The Day She Cradled Me Page 3

  ‘I will take a yard,’ I say, my eyes watering. ‘I want it to wrap a parcel.’

  ‘Are you quite sure? It seems to me to be rather an expensive material for that purpose.’ He does not think I look a woman of wealth.

  ‘You can give me a yard and a half of it then,’ I say, raising my chin and glaring as hard as I can with stinging eyes, ‘because what I really want is American cloth, which you don’t have. When I find it elsewhere, I will put this to some other use.’

  ‘Very well, madam.’

  I leave him to make up the parcel and cross the road to the chemist, though my heart fills with unease at having left the baby with the Brownes. I am sure the first sister recognised me. I must hurry.

  The bell rings as I enter, and I start as Dean’s prize boar looks up from behind the counter. ‘Can I help you, madam?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answer, trying to keep my eyes averted from the growth on his chin, ‘thank you. I would like to purchase some laudanum.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Sixpenny worth.’

  From the middle of his growth sprout hairs that jiggle when he speaks. It’s impossible not to stare, so while he prepares my order I look around his shop. On the wall is a plaque commemorating Mr George Ernest Froggatt for his honourable qualities in aiding police to catch an Australian outlaw just last year. I am increasingly uncomfortable.

  ‘That will be about one and a half drachms,’ the upstanding chemist mutters to himself as he dispenses. ‘Quite an amount.’

  I don’t like his tone. ‘There is no need for concern. I can assure you I have used it before. I’m not going to poison myself.’

  He finishes and places the bottle on the counter as I reach for my purse.

  ‘Are you going to Melbourne?’ he asks.

  ‘Pardon … er, no. Clifton.’ I put the money on the counter beside the bottle. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘There is no need to worry, madam; I am still able to sell it you.’ He leers at me and quickly takes the money. ‘The reason I asked is merely because if you were travelling to Melbourne then you would not need to sign the register.’

  He calls out to someone in the back of the shop, and a young man comes to witness my signature.

  ‘Thank you and good day —’ Mr Frogatt looks back down at the register — ‘Mrs Grey.’

  I am unnerved by the man, and now desperately uneasy about the child Carter. I hurry back to the draper’s to collect the cloth.

  ‘You have folded it lengthwise, Mr McGruar,’ I say, picturing a half dozen constables gathered around Dorothy Edith at this very moment. ‘I cannot possibly carry it like that.’ I want to shake him by his scrawny neck. Two women in the shop giggle from behind dipped hats. ‘I have already told you,’ I add, lowering my voice, ‘I only want to use it as a valise. It really doesn’t matter if it’s broken.’

  I rush back to the hotel where even from the steps I can hear the child crying. She has the most piercing cry I have ever heard; it would surely alert the doziest of policemen.

  ‘I have done my best,’ says Margaret Browne, who clearly has had little experience with babies, for she holds the child Carter in a particularly awkward manner. ‘I tried giving it something to play with but it won’t stop and I didn’t like to give it something to eat in case it weren’t meant to have it and I thought I could try milk but there was no bottle …’

  Her ranting is worse than the baby wailing, so I take the child from her and she hurries away, saying she will bring my lunch as soon as it is ready.

  The baby is still inconsolable by the time she returns. Thankfully, the noise prevents any further questioning and Miss Browne is quick to leave the room. But the child is that wound up, the train journey home will be a nightmare if I do not do something, so I remove the laudanum I bought from Mr Froggatt and give her a good six drops. It will be more than enough, I am sure, to make her sleepy by the time the train is due to depart. Although a howling banshee is a good deterrent to the nosey.

  Despite the pleasure of first class that is paid for by somebody else, it is a dreadfully long journey from the Bluff back to Winton.

  ‘Is this the child you went for?’ Esther asks at the siding. The child Carter has still not stopped her crying and I have not sat down more than ten minutes.

  The engine pulls out and I can see the faces of people craning to see who it was with the wretched baby.

  ‘What child do you think it is?’ I bark, annoyed that she has shirked her responsibilities and come out to meet me when I told her I would likely not be on this train. Probably she thought she’d sit here a while till the chores got done. Well, she can make herself useful now. We can take turns carrying the child and the parcel back to The Larches.

  ‘How are the children?’ I ask, noting that the cries have stopped now Esther has hold.

  ‘Good.’ It is growing cool, as well as dark, and vapour wafts from her mouth.

  I take off my cloak and wrap it around the child.

  ‘You will catch cold,’ she says.

  ‘No matter.’

  ‘How long will she be staying?’

  I don’t want to take the child back, so I humour her with some talk. ‘Till Thursday. There’s a lady in Gore who will take her.’ Esther says nothing, so I continue. ‘I am worn out by her. She has been quite the little vixen.’ Still she doesn’t respond, so I add, ‘I thought I would go by Lumsden. Maggie can use my ticket to travel back on.’

  ‘Baby’s been crying most of last night.’ Esther’s voice carries a harsh note and I think of poor Baby in her arms in the dead of darkness. I reach over and take the child Carter from her. I suspect Baby’s father spent most of his infancy crying and turning his mother’s head silly. He would be just the type.

  ‘Have you been for the mail?’

  She shakes her head but I let it pass without comment, which must surprise her because there is still enough light for me to see the smirk slide from her mouth.

  At home, Dean is first startled and then angry to see me. ‘Why have you brought it here? I thought it was to be adopted. If Rasmussen finds it —’

  ‘He won’t find it. We’ll be gone before he learns of it. I got off at Gap Road and not a soul saw us.’

  ‘Why did you not leave it behind like you said?’

  ‘Because the money had already been sent and I need it so as to place her. I had to come back to collect it.’ I am sure we went through this before I left.

  The child Carter has begun screaming again, and my husband throws up his arms and goes out to the lean-to. I find some stew in a pot above the fire and try to tempt the child with it, to no avail. If only her grandmother would appear and take her away. I undress her and put her into some of the children’s smaller clothes so as not to dirty the red dress before Thursday. I put her to bed, and still she cries. Finally there is nothing for it but to give her another dosage of laudanum. My relief as she drifts off to sleep is too wonderful for words.

  The following morning I awake feeling better for the sleep, and find the child Carter in better spirits also.

  ‘Why did it scream so much? Is it hurting?’

  ‘She didn’t scream near as much as you, Punch, when you were a babe.’

  She grins at my teasing, and I pat her head.

  Arthur is staring out of the window.

  ‘Where is Father?’ I ask him.

  ‘Out with the pigs.’

  I follow his gaze but can see nothing but rain. ‘Is he? Are you sure? Did he not eat?’

  ‘Said all the crying put him off his food.’

  Esther is feeding Baby and I try to coax something into the child Carter. In the end I ignore the grandmother’s words and give her a bottle. She is still very wary of her surroundings, and starts to howl again when Ethel drops her spoon on the floor with a loud clank.

  ‘Do you think it wants a bath?’ Punch asks. ‘Ethel and I can give it one.’

  ‘You’re too small,’ Arthur says. ‘You’d drop it and then we’d hav
e to listen to it screaming the whole entire day.’

  ‘We’re going to have to anyhow.’ Cecil covers his ears and pulls a face, so that the girls giggle. This sets him off into all manner of high jinks, and I soon have to remind him that we are eating breakfast.

  ‘Not me, I’m not staying here to listen to that.’ Arthur pushes out his chair and reaches for his cap. ‘I’m going bird watching. Want to come?’

  Cecil jumps up quickly to join him.

  ‘Take your boots and coats,’ I say as they race towards the door, Ethel and Punch right behind them.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To get water for its bath.’ Ethel nods towards the child Carter, and she and Punch skip off out the door, leaving Esther and me alone with the two babies. Esther’s sullen face is too much to bear, so after settling Baby to sleep I send her off to Winton to collect the mail. If the letter is not there, I’m not sure what I’ll do.

  With the child Carter bathed and dressed, I set her beside Ethel and Punch, who are playing with dough in front of the fire, and set about the chores. I am sure Esther must be dawdling, for I am well into them by the time she returns, but I say nothing because I am so relieved to see the letter in her hand. I take out the post office order and sign it, then hand it back to her.

  Her mouth gapes open. ‘But I only just got back,’ she moans.

  Honestly, God overdid it when he handed out Esther’s laziness.

  ‘Well, turn around and get started,’ I tell her, ‘and you will be back all the sooner.’

  She rolls her eyes, and I am galled by her lack of respect. ‘Get on with you,’ I snap, narrowing my eyes just as effectively, ‘and while you are there, use the money to buy a hand basket for me to carry the baby’s bottle. The oil cloth I bought in Bluff is too light. The sunlight in the drapery must have tricked me.’

  Esther mutters something I do not quite hear and disappears out the door.

  ‘And hurry up this time,’ I shout after her. ‘I don’t want to be doing your chores as well.’

  It is well past midday when Esther returns. She slumps into the house and sits down. Baby is crying but she makes no effort to retrieve him or even to make sounds of comfort, so I put down the knife I have been using to chop the potatoes and pick him up and hand him to her.

  ‘How did you manage?’ I ask. I continue chopping the vegetables for the soup and put them into the pot.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Did you get the money order cashed without any problem?’

  She nods. ‘Saw Rasmussen.’

  I say nothing because I do not want her to think I am concerned by this, though my heart stops beating at the thought of Esther anywhere near Rasmussen. When she doesn’t elaborate, I turn my head towards her slightly. She catches me doing it and grins, and I wonder if she was just baiting me.

  ‘Did you get the basket?’

  She lays Baby on the floor next to her and unwraps a small parcel, then proudly holds up her purchase. I cannot believe her stupidity.

  ‘Esther,’ I say, wiping my hands and coming over to examine it. When I hold the basket up, it flops to one side. ‘How am I supposed to carry a bottle in that?’

  She shrugs her shoulders.

  ‘It’s far too small and flimsy.’

  She looks down at Baby and plays with his hands. She couldn’t care less. ‘That’s a real shame.’

  ‘A real shame? Well, you will just have to go back to Winton for a third time and get it changed.’

  She shakes her head — no — and I almost strike her. ‘How dare you refuse me, you insolent girl? Now take it back this instant, or I will call Dean inside to deal with you.’

  I suspect she knows this is an idle threat, for my husband would no more deal with the children than I would his pigs. Esther mutters something under her breath.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Half holiday. Everything in Winton is closed up.’

  I realise my mistake and take a deep breath. There is nothing more I can do. But I cannot take this silly basket that Esther has wasted good money on.

  My tin hatbox is sitting at the end of my bed. ‘This will have to do,’ I say, bringing it out and looking it over. It’s a bit large, but better than nothing. I have a small handbag; I can take that as well. I put it on the table beside the hatbox. They look old and shabby, not at all like the new oil cloth I’d hoped to take, or the new basket Esther was supposed to bring home.

  She looks at them both, and I can see the pleasure it brings her that I will be forced to travel with such ragged belongings.

  ‘A real shame,’ she says.

  Early Thursday morning I am shivering with cold and close to exhaustion. The child Carter I shall be overjoyed to get rid of, as she has had yet another unsettled night and kept the entire house awake with her crying. I am trying desperately to move about quietly and let the little ones sleep whilst I prepare for the day’s journey — though the thought of having a similar one to that which I endured from the Bluff is causing me great alarm. We are in Rasmussen territory and I wear a more familiar face here than in the South. The last thing I need to do is draw attention to myself with a squalling baby.

  I have bathed the child Carter and put her in the red dress with a white pinafore. She is such a pretty thing; I’m hoping if she screams in front of the lady in Gore it won’t put the woman off, or make her up the price.

  ‘I feel ill,’ Esther moans.

  ‘Esther, I need you to help me get away on time.’

  ‘I can’t. It’s cold, I will catch my death.’

  She doesn’t seem all that sick, but I can’t be sure. ‘All right,’ I say. ‘Baby is awake, so I will bathe him for you. Mind you don’t feed the child Carter — I’ve just given her something to make her sleep on the train. It would be my ruin if she stays awake.’

  I take Baby and wash him, and return to the fireplace just in time to witness Esther feeding the child Carter the last from a bowl of meal. Quickly I remove the spoon and wipe the child’s face, setting her off crying again. Esther sniggers.

  ‘I am pleased you find it so amusing. I shall have to endure the wrath of the entire train now, with thanks to you.’

  Esther dries Baby and puts a fresh change of clothes on him. He is tired too, and I think from his yawning that he might sleep the morning. I put the tin hatbox onto the chair. Inside it I place a change of clothing for the child, the piece of oil cloth from the kitchen table to cover my knees and protect my dress on the train, and finally the child’s outdoor dress.

  Dean has been out to the pigs early and looks a dreadful sight when he comes in. The child Carter begins to cry just at the look — or smell — of him, and I quickly wrap a shawl around her shoulders and tell him we are near ready to leave. Hurriedly I add to the hatbox the only two napkins I was given for her, and the March copy of the Family Reader that I have been saving.

  ‘Do I have to come?’

  ‘Esther, I need someone to help me carry everything. I won’t manage alone.’

  ‘I can’t make it. Take someone else.’

  I look around in despair. ‘If you don’t come, I will miss my train seeing as I’ve spent all my time doing your chores.’ The child Carter keeps sobbing. ‘If I miss the train, the child will have to stay.’

  ‘Then I will help,’ Dean says, taking the hatbox off the table and heading for the door.

  ‘Wait —’ I reach for the bottle of laudanum. ‘I can’t take her like this.’ There is no sign of sleep about the child, so I give her another good dose, and put the bottle and spoon back down on the table.

  At the siding my husband waits with me. ‘Tell me again where you’re going,’ he says.

  I look down the track, desperately hoping the train might appear and save me from this idiocy. It doesn’t.

  ‘I am going through to Gore,’ I say, ‘where I will leave the child Carter, after which I shall journey on to collect the other. I will then return south and leave that child also in Gore, before
returning home.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t like none of this. All the hiding and sneaking. Gives me a bad feeling.’

  ‘Nonsense. There is nothing to concern yourself with.’

  ‘Rasmussen says he will get you one of these —’

  ‘Rasmussen could not get a fly if he were covered in dung.’ I laugh, but my husband is not humoured. ‘I have already told you, I will place both babies and be home by week’s end with a few extra pounds.’

  ‘Tis not worth the risk, Minnie.’

  ‘But it is. The house extensions depend upon those extra pounds we get from the children. You saw the quote.’

  I have him there.

  ‘Got me a bad feeling all the same.’ He steps back into the shadows as the train pulls in. It would appear that my husband does not want to be seen with me.

  ‘Good morning to you, Mrs Dean. How are we travelling today?’

  I am pleased to see it is little Davies who is guard. I keep my head well down as I follow him forward to first class, but in the second-class compartment I notice John McKellar. He catches my eye but does not smile; instead he takes another suck on his pipe and looks away. Lord, even he does not want to be seen with me, as though a rabbit inspector has airs and graces. Well, I should not want to be seen with him either.

  ‘Thank you, Davies.’ I nudge the hatbox under my seat and hold the child Carter up to the window so she can have a look out. She does not care for it and her cries take on a shrieking tone. Curse Esther for giving her food, for now I fear she will continue the entire journey. This could not be any worse.

  ‘Good day, Mrs Dean,’ another voice says. My heart sinks. It is Lottie Hill joining me in the carriage. She is the biggest tittle-tattle I have ever come across. She looks at the baby, her plump pink cheeks pulled up in a broad smile. ‘What a pretty thing she is. And what a voice.’

  Now I shall be forced to keep the child quiet. I smile, trying not to show my disappointment and hoping the girl will keep to herself. But alas she continues, her ringlets bobbing in time with her head.