At Home With The Templetons (13 page)

As usual, they were working in the morning room, sitting around the large round table that stood beside the bay window. Their lessons that day had been delayed slightly, after their mother was called away by their father to deal with what he called an ‘incident’ with Hope.

‘Poor Hope,’ Gracie said, as she busied herself sharpening her pencils so they were all exactly the same length. ‘She must have got upset about something again.’

‘She’s not upset. She’s just drunk.’

‘Spencer! Don’t talk about her like that. You know what Mum says.’

‘But it’s the truth. She is drunk again.’ ‘How do you know?’

‘I just do, all right?’

They were both silenced by the sound of their mother returning.

Spencer was soon occupied with his maths exercises, while Gracie was thinking of possible topics for her history project. ‘I can do a biography of anyone?’ she asked her mother. ‘Anyone you like.’

‘Do it on me,’ Spencer said, not looking up from his sums. ‘I’m really interesting.’

Gracie ignored him. ‘Does the person have to be dead?’ she asked her mother.

‘No. It has to be someone you’d like to know more about. Someone who’s played an active role in the history of Australia.’ ‘Can I do it on Dad?’ Gracie asked.

‘He’s not as interesting as me,’ Spencer said.

‘Please, Mum? On Dad and his ancestors and Templeton Hall and the stories about Captain Cook?’

‘What stories about Captain Cook?’ Spencer put down his pencil. ‘Dad didn’t know him, did he?’

‘No, Spencer, they missed meeting each other by about two hundred years. Which Captain Cook stories, Gracie?’

‘I heard Dad telling a tour group that one of his ancestors was from the same town in England as Captain Cook and they even learnt to sail together.’

‘Really? Gracie, wait here, would you? I’ll be right back. Do your nine times table please, Spencer. And no, you haven’t. I can see from here.’

Gracie swung her legs under the table as she waited for her mother to return. Spencer started swinging his too, much more enthusiastically than Gracie, kicking the underside of the table each time. Gracie knew that if she asked Spencer to stop, he would only do it twice as hard.

He stopped suddenly and turned to Gracie. ‘Captain Cook first saw Australia in 1770. His ship was called the Endeavour. There was a botanist with him called Joseph Banks. That’s who the banksia flower is named after.’

‘I know,’ Gracie said, chewing her pencil.

‘I know about Neil Armstrong too. First man on the moon.’ ‘So do I. I’m older than you, remember.’

Spencer started kicking again. ‘Do you know about John F. Kennedy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Phar Lap?’

‘The racehorse? Yes.’ ‘Ned Kelly?’

‘The bushranger. Yes.’

‘Who don’t you know about that I do, then?’

‘I don’t know. If I said their name, it would mean I know about them.’

‘But there must be things I know about that you don’t.’ ‘Not much.’

Spencer threw his pencil at Gracie just as Eleanor returned. She nimbly caught it

. ‘That’s fine, Gracie. I’d like six hundred words on one of your father’s ancestors by the end of today.’ ‘That’s not fair,’ Spencer said. ‘Can I do my essay on you, Mum?’

‘No, Spencer. I’m too boring.’ ‘Can I do it about myself, then?’

‘When we’re studying Great Criminal Minds of the twentieth century, yes.’

Gracie spent some time drawing up a list of questions before knocking on her father’s study door.

‘Gracie! What a surprise.’

‘No, it’s not. Mum told you I was coming. I have some questions for you.’ She glanced down at her notebook. ‘Name?’ ‘Henry Charles Templeton.’

‘Age?’

‘A youthful-looking forty-nine.’

She was very businesslike now. ‘Please tell me something about your childhood.’

‘I grew up under the blazing African sun, rising each day to the sounds of the wildebeest … Oh, Gracie,’ he said, laughing at her cross expression, ‘you really don’t want me to have any fun, do you?’

‘It’s not me. It’s Mum. She’s very hard to please. I had to write my essay on the Tudors three times before she passed it. Can you please tell me all about your ancestors?’

‘Gracie, I’d be honoured. Pen ready?’ At her nod, he began. ‘As I think you know from your many tours here, my greatgreat-grandfather on my mother’s side was born and raised in Yorkshire, at a property twenty or so miles from the coastal village of Whitby ‘

‘Is that where he met Captain Cook?’

‘I certainly believe so, Gracie. So it must have been destiny that a descendant of his decided to come to Australia too. Your greatgreat-great-uncle Leonard, during the goldrush that began in 1851. Is he the one you want for your essay?’

Gracie nodded, opening her notebook to a new page.

Henry began reciting the facts, in a singsong voice at first, until Gracie gave him another stern look. ‘Leonard first came to Australia in 1855, Gracie, while employed by the Smithson & Son Trading Company. His drive and ambition placed him in an ideal position on the goldfields, as he imported all the goods a working miner, and more importantly, an officer and his family, might require. Fabrics, equipment, foodstuffs. Before many years passed, he was one of the richest businessmen in Victoria.’

Henry stood up and leaned against his desk. ‘Leonard had all a young man could possibly desire. Untold wealth, a thriving business, standing in the community … All but love. Underneath all the trappings, Gracie, he was a lonely man, because back home he had left behind his sweetheart, Julia Smithson, the nineteen-yearold daughter of his employer. He was determined to bring her home to Australia with him and he set off to London with that express purpose in mind. Their reunion was romantic. He proposed to her, within an hour of arriving. To his great joy, she accepted. For twenty-four hours he was the happiest man in London.’

Gracie sighed with enjoyment.

‘He returned to Julia’s house the next day to formally ask for her hand in marriage. When Mr Smithson not only agreed, but also expressed his admiration for his future son-in-law’s business acumen, Leonard went in search of his beloved with the happy news. They would marry swiftly, he told her. She could return to Australia with him, as his bride.

‘And there the fairytale began to fall apart. “Australia?”

Julia said. “Oh, no.” She’d heard only stories of horror and wildness and dirt and depravity from the colonies. “If you truly loved me,” Julia said, “then you would want to make me happy and live here with me in England.” But his life was in Australia, he told her. His business. His future. Back and forth they went, without agreement. It was with great sadness that his departure date came. He could put it off no longer. He assured Julia of his love, as she assured him of hers, and they farewelled passionately on the docks of Southampton.

‘As the ship sailed, Leonard had plenty of thinking time. Julia had told him all she loved about England. Her family house, most of all. He made his decision before the ship was halfway across the seas. He would build his Julia her own piece of England in Australia. The perfect replica of her family house, gardens and all.’ Gracie was now sitting completely still, barely breathing. ‘Once he arrived back in Victoria, he took to work in a fever. His business continued to thrive, while he hired the finest architects, builders and gardeners in the colony. Less than a year later, his beautiful new two-storey mansion was completed. It was time to go back to England to fetch his fiancee, plan a lavish wedding and begin their married life together in the home he had built especially for her.’ He paused. ‘And then tragedy struck.’ ‘She died,’ Gracie said in a whisper.

‘No, Gracie.’

‘She got scurvy.’ Gracie had recently done a project on scurvy and eaten barely anything but oranges for a fortnight afterwards. ‘Not scurvy, either. Sadly, Gracie, young Miss Julia Smithson broke the news to my poor greatgreat-uncle that while he was busy in Australia building her dream house and increasing his wealth tenfold so she could have all the fine dresses and jewellery and gloves that her little beating heart would desire, she had been busy too.’ Another pause. ‘Falling in love with someone else.’ Gracie stared, wide-eyed. ‘Did he kill her?’

‘I’m sure he wanted to. But no, he fought against his baser instincts like the fine gentleman he was. He demanded to meet his rival. He was a doctor, from a very well-known family in London. He was as wealthy as Leonard was. And perhaps more importantly to Julia, he had absolutely no desire, intention or wish to up sticks and go sailing across the world to a hot, untamed wild land like Australia.’

‘Didn’t he show her photos of the house? Try and change her mind that way?’

‘There weren’t photos back in those days, Gracie. Nothing like we have today, anyway. We’ll discuss the technological

advancements of the late nineteenth century another day. Try as he might, Leonard couldn’t persuade Julia to change her mind.’ ‘Poor Leonard.’ ‘Poor Leonard, indeed. But then his luck changed.’ ‘The doctor died?’

‘You’re keen to kill people today, Gracie. No, he met someone else in Julia’s house.’

‘Her sister?’

‘No, he met the governess. A young woman called Louisa, who had been taken on to teach Julia’s much younger brother. You see, homeschooling has a rich and honourable tradition. And can you guess what happened next?’

Gracie shook her head.

‘Gracie! Where is your sense of romance and drama? Leonard was so cross with Julia, that he decided to invite Louisa to dinner, knowing it would cause a scandal. And it did.’

‘Was she ugly?’

‘No, she was quite beautiful, in fact. But she was from a different class than him.’

‘Like a local here?’

Henry’s lips twitched. ‘Not exactly. In any case, Leonard soon decided those old rules didn’t matter to him any more. He also realised Louisa had far more spark, intelligence and natural beauty than Julia had ever possessed. Six weeks later, Louisa sailed back to Melbourne with him, as his wife, and they took up residence in this beautiful building we now call home.’ ‘She didn’t mind it was based on Julia’s house?’

‘Not at all. She’d always loved Julia’s house. It had been her home for many years too, remember. And so Leonard and Louisa lived here, happily ever after, for many years.’

From the doorway came the sound of a slow handclap. ‘What a beautiful story, Henry.’

Henry turned and gave his wife a small bow. ‘I aim to please, darling.’

‘I can’t wait for you to tell Gracie how you and I met,’ Eleanor said.

Gracie looked up eagerly. ‘Can you tell me now, Dad?’ ‘When you turn twelve.’

‘That’s not for months.’

‘It will be even better for the waiting. So, any questions, Gracie? Did you get all of that?’

Gracie glanced down at her page. It was blank. Eleanor walked away, shaking her head, as Henry pulled up a chair and started to tell the story again.

Later that night, Eleanor knocked gently on the door of Henry’s study. He was sitting at his desk, a glass of whisky beside him, a pile of magazines to his side, a folder of accounts in front of him.

He glanced up and smiled. ‘Look, darling, I’m working. Doing the accounts. Being responsible.’

‘So you are. Can I interrupt you?’

‘I wish you’d interrupted me an hour ago. I’m bored rigid. Drink?’

She shook her head. ‘Henry, you have to stop telling Gracie those stories. She believes every word of them, you know.’ ‘Of course she doesn’t. How could she?’

‘Gracie is eleven years old. A well-educated but also gullible, earnest eleven-year-old. She desperately wants to believe that every story she hears about Templeton Hall is true.’ ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone quite so far with Leonard’s story?’

‘No, perhaps not.’

‘I didn’t seriously think she’d believe it. I mean, a merchant flitting back and forth between England and Australia like that? On those ships?’ ‘It’s your fault. You made it sound so authentic and romantic. She’s up in her room right now writing the best essay of her life.’ ‘Then make sure you give her an A, won’t you?’ ‘For fiction or essay writing?’

‘Well, now, that moral call is up to you.’ He took a sip of his whisky. ‘The other children don’t believe every story they’ve heard me tell, do they?’ ‘No, of course not. Yes, perhaps. I don’t know. You can be very persuasive. And the basic facts of them are true, at least, aren’t they? All that family research you did before we arrived here?’ She laughed briefly. ‘Now, that would be funny, if you’ve pulled the wool over all our eyes, mine included.’ ‘Eleanor! How devious do you think I am?’

‘I don’t think I’ll answer that.’ Eleanor sunk gratefully into the plush antique chair opposite his desk, closing her eyes for a moment. ‘The sooner today is over, the better.’ ‘How is she now?’

‘Locked in her room still, thank God.’ ‘Have you managed to talk to her yet?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve been trying all day. This morning she was too drunk, when she sobered up she was too angry, and last time I tried she was too tearful. I’ll try again tomorrow. It can’t go on like this, Henry. It’s impacting on Gracie and Spencer’s schoolwork again, all of us tiptoeing around her. I have to try to get her to see -‘ ‘You have tried. You’ve been nothing but a good sister to her.’

‘I’ve been nothing but a foolish sister. I’ve put up with it for too long, yet again.’ She sighed as she stood up. ‘Are you coming up to bed?’ ‘Not yet. I’ll finish the accounts first. Make a start on next year’s business plan too. Look at our visitor numbers. They’re down again, unfortunately. Nothing I can’t fix, I’m sure.’

She came across and kissed the top of his head. ‘You’re a saint, Henry Templeton.’

‘And you, my love, are an angel.’

He didn’t go back to his accounts after she left. He sat staring out the window instead.

The next afternoon, Gracie was in her bedroom. She’d just finished her essay and if she did say so herself, it was fantastic. Her mother had asked for six hundred words. Gracie had found it hard to stop at two thousand. She would have kept going only she’d reached the last page of her copybook. So she’d written To be continued in her neatest handwriting. It was amazing to think that all the stories her father had told her about his ancestors were her stories too. And she hadn’t even started on her mother’s side of the family tree yet. Her mother had said there was plenty of time for that. ‘One branch at a time, Gracie,’ she’d said. ‘And there’s the small matter of your other subjects too.’