The Three Miss Allens, page 10
Adeline leaned in and hissed. ‘There’s no need to kick me, Ruby. I’ll have a bruise on my leg now. People might think I’ve been playing cricket or something just as ghastly. I can’t have a bruise when James gets here.’
‘What will your fiancé care about a bruise?’ Ruby asked. ‘And what do you want with the newspaper?’
Addy lifted her chin. ‘As a matter of fact, I wanted to see if Lady Kitty has mentioned us. It would make my friends so envious if we were to get a mention.’
Ruby could think of nothing less important than a mention in Lady Kitty’s column, ‘Around the Bridge Table’, which listed all the holiday comings and goings—who in Adelaide society was going to Victor Harbor or Melbourne or London.
‘Girls,’ Mrs Allen hushed with a quick glance from side to side to see if anyone had overhead. ‘Goodness me, can we stop the bickering? And Ruby, what did you say about Clara? She didn’t mention anything to me about a headache. Where is she? I don’t know what I’m going to do with that child.’
Ruby searched for an excuse for her sister. She didn’t want Clara to get into trouble. ‘Perhaps it’s a little hot for her today. I’m sure she’ll be fine after a lie down.’
‘I didn’t see her lying down in our room,’ Adeline said with her chin lifted haughtily in the air. Ruby desperately wanted to kick her under the table again—much harder this time—but found another distraction in the form of familiar faces entering the room.
Their mother had noticed them, too. ‘Mrs Cameron. Susanna. How lovely to see you. Are you staying here at Bayview?’
‘Mrs Allen. Girls. Delighted to see you. We have rooms in Victor Harbor, at Linger Longer, but we’ve heard so much about the afternoon tea here we simply couldn’t resist stopping in.’
‘You won’t be disappointed,’ Mrs Allen said, and the way she puffed out her ample chest made Ruby think that her mother seemed to be personally taking the credit for everyone else’s hard labours in the kitchen.
The Camerons were acquaintances from Mrs Allen’s gardening club and they’d appeared in the nick of time. When Mrs Nightingale returned with a pot of tea and a china plate of biscuits, the Camerons joined the Allen’s table and made chitchat about the season, the tennis tournament, the condition of the croquet lawn and, happily for Adeline, her wedding to James Stuart in a few months’ time.
The mere mention of the wedding perked her up no end and soon she was engaged in animated conversation with Susanna about gowns and music and where she and James might honeymoon. ‘Victor Harbor is one option, and it’s very popular, but we may go into the Adelaide Hills. James’s family has a cottage there, which they may allow us to use. It could still be rather warm in April, so it might be cooler up there, don’t you think?’
Ruby allowed herself to slip out of the conversation, taking her tea slowly, nibbling delicately on a Banbury cake. The room was full now and there were many conversations happening all round her. Snatches of them floated to her: reunions, reminiscences, remonstrations and polite laughter. With another more searching look, Ruby realised the room seemed to be full of women, all sipping tea delicately from Royal Albert tea cups, their backs upright, their hats just so, their dresses perfect for afternoon tea.
‘Are you looking forward to being a bridesmaid at your sister’s wedding, Ruby?’
Ruby brought her attention back to the table to see that her mother and the Camerons were staring at her. Adeline was wide-eyed, clearly waiting for an answer in which Ruby would say that it was undoubtedly going to be the ultimate honour of her twenty-two years to be the bridesmaid at her younger sister’s nuptials.
This time, Adeline kicked her.
‘I … I beg your pardon?’ Ruby stammered.
‘Adeline’s wedding,’ Mrs Allen said. ‘Mrs Cameron was asking if you’re excited about being a bridesmaid.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she smiled and tried to mean it. ‘Adeline has such marvellous taste. I can’t wait to see what she’ll want me to wear.’
Adeline beamed, completely missing the irony in her sister’s tone.
‘And of course,’ Mrs Allen added with a proud expression, ‘Ruby will also be a bride before too long. She has a fiancé, who happens to be Adeline’s fiancé James’s brother. Edwin Stuart. Two sisters are to marry two brothers. Our two families are going to be linked in such a happy way. We are truly blessed.’
Ruby wanted the earth to crack open so she could hide in its fissure. ‘Mother. You know we’re not …’
‘What a delight,’ Mrs Cameron said. ‘It seems 1935 will be a momentous year for the Allen family.’
‘Yes,’ was all Ruby managed to say. All eyes were on her and she fought the strong urge to squirm—or vomit. She wasn’t sure. She picked up her Banbury cake and bit off a huge chunk. It caught in her throat and it made her cough loudly and repeatedly. Others in the room looked over as she made a spectacle of herself. She pressed a hand to her chest and tried desperately to breathe.
‘Ruby,’ Mrs Allen said with a pat on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘For goodness sake, take a sip of tea.’
Ruby clutched at her cup and swallowed the sweet liquid. She didn’t want to talk about weddings or Edwin.
‘Perhaps I need some air,’ she spluttered. ‘If it’s all right with you, mother?’
‘Why yes, off you go.’ Mrs Allen turned her attention back to the Camerons, and Ruby grabbed her bag from her lap and headed out to the door.
Ruby walked up Ocean Street, until she was sure she was out of view of the prying eyes in the tearoom, and stopped, drawing up deep breaths. She let her gaze drift to the end of the street, past the stone houses on the right side—each yard carefully contained behind a white picket fence, each planted with red rhododendrons, whose flowers looked like puckered lips ready to be kissed—to the dip at the end. The sand of the street gave way to the cliff tops and a vast expanse of blue ocean, white caps dancing in the distance, and a hint of cloud in the bright sky. That’s where she wanted to be, her feet buried in the sand, the breezes clearing her head of the thoughts that were crowding in on her, choking her.
She turned back, and breathed a sigh of relief when she found the path which she remembered led down to the cool waters of Remarkable Bay. She was careful of slipping on the loose ground and slowly made her way down the winding track as it looped around to the left and then down the steep wooden stairs to the beach.
She slipped off her sandals and dug her toes into the cool sand.
She needed to be alone, to quell her anger: at Adeline, at her mother, at Clara.
And at the situation she had found herself in.
She hadn’t wanted her mother to mention Edwin. She supposed it couldn’t be helped: Mrs Allen’s life revolved around her husband, her children, her relations, her garden and the house. Whatever happened within that small sphere became her highest priority. And marrying off her daughters to the right men from the right families was most important of all.
It was her mother’s dearest wish—and her father’s clear instruction—that she should marry Edwin Stuart. Their fathers were long-standing business acquaintances and their mothers had spoken of nothing else since Edwin had called on Ruby one wet Sunday afternoon and asked to be introduced to her parents. Her father had afterwards made it abundantly clear that she was twenty-two years old now and, having been educated at the best schools (an education Ruby believed to have been entirely wasted if the object of her study had purely been to find a husband), it was now time for her to create a household of her own. And the thought that two of the Allen girls would marry two of the Stuart boys was simply too delicious not to encourage.
Edwin had proposed two weeks before, in the lead-up to the excitement of Christmas. She’d hadn’t been blind to the fact that it was coming, in the same way lightning follows thunder, but she hadn’t said yes right away. She hadn’t wanted him to propose and, the longer they’d courted, the more certain she had become of that. So, she’d bought time and promised him an answer when she returned from Remarkable Bay.
She had only agreed to see Edwin because he was James’s brother and it was easier than admitting she hadn’t found anyone to love. It wasn’t that he was objectionable. He was, in fact, a terribly nice chap. Her father found him agreeable and her mother was satisfied that he came from a prosperous family, the right kind of family. And of course there was James and Adeline’s engagement, which had only made Ruby feel more trapped. The problem was that she didn’t love Edwin. She could never love him—and the burden of that secret was like ballast around her neck.
She ran to the water and gasped in delight when the rippling waves splashed her ankles. She wished she could scoop her hands full and splash her face too, but someone might see and she might wet the hem of her dress and then she’d have to explain it to her mother and the recriminations would be tiresome.
Ruby held her purse and her shoes by their straps in her right hand and with her left, clamped her straw hat on her head. She lifted her face to the warm afternoon sun and closed her eyes against the brightness. She wanted to wish all these dilemmas away, to have them float out to sea until they reached the South Pole. She knew how important this summer holiday was. It could well be the last one she would spend as a young woman with her sisters. After that, it was expected that the burdens of an adult life would be hers as well: a husband, children, a house, her relations, her garden and her charity work.
It’s what young women in her set did.
She stilled, let the water lap at her feet, wave after wave, and matched her breaths to the rhythm of the current.
Her solitude was over. She must get back. She had to find Clara.
CHAPTER
10
It didn’t take long for Ruby to find her youngest sister. Clara hadn’t strayed far. A cursory search of the large backyard at Bayview revealed that Clara was in the far right hand corner talking to the chickens. Clara adored anything with wings. She’d settled herself on a low stool, next to the sizeable and abundant vegetable patch, taking advantage of the shade of a tree to protect herself from the sun and to hide. Ruby walked down the path which divided the yard and called her sister’s name. Clara looked up, her eyes swimming with tears.
Ruby quickened her step and, when she reached her, slipped an arm around her shoulder. Her youngest sister sobbed, her shoulders heaving and shaking.
‘There, there,’ Roma said, patting her mousy brown hair. ‘Whatever is the matter, Clara?’
Clara didn’t say a word but clung to her sister so tight that Ruby almost lost her balance. She gripped the cotton of Ruby’s dress and pressed her mouth and nose into it to stifle the sound of her sobs. Ruby felt herself stiffen. She was scared into wordlessness now. Clara was usually a quiet and contained person. At just eighteen, she held herself neatly together like a piece of embroidery; she had never been prone to wild displays like Adeline. She preferred her own company, and had always seemed to love these beach holidays. They would often lose her for hours and would later discover she’d been roaming the walking trails along the cliff tops, or through the coastal bushes, stopping to admire the finches and sea birds, the kites and the pelicans which soared overhead on the updrafts. Sometimes she sketched them in a little notepad she kept tucked in her pocket. She was as gentle a creature as the birds she loved.
Ruby knelt down at Clara’s side. ‘Clara, has something happened?’
And when Clara met Ruby’s eyes, Ruby knew the answer. Her face was pale and streaked with tears. Her eyes, red and swollen, were frightened.
‘Please don’t tell mother. Or Adeline. Please don’t breathe a word.’
‘Of course I won’t. Will you tell me what it is?’
Clara shook her head furiously. ‘I can’t, Ruby. I can’t tell you.’ And she pushed herself off the stool and ran towards the house, her straw hat flying off her head and landing on the path.
Ruby picked it up and took Clara’s place on the stool. She watched the chickens scratching in the dirt, clawing and pecking at what looked like potato peelings and corn husks. She knew her mother would be wondering where she was but had to settle the panicked racing of her heart before she went back inside.
Without thinking, Ruby nibbled at a fingernail before swiftly pulling it with her teeth. What on earth was wrong with Clara? Had her heart been broken? Was there a beau she was missing, someone secret in Adelaide, someone so precious to her heart that the idea of being away from him for four weeks had upset her so?
Ruby settled her breathing. No, it was more than that. This was more than an upset. The look she had seen in Clara’s eyes resembled sheer terror. She turned her back on the clucking chickens and steeled herself to go back inside to her mother and sister and pretend that nothing at all had happened.
* * *
The Allens had no plans for the evening, which Ruby was greatly relieved about. They’d changed for a late supper and enjoyed Mrs Nightingale’s cold cuts and potato salad and then honeycomb pudding for sweets, although none of it was delicious enough to tempt Clara to eat more than a mouthful.
She had reappeared for dinner, although she hadn’t changed into a suitable dress which irked their mother, and picked at the offerings on her plate. Ruby had been anxious to distract her mother and Adeline from Clara’s low mood, so had regaled them with the details of an item she’d read in the most recent Women’s Weekly about girl cricketers and their first international cricket match between Australia and England. The idea so appalled Mrs Allen, who along with most Australians had been enraptured with the feats of Don Bradman’s triple century at Headingly just six months before, that she had talked of nothing else for fifteen whole minutes, enabling Ruby to take the stairs up to their rooms without saying another word before wishing her mother a good night.
Once they were in bed, Ruby tried to shut out Adeline’s complaints about the enforced early bedtime and how excited she was about seeing James, and eventually her two younger sisters drifted off to sleep. The sound of the waves from the bay below was somehow louder at night time, providing a soothing lullaby.
But still Ruby lay awake, restless, her mind racing in a hundred different directions. She pulled the blanket up to her chin, guarding against the cool of the night, and then pushed it back, hot and bothered. What was wrong with Clara? She wasn’t frivolous or dramatic, so this change in her behaviour flooded Ruby with concern. The tears and fear couldn’t be about a young man, could it? She resolved that in the morning she would demand to know the truth, believing that a problem shared was a problem halved.
Ruby turned on her side to look out the window to the night sky, trying to find a star to wish on. Her big-sisterly instinct came naturally, but she also fretted that any advice she might have for Clara—if indeed she did have a simple broken heart—would be less than useless. After all, what did Ruby know of love? She’d never had a sweetheart and had definitely never been in love, and her thoughts of Clara’s suffering only reminded her of that sad fact. She’d been trying so hard to love Edwin, but had never looked at him and felt anything other than a brotherly sort of friendliness. He was handsome enough, she supposed, and courteous. He had a quiet humour about him and loved the cricket, which impressed her parents. He was the opposite of his brother: James was charming and tremendously handsome, with a boisterous wit and the ability to make friends with absolutely everyone he met. He and Adeline were, in that respect, a perfect match. Edwin and Ruby were the older, more settled siblings and perhaps that’s why their families had decided they would suit one another. He had good prospects in his father’s business—as Ruby’s mother reminded her frequently—and it would be more than enough to sustain a wife and a family. Recent history had reminded everyone how important that security was.
Ruby knew what she was supposed to do and how she was supposed to feel, but she found herself not caring if more than a week went by without a visit from Edwin. And the few times he’d reached for her hand while they’d been walking in the park near her parents’ house, she’d only let him because it was what was expected of two young people who were courting.
Ruby pulled her pillow over her ears, trying to block out the thick sound of Adeline’s heavy breathing. Her sister was loud even in slumber. It was no wonder she was sleeping like a baby: Adeline the beautiful didn’t have a worry in the world. She was as pretty as a picture and charming and everything Adeline did brought a shine to their father’s eyes. To him, she was unutterably delightful. Her engagement to one of Adelaide’s most eligible young men had only rendered her more favoured. James Stuart came from a good and prosperous family. He worked in the family’s stock business too, which had interests in cattle properties in the mid-north and the fortune that went along with that. He was strapping and manly, with dark hair and a rakish smile, and Adeline seemed smitten from the first moment she had laid eyes on him. He’d romanced her with wildflowers and invitations to West’s Coffee Palace on Hindley Street, which was so exotic she’d squealed, and had quickly proposed to her.
Ruby had seen for herself how enamoured Adeline was with James. She giggled girlishly at the mere mention of his name and when she came home after spending time with him her cheeks were so flushed that Ruby could only imagine they’d been kissing by the front gate.
Ruby pressed a cool finger to her lips. What would real kissing be like? When she was younger, she’d watched Rudolph Valentino films at the Mayfair Theatre in Rundle Street. The Son of the Sheik, co-starring Vilma Bánky, had been one of her favourites. She’d watched in fascinated delight, imagining how kissing must feel: passionate and romantic, wild and lustful. She sighed into the darkness of the room. Edwin was in the habit of pressing his thin lips to her cheek, chaste and discreet. He didn’t even look her in the eyes after, as though he was embarrassed. Perhaps that was what real love looked like, she thought. Discreet. Courteous. Respectful. The movies were make-believe, after all. Especially Rudolph Valentino. He wasn’t even a sheik—he was Italian.
