Sweet Adversity Read online

  Dedication

  For Ava, with love forever and a day.

  This above all: to thine own self be true.

  – William Shakespeare, As You Like It

  Epigraph

  Sweet are the uses of adversity,

  Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

  Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

  And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

  Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

  Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

  – William Shakespeare, As You Like It

  Contents

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Act I Chapter 1: Sweet are the uses of adversity

  Chapter 2: Something is rotten in the state of Denmark

  Chapter 3: This above all; to thine own self be true

  Chapter 4: How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!

  Chapter 5: Out, out, brief candle!

  Chapter 6: Double, double, toil and trouble

  Chapter 7: Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

  Chapter 8: The play’s the thing

  Chapter 9: Now is the winter of our discontent

  Chapter 10: Exit, pursued by a bear

  Act II Chapter 11: Bitter bread of banishment

  Chapter 12: O brave new world that has such people in’t!

  Chapter 13: It is the green-eyed monster

  Chapter 14: When sorrows come

  Chapter 15: Boldness be my friend

  Chapter 16: Beware the Ides of March

  Chapter 17: Such stuff as dreams are made on

  Chapter 18: Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

  Chapter 19: Nothing will come of nothing

  Chapter 20: To be or not to be

  Chapter 21: True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings

  Act III Chapter 22: My kingdom for a horse

  Chapter 23: Something wicked this way comes

  Chapter 24: Lord, what fools these mortals be!

  Chapter 25: If music be the food of love, play on

  Chapter 26: Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d

  Chapter 27: A hit, a very palpable hit

  Chapter 28: Be not afraid of greatness

  Chapter 29: These most brisk and giddy-paced times

  Chapter 30: And some have greatness thrust upon them

  Chapter 31: Hell is empty and all the devils are here

  Chapter 32: Sound drums and trumpets!

  Chapter 33: All the world’s a stage

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Prologue

  1 March 1929

  A spotlight wanders across the Cessnock School of Arts stage, sliding past the solitary figure of the next eisteddfod finalist. In jerky movements, it finds the girl again. She startles, like a small animal caught in its beam, her fingers twisting the end of her thick coppery plait. The girl lifts her chin with quiet bravado. Then she begins to sing and her voice soars to the rafters, perfect in pitch and melody.

  Nobody notices the dark-suited man in the shadows at the back of the School of Arts hall. He’s heard this version of ‘She Moved Through the Fair’ before, but never with such purity of sound. The girl has the voice of an angel. It’s not only her voice that pleases; she shows promise of great beauty as well. An image flickers through his mind . . . yes, a songbird in a golden cage.

  All in all, she’s a good business decision, especially in these hard times. Talented children show their value in the end. If they survive.

  The stranger pauses at the door. Backlit by the street lamp outside, his burly figure casts a long shadow up the aisle like a stain on the threadbare carpet. He stares at the stage for several moments, then turns and disappears out into the darkness.

  The girl sings the melody’s poignant final lyrics, her voice powerful and perfect. She grins with relief and bows, and the audience cheers, their thunderous applause leaving no doubt who will claim the Coal County Eisteddfod’s first prize.

  ACT I

  Chapter 1

  Sweet are the uses of adversity

  5 April 1930

  It was a good day to break a bad rule. Addie McAllister straightened her gilt tiara and shivered at at her bold, dangerous idea. Performing Shakespeare down in the orphanage’s paddock instead of hanging out the washing definitely qualified.

  She tossed back her coppery-red hair, hitched up her gown and climbed the gate. Below, the audience waited. Addie glanced at the track leading back to the orphanage, and wriggled with glee. Matron Maddock couldn’t see her here.

  A cockatiel perched on a nearby branch, his yellow and grey feathers fluffy after a vigorous grooming session.

  ‘Fiddlesticks to her Rules for Obedient Children, eh, Macbeth?’ Addie said to the bird. He watched her, his head on one side. Then he lost interest, twisting to chew a tail feather itch.

  If Macbeth didn’t care about rules, then neither would she. Far better to be acting and singing than doing chores anyway. Pity this audience showed as much interest in her skills as Matron did.

  Addie spread her arms wide. ‘Never before has a girl performed the famous balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet while playing both roles. Macbeth, look!’

  The cockatiel bowed and nodded on his branch, chattering a response.

  Addie bobbed a curtsy, keeping her balance on the wobbly gate. ‘Thank you, my fine bird! Glad you recognise my brilliance.’

  She gazed across to the distant Blue Gum Ridges, smelled their tang of eucalyptus in the breeze. Then she closed her eyes and stilled her thoughts, until her father’s voice whispered from a secret, happy place in her memory . . . guiding her in the craft of acting, of projecting her voice.

  Relax your neck muscles, Adversity. Now breathe through your nose. Feel the air fill your diaphragm first, then your lungs.

  Addie breathed the cool air.

  That’s right, my girl. Hold it. Release through your mouth. Slowly.

  Now start again.

  Addie opened her arms wide, like in the play when Juliet stood on her balcony in Verona. Her voice rang through the air – clear, powerful and filled with longing.

  ‘O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?’

  Below, the nearest member of her audience, a Jersey cow, chewed her cud and stared into space. None of the other cows raised their heads from the hay trough.

  Addie frowned and refilled her lungs. She should be able to make them listen. Papa always said, When facing failure, an actor must keep going, no matter what.

  She leaned forward, took a deep breath and sent her voice above the cows and beyond to the far fence.

  ‘O ROMEO, ROMEO! WHERE – ahhhhh!’

  Addie’s feet slipped out of her too-big shoes. Over the gate she toppled, landing on her hands and knees in a fresh cow pat. The Jersey cow jumped back in fright. Her agitation spread and, with a chorus of bellows and udders swinging, all seven cows bolted across the paddock.

  ‘Blast it!’ Addie scrambled to her feet. The cow poo’s acrid smell made her eyes water, but thankfully the landing had been soft. ‘Silly cows! I bet William Shakespeare didn’t have a stampeding audience.’

  She brushed the dung off the front of her gown, managing to spread it further in yellowy-green streaks. At least it hadn’t got on her shoes.

  Up on the gate now, Macbeth chattered to himself. Addie caught some of his words: ‘Sweet are the uses of adversity’. It was what her father always said when she’d been punished for climbing trees at the Sydney Academy for Young Ladies. Always climb the highest ones, Adversity, he’d added, no matter what the punishment may be. Remember, those without adventure in
their souls are as dull as stale toast. How long ago that seemed now.

  Addie wiped her hands on the fence post and climbed over the gate. She sat and tightened her string shoelaces. Macbeth flew down beside her to peck grass seeds and she reached forward to scratch beneath his beak. How lucky she was to have him when no other orphan was allowed a pet at the Emu Swamp Children’s Home. Imagine losing Macbeth and her parents in one go. A sting of sorrow swelled in Addie’s throat.

  Clang. Clang. Clang. Over the rise came the breakfast gong . . . strident, insistent.

  ‘Hell’s bells!’ Addie jumped to her feet, startling Macbeth into the trees. The wet towels. She was meant to hang them on the drying line before breakfast. If Matron knew she’d been wasting time performing for cows, she’d cop an earful.

  Up the hill Addie galloped, jumping over rabbit holes and dodging cow pats. Spiky thistle flowers caught in her hem, but she didn’t stop to pull them out. To miss breakfast by accident was foolish. To go hungry because of carelessness was . . . well, it served her right.

  She stopped to catch her breath. On the flats below, the orphanage spread like the spokes of a half-cartwheel. A large bluestone building containing Matron Maddock’s office sat at the end of a gravel carriageway curving away beneath the pepper trees to the front gate. Behind Matron’s office huddled the wooden buildings that housed the dining room, kitchen, two dormitories, a schoolroom and further away, out of smelling range, the two dunnies with their peaked roofs and metal chimneys. Beyond lay the vegetable garden and orchard.

  Addie scanned the empty area around the laundry. Everyone was inside the dining room, eating breakfast. And today their porridge was free of weevils because she’d helped the cook by catching and killing the little beggars between her fingernails.

  Matron Maddock’s black Buick crouched like a shiny rhinoceros beetle in its shed at the back of the main building. An image from eighteen months ago slipped into Addie’s memory . . . her father bending his tall frame to look at the car’s gleaming lacquered dashboard, envy in his voice.

  It was the same day her parents had left her at the Emu Swamp Children’s Home when they drove away to find work as travelling actors.

  A year later, their truck had been caught in a flooded creek.

  Five months and three weeks had passed since Matron’s shaking voice had told Addie the news that tore her life apart.

  Four months since she’d lost all hope that her parents’ bodies would ever be found.

  ***

  Addie brushed away her tears and raced down the hill. When she neared the main building, she bent low and scurried past Matron’s office window and around to the front. It squatted beneath the trees – a giant shabby toad of a building, with mould-streaked walls, leaf-choked gutters and window frames peeling paint like sunburned skin.

  Catching her reflection in a window, Addie spun to swirl her gown, loving its midnight blue velvet. It was a perfect colour to show off her shiny red-gold hair. She pushed back her shoulders and tilted her head to admire the diamond tiara. It didn’t matter that the jewels were fake, they still sparkled in the sunlight. Now she was Titania, the queen of the fairies in the play A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  Addie held out her skirt to bow, then stopped. Matron might catch her admiring herself in the glass. Vain little peacock! she’d say. Addie snorted, then poked out her tongue at the window.

  One day, when a long-lost relative arrived to take her away from the Emu Swamp Children’s Home, she would go to live in the city again. And if the theatres hadn’t all closed down because of the hard times, she’d see every play she could. Then she would train to be a real Shakespearean actress.

  Chapter 2

  Something is rotten in the state of Denmark

  With a creak of rusty hinges, the front door opened without warning. Addie darted out of sight behind a camellia hedge. She peered through the leaves as a man stumbled from the building’s gloomy interior onto the porch.

  Matron Maddock’s precise, clear voice followed him. ‘No, I can’t feed beggars. Tell that to your fellow swagmen too.’

  The stranger retreated down the steps, a rolled swag blanket swinging from his shoulder. He stared up at the tall, blonde-haired woman at the door. ‘I could chop firewood in exchange for a meal.’

  ‘We don’t need firewood.’ Matron crossed her arms and glared at the man. Her voice grew sharper. ‘Nor do our gutters need cleaning.’

  The man pointed to the gum leaves poking from the roof above. ‘What about that gutter?’

  Addie winced. He didn’t know about Matron Maddock’s short temper.

  Matron frowned, her eyes pinning him down. ‘Didn’t I just say no?’ The swaggie backed away as her finger stabbed the air. ‘It’s hard enough these days looking after thirty children and useless staff. Go!’ The doorknocker rattled as Matron disappeared inside and slammed the door shut.

  The swagman’s shoulders slumped. Exhaustion lined his face beneath a shabby felt hat.

  Addie shrank into the hedge’s gloom as he passed. A battered frying pan clanged against a small axe tied to his rolled swag, and dust covered his brown suit and shoes. He smelled of sweat, dust and pipe smoke.

  ‘Sir?’ Addie stepped out from the hedge. ‘You might find work at Emu Swamp, although it’s ten miles away.’

  The stranger spun around. His frown disappeared when he saw her, and he dropped the swag. His words tumbled out as if they’d been locked up for a long time.

  ‘Thank you, lass. Bill’s the name, although I get called hobo and worse. Still, that’s better than their dogs chasing me. Been on the road for ten months now. Lovely way to see the country, eh?’ The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled, but his voice was sad. ‘I used to own a bookshop in the city. Nobody wants books any more. A fella can barely earn enough to feed his family these days.’

  ‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,’ said Addie. Then her face burned pink under his curious stare.

  ‘That’s from Hamlet. You’re familiar with William Shakespeare’s plays? Unusual in a child, Miss . . .?’

  ‘My name’s Adversity McAllister. I’m not a child; I’m twelve years and eleven months old.’

  ‘You’re an orphan here?’

  ‘No . . . I mean . . . Macbeth and I came to stay here when my parents took their acting troupe into the outback. Papa said they might find work in the smaller towns.’

  The swaggie shook his head, his voice sombre. ‘Here we are in 1930 and the country’s no better off than before. We pinned such high hopes on the new man, Prime Minister Scullin. But . . .’ He shrugged, then glanced at Addie’s face. ‘Don’t worry, your parents will return soon, lass.’

  ‘No, they drowned in a flooded creek. Six months ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ His eyes filled with sympathy before he looked down and tightened the thin rope he used as a trouser belt. ‘So, Adversity, who’s Macbeth? Your brother? Unusual name for a boy in this country of literary barbarians.’

  ‘He’s not a boy. Well, he is a boy. Macbeth’s my pet cockatiel.’

  ‘A fine name for a bird.’

  ‘Macbeth’s the best talker north of the Hawkesbury River,’ Addie said, warming to his interest. ‘He quotes Shakespeare, and does acrobatics too.’

  ‘I’d like to see that one day.’ The swaggie lifted his hat and then his swag. ‘Best be off. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, lass. Better than one-sided conversations with my swag.’

  A front window swung open and Matron leaned out, her blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight. ‘Adversity! Children shouldn’t speak to strangers. Come to the office. Now!’ She disappeared back inside.

  ‘Yes, Matron.’ Addie rolled her eyes and grinned at Bill, then pointed past the bluestone building. ‘Go around to the kitchen – Mary will give you something to eat. Stay out of sight though. Matron’s clerk could be lurking.’

  The swagman narrowed his eyes and nodded towards the building. ‘You mean him in her off
ice? The spiffy, sniffy one with shiny leather shoes.’

  Addie snorted back a giggle. ‘That’s him. Algernon Parris.’

  She waved farewell to Bill and sympathy filled her chest. At the orphanage, they had three meals a day – skimpy ones, but nobody starved. The blanket on her bed was thin and the coir mattress felt like lumpy tree roots, but she had a roof over her head. Imagine begging for food, and sleeping in the open with only a thin blanket between you and winter’s rain. Imagine being alone all the time. Matron Maddock’s Rules for Obedient Children were a daily reminder of how much Addie’s life had changed in a year and a half. But at least she had friends.

  No, however much she longed to escape the orphanage, the last thing she would do was join the waves of ragged people on dusty roads to nowhere.

  ***

  Addie crunched across the gravel and up the steps onto the front porch. Inside, dust motes swayed in sunlight streaming through arched windows along the corridor. From a nearby sideboard, scent from a vase of lavender mingled with the smell of beeswax polish.

  Resisting the urge to play hopscotch along the patterned Turkish carpet, Addie continued to Matron’s office at the end of the corridor.

  Algernon Parris opened the door. He frowned and peered down his sharp nose as if she had no business being there.

  ‘Matron called me,’ Addie said.

  Mr Parris nodded, then pointed her to a chair in front of the wide oak desk. He plopped into his seat at a cramped desk against the wall and began shifting bits of paper strewn across its surface, regularly sniffing with his hay fever.

  Matron Maddock sat at her desk, writing a letter. On the polished oak surface stood a slim crystal vase of rosebuds and a brass inkwell. An oil lamp cast its glow across the desk, glinting on a strand of hair caught on her silver filigree brooch.

  ‘Haven’t I told you a dozen times? You’re too old to play dress-ups,’ Matron said without lifting her head. ‘Get rid of that silly thing!’