Every Year I Am Here

Chapter 3-2

Catherine shook her by the shoulders and peered down at her with concern. ‘Hey, yer were talking in your sleep.’

Lillian rubbed her puffy eyes. ‘What did I say?’

Catherine slid her arms inside her shirt sleeves. ‘I couldn’t tell whit yer were blethering on about. Must have been something to do with that terrible thing yer did.’

‘Pardon?’ Lillian struggled to sit up, startled.

Catherine laughed. ‘I’m only teasing, hen. Remember? Yer said as much last night but didnae mention whit it was you’d done.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’

‘Whit was it then, the terrible thing yer did?’ Catherine’s face was lit up with mischief as she finished buttoning her shirt.

Lillian racked her brain. ‘I… I let Donald put his hand underneath my skirt and touch my knee.’ The excuse sounded weak, even to her.

Catherine playfully squashed Lillian’s cheeks between her warm palms. ‘Scandalous. As if I didnae know about that already. For a wee moment I thought yer’d done something criminal.’

Lillian gulped. ‘Of course not.’

‘Whitever it is, yer’ll keep. I’ll get yer secret out of yer one way or another.’ Catherine retreated to her own bed. She reached for her boots, put them on and hurriedly laced them up. ‘See yer in the kitchen. Yer’d better hurry up.’

Catherine left as Lillian reluctantly rose, feeling weary from her disrupted night’s sleep. She filled the washstand bowl with water from the jug her bedfellow had already retrieved from the well and washed her face and body to get rid of the stale perspiration that had left her feeling sticky all over. Today marked one year since her arrival at Rosemead. The anniversary was an unpleasant reminder there were several months of stultifying heat ahead to endure in the poky attic. The thought did not cause much distress: she was used to being uncomfortable. She wiped herself down with a rough towel, patted at her eyes and got dressed. The temperature lowered by several degrees as she plodded downstairs.

As Lillian entered the kitchen a loud squeal shattered the morning quiet and immediately roused her from her fugue.

Mrs Menzies turned to Catherine. ‘Now who on earth do you think that could be?’

‘Maybe Olivia found a wee cockroach in her bed.’

‘We can only hope,’ said Lillian.

‘That’s enough from you two.’ Cook whipped a dishcloth at them. ‘Whoever it is, they’re somewhere out the front.’

The shrieking and shouting intensified, which spurred all three of them to hurry down the hall and burst out on to the wide veranda beside Mrs Shaw and Olivia, who were holding their hands to their mouths. The sight in front of them was worse than Lillian could have imagined.

Beyond the gate, an exquisitely dressed young woman was clutching her left ear with fright. The same magpie that had bothered Lillian yesterday afternoon was in the middle of a repeat bombardment on its newest victim. On its next descent, the bird succeeded in knocking the woman’s bonnet to a crazy angle. The lady had already fallen from her bicycle, which now lay twisted on the ground. Her efforts to retrieve it one-handed while attempting to ward off her attacker were proving ineffectual.

What made the spectacle truly disastrous was the moment Donald pushed through the onlooking huddle clutching a tennis racket and taking aim at the marauder. His bravado gave the victim time to seek shelter behind his hastily tucked-in shirt. Satisfied the bird was temporarily warded off, Donald bent to retrieve the bicycle and set it upright. He then offered his arm to the poor woman. She gratefully tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow and held on for dear life.

Something about the sight of them standing together, Donald’s face etched with concern while keeping a wary look-out, made Lillian feel truly sick to her stomach. He wheeled the bicycle up the front path and leant it against the balustrading before ushering his prize past her. His mother and sister hurried anxiously inside after them. As the young lady had passed, Lillian noticed the pristine white gloves held to her ear had bright bloodstains seeping into them. The wheels were responsible, of course. While that naughty magpie had swooped at Lillian’s head the previous night, the gesture had merely been a warning. It was the passing carts, bicycles and dogs the creature detested above all else.

Mrs Shaw dispatched her to retrieve iodine and cotton wool from the medicine cabinet. Lillian returned to the drawing-room in time to see the visitor being gently guided to the ottoman. The young woman found herself immediately flanked on the seat by Olivia and Mrs Shaw. Lillian slunk into a corner and listened as the stranger told them both in faintly clipped English tones that her Christian name was Mary and that she and her family, the Forsyths, lived not far from the Observatory at Spring Hill.

Mrs Shaw launched a polite but steady stream of questions to ascertain that Miss Mary was the daughter of the respected doctor, Joseph Forsyth. As if her father’s esteemed position weren’t enough to pique interest, the guest went on to explain that her mother, Mrs Elizabeth Forsyth, was an active supporter of the Society of the Prevention of Cruelty as well as local suffragist activities.

‘A progressive lady indeed,’ Mrs Shaw exclaimed. ‘I myself am a longstanding member of the Diamantina Orphanage Ladies’ Committee; since its inception, actually. I should think your mother and I might have quite a bit to talk about if we were to meet. Tell me, dear Mary, which church does your family attend?’

‘All Saints on Wickham Terrace. It’s Anglican. You may have already been able to tell I’m English by my accent.’ Mary covered her self-effacing smile with her glove before remembering it was soiled with blood. Embarrassed, she quickly lowered her hand back to her lap and tried to cover it with the less affected one.

‘Yes, of course.’ This news served to puff Mrs Shaw up with further pleasure. ‘Here, Mary, I can get one of the girls to wash that spot right out for you.’ She raised her hand and beckoned Lillian from her corner. ‘Come and take Miss Forsyth’s glove. Olivia dear, perhaps you would be so kind as to let Mary have a spare pair of your own to borrow for the meantime?’

Olivia stood immediately and left the room with swift steps to retrieve a set from her dresser.

Mrs Shaw plumped her skirt. ‘Olivia and I would be happy to venture over and return your glove tomorrow when it’s back to its original condition.’

‘Oh yes, please do. Mother will be delighted to meet you, especially after I tell her how you came to my aid this morning,’ Mary said. She flicked a shy look at Donald who had seated himself by the window. ‘You’ve been most gracious.’

He grinned with delight. It had not escaped Lillian’s notice that Donald appeared to be intently hanging on to every word coming from Mary’s blush-coloured lips.

Indeed, it was easy enough to see why he would be intrigued, Lillian thought. Mary was a “bonny wee lass”, as Catherine would say. Her blonde hair – despite its recent ruffling – still held the remnants of careful styling. The wisps about her temple and cheeks kindly framed enviably high cheekbones. She was a girl who was obviously careful to wear her hat outdoors to protect such alabaster skin from burning beneath the hot Queensland sun. Lillian’s fingers fluttered to her freckled face with dismay.

Mary slowly removed her gloves, daintily plucking at each cloth finger, and handed them over. Lillian remained poised as was expected of her, despite the unsavouriness of the task, and took the offering down to the laundry to attend to the stains. By the time she returned from scrubbing them with lye and leaving them to soak in a bucket of lukewarm water, Olivia had retrieved clean gloves and Catherine had wheeled in the tea trolley.

‘Do have a cup, dear. It will help settle your nerves. You’ve had a huge shock. The magpies are appalling around here. You’d think they’d be long finished their nesting by now.’ Mrs Shaw gave Catherine a nod to proceed to pour without waiting for Mary’s response. ‘I shall have to see what can be done to get it moved on.’

Lillian shuddered. She knew what that meant.

‘Thank you, everyone, for your kindness,’ Mary said, politely receiving the cup and saucer.

‘Do you take milk or sugar?’ Mrs Shaw asked.

‘A little milk, thank you. No sugar.’

Catherine obliged the request and handed it to Mary before pouring a cup for Lillian to give Donald, all the while glancing out of the corner of her eye with obvious amusement.

Lillian conveyed the beverage across the room where Donald received it with a cursory thank you, never taking his eyes from Mary’s face. She returned to her original position and tried not to let despondency seep in, otherwise Catherine would never let her hear the end of it.

‘I really must be on my way. I’m meant to be meeting my friends at Mowbray Park at nine o’clock.’ Mary replaced her empty cup to its saucer. The tea had done the trick – she seemed much brighter. ‘We’re going rowing on the river.’

‘That sounds lovely!’ Olivia clapped her hands. ‘I wish I could come.’

How lovely, Lillian thought resentfully, to have time on a weekday for a trip on the water.

Mary remained decorous at the hint. ‘Well, if you would like to, I know there is enough room for one more.’

‘Mother!’ Olivia almost leapt off her seat. ‘May I?’

Her mother shook her head with regret. ‘I am afraid not, my dear. You have school to attend. It’s almost nine. If you don’t hurry, I shall have to write a note to explain your lateness.’

Lillian felt a pang of joy watching as Olivia’s chest sagged with disappointment. However, it went no way at all toward alleviating the distress she felt watching Donald being so enchanted by their guest.

Mary reached out and lightly touched Olivia’s hand. ‘Another time perhaps?’

Olivia gazed back at her, mildly appeased. ‘Oh yes, absolutely. I would love that.’

Mary glanced at the grandfather clock standing sentry by the window and looked concerned. ‘Goodness. Is that really the time?’

‘Donald could take you across to Mowbray Park in the trap. You wouldn’t mind, would you, dear?’ Mrs Shaw asked.

Pointedly, Lillian thought.

Donald immediately stood, cleared his throat and adjusted his cufflinks. ‘Of course. It would be my pleasure.’

Lillian bit her upper lip with chagrin. Mowbray Park lay in the opposite direction to his office in the city. The detour would lengthen his journey to work by a further twenty minutes. Wasn’t his job far more important than making sure Mary had a row on the river?

‘Are you quite sure? I wouldn’t want to cause any more trouble.’ Mary hesitated and Lillian wondered if the girl was torn between accepting an unchaperoned lift with an eligible and – in her own opinion – handsome young man or, missing out on a day with her friends.

It seemed clear to Lillian that despite a difficult start to Mary’s day, the outlook had become significantly brighter for her with each passing moment. While hers, on the other hand, had withered right before her very eyes.

Mary smiled coyly and accepted Donald’s offer.