Kitty picked up and shook out her house slippers thoroughly, having learnt that spiders and cockroaches liked to hide in their cosy interiors. She threw them down on the floor and squeezed her swollen feet inside them. Used to being active, as her belly grew she’d refused to confine herself to the house, knowing she would go mad with boredom if she did so.
Over breakfast, she made a list of all the things she needed to buy in town. Before her pregnancy, she would always walk the ten minutes to Dampier Terrace and its array of stores, which sold everything from caviar brought in from Russia to succulent beef freshly slaughtered at the Hylands Star butchery. They ate well and plentifully, with a choice and quality far superior to what was available in Leith. Tarik, their Malay cook, had introduced her to curries, which, to her surprise, Kitty had found wonderfully tasty.
After pinning on her sun bonnet, she picked up her basket and parasol, then walked round the side of the house to the stables, where Fred lay sleeping on the straw. She clapped her hands and he was alert and upright within seconds. He smiled at her, one of his front teeth missing, which Kitty had learnt was common in Aboriginal males and had something to do with a ritual.
‘Town?’ She pointed towards it, as Fred’s grasp of English was basic at best. He spoke the language of the Yawuru tribe that was indigenous to Broome.
‘Go alonga town,’ he agreed as Kitty watched him hitch the pony to the cart, relieved that he was actually here. Fred was apt to disappear to, as he put it, ‘go walkabout, Missus Boss’. Like the missing tooth, Kitty had learnt that most Aboriginals did this, disappearing for weeks into the untamed and dangerous hinterland beyond the town. Initially she had been horrified when she had realised that Fred slept on a pallet of straw in the stables.
‘Darling, the blacks don’t want to live inside. Even if we built him a shelter, he’d sleep outside it. The moon and the stars are the roof over the Aboriginal’s head.’
Nevertheless, Kitty had felt uncomfortable about the arrangement and while their own house was being renovated, she had insisted Andrew build some basic accommodation with washing facilities, a bed and a small kitchen area which Fred could use as he chose. So far, Fred had not chosen to avail himself of the facilities. Even though she made sure his uniform was freshly laundered, she could still smell him at a few paces.
Kitty accepted Fred’s help to climb up onto the cart and sat next to him, enjoying the slight breeze on her face as the pony clopped along into town. She only wished she could speak with Fred, understand him and the ways of his people, but even though she had tried to help him improve his English, Fred remained distinctly uninterested.
Once they had reached Dampier Terrace, Kitty raised her hand and said, ‘Stop!’ Fred helped her climb down.
‘I stayum here?’
‘Yes.’ Kitty gave him a smile and walked off in the direction of the butcher’s.
Having completed her shopping for supper that night, then stopping to chat with Mrs Norman, the wife of another pearling master, she emerged into the bright sunlight. Feeling rather faint in the cloying heat, she turned up a narrow alley that offered comparative shade as she fanned herself. She was just about to walk back to the pony and cart when she heard a low keening coming from the opposite side of the alley.
Walking towards the pile of discarded rubbish, thinking that perhaps it was shrouding an injured animal, she removed a stinking crate and saw a human curled up into a ball behind it. The skin colour told her it was an Aboriginal, and the outline of the figure said it was female.
‘Hello?’
There was no response, so Kitty bent down and reached out a hand to touch the ebony skin. The human ball flinched and unravelled itself to reveal a young woman staring at her with terror in her eyes.
‘I do-a nothing wrong, missus . . .’
The girl shrank further back into the pile of stinking rubbish. As she did so, Kitty noticed the large bulge of her stomach.
‘I know. I’m not here to hurt you. Do you speak English?’
‘Yessum, missus. Speaka bit.’
‘What has happened to you? I can see that we’re in the same . . . condition.’ Kitty indicated her own bump.
‘You an’ me have baby, but best I die. Will go away. Life here no-a good for us, missus.’
With great effort, Kitty knelt down. ‘Don’t be afraid. I want to help you.’ She risked reaching out a hand again to touch the girl and this time, she didn’t flinch. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Come-a from big house. Big fella boss, he saw’ – the girl patted her stomach – ‘no home for me no more.’
‘Well now, you are to stay here. I have a pony and cart along the road. I will take you to my home to help you. Do you understand?’
‘Leavum me, missus. Me bad news.’
‘No. I am taking you to my home. I have somewhere you can stay. You are not in danger.’
‘Best I die,’ the girl repeated, as tears squeezed out of her closed eyes.
Kitty raised herself to standing, wondering what on earth she could do to persuade the girl she spoke true. She unclipped the pearl necklace that nestled at her throat, then bent down and put it into the girl’s hands, thinking that if she was a ‘bad un’’, the girl would be long gone by the time she returned, but if not . . .
‘Look after this for me while I go and get the cart. I trust you, as you must trust me.’
Kitty walked at pace to find Fred and have him move the cart to the entrance of the narrow alley. She indicated that he should climb down and follow her. To her relief, the girl was still there, sitting upright with the string of pearls clasped tightly in her hands.
‘Now then, Fred, can you help this girl into the cart?’ Kitty both spoke and mimed the words.
Fred looked at his mistress in disbelief. She watched as he eyed the girl and she eyed him back.
‘Do as I say, Fred, please!’
There then began a conversation in Yawuru, as Fred took it upon himself to grill the girl who was sitting in the rubbish and holding Missus Boss’s pearls. At times it became quite heated, but in the end Fred nodded.
‘She okay, Missus Boss.’
‘Then hurry up and help her into the cart.’
Fred tentatively reached out his hand, but the girl refused it. Slowly and proudly she staggered to her feet by herself.
‘I do-a the walkin’,’ she said as she passed Kitty, her head held high.
‘Where puttum her?’ Fred asked.
‘It’s best if she lies in the back, and we put the tarpaulin over her.’
Once Kitty had organised this arrangement, Fred helped her to climb onto the front of the cart with him.
‘Now then, take us home, Fred.’
When they arrived, Kitty fetched clean sheets for the hut that Fred never used and helped the girl – who by this time could hardly stand – onto the mattress. Fetching some witch hazel, she bathed a swelling around the girl’s eye, spotting more bruises on her cheek and her chin as she did so.
Leaving a pitcher of water beside the bed, Kitty smiled down at her.
‘Sleep now. You’re safe here,’ she enunciated.
‘No one come-a beat me?’
‘No one.’ Kitty showed her the big iron key in the lock. ‘I go out,’ she gesticulated, ‘then you lock the door. You are safe. Understand?’
‘Yessum, understand.’