Skylark (10 page)

‘He’s dead,’ says the little stable-hand, tears running streaks down his dusty cheeks. ‘The Baron’s in there under his own chimney. We can’t get him out!’

Jack stops in amazement. ‘The Baron?’

‘Chimney come down atop him. His lady’s in a right fit.’

‘Are they sure?’

‘Doctor Wallis went in. Says he’s dead. We’re to leave him there until the shaking stops.’ The young lad puts a hand in Jack’s. Holds tight as if he’s drowning. ‘Should we go after the nags?’ he asks. He’s trembling all over.

Jack closes his eyes. Tries to think. The horses. Where will they have run to? And if the Baron’s dead, the horses will be the least of anyone’s worries.

‘Find Mrs Appleby,’ he says. ‘Ask her for something to eat. She’ll still be in charge of her kitchen, you can bet on that.’ He winks at poor, scruffy Alfred. ‘I’ve got to find my lady, now. We’ll look for the nags in the morning.’

Jack searches all that howling, shaking night for Lily. As if the aftershocks aren’t bad enough, a fierce, punishing wind gusts through the ruins of people’s houses. More cracks open in the streets, horses run wild everywhere, and so does the terrible, sticky, bubbling mud. Lily is not at the theatre, nor at her boarding house. But as dawn breaks he finds her asleep, rolled in a blanket, in an open field close to the Baron’s land in Te Aro Flat. Several of the other theatre people are huddled there too, all asleep.

‘We gathered here in the open, to keep safe,’ whispers Lily,
smiling to see him, though her dark eyes are still shadowed at the memory of it all. ‘Oh Jack, what a night! Wherever were you?’

[Archivist’s Note: Here in Lily’s journal there is another aside, which is clearly not intended to be read aloud to the family. I have included it as it gives colour to the life of the Laceys. We can imagine the large family sitting around the fire in their isolated farmhouse, listening to either Lily or Samuel reading aloud. I wonder if Jack ever read his sections to his children? I rather think not. E. de M.]

Lily's aside

WRITTEN
1883

The readings are going well. Mattie is quite astonishing the way she knows what is needed to heal our divisions. Yesterday, looking down from my upstairs window, I saw four of the younger children act out the Wellington earthquake and my abduction by Bully Hayes. They did it with such squeals and shouts, their little bodies tumbling and shaking. The dogs' kennels were sent rocking on their sides and the big apple tree became Bully's ship: a pirate flag, made from a flour bag which Mattie gave them, fluttering from its branches. And later, there in the river paddock, were Lydia and Lysander trying to ride old Xerxes, standing bareback! Jack came running to supervise. I thought he would put a stop to it, but no: as I watched, he took the reins and led the big horse carefully in a circle while the twins slowly got the hang of it. Bravo, bravo! Blood will out!

T
HE
J
OURNAL OF
L
ILY
A
LOUETTE CONTINUES
…

S
CENE
:
Various theatrical establishments in the North Island of New Zealand

I pursue my trade as an artiste

A week or two after that dreadful earthquake I awoke with a start to find Tommy Bird sitting large as life and grinning at the foot of my bed. I should not say large as life as he was a small little fellow and always would be.

‘Tommy Bird!' I cried. ‘Have you no shame? I am a lady now and this boarding house is as respectable an establishment as can be.'

But I was glad to see him and he knew it. He wagged his coppery little head, winked and did a handstand over the iron bars of the bedstead.

‘Anyway how did you make your way in?' I asked, as I knew Mrs Anderson would not let a stranger across her doorstep without being paid a penny or two, and Tommy never had a brass farthing about him.

Tommy laughed and pointed to the window. ‘Up the tree, along the branch and over the sill, easy as pie, my sweetheart. I am sent to bring you down to the circus.'

‘What, the circus has come to this sad town?' I said, gathering my shawl about my shoulders, for Tommy had let in a sharp draught along with his supple little body. ‘Is Mr Foley mad? The people are still camping in the streets. They have more pressing matters to attend to than circus tricks.'

But it was all true, and Mr Foley had his head screwed on when it came to business (not so tightly screwed when it came to the ladies, but he was a good man for all that). He had planned to return for a season in Wellington, and when he heard about the earthquake he decided to keep to plans, reckoning that a nervous populace would be more in need of a bit of magic and a laugh than a town full of safe and contented people. By the time I was up and dressed and down to the shore, there was the flag of the Royal Victoria Circus flying high on its mast and a band of natives already at work helping Mr Foley's men erect the planking stands and the big canvas roof. The steamer from Nelson was anchored in the bay and a couple of flat-boats were bringing in those familiar crates of animals and costumes, tying up to the newly lengthened public jetty. How quickly life was returning to normal!

You had to laugh at Mr Foley's good luck. There was a decent yardage of new shore now, risen in the quake. Where water had lapped at the bottom of Willis Street, there was now plenty of room to erect the circus and house the animals! I doubt Mr Foley paid a penny to rent his space, as no one had thought yet who might own the new land!

‘Oh-ho!' said that very man, spruce in his boots and britches and red braces over a nicely pressed shirt (some woman was looking after him and I hoped it was Maria). ‘Here is my little Miss Tournear, grown a bit longer in the limb and pretty as a picture!' He made a mock bow and kissed my hand, like lord to lady, his wide moustaches brushing my fingers soft as a feather. ‘I hear you are a hit with the fellows up at the theatre. That's a good girl. You are learning the tricks of the trade from my good Mrs Foley then?'

I didn't like to hear that sort of talk. I thought the two of them were off on their separate ways, and Maria in the frame for a bit of love and family life. But held my peace until matters became clearer.

Well, you would hardly credit it, but that man then bent quickly to his knees and ran his hand up under my skirt, then
down my leg and probing over my ankle! Just as quick he stood up again, smiling as if nothing was amiss. ‘Your leg has healed well,' he said, giving me a wink. ‘I'll wager you can ride the horses again, like the old days.'

I might as well have been a horse myself the way he carried on! Or was it an excuse to get under my skirt? The man had more tricks to him than a monkey. The upshot was he wanted me back in the ring for the afternoon performances, which would leave me free for the evening theatre. He had discussed it all with Mrs Foley and Mr Marriott, without a word to me.

‘Mr Foley,' I said, putting on a deep voice like his wife would when annoyed, ‘I am not a piece of meat to be bargained over behind my back. I am now an artiste in my own right. I will have a few conditions if I am to return.'

He sobered up then, cleared his throat and frowned, but we both knew it was a game. He could read my twinkling eyes and I knew he was grinning behind that straight look.

‘I have a reputation for a fine voice and a new repertoire of songs,' I said, very firm, ‘and if I return as Miss Tournear I require to be billed for the musical interlude as well as the horses. And paid accordingly.'

Mr Foley tugged at his left moustache, which always meant he was enjoying himself. ‘I can offer you three shillings per performance and a special benefit before we leave Wellington. That will be on top of what Mr Marriott pays you.'

‘Four,' I said, trying not to giggle. It was a good offer.

‘Three shillings and sixpence,' he said like a shot, which showed he valued me. I would have taken the three.

‘Done!' I cried and threw him a deep, theatre curtsey, left foot behind, right hand prettily pointed above the heart. Oh, my heart was singing! To ride bareback again
and
act on the stage! Who would have dared hope for such perfection?

Tommy came hand-springing, flip, flip, over the mudflats, like some mad jack-in-the-box, to land right side up under my nose. ‘Pooh,' he cried, ‘the stink of this new beach! How can you Wellingtonians stand it?'

It's true that we had become used to the stench. For the first days after the quake the natives — and many settlers — had harvested the newly raised beds of shellfish with glee. Many settlers were cooking out in the open, even in the street, on makeshift fireplaces, built from their shattered chimneys. The delicious smell of freshly roasted cockles filled the air. But then the beds dried in the sun and the shellfish rotted. After another day or two even the seagulls wouldn't touch the stinking mud. Tommy thought no one would come to the circus because of the smell, but Mr Foley said they would and he was right as usual.

‘Maria says come for a cuppa,' said Tommy, jiggling up and down as if he were taken short. I don't think I ever saw Tommy Bird still for more than a minute, even when he was a grown married man with children twice his size.

I looked over at Mr Foley, to get some idea of how the land lay as far as Maria was concerned. He lifted one eyebrow and gave a curt little nod, which I could not interpret, so off I went with Tommy to find out for myself.

Tommy directed me to one of the regimental tents. Accommodation was very short in town with all the destruction, and the 65th had come to the rescue with a row of tents down on the new shore. The soldiers from the garrison had come up trumps in the emergency. Tommy and I attracted a few cheery waves and shouts from a group of them working on the ruins of the Council Chambers.

‘How about a song, Miss Rosie, to help us along with the work?' said one fellow. So I stopped and gave him a verse. It never hurts to whet the interest of a potential customer, and the garrison boys were good supporters of the theatre. Only one verse, though. Start up a chorus and we'd never get away.

My dear Maria lay on a makeshift cot, resplendent as ever in scarlet silk, even though it was not past midday. Beside her, a small infant! Maria's smile would have lit a large auditorium, but she held a finger to her lips and whispered, ‘He's just fallen asleep. Come and see.'

Well, he was a fine plump baby, no doubt Mr Foley's, and
Maria as happy and contented as I'd ever seen her. She settled the babe in a wooden crate which served as crib and we sat outside in the sun on canvas chairs while Tommy brewed us a pan of tea over a little brick fireplace. No lack of loose bricks in this town. Maria had put on weight. She had changed from a wild and fancy circus lady to something approaching matronly in a few months. Mr Foley, it seemed, acknowledged the boy, and afforded Maria ‘special privileges' which meant, I gathered, that they lived together as man and wife, although in some secrecy.

‘It's good for business,' said Maria, shrugging her shoulders and grinning in her wicked way, ‘for Mrs bloody Foley to be seen as his wife, but they hardly look in each other's direction these days, let alone enjoy anything — more cosy.'

‘She doesn't mind about your baby?'

Maria glowered. ‘Who cares if she does? She has no right any way. Did you know she had one of her own?'

‘What? Gave birth to one?' I laughed at the thought of Mrs W.H. Foley with a child.

‘True. Bill told me.' (Bill it was now!) ‘A little girl called Wilhelmina. But a baby didn't fit with the theatrical life so she left the poor mite in America — or was it Australia? — in the care of a friend. Can you believe it?' Maria cast a fierce glance back at her sleeping Johnny. ‘I would die rather than give him away.'

I nodded, only half listening. This talk of babies made me uneasy.

‘Sit down,
sit down
!' laughed Maria. ‘You are worse than Master Bird here.' She tossed her dark ringlets, setting the blood-red glass of her earrings clashing. She wanted to settle to a good gossip but my feet simply wouldn't stay still. The thought of being an acrobat again had me stretching my legs and cartwheeling down the beach. Maria said she didn't miss the circus ring. Already she was expecting another and was happy as a tick on a sheep's back with the idea.

‘I could not imagine living without the audiences,' I said, thinking of Jack and his pleas. ‘My feet are itching just to think of being on horseback again.'

Maria patted my knee — a matronly action! ‘Wait a few more years,' she said. ‘You will come to it. Every woman longs for babies. It has broken my heart, the ones I had to lose. Now. What have you been up to? Gentleman admirers? I won't believe you have none, for you are turned into a beauty.
Oh là là
!' And she waved her arms this way and that, in her old foreign way, though she was born in the slums of London, she said.

I told her of Jack and then of my adventure with Captain Hayes. At the mention of Bully Hayes, Maria shrieked aloud, never mind waking the baby.

‘Bully Hayes! That blackguard! You never went with him, Lily?
Oh là!
You are lucky to be alive.' She looked sideways at me and grinned, half in fear but also, I believe, in admiration. ‘That pirate has stolen more women than ships, and left more broken hearts than dead crew, which they say number in the dozens. The fellow would murder a trader rather than pay for a sack of potatoes.' She leaned in to me and I caught the sickly sweet smell of baby milk. ‘So, Lily, is he handsome? They say he is a charmer, for all his wicked ways.'

I had to admit to his charm, and confessed that I could not stop thinking about him. The way he had threatened to find me again! It preyed on my mind fearfully, when I should be thinking of poor faithful Jack.

‘Poor Jack? Nonsense,' laughed Maria. ‘He is as handsome a man as ever I saw and rides a horse like the finest cavalryman. I'll wager every young lady in town will be casting her eye at Jack Lacey. Watch your step there, Miss Tournear!'

Well, we finished our season, with me switching from Miss Tournear to Miss Rosie or ‘a lady amateur' as required. I was so busy learning my songs and lines, practising my moves for the circus, and exercising with Tommy Bird to keep my body supple, that there was no time for thoughts of either Jack or the infamous Captain Hayes. Mr Foley was right. The townsfolk, and in particular the mechanicals, came flocking to both theatre and circus, ready, after a hard week righting slanted
walls, rebuilding chimneys and re-shingling roofs, to drink and laugh and misbehave with a will.

But Mr Foley had a grand plan and always timed his ventures well. Just as the audiences began to tire of our songs and plays and tricks, Mr Foley announced that we were all to go to Auckland, via a season in Whanganui. He planned, he said, to build a theatre of his own, with Mrs Foley as top billing. Mrs W.H. Foley! Maria would be none too pleased to hear the Foleys were planning a venture together again.

We were rehearsing a new melodrama when I heard the news. Mrs Foley was in one of her moods. Nothing was right. The leading man — an amateur — kept upstaging her; I was overplaying my hapless maiden scene in a way that dominated her grand entrance, and so on and so forth. We were all used to her fusses, would only put up with her because so often she was right.

‘Off to Auckland?' I cried, earning another black look. ‘Mr Marriott might have something to say about that. Leaving him in the lurch.'

‘It is Wellington leaving
me
in the lurch,' said Mrs Foley, her voice at its deepest and most tragic. ‘I am tired of Wellington.' She strode up and down the stage, working herself into a rage. ‘Wellington simply does not appreciate me.'

This despite full houses and roaring applause. What she actually meant was that there was no decent newspaper to proclaim her talents. ‘We must look to civilised folk in Nelson or Whanganui for our reviews. That scribbler Stokes has eyes only for politics and Governor Grey. Not once has he set foot in the theatre, even though he attends his political meetings at Barry's Ship Hotel, a mere five steps away. Not one review! Not one mention of a theatrical star who is gracing Wellington's boards! If we are not appreciated, Lily, we will leave sad little Wellington to its intrigues and machinations.'