by Jude Thomas
She makes friends and enjoys her study, but it isn’t easy to be orderly. There are not the escapades she had hoped for. It may not be a private college teaching girls how to become ladies, but it still maintains very strict discipline. Under the firm hand of Lady Principal, Mrs Margaret Burn, there is certainly no kicking about. The two classrooms are housed in a two-roomed wing of Boys’ High; Mrs Burn takes some lessons and masters from the boys’ school take others under the strict eyes of lady chaperones. A fence has been built between the designated areas to guard against the perceived threat of marauding boys. The notion has exercised many a parent and it is an excellent topic of conversation at dinner, especially now that a girl had been caught trying to jump high enough to peep over. Billie is disinterested in the fence, soon to become even higher; she has other things to keep her mind active.
As agreed between Mr Northey and the school board, she is permitted to attend only four days a week and to assist Mr Ogilvy on Wednesdays. The prospect of continuing her cadetship is very satisfactory, especially now that she is paid one shilling for the day. At three-thirty on Tuesdays she hurtles down View Street and steadies herself into Moray Place, where she straightens her blouse and skirt before walking smartly to the rooms of Ogilvy and Ogilvy, Barristers & Solicitors. There she receives instructions for the next day; this is at Billie’s request – she does not wish to spend precious time on Wednesdays being briefed on the day’s work. James Ogilvy holds in his amusement as he outlines her duties.
Some tasks are to run documents hither and thither across town, while others are to concentrate on mundane but essential details of office presentation. She continues to accompany her employer to the Law Courts in Lower Stuart Street in the early afternoon.
Some cases interest her and some repel her sensibilities. The Look crosses her face as she ponders some scenarios. Mr Ogilvy says he must try that in court.
James’ colleagues doff their hats with a smile as they pass the odd couple making their way into the court building. Upon arrival, Billie occupies herself in the foyer until the end of the session, sketching its architectural features or staring deep into the golden kauri timber with its shimmering grain and subtly changing hues. Sometimes she is permitted to watch proceedings from the public gallery and enjoys these just as much. She also watches the intense scribbling of the court reporter, whose florid accounts in the next day’s Times often bear little resemblance to the mundane proceedings.
Much is humdrum – bankruptcies, common assaults, thievery and civil litigations – although James is becoming increasingly interested in the land confiscation issues and hopes to study the Native Land Act in the near future.
Meanwhile, he instructs her that his representations in court are based not on emotions but on points of law and its interpretation. James is not the most erudite barrister, but his skills lie in reducing cases to their essentials and exposing the basic principles of common law. His presentations are clear and focused and he maintains exquisite politeness which makes him popular at the Bar.
Billie can see that his courtesy and doggedness often helps him win his case in the end.
Chapter Thirty-Three
December 1871
These days, Edwin is struggling with the sense of it all. As he walks from his tailor, having been fitted for two new suits made from fine local Roslyn worsted wool, he is in a quandary. Why, he asks himself, does he persist in spending so much energy on a girl who is not his responsibility?
He has continued to write to Alton regarding family matters and, just as systematically, Alton has chosen to ignore these advances, writing back instead of society matters, the ball he is hosting and other such absurd extravagances. Balls – at Thornbury! It may sound a grand manor, but it is in fact a modest estate. Has the fool ripped open the walls of the drawing room? Quarterly reports seem to be in order, but although Alton’s allowance is generous, how is he paying for such lavish functions? It is disturbing, and now that Alton has failed to communicate for many months, Edwin is concerned about the family estate as well as Billie Frost’s future.
Oh, God, why is it all closing in on him? Edwin can only suppose that he feels the burden of filial responsibility since his father’s recent death, being the eldest of his five siblings. He wrestles with the issue over and over and then, during periods of ease, assures himself that he is behaving normally in playing the covert role of uncle until proven otherwise. Well, at least established. Damn that bally Alton and his arrogance in sending no reply to his latest series of letters. He consults his best friend and counsel once more.
‘My dear fellow,’ sighs James Ogilvy, ‘you cannot disguise the facts: you are at best a genuine benefactor and at worst mulish slave with no authentic information. I wager I’ve never witnessed such devotion to righting a perceived wrong. In my opinion your involvement, although exemplary, has coloured your logic significantly.
‘So, Eddie, my thoughts are these: with your excellent father having passed away, and your inheritance being not only his considerable holdings here in New Zealand, but his estate at Home, why not make a journey back there? It might serve to clear your mind of this continuous anxiety. To look over the estate and ensure its management is all in hand could be a real tonic.’
Edwin nods, still brooding – but a light starts to glimmer in his mind.
James continues, ‘Indeed, it will give you an opportunity to confront your brother in person, rather than to leave it to constant correspondence which seems to get you nowhere. I daresay Alton is a cad and a bounder in many respects, but probably not such a bad chap. He may be overseeing your estate properly; if not, you shall be in a better position to see for yourself and ensure everything is being dealt with correctly. I suspect all you want is to have Alton’s acknowledgement of likely paternity, but I would suggest the likelihood of this, or any voluntary compensation, is slim.
‘In any case, Eddie, you need clarity of mind, rather than dithering from year to year. Either decide on a future strategy or put the matter to rest. Then I feel you should be able to proceed with your marriage to your fiancée without burdensome thoughts. What do you say?’
Edwin acknowledges he has indeed been suffering from the effects of his father’s sudden death. He feels guilty at not attending on Amy Barnes as well as he might, considering they are engaged. She is the sweetest girl, an old family friend as these things often go, and she will be a perfect wife. He has been going around in circles for far too long and must change direction.
‘You are right, James; you are right indeed. It is time I stopped fussing and dithering. Poor Amy has made reference to my absentmindedness on several occasions and I must say I have been feeling unworthy of her recently. She will come to live at Elm Row after we marry; my mother is attending to redecorating our wing to help her through mourning. We shall set a date soon, and by the time I return, I’ll have hopefully clarified matters with my brother. Or at least,’ he laughs, ‘ensured Thornbury hasn’t gone to the dogs!’
‘So – ostensibly a passage to England to inspect the estate?’ asks James.
‘A capital idea. I’ll book a passage directly and – I do believe I am starting to feel more clear-headed already!’
‘Upon my soul, Eddie, it only needed talking through. Something we men are not so good at on a personal level, I believe!’ James smiles wryly.
‘Indeed. And there is something else I shall talk through with you soon,’ Edwin rushes on, as if a dammed creek has burst its banks. ‘Yes, something else that must be given serious consideration.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
It is a few days into the New Year and the Maguires have invited Edwin to toast it. More correctly, Edwin has hinted that he would like to visit under the guise of the same. Meg and Alf know his tactics and are happy to have him call upon them.
Alf wears his new three-piece suit despite the warm weather. It is from Bing, Harris & Co quality outfitters, and is his first for many years, made possible by Billie’s regular cont
ributions. At precisely two o’clock he ushers Edwin onto the wide front veranda, settles him with Meg and carries out a tray of lager and fruit cake. Mungo is, as ever, in attendance when cake crumbs are possible.
They talk about the brilliance of the weather, the clarity of the beer and a range of summer-day trivia. Then Edwin clears his throat. ‘I shall be leaving shortly for England to conduct some business on behalf of my – ’ Edwin falters. ‘My late father has left affairs that I need to attend to at Home. Listen to me – “at Home”! My home is certain here in New Zealand!’
Meg and Alf wait, as usual, for the real reason to emerge.
‘That is to say: I just wished to inform you that things will be the same as before whilst I am away – and I am certain to be back by August. Meanwhile, I just wish you to know that Mr James Ogilvy is taking care of my affairs and that he is your man to call upon if there are any issues with Billie. Which, of course, there will not be! But it is my wish, nevertheless, to let you know that I have secured a last-minute passage and am due to leave next week.’
The Maguires transmit to each other, Mercy, is that all this is about? We thought it might be something serious!
‘Then let’s toast your safe journey, Mr Northey, sir.’ Alf removes his jacket, now more casual for the purpose of supping beer and consuming cake.
Edwin departs for England on the iron barque HMS May Queen and life goes on in Maclaggan Street.
Billie continues with her schooling and the weekly cadet programme; continues to dance down the street; continues to stumble when she looks upwards at the extensive developments of buildings rising from the earth. Bell Hill has finally been smoothed away and Princes Street flows clearly through to George Street, and Stuart Street is less impeded between its upper and lower parts. A grand new version of First Church is being built in Dowling Street on the hill’s stump and is purported to become a most stunning attribute to Dunedin and the glorification of God. Mr Ogilvy says it will look like the Norman cathedrals of England and will have a spire reaching over one hundred and eighty feet skywards.
On Friday afternoons Billie makes a point of looking out for Robbie Macandrew on the corner of Stuart and Castle Streets as he pedals his bone-shaking velocipede home for the weekend. How grand he looks, up high on that contraption. She wants one too! Although a female cyclist would be howled at, she doesn’t care. ‘One day I shall ride a bicycle,’ she tells herself.
Robbie rides by with his friends and doffs his hat if he sees her. Billie is sensitive enough to know that she should not call out to him at these times. On other occasions when he is alone, he stops for a chat, saying that he is overwhelmed by his studies at university but is enjoying them nevertheless. He listens gravely to her contributions to the conversation; she knows his mind is on other more important things and she must not blather. On the farewell he always shakes her hand and says with that wry grin, ‘A pleasure, Miss Frost,’ before re-mounting his transport for the long ride down the Portobello road.
An errand takes Billie to lower Rattray Street, where she once hustled for a coin. Carriage boys still come and go and or two of her peers have done well for themselves. She knows Tama has become a fisherman, Tommy has become a train guard and Harold is learning a trade at the woollen mills – but it is said that some are now in trouble with the law or worse. Life-on-the-chance sorts the men from the boys.
She recalls her gratitude to Tinks for taking her on those seven years before and knowing that, by the time she left, she was masquerading as a boy.
And here he is, still overseeing affairs after all this time!
‘Tinks, how do you do! How are you these days? Time has rushed along, has it not? But I was just thinking, I never did take the opportunity to thank you properly. You stood up for me and I wanted to say how I appreciated your – your patronage.’
He draws deeply on a small stub of tobacco and leers. Billie has been in his sights since her arrival back at Maclaggan Street. ‘Look at ye, Bill, bustin’ outa yer bodice! Quite a sight, now ye’ve developed. Anyhows, I t’ought you’d be back one day to see me.’
‘Tinks, I only wanted the opportunity to – ’
‘Well, I knew it would come to a partin’ of da ways evench-ly. And I heard you went up Central last year. I was t’inkin’ of going up that dat way meself, but I have me boyos to see to – ’ he preens.
‘If you do go, you’ll find it exciting and different and there are great chances up Central. I wager you’d really enjoy it,’ replies Billie. ‘But now that we’ve met up again, I want to say how I appreciate the chance of learning how to get along and make a bob or two in these parts. And the fact you took me on as a little ’un.’
‘To be sure, Bill, I took ye on cos I knowed you was different, not dat I made any advance on da situation at da time. But look at ye now.’ A lizardly flick moistens Tinks’s lips.
‘Thank you, Tinks, I do appreciate – ’
‘Appreciate, me arse. Sure you do, little Bill. Just one t’ing – ’
‘Yes?’
‘I knowed ye’s a girl all along, right from da start. Not because ye had me fooled, cos ye didn’t. I took ye on cos ye had bollocks. But ye’re on to better t’ings dese days, as I predicted to meself. Good luck, so,’ Tinks says magnanimously.
‘Thank you kindly.’ Billie offers a friendly handshake, but his eyes have a strange glitter, an unnerving gleam that is dark and dangerous. His grip lingers and he says in a cracked voice, half-boy, half-man, ‘Sure, I’ll bed ye one day, I will!’
Billie shies back and a chill runs through her. ‘Wed?’ She laughs uncomfortably. ‘What tosh! I assure you, I shan’t be wed until I’m old!’
‘I’m not talkin’ about weddin’ ye, darlin’. I’m talkin’ about somet’in’ else entirely. Come on, I knows ye want it.’
‘Want – what?’
‘Yer nose is flat like ye run into a wall, an’ yer eyes are queer yella, but somehow ye’re gorgeous, a glow about ye dat intrigues me,’ Tinks oils. ‘An’ ye came to find me, sure ye did. Ye came to me like I knowed you would. Come on, Bill, let’s be havin’ ye. Let’s be doin’ it!’ Usually as delicate as a cat teasing a mouse, Tinks now becomes clumsy. He grasps at her budding breast with one claw and her buttocks with the other.
‘What?! Are you mad? Get off – stop grabbing at me! Unhand me! Stop it, I say, you vile brute!’
Billie spins away in disbelief, her eyes blazing. Tinks Toomey flinches too, damns himself, then swiftly resumes his usual swagger and calls after her in a strangled croak, ‘Ye ninny, I’m only after jokin’ ye!’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Thornbury
West Yorkshire
England
Thursday, 30th May 1872
My dear Ogilvy
I have booked my passage back on the ‘Inglewood’, due to sail from London on 23rd June. She is a smart barque and – while not the speediest of vessels – is under the command of a fine Yorkshire man, so we shall be in safe hands! Arrival is estimated at Port Chalmers on 19th September. By Jove, I expected to be away much longer, but by God’s grace and fair weather, I shall be joining you at the Club in the near future.
As you know, when I arrived here, my immediate job was to find my brother Alton, but that was easier said than done. My other priority was to visit Thornbury and check on its management. And as you know from my earlier dispatch, I was utterly appalled at its condition. The manor house was in a shambles and the farm was going to the dogs and so, once I had installed myself, I set about the business of addressing the situation.
My quest was then, in conjunction with this unpleasant revelation, to find my brother and hold him to account. What I found out will not make pretty reading, my friend. It transpired that the blackguard has not only succumbed to many vices, but has racked up substantial debt on the estate. In a nutshell, that is it. Yet I feel the need to let you have more detail so here it is:
I have always known my brother to be weak and so after my anger
– and yes, fury – had subsided somewhat, I knew I had to take myself under control and find him, for what good would it do me to come all this way to lose my senses and not achieve a result?
He had not replied to letters sent variously to Thornbury, to his Club in Leeds, and to other establishments I thought he might frequent. I put a colleague onto it and it wasn’t too long before one of his men tracked him down, in London if you please. He was in a very bad way, although he still dresses like a toff, frequenting one Club after the next. Each time I met with him, he would insist on taking me to a fine hotel for luncheon. There, after a nip or three, he would become humble and beseech me to forgive him, then consume more brandy before stumbling off, leaving me to foot the bill, of course. I was able to see through his game but went along with it for a few times, in the hopes that I could help him out of Queer Street. It was not to be. When I broached the subject of a possible connection to a young lady back in ’fifty-eight, he would hear nothing of it and offered to punch me for the suggestion. He also would not hear of my admonitions regarding Thornbury, claiming it was his to do as he pleased, since Father sent him Home. This is, of course, not the case. Our final luncheon ended in an unseemly way due to his intoxication and raving. I tell you, it was hellish to witness such disagreeable behaviour.