The Lost Sapphire (10 page)

Riversleigh, 17 November 1922

At seven o'clock the dressing gong sounded from the hall to remind the family to prepare for dinner. Violet bathed and dressed in an ivory silk teddy, white silk stockings and white Mary Jane shoes, with a kimono dressing gown over the top in shimmering peacock colours of turquoise, emerald and amethyst. She sat at the dressing table, thinking about all she had seen in her visits to Richmond over the last two days.

It seemed such a contrast to be sitting here, in her exquisite bedroom, surrounded by luxury, while children just a mile away were living in abject poverty. She mentally shook herself – now was not the time to think about that. She had to be on her best, sparkling behaviour for Dad and his business associates. With her mother gone, it was Imogen's role to be the charming hostess for their dinner guests, and it was Violet's job to help her.

Violet pulled the lever for the servants' bell, signalling Sally to come up and help her finish dressing. She sprayed on some perfume and began to lightly powder her face. Imogen had lent her some make-up to wear but warned her to be very subtle or ‘Daddy will have a fit'. Lastly, she blackened her eyelashes with a smudge of mascara and added a slick of crimson lip colour.

Sally huffed in, wearing her black evening uniform with starched white collar, cuffs, cross-over apron and ruffled cap. ‘Pardon, miss. Mrs Darling wouldn't let me come until she'd checked the table settings an' all the flowers. Lucky Joseph did such a good job with the roses.'

Sally began brushing Violet's long, wavy hair with a silver hairbrush.

‘That's fine,' Violet replied. ‘I hope Mrs Darling wasn't too cross about me stealing you away.'

Sally chatted on as she worked, twisting Violet's copper-red hair up into an elaborate chignon at the base of her neck. Then Violet stood and Sally slipped the evening dress over her head and carefully did up the buttons at the back. Violet had borrowed the dress from Imogen, as she had nothing suitable of her own to wear. Imogen had bought a wardrobe of stylish new clothes for her first social season after finishing school.

The ankle-length dress was filmy turquoise silk with crushed velvet detailing at the waist and hem. She wore no jewellery, but simply pinned a creamy gardenia flower above her right ear.

‘You look a treat, miss,' Sally said as she pinned the last stray curl into place.

‘Thank you, Sally,' Violet replied. ‘You've achieved wonders.'

‘S'all right, miss,' Sally said, then paused. ‘I want to say thanks to
you
for helpin' me today. Some of my friends in service, their mistresses treat 'em like dirt. But not you – you've a good heart.'

Violet felt her heart sing. It felt good helping Sally and her family. Although it had been confronting, Violet had enjoyed her trips to Richmond more than anything she could remember in a long while.

Imogen popped her head around the door as she passed. ‘Come on, Violet. Time to go down.'

Imogen and Violet walked down the stairs. Their father, Albert, was already waiting in the drawing room, wearing his black tailcoat, winged shirt and white bow tie. He glanced up as the girls walked in together, a look of surprise sweeping over his face.

‘My dears,' he said, his voice catching. ‘You look … you both look so beautiful, so grown-up.'

Imogen inclined her head, pulled her rose-pink skirt out and curtseyed, as though being presented to royalty. ‘Thank you, Daddy. I had to lend Violet a dress, as she has nothing suitable to wear. Doesn't she look adorable?'

‘Yes, she does,' said Mr Hamilton, looking at Violet tenderly. ‘I have never seen her look prettier.'

Violet felt warmed by the unusual praise. She couldn't help taking a quick glance at herself in the gilt-framed mirror above the marble fireplace. The reflection reassured her that she did look very grown-up and stylish.

‘Now that Violet is on holidays, I do think she needs some new clothes,' Imogen continued as she took a seat
on the linen sofa. ‘We can't have her looking like a ragamuffin, can we?'

‘I never look like a ragamuffin,' Violet objected, perching on the edge of the rose chaise longue. ‘It's just that I seem to have grown taller.'

Imogen raised her eyebrows and laughed. ‘We don't want the neighbours thinking that Daddy and I don't take care of you.'

Deep down Violet knew that her father loved her, but ever since her brothers and mother had died, he had been different – distant and distracted, even cold. He had buried himself in work and golf, and seemed so ravaged by his grief that he hardly noticed what the girls were doing, let alone what they wore.

At Imogen's comment he looked taken aback. ‘Definitely not. Of course Violet must get some new clothes. Just order a few things and have the invoices sent to me. But please try not to go completely overboard – I don't want to be sent into
total
bankruptcy.'

‘Thank you, Dad,' said Violet, touched. ‘That would be terrific.'

Violet glanced around the drawing room. It was one of her favourite rooms in the house, with its bay window overlooking the fountain, soft ivory walls, large Chinese rug, crystal chandeliers and furnishings in muted shades of rose silk and blue velvet. Pastel paintings of flowers and Italian landscapes in gilt frames adorned the walls. Her mother had collected many treasures during the family's trips to Europe before the war.

The grandfather clock in the hall marked the hour with eight resounding clangs.

The servants had all taken up their positions. Joseph had unlocked the double gates, ready for their guests' arrival. Nikolai was stationed at the bottom of the front steps to open the car doors for each guest. The front door was open, with the butler and the footman in their white ties and tailcoats standing by in the hall to collect the coats, top hats and canes, while the maids were in the kitchen preparing to serve the meal at precisely twenty minutes past eight.

Violet heard the crunch of the gravel driveway and the purr of a motor.

The butler, Saunders, soon showed the guests in, announcing each one as they entered. ‘Mr and Mrs Ramsay. Mr Theodore Ramsay.'

There was a commotion of greetings as Theodore and his parents were served drinks and seated in the drawing room. Next to arrive was one of her father's business friends and golf partners, Mr Marchant, with his wife, who was wearing an ostentatious headdress featuring glittering diamonds and ostrich feathers.

Finally, Saunders announced Miss Audrey Williams and Mr Thomas O'Byrne, whom Imogen had invited to provide some younger company for Theodore. Audrey, as always, looked elegant in a heavily beaded and embroidered black dress. Violet thought that Tommy looked especially handsome in his white tie and tails. He shook hands with her and asked if she was enjoying her holidays.

As hostess, Imogen chatted dutifully to the older ladies and gentlemen until Saunders stood in the doorway and announced, ‘Dinner is served, Miss Hamilton.' Everyone finished their drinks and followed him next door into the dining room.

Crystal and silver sparkled in the light of dozens of candles, while the air was scented from the bowls of pale-pink roses scattered around the room. The long table was set with a white damask cloth and starched napkins, cobalt-and-gold-rimmed fine bone china and five crystal glasses at every place. Silver cruets, cutlery and candelabra, polished to perfection, were precisely spaced.

Saunders and Harry pulled out chairs and helped seat the ladies, while Mr Hamilton took his place at the head. At one end of the table, the talk was all about business and investments, while at the other end, the young people talked about tennis and dances and summer excursions to the beach.

‘You must come down to our house at Sorrento in January,' Audrey insisted. ‘I'm planning on inviting a crowd of us for a few days. We'll have a heavenly time.'

‘We'd love to, wouldn't we, Violet?' Imogen replied.

‘Absolutely,' Violet said, tucking her gloves away on her lap. But she was distracted by Theodore's father's talk of property development and construction times.

‘Do you mean to say that you plan to build flats there?' asked Mr Hamilton. ‘I thought you were planning a large house, one in keeping with the area.'

‘No, flats are a much better investment,' Mr Ramsay said. ‘We have to move with the times. No-one wants to build big houses like this anymore. They're too expensive and you need an army of servants to run them. And as we all know, it's impossible to find decent servants since the war.'

Saunders and Harry remained impassive as they continued to pass the platters of oysters and fill the glasses with ice-cold champagne.

As Mr Ramsay talked, Violet realised with a sinking heart that he was talking about building several blocks of flats right next door on the horse paddock. The horse paddock was the last remaining part of the Riversleigh estate, outside the gardens. Last year, her father had gradually sold off the orchard and most of the surrounding paddocks, and several large homes had already been built on them.

At the time he had muttered something about a post-war slump and the collapse of import prices, which had made little sense to Violet and Imogen. It wasn't until he'd sold the horses that Violet had really been upset. Now it seemed that the latest sale of Riversleigh land had been to the Ramsay family, and that their new neighbours would be flat-dwellers.

Mr Hamilton looked shocked and struggled to regain his composure.

Theodore turned towards him. ‘You needn't worry, sir. They'll be priced so that only the better sort of families will be able to afford them – you won't have any uncouth, working-class neighbours.'

Saunders and Harry cleared the oyster plates and served the soup course – a clear, golden-brown consommé.

Mrs Marchant changed the subject to one of her favourites: the degeneracy of today's youth. ‘Have you seen Bessie Douglas lately?' she asked, directing her comment at the whole table. Her feather headdress jiggled with outrage. ‘The girl has bobbed her hair as short as a boy's and has announced to her parents that she is getting a job!'

Imogen caught Violet's glance and raised her eyes.

‘
No
,' Audrey murmured, pushing a strand of her own short bob back into place. ‘How dreadful.'

Violet, Imogen and Tommy grinned at Audrey over their soup spoons.

‘What on earth is she going to do?' asked Mrs Ramsay, her voice thick with horror. ‘Don't tell me she is going to become one of those typists.'

Mrs Marchant shook her head. ‘Worse than that … She is going to get an apprenticeship at Alice Anderson's garage and learn to drive a car. She's going to be a
chauffeur
and a
mechanic
!'

‘Apparently Miss Anderson is teaching lots of the local ladies how to drive,' said Violet.

Mr Ramsay chortled. ‘Remind me not to go driving near Miss Anderson's garage! Women generally don't make very good drivers. They get too easily distracted.'

Theodore laughed. ‘I've heard they have the prettiest chauffeurs at Alice Anderson's. They're all the rage in Kew.'

‘Yes, but they wear
breeches
,' his mother objected. ‘Now, you wouldn't let your daughters do anything so vulgar, would you, Albert?'

Mr Hamilton shook his head. ‘Under no circumstances would my daughters do any such thing. It was different during the war, when everyone had to do their bit. For example, Imogen tells me Miss Williams was an ambulance driver in France. I'm sure she did an excellent job, but now she's home and settled down.'

Audrey looked around the table. ‘Driving in France during the war was one of the hardest things I've ever done, and I saw some terrible sights. But coming home
again to the life of a leisured lady, I think perhaps it is even harder to sit around doing nothing. Well, nothing truly
meaningful
. I much prefer to be busy, and I don't want to live my life feeling like I've wasted it.'

Mrs Ramsay looked shocked. ‘But Miss Williams, Theodore told me that you girls are working hard on organising a little charity ball to raise money for some worthy cause or another. Surely that's doing something meaningful.'

Audrey arched her eyebrows. ‘Just a
little
ball. But we hope it will save lives.'

‘It's for the Russian War Relief Fund,' Imogen added quickly. ‘We're hoping to raise two hundred pounds for the starving Russian children. Violet has come up with some wonderful ideas for decorations.'

Mrs Marchant nodded her head in approval. ‘A very suitable project for young ladies, something to do until you get married.'

Theodore glanced proprietorially at Imogen. ‘Indeed. You'll be busy soon enough with a husband and household to look after.' Tommy bristled beside Violet.

Saunders and Harry cleared the soup bowls then walked around the table offering guests portions of poached white fish fillet with lemon-and-parsley sauce, served with a finely sliced cucumber salad.

‘I'd like to do something for the children who live in poverty just a mile away from here, across the river,' Violet said, thinking of the barefoot slum children with their stunted growth and hungry eyes.

‘We see some very sad cases at the hospital,' Tommy added. ‘Children with terrible diseases, like polio myelitis,
diphtheria and typhoid, which spread like wildfire in the slums, especially when you have four or five children sleeping in one bed. Yet they could be so easily prevented with clean water, nourishing food and decent housing. It's a disgrace that poverty like this exists in Melbourne in the twentieth century.'

Mr Marchant shook his head as he helped himself to a large serving of fish and sauce. ‘Charity just encourages the workingman to stick out his hand to get something for nothing. We don't want to crush the spirit of independence in the workers – they'll just sit around doing nothing, expecting to be fed.'