CHAPTER 13

‘You should be playing,’ I said to Franz.

‘I fear I am not holy enough for Mr Cameron. And I would rather be here.’

I blushed, bunched up my skirts, wished they were not so muddy and my exposed ankles not so swollen. The rain had stopped; we were walking together around a new island. When our troupe had first come to Seymour, the Royal Hotel sat on a rise overlooking the town and the river. Now the hotel and its outbuildings sat on a small outcrop in the middle of a pearl-grey lake, a perfect picturesque scene were it not for the flies, the fringes of rubbish, and the stink of mud and excrement and rotting things. From the windows of the Royal came stumbling piano chords and a ragged chorus of Abide with Me as Mr Cameron rallied his flock. Despite the Sabbath, Mrs Bleeker had sent me out to look for anything worth salvaging, and Franz had volunteered to join me — in case, he said, there was a need for heavy lifting. Now I could not concentrate on my task at all.

I was refreshed from a long sleep, but I did not look as fresh as Franz. He had washed, shaved, changed from his muddy clothes, his linen was white, his hair once again flowing in its careless waves. He extended his stick in an elegantly gloved hand and poked at smashed wine casks, sodden sacks, fence posts, bales of hay, logs cut for firewood, miraculously intact bottles of green glass. In front of us, a ewe grazed in a patch of grass at the lake’s edge while not two yards away, a dead lamb floated. We had already counted twenty-six live sheep, two cows, seven goats and fifteen chickens picking their placid way through the mud. I turned from the poor lamb to look out over the lake, unbroken but for a few treetops and the chimneys of the flour mill. The sun peered through thin cloud, but all the light rose from the water.

‘The flood is subsiding,’ I said. ‘We may be able to move on, after a few days.’

‘After the deluge. Does it not strike you, we could be the only human beings saved? Adam and Eve, about to inherit a watery world.’

The ewe looked up from the grass and bleated at us, and I picked up one of the glass bottles and put it in my basket. What did that dancing smile mean? Why had he seemed so ardent when his face was black with mud, and now so bland when his face was clean and handsome again? Was he teasing me?

‘I don’t think we’d last long in such a world,’ I said.

His smile fading, he scooped up the rest of the bottles, put them in my basket and slung it over his shoulder. ‘You should not work so hard — you must think of the future.’

The floating lamb was swollen, with stick limbs, and the sheep, which might be its mother, had its contented head down in the grass. Seven months ago, I had a future. I might have one again, one day. He knew that.

As if reading my thoughts, he suddenly sighed. ‘I have been thinking about the future, and the past. I have not been fair to you. I have not been completely honest. May I explain?’

We walked on, inspecting the flotsam fringe along the shoreline, and Franz talked. When he had told me he had been wronged, he should have clarified. He had been wrongfully accused of theft — not once, but twice. At the conservatory, just before he was due to graduate, a valuable trophy had disappeared, and suspicion had fallen on him because he was one of only two students with access to the room where it was stored. It was such a senseless, paltry thing, like a tale in some foolish girl’s novelette, he said, raking his hair. The entire school was searched, the trophy was found in his locker, and he could only assume that his friend Martin, his admirer and rival, who also had access to the room, had tricked and betrayed him. Perhaps Martin could no longer bear it that Franz was indisputably the better musician. ‘No one believed my protestations of innocence, and I was expelled.’

‘What a treacherous friend.’ Was this what it meant, this glow, to have your heart go out to someone?

‘We never spoke again.’

‘And the second time? You were wronged twice?’

‘On the very day of my debut in Madame’s concert. I had one teaching engagement that morning, a cheeky miss of eleven, and we were sitting side by side on the piano stool when the servants burst in and proceeded to search the entire room. Orders of the mistress, they said, who had lost her rings. So of course I insisted they search my holdall. To this day, I can see the bald patch shaped like a dollar on the back of the manservant’s head as he bent to my bag and his hands stopped moving. Then he withdrew from my bag a small velvet sack I had never seen before, loosened the string and emptied on the carpet a number of gold and silver rings studded with rubies and diamonds.’

‘But that is appalling.’

‘The very air of the room became utterly still. Only my implacable metronome kept up its tut, tut, tut.’ How superbly theatrical he was, waving his stick slowly back and forth, raising a cloud of flies from the refuse.

‘Who would do such a thing?’

‘Who knows? People are jealous of me, Mary Ann; it is my curse. Once again, I protested my innocence in vain, and my only reprieve was that no charges were pressed. I have hesitated to tell you these stories, and not only because they are painful to me. They seem so hard to believe.’

‘Franz, you have borne your wrongs with great patience. I can only hope that one day you will have a chance to clear your name.’ How honest he was. A lesser man would never have confessed to such disgrace, even if wrongfully borne. I longed to put a reassuring hand on his arm, but feared the touch would make me breathe too fast.

‘Thank you, Mary Ann. You are a good friend.’ A small catch in his voice wrenched me. He bent to a spar of timber, took off his gloves to get a better grip, and I sucked in my breath at the sight of blisters.

‘Your poor hands. All that rowing, no wonder you would not play the piano for Mr Cameron. Mrs Bleeker has some excellent salve, I will fetch it for you …’

‘Please do not trouble yourself.’ Franz straightened, glanced towards the hotel, where the hymn singers were now quiet, but Mr Cameron’s reedy voice rose and fell, a discord to the twitter of sparrows. Franz dropped his rescued spar, hoisted the basket higher up his shoulder, took my arm and began to walk me round the island again. ‘Have you given any more thought to your future, Mary Ann? I mean, after you arrive in America?’

After the child is born, you mean. After it is off my hands. I took a deep breath, as if about to plunge into the lake. ‘That depends on many things, Franz. I have a question for you too, and you know very well what it is. You gave me a poem about a mermaid, and you asked me if I wanted to know what the author’s dreams were, and I said yes.’

Again, I was appalled at my daring; I might as well have dragged him to the church door. But it was time to take a risk, and he had given me so many little signs. And Franz looked solemn, a little pale, he was clearing his throat. I waited.

‘Mary Ann, I have been with the General’s troupe for years. I have played fair to execrable pianos across America, through Europe, through Asia. I have endured blizzards in high mountain passes, grizzlies, marauding Indians. When our terrible war raged, I travelled back and forth across battle lines.’

He did not need to sell himself to me as a hero; and yet I warmed to his modest, melodious voice, the way he took on the lake’s sparkle, and I could not resist adding: ‘I have heard how you saved Mrs Stratton from the alligator.’

‘Oh, that. It was in San Antonio, we were crossing a river, and I grabbed a log to use as a bridge. I let go very fast when it turned to bite me.’ I put my hand to my mouth. ‘Another time in Nashville, I saw a line of ghostly figures on horseback. Every man and every beast was covered from head to foot in white. Only the eyeholes were dark. They rode past us without a glance, and there was no sound except for the muffled thud of the horses’ feet in the dust.’ He paused, as he had done after playing Liebestraum, lifting his hands, letting the last chord die. ‘I have never felt such oppression of silence and mystery.’

‘Franz, you have had an adventurous life.’

He shrugged. ‘These stories are not about myself. I witnessed these things because it was my task to be there. But the General and his lady … I have seen them venture and survive, venture and survive. They are a courageous and cheerful pair. But in all that time they have never struck me as happy-ever-after people.’

‘No,’ I agreed, a little puzzled. But perhaps he would go on to mention other ways of being happy ever after.

‘And yet,’ he said, ‘what you are telling me about your future — whatever you decide — is a happy-ever-after story.’

‘I know no other.’

‘I think you do.’

Amen, sang Mr Cameron’s congregation.

Now, now, he would say the words; I would remember this moment when I was happy ever after. The island, the lake, his poor blistered hands. The stables, still high and dry, just beyond the hotel. The whining air, flies hovering over the floating lamb, for we had come full circle around the island and there was no sign of the ewe that might have been the creature’s mother.

At that moment the stocky figure of Rodnia led two horses out of the stable and moved slowly round behind the building until he disappeared again. He did not once look in our direction.

‘My dream is to make you happy,’ Franz said, and my heart gave a great thump. ‘And that is why I have something to give you.’ He looked around as if to make sure no one was watching us. Then he put a hand inside his jacket, drew out a small box, presented it to me with a formal bow. I opened it with trembling fingers: nestled in the silk lining was a large hairpin attached to a crescent moon–shaped ornament, all in silver.

‘Forgive me, but your lovely hair is sometimes a little wayward,’ he said. ‘I thought you might like this trinket to tame it.’

I drew it out, stared at the way it caught the light. Apart from my mother’s locket and Mrs Bleeker’s costume ring, no one had ever given me jewellery.

‘It’s beautiful. Franz, how can I ever thank you?’

‘Take off your bonnet. May I?’ He stood close, his breath on my neck, and I felt the pin slide into my knot of hair. ‘Now you have the moon in your hair again, as I saw you in the night at Wellington,’ he said softly.

I turned. His face was so close. I did what seemed to me most natural: I gave his cheek a kiss. It was so small, dry, chaste, and his response so fleeting, yet I felt it: he recoiled.

I stood still, afraid to breathe. Had I imagined it?

He stood back, cleared his throat, spoke louder. ‘The moon is detachable, you could use it as a brooch, but I would not advise it. It should always be kept fastened; the brooch pin is much too sharp, you could cut yourself badly.’

‘I will always wear it in my hair,’ I whispered. We stood in silence for a moment.

‘Look in the box again,’ he said. ‘There is something else.’

What could it be, a matching ring? I fumbled beneath the silk lining and pulled out a small card. It was another of those cartes de visite that I had handed out to the besieging crowd outside the Polytechnic in Melbourne. But this one I had never seen before.

‘It took me a while to find this; it was at the bottom of a box. It has not been used for some time.’

I gazed speechless at the image. A younger and slimmer General, with a hint of double chin and no beard, stood proudly beside Lavinia, who was seated on a chair in front of wooden panels and a luxuriantly draped curtain. In her velvet lap sat a baby. Lavinia’s left hand disappeared into a magnificent christening gown, which spread onto the carpet, even further than her crinoline. All three gazed steadily into the camera.

‘The Stratton baby,’ said Franz. ‘Born on December 5, 1863. Weighed three pounds at birth. An interesting thumbling, the papers called it.’

‘I had no idea —’

‘A medal was struck to commemorate its birth. At the age of one year, it weighed seven and three-quarter pounds, and was taken on an exhibition tour of Europe. Died in New York City when two-and-a-half years old.’

‘Poor Mrs Stratton,’ I whispered.

‘Oh, it was not so bad for her. The baby never existed, you see. It was all humbug to make Barnum more money.’

‘What do you mean? This is a real baby, surely.’ The child was enchanting. It held my eyes.

‘Of course it is a real baby. How big?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘How big do you think it is?’

I stared. ‘I cannot tell.’

‘It is a very clever photograph, is it not?’ Franz flicked at the photograph with the back of his forefinger. ‘If we think of the General and his wife as a regular-sized couple, then that is an uncommonly large baby, for its head is nearly the same size as Mrs Stratton’s. But the child does not appear huge, and the parents do not appear tiny. There is a perfect balance of illusion.’

‘What are you trying to tell me?’

‘Look again. Look at the photograph.’ I could see nothing strange. Lavinia smiled her usual quizzical smile. ‘Observe the size of the child’s head. Unless it grew at lightning speed after its birth, how could Mrs Stratton ever have borne such a baby?’

I blushed. ‘You mean … it was adopted?’

‘Adopted. Borrowed. Bought. I don’t know. I was not with them on that European tour and I never saw it.’ I reached out, stroked the card where the christening gown spread. ‘It is said they went to enormous expense for that gown,’ Franz said. ‘They got it back many times over in sales of that carte de visite.’

‘One card, then.’

‘And a tour of Europe. And there have been others. A Frenchie child on a visit to Paris. A daughter who went with them to visit the Prince and Princess of Wales.’

‘A whole family?’

‘One at a time. The public were wild for Tom Thumb babies. They always drew huge crowds, huge takings. They were not so hard to get. So many orphanages, foundling homes, baby farms. All that was wanted in addition was a wet nurse. For a short time.’

‘What became of the child … of the children,’ I whispered.

‘I don’t know. They disappeared. No one has ever mentioned them again. It was because they grew too big.’

Too big?

Briefly the island swirled, tilted, righted itself again, but something in me remained hanging at a crazy angle. The golden egg. An individual of uncommon magnetism. They are mad for smaller and smaller men. The words clicked — it was not so hard a puzzle. And yet I had never put it together before.

No wonder Ned had thought he could make a mint. But why did everyone expect me to bear a tiny child? Had Charlie’s talk of strange magnetic influences spread about the troupe, and did everyone believe it?

‘Now you see why there will be no happy ever after,’ Franz said.

‘I cannot believe it.’

‘Don’t believe me, then. Believe the photograph.’

I clenched my teeth and straightened my back. Babies coming and going like stage props. Lavinia would never stand for it. ‘I will speak to Mrs Bleeker.’

Franz sighed. ‘I am sure she means you no harm. But don’t go to her for the truth. That is one thing she cannot give you.’

‘But even if what you say is true, Franz, it is all different now. It is a proper adoption, not a borrowing or a buying. They will bring up the child as their own.’

‘You did not sign any documents. Were any conditions mentioned?’

‘No, of course not.’ I stood with my left hand splayed over Belly, staring and staring at the beautiful baby in its frothing waterfall of a gown.

Franz watched me, slowly shook his head. ‘I am truly sorry to be the one to say these things to you. My poor mermaid.’

My hand went to the unfamiliar shape of the crescent moon at the back of my head. What did he mean by his silver and his dark warning?

‘Franz, you have done the right thing. I am in debt to you as always, for your beautiful gift, and for your candour and consideration.’ I handed him the photograph. ‘But I would prefer it if you did not speak to me of this again.’

For a moment, he looked as if some ruffian had struck him. Then he dropped his head. ‘You do not believe me.’

‘I believe that this time, things are different. Mr and Mrs Stratton will keep the child, and it will be in my charge for as long as I wish.’

‘You are sure of that? They have said so?’

I could not remember such words. But surely they were there, underneath Mrs Bleeker’s promises, Lavinia’s tender stories of the nursery. ‘I am sure.’

‘And it is your wish?’

I closed my eyes. Why did this hot-and-cold man refuse to understand what my wishes were? A moment ago, I was walking towards the bright door of the New World, and he was waiting for me. Now the doorway was empty.

Angry shouts came from the windows of the Royal. ‘Put that back, minikin.’

‘Minikin yourself. Shan’t.’

‘By God, I’ll make you …’ More shouts, a crash, a hasty piano chord.

‘The General and the Commodore,’ I said.

‘Yes, we must go back,’ said Franz tonelessly. He took my arm and we began to walk up the hill towards the hotel.

Something was growing in me that made my heart thump and my stomach heave and my body burn in moist waves so I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Hurt pride? But I had so little pride left. Was it because Franz was abandoning me? But he was there, he held my arm, though with no closeness or warmth in his grip. Not a suitor’s embrace — how foolish my hopes seemed now — and surely even a friend would hold my arm less stiffly, but he was by my side. And surely it was not too late: I could still stop him, pull him back to the edge of the island and the lake that shone like a great pearl but would disappear in a few days, and tell him once again that he was wrong; but even if he was right, it didn’t matter. Whatever happened, I would fulfil my part of the bargain, I would get a handsome settlement. I had already tried to get rid of my burden; now I was in limbo for a little longer but once it was gone it would be gone forever and I would be free.

But the little men were still shouting, and Franz had a fixed smile, as if he had just told me something reassuring, and the thing blooming inside me was so fierce I could hardly breathe. What was it? Something Mrs Bleeker had said on the road from the orphanage back to Ballarat as she wiped her face with a pink cloth.

And then I knew that what lurched inside me was Belly’s fear, and whatever happened, whoever might or might not abandon me, there was no way I could ever abandon Belly.

How impossible everything was.