The Sequin Star (11 page)

Rosina glanced away quickly, her cheeks pink.

Malia looked at Rosina, suppressing a smile. ‘I think she'll need to rest for a few days. Luckily tomorrow's Sunday, so there's no performance. I hope she'll be well enough to go to the opening of the Sydney Harbour Bridge next week. It would be an awful shame to miss it.'

‘Nothing on earth would make me miss that,' insisted Rosina, the smile dropping from her face. ‘I'll go even if I have to ride Elsie onto the bridge.'

‘That might upset our beloved Premier, Mr Lang, more than a showdown with the New Guard,' joked Jem. ‘Better I push you in a wheelbarrow!'

Frank snorted. ‘The blasted New Guard better not try to have a showdown with Mr Lang, or there'll be real trouble.' He glared at Kit disdainfully. ‘Those New Guard nobs are just a bunch of fat old businessmen and spoilt rich kids running around, playing at being soldiers. The battlers won't put up with any nonsense from them.'

Kit raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, I had best get back to my seat or I'll miss the second half.'

Jem hurried off to rejoin the band. At a command from Malia, the dogs trotted into the ring, pushing their prams.

Claire turned to Rosina, who was lying down again.

‘Rosina, who are the New Guard that Frank was talking about?' asked Claire. ‘And why would they have a showdown with the Premier?'

Rosina laughed. ‘Don't you know
anything
, Claire?'

Claire flushed and turned away. Rosina sighed. ‘Well, the current Labor Premier of New South Wales is Jack Lang, affectionately known as the Big Fella. He has implemented lots of changes to try to make life easier for the workers during the depression. He's also passed laws to make it harder for landlords to evict unemployed tenants and is trying to create relief jobs through government spending.'

‘That sounds good,' said Claire cautiously.

‘The workers love him,' agreed Rosina. ‘But the wealthy business people hate him. They think he's a communist who is threatening to overturn their way of life. They think that Australia is on the verge of a communist revolution, like in Russia.'

‘That's ridiculous,' Claire scoffed. ‘Australia won't become a communist country. That's just a lot of scaremongering.' She remembered learning about communism in history at school. People had feared that communism would spread throughout the world like a disease.

‘Perhaps,' continued Rosina, ‘but thousands of Australians would disagree with you. The New Guard was formed last year by Colonel Eric Campbell to protect Australia from communist threat and preserve traditional values. The organisation has fifty thousand members just here in Sydney.'

‘Fifty thousand members?' repeated Claire. ‘That's huge.'

‘Many of them are soldiers who fought in the Great War, so they're experienced with military operations,' continued Rosina. ‘There are rumours that the New Guard plan to kidnap Lang or overthrow the elected government to stop him from opening the Harbour Bridge.'

Claire frowned. ‘Why don't they want Mr Lang to open the bridge?'

Rosina shifted into a more comfortable position, moving the cushion under her knee. ‘It's complicated, but basically they think it should be the King or the Governor-General – the King's representative – not a Labor premier.'

‘They would overthrow the government over who cuts the official ribbon?' asked Claire in disbelief.

Rosina grinned. ‘Sounds crazier than a circus, doesn't it?'

Frank led the monkeys into the Big Top as the dogs ran off, barking happily while they were fed their post-performance treats. Claire went back to work, hurriedly putting away the prams used in the dog act. Lula did not perform as enthusiastically as she usually did with the clowns. When she came off she climbed straight into bed with Rosina, chittering softly and snuggling up to her chest. Rosina stroked her little head and murmured comforting words.

Malia squatted down next to Rosina. ‘It's nearly time for the liberty horses act, Rosina, but I think Alf can do it without you tonight.'

Rosina sat up. ‘I can do it,' she assured Malia.

‘I know you can,' Malia replied, ‘but the horses can also do it without you.'

‘What about the Wild West act?'

‘No, Rosina,' interrupted Claire. ‘You mustn't. That act is dangerous enough when you are fit. You could be killed with a knee injury.'

Malia smiled at Claire. ‘We won't let her kill herself – she took too long to train!'

Rosina shook her head. ‘What if I rode but didn't do any tricks?' she asked. ‘I could just canter around the ring once or twice with the cowboys chasing me and whoop a few times. The cowboys could do all the fancy tricks.'

Malia thought for a moment. She checked Rosina's knee again. It was still painful, but the ice and painkillers had reduced the inflammation.

‘No tricks, understand?' Malia demanded. ‘Not even riding backwards.'

Rosina grinned. ‘Understood. I'm too frightened to disobey your orders, Malia. You're much scarier than Alf when you want to be.'

‘Good,' she said with a nod before turning to Claire. ‘Can you find the Winona costume and we'll help Rosina get changed?'

Malia set to work patting on the heavy brown greasepaint, which transformed Rosina's fair skin into that of an Indian warrior maiden.

True to her word, Rosina did not attempt any tricks in the Wild West act. She stayed on her horse and circled the ring twice, holding the reins in one hand and whooping loudly as she rapidly covered and uncovered her mouth with the other hand. The cowboys chasing her did all the hard work – standing in the stirrups; hanging off the side of the saddle; dangling backwards over the horses' rumps, hanging on by only their feet; and leaping up and down from the saddle.

Rosina left the ring early and returned to the prop tent. Her brown-and-white painted horse stood patiently.

‘Claire, could you help me, please?' asked Rosina. She was so exhausted she was swaying in the saddle. ‘If I ride back to the caravan, could you help me down and into bed?'

‘Of course I can,' replied Claire. ‘Are you all right?'

Rosina just nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. Claire walked back to the caravan beside the horse and tied it to the tow bar. She struggled to support Rosina as she slid off the horse, hobbled up the stairs and onto her bunk.

10
High Tea

Rosina had the next day off to rest. Claire and Jem spent the morning doing Rosina's chores as well as their own. Claire was just heading back from feeding the monkeys when she saw a long, black limousine pull onto the front of the lot, attracting a lot of attention from the circus workers.

A uniformed chauffeur emerged and opened the rear door. Out climbed Kit, as impeccably dressed as always. The chauffeur opened the boot and took out a large cane basket and a bunch of white flowers.

I wonder what Kit is up to now?
Claire thought. She wandered over to meet him, swinging her empty bucket.

‘Good morning, Claire,' Kit said with a smile. ‘I come bearing gifts for the patient. How is she today?'

‘Still sore and sorry for herself,' replied Claire. ‘Would you like to come and see her?'

‘Would that be all right?' asked Kit. ‘I don't want to intrude if she's not well. I was just planning to leave a little something for her.'

‘It will probably cheer her up to have some company,' Claire admitted. ‘She's been grumpy all day because Malia said she had to keep her leg up and iced. She can't do anything. Jem and I decided it was safer to stay away.'

‘That doesn't sound like much fun. Let me just tell my driver to take a break.'

The chauffeur parked the car under a tree, where he sat reading a newspaper. Claire and Kit strolled together over towards Rosina's caravan.

‘Take a seat.' Claire gestured to the chairs and crates arranged around the campfire. ‘I'll let Rosina know you're here.'

‘Thanks,' said Kit. ‘Tell her I can go away if she's not up for a visit.'

Claire ran up the steps of the caravan and tapped on the door.

‘Just a moment,' called Rosina.

‘Kit Hunter is here. He's brought a present. Do you feel up to seeing him?'

There was a thump from inside. ‘Tell him I'll be down in a minute,' replied Rosina.

The reason for the delay was apparent when Rosina opened the door several minutes later. She was no longer clothed in the shabby old dress that she had been wearing; she was now modelling a pretty sprigged cotton dress in green and white. Her hair was brushed out in waves, and she was no longer looking pale and wan.

Claire glanced down at her own working clothes ruefully. Rosina had a pair of crutches that Jem had fashioned for her out of timber, with pads made of flour sacks to cushion her underarms. She hopped down the steps and took a seat on her chair by the fire.

Kit stood and handed her the bunch of flowers. ‘These are for you,' he explained. ‘To cheer you up. They're lilies from our greenhouse.'

Rosina blushed and buried her face in the blooms to enjoy the delicate scent. ‘Thank you, they're lovely.' Claire took the white lilies and popped them into a jug of water on the table beside the caravan.

Kit held up the cane basket. ‘I also brought you some special treats. Our cook put together a picnic that she thought you might enjoy – chicken sandwiches, egg-and-bacon pie, grapes, lemonade and a chocolate cake. There's plenty for everyone.'

Rosina and Claire exchanged appreciative glances, given the quality of circus camp food.

Jem arrived moments later, Jaspar at his heels, his curiosity piqued by the rumour that a toff townie had arrived in a limousine to visit Rosina.

Rosina laughed. ‘Trust you, Jem, to arrive just as the picnic basket is opened. You're as bad as Jaspar when it comes to begging for food.'

‘I didn't know there was a picnic basket,' complained Jem. Then he grinned. ‘But now that I do, why don't I make a billy of tea to go with it?'

Jem knelt down, added some sticks to the coals and set the billy over the flames. Claire brought over the table to spread the various dishes and cutlery out on.

‘You're looking well,' Kit said to Rosina, offering the plate of chicken sandwiches around. ‘I hope your knee is feeling better.'

Rosina busied herself, cutting four wedges from the egg-and-bacon pie and serving them onto the plates.

‘It's sore, but the hardest part is not being able to do anything,' complained Rosina. ‘I just hope I'm able to walk by Saturday. It might be a little tricky swinging on crutches amongst thousands of people.'

Jem helped himself to a slice of pie. ‘You'll be fine. You couldn't be the only knuckleheaded person in Sydney to miss the opening. Why, hordes of people, including us, will have travelled from all over the country to be there.'

Rosina handed Lula a sprig of grapes. The monkey, sitting in her own little chair, ate each one delicately.

‘Like that nine-year-old boy, Lennie Gwyther, who rode on his pony by himself from Victoria,' said Rosina. ‘That's an amazing journey.'

Claire swallowed a mouthful of sandwich. ‘You're joking? A nine-year-old boy couldn't ride that far by himself.'

She thought back to her own childhood. Her parents hadn't even let her walk to the corner store without an adult when she was that age. She was twelve before she was allowed to catch the bus to and from school.

‘It's been in all the papers,' Jem added. ‘It took him five weeks to ride six hundred miles from Leongatha in Gippsland. And then he has to turn around and ride home again.'

That's nearly one thousand kilometres
each way
, thought Claire.

‘What sort of parents would let their nine-year-old child travel that distance on a pony by themselves?' Claire asked.

‘His father is a farmer and a war hero,' explained Jem. ‘Apparently his dad broke his leg and was in hospital, so the little chap had to run the farm. He ploughed all the land with a four-horse team, by himself. His dad asked him what reward he would like for his hard work, and he said he wanted to be here for the opening of the world-famous Harbour Bridge.'

‘I still can't believe they would let him do that. He might have been lost or hurt – or even killed.'

‘Claire, there are nine-year-old kids supporting their whole family right now,' Jem reminded her. ‘Lennie's family farm might have gone broke if he hadn't acted like a man when his dad was crook. Mollycoddling kids is a luxury for the rich.'

Jem glanced at Kit, as though expecting him to argue back. Instead, Kit topped up everyone's glasses with cold, bubbly lemonade. Claire took a sip, thinking about Jem's outburst.

‘He rode unaccompanied, but his parents made sure he had places to stay all along the journey,' Rosina added. ‘And people looked out for him on the way – drovers and travellers. He's really famous now.'

‘A massive crowd welcomed Lennie in Martin Place when he arrived last week,' Kit said. ‘A real hero's welcome. People went crazy. My father said he's a quiet little chap, who hardly says more than one or two syllables, although he did say that the autograph hunters were “most pestiferous” along the way.'

Rosina put her fork down. ‘Did your dad meet him?' she asked.

Kit shrugged. ‘Yes, well, my father is on the Citizens of Sydney Organising Committee. They asked little Lennie if he'd ride his pony, Ginger Mick, in the opening parade. He's riding directly after the workers who helped build the bridge.'

Rosina and Jem exchanged a quick glance.

Jem raised his eyebrows. ‘Your dad must be pretty important to be on the organising committee.'

Kit shook his head. ‘No, not really. He owns a few stores in Sydney and is friends with the lord mayor. He likes to help out on big civic projects, and this one's taking a good deal of his time at the moment. The parade will be extraordinary. They think nearly one million people will be there to watch it.'

‘So basically every single person in the city,' said Rosina.

Kit took the big chocolate cake out of the basket. It was oozing with chocolate icing and covered in strawberries. A long knife was in the basket.

‘Mmmm,' said Claire. ‘That looks wicked. Your cook is amazing.'

‘She is a wonder,' Kit agreed. ‘I was lucky to get this. Father has her working hard all week, cooking up a feast for a big party he's organising for Saturday night.'

‘Did I tell you, Rosina, that Alf has decided that we should close the circus next weekend?' said Jem, changing the subject. ‘He said no one will want to come to a circus with so much excitement in the city. So we get a little holiday.'

‘Circus performers getting a holiday,' Rosina huffed. ‘Well, that's a first. I suppose he'll want us all to spend the weekend practising new acts?'

Jem snorted and tossed a stick on the fire. ‘Well, I for one am going to visit my family. I won't be practising any new acts since I can't even get a chance to perform my old ones.'

Rosina nudged him on the shoulder. ‘Don't be like that, Jem. I was thinking, if you built me a little cart, I could train the dogs to pull it and the monkeys to drive. It will be a sensation.'

Claire giggled at the thought of Lula driving a dog-drawn cart. ‘Lula would love that. Just make sure you don't give her a whip! She'd be lethal.'

A few minutes later, Kit left to go home, taking the basket and washing-up with him. The chauffeur drove over and opened the door for him, stowing the basket in the boot.

Rosina, Claire and Jem watched him go.

‘Cripes, his dad must be filthy rich,' said Jem, looking enviously at the shiny limousine. ‘Only the cream of Sydney's businessmen and politicians are on that organising committee.'

‘Mmmm,' said Rosina, twirling one of her curls around her finger.

On Tuesday, Claire slipped away early from the circus lot and went for a walk. She set off, wending her way in a north-easterly direction, taking in the sights and sounds of the busy streets. She passed a small shopping strip with a series of shops: a butcher, baker, barber, greengrocer, and the ham-and-beef shop. The baker's horsedrawn cart was being loaded with the day's deliveries. Bicycles jangled past. A tram clattered down the middle of the road, heading in the same direction, but Claire didn't have any money for the fare.

A man pushed a pram full of skinned rabbit carcasses, calling out, ‘Rabbit-oh, rabbit-oh.'

Claire walked down a hill and came to a familiar sight, the Gothic sandstone towers of the historic Northbridge, which gave her suburb its name. The sight was at once heart-achingly familiar, but also strange. Trams crossed the bridge, together with the odd car. The surrounding hills looked different with fewer buildings.

Her heart sank, but still she walked on, crossing the bridge. At last she arrived at her own street. She walked to the block where her home should have stood. For a moment she had a vision of a row of modern, rendered three-storey townhouses with precisely clipped hedges and formal courtyards. Her room was at the very top, with its cute dormer window and sloping roof. But of course the townhouses were not built yet.

Instead, there was a modest brick cottage surrounded by a big, rambling garden. Several children and a dog ran and played in the grass, while a mother sat on a wicker chair mending clothes.

Claire watched them for a moment. She closed her eyes and wished to go home. She longed to see her parents and her grandmother, her friends and her own safe bedroom. She opened her eyes as a cricket ball whizzed past her head. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She slowly turned around and walked all the way back to the circus lot.