The Unexpected Education of Emily Dean Read online

  Grandmother took her by the arm, and she wanted to pull away – she had to telephone her father, she had to tell him to come. But, instead, she found herself propelled through the house with Grandmother calling out to Lydia.

  ‘It’s just the tonic we all need. I think we should organise a little party, don’t you?’

  She found herself nodding as they reached Lydia’s bedroom.

  ‘Lydia,’ Grandmother called, knocking somewhat tentatively on the door. ‘Good news.’

  There was no answer. Grandmother turned the doorknob and opened it a crack.

  ‘Lydia, dear, are you in there?’ When there was no reply, she pulled the door shut again, turning to Emily. ‘Perhaps she was going rabbiting. Run down to the yard and see if you can catch her. Quick sticks.’

  With Grandmother urging her on, she had no choice but to obey. Once she arrived in the yard, she could see no sign of Lydia, but she hadn’t gone rabbiting for the pony cart was still in its spot in the open shed.

  She stopped at the blue door and called out, ‘Lydia, Lydia.’ There was no answer.

  Back at the house, she found Grandmother waiting in the kitchen.

  ‘I couldn’t find her,’ she reported.

  ‘Have you looked in the orchard?’ Grandmother was already moving towards the door. ‘Come along, she must be about somewhere.’

  There was nothing to be done: the telephone call to her father would have to wait until Lydia had been found.

  They roamed through the orchard, calling. Mrs Flynn appeared and trotted along with them, but of Lydia there was no sign.

  ‘Where on earth can she be?’ Grandmother was becoming irritated.

  As they walked across the top lawn, Eunice joined them. Grandmother gave her the good news about Harry, before asking if she’d seen Lydia. ‘She seems to have vanished,’ she added.

  Eunice shook her head, and together they returned to the house via the billiard room.

  ‘Lydia,’ Grandmother cried out again.

  As they walked down the passage past Lydia’s bedroom door, Eunice paused. ‘I suppose you’ve checked her bedroom?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Grandmother replied, but Eunice was already opening the door. She pushed it wide open and stepped into the room. Emily and Grandmother followed. The wardrobe door was open and some clothes lay on the floor in Lydia’s usual messy way. But Emily saw at once that something was not right. The clutter of make-up and beauty products on the dressing table had disappeared leaving imprints in the dusty surface. And when she looked at the wardrobe, all that remained was a row of empty clothes hangers.

  ‘They’ve really gone,’ she said in an awestruck voice.

  ‘Gone?’ Grandmother echoed.

  Eunice moved to the open wardrobe. ‘Where are her clothes?’ She turned to Emily. ‘What have you done with them?’

  Before she had an opportunity to express her outrage at Eunice’s presumption, Grandmother shook her by the shoulder. ‘What do you mean, they’ve really gone? What do you mean, they?’

  She felt her lips twitch under the pressure of words that could not be spoken.

  ‘Tell me,’ Grandmother urged.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Yes, you can. You must.’

  She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. From the corner of her eye she saw Eunice step towards her.

  ‘Answer, you ungrateful little wretch.’

  Before she could reply, she felt the sting of Eunice’s hand on her cheek. Shocked tears sprang into her eyes and a fury rose up in her. It served them right – let it be known, she didn’t care.

  ‘Claudio and Lydia. They’ve run away together.’ She began to laugh. It wasn’t funny – it was terrible and everything was wrong – but the laughter took charge, gusting through her, and she couldn’t stop until Eunice slapped her again. This time it was a relief, and she subsided into silence.

  ‘Where have they gone?’ Eunice demanded.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. They didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Where’s Cecil?’ Grandmother cried. ‘We must find Cecil. They can’t have got far.’ She pushed past them both and proceeded down the hallway calling to Cecil.

  Eunice looked at her. ‘How could you?’ she said, shaking her head in condemnation before she too departed.

  Moments later the dinner bell rang out. It was not the usual three or four clangs, instead it went on and on, an urgent proclamation that something terrible was at hand.

  She reached the front verandah to see Uncle Cec running across the lawn towards Grandmother, who was still ringing the bell, Eunice by her side. Della and Florrie were standing nearby watching with keen interest as Uncle Cec arrived out of breath.

  ‘The Japs?’ he managed to ask before leaning over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  ‘Lydia,’ Grandmother replied. ‘She’s run off with Claudio.’

  When Uncle Cec had recovered from his sprint, he went into the house and returned with his shotgun. Emily had never seen him look so commanding. He seemed taller and had an unusual spring in his step. If he killed Claudio it would be her fault.

  ‘You’re not going to shoot him?’ she said desperately.

  ‘Not if he comes quietly. Womenfolk into the house,’ he ordered, ‘and stay there until I give the all-clear.’

  Grandmother shepherded everyone inside. They heard the sound of the farm truck rattle into life and drive away. It was past seven o’clock and time for dinner, but nobody said a word about eating. Instead they stood around in the sitting room, and at some point Della and Florrie joined them there. Nobody said a word about this either.

  Grandmother went to the marble-topped credenza and poured herself a glass of sherry, which she drank in one go. Then she poured two more and gave one each to Eunice and Della.

  They were still standing like silent funeral guests when a distant shot rang out. Eunice shrieked and spilled the last of her sherry on the sitting-room rug. In the confusion that followed, Emily saw her chance. She left the room and hurried through the house, exiting via the billiard room. Once outside, she ran across the top lawn. The sun was sinking in the west, but there was enough light to see her way through the orchard. She did not know what she was going to do, just that somehow she had to save Claudio if it was not already too late.

  She scrambled under the snake fence and ran towards the shearers’ quarters. The truck was bouncing back across the paddock towards the yard gate. She saw it veer towards her and knew that she could not outrun it. Uncle Cec pulled to a stop beside her. One of his working dogs was barking and running up and down on the tray of the truck.

  He leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘Thought I told everyone to stay inside.’

  He motioned for her to climb into the truck, but she did not. She could hardly speak for fear that Claudio was already lying dead in a pool of blood.

  ‘Claudio …’

  ‘Doesn’t know a thing.’

  ‘But the gunshot?’

  ‘Snake. In the wood heap.’

  Her legs felt suddenly weak. ‘You didn’t shoot him?’

  ‘Shoot him? What the devil would I shoot him for? Fellow was cooking rabbit stew. By Jove it smelled good too. I told him he could teach Della a few –’

  ‘But where’s Lydia?’ she rudely interrupted. She could tell that Uncle Cec was going off on a tangent.

  ‘Searched the place from top to toe. No sign of her. Come on, you’d better hop in.’

  She wanted to see Claudio, more than anything. ‘Oh, don’t worry about me, I’ll walk,’ she said, as if everything was quite normal and she was out for an evening stroll.

  ‘Not on your nelly. In you get or your grandmother will have my head.’

  She thought about making a run for it, but Uncle Cec was a step ahead. ‘Giddy up. Unless you want a nip on the ankles from Clem.’ Hearing his name, the dog in the back barked enthusiastically.

  She got in. Uncle Cec revved the e
ngine and they set off towards the yard.

  ‘I’d say she’s well and truly flown the coop. If you want my opinion, it’s your grandmother’s fault. Had her on too short a leash. If I was a betting man, I’d say she’s headed for the bright lights.’

  Ignoring the fact that Uncle Cec loved a flutter, she asked, ‘You mean Melbourne?’

  ‘Let’s just hope it’s not too late,’ he said, with a nod.

  She supposed he meant too late to bring her back, but she didn’t really care. All that mattered was that Claudio was not dead, and that he and Lydia had not eloped, the implications of which were beginning to sink in. Perhaps they were not in love after all. Yet how to account for the mass of evidence upon which she’d based her earlier conclusions?

  ‘Are you sure about Claudio, Uncle Cec? Perhaps they’re going to meet up? She could be waiting for him somewhere.’

  ‘No,’ Uncle Cec said firmly. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘A cove doesn’t cook a rabbit stew if he’s about to run off with his paramour.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘More to the point, how far would they get?’

  ‘But if they’re in love?’

  ‘He’d be rounded up quick smart and spend the rest of the war in the lock-up. The man’s no fool.’

  They pulled up next to the tractor in the machinery shed. Uncle Cec took his gun from behind the seat and set off for the house with Emily trailing behind. As they passed the workshop, a pale strip of light was visible at the bottom of the blue door. She faltered. Was he alright? Should she …? No, she couldn’t bear to face him. She hurried on, trying to catch up with Uncle Cec.

  They entered the house together. When Uncle Cec turned into the sitting room, she slipped past and continued up the hallway to the white room. She wanted to be alone. Her head was filled with thoughts of Lydia and Claudio and William and how nothing seemed to make any sense, or at least not the sense that she had previously made of things. Lydia and Claudio had not run away together, and yet Lydia was missing all the same. She remembered how her aunt had said something about an escape fund. If they hadn’t got sidetracked because Emily had wanted to escape too, which had led to Lydia saying the awful words loony bin, she might have found out where Lydia was planning to go. Was Uncle Cec right? Had she gone to Melbourne? In which case she must have caught the train, and yet who had taken her to meet it? With all her clothes gone, there was no possibility that Lydia had set off on foot.

  A feeling of restless confusion propelled her around the room until at last she plonked herself down on the dressing-table stool and stared at her face in the mirror as if searching for answers in the familiar features that gazed back at her. She poked out her tongue. It did not feel like enough, and she twisted her face into a grimace. In the middle of her facial contortions her eyes snagged on a white rectangular object propped up against the bottom of the dressing-table mirror. A letter. She leaned forwards and stared at her name, scrawled across the envelope.

  Opening it, her eyes skittered over the hastily written note.

  Dear Emily,

  I hope you will forgive me for burdening you with the task of delivering this news. I could lie, but I am sick of all the lies and deception. Ruth and I are in love and have gone away to be together. I have heard from Harry who is returning on leave. You know it is impossible for me to see him. It’s all a mess and you will think me very weak for leaving you to tell Ma. We are going to Melbourne, but I can’t give you our address

  as Orm will hunt Ruth down. You can always send mail care of the YWCA. We intend to join the WAAAF and do our bit for the war effort. I am sorry.

  Affectionately,

  Lydia.

  PS Look in your wardrobe.

  She got up in a daze and opened the wardrobe to find Lydia’s yellow silk dress hanging beside the pink gingham disaster and the outgrown church dress. She returned to the dressing table and read the letter through again. A fog had descended, and the familiar had become strange. Things were out of kilter. Lydia had run off with Ruth. They were in love, which meant that they must be lesbians – like Miss Maunder. Although she had not thought much about it at the time, she had taken Miss Maunder’s lesbianism to be a euphemism for ‘sexless’ despite the dictionary meaning. Sexless, however, was not a description that fitted Lydia and Ruth, and she had a sudden vision of them doing the very things Fanny and Phoebe had done in Fanny Hill and had to force herself to think of the colour black in order to blot the vision out.

  Once some semblance of mental order had been restored, she allowed herself to feel honoured that Lydia had entrusted her with the role of messenger. It was momentous news – she could not wait to tell William. But the thought had barely entered her head before she remembered the ruined state of things. There was nothing for it but to face the daunting task of telling Grandmother instead.

  33

  EMILY ENTERED THE SITTING ROOM to find the whole household still gathered there. Grandmother was pacing up and down or, to be more precise, around and around, dodging chairs and side tables as well as Uncle Cec, who was standing in front of the fireplace as if warming his bottom at the empty grate. Eunice was perched on the edge of a replica Queen Anne chair, and Della and Florrie had taken up residence on the couch. Grandmother was holding a handkerchief, twisting it with both hands as she paced.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, May,’ Eunice begged. ‘You’re making us all dizzy.’

  Emily took a deep breath. ‘I know where she is.’

  Grandmother pivoted on one foot, whirling around towards her with such speed that she almost lost her balance. Eunice rose from the edge of her chair, and Uncle Cec took a step forwards. With their bodies caught in the deep goose-feather recesses of the couch, Della and Florrie could only turn their heads.

  ‘She’s run away with Ruth. They’re in love. It’s all here.’ She held up Lydia’s note.

  Nobody spoke, and she could see the shock in their faces.

  ‘They’ve gone to Melbourne to join the WAAAF. They can’t say where because of Orm.’ And then realising it might not be clear, she added, ‘In case he tries to hunt them down.’

  Grandmother started to buckle at the knees, causing Uncle Cec to rush forwards and half carry her to the nearest chair where she managed to gasp, ‘In love? Lydia and Ruth?’

  ‘They’re lesbians,’ Emily said, unsure whether Grandmother had grasped the essence of it.

  ‘But … how? They can’t be.’

  ‘Of course they can,’ Eunice interrupted. ‘There have been Sapphists from time immemorial.’

  ‘Like that Rita Frawley with the ferrets,’ Della said knowingly. ‘Called herself Ron.’

  From the look Grandmother gave Della, the reference to Rita who called herself Ron was not welcome.

  ‘Mind you,’ Della went on in a more philosophical tone, ‘In my Father’s house there are many mansions. John, chapter 14, verse 2.’

  ‘Blast the girl,’ Uncle Cec bellowed. ‘What a damn fool thing, running off like that.’

  ‘I can’t allow it. She must come home at once,’ Grandmother had found her voice again.

  ‘Oh for goodness sake,’ Eunice cried out. ‘If they love each other, who are we to stop them? Who amongst us can live without love?’

  Her cri de coeur seemed to go unnoticed by all except Emily, who had never imagined that Eunice would take such a stand for love. It was quite extraordinary; one more thing turned on its head, and when, a moment later, Eunice rose from her chair and rushed from the room, she caught a glimpse of shining eyes. She could not tell if it was the glint of tears or something more defiant and glorious. And though she couldn’t yet forgive the brutal slap Eunice had delivered earlier, she knew that Grandmother’s bridesmaid and helpmeet was not the person she had long supposed her to be.

  With Eunice gone, the room began to break up. Grandmother left first, followed by Uncle Cec, muttering that he had to feed the dogs. Florrie struggle
d out of the couch and with Emily’s help they hauled Della to her feet, only for her to shake them off with an irritated flick.

  ‘Blinking couch. Nearly blinking suffocated. Come on, Florrie, get a wriggle on. The world hasn’t ended.’

  ‘I never said it had,’ came Florrie’s sulky reply as Della bundled her out.

  Emily left the room last and returned to the white room. She did not know what else to do. She lay down on the bed and read Lydia’s letter again. Her eyes closed. When she opened them, half an hour had passed and, despite everything that had happened, she found that she had not lost her appetite. There were sure to be leftovers in the kitchen safe.

  To her surprise, when she entered the kitchen, everyone was already sitting at the table with bowls of soup and thick slices of bread and butter. Della was seated at the head of the table and, waving a spoon in her direction, indicated for her to come and sit down. She crossed the room and slid into a spare seat beside Florrie. That the family were eating in the kitchen with the servants was just one more peculiar thing to happen that day.

  The supper progressed in silence except for the sounds made by each as they variously sipped and slurped Della’s vegetable and mutton soup. Oddly – if anything could be said to be odd anymore when everything had become unpredictable – everyone seemed calm. She wondered if it were simply a temporary lull, or whether, after the fortifying effects of the soup, a plan of action would be devised to bring Lydia home.

  ‘William.’ Uncle Cec broke the silence. ‘Poor blighter’s had no supper.’ His gaze fell on her. She felt her eyes slither sideways in a futile attempt at escape. She could not take William his supper given what had unfolded in the workshop earlier, but what excuse could she possibly give? She was still floundering for something to say when Grandmother intervened.

  ‘If he wants to live like a hermit, he’ll just have to go hungry. I won’t allow Emily to go stumbling down there in the dark.’

  She knew that if things between her and William had been different, she would have found a way to disobey Grandmother. She would have taken William his supper no matter what. Instead, she felt relief, even when it was clear that there would be no volunteers to take her place.