Lily Campbell's Secret

By Jennifer Bryce

It's1913, and Lily’s comfortable middle-class Melbourne life is completely upended when she falls in love. As she sits in the hall of her private school, portraits of past headmistresses frowning at her, she realises the ‘glaring, unalterable fact’ that she is pregnant, the father a young stablehand called Bert. Her parents

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Bryce
• Release date: May 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780994256652

Jennifer Bryce

Jennifer Bryce is a Melbourne writer. She spent many years as a secondary school teacher, educational researcher and musician before devoting herself to writing. She was a founding member of Elwood Writers (elwoodwriters.com) and has her own blog (jenniferbryce.net). She has published short fiction, reviews and memoir. "Lily Campbell's Secret" is her first novel.

Book preview

Prelude: No Escape

1913

There was no escape. I would have to tell my parents. The glaring, unalterable fact wouldn’t go away. ‘Mother and Father, I’m in love …’, ‘Mother and Father, I’ve met a young man …’, ‘Mother and Father, I know you’ll find this difficult, but …’. Nothing seemed right. I was sitting on my favourite bench under the magnolia in the public gardens opposite the house where I’d lived for all of my seventeen years. I supposed Mother thought I’d gone to the gardens to read, but I couldn’t possibly concentrate on a book today. I looked across to our solid grey stone villa. The roses in their neat rows were coming into flower and our Chinese vegetable man was at the tradesmen’s entrance with his scales balanced over his shoulders. Shirley, our maid, was sweeping the verandah.

When I’d missed ‘the curse’ for a second time, I started going to the library after school, where I read Everyday Human Biology, over and over, desperately searching for some other explanation. But the book stated with stark authority that if, after menstruating regularly for a year or more, a woman misses more than two cycles, the reason is most likely that she is ‘gravid’. I looked up the meaning of the word and it meant ‘pregnant, with child’. I was as bad as Primrose Macfarlane, who had been expelled from school for a reason too terrible to divulge to us girls. She was called to the Head Mistress’s office, then later a prefect came and collected her things. We never saw Primrose again, but there were hushed whisperings and proclamations of self-righteous disapproval from girls who, days before, had been her friends. Now there might be whisperings about me – although fortunately school would finish for ever in a few weeks.

Earlier in the afternoon, out walking with Dorcas, I had seen a woman pushing a perambulator. In less than nine months’ time I would be pushing a perambulator. A baby was growing inside me – a baby that would be mine, and mine to care for. I’d never even held a baby and I’d certainly never imagined what it would be like to be a mother. Dorcas had urged me to tell my parents.

Tonight I was going to do it. Gripped with dread, I walked through the shadowy front gate, along the rose-lined gravel drive, up the stone steps, through the door and down the passage to the room where my execution would take place.

We took our places as usual at the long mahogany dining table: Mother, Father and I. The laughing cavalier in the painting gazed at me with his penetrating eyes; he knew what I’d done, he knew what would happen – he was laughing at me. The crystal, the silver, the harlequin cruet set were in place on the appliquéd table-cloth, and all this was scrutinised by an aloof audience of empty high-backed dining chairs placed around the walls, waiting.

We ate our soup in silence and Shirley cleared the bowls. I would do it while Shirley was out of the room. I wiped my mouth with my serviette and uttered the words I’d practised.

‘I’ve met a young man I would like to marry.’

‘Oh?’ said Father. ‘This is a very surprising turn of events. You keep pestering us about going to university. Now you want to marry …’

‘You are too young, Lillian, dear, you need to meet more young men to be sure that you find someone suitable.’ Mother straightened her back and toyed with her silverware.

‘I’ve met other young men at dances and … I’m sure …’

‘What school did he go to? How do we know that he’s the right young man for you?’

‘I don’t know, Mother …’

‘Oh? Where did you meet him?’

‘When I stayed with cousin Constance, I …’

‘Oh, well, Aunt Mildred would only allow a respectable young man …’

‘Yes Mother …’

‘We’re not expecting you to marry until after your twenty-first birthday, Lillian. You really are too young.’

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour. Shirley returned, wheeling in the roast for Father to carve. Father stood up and brandished the sharpening steel, holding his usual command over the meat. Maybe I could tell them tomorrow? I looked down at the table-cloth: what would Dorcas do? She would tell them now.

‘Mother, I love him … and …’

‘Love, dear. You may think it’s love, but you’re only seventeen. It’s probably just a passing fancy…’

‘I do love him, Mother and …’

‘Now, don’t be rash, Lillian dear …’

‘… he works in the stables at Aunt Mildred’s …’ The room began to spin. I couldn’t hear what Mother said next because my ears were humming, but she put her serviette down firmly on her side plate and stared at me. Say it now: ‘I think I’m expecting a baby!’

Father’s steel clattered onto the carving dish. A fly buzzed around the uncut meat. No one brushed it away. Mother made a spluttering sound then she was choking. Father bent towards me, lowering his voice, ‘Did I hear you correctly, Lillian? My daughter … with child?’

I could bear it no longer and ran to my room.

I flung myself onto my bed and wept into the pillow.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but after some time I could hear footsteps thumping down the passage, my door burst open, the ornaments on my mantelpiece rattled as Mother thundered in. She stood over me.

‘Lillian. Have you been with a young man?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘How could you? After all we have done for you …’

She shouted at me and I tried to block out what she said, but I took in ‘disgrace’ and ‘guttersnipe’. Then she stormed out. There was silence. Sometime later I heard her sobbing in the passage outside my room. I pulled the bedclothes right over my head.

A Sturdy Young Man

1913

It happened at Aunt Mildred’s. I had been invited there for the September school holidays. Three whole weeks away from the stifling existence imposed by my elderly parents – I couldn’t wait. Uncle Archie and Aunt Mildred lived on a farm at Woodend, about 40 miles from Melbourne. Uncle was away most of the time and Constance and her three younger sisters boarded at a college in Toorak – smaller than mine – which had a reputation for training young ladies in the finer arts of housewifery. Although Constance was a year older than me, she was still at school because she had ‘stayed down’ in second form. Her expensively tailored clothes concealed her rather plump figure and her mousey hair was always done in the latest fashion; last time I’d seen her she had a pompadour style, piled on top of her head with a few alluring stray curls, whereas my brown hair was in a thick plait.

Her only interest seemed to be men. Last time I stayed at the farm she flirted outrageously with the farm-hands behind Aunt Mildred’s back, and instructed me about men’s anatomy and the sexual act. At the time, I wasn’t really interested in boys. I was a bit of a tomboy myself. But this year, my final year at school, I was ready for Constance to teach me a thing or two about young men.

Constance and the eldest of her sisters, Flora, met me at the Woodend station in their brougham. Although the wind was cold, Constance was rigged out in a summery floral dress and large straw hat with matching ribbons. Flora was more sensibly attired in a coat.

‘Lily – my favourite cousin! I’m so glad you could come. I’ve loads to tell you!’ Constance gave a subtle wink, implying that there would be even more to tell me when Flora was out of earshot. As we trotted through the township and along the straight dusty road to the farm we chatted about school. Constance was longing to leave – only a couple more months, whereas I was anxious about the hurdle of final exams. Did I have a new dress for the end of school dance? What was it like? Constance described hers in meticulous detail.

The familiar farmhouse, single-storeyed and sprawling, had a tiled verandah around three sides and a climbing rose over the front entrance-way. Aunt Mildred was waiting there to greet us in her eau de Nile linen.

‘Lillian – my dear – you’re quite grown up now!’

Everyone had been saying this lately. It was exciting to be recognised as a woman, and yet a part of me would have liked to play cowboys and Indians in the orchard. Aunt Mildred led us into the front parlour, where the other girls were sitting around a tea table.

The room was dark and a little chilly. My aunt believed in the benefits of fresh air, which gusted through trembling silk curtains. Aunt asked after Mother and Father, how was I progressing at school, and then, silence. I’m sure they could all hear me swallow each mouthful of tepid tea.

We finished at last, and Aunt took us all for a walk through her rose garden. When we had spent sufficient time dutifully admiring the topiaries, Constance said, ‘I’d like to show Lily the new chickens.’ And she and I were free.

We walked through squelching mud to the chicken coop. Constance pulled up the hem of her dress to stop it trailing in the dirt.

‘Lily, there’s a couple of divine new farm-workers just started. The one I really fancy has a girlfriend in the town – he works mainly in the milking shed; he starts very early and finishes soon after lunch.’ She checked her diamanté wristwatch. ‘He’ll have gone back to his quarters by now.’

‘How about that lad you fancied last year? The one you said loved you …’

‘Oh – which one was he? Frank?’ Constance threw the young chicks a handful of feed and they made quite a racket.

We turned and headed for the solid red brick stables. There was a powerful but not unpleasant smell of manure. Five horses, munching on hay, studied us from the half doors of their stalls. A sturdy young man of about twenty with a shock of unwieldy carrot-coloured hair was grooming a chestnut mare. He treated her with respect – she seemed to be in foal. I had never seen anyone display such tenderness to an animal; stroking her back, whispering reassurances. He ran the brush through her hair and my body tingled.

‘What’s her name?’ I asked.

Constance made an impatient grimace.

He looked up at me. ‘Willow, Miss. She’ll be foaling very soon. Possibly tonight.’

‘I’d love to watch.’

Constance tugged at my sleeve. ‘You don’t want to see something like that, Lily. It’s disgusting!’

‘It’s perfectly natural.’ We were walking back to the house now. ‘Have you actually seen a foal being born?’

‘Well … no, but they say there’s lots of blood. We’ll go riding tomorrow. Then you can see the foal, if it’s been born.’

‘The stable-hand seems a nice young man …’

‘Don’t go for red hair, myself …’

I laughed, but I did keep thinking about how much he cared for that horse. And that night, when I heard whinnying from the stables, I wished I could be there watching as the mare gave birth.

---

Next morning it rained. Too wet to go riding. I would have liked to see the mother and her foal, but for the time being I sat in the morning room with my book. Constance didn’t read much and didn’t want to play Snakes and Ladders with her younger sisters. She kept pacing around the room, looking out of the window – something must have been on her mind. After lunch, cold meat and salad eaten in polite silence, the rain had eased a little and Constance and I walked out with umbrellas.

‘Do you mind if I leave you to entertain yourself a bit?’

I guessed what she wanted to do and I didn’t mind going to the stables alone. I might be able to see the new foal, and perhaps the stable-hand.

He was there, and seemed rather taken aback. ‘Excuse me, miss.’ He tried to tidy his hair. ‘I was up all night and haven’t been back to my room yet. She had a hard time of it. But she’s all right now.’ He stroked the mare’s mane.

‘I’ve never seen such a young foal.’ I seemed to be tongue-tied.

‘She’s a delicate little creature, but she’s feeding well. She’ll be all right.’

‘I’m so glad.’

‘You live in the city Miss …?’

We exchanged names – first names.

‘You work in the stables all the time, Bert?’

‘I do, Miss Lily. I groom the horses and I’m on hand to saddle them up if someone wants to go riding. I look after the carriages too.’

‘How lovely to work with animals… Have you been here long?’

‘Not long, Miss Lily. My family comes from a timber milling town in Gippsland and I did a bit of work there before setting off on my own. I like it here – the animals are my friends.’

‘Is it all right to pat her?’

‘Just slow and quiet.’

Together we stroked the foal.

Later that afternoon Constance and I sat in her room. It was spacious, compared to my box-like ‘blue room’ down the hall. On one wall was a wing-mirrored dressing table with necklaces and ribbons overflowing from its drawers. Beneath the window was a table and chair, where Constance was supposed to do her school work – I doubted that it was ever used these days. On the far wall was a two-seater settee with linen upholstery in a foxglove pattern. Constance’s mending was spread out over the cushions – a lawn petticoat and some stockings. She gathered it up into a bundle, which she tossed underneath, making room for us to sit side by side.

‘Lily – I know you think I’m too forward,’ Constance began.

‘Constance – I know almost nothing about these things ….’

‘That cow-hand’s really spiffy, and a great kisser.’

‘But didn’t you say he already has a girlfriend? …’

‘That’s his problem.’

‘Are you sure? Shouldn’t you discourage him if he already has a girl? … And anyway, what would your parents think?’

‘My parents? They’ll never know.’

‘There’s no way you’ll ever be able to marry him …’

‘No Lily. You’ve a lot to learn. You marry someone who has lots of money and can keep you in a beautiful house with plenty of servants. It’s not a matter of love.’

‘Oh?’

I got up and looked out of Constance’s window towards the darkening sky and remembered the things she had told me last year.

‘Do you … do you do more than kiss?’

I knew she would laugh. And she did.

‘What do you think, Lily?’

‘Well … I think you probably do. … Don’t you have to be careful, Constance … about babies?’

Constance said that I wouldn’t really understand until I had been with a man myself. But she said that Billy had reassured her that he was used to withdrawing before he had finished, and that way they could have pleasure without making a baby.

This was new to me – the idea of making love and not wanting a baby. Constance told me that she was practically engaged to a young lawyer, Austin Donaldson – such a good catch. I remembered Austin. I’d had to endure a circular waltz with him at a school dance; his onion breath, his swaggering – the prize he’d won for third year Jurisprudence that he insinuated into the conversation, no matter what the topic. I couldn’t imagine him making love.

‘Why don’t you have a regular young man, Lily? You’re invited to all the dances.’

‘The truth is, Constance, I find most of my dance partners rather dull. They all talk about making money – how much their fathers earn, or how much money they intend to make. There’s surely more to life than money!’

‘They’re just trying to impress you, Lily – you’re expecting too much. You just need to find someone from a good family who’ll set you up and then you can do as you please. You don’t have to love him, or even find him attractive – so long as he’s generous.’

‘But, Constance, I’d rather find someone to share my life with.’

‘To share?’

‘I don’t want to just repeat my parents’ life. I want to find someone with whom I can travel, explore, fly in an aeroplane…’

‘Those things only happen in books. You’re being unrealistic, Lily.’

‘I probably am.’

That night I lay in bed puzzling over what Constance had said. Should I be wanting to do the things Constance did with young men? Was I backward? Was I misguided in my belief of marrying for love? If I married someone wealthy, would I be able to do as I please, as Constance suggested? Probably not. I would end up like Mother, cloistered in a routine; going to tea parties out of duty, filling in time by playing bridge or cribbage in a narrow circle of gentility.

The next morning was sunny, and after breakfast we walked down to the stables to go riding. Would I see Bert? I could think of nothing else. We walked through the stable doors and my heart leapt, because he was there.

‘Good morning, Miss Lily.’

He’d selected a grey thoroughbred and as he handed me the reins I asked, ‘How is the little foal?’

‘Doing well, thank you Miss Lily. If you like, you could come and watch her feeding when you return from your ride.’

‘Oh, I’d like that …’

Constance and I rode along a bridle track next to the railway line and then cut off through the bush behind the township. I hadn’t been this way before. The track was quite narrow, with thick bush arching over it. Little robins and finches twittered and swooped between the trees as I stared at the shiny brown rump and swaying black tail of Constance’s mare ahead of me. Although I had craved the quiet harmony of the bush, thoughts of Bert back at the stables, looking after the little foal, kept intruding into the peaceful rhythm of my ride.

Bert was waiting for us and he helped us to dismount. Constance raced off, presumably to the cowshed, and I followed Bert into a large stall where the little foal was standing, still rather shakily, and feeding from its mother.

‘Does she have a name yet?’ We were standing quite close together on sweet earthy-scented hay.

‘I’m calling her Jemima, although Mr Archibald may want another name.’

‘I think Jemima suits her.’ I cautiously patted her little rump.

‘Take care, Miss Lily. The mother is very protective.’

We stood watching quietly.

‘I love young animals.’

‘Would you like to see some baby ducklings? I could show them to you tomorrow morning, if it’s all right with you.’

Of course it was. We arranged that I would come to the stables straight after breakfast. The gong for lunch sounded, and I glided back to the house.

‘You’re flushed, Lillian. You must have enjoyed your ride,’ observed Aunt Mildred.

Next morning, I finished breakfast quickly.

‘Lucky sod,’ Constance whispered to me under her breath. She knew that I was keen to go to the stables and she herself would have preferred to be heading for the cowshed instead of helping her mother weed hanging baskets.

Bert was waiting for me and I could hardly believe that I was with him as we headed off along a bush track on the border of the farm. To our right cattle were grazing, their breath making clouds of vapour in the early morning air. To our left was the bush; wattles just coming into flower, the sunlight a fragile gold. He helped me through a fence and there, on the edge of a dam, was a little family of ducklings – I counted six babies. He took off his jacket and spread it on a grassy mound. We sat on it, together, watching them. He told me about the different water weeds, the most sheltered nesting spots, how the mother would try to protect her young from foxes and wild cats.

‘Here comes the mother,’ he whispered as a rather ruffled white duck approached the hollow.

‘She looks a bit like a turkey with those red lumps on her face.’ The only ducks I’d seen at close quarters were the brown ducks on the pond in the Botanical Gardens.

‘That’s the breed. It’s her caruncle. She’s a Muscovy and they all have caruncles like that.’

She gave her babies little morsels of food, dropping them piece by piece into the tiny gaping mouths.

‘How old are they?’

‘Only a few days. I wanted to stay while they were hatching – all six eggs. But I had to get back to the stables. They’ve all survived – so far.’

‘Oh – I hope they don’t come to harm.’

‘Me too. But that’s nature.’

He helped me up and we walked back slowly as the sun became warmer and magpies warbled their morning calls. On the way, he showed me more things I’d never seen; a rabbit’s burrow, a nest of baby robins in the fork of a tree. His life was different from anything I knew; no exams, or pressure to make a good impression at parties, he was relaxed here in the country working with animals – he seemed to want nothing more, and I envied him. On our way back we took a different path and we had to jump over a puddle. He took my hand to help me and kept holding it for just a moment.

At the stable door, Bert turned to me and said, ‘Would you like to watch the ducklings have their first swim? I expect the mother will put them in the water tomorrow morning.’

‘I’d love to see that.’

The next morning I was at the stables as soon after breakfast as possible and, a little while later, Bert and I sat on the bank and watched the mother duck coax her little ones into the water.

After a while, Bert said, ‘I suppose you need to be getting back, Miss Lily?’

‘I wish I could stay here, Bert. I love it here … with you …I feel so free …’

‘What do you mean, Miss Lily? Surely you are more free than I am, you don’t have to keep hours of work …’

‘Here, with you, Bert, I feel as though I can say whatever I like – I can say what I really mean. With my family, and families like Constance’s, there are all kinds of unspoken rules. You must ask after someone’s health, even if you don’t care. I have to behave like a lady – sit quietly, eat cake with a fork – although it’s very difficult. Most of the time I can’t say what I really think – I must admire Aunt’s topiaries, even though I think it’s a stupid waste of time to prune bushes like that …’

He chuckled. ‘To tell you the truth, Miss Lily, I agree …’

We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Then he helped me up and we returned to the farm.

---

A few days later Bert asked, ‘Are you coming to the fair on Saturday, Miss Lily?’ It was still Miss. ‘I’d love to take you, but … it wouldn’t seem right …’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t. I know we’re going. Aunt Mildred is exhibiting her roses.’

‘I’m glad you’ll be there. I’m in the wood-chopping.’

It was a fine spring afternoon when I climbed into the brougham with Aunt Mildred, Constance and the girls. The younger girls had needlework to display, including Flora’s tapestry. Constance had provided nothing. Aunt Mildred scowled at her eldest daughter: ‘You are not setting a good example, Constance.’

The football oval thronged with people who strolled in and out of tents and clustered around trestle tables festooned with brightly-coloured bunting. Women hovered over their flower arrangements and cake decorations. Aunt Mildred’s Hiawatha roses were awarded first prize. A sign at the entrance advertised wood-chopping at four o’clock and I whispered to Constance that I should like to watch it. We all had afternoon tea in a striped marquee, and as we were finishing, Constance, with a wink at me, said, ‘Lily and I would like to watch the wood-chopping please Mother.’

‘I’m not sure it’s suitable for young ladies.’ Aunt Mildred was hesitant. ‘I suppose you may go if you keep well back.’

We hurried off before she could change her mind.

We found places on a bench in the front row. Four thick logs of red gum awaited the contestants, who walked onto the arena bare chested. And there was Bert, his chest pale with a light fuzz of gingery hair, while all of the other young men’s chests were suntanned and darkly hairy.

Constance nudged me. ‘That’s our stable-hand, isn’t it?’

‘He told me he was going