THE PINK LADIES.
a selected story from a collecton of work in progress from 'Tales From Colonial Australia.'


Claude had been waiting for this evening with overwhelming anticipation and excitement. He looked around the family parlour with delight and pride.
Mum and Becky, his sister, had swept, dusted, polished, pulled up rugs and beaten them on the sagging clothesline in the yard, until not another speck of dust from the Wilson’s home could be dislodged from the faded fabrics.
Claude had been banned from the room all day in case he should tread mud or leave smeary finger marks on the polished surfaces.
The light from the small window in the kitchen was dimmed by a fog of steam from the cast iron pots on the wood fired stove and delicious smells came through the door each time one of them rushed out to attend to something.
At last the guests arrived and he sat at the table stiff and upright, the collar of his starched shirt digging into his neck and his hair smoothed firmly down by liberal dollops of Dad’s hair oil. His stomach rolled quietly in eager anticipation of the delights ahead.
When he had been told they were to be honoured with Mr and Mrs Humphrey-Smith as dinner guests his estimation of his father grew. However, it had been very forcibly impressed on him with much finger wagging and threats of dire punishment should he say or do anything to embarrass his parents who were about to entertain the wealthiest gentleman in the town.
Claude already knew Mr Humphrey –Smith was a very grand man. He had seen him in various places about the town wearing his heavy gold watch and chain and waving his silver knobbed walking stick. He even drove one of the new horseless carriages which exploded frighteningly as it rushed along the dusty roads shocking the ladies and being a point of envy amongst the men.
He also knew Mr Humphrey-Smith owned a very large and much decorated house which was full of marble figures of lady’s…… not quite dressed. He knew this, because in his apprenticeship with the postal service, he was employed as the telegram boy and in the course of his duties he had delivered telegrams to the mansion. When he had knocked on the door, a maid had opened it far enough for him to see into the hallway. This enormous entrance was every bit as big as his father’s Vicarage parlour and Claude had been astonished and thrilled to observe a large white female form appearing to be coyly draping a diaphanous veil around her as she stood on a pedestal at the foot of a curving stairway.
He would have been more than pleased to have looked for much longer at the almost naked form but the maid noticing his eyes widening shooed him away.
Later in the sorting room he told his friend Tommy of his observations and Tommy agreed it would have been good to have seen more.
Mr and Mrs Humphrey-Smith were to grace the Wilson home because Claude’s father being the local Vicar, had recently had the sombre privilege of conducting the burial of the late Mrs Humphrey who, as the whole town knew, had disapproved of the marriage of her daughter to a plain MR SMITH and had absolutely refused permission for the marriage to go ahead unless the names were hyphenated. As Mr Smith wished to inherit the Humphrey money far more than he wished to retain his name, he agreed with much smiling and obsequious assurances he would be honoured to do as his indomitable mother-in-law wished.
Despite her wealth, Mrs Humphrey-Smith was a homely, and as many ladies believed a lonely woman, who was often left to while away her days in the mansion by her husband as he attended to his many business interests, which she knew little about. He preferred it that way. She and Claude’s mother had become friends in a quiet distant manner, each knowing the other had a position in the town to keep up for their husband’s sake.
The husbands on the other hand, endured each other as society in a small town must, but had as little to do with one another as possible. The Vicar was not a gambler or a frequenter of public houses and Mr Humphrey –Smith did not venture into the church unless it was unavoidable but they did have to meet in functions which concerned the good of the town and its people.
Because of this, the Vicar did therefore know of a very lucrative property on the outskirts of the town in Mr Humphrey-Smith’s possession and which was, to most right thinking men and women, considered a blot on good society. He was sure quiet Mrs Humphrey-Smith did not know of its existence or that part of her fortune had been used to build it and support people who Claude, listening avidly at the door one evening when his parents were speaking, heard his father describe to his mother as ‘scarlet women’.
Mother had repeated the words in hushed, shocked tones and shook her curly head and tut tutted in her most severe manner.
“Poor Rose.” She sighed.
“Indeed.” Father replied, but signalled to mother he had spied Claude hovering at the doorway and for her to be silent. Claude had listened to this information with interest but without understanding its importance.


Now he sat at the table watching the grand guest as he obviously enjoyed the meal mother and Becky had worked so hard to prepare.
The crystal sparkled in the candlelight and plates that were only used for Christmas, or when the Bishop and his wife came, looked lovely on the perfect white of the linen cloth.
He was being as unobtrusive as possible, although as his sister would say, if he listened any harder his ears would have been flapping. Having been told to only speak when spoken to, he thus far, had thought of many things he could have said, but remained obediently silent.
“Now young Claude.” Mr Humphrey-Smith beamed at him during a lull in conversation; a gold front tooth glinted in the candlelight under his upper lip. “What do you propose to do with your life?”
Claude became flustered and was embarrassed to find he was blushing as he became the centre of attention but he was ready with his answer and replied politely, “I should like to be in business Sir.”
“Really young man? You don’t propose to be a cleric like you father?” Mr Humphrey-Smith continued to smile as all the faces around the table turn towards Claude.
“No Sir, I should like to be in a business such as yours. It looks like a great deal of fun.” He was trying to be very polite and properly deferential.
“Do you know anything about my business?” Mr Humphrey-Smith laughed thinking to catch Claude and instruct him and the others at the same time.
“Oh yes sir. I have seen you at work Sir when I have delivered a telegram to the house of the Pink Ladies.”
Claude’s parents instinctively held their breath.
“Oh indeed, indeed,” Mr Humphrey –Smith dithered, aware something had gone awry with the conversation.
At last Claude’s mother after frantically trying to think of some sort of interruption spoke quickly.
“Claude dear, finish your vegetables.”
“Oh, the dear boy.” Mrs Humphrey-Smith laughed. “To whom do you refer when you mention ‘Pink Ladies’?”
Claude smiled, eagerly dabbing a drip of gravy from his chin.
“Oh, you know Mrs Humphrey-Smith. The ‘Pink Ladies’ Mr Humphrey-Smith works with when he is playing cards, the ones who wear those frilly dresses and show most of their legs and stockings. I saw them when I delivered a telegram to the one called Dolly, the one that was sitting on his lap.”
The silence was broken only by the Holland blind flapping lazily at the open window and the mournful caw of a crow eyeing the carcass of a rabbit in the house cow’s paddock beside the house.
Mrs Humphrey-Smith slowly put her knife and fork neatly onto her plate, dabbed lightly at her lips with a table napkin and turned slowly to Claude.
“Which house is this you are speaking of Claude?”
The boy had tried so hard yet he sensed he had said something out of place. But what? It was too late he could not suck his words back into his mouth now. So he rushed on.
“The one in ‘Meadow Hill Lane’, Mam, it has a red light. Oh I know!” He smiled hoping to fix the situation, “they aren’t’ Pink Ladies’ are they Mama, you said they were ‘Scarlet Ladies!’

Claude took some time to learn what he had done and why the dinner party broke up so suddenly when it had seemed to be going very well, and why, if it had been his fault Mother and Father never explained what he had done or punished him.
He did hear his father muttering something about ‘out of the mouths of babes’ but thought he was rehearsing a line from a sermon.
Becky told him what a ‘dolt’ he was but not why. Mr and Mrs Humphrey-Smith never came to visit again and in fact, sold up their great properties and moved to another state.

The End. © ;from ‘Tales Of Colonial Australia’