The Dressmaker (14 page)

‘Elsbeth’s got her by the ear at the moment,’ she said, ‘I’m next then I’ll ring all youse.’

When Ruth arrived at the top of The Hill, she banged on the back door and called, ‘Anyone home?’

‘We’d hardly be out visiting would we?’ came Molly’s reply.

Then the others arrived and had to wait in the kitchen with Mad Molly who sat hunched in her decorated wheelchair poking at a burning log with her walking stick. She blew her nose into her fingers and flicked the green slime onto the embers, watching closely as it bubbled and hissed and vanished.

Tilly, professional and gracious, took each of her clients one by one to the dining room to discuss their needs and visions. She noted the members of the newly formed Dungatar Social Club had acquired an accent overnight – an enunciated Dungatar interpretation of queenly English.

As customers, their demands were simple – ‘I’ve got to look better than everyone else, especially Elsbeth.’

• • •

Out at Windswept Crest the new man, Lesley Muncan, sat petitely, knees crossed in the kitchen, peering at Mona’s back as she leaned over the sink washing dishes.

Lesley had been working in the laundry at the hotel where the Beaumonts stayed for their honeymoon when he encountered William in the foyer, reading the paper.

‘The girls out shopping, spending all your money are they?’ he joked.

‘Yes,’ said William, surprised.

‘Enjoying your stay?’

‘Yes,’ said William. ‘Are you?’

Lesley adjusted his cuffs. ‘It’s a nice hotel,’ he said. ‘You’re from the country, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said William, smiling.

Lesley looked about the foyer quickly then sat on the lounge beside William. ‘I’ve done a lot of equestrian work and I’ve got my eye open for a suitable placement. I don’t suppose you know of anyone who needs a riding instructor do you?’

‘Well …’ said William.

Lesley glanced towards the reception desk. ‘Strapper? Stable hand even? I can start right away.’

Just then Elsbeth, Trudy and Mona bustled through the door, bringing with them the smells from the perfume counter at Myers. Lesley leapt to his feet to help with their parcels.

William said, ‘This is a fellow guest … Mr ?’

‘Muncan, Lesley Muncan, delighted to meet you all.’

‘Mr Muncan is an equestrian,’ said William.

‘Oh really?’ Gertrude had said.

‘Mona,’ Lesley said now, and tapped the end of his cigarette with his forefinger, ‘if I can get my foot in a stirrup, so will you – it’s very, very early days yet my dear.’

Mona was afraid of horses but she wanted Lesley to like her. ‘I’ll try,’ she said, running the dish-cloth around and around the clean plate. Mona wanted someone, a partner. Her mother and Trudy were best friends now and Mona often found herself alone in the big house, sitting at the bay window, watching the stables where Lesley worked. He’d set up quarters in the loft, but in the past few days would arrive in the kitchen when he saw her at the window.

‘Good,’ he said, ‘that’s what your mother wants – and we can’t let the boss down, can we?’

Elsbeth and Trudy were relaxing with William in the library which up until that day had been ‘the spare room’ – a room in the middle of the badly designed house with no windows that was used to store junk. William had taken to smoking a pipe. He found taking it from between his teeth and sweeping it about a useful gesture to emphasise an idea. Most of his points were actually Trudy’s, but she let him have them. That way she could say, ‘But William, you said a leather lounge suite would last longer.’
South Pacific
played softly on the new record player, ‘Bali Haiiiiiiii, come to meeeeeee’. Without warning Trudy froze, clutched her mouth and ran from the room. Elsbeth and William raised eyebrows at each other.

Mona tripped down the hall calling, ‘Mummy, William, come quickly!’

Lesley cried, ‘She’s just been sick into the dishes!’ and he closed his eyes and raised the back of his hand to his forehead.

‘Why Trudy,’ said William and went to her. Elsbeth put her fingers to her lips and steadied herself on the refrigerator.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Mona.

‘Have you been feeling unwell of late, dear?’ asked Elsbeth, suddenly important.

‘A little tired, that’s all.’

Elsbeth looked knowingly at her son and they looked down upon Trudy with love and overwhelming gratitude. They reached for her while Lesley muttered to the ceiling, ‘OhmyGod. She’s preg-nnt.’

Mona held the teapot tightly to her chest and said, ‘You’ll want my room for a nursery!’ Elsbeth stepped towards her daughter. ‘Selfish little wretch,’ she snapped, and slapped her viciously on the cheek.

B
eula Harridene was out walking one evening when she discovered Alvin shining a torch into a travelling salesman’s boot, sorting through cheap materials. In the morning she found the materials on Muriel’s counter, for sale at inflated prices. The haberdashery counter had expanded its range of buttons, zips and beads, which Alvin imported from specialist shops in Richmond, while he purchased accessories from wholesalers in Collins Street then sold them at 100 percent markup to the highly competitive locals. These days women made their housecoats from ‘imported’ brocade with ivory or diamanté buttons, and swanned about their country bungalows in pastel silk chiffons or tapered velvet pants with cummerbund waists and high-necked jerseys, like movie stars.

Tea-chests kept arriving for Miss T. Dunnage, Dung-atar, Australia. Sergeant Farrat arrived at The Hill one evening as Ruth struggled to drag one from the postal van to Tilly’s veranda. ‘Dear me,’ said the sergeant, ‘what’s in it – gold?’

‘Supplies,’ said Tilly, ‘cottons, patterns, sequins, magazines, feathers –’

‘Feathers?’ Sergeant Farrat clasped his hands.

‘Oh yes,’ said Ruth, ‘all different sorts of feathers too.’

Tilly looked coolly at her and raised an eyebrow. Ruth’s hand flew to her mouth. Sergeant Farrat caught everything that passed between the women. ‘Ostrich feathers?’

‘I don’t know really, sergeant’ said Ruth, ‘I’d
imagine,
there is, I mean I wouldn’t
exactly
know
what’s in the box but everyone’s been talking about their new frock for the social club presentation night …’

They all looked down at the tea-chest. The seals were torn and there were raw holes where nails had been newly pulled and about them brand new nails inexpertly hammered in. The original tape had been torn away and new standard postal tape applied in its place. ‘Well,’ said Ruth, ‘I’d better get on then, Purl’ll be waiting for her new shoes and Faith’s got new sheet music to practise.’ They watched her putter away in her van, then the sergeant smiled at Tilly and asked, ‘How is your mother these days?’

‘These days she’s far from neglected.’ Tilly crossed her arms and looked at him.

Sergeant Farrat removed his policeman’s cap and placed it over his heart. ‘Yes,’ he said and looked at the ground.

‘It’s amazing what a little bit of nourishment will do,’ she continued. ‘She has good days and not-so-good, but she’s always entertaining and things come back to her from time to time.’ They dragged the tea-chest into the kitchen.

‘I was under the impression Mae looked out for her,’ said the sergeant.

Molly shuffled into the kitchen in her dressing gown and slippers, dragging a piece of rope. She stopped and looked closely at Sergeant Farrat. ‘In trouble is she? I’m not surprised.’

‘Would you like to join us for a cup of tea and some cake, Molly?’

She took no notice of Tilly but leaned closer to Sergeant Farrat. ‘My possum’s gone missing,’ she said, ‘but I think I know what happened to it.’ She inclined to a large pot simmering on the stove.

‘I see,’ he said nodding gravely. Molly shuffled on. Tilly handed the sergeant a cup of tea. He tapped the tea-chest with the side of his shoe then walked around it. ‘You’ll need pliers to get this undone,’ he said. Tilly handed him the pliers and he put down his cup of tea, then fell to his knees in front of the chest. He levered the top off and dug inside, grabbing packages and holding them to his nose, inhaling, ‘Can I open them, please?’

‘Well, I was going to –’

He tore lasciviously at the corners of the paper, tugging fabrics out and rubbing them between his thumb and fingers, then he placed them along her small work table. Tilly sorted through the drawings and measurements she’d made and placed them with the material. Sergeant Farrat came to the last package at the bottom of the tea-chest. He clutched it to his heart then ripped the brown paper apart and freed yards and yards of brilliant magenta silk organza. ‘Oh,’ he cried and buried his face into the boiling mass. He stopped abruptly and gaped at Tilly, smacking his hands against his reddened face, appalled at his abandonment.

‘Gorgeous isn’t it?’ said Tilly. ‘It’s mine.’

The sergeant stepped to her, took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. ‘Can I please have one of your ostrich feathers?’

‘Yes.’

He kissed her hand then wrapped the magenta silk organza about his shoulders like a giant Trailing Bertha and walked gracefully to the mirror in imaginary stilettos. He twirled, enjoying his reflection, then looked at Tilly and said, ‘I’m brilliant at sequins and diamantés and I bet I can hemstitch just as fast as you – I’m a whiz with zippers, gauging and frogging too.’

‘How do you feel about ruffs and flounces?’

‘I hate them.’

‘So do I,’ she said.

• • •

Beyond Windswept Crest the neat, cut stubble stretched to the horizon, like a new coir mat. On the Beaumont property, cattle stood stomach-deep in the low, grey stubble, which was the remains of last season’s crop. There was a green oasis that was the homestead, surrounded by gums, its roof red against the bright sky. Parked cars glittered in the sun and small striped marquees stood in front of the green island. In one paddock a horse skipped stiffly around at the end of a rope held by a small figure in a red coat – Lesley demonstrating dressage. People stood about on the mowed paddock that fell away to the Dungatar creek, which was lined with grey drowned gums. William was explaining to Bobby and Reg the new developments. ‘We had Ed McSwiney build a new yard and stables for the equestrian. The tennis court is under renovation and we’ve a new irrigation system dug for the gardens, the poultry and so on – and of course you’re all here to try out the new croquet lawn and I believe mother is going to announce a new project when she awards the various prizes for the cakes …’ the smile fell from William’s face and his voice trailed away, ‘… and I have plans for the agricultural side of things, when I get the machinery …’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered away.

Scotty Pullit said, ‘That’s why we’re here, to pay for it all.’

‘Nice lawn,’ said Bobby. The footballers looked at the croquet field and smiled.

Muriel passed along the stalls collecting the profits, bundling them into a brown paper bag. She limped over to Trudy with her canvas stool beneath her arm. She unfolded it, kicked off her dusty white sandals and plopped down beside her daughter, who lay in her deckchair on the homestead veranda. Trudy looked about her nervously. Lipstick sat on the ends of each hair of Muriel’s pale moustache, like tiny redhead matches. She needed a tint and a perm and her feet were dry and cracked, like big long warts.

‘I have some new relatives here today, from Toorak,’ said Gertrude.

‘Elsbeth’s cousin Una?’ said Muriel.

‘You didn’t introduce yourself!’

‘We actually met a long time ago Gert –’

‘
Trudy
, my name is Trudy I keep telling you.’

‘They don’t live in Toorak they live next door – Prahran.’ Muriel stood abruptly, took up her stool and tossed the paper bag onto Trudy’s lap. ‘I ought to know, I’m South Yarra born and bred.’ Muriel limped away with her sandals swinging in her hand and her skirt stuck between her buttocks. She watched the ground pass between her feet. ‘My own daughter has turned into the sort of person I moved here to avoid.’

Graham raised his long, dusty, velvet nose and turned to look behind him. He’d crunched his way through half a row of carrots, about fifteen iceberg lettuce, one or two tomato plants – not ripe yet – some beans and a cucumber or two. Finding he wasn’t partial to the cucumbers he returned to the carrots and ripped them from the earth by their green tops, shaking them and shunting them between his soft, fat lips. Faith strolled past heading for a rendezvous with Reginald and smiled. ‘You’re a naughty horse.’

Hamish was at the far side of the homestead adjusting his model railway signals, the miniature steam train chugging and tooting around and around on tiny steel tracks. ‘You mustn’t get too close,’ he growled to the watching children. ‘It’s a very fine delicate piece of machinery, tuned, balanced … listen to the rhythm … magnificent. There was of course a better model than this, the D class, Type 4-6-0. Now it had two nineteen-inch cylinders, coupled wheels, 11/16 inch diameter OCH, I TOLD YE NOT TO TOUCH, NOW PUT THAT WATER TOWER BACK!’

Six of Lesley’s young pupils rode into the middle of the paddock on hacks and Shetlands. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, parents …’ Lesley smiled at the pastoral people from far flung properties, sitting in jodhpurs beside horse floats, picnicking at fold-up tables. They nodded back. Behind him the ponies moved diagonally sideways in an uneven line. ‘The foundation of dressage is rhythm, suppleness, contact, impulsion, straightness and collection in a horse. Rhythm is the beat and tempo is the measure of time between the beats, or steps. A rider must feel the music the horse is playing.’ The pastoral parents were pointing their thermos cups and laughing. Lesley turned to find the hacks and Shetlands had walked sideways into a bunch in one corner of the arena where they milled about, biting, kicking and bucking, the children bawling in their saddles.

Teddy removed the hoops from the croquet lawn and started a game of kick-to-kick. Someone kicked a wobbly and the ball bounced towards the creek but was picked up by Faith, who was wandering up the slope brushing grass from her hair and clothes. She shot back a powerful short punt right into Scotty Pullit’s lowered forearms, then remained where she was at the back line, close to the creek. Nancy joined the lineup in front of the homestead, then Ruth. Teddy gathered all players to the centre and they nutted out two teams. Bobby, Reginald and Barney stood horse jump poles in forty-four-gallon drums for goalposts. A coin was flipped and the players trotted off to their positions. Barney was given a white shirt and told to wave it whenever the ball came between the posts. He stood proudly at his position with the shirt held high, ready. Teddy kicked the first try and as the ball sailed towards the posts, he called ‘Watch it Barney.’ Barney dropped the shirt and marked the ball. Reginald Blood declared it a no-ball. Teddy lightly biffed the back of Barney’s head so Reg announced Teddy’s team would forfeit another point. There was an argument, the shouts echoing over the creek, the raucous laughter bouncing off gum trees and lifting the crests on roosting galahs. Elsbeth Beaumont turned her cousins towards the horse floats and station owners. ‘It’s always the way with the rabble,’ she sniffed.