Summer at Mount Hope (18 page)

‘Spot!' she cried her voice high and silly. ‘That's my horse, Spot.'

‘I've heard about Spot,' said Rudolph.

She opened her mouth to defend him but he touched her arm again and said, ‘They say he's a remarkable horse. And you are a remarkably brave woman.'

Spot threw his head up, walked in a circle and came back to the gate. Her father sat on the veranda, two plump legs jutting out from under a newspaper. Lilith stood at the top of the steps – thankfully, not wearing Phoeba's new blouse, although she did look very pretty with a ribbon in her hair and her curls just so. Maude was next to her, wringing her hands.

‘Hello,' sang Lilith, flicking her hair.

Rudolph nodded to her. He placed two hands at Phoeba's waist and lifted her down from the sulky, holding her for a second until she had caught her balance.

‘Thank you,' she said, then added regretfully, ‘I'll just say hello to Spot.'

‘Of course.'

Maude bowled down the steps calling, ‘Just in time for tea, Mr Steel. Please come in out of the sun.'

‘Well, I really should—'

‘Nonsense, it's very hot, you must have a cup of tea,' said Maude, and took him by the arm.

Spot pressed his long, flat nose against Phoeba's chest and she rubbed the stiff greasy hair between his ears. ‘You're thin, Spotty, have they neglected you? You'd never try to kill me, would you?' She fetched some oats for him and left him, his nose deep in his feed bin.

Maude fussed over Rudolph and asked far too many questions. Where had he come from? The north. Was he staying forever? He wasn't sure. Would he like to have his own property one day? He would. Around here? Possibly. Did he read an advertisement for a manager at Overton in the paper? Not quite.

‘We live in fear now because of the swaggies stealing from us,' said Maude.

‘They were dispossessed,' said Phoeba, ‘itinerants.'

‘They're all the same – dangerous. I will never go anywhere again without the Collector.'

‘Very wise,' said Rudolph, looking at his hat to hide a smile. He rode away as soon as it was polite to leave. Maude said, ‘I didn't expect him to be as well-mannered as Marius.' She put her finger under Phoeba's chin and turned her head to inspect her cheek. Phoeba waited: her mother would say it was lovely to have her home, or ask if she was tired. But instead Maude asked, ‘Did you see Mrs Overton?'

‘I did.'

‘What did she look like?'

‘She was wearing an ermine trimmed silk ballgown threaded with gold and a crown on her head. She never wears anything else.'

‘Such lovely people.'

‘Except they gave us a horse that nearly killed us and they shoot the natives.'

At least her father said he was glad she was back. But then he looked over at Spot up to his ears in his feed bin. ‘Spot's been on a hunger strike and the last thing we need is to be upwind of a dead horse in summer.'

Finally, Maude patted her hand sympathetically. ‘I expect you were longing to get back home, to life as it was.'

‘Actually,' said Phoeba, ‘I don't think life will ever be the same again.'

‘Life goes on,' said Maude, glaring at Robert. ‘If I can survive every day of the fourteen years I have endured this wilderness, you can. The harvest dance is coming up too so you'll need to be at your best. You must put this accident behind you. I have.'

Lilith had swapped the beds around, shoving Phoeba's close up against the wall and moving her own to the window. Phoeba found her bloomers and cotton combinations in the bottom drawer of the bureau and her blouses and skirts shoved to the far end of the wardrobe. Normally, she'd have tried to ignore such behaviour. But not anymore.

‘I will have the life I want,' she said to herself.

She couldn't move the bed because her back hurt, but she threw Lilith's clothes out onto the floor, cutting the laces on her sister's best corset in the process. Satisfied with her new start, she went out to Maggie.

The goat was indifferent to anyone unless it was morning and they carried the milking pail or her breakfast, which made her indifference quite comforting. But then Phoeba saw that her vegetable garden had been plundered and half her chooks were missing. They had slaughtered her beautiful Leghorns with their lolling combs and small, sagacious eyes! Poor, poor trusting hens, she thought, murdered after the months she'd spent teaching them to trust her hands, to let her pick them up, even though from time to time she chopped someone's head off to cook and eat them. She gathered the last of her now-wary hens and ushered them into the cellar. They'd be safer behind lock and key, she informed her parents.

‘We hardly get any eggs these days,' said Maude from behind her sewing machine, ‘and the outcrop reeks of roasting chickens.'

‘Or fish,' said Robert, stuffing Maude's second wedding cake into his mouth. ‘Freckle gets crayfish for them. I've been asking him for years to catch me a crayfish but he won't, says he gets top dollar from Overton. And the itinerants get them for free!'

‘I doubt it's his choice,' said Phoeba, glumly. No one seemed outraged about her poor chooks. No one was going to do anything about the itinerants. Everyone was so … resigned.

‘You know Mrs Pearson's washing machine arrived? And Lilith has a new friend,' said Maude, trying to get the sewing machine needle to shunt up and down. ‘It's Marius Overton no less! She is such a comfort to him in his mourning. And he's such a thoughtful man.'

‘Such a ditherer,' mumbled Robert scraping butter onto a second slice of cake.

Maude wrenched the material caught under the machine's foot and it tore. The sharp rip made everyone stop. She covered her eyes with her hand.

‘Wretched, useless machine,' she hissed, then turned her anger on her husband. ‘Robert! I did not say anyone could eat the cake.'

‘It's very good,' he said, ‘rich. Far too good to be wasted on gluttonous vicars or widows.' He opened his mouth wide and bit down, his teeth sinking into the thick, even spread of butter.

Maude burst into tears, snatched up the delicate cotton and lace nightie she was making and rushed out.

‘Your mother,' said Robert, through his half-chewed cake, ‘is heading for the asylum.'

‘It's a woman's lot,' said Phoeba, sighing. Why was it that men had an easier life, she asked herself.

Lilith wandered in, her nose pressed into a small frond of eucalyptus flowers. Robert wiped his buttery fingers on his trousers. ‘Where have you been, Lilith?'

‘Out walking.'

‘You? Exercising?'

Just then, they heard the looking glass shut with a sharp thwack. ‘Here she comes,' called Maude rumbling down the hall, ‘and she's got the vicar with her.'

Robert grabbed his pith hat and rushed out the back door. Phoeba moved the kettle to the hotplate and Maude sniffed. ‘We may as well eat the rest of the cake, Phoeba. The ants will get it before there's a wedding in this house.' She rushed off to move the sewing machine to the middle of the table so Widow Pearson would see it when she peered down the hall.

Henrietta circled sharply in the yard and parked under the peppercorn. Her mother and the vicar clung fearfully to the armrests and an arc of dust wafted down to settle on the vines. Henrietta helped her mother from the Hampden then skipped across to Phoeba, swinging her hat in her hand, with her smile as wide as the bay. ‘Welcome home!' she said, then whispered, ‘I don't want to sit next to the vicar.'

‘I feel a bit like I'm made of marmalade,' said Phoeba, ‘but I'll mend.'

Widow Pearson, wearing a new mustard-coloured dress, made her way up the front steps and fell into Robert's large comfortable chair, gasping. The vicar paused in the middle of the yard, his hands behind his back as he gazed at the vineyard.

‘So this is Mount Hope! My word, look at those lovely vines!' He headed towards the front veranda. ‘You must show me the cellar and press as soon as we've had tea, Miss Crupp.'

‘Margaret has painted you a sea-scape,' said Maude thrusting a brown paper package at the widow, ‘since your land is low and you won't have a sea view at your new house.'

‘I know how you felt when you fell from your sulky, Phoeba,' Mrs Pearson began, dumping the gift by her chair. ‘I've had a terribly bumpy trip over. The road is very pitted because of traffic from those Luddites you invite to camp on your hill.'

‘They're waiting for work at Overton—' started Maude and the Widow pounced.

‘Speaking of Overton, we will have gaslights and tap water inside at the manager's house.' Her breath came in short wisps.

‘We have a sewing machine now,' said Maude.

Phoeba nudged Henrietta indicating they should sneak away but the vicar picked up the cake plate and held it in front of them.

‘Mrs Crupp's cakes don't agree with us,' said Widow Pearson. ‘They're very heavy. The cook at Overton makes a nice sponge. He's a Chinaman you know, but the food was quite good the last time we lunched there.'

Henrietta rolled her eyes, and Phoeba realised she was surrounded by people who had strong feelings about nothing that mattered and the wrong opinions about things that did matter. ‘Lunch?' she said. ‘You lunched with Mrs Overton?'

‘Hasn't it been dry, Vicar?' said Maude and looked out to the windmill.

‘When did you lunch?' persisted Phoeba. She couldn't help herself. Henrietta nudged her again.

‘Mr Titterton took us to the horse race to celebrate cutout and to thank the shearers last year,' said Widow Pearson, and slammed her cup into her saucer. Maude gasped.

‘We all went,' said Phoeba. ‘Everyone in the district went. We all bought lunch for a penny a plate and we all ate it on the lawn. I did not see Mrs Overton on the lawn.'

Henrietta cleared her throat and Maude put her finger to her lips to silence Phoeba. She was staring out at the long neat vines, lush and glinting in the sunshine. She inhaled, smelling warm leaves and fructose. She felt she should go and check her grapes but couldn't. At that moment she didn't like anyone on the veranda, except for Henrietta.

‘No races this year?' asked the vicar, innocently.

‘No,' said Henrietta, seizing the opportunity to deflect the brewing argument. ‘The shearers went on strike so Mr Overton put a stop to a bit of good fun.'

‘I've called to have tea at Overton,' said the vicar, reaching for more cake, ‘but Mrs Overton was not in.'

‘By Jove,' said Phoeba, and slapped her knee, ‘I bet she was over visiting Mrs Flynn.' She laughed but no one joined in and even Henrietta stayed tactfully quiet.

‘The maid brought Phoeba something different for dinner every day,' said Lilith.

‘You ate in your room?' said the Widow. ‘Mind you, with a face like yours. You'll be scarred, you know. I don't suppose you saw much of Mrs Overton?'

‘Mrs Overton wears a crown,' said Maude, dreamily, and Phoeba cringed.

Widow Pearson slammed her cup into her saucer again. ‘I've never seen her wear a crown.'

Maude's said, shakily, ‘That cup and saucer is Oxford, part of a set. It belonged to my mother. Phoeba will inherit the entire set, intact, I hope, when she marries.'

‘I'm getting the furniture,' said Lilith.

‘The cake was very good,' said the vicar and licked his thumb.

‘We can see the cellar now.'

‘Right,' said Phoeba, and stood up taking Henrietta's hand.

‘Where are you going?' Mrs Pearson slammed her cup in her saucer again. ‘Sit down, Henrietta. You must stay here. We're taking a risk just by visiting these people, harbouring itinerants and highwaymen up behind their house. You should run them off your property, Mrs Crupp, that's what I think.'

‘They are starving, Mrs Pearson,' said Phoeba, evenly. ‘And frankly, no one cares what you think about anything.' And she whipped the saucer out of the Widow's hand before she could slam her cup down again.

Maude spluttered, ‘She's had a bump on the head—'

‘And it's unleashed her true nature.' The Widow's eyes narrowed and her lips puckered like a tight buttonhole, but she didn't quite know what to do.

The vicar put his flat, round hat on. ‘I'll find the cellar,' he said and rolled down the front steps and around the side of the house.

‘Phoeba, dear,' her mother reached out to her, ‘you cannot just say things—'

‘Why not?' Phoeba pointed at the Widow. ‘We've endured her barbed comments for years. And Lilith says whatever she wants and everyone just dismisses it because she's bird-witted.'

‘I am not!'

‘You are,' said Henrietta, then slapped her hands over her mouth.

Maude's face turned red and she fanned herself with her jabot. Lilith was open-mouthed, struggling against her indignity, her face wobbling like half-set jelly and her eyes brimming.

‘Henrietta!' said Mrs Pearson, turning purple, ‘you have been influenced by these people for long enough.' She held her elbow out for her daughter to take. ‘We're leaving.'

‘She can stay if she wants to,' said Phoeba. ‘She is not your slave.'

‘If she doesn't come with me,' hissed Mrs Pearson, ‘she can join the line at the welfare offices to eat horse soup.'

Henrietta winked at Phoeba, mouthed, ‘Well done,' and helped her wheezing mother down the front steps as if she was manoeuvring a leaking weather balloon.

Lilith ran inside, crying.

Maude took the saucer from Phoeba and held it close. ‘I don't think the wretched woman should get married, it's indecent.' She put her palm to her right temple and said, ‘And, Phoeba Crupp, this Oxford saucer is cracked. I don't think you deserve to marry Hadley, or anyone. You ride bareback, you don't wear foundation garments and you're rude.'