Southern Gold

by Jude Thomas

  ‘But there is one other thing, sir, that you must know.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Edwin is having difficulty getting over the shock of it. His brain feels mangled. The boy – the boy who looks exactly like his own brother – is not a boy at all. He is a girl! Preposterous! Hellfire and damnation, how the Dickens didn’t he pick it? And what in the blazes does one do now! He hasn’t handled it at all well, stuttering – to the amusement of Meg and Alf – that, um, he shall have to, that is – a girl?! Impossible!

  But not impossible, it seems. All he can do to acquit himself is to say he shall need to consult with his colleagues and shall be in touch in due course, as he endeavours to keep himself erect while bidding farewell for the present.

  And now he is back with James Ogilvy, who in turn is amused at the whole charade. ‘Damn it, Northey, what a superb act! What a farce! To possibly be your brother’s offspring is one thing. For the lad to be from the slums is another. But for him to turn out to be a “her” takes the cake! Ha ha ha! What a wonder! But steady yourself, old man – here, have another dram to settle your nerves. That’s the ticket. Oh, ha ha, I’ll be damned!’

  He tips back his own whisky, still chortling. Then shrugs his coat lapels to order and forces himself to continue in a serious vein. ‘Now look here, I shall challenge you as you would me in a matter of consideration: What is the difference, I say? If you were prepared to take on that scoundrel Alton’s bastard child – yes, I say, that bastard child – why should it matter if it’s a male or a female? Think on it, man, think on it!’

  And so James Ogilvy trumps his friend Eddie Northey – he who claims to be a forward thinker, a planner for success – who certainly has not taken this factor into consideration. But when he has had time to recover from his high amusement, James knows it is a proposition for much more thought. For what, indeed, has he and like-minded men come out to this far-flung colony for, but to take every opportunity that presents itself? This, clearly, is an opportunity to back a novel proposal.

  Edwin stares gloomily into his whisky, now fully realising that he is hoist by his own petard. It takes him some time to wrestle with the flawed outcome of what he thought to be his progressive philosophy, and his altruistic notions for the boy. But not a boy – a girl! So be it: good may yet come of it. Let himself be advised. Let himself be a willing champion of the future.

  He takes a deep breath and smiles wryly at James. He has had one devil of a shock, but the world is galloping forward – and he shall go with it! And, by Jove, next week he shall even propose to dearest Amy! He shall regain composure, look forward and be in good heart for the future.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  February 1867

  With much deliberation the Thornbury Scholarship is set up, Edwin choosing the name in remembrance of his Yorkshire home. He remembers the onus as a first son to represent the family’s future and how his father had set great store by land holdings, with the advantage they gave over those who did not own such.

  He remembers Father’s face in confidently announcing that his family would be sailing for New Zealand. Edwin did not know at the time that his father’s cotton mill investment had suffered badly and that he believed the best way to recoup his losses was to lease the Thornbury estate and establish ventures where sound money was to be made – the colonies. He remembers how his mother and sisters had cried but Father had remained adamant. Tied to his law clerk job, Edwin had bid farewell to his family at the London docks, but had followed them out to Dunedin some three years later.

  The Thornbury estate is still safe and sound, as far as he is aware, now that it is back under family management. Alton is overseeing it all – well, enough about him at the minute, thinks Edwin, or I shall become distracted. At least its financial reports have always been satisfactory,

  The scholarship documents are settled and Alf and Meg are – after much discussion and intelligence that astounds and enlightens the higher-educated Edwin – reasonably well satisfied.

  When Miss Kerr receives the news that Billie Frost has transferred to Middle School in York Place she is vastly relieved. She has had palpitations every day since this child presented at the infant department. Too clever by far. Those bold eyes looking right into her very soul. That way of letting things flow over her head. Blasted little devil. How delightful that the brat’s very presence will no longer be around to irritate her.

  At Middle School, Billie encounters a form of teaching she has not previously known. Miss Mary Clayton is firm but kind. She challenges her students and requires more than rote learning and yes-no answers. She demands that they be accountable. It is amazing for Billie, who has previously curtailed her mind during school hours. She moves swiftly through the curriculum, plus the extra projects set by her teacher. Mary Clayton is suggested by some to be ‘too pretty to be a school ma’am’ and by others to be ‘tending towards sedition’.

  She talks of the continuing Maori Wars now carving their way through Taranaki in the north. The skirmishes between tribes can be understood and it is a moot point that some are peacemakers and others are savage. Bloody massacres are still taking place between settlers and natives over the confiscation of Maori land. But why would settlers not be told the truth about the acquisition of their proposed packet of land before embarking on their hopeful journey to the Antipodes? Colonisation and submission, conquer and rule – this has been the way of the world since time immemorial. And yes, that is the premise of the Treaty. But it does not sit well with Mary Clayton and in a careful way she presents her opinions for her students to consider.

  She is undeterred by criticism of her views and to date the Inspector has found nothing but bright children who gain high marks in the curriculum. Mary Clayton is fond of quotations, which she writes on the blackboard.

  ‘Shall I be wrong, or shall I tell the truth?’ Helen of Troy – how stirring.

  ‘The next best thing to knowing something is knowing where to find it.’ Samuel Johnson – that’s great advice!

  And the one that sits so well with Billie’s own restless mind, from Shakespeare’s Hamlet ‘To thine own self be true.’

  Miss Clayton encourages all pupils to read the library of books she has acquired over many years, and to discuss them. How deep are the Brontë sisters’ words, how grim are Thomas Hardy’s settings, and how exciting are Jules Verne’s speculations! Miss Clayton summarises the story first, then lists scenarios on the blackboard and students vie to guess how it comes together and what it all means – marvellous!

  There are thirty-five pupils in the standards classroom, quietly drawn in by the teacher’s methodology. The three boys at the front who cannot sit still are delegated tasks to keep them in hand as much as possible; contrary to normal classroom procedure, the rod is not used on these lads. Miss Clayton never raises her voice and although she moves graciously between the aisles and rows, she seems to appear at any given spot like a genie, at the precise moment of need. Here, learning is on another level and not all levels are according to age. In the morning Billie speeds through the set syllabus – the Education Board is determined to implant the best educational practices of Scotland into Otago – and absorbs higher learning during the afternoon.

  She has left the group of carriage boys now – told them, ‘I’m going to another school further away and classes finish too late for me to come now.’ The boys were philosophical about her departure although Bully Barnes mocked, ‘Too good fer us now?’

  Tama gave her arm a comradely twist, ‘Kia kaha, Bill – be strong.’

  Tinks Toomey merely said, ‘good luck, so’. Then, as she turned to leave, he swung towards her ear and whispered, ‘Miss.’

  It is at Middle School that Billie makes a new set of friends – friends who don’t scoff at her abilities. They are sisters Sophia and Ellen Erridge, Ralph Nathan and Benny Hallenstein. The five of them are intelligent and competitive and Billie’s spirits fly as high as her education. She can’t wait to go to sch
ool each morning and she can’t wait to arrive home and give a dissertation on her day.

  Chilblains continue to claim her fingers and toes between June and September, despite strong boots and thick mittens. When Miss Clayton suggests Billie should board with her family during the worst winter snaps Meg is up in arms at the suggestion. How can she sleep without her beloved child safe in the adjacent room?

  Alf strokes his whiskers and ponders and pats Meg’s worries into logical shape. Hasn’t their darling child been seen crawling of an icy morning up the steep and slippery Stuart Street, scraping along, two steps up and one skid back? Don’t her chronic chilblains send her nearly demented with itching and scratching? Isn’t the light snow treacherous when it thaws, then freezes over, creating the potential for a nasty fall?

  Meg reluctantly agrees that Billie may accept the invitation for the most gruelling days of the winter freeze. Billie is overjoyed at the prospect of boarding with Miss Clayton – there are surely so many more books to read after her homework is completed. Books that Mary Clayton will not bring to the classroom.

  Billie is nearly ten years old when the prospect of ‘extended education’ is raised. Edwin Northey has discussed it with James Ogilvy, who must in turn discuss it with his senior partner, his father. Joseph John Ogilvy takes considerable convincing that a female should enter his chambers. A boy clerk perhaps, but never has he heard of such an arrangement for a girl.

  ‘Look here, Father, this girl is every bit as good as a boy, if not better, and she has meticulous arithmetic and spelling. Not that – ’ he sees horror pass over his father’s heavily whiskered face ‘– we would consider employing a young one in such an activity. I merely thought that we could employ a cadet and lead the way for cadetships.’

  ‘Cadetships? My dear boy, as you know New Zealand law is still based on the laws of England. J. J. Ogilvy reaches for a leather-bound tome. ‘The English Laws Act stipulates, and I quote: “The laws of England as existing on the 14th day of January 1840, shall, so far as applicable to the said Colony of New Zealand” – etcetera, etcetera – “shall continue to therein be applied – ”

  ‘Therefore, I do not see how a “cadetship”, as you call it, relates to the law and therefore to our business.’

  ‘Pardon me Father, I take your point, but my thinking is that law does not enter into it at all. My thinking is about a new idea – ’

  ‘Not enter into it? New idea? My dear boy, all we do is carry out the practice of law to the best of our sworn abilities, not follow the vagaries of new ideas! And the proposition of a female – that is quite out of order.’

  ‘I take the opportunity to challenge you on that, Father. What I see is an administrative situation, not a legal one. I find it damned difficult to carry all my papers to and from the court. I find it damned difficult to stack and store all our papers tidily. And I must say, Father, I find it rather – er, dusty in here and would welcome a cadet to – to tidy and so forth.’

  James Ogilvy is at once ashamed of himself – this is not at all what he was going to suggest. He has warmed so much to Edwin’s outrageous idea of introducing Billie Frost to the peripheries of commerce and law, that he is now as keen as if it had been his own. There was no suggestion she should be a skivvy, collecting dust balls off the stairs.

  ‘Dust? Just dust and tidy?’

  ‘Perhaps initially, Father. It would be a good way of your assessing whether the idea would work.’

  ‘An idea has no place in a law practice, James. No place at all. But let me think on it. Now: I presume you have plenty of proper work to attend to?’

  It takes some time before Mr Ogilvy Senior responds further. James endeavours to bring up the issue, but is not to be satisfied. It is only after several weeks have lapsed that his father calls him in, directs him to sit, and begins in his usual laborious way.

  ‘Insomuch as I have given a great deal of thought to the situation; and whereas I have considerable difficulty in allowing it; and … ’

  Etcetera-etcetera, breathes James as he maintains his usual agreeable countenance.

  ‘… most irregular … therefore … in this instance … we shall give it one week’s trial.’

  James gives a start. He has not expected this response. ‘Oh, yes, Father, that is splendid, splendid!’ But he is stymied by his father’s upturned hand.

  ‘This – ’ Ogilvy Senior signals to a document ‘ – is the list of conditions to which you will agree. Or not, as the case may be. Since you are a partner you are entitled to your view, and for that view to be considered seriously. You have not undergone your studies to be engaged in ‘new ideas’, but I trust your judgement – on most issues. However, this is not a legal matter, it is a personal proposal, as I am entitled to give.

  ‘You will see, as you read in eagerness of such “new ideas”, that it contains restrictions including: one week’s trial for your purpose only; dismissible immediately at any time thereunto for whatsoever breach I consider to be relevant; no babbling or extraneous noise; no clattering on the stairs; never, ever to enter my office; never to hear any client business or to witness same; to receive no recompense; thereafter to be considered for a further trial of two weeks under the same conditions. Thereafter that we shall have a further discussion.’

  James is slightly deflated but hardly surprised. His father is a hard man, and to concede to this point shows James there is ground to be made. ‘Thank you sir, and I shall do my best to ensure you are not disappointed.’ He wonders if he is, by nature, likely to be as innovative as Edwin. He shall inform him immediately!

  Billie is confirmed into her Wednesday afternoon position as cadet. It is not gruelling for her to remain quiet while tidying, listening, observing; she is quite able to be a chameleon.

  After three months, J. J. Ogilvy cannot fail to recognise the bright and clean conditions – with the exception of his office. The stairs are less dirty from street dust. Documents are neatly tied and pigeonholed. Writing paraphernalia is laid out precisely on desks. Books are stacked cleanly or returned to cabinets.

  ‘Hmmph,’ is all he will say. He never needs to witness this ghostly addition to his staff – on Wednesdays J. J. plays golf on the Caversham flats. With three others, all solid Scots like himself, he is working towards select membership in order to form the first Dunedin golf club.

  At midday each Wednesday Billie now speeds from school to Moray Place, where she quickly accomplishes her office tasks, then collects her satchel and accompanies Mr James Ogilvy on his walk to court.

  She walks briskly beside him, listening to his mumbling preparations and his observations of the journey. She is neither a clerk nor an onlooker, neither a companion nor a servant. She is just Miss Frost, a peculiar arrangement, but one that satisfies all concerned. The arrangement is, to Billie, as exciting as her former occupation of carriage boy.

  ‘Do you enjoy your Wednesdays, Miss Frost?’ James asks one day.

  ‘I do, sir, certainly, but not the office stuff so much.’

  ‘Not the office? But you are so tidy and precise, at least from what I see, and when I want something I can either find it or you put your hand on it directly.’

  ‘That is so, that is so.’ Billie has picked up some ponderous expressions. ‘But I much prefer the buildings. The buildings as we pass to Court. And its handsome scrolls carved on the walls, and the beautiful polish on the bannister, and the rugs – I just love to squish my fingers through them.’ She chatters on until, ‘Oh, and of course I am helping you, Mr Ogilvy, helping you think about those naughty people who try to diddle the system.’

  ‘Diddle the system? Good Lord, what an extraordinary description. So be it, Miss Frost. There are many who try to diddle the system, as you say, and we are about to embark on a new case of swindle. I cannot say too much, but you will no doubt watch with interest.’

  James is as intrigued with this unusual, persuasive child as others have been before him. To the devil with convention. As long as she
keeps up her tasks, keeps out of Father’s way and keeps matters to herself, she shall remain his quaint young cadet.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  September 1870

  Meg, Alf and Edwin raise their mugs of ale on Abbeyleix’s first-floor veranda, toasting the tepid late-winter sun and Billie’s twelfth birthday. Edwin has become more than a business acquaintance and from time to time he visits for pure enjoyment. Today they look down over the stables forecourt where Billie and her four school cohorts play a loud and laughter-filled game of blind man’s bluff. She is quick at identifying the player once her sensitive fingers chance on one, but quite hopeless at the game, staggering and bumping about. A sense of direction is certainly one talent Billie Frost does not have, but she will not surrender.

  Luckily her other talents are many and her love of textiles has developed an appetite for fashion and design that is becoming as keen as her mama’s was. She cannot sew – all the stitches are awry – but this is where her friends Temperance and Sophia are called into action. Billie spends time at the end of her day sketching daring styles. How Alf laughs when she draws men in tartan knickerbockers and knee boots. How Meg shies when she views the enormous, feathered hats: ‘I’d need meat skewers to keep those contraptions on!’

  Billie’s figure drawings are more like a swash of movement, yet they deftly convey the human form. Tempe and Sophia are as keenly interested in style as Billie and wish to own a shop that supplies beautiful clothes. Billie does not wish to own a shop, but is interested in supplying it with her talents. ‘And we might earn a hundred pounds a day!’

  She completed the middle school curriculum before she was eleven, but stays on with her contemporaries under Miss Clayton. Middle School has outgrown itself, and is now newly housed in Arthur Street.