Letty and the Stranger's Lace Page 5

  ‘Please,’ said Letty desperately, ‘where’s George? I have to find him.’

  ‘He don’t want to be disturbed,’ said Archie. ‘He’s gone walking with his bit of skirt. To the Domain.’

  The Domain? Letty and Lavinia often went there on Sundays. It was a big piece of parkland above the harbour. Letty turned around and hurried back past the cathedral, StJames’ church, the barracks and the mint. She leaned on the iron gate at the park’s entrance, catching her breath.

  Looking for George at Hyde Park was hard enough. In the Domain there were no crowds – but there was lots and lots of space.

  Where might George have gone? To the grand new house that was being built for the Governor? She and Lavinia liked to look at the handsome building. Lots of people did. Letty sped off along the path. But George was not there, she discovered. Mrs Macquarie’s stone chair? That was a peaceful place to sit. Letty hurried on. Several families were picnicking on the point, but still no George.

  Where? Where? Where? said a voice in Letty’s head. She had to be quick, and this was taking so long. Mary was sick. Letty had left her alone. Panic was rising in Letty, driving her legs back up the hill. She hurried between the ancient trees growing on the headland.

  Perhaps he wasn’t here. Perhaps she should give up.

  ‘George!’ Letty shouted amongst the trees. ‘George Fry!’

  Letty tripped over a long root.

  ‘Ow!’ Letty landed on her hands and knees. She stood up shakily and licked her palms.

  ‘Letty?’ George poked his head around the tree’s giant trunk. He got to his feet when he saw her.

  ‘Ahem!’ said a girl’s voice. George offered his hand. A young blonde woman took it and stood up beside him, clinging to his arm. George scratched awkwardly behind his ear.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked Letty.

  ‘Mary needs you!’ Letty panted. ‘She’s in a terrible state. She kept saying “it’s time!” ’

  ‘God Almighty,’ groaned George. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘This soon? Lord help us.’

  The girl beside him giggled. But Letty had the feeling that George was not swearing, for once. He meant it. She understood how helpless he felt.

  ‘It’s not me she needs,’ said George. ‘She needs a doctor.’

  ‘Then you have to find her one,’ said Letty.

  ‘Struth!’ said George. ‘Sorry,’ he said to the blonde girl. ‘I’d walk you back to town, but you’d have to run to keep up.’

  ‘I’ll walk by myself, thanks,’ said the girl, with a little sniff.

  ‘Damn,’ mumbled George, as he loped across the park. Letty scurried to keep up with him.

  ‘That’s the end of that one,’ he complained. ‘And the new shirt worked a treat, too.’

  The Doctor lived on Bridge Street, on the way to the Rocks. But he was out for the day, his maid said. She directed them to the next street. That Doctor was home, but about to go to an appointment at a wealthy house. He refused to change his plans for George, without even hearing what was wrong with Mary.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ George said.

  ‘We should go back,’ Letty said. ‘We can’t leave Mary all by herself.’

  ‘Right. Come on then.’

  GEORGE and Letty burst through the door into Mary’s room.

  She was not on the bed. She was standing, bent over the table, her hair hanging around her face. The blanket lay discarded on the floor. Letty was glad to see she was still alive.

  Mary straightened up. Under her shift, Letty saw the high curve of her belly. Mary cupped her hands around her stomach. Her whole body tensed.

  Letty gasped. All of a sudden, she knew what was happening. She understood what George meant. Mary was not dying. She was having a baby! Letty almost laughed with relief. But a tremor of pain passed over Mary, sending ripples of anxiety through Letty.

  ‘George!’ Mary’s face was sweaty and frightened. ‘Where’s the doctor?’ she demanded. ‘It’s too early! It’s going to go wrong. It will!’ Her voice got shriller.

  ‘The doctors couldn’t come.’ George looked on helplessly. He scrubbed his forehead with the cuff of his new shirt. ‘Deuced if I know what to do,’ he murmured to Letty.

  George could not help Mary. But Letty knew someone who could.

  ‘I’ll get my sister,’ she said. ‘She’s just down the road.’

  Letty ran through the long afternoon shadows to the end of Cumberland Street. As she’d hoped, Lavinia was in.

  ‘Why me, for goodness sake?’ said Lavinia.

  ‘You were there with Stepmama when she had the twins,’ said Letty.

  ‘So you think that’s twice the experience?’ Lavinia grumbled.

  ‘It’s your day off, dear,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Go if you wish.’

  Letty grabbed Lavinia’s hand. Lavinia pulled it back again. ‘I’ll get my bonnet and shawl,’ she said. ‘It might be a long night.’

  George was standing in the street outside Mary’s house, fiddling with the tobacco in his pipe.

  ‘Is this her first?’ Lavinia asked him.

  George shook his head, too embarrassed to look at Lavinia. Talking about childbirth was making him turn red. Letty knew this wasn’t Mary’s first child, of course – there was her little boy in the country.

  ‘Third,’ said George.

  ‘You mean second,’ Letty corrected gently.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he said. ‘There was a little girl.’

  Was? thought Letty.

  Lavinia turned to Letty. ‘When did you say she started?’

  ‘After lunch.’

  ‘Better be quick then,’ said Lavinia. ‘Babies come faster, the more of them you have. You bring us water,’ she told George. ‘Stoke up the fire, then clear out of the way.’

  ‘Though honestly, Letty,’ she said when George had left, ‘we can’t do much either. It’s up to Mary.’

  Mary bit her lips and rocked to and fro on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Try walking,’ said Lavinia, ‘that worked for Stepmama.’

  Letty remembered that. When Stepmama was having the babies, all Letty and her brother heard was the creak of the floorboards, back and forth all night. Mary began to do the same: tread, tread, tread, round and round the table.

  Letty lit a candle as the light faded. She was glad of something useful to do.

  When she’d done that, she picked the lace pillow up off the floor and turned it the right way up. The bobbins were in a jumble. Dust from the floor had got on the lace. Letty held the candle over it to see better. She carefully picked off crumbs and bits of fluff, and blew the lace clean. Some of the threads had broken. Letty sorted the bobbins carefully, back into their right places.

  ‘Agh.’ Mary gave a deep groan.

  Letty could see Lavinia’s lips moving. She was counting.

  ‘It isn’t long between now,’ she told Mary.

  ‘I know,’ said Mary.

  ‘Between what?’ asked Letty.

  ‘Never you mind,’ said Lavinia.

  ‘The pains,’ said Mary. She looked very tired. In the candlelight the shadows under her eyes were huge.

  ‘I can’t walk any more.’ Mary staggered to the bed.

  ‘Heat the kettle,’ Lavinia told Letty.

  By the time the kettle boiled, Mary was gripping Lavinia’s hand. Her hair stuck to her face in damp straps.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she cried out.

  Letty brought her knees into her chest and hugged herself tightly. She was frightened. Too frightened to think about the lace now. Sometimes women died trying to give birth to babies. Letty wanted to ask Lavinia if everything was going to be all right, but she didn’t dare.

  ‘Shh! Don’t talk rubbish,’ Lavinia said severely. ‘Of course you can. You’ve done it twice before.’

  ‘You don’t know,’ Mary whispered hoarsely.

  Letty had heard her say that before.

  ‘I lost the last baby.’ Mary moa
ned.

  ‘What?’ said Lavinia.

  ‘My little girl. She died as soon as she was born.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ said Lavinia.

  So that was the darkness and coldness inside Mary; that was the reason she hid herself away from the world. Letty wanted to cry for her.

  In a flicker of the candle, Letty realised why Mary had got so upset this afternoon. Why she wouldn’t say she was pregnant. Why she had come to the city to be near a doctor. It all made sense.

  Letty reached for Mary’s other hand.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘But don’t give up.’

  Mary clenched her teeth and gripped their hands.

  Not long after, Letty found George in the bakery. His shirtsleeves were rolled above the elbow and his hands were deep in dough. He thumped and punched it as if the dough were responsible for all the world’s problems. His new shirt would soon be as crusty as the old one, Letty couldn’t help thinking.

  ‘You can come in now.’ Letty smiled at him.

  George stood awkwardly in the doorway of Mary’s room. Mary lay on the bed, at rest. Her hair was a black swirl on the pillow. In her arms, a tuft of black hair peeked from Lavinia’s shawl.

  George knelt carefully at the bedside. He tried to brush the dough off his arms, sending puffs of flour everywhere.

  ‘Keep still, you oaf,’ Lavinia muttered.

  George blushed. Mary rearranged the shawl for her brother to see. The baby wailed.

  ‘I did it, George,’ Mary said. ‘She’s alive.’

  And lovely, thought Letty – every teensy detail of her.

  ‘I’ll send word up country to Clem,’ George said. ‘What’s her name?’ he asked, looking down at the tiny red face nestled in Mary’s arms.

  Mary’s face shone. ‘Victoria Letitia.’

  Letty almost burst with pride. Letitia was her full name.

  ‘Ah,’ said George. He touched the baby’s cheek with one floury knuckle. ‘By God they’re tiny.’ His whole face went gentle and tender, a mirror of Mary’s.

  Letty looked at Lavinia. The candlelight gleamed on her flushed face, too, as she smiled at Mary, George and the baby. It seemed to Letty that they were all bathed with joy.

  Letty sat on Mary’s table next to the lace pillow. She thought again how the lace was like their lives: complicated, full of dark spaces and even mistakes, but beautiful still.

  ‘I’ve untangled the bobbins,’ she told Mary. ‘But a lot of threads are broken.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Mary, tiredly. Letty waited for her to say it didn’t matter, that nothing mattered. But she didn’t.

  ‘It’s the perfect length for a baby’s bonnet,’ Mary said.

  George brought a loaf straight out of the oven to celebrate. He broke it into hunks and shared it round. It was hot and squashy and so soft it melted on Letty’s tongue. Letty thought it was the best meal she’d eaten in her life.

  ‘Why don’t we always eat bread like this?’ she asked Lavinia.

  ‘You can, if you come and stay with us for a while,’ George said. He glanced at Lavinia and added, ‘Or if you marry a baker.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’ said Letty.

  ‘Sure, on both counts.’

  Lavinia tossed off George’s suggestion with a shake of her curls. But Letty hugged her knees in excitement.

  ‘Could I really work for you?’ she asked.

  ‘For Mary, mostly,’ said George.

  ‘You can help me with my babe,’ said Mary.

  Letty knew that Fry’s bakery was not grand, like 200 Cumberland Street. It wasn’t even clean. But it was work – a position of her very own. She would not need to worry about being kicked out of Mrs Chisholm’s home anymore.

  Letty was not frightened of Mary now. She knew Mary was not mad, just that fear and sadness had fallen like night inside her. But now a new life had arrived, like a tiny flame, casting light on both Mary’s fears and Letty‘s.

  ‘Yes, please!’ said Letty. Lavinia hugged her.

  Letty felt as if she was wrapped in happiness. She wasn’t useless or alone – she was liked and wanted. She had somewhere to belong: here, with Mary, her lace, her brother, and, best of all, her brand-new baby.

  I am an immigrant Australian girl too. I came on a plane from the USA, with my mum, dad and baby sister, for my dad to start a new job. We moved into a new house, in a new suburb, in the new city of Canberra. We owned more stuff than Letty, but not DVDs, a computer or a colour TV. Our backyard was a bare slope of orange clay, which my sister and I used for making mud pies. I also loved reading, playing dress-ups and pretending to live in the olden days. Nowadays I live in Melbourne.

  Writing Letty’s story felt a lot like those games I used to play with my sister and my schoolfriends. Writing is another way of travelling by imagination back into the past.

  I was born and grew up in Italy, a beautiful country to visit, but also a difficult country to live in for new generations.

  In 2006, I packed up my suitcase and I left Italy with the man I love. We bet on Australia. I didn’t know much about Australia before coming - I was just looking for new opportunities, I guess.

  And I liked it right from the beginning! Australian people are resourceful, open-minded and always with a smile on their faces. I think all Australians keep in their blood a bit of the pioneer heritage, regardless of their own birthplace.

  Here I began a new life and now I’m doing what I always dreamed of: I illustrate stories. Here is the place where I’d like to live and to grow up my children, in a country that doesn’t fear the future.

  IN 1841, Sydney was a busy and growing town. The British government had just stopped sending convicts to New South Wales. Thousands of immigrants were choosing to come to a new life in Australia.

  Often the new immigrants had nowhere to go once they got off the sailing ships. Many young women and girls were forced to live on the streets and in tents. Most children of Letty’s age had to find work – there was no official school system.

  A woman named Caroline Chisholm, the wife of an army officer, saw that female immigrants were being treated badly. In January 1841 Caroline Chisholm persuaded the Governor of New South Wales to let her turn an old army barracks into the Female Immigrants Home, and Australia’s first employment office.

  While Sydney did have doctors at this time, they had much less knowledge, skill and equipment than doctors have now. People also thought talking about the human body was rude. (They were very strict on swearing, too.) Men, women and children commonly died of problems that are easily fixed today, such as difficulties in childbirth.

  Mrs Chisholm is the only real, historical character in this story. Letty, Mary and all the others are imaginary. Sydney did have packs of wild dogs and goats at this time, though.There was actually a bakery on the corner of Cribbs Lane in the Rocks, too. Cumberland Street also had several mansions built at one end – they have now disappeared under the foundations of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

  The Forsaken Dressmaker

  This picture is from an 1847 Sydney magazine called Heads of the People. See the women’s huge skirts and lace collars, which were typical of the time. All their clothes were sewn by hand. One of the dressmakers pictured has stopped, though – the letter in her hand has brought bad news.

  SOME THINGS LETTY MIGHT HAVE READ IN A NEWSPAPER…

  You might remember the part of the story where Letty picks up an old newspaper from February 1841. Here are some other things that she could have found in a newspaperfrom that time…

  * * *

  An advertisement for a play called The Heart of Midlothian, which was being performed at the Royal Victoria Theatre.

  * * *

  Chapter 21 of a fictional story called Master Humphrey’s Clock. At the time, it was common to have ongoing stories published in newspapers each day or week -a bit like TV episodes now.

  * * *

  A notice asking anyone who owed the newspaper money from the last twel
ve months to pay immediately or they would be sued!

  * * *

  A dental surgery advertisement for ‘Natural and mineral teeth, singly and in sets, fixed without pain and on reasonable terms’.

  * * *

  A love poem called ‘A Song for the Press’ about how marvellous letter-press printers used to be.

  * * *

  An announcement that there was going to be an auction of 24 bales of wrapping paper.

  UNTIL the letter arrived, Letty was having a very fine morning. A square of warm Sydney sunlight lit Mary’s lace pillow. Baby Victoria’s new smiles lit everyone’s faces.

  Letty’s new job was to help with the housework, while Mary recovered from having her baby. But George, who paid Letty’s wages, did not bother much about tidiness. So really that meant Letty did lots of cuddling and patting and talking to the baby. Letty felt like a big sister again. She hadn’t been happier since she left England on the ship, months and months ago.

  George came in from the bakery and handed Mary a floury envelope. ‘There’s a letter for you, from the Bathurst mail.’

  Mary laid her lace bobbins down and took the letter to the window.

  ‘Is it from Clem?’ Letty whispered to George. Clem was Mary’s husband, who lived somewhere in the New South Wales countryside. George nodded.

  Eventually Mary turned around. ‘Clem’s sent money,’ she said. ‘For the coach over the mountains. He wants us to come home now.’

  ‘Go back to the bush, with the little babe?’ said George. ‘To live in a paddock with convicts and blackfellows? What’s he thinking?’

  ‘I’ve lived there before,’ said Mary, lifting her chin. ‘Clem wants me back. Not every man’s a city toff like you.’

  To Letty, the bush was a dark green shadow on the far shore of Sydney, full of strange beasts and dangers. She wanted to stay away from it, and she felt a fierce desire to keep Victoria away from it too, far from anything or anyone that could hurt her.