew it was better to remain silent. Olivia hated silences. She would tell him soon enough if he was patient.
She remained within the crook of his arm, her head dipped, her fingers plucking at the hem of her shirt. ‘Maggie and I had a long talk,’ she began. ‘She told me things that were so personal, I don’t want to repeat them.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said as he eased from the top of the case to a more comfortable position on the bed. He pulled Olivia down beside him and kept his arm around her waist. ‘But if they were personal to Maggie, how on earth would they affect you?’
‘Because of Irene.’
He was totally confused now and thought it best just to keep his mouth shut and let Olivia tell him in her own way. No doubt it would eventually become clear, but for the life of him he couldn’t see what on earth Irene had to do with all this.
Olivia’s voice was halting as she began a sketchy outline of Maggie’s life before she arrived in Trinity.
Giles listened and as the story progressed, he surmised there were probably far more profound confidences between the lines, but respected Maggie’s privacy. It was a heart–rending tale nonetheless, and he could only imagine what had been left out.
Olivia’s voice faded and she sat for a long while, head bowed, fingers clenched on her lap. ‘It turns out,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘That Irene is Maggie’s mother.’
The silence stretched as Giles tried to assimilate this shocking news. He expelled his breath in a low whistle. ‘By golly,’ he said.
Olivia looked at him, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. ‘Never let it be said you are guilty of over–reacting,’ she teased.
‘I don’t understand why you’re so upset about it all,’ he blustered. ‘You and Irene might detest one another, but Maggie has obviously become a friend. I would have thought you were both delighted to find you were related to one another.’
‘We are,’ she replied. ‘Poor Maggie’s had it rough, and I’m glad she can at last claim someone as family.’ She dipped her head again. ‘But it’s not as simple as that, Giles.’
He was confused again. ‘Don’t like suddenly finding you’re an aunt – eh?’ he teased. ‘Or is it the fact you and your niece are probably about the same age?’
‘If only that was all,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I would hate to hurt Maggie, but there are other factors involved, Giles. If we don’t leave, Maggie may soon regret taking me into her confidence.’
14
Maggie ignored the angry glares being shot between the kitchen lubras and orchestrated the clean–up. There was food and broken crockery scattered on the floor and the congealing remains of egg and bacon stuck to the wall where someone had obviously thrown it.
‘Leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens,’ she hissed as she tipped the dustpan full of broken crockery into the dustbin.
‘You said you were coming in,’ muttered Sam. ‘How was I to know you were going walkabout?’
She slung the dustpan aside and filled a bucket with hot, soapy water. ‘Take this,’ she ordered one of the snivelling girls. ‘And make sure you mop in the bloody corners.’ She watched the girl make a half–hearted attempt at swirling a lot of water around and snatched back the mop. ‘Like this,’ she snapped. ‘You know how, Maisie – so don’t go crook on me.’
The amber eyes were round, the full bottom lip trembling as the girl took the mop and began to wash the floor. Maisie was a past master at the histrionics, but Maggie could not be swayed. She’d seen this carry on many times and was not impressed.
She finally nodded her approval and ordered the other girl to scrub the range while she rescued the bags of sugar and sacks of flour that had been knocked over in the fight. Sam was stacking the remains of the china and counting the knives. ‘So where were you when this took off?’ she asked.
‘Out,’ he replied, his head bent as he counted plates.
Maggie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Out?’ she snapped. ‘Out where?’
Sam slammed the drawer on the knives and leaned against the dresser. ‘I needed some fresh air before I started the day,’ he said blithely. ‘No harm in that, is there?’
He was lying. Sam never went anywhere at that time of the morning unless it involved a fishing line or a horse. ‘Must have been an important phone call if you could ignore the racket going on in here,’ she murmured. ‘But I suppose you’re not going to tell me the truth about that either?’
She looked at him squarely and was gratified to see the colour rise in his face and the way his gaze slid away from her. At least he had the decency to acknowledge he’d been fibbing, she thought.
Sam rolled up his sleeves and washed out the dirty water from the bucket and refilled it. ‘Clean that up,’ he said quietly to the younger girl as he pointed to the mess on th
e wall. ‘Then you can go.’
‘No, she can’t,’ said Maggie. ‘There’s still the dining room to clear and the washing up to be done. They can both stay on and do it, and perhaps it will teach them not to fight in my bloody kitchen again.’
It was Sam’s turn to raise a questioning brow. ‘Your kitchen?’ he said.
‘Yeah, mine all the time I’m manager here,’ she said firmly as she finished tidying up the flour and sugar and returned the tins of jam to the cold store. The kitchen was at last beginning to look more ordered and her temper had cooled.
‘As manager you should have been here,’ he said gruffly.
‘As the bloody owner, so should you,’ she retorted.
They stood in the kitchen as the maids scurried back and forth from the dining room. They looked at one another for a long moment and then simultaneously broke into laughter. ‘Fair go, Maggie. How was I to know World War Three was about to break out?’
‘You’re right,’ she admitted. ‘But asking Maisie and Gloria to work together was always risky. They’ve been after the same man for years, and now Gloria’s finally got him. It’s a miracle either of them is still alive.’
‘I didn’t know,’ he spluttered, the laughter still twinkling in his eyes.
‘You wouldn’t,’ she returned. ‘You’re hardly ever here.’
He folded his arms and leaned once more against the dresser, his long legs and big feet threatening to trip the scurrying maids as they loaded the drainer with dirty plates and cutlery. ‘Reckon I asked for that,’ he said softly. ‘Sorry, Maggs. Won’t happen again.’
‘I’ll believe that when it happens,’ she muttered.
‘Reckon it’s safe to leave these two while we sit and have a cuppa? Throat’s drier than a goanna’s backside.’
‘You have a lovely way of putting things,’ she said dryly. Then she grinned. ‘I know just what you mean, though. I could do with a cuppa. It’s been a long night.’
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