Letty and the Stranger's Lace Page 3

  Letty reached out to trace the pattern with one finger.

  ‘Leave it,’ warned the woman.

  Letty snatched her hand back.

  George shook an old bag so hard it cracked like a whip. Dust flew everywhere. ‘This’ll do,’ he said. He swept the rest of the stuff back under the bed with one foot.

  Mary said nothing. Lavinia wouldn’t let her things be treated like that, Letty thought. But then Lavinia had never stayed in bed all day. Except for the time she’d been sick, Letty remembered. This woman did not look well either.

  Letty and George went back to the bakery.

  ‘Who was that?’ Letty asked.

  ‘My sister, Mary,’ George said. He drooped like a sad dog, and stopped stuffing the bag with loaves. ‘Don’t mind her. That’s the only thing she bothers with - fiddle-faddling, making that lace. When she does anything at all.’

  ‘She made that?’ The lace was so white, so perfect, while Mary was so shadowy and strange.

  George raised his hands. ‘Women,’ he said again.

  Poor George, Letty thought, having a madwoman as his sister. Letty would much rather have Lavinia.

  George lit his pipe and took a couple of puffs. ‘You wouldn’t be wanting some work, would you Letty? For pay?’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ she said in surprise.

  George eyed the stains on his waistcoat. ‘Mary isn’t in a condition to do much,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to get my clobber clean by Sunday. Could you put in a couple of hours washing?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Letty, pleased to be useful. She would rather work with Lavinia, but at least this was something. Perhaps if she gave Bridget the money, she would be allowed to stay in the Home longer. She might not be as good as an older girl, but Letty was sure she could do a better job than George.

  ‘And you could keep Mary company while I’m in here. Until she’s – you know – done.’

  Bridget’s words flashed into Letty’s mind: she might be dangerous. Letty couldn’t help remembering the sharp scissors lying in Mary’s room. She didn’t know what ‘done’ meant and she didn’t want to find out.

  ‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed.

  George’s jaw clamped down on his pipe.

  ‘I mean, I won’t be allowed.’

  Letty was being untruthful because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But she could tell by George’s frown that he was disappointed.

  ‘Struth.’ George looked at his dirty waistcoat again. ‘I’ll pay thruppence a morning. See if that changes Bridget’s mind.’

  Letty already knew she was not going to ask Bridget. She had made up her mind to turn down George’s offer. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do to earn her living. But she was not going to be shut in with a madwoman.

  A few days later, Abner and Letty sat on the jetty. Abner had come to find her at the Home, but he said he didn’t have much time. So Bridget had let Letty come down here with him on her way to get bread. The docks were all hustle and bustle: porters stacked up ship supplies; sailors loaded them onto rowboats; seagulls screeched for scraps.

  Letty was glad for time with Abner, wherever it was. She cupped the apple from George in her hands. Letty hadn’t eaten an apple since … she couldn’t remember. This one was shiny green with a pink blush. It had looked so good that she’d saved it to share with Abner.

  First she told Abner how Lavinia’s employer at the big house still only wanted her older sister, not her. And how she worried about what would happen to her.

  ‘You-er a brave girl, Letty,’ Abner said.

  ‘I’m not really,’ Letty admitted. ‘I’m scared. And lonely.’

  ‘You can feel scared and be brave at the one time, I’d say. You-er not alone, truly.’

  Letty smiled. ‘You’re still here.’

  Abner did not smile back. He watched the water swirl around the wharf posts. It moved like a dance, thought Letty: back, forth and round, in a rhythm of its own.

  ‘The Duchess is sailing on the tide,’ he said. ‘We’er going to Van Diemen’s Land, then China.’

  Letty felt as if the cold waves under the jetty had suddenly drenched her. She had known Abner would have to leave eventually when his ship sailed again, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it. ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘We’er bound for Liverpool, after that.’

  ‘That is so far,’ Letty said brokenly. ‘And the sea is so dangerous… You might never come back.’

  ‘It’s my job,’ said Abner. ‘ “Fear not,” the Bible says. “I have called you by you-er name.” ’ He quoted softly: ‘ “When you pass through the waters I will be with you, they shall not overflow you —” ’

  ‘Stop,’ said Letty. She didn’t want to hear any more. She didn’t want to think about Abner sailing away. She felt as if she couldn’t bear it. She had given up Lavinia to the big house and now Abner was being taken away, too. He scuffed his large feet against the jetty post.

  ‘You can’t stay?’ Letty asked.

  Abner shook his head. ‘Against the law, that’d be. I’d get locked up.’

  Letty’s hopes sighed away like a falling tide.

  ‘Abner,’ she said, ‘will you write to me?’

  Abner looked at her unhappily. ‘I can’t, Letty. Plenty of words, my heart has, but my hands can’t put ’em on paper.’

  ‘Oh.’ Letty had never realised. She wished she had, and Lavinia could have taught him to read and write, just like she taught Letty. It was too late now. He was going all the way to England.

  England! Letty suddenly realised what that meant. ‘Could you take a message to my Papa?’

  ‘Surely.’ Abner nodded solemnly.

  ‘He’s Mr Beddows, near the Three Dogs Inn, in Birmingham. Tell him —’ What good news did she have? ‘Tell him me and Lavinia got here safely. That Lavinia has a good job. And that I miss them all.’

  A sharp whistle made Abner turn his head. The Duchess’s bosun and a pair of sailors were coming along the jetty, their arms loaded with parcels. The sailors climbed down into a rowboat. The bosun waved to Abner.

  ‘Aye-aye,’ said Abner. ‘Time to go.’ He stood there awkwardly, his elbows poking out of his shirt. ‘Fear not, Letty.’

  Letty held out the apple she had meant for sharing. She put it in Abner’s rough-skinned palm.

  ‘Thank you, my friend Abner,’ she whispered. Then she fled down the jetty back to shore, because she couldn’t watch him go.

  LETTY still had tears on her face when she reached 200 Cumberland Street. She wiped her eyes with the hem of her dress, and knocked on the kitchen door.

  ‘May I see Lavinia, please?’ she asked the housekeeper.

  ‘No dearie. She’s with the Mistress, altering a ballgown.’ The housekeeper stood in the doorway. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ said Letty. Letty had just wanted to be with her big sister for a little while – to hide her face in the ruffles of Lavinia’s dress and feel Lavinia stroke her hair. Letty really was alone, whatever Abner said, and full of fear and unhappiness.

  ‘But maybe you needn’t have come for nothing,’ said the housekeeper thoughtfully. ‘The Mistress is very happy with your sister’s work, you know.’

  Letty knew she should be glad to hear it. That was good for Lavinia.

  ‘This Friday,’ the housekeeper went on, ‘the Master is holding a big dinner. We could do with a couple of extra hands. You’re well-spoken and trustworthy. Could you come here at noon? It will be a late night. You can sleep in Lavinia’s room.’

  Bridget and Lavinia would certainly approve of that. Letty was excited at the thought of staying over in the big house with her sister. ‘Yes, ma’am!’ Letty answered with a curtsey.

  ‘That’s the way, dearie,’ said the housekeeper. She fingered the worn cuffs of Letty’s dress. ‘But the Mistress likes her servants to look as good as the rest of the house. Shabby won’t do.’

  Letty would have to talk to Bridget. She couldn’t let th
e Mistress, the housekeeper and Lavinia down. First she’d get the bread, then she’d go straight back to Mrs Chisholrm’s Home.

  Letty hurried along the street to where the houses were smaller and older - to the bakery.

  Letty stopped at the threshold. George was not behind the high counter. Mary was, sitting on a stool.

  Letty looked around.

  ‘My brother is out,’ said Mary. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Six loaves for the Female Immigrants Home,’ Letty said.

  ‘I see. You’re Letty,’ said Mary. ‘Letty who wouldn’t work here.’ Mary hunched the blanket closer over her shoulders. ‘I don’t blame you. I don’t like my company either. Nobody does.’

  Letty did not like the way Mary talked. It made her feel cold.

  ‘I have work already, at my sister’s place,’ Letty said defensively. Mary just looked at her. ‘It’s on Friday – well, it will be if I can find something nicer to wear.’

  Letty was relieved to see George reappear in the doorway of the bakery. He had a new shirt folded over his arm.

  ‘Can you help the lass out with a bit of finery?’ he asked Mary. ‘She’s done me a good turn with her advice.’ He held up the shirt on his arm with a grin.

  ‘If you say so.’ Mary got down slowly from the stool.

  ‘Go with her.’ George nodded to Letty.

  Letty followed reluctantly. She made sure she left the back door open behind her, so she could hear George whistling in the bakery.

  The curtains were closed in Mary’s room and a cloth lay half-across the lace pillow. Mary sighed as she pulled a box from under her bed.

  ‘Aren’t you making lace today?’ asked Letty, thinking that might be a safe thing to talk about.

  ‘No. Some days I can’t think,’ Mary answered. ‘You like lace.’ Mary’s voice came out flat, as if conversation was an effort and Mary’s real feelings had got left behind.

  Letty nodded.

  ‘It’s a waste of time anyway,’ said Mary. ‘The world is an ugly place.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Letty. The world was frightening and sad sometimes, yet most of it was not ugly.

  But Mary didn’t seem to be listening. She had taken a letter out of the box and was looking at it. The envelope was addressed to ‘M. Grey, Fry’s Bakery, the Rocks’.

  Mary dropped it on the bed. Two of the wooden pegs used for making lace rolled out. They were whittled from deep red wood, and words were carved along the side. One said ‘All our love, Clem’. ‘And Harry Grey’ said the other.

  Letty couldn’t help being curious about who Clem and Harry Grey might be. Maybe they were some of George’s card-playing friends.

  Mary was still looking in the box. A red dress was bundled on top. It was in good condition, with a well-tailored waist. Letty wondered why Mary didn’t wear it.

  Mary pulled out a paper package and unfolded it on the bed. ‘Pick any,’ she told Letty. ‘Sew them on your dress.’

  Three sets of lace collars and cuffs lay on the brown paper. One collar was like a big snowflake – it had a pattern of diamonds and tiny lace points. Another was like a garden bed, with a broad band of flowers. On the third, fine linen tendrils curled around sprays of leaves.

  Letty couldn’t take any of them. ‘They’re much too good for me,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ Mary picked up the snowflake collar and draped it around Letty’s neckline. Her fingers were cold. Letty took a step back.

  ‘That’s the smallest one,’ said Mary. ‘It covers the rubbed neckline all right.’

  Letty was sure it did much more than that. The lace was of a quality that servants could not afford. It was even better than the linen Letty had traded from Lavinia’s hope chest. It would do the mistress of 200 Cumberland Street proud.

  ‘Are you sure I can borrow it?’ Letty asked.

  ‘Take the cuffs, too,’ Mary replied.

  ‘I promise to look after it.’ Letty held the lace package carefully in two hands.

  Mary shrugged.

  ‘Go through the bakery,’ she said. ‘I don’t want the street staring in on me.’

  Letty hurried out.

  ‘She found you something?’ George asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Letty.

  ‘Then we’re both kitted out. That new shirt is for the races at the end of the month,’ George confided. ‘I’m going with a couple of skirts and a few chums.’

  ‘Like Harry Grey?’ asked Letty, remembering the lace bobbin.

  ‘Who?’ George blinked.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Letty quickly.

  ‘Harry Grey? Blimey!’ He threw a quick look over his shoulder towards Mary’s room. ‘What’s she been saying to you?’

  ‘Not very much,’ Letty said.

  ‘Harry’s her little boy,’ said George, in a low voice. ‘She left him to come down to Sydney. He’s with his father in the country, looking after the farm. Just for now, you know.’

  Letty did not know at all. She was astounded.

  ‘Mary has a child?’

  George laid a finger to his lips. ‘Better not talk about that. It makes her worse. I don’t know what to do with her crying.’

  Letty stared at him. She felt a surge of anger, rolling through her like a wave. Not anger at George, but at Mary. How could a mother leave her own son? Didn’t Mary see how terrible it was for a child to be alone? Letty was not usually an angry person, but she knew the horrible emptiness of losing a mother. She wanted to throw away the lace she was holding in disgust.

  But if she did that, she couldn’t work with Lavinia. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’, as Bridget said. I’ll borrow the lace collar for Saturday night, she thought, and return it to George. Then I will never speak to Mary again.

  L AVINIA put her hands on Letty’s shoulders and kissed her in the middle of the forehead.

  ‘Where did you get that lace? You look perfect,’ she said. ‘But I won’t hug you. My petticoats took forever to starch. I don’t want them crushed.’

  Lavinia did a little twirl about the kitchen. Her skirts were so full they curved out like a bell. Letty laughed.

  ‘Now, now,’ said the housekeeper. ‘A little decorum, please.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Letty and Lavinia at once. It felt so good to be with Lavinia again. Letty looked forward to the two of them spending all night together.

  Letty listened very carefully as the housekeeper showed them over the house. ‘After the meal, the ladies will retire here, to the drawing room. The gentlemen will remain in there.’ She pointed to a separate room.

  ‘Don’t they like each other?’ Letty asked.

  ‘Don’t ask questions,’ said the housekeeper. ‘This is the way it’s done in society.’ She paused. Her eyes swept the room up and down. Letty thought it looked like a palace. The chairs were covered in embroidery. But the housekeeper shook her head.

  ‘There’s yellow pollen on the mantelpiece,’ she tutted. ‘Letty, you come back with a dustpan. The Mistress insists on fresh flowers, even in the middle of winter, but I don’t like wattle myself.’

  Letty spent the afternoon dusting, fetching, and peeling vegetables. She learned how to hold a silver tray properly and where to stand.

  ‘Still and quiet,’ said Lavinia. ‘No, don’t watch my eyes like an eager puppy. Society ladies don’t want to know you’re there. Look at the tray instead. That’s it.’

  By the time the guests were due, Letty’s feet were already sore. The first ring on the front doorbell made her jump. Lavinia got up to answer it.

  ‘All right, Letty?’

  Letty nodded solemnly.

  ‘Be careful. Don’t drop anything.’

  Letty was determined to do her absolute best. If she messed up, the Mistress and the housekeeper might blame Lavinia. Letty was nervous. She’d never done anything like this before. But hadn’t she always looked after the bread well for Bridget? She could do it, she told herself.

  Letty heard the exclamations of guests
arriving in the entrance hall. Lavinia was taking the cloaks and bonnets now. The housekeeper stoked the kitchen fire and put the first course on to heat.

  ‘Shall I help?’ Letty asked.

  ‘No,’ said the housekeeper, washing a huge bowlful of a strange vegetable shaped like a swollen green rose. ‘You have to keep clean.’

  Letty stayed on the far side of the kitchen, away from the sparks and smoke and the bustling housekeeper. She waited for ages, until Lavinia came through the hallway door.

  ‘They’re going in to the dining room,’ Lavinia announced.

  She and Letty stood back while the housekeeper ladled soup into a china tureen.

  ‘What’s that?’ Letty asked her sister.

  ‘Turtle soup,’ Lavinia replied.

  Letty made a face.

  ‘It’s not for you, anyway,’ said Lavinia. Lavinia picked up the white tureen by its curved handles. ‘You carry the tray with the ladle. Remember,’ Lavinia dropped her voice as they went out into the hallway, ‘don’t stare. Not even at the purple cabbage.’

  Cabbage wasn’t Letty’s favourite food. If she was Mistress of a house, she wouldn’t serve it to guests.

  Letty stepped into the dining room. She was dazzled. Dozens of candles glinted off rows of silver cutlery. The crystal glasses seemed to ring with the loud voices of the guests sitting along the table. The gentlemen’s brass buttons winked with every argument they made. The ladies’ silk dresses gleamed, and their earrings trembled as they laughed. Even the table was dressed in a white cloth, so starched the corners folded sharp as a salute. Letty felt very young and out of place.

  When she saw the far end of the table, she gasped. There, in full purple frills, was Mrs Hutch - the woman who had gone back on her promise to employ Lavinia when they first arrived in Sydney. Letty looked at Lavinia, who arched her eyebrows. So that was what Lavinia had meant by the cabbage! Mrs Hutch did look like one, in her layers of ruffles. Letty stopped herself from laughing.