Who the Hell is Phyllis!

By D.M. Sadleir

Vivienne’s diary delves deep into the societal intricacies of the early 1900s, where the newly minted Royal Australian Navy drew its cultural moorings from the upper echelons of the Royal Navy. In 1916, a heart-wrenching tragedy shatters the façade when Vivienne, the Headmaster’s elder daughter, is believed to have taken her own life.

Left in the wake of this calamity is twelve-year-old Phyllis, who grapples with grief and abandonment. With her parents emotionally absent and physically distant, she finds solace in Tally, cadet-midshipman and Vivienne’s beau. But as war calls him to Scapa Flow in 1917, Phyllis is cast adrift.

In her quest for affection, Phyllis stumbles, her heart often leading her astray, until fate causes her to marry Tally, now a Lieutenant. Yet, what promises a safe harbour turns stormy with a loveless union and Tally’s deteriorating health. As Phyllis navigates a life marred by addiction and multiple marriages, her constant remains Ginnie, her ever-faithful Persian cat, who not only provides solace but also offers a unique narrative lens, weaving a tale of love, loss, and resilience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035832743

D.M. Sadleir

D.M. Sadleir, OAM, is closely connected with the Royal Australian Navy and is a past Chair of ANTaR, Armidale, a local community group involved with the Anãwan Aboriginal People. The research for this book was extensive, talking over five years of searching, not only for the answer to Who the Hell is Phyllis?, but finding the correct Aboriginal place names on which the protagonists walked, including the Aboriginal servants who worked for the Wheatleys. The author’s first book, Jewels of New England, Vol 1 was published in 2017; Vol 2 will come out next year. In the meantime, NED will be launched in mid-2024, and Emma Eugenia – Bride Ship will be launched in 2025.

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Copyright Information ©

D.M. Sadleir 2024

The right of D.M. Sadleir to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035832736 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035832743 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Dedication

To Vice Admiral Peter Jones, as without his book, Australia’s Argonauts, published 2015, and his advice, much information would have remained buried. Without finding Mornay Bibby, this book couldn’t have been written. Truth is often stranger than fiction.

Acknowledgement

Acknowledgement to Country:

Follow the bold type if you are not an Anãwan-speaker.

I Yaga acknowledge junga the gamba traditional jalumgalnyyarr custodians gungangulam of ngu this ingya beautiful nyirrnaa land wajaarr where rinya I yaga live guunuwa: The Gamba Armidale/Anãiwan/Nambucca Gumbaynggirr/ Kempsey Dhanggati New Gilingal England Yingliny Country ghooten; I Yaga also yurrga acknowledge junga the gamba people waarru-biin of ngu Western Sydney/Dharug/Sydney/Gadigal/Blue knobby Mountains uynpa land wajaars of ngu Western Dharug lands wajaarr in gamba Eora Nation as bugany it ngilina is yaamadi in jalaa their yarrang country ghooten where rinja this ingya book bibaa started yiindi. I Yaga recognise ngarraanga the gamba Aboriginals’ danga continuing marlanya customs bili-bila-bawa with nta place ma’am, waters ngaarlu and wa community giirwaa-ngarra. I yaga pay minyaaba my nganyinda respects gala to ku their yarrang culture guunu, land, wajaarr, country ghooten, and wa elders, guuyu past, mpina, present, na, and wa emerging waruugumi. Soon, Lanaburra, everyone yidaagarlugun will gu understand jaalijaganyji that intjanta their yaamangaga lands wajaarr were maana taken ani from ngi them malaa.

Prologue

The daughter of one of the first entrants into the Royal Australian Navy arrived in London in 1961. Her father asked her to write to a shipmate of his. The mate duly replied, starting the letter with, "You must be Phyllis’ daughter. Furious, she wrote to her parents, Who the Hell is Phyllis!" Their response was utterly unbelievable. It took over half a century before the full tragedy was revealed.

This fact-based mystery follows the highs and lows that Phyllis and ‘Tally’—the nickname of one of the First Entry cadet-midshipmen—endured after the suspicious death of Vivienne, Phyllis’ beloved older sister. This book’s naval and medical actions were the norm in the early 1900s. Naval jargon—even for those unaware of the origins—has joined the present-day vocabulary, giving this tale a nautical theme.

When Ginnie, a psychic Persian cat of royal lineage, realised that Greek Gods revered their women more than her Persian ones, she promptly emigrated and adopted Connie (Captain Morgan’s German wife), whom she called M’Lady. Now an expat-cat and part-time narrator, Ginnie’s greatest desire was to comfort Phyllis, who’d undergone such a traumatic event when she was only twelve and a half. Her smart-alec ex-pat cat got her oar in; at other times, she even managed a soliloquy.

The Characters:

The main Naval officers by rank were: Captain Charles Morgan, First Head of the R.A.N. College in Jervis Bay, and his wife, Connie. Commander Grant, supervising officer of the newly built college; Lieutenant Commander Todd, Chief Engineer Instructor; Dr Frederick Wheatley, Senior Instructor but later, Headmaster of the College and his wife, Alice; their children, Vivienne, Ross, and Phyllis, and Tally: a third-year cadet-midshipman.

Part I

Royal Australian Naval Training College

{Jervis Bay/Booderee lands. 1916}

{Captain Charles Morgan R.N.

Thursday, 9 March}

It was only 1500 hours when I heard a strange noise. Squinting, I cocked my head, trying to identify the sound. To my horror, a shuffle, followed by a hesitant tapping on my door, revealed my Senior Instructor hanging onto the doorknob, trying to steady himself. Quite out of breath, his puffy eyes were barely open as he gasped, "My daughter’s dead!"

Puzzled by smelling Scotch on his breath, I helped him to a chair. I’d never seen the man in such a mess. A very fussy dresser at the best of times, Lieutenant Commander Dr Frederick Wheatley was in uniform but without his university gown and cap.

Unheard of.

Believing he should be in the classroom at this hour, I wondered if the man’s disarray was in lockstep with his mind. The mass of dark unruly hair and his red, blood-shot eyes were in stark contrast to his ashen face. Did he say dead? Extremely shocked, I managed to utter, "Good God, man! Phyllis?"

Shaking his head, he stammered, "No…Vivienne."

Appalled, I paused. How? Why?

Blowing his nose on a soggy handkerchief, Frederick mumbled some incoherent sentences. Only a few words lodged in my baffled mind: ‘Picnic. Pistol. Todd. Bartlett. Alice.’ Finally, after putting a consoling hand on his shoulder, I opened the door, saying, "Leave it all to me and take the rest of the week off."

After his departure, I flopped into my chair, as unfathomable images swirled around my mind. I cursed myself for not asking about the rest of the family, particularly their youngest daughter. Does she know? And their son Ross? When did this happen? I’d been in many tight situations before, but nothing compared to this.

Overwhelmed by Frederick’s announcement, I wondered how my waking thoughts had been at such odds with my current situation.

{0630 hours}

Beyond the newly mown quarterdeck, of the Royal Australian Navy College, Point Perpendicular lived up to its name. The little rock-pools surrounding the base of the stunning rock formation appeared to be protecting their guardian from further degradation. The deep waters were perfect for naval ships; the jetty and breakwaters completed the picture. I lay quietly, listening to the soporific sounds of the calm waters which now lapped the sand.

With a lightness in my step, I finally arrived in the dining room where Constance was setting the table. "Oh, Guten Morgen Liebe, I do hope that dreadful weather has passed. Franklin, thankfully, can depart; the College must be close to running out of fresh victuals. And poor little Ginnie. Imagine having to go outside in such bad weather."

I snorted. Ginnie was the least of my worries.

"Yes, Franklin’s enough of a rough ride as it is. It’s untenable in a storm."

I went over my itinerary for the day: No bigwigs were due to visit the new College, nor any recalcitrant cadet-midshipmen needed flogging. After a hearty breakfast, I’d leisurely set off on the short walk to my office, thoroughly enjoying the lack of wind, the smell of the eucalyptus trees and the clear blue skies which were starting to brighten up the day.

But nothing compared with what I now faced. Lifting the phone, I asked Switch to connect me to the college doctor. Edward! Wheatley’s just been to see me. I paused. It’s…it’s unbelievable!

Yes, Bartlett responded. "Lieutenant Commander Todd rang me around 1300 hours, and I hurried over to Woodleigh. After ascertaining that Vivienne was dead, I rang the police. It will take them over two hours to get here. Once I hear the horses’ hooves, I’ll dash back to Woodleigh. I’m sorry I’ve not rung you before; the death certificate took priority, although her demise seems self-inflicted. The police will arrive when the boys are still in class, so it’s unlikely they’ll see the horses, and they’ll be having dinner when the van leaves; hopefully, they won’t hear the horses departing."

I was pleased with the timing. After disconnecting, I immediately asked Switch to put me through to Navy Office. Eventually, I found the right person and briefly explained the situation.

"I beg your pardon?" I sat back in shock!

I asked the Commander to repeat it, sure I’d not heard his response correctly.

{Ginnie: Woodleigh}

Cat outline

As I scampered up the eucalyptus tree outside Woodleigh, I watched Frederick stagger to Captain Morgan’s office. Alice, alone in her sitting room, was a tall, imposing woman, regal of bearing but sharp of tongue.

After marrying the good-looking, studious, and resolute Frederick, Alice became hell-bent on making a significant impression on all in sundry. Now a shadow of her former self, she found herself in deep, unchartered waters, sobbing uncontrollably. My greatest concern is for little Phyllis, only twelve and a half. I know it will be up to me to comfort her.

Having psychic powers mean I lead a hectic life.

{Alice: Woodleigh}

If I hadn’t suggested a picnic today, would anything like this have happened? As Vivienne had a headache, should I have stayed home to look after her? Realising hindsight was useless, I hesitantly opened Phyllis’s bedroom door. With her curtains drawn, it took a while before my eyes adjusted to the dim light. Lying ramrod stiff under Oma’s multi-coloured quilt and hugging the knitted cat Granmaria made her, her tears pooled into her ears before spilling down her neck. Her puffy eyes were blank. Her dark curly hair had become even more knotted from tossing and turning on the now-sodden pillow. How are you feeling, dear?

Cat outline

What a pointless question!

Phyllis, croaky from so much crying, pulled her thumb out of her mouth and gave an agonised groan. Ma, I cannot even close my eyes. Every time I do, the vision of Vivi, the blood coursing down her neck, lying in Pa’s arms comes flooding back!

We are all going through this nightmare, dear and, I whispered, it’ll be difficult to overcome but overcome it, we must. Phyllis rolled over and buried her nose in her pillow. At a loss for what to do next, I gave the quilt a mindless tug and left.

Without realising it, I found myself in my bedroom, wondering how to take my own advice. Glancing perchance in the mirror, I suppressed a shriek at the confronting, unrecognisable visage, and my hands immediately went to my dark, tight curly hair. Before going on the picnic this morning, I’d tied it in a loose bun. Now messy, my hairpins were nowhere to be seen. After a quick brush, I rearranged it and returned to the sitting room, expecting to see Frederick. I was shocked to find the room empty. In my time of greatest need, he was not here! How can he not realise I need his full support! This suicide will surely sully our reputation.

Wearing the dark green dress I’d chosen for the picnic, I wandered into the sitting room and, through force of habit, traced my finger around the inlaid pattern on the top of the walnut Canterbury. The top shelf held photographs of our parents and our children. Three crystal decanters adorned the lower shelf. Beneath, the four slim shelves inside the Canterbury held my father-in-law’s old sheet music, along with letters Frederick had written to Oma from Oxford, believing the children might appreciate them when they were older. The lockable door kept them dust-free.

In 1914, a professional photographer had taken the eye-catching likeness of Frederick and Ross in their new naval uniforms when they both started at Osborne House in Geelong, the RAN’s temporary base in Victoria, along with an array of school photos of Phyllis and Vivienne. All had been taken when they’d started at Rockhampton Girls Grammar, Queensland, Wychwood Girls School in Oxford, The Hermitage in Geelong, Victoria, and Vivienne at Ascham, in Sydney, showing the stages the young girls went through.

Vivienne, four years older than Phyllis, tall, with long, dark, straight hair framing her face, had inherited the best genes—Frederick’s sapphire-blue eyes and intelligence and my height gene. The result was a stunning-looking girl with naughty twinkling eyes. On the other hand, Phyllis, twelve last October, looked quite different. Inheriting my hazel eyes and my dark curly hair, the innocent-looking child was, in fact, quite a handful.

No matter where I looked, Vivienne was writ large. Gazing wistfully at that latest photo, I was positive her death had been an accident. As the tableau resurfaced, I tried to banish the scene and placed the frame back on the table.

Face down.

Beware the tides of March. I found myself thinking.

Cat outline

The slip of her tongue indicated Alice’s confusion. Instinctively, I knew that March would be a month prone to tragedy for the Wheatleys, and I can do little about it. I groaned. Oh dear, it’s unimaginable how Phyllis can cope without her big sister. The cadet-midshipman who’d escorted Phyll to her room, came to the forefront of my mind. He was Vivienne’s boyfriend, and he’ll be distraught, though I doubt he’ll share his grief with anyone. Phyllis will need lots of attention and will not get it from her parents. I’ll come back later tonight and give her a snuggle. Thankfully, sleep has, for now, overtaken her.

{1915:

Music note outline

Bound for Jervis Bay

Music note outline

/Booderee lands.}

{Alice}

Remembering the hellish train trips from Adelaide to Sydney and then to Bomaderri before boarding the College charabanc to Jervis Bay made me shudder. I was pretty grumpy until Commander Grant showed us our new home, an imposing single-storey house with attic windows, with a smell that indicated the builders had recently finished. The wrap-around veranda with intricate posts and rails caused me to think of my childhood home, and I promptly baptised it Woodleigh after my father’s house in Clare, South Australia.

I was so grateful that Commander Grant invited us to dinner that evening. As Acting Head in Geelong, Grant often travelled to Jervis Bay to supervise the mammoth job of building this brand-new College. Thanks to his inspiration, public donations poured in.

It wasn’t long before we needed to find a school for Vivienne. Not sixteen until March 1915, she was too old to go to the small school on the College grounds, and a search of Sydney’s boarding schools revealed only five I considered appropriate. My limited reserves allowed a visit to one school a week as the College bus took two hours to get to Nowra-Nowra. After a short train trip to Bomaderri, the Sydney train took another two and a half hours before reaching Central Railway Station, the main terminus in Town. The last part of the journey—borne by a horse-drawn taxi to the chosen school—usually lasted well over an hour. It was another month before we arrived to look over Ascham.

Vivienne fell in love with it and couldn’t wait for the day, in May, when she would start at the beginning of Term II, just one month before the arrival of the new Head of the College, Captain Charles Morgan and his wife Constance.

{Ginnie: Sydney/Gadigal lands/Eora Nation 1915}

Cat outline

Unaware of being watched, the newly appointed Chief Robert McLennan entered Room 14 of a cheap Sydney hotel carrying a large paper parcel. In his mid-twenties, he was lean and of medium height; his thin lips and long narrow nose created a pinched look despite the flared nostrils. His dark eyebrows traversed the entire width of his forehead—a unibrow—creating a very dark visage, and his sallow complexion contrasted sharply with his black hair. With unabashed pride, he attached his new higher-ranked epaulettes to the shoulders of his white shirt before putting his disproportionately long arms into the sleeves. Knotting his tie and slipping into his trousers, the entire outfit came with the compliments of the Navy.

‘Mmm, not bad, not bad at all!’ He looked this way and that, his arrogant manner undimmed by the grubby mirror. Pleased with the effect, McLennan put on his new jacket. Instead of a circle, a triangle of braid, including purple in between the stripes, indicated an Engineer or non-Executive officer; he tilted his cap at a jaunty angle and gave himself a mock salute. ‘Oh, very smart!’ Finally managing to tear himself away, he focussed on his priorities: a bookshop, a meal and finally, bed.

The only choice for a man in his position, he believed, was Sydney’s Angus & Robertson’s bookshop and, walking briskly, he was pleased with the sight of himself in shop windows. Once there, a sweet young thing soon arrived by his side; his roving eyes briefly took in the girl’s details.

Quietly asking him what sort of book might interest him, he replied with a snooty tone. "I’m now Chief Engineer in the Royal Australian Navy in charge of Adele. I may need something to while away the hours when not at sea."

As she turned to find a suitable book, her eau de cologne wafted behind her. ‘Cheap perfume,’ he sniffed with disdain, unaware that his elders and betters would have looked down on him had they heard him say ‘perfume’; they would have said fragrance or scent.

Returning with a newly released book by Winston Churchill, entitled A Far Country, he queried, Churchill?

Yes, but this is an American author. Her quiet, unassuming response quite took the wind out of his sails. Casually fanning through the pages, he thanked the girl and marched off to the cashier. After an unappetising meal, McLennan, more than content with his day, turned in.

{Ginnie: ‘The Christening’: Jervis Bay/Booderee lands 1915}

Cat outline

It was a pleasant spring day in September, as I watched the 145-foot steam tender sail into the Bay. All the officers, instructors, and wives crowded onto the pier as it berthed. Alice had given strict instructions to Frederick that it was she who must christen it. "As we’re from Adelaide, without Oma’s query, Adele wouldn’t be here!"

Standing rigidly on the pier, a sailor held a stiff salute during the time it took Alice to hold the bottle, swing it and loudly proclaim, "May the seas lie smooth before you and a gentle breeze forever fill your sails. It gives me great pleasure to name her HMAS Franklin. May God bless her and all who sail in her."

Alice mistakenly thought the applause was for her.

To the uninitiated, Navy appeared to have named the yacht after Captain Franklin, Matthew Flinders’ nephew, but I knew they’d named it after his wife, Jane, Lady Franklin. Interestingly, the all-male institution always name their ships ‘she’, or is this a double entrendre? The Chief Engineer grumbled as he slipped below decks to collect his duffle bag, Mrs Wheatley must be dreaming. She needs to sail in her, and then she’ll understand,

His orders upon arrival were to meet Commander Grant, who would outline his new duties in Franklin. At last, finding the correct office, McLennan knocked. Hearing Enter, he saluted. "Chief Engineer Robert McLennan of HMAS Franklin. Sir!"

Cat outline

What a superfluous statement! The statement was not lost on Grant either. He’d already noted McLennan’s purple stripes.

Even less than impressed with the weak limp-lettuce handshake he’d received, Grant asked the man to Stand Easy and proceeded to outline the expected duties. Initially, the senior cadet-midshipmen in your charge are the original Pioneer Class, now in their third year. You’ll have around eight of them at a time, he said, handing the detailed instructions to McLennan.

The Chief Engineer glanced over them, relieved his obligations would not be too onerous. Right, Sir, and my quarters are? Grant, hard of hearing, cupped his ear as he tilted his head. McLennan’s broad Australian vowels made it difficult for the Englishman to interpret. McLennan repeated his question.

Uh? Oh yes. You’ll be billeted with Captain and Mrs Morgan, pro temp. It’s easy to find. It’s the only two-storey house on the College grounds.

‘Temporary!’ With a weak smile, McLennan nodded. I trailed behind as he reached the Captain’s House, his knock brought M’Lady to the door. Although expecting him, Connie was taken aback by his dark countenance. Showing him up to his room, she explained that they didn’t keep the same dining hours as the snotties. Uttering, Make yourself at home. The bathroom’s down there, Connie pointed and left him to unpack. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she had a strange feeling in her gut; her nose didn’t lie, either.

Seamanship training started the following day. Subsequently, Franklin’s trips gave all those onboard her an unexpected nightmarish ride. Her hammocks had just three inches between each other. In Britain, officers had seven inches, and their sailors had four. Most cadets were violently ill, and the cramped quarters only added to their complaints. That defect was one of many, but it made sleep nigh impossible. Have you been over the side? the boys asked each other. Most lay near a bucket of seawater, wondering whether they should kick it or merely use it as a receptacle. Amidst sundry gushes, presents would be laid at the feet of Neptune—although some failed to even get to the side. Unsurprisingly, no one enjoyed their first trip in Franklin.

Cat outline

As I always sleep with M’Lady, occasionally Charles would make sleeping uncomfortable for me too, but, as the saying goes, "Such is life.

It was on his last trip before Christmas 1915 that the trouble began. McLennan was passing Woodleigh, where young children were playing chasey. What caught his eye was the older girl. The sailors had made a swing for Phyllis, but today, on this glorious windless sunny day, Vivienne, who had recently finished her schooling, was deliberating about her future, her thoughts swinging back and forth in rhythm. Her long dark hair floated behind her in the crisp sea air. Tilting her head back, she threw up her legs to gain momentum, blissfully unaware she was being watched, unwitting mesmerising her voyeur, as her frilly petticoats billowed under her summery pink dress.

‘Oh, My God! What a vision of loveliness.’ McLennan thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and sought cover to gaze for longer. ‘Such a face! So divine!’

Cat with solid fill

Oh dear. I fear trouble is brewing, and I can’t do a thing about it. Now desperate to know her name, his infatuation immediately became an obsession. McLennan, ten years older than Vivienne, was now totally besotted; his mind focussed entirely on how to meet her.

‘I must get to know this beautiful girl! How can I make that happen?’ He ticked off the ways they could ‘accidentally’ meet.

I grimaced as he weighed up his chances.

’College dances? Well, I’m an excellent dancer. The weekly Lantern Show? Surely, I could sit on the side and look at her from afar without arousing suspicion? Bridge? If I play my cards right, I might be in with a chance.

Cat with solid fill

McLennan’s life had, to date, been easy. He took Franklin to Sydney every two weeks with the chosen cadets, often leaving Jervis Bay in the afternoon and back in the College before lunch the following day. Now, like a man on a mission, McLennan plotted and planned. Upon hearing the boys’ dinner gong and not wanting to be caught, I watched as McLennan quickly took off for Morgan’s house. He was sure he could make contact in the New Year.

{Alice: 9th March 1916, 3.15 p.m.}

As I glimpsed an old photograph of my father, my mind immediately transported me back to when we’d disembarked in Adelaide from our Oxford sojourn. My brother Alfred’s first words were: ‘Our father’s dead.’ Eighty-eight years old Charles Kimber had been a scion of our community in Kapunda. It was months before we were given the details. In unbelievable pain from prostate cancer, he’d tied his pyjama cord around the end of his bed, then around his neck and managed to somersault off. Suicide was not considered a courageous act; a stiff upper lip prevailed then, as it must now. Our social position demanded it.

Now, with disbelief at the event, I was unable to appreciate the stunning, brilliant deep-pink eucalyptus blossoms peeking out from under their caps. Even their smell failed to move me. Frederick finally appeared, looking very wan. As he put his hands on my shoulders, I turned to face him, my eyebrows questioning where he’d been. Captain Morgan’s taking care of everything and will keep everything hushed up as much as possible.

"Oh, Frederick! It must have been an accident! Vivienne knew that suicide was a sin. Oh my God, how could anything so dreadful happen to us!"

Frederick sighed. I, too, am sure it was an accident. His normal overbearing tendencies had lessened, and we were equally convinced the verdict would be Death by Misadventure. Now that two suicides had occurred in houses called Woodleigh, was that name jinxed, I wondered?

The sound of the brass knocker brought our minds back to the present. Frederick rose to open the door. Given a naval title and the uniform of a Lieutenant Commander, Dr Bartlett’s square body contrasted with the two thin, tall policemen, one of whom held a folded stretcher. Behind them was the van, its back doors already open, the horses standing quietly, munching chaff from their nosebags.

In a sombre tone, Bartlett said, "After the necessary procedures, they’ll collect your daughter and take her to the College’s Hospital, awaiting to go to Nowra-Nowra tomorrow."

Collect. Your. Daughter. We looked at each other. Just three little words viscerally stabbing us to our very core. Frederick, standing behind me, took hold of my elbows as I started to sway. Woodenly lining up behind the policeman, now deftly moving photos aside, we tentatively proffered our fingers. Feeling like criminals, we rushed off to wash our hands as Dr Bartlett retrieved the key from his pocket and led the police into the dining room. Returning, he offered us a sedative. We declined. The police asked if they could inspect Vivienne’s room. We nodded. They returned a little later, holding her laundry bag.

After inspecting the contents at the station, we’ll return them in the fullness of time, the policeman announced

We were speechless. The police closed the door behind them, sparing us the sight of a body bag disappearing into the fading light as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The moon had yet to appear.

Cat outline

Working on the draft he had to give the boys at dinner time, Captain Morgan’s frustration was apparent. He sighed, knowing he’d not have the coroner’s typed report before Tuesday. Charles’ short, stubby fingers cradled his jaw as he rested his elbows on the green leather-topped desk. Gazing out the large north-west facing window, he failed to see the kangaroos munching on the grassed quarterdeck, where young joeys half-flopped out of their mothers’ pouches. Older joeys would shadow box with their mother until they’d worn her out before starting to box with the nearest bush. They’d bound away gracefully once the cricket or rugby season started before returning during the night. They took little notice of me as I was no threat to them.

Charles had yet to become accustomed to the vile colour of the walls, surely called Australian Green, a pale, nauseous colour seen in every hospital and government building throughout Australia and likely brought out as ballast once the convicts ceased to arrive. ‘Her death must have been an accident. Tell or advise? Pistol or gun?’ His eyes scanned the magnificent bookshelves lining the two walls, including spaces for pennants and trophies. ’There’ll not be a manual on how to cope with this situation,’ he groaned. ‘Dead or Died?’

Everything seemed deathly quiet. Charles, slumping back in his chair and bringing the fingers of his left hand towards the bridge of his nose—in the way that only men seem to manage—asked himself why such a tragedy had happened on his watch, one which needed to be kept very quiet. ‘Will I tell them before dinner or after dinner?’ Unable to deal with this quandary, Charles knew Constance always gave sensible advice.

Cat outline

Folding the draft, I watched him slip it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He donned his cap and walked down the corridor, agonising over such an unexpected death. Although a competent officer, he was not popular. M’Lady was a calm, intelligent and sensitive woman who’d had much practice handling her moody husband. I knew she was the power behind the throne.

Even though Dr Bartlett believed it was suicide, Captain Morgan thought there was more to it than met the eye and was intrigued with Frederick and Alice’s personal lives. He knew that M’Lady and Alice, now hand-in-glove as ‘social secretaries’ of the College, confided in each other. Could M’Lady throw light on why this beautiful young girl had committed suicide?

The short answer to that was ‘yes.’

Wending his way along the narrow path to his home, the gruesome vision of a young, barely-cold corpse in a black body bag on an ice-cold trolley was all he could see. Morgan tripped on a broken branch on the path. It made me jump, but it highlighted his distracted mind.

‘Did she do it, or did someone else cause this inexplicable action?’ More and more hypotheticals arose. He hung up his cap, automatically smoothing down his hair and found M’Lady in her kitchen. I was not far behind.

{Phyllis. 5.15 pm.}

The slow-moving footsteps stopped outside my door. Upon hearing a knock, I murmured Come in. Poking her head tentatively around the door, Ma pulled on the light cord. Unaccustomed to the brightness of the overhead light, I scrunched my eyes. She asked if I wanted something to eat. Thinking nothing could be worse, I shook my head.

I’ll draw a hot bath for you. Once you’re in bed, I’ll bring you some hot milk. That should help you sleep. Call out when you’re ready, her words wafting over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom.

I heard the water running, followed by her retreating footsteps. I disentangled myself from my bedclothes and dragged myself out of my room. Turning off the taps, I reached for the bath salts. Empty! How puzzling? I was sure the bottle was virtually full yesterday. Wondering if my tears would ever stop, I slipped into the bath.

Vivi wasn’t only my big sister; she was my best friend, my very best friend, the only person I could trust, mainly because we never fought. She always took my side when Ma, in a foul mood, beat us for minor misdemeanours. Vivi was more adept at calming her down. Unfortunately, I had an uncanny knack for raising Ma’s