India Dark (6 page)

‘Ships have lots of funny smells,' said Eliza. She wore a long ivory nightgown with white sateen trim. She slipped into her bed again. ‘I'm sorry, Poesy. I was asleep when you knocked the first time. You'll have to take the water from the steward when he comes. I don't want him to see me in my nightie.'

‘But why are you in bed again already? It's not very late.'

‘I always feel a little woozy on the first night at sea,' said Eliza. ‘I'll have my sea legs soon.'

She did look odd, but not unwell. Her eyes were bright, like two dark blue marbles with silvery flecks, and her cheeks were shiny pink.

After the steward brought the water, I climbed up into my bunk above Eliza.

‘You're a quiet little stick, Poesy. I think we're going to like each other.'

I hung over the edge of my bunk and looked down at her. Her face was so lovely, so luminous in the moonlight.

‘Are you all right, Poesy?' she asked, as if she could read everything that had happened to me, as if it was written on my face. ‘Come down here, climb into my bunk and tell me what's the matter.'

And so I did. She lifted the blanket and I slid in beside her, as if we were the oldest friends in the world. I told her about wanting to leave Melbourne and how guilty I felt, about Mumma and Yada and Chooky and them needing the thirty shillings, about all my fears about not being good enough for the Lilliputians, and even about the creepy doctor and not knowing how to stop him. After I'd finished, she stroked my hair and whispered to me softly.

‘You'll be right, little Poesy. You're a peach of a girl and the audiences will love you. And I'll watch out for you too. I think you and I will be great friends, and if you've any little troubles, you can tell me. Telling your troubles always makes them lighter.

‘But I think maybe we should be even better friends if we didn't have to share with Valentine and Tilly. Perhaps we could ask to have a little cabin for two. Just you and me. Would you like that?'

I didn't know how to answer her. I liked the idea so much, it felt wicked to want it.

‘Would they let us?'

‘If you asked Miss Thrupp, she could arrange it for us. Because it's your first trip.'

‘Can't you ask?'

‘My sister might intervene. She has opinions about everything, but she's not the one in charge. It's up to Miss Thrupp and Mr Arthur. Will you ask, Poesy dear?'

In that moment, I felt I would do anything for her.

‘Even if Eloise thinks she knows best, it must be nice to have a sister,' I said, wishing that Eliza was mine.

‘There are nice bits and not so nice bits,' replied Eliza.

‘How do you mean?'

‘Oh, I'm too tired. You get up in your little bunk now. I'll tell you about it another time. When we have our own cabin.'

Snuggled down in my bed, I listened to Eliza's breathing change as she fell asleep, but for a long time I lay awake, feeling the rhythm of the ship as it sailed up the dark coast; feeling the rhythm of my new life.

11

RUNAWAY GIRLS

Tilly Sweetrick

We docked in Sydney but no one was allowed to go ashore, not even Eloise, Eliza and Eunice, whose parents lived in Paddington. Only Miss Thrupp, that odd little matron who was meant to be in charge of us children, she took her baby nephew with her and disappeared. I watched her figure merge into the crowd on the docks and rather hoped she wouldn't come back.

I really couldn't take to that woman. Nor could I understand why she'd signed on to travel with the Lilliputians. She was such an unlikely matron. Everything about her was so tiny and birdlike – her hands, her wispy light-brown hair, her bright dark eyes that darted this way and that when anyone misbehaved. She was nothing like Mrs Essie. As soon as Mrs Essie walked into a room, every one of the children fell quiet. You knew you had to obey Mrs Essie. She never needed to raise her voice or even speak crossly to us. It wasn't that we were afraid of her – it was more that she commanded our attention. But Miss Thrupp was like a sparrow, hopping about the edge of the troupe and twittering in a tiny voice. When we were all together rehearsing in the dining hall, it was as if she became invisible, fading into the wallpaper. Perhaps it was because of her baby. She said Timmy was her dear dead sister's orphaned boy and she had promised to care for him. Maybe that was why he was a fractious little thing that hadn't taken well to the sea voyage. Or maybe it was simply Miss Thrupp. She handled him as if he would explode at any moment, as if she was frightened of him. I think she was frightened of us too. I was almost surprised to see her struggling up the gangplank again later that evening. If she'd known what lay ahead, she would never have returned.

As we steamed out of Sydney Harbour and through the Heads, Poesy and I stood at the rails. I slipped my arm around her shoulder and she rested her head against me, nuzzling in closer, almost as if she were my little sister. I rather liked that about Poesy in the beginning. There was a sweetness to her that made you want to take her under your wing.

‘First, we'll probably stop in Brisbane,' I said. ‘And then from Brisbane, we'll sail in one great big smooth line all the way to Honolulu in Hawaii. Then we'll go to Vancouver and start a tour of Canada. They love us there. We'll play St John and Winnipeg and then Montreal and Quebec City – oh, you'll simply adore those French–Canadian cities. They're so sweet. And then there's Ottawa and Toronto and then we'll do America properly.' I counted the cities on my fingers, as if I was tapping out the beats of a lovely song. ‘New York, Boston, Chicago, Portland, Seattle, San Francisco. Mr Arthur has a house there, you know. We might stay in San Francisco for quite a while.'

Poesy looked up at me, almost breathless with wonder. I felt it too – that it was utterly wonderful to be going back to America. I'd been such a baby when Mrs Essie had taken me on my first world tour. This time I was an old hand; this time I was a thoroughly modern girl.

‘Aren't you glad I told you to audition?' I asked Poesy, expecting her to thank me. But instead she turned everything upside down.

‘So you are pleased Mr Arthur picked me, aren't you? You don't mind that he likes me so much?'

She said it in such a way that I felt quite uncomfortable. I let go of her shoulder and leaned over the railing to let the wind catch my hair and whip it out behind me.

‘You ask the silliest questions, Poesy.'

Next morning, Mr Arthur told everyone to be in the dining hall at ten o'clock sharp, as if it was an ordinary day, but he should have known better. Leaving Sydney had made everyone skittish. Perhaps it was because now the voyage was to begin in earnest and we knew we wouldn't set foot in Australia again for two years. Whatever the reason, no one wanted to rehearse.

Mr Arthur came below deck to ferret out every single Lilliputian, though it should have been Miss Thrupp's job to fetch us. He banged on cabin doors and was rather sharp with Freddie Kreutz and told him he was an insolent cur when really Freddie was only grumbling about having to put his boots back on.

Once rehearsal began, Mr Arthur seemed less grumpy. He worked each of us through our songs carefully. I'm ashamed to admit that I rather liked the way he tipped his head so his face was level with mine as I sang. It's hard to believe, but in the beginning I liked the way he made you feel you were the only girl in the room.

We worked our way through ‘A Runaway Girl'. I was growing tired of all the other old musicals but this one was still my favourite. Even though I was only in the chorus, I was sure that at some stage I would play Winifred Grey, the beautiful Englishwoman who runs away to sing with bandits. It was exactly the sort of part that suited my voice.

Poesy stood behind Mr Arthur's chair as we both watched Eliza sing her solo. When she'd finished, Poesy leaned over and whispered close to his ear, ‘Do you think, Mr Percival, sir, that one day I might sing a lead role? One day, like Eliza, I might play Winifred?'

I wanted to pinch the sly minx. Her whisper might as well have been a shout. I heard every syllable. It simply wasn't done, to wheedle your way into a part like that. I expected Mr Arthur to rebuke her, but instead he turned around and took one of her hands and gave it a little squeeze.

‘Poesy, you mustn't keep calling me Mr Percival or “Sir”. “Mr Arthur” is much friendlier, don't you think?'

Poesy blushed, her usual, endearing ploy – and then muttered in a babyish voice, ‘Yes, Mr Arthur.'

When we stepped up to sing the next number with the rest of the girls, I tried not to think about Poesy. The lyrics swelled inside me and burst out so I could hear my voice above all the rest of the chorus and it felt as though it was my song, mine alone. ‘I'm only a poor little singing girl . . .'

12

ABRACADABRA

Poesy Swift

On the third day out from Sydney, Charlie came and leaned against the rail beside me. We hung over the side, staring into the churning seawater. Tilly was in one of her moods again and Eliza was having afternoon tea with Lo, so I was glad of his company. Sometimes, when he was sitting, watching the other boys, he reminded me of Chooky, or the sort of boy I hoped Chooky might become.

‘Queensland is out there,' he said in that soft voice of his. ‘You can almost smell it. Once we get past the last of the coast, everything will feel different. No more Australia. We're nearly through the Coral Sea and at the Torres Strait but we won't stop again now until we get to Surabaya.'

‘Sura-what?' I asked.

‘Surabaya, on the island of Java. We cross the Arafura Sea to get there.'

‘But I thought we were going across the Pacific to America.'

‘Eventually, we'll get to America,' said Charlie, not looking at me.

‘What do you mean “eventually”?'

‘Lionel reckons we can't afford to go to America yet. Old Man Percy told him we have to make some money first. This troupe isn't as good as the last. Too many of the worst from the old lot and too many green ones that don't know what they're doing.'

‘Do you mean me?'

Charlie shrugged. ‘You're all right,' he mumbled.

‘I'll be better by the time we get to America.'

‘I expect so. That won't be for a year or more. We'll be going to India first.'

I caught my breath. Tilly had told me so much about America that I could see it, taste it, long for it – but India? I'd read Mr Kipling's books. India was wild and strange, full of boys and men, wolves and tigers. Yada had told me it was a country of great souls, and her hero Mrs Besant had said that India was the mother of all religions, but in my mind it was a dark place full of monkeys and snakes, holy men and soldiers.

‘Don't you think they're like magic words?' asked Charlie. ‘Arafura, Surabaya,' he chanted. ‘It's almost as good as abracadabra.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘That's some of the route we're taking. When we get through the Malacca Straits we cross the Bay of Bengal to reach India.'

He smiled and looked at me as if I felt as he did. ‘Say it,' said Charlie, his green eyes shining. ‘Say it, Poesy. It's only ten words. Say it like a magic spell.
Arafura-Surabaya-Java-Sea-
Malacca-Straits-Bay-of-Bengal-INDIA!
'

‘Arafura-Surabaya-Java-Sea-Malacca-Straits-Bay-of-
Bengal-India,
' I repeated, trying to make the words sink in, willing myself to feel the magic that Charlie heard in those names. But inside, I trembled. The future had grown dark and unknowable.

13

SISTERS

Poesy Swift

That night, Tempe Melbourne came storming into the new cabin that Eliza and I had to ourselves. I was a little intimidated by Tempe. She was so tall and aloof. I knew she had been friends with Eliza once but her expression was anything but friendly now.

‘Have you heard?' she said, almost shouting as she stood in front of my bunk. ‘He's messed it up already and we haven't even left Australian waters.'

‘You mean about having to go to Java?' Eliza said, and I was relieved she seemed so calm.

‘Not only Java. We'll have to do Singapore and Georgetown and then India. India! You know one of the Lilliputians died in India when they toured there in '97. My mother never agreed to me going to India! Your mother will be angry too, Poesy,' she added, almost as an aside.

‘Stop it, Tempe,' said Eliza. ‘You are not to spread lies. It's not true.'

‘What's not true?' said Tempe.

‘That one of the troupe died.'

‘How would you know? You weren't on that trip. Everyone knows he caught leprosy and they left him in India to rot.'

‘You're being ridiculous. And melodramatic. Nobody died, I tell you. Not a child. It's a lie. And it's a lie that your mother didn't agree. Every mother gave the Percivals permission to make decisions on our behalf. All our parents trust him.'

Tempe went red in the face. ‘You think your parents would trust him if they knew about you?'

Eliza stepped forward and slapped Tempe. Hard. ‘Get out!' she said, pushing Tempe out of our cabin, slamming the door behind her.

We looked at each other for a long, terrible moment and then Eliza burst into tears. She sat beside me on my bunk and put one arm around me as she sobbed. ‘It's not true. Nothing she says is true. It wasn't a child that died. It wasn't. It was poor Mr Arthur's brother. Why does everyone have to twist things and make lies?'

But it wasn't the dead boy that I was thinking about.

‘What did Tempe mean about not trusting Mr Arthur?' I asked.

‘Nothing. She's a stupid, spiteful girl. I can't believe I used to trust her.'

‘But wasn't she your friend, Eliza?'

‘Don't call me Eliza, darling Poesy. Call me Lizzie. Call me Lizzie and let's always be true friends. Friends that believe in each other and trust each other.'