by Jude Thomas
‘Yes, I suppose. But I have an idea – our own mannequins could be made to move! On a thingumajig on the floor.’
‘A revolving plinth?’ suggests Tempe.
‘Yes – oh, my dears, how lucky we are to have such brains between us!’ laughs Billie as they move into the salon. ‘Alf will be able to help; he still loves to do make things. We shall have a plinth that will turn as by clockwork, and I’ll ask him to make one immediately!’
‘Immediately,’ Tempe mouths at Susannah. They silently agree that their friend is behaving quite oddly.
‘All we must do is get our patrons through the door into the salon,’ Billie continues, ‘and I have such ideas from reading these. It’s done in Paris and New York. They have models walking up and down, not resting on a silly mantelpiece! They have fashion parades each season in the Paris salons, so phooey, why shouldn’t we do it in Dunedin?’
‘Er, because – ’ Susannah is becoming dazed.
‘We need to work on a whole collection, not just bespoke orders. And Susie, you would be wonderful as the head model!’
As the trio returns to the inner sanctum, Maude Ivimey descends from the workroom with a partially made gown. It is a beautiful, modern creation of lustrous silk – lilac shot with dove-grey – subtle and deceptively simple, and even more so when slipped onto the padded dressmaker’s form to await the client’s fitting.
Tempe says, ‘What fun Mama, Billie says we shall have a fashion parade as soon as we have a collection ready.’
‘Very good, my dears, very good,’ is the indulgent response.
Billie squints at an illustration in a Harper’s magazine ‘You know, those little hats are adorable, but the models have all that hair, so stuffed up and twisted into shape. Crowning glory, phooey! I shall implore my models to chop it off!’
‘Chop it off indeed – what young lady in her right mind would chop off her hair?’ This time the proprietor is alarmed.
‘I would – and I’ll show you!’ Billie grabs a pair of dressmaking shears and yanks her mane out an angle.
‘Stop, stop! You silly girl! Whatever would Mrs Maguire say?’
Billie’s hand freezes. The last thing she wants to do is cause Mother Meg any more sorrow. ‘Just joking, dinna fesh,’ she cries, the expression reminding her of Robbie. She veers back to the topic of short hair. ‘But one day I shall cut my hair. I shall wear a beret and carry a little dog with a plaid jacket onto the omnibus and it will be so fashionable and marvellous!’
Maude Ivimey is extremely concerned. Is the child – she always thinks of her as a child – is she all right in the head? Granted, she has always been a bit fey. But now she seems more erratic. Even volatile.
It is the last time she will see Billie so animated.
Chapter Forty-Two
The vow to ignore him is weaker than the pull she feels. Billie breaks her resolve and seeks out Tinks. She prattles about the weather. He affects boredom. Then she expresses her interest in visiting the Botanic Gardens with a handsome, elegant companion – perhaps he would care to be that person? He says he will consider it. How Billie dislikes herself for pursuing him in this way, but he’ll see. She will tame him.
Safely away from home territory, she twists up her hair, pinches her cheeks, and rubs her lips with geranium petals before she meets him by the Leith.
With affected indifference they stroll alongside the stream and onto the estate. They pass lovers and families. They admire the flowers. They eat plump strawberries and tiny sandwiches from the tearooms, and taste champagne that he has procured with a nod and a wink.
After two hours, Tinks has lightened himself of at least three shillings, and considers this sufficient foreplay. ‘’Tis about time you repaid me kindness, Bill.’
‘Fancy suggesting that to a lady, you tosser!’
‘Tosser, is it? And what might ye be yerself?’
‘Oh, Tinks, I’m enjoying this so. You’re a wild one for sure, but such good fun!’ And Billie whirls away.
His eyes are dangerous and his breath heavy. He must control himself for a while yet. And so it plays out – a little more champagne, a little more teasing. Now they are well up the hill, away from afternoon strollers.
‘I think I feel a little dizzy. Help me down, Tinks – the ground is dry enough.’
‘If I lay ye down, Bill, what might people suppose if dey chance by? Sure, I’ll start standing up t’anks. Now release yer bodice, if ye please.’
This time Billie cocks her head in a tease. ‘I won’t!’ she says.
‘You won’t, is it?’
‘What do you take me for, sir?’
‘I take you for a tormenter, Bill.’
‘Surely not!’
‘Surely so. Come here to me now.’
Like a wave surging on a dangerous tide, the forces collide. There is no teasing now, no mocking, no game. He thrusts and she bites, and it is intense and powerful. Abandonment without care of the consequence. It is a turmoil of urgency, angry and raw.
And when it is spent and he pulls away, there is no intimacy. There is no tenderness.
Chapter Forty-Three
James Ogilvy is perplexed. Miss Billie has always expressed a love of walking past the gothic-inspired First Church on their way to and from the court on Wednesdays. Block upon block of creamy Oamaru limestone set against Port Chalmers basalt, built with great delicacy of detail incorporating many turrets and pinnacles, a massive rose window and a soaring spire – these features have previously enchanted her. But today she suddenly says she is bored by architecture and bored by walking to court and bored by being a teacher’s assistant. So be it, thinks Ogilvy, she is probably – well, she is growing and probably becoming – ahem. He shall ignore her moods for the while.
Meg is more than perplexed. She is at her wits’ end about Billie’s emotional stability. Since the death of dear Mr Northey over a year ago the child has been low and sad, then frenzied with the establishing of Ivimey, then suddenly coy and secretive. And now haunted and restless. She must address the situation tonight.
When the kitchen is closed but for herself, and Alf is on his usual stool in the private bar, Meg decides it is time for action. She relaxes her corsets and pours two mugs of warm milk and bids Billie to come. ‘Sit with me, darling child. Sit with Meggy by the range, and tell her what’s the matter.’
Without warning, tears swell and torrent from Billie’s eyes. There are very few times that Meg has ever witnessed such an event – spurts of fury or joy maybe, but not such an outpouring of anguish. ‘There-there, my love. There-there. Whatever is it, my darling one?’
As when she swayed the tiny mite, as when she consoled the little girl with bloodied knees, Meg pulls Billie onto her wide lap and strokes and rocks and kisses her tears. ‘Whatever is it? It can never be that bad, my little pigeon.’ Which moves Billie to the next stage and now she is shuddering and gasping. ‘There-there. There-there,’ Meg croons.
‘Mother,’ gasps Billie, ‘Mother, Mother. My little mama who died for me!’
Meg believes she understands: the blockade the child built around herself after the terrible night that claimed their dear Eveline is at last being torn asunder. After all those years of being a brave little one, and latterly the grief being brought back to her with the death of Mr Northey, the poor girl is at last releasing her pain.
Meg gently encourages, ‘That’s it, let it go, child, let it go. Cry for your mama and take comfort that her soul is with God.’
‘No-no-no!’ shrieks Billie wildly. ‘It isn’t Mama’s soul – it’s that I’ve let her down! Let you and Alf down! Let myself down! Been so foolish – oh, oh!’
Meg gently slaps the hysterical cheek. ‘Stop it at once. You are being ever so silly and getting yourself into such a state. Now stop it, I say!’ And as her child’s body slowly relaxes from its harsh shudders: ‘So tell me properly, what is amiss?’
Billie finds it difficult to put it all into words. To tell Mother Meg how t
hat charmer had mesmerised her, as a weasel does a rabbit by its circular snare. To admit how her loathing turned into longing.
She confesses her tale of persuasion, passion, daring. How she and Tinks toyed with each other, how she urged him on, behaved like a coquette. How the secret risk was so thrilling; how she then craved him; how they came together in a hunger.
‘Well, my love,’ says Meg after the flood abates, ‘mesmerised is as mesmerised does. You’re that in your own way – and like attracts like, whatever the price. And who am I to say I’m disappointed in you? I can see you’re more disappointed in yourself than anything I could say. But I’ve heard it all before – it’s a story as old as the hills. Yes, mark my words, many have gone before you, many higher and many lower, drawn into the arms of an enchanter. Thinking the fireworks would stay up in the sky. Yes, thinking that giving themselves to a man would mean a jot when it doesn’t. At least, not to that sort of rotter.’
As her ward’s eyes brim again, she cautions, ‘Ah, my poor lamb, my poor brave little lamb, you must not take on so, or you will make yourself quite ill.’
‘But, Mother, there is more I haven’t yet told you.’
Meg tries to breathe steadily, although her heart is pounding with anxiety at what is to come next.
‘Mother, I couldn’t stop myself wanting to be with him. I thought I could make him happy and I tried to meet him again. But he was so moody. And then last week he cut me dead in the street! Looked right through me as if I were nothing – as if I were worthless. All of a sudden I realised he isn’t worth a hoot, to treat me like that. And now I despise him like I used to do. He’s a blot, I’ve been a fool – and now I’m a destroyed woman!’
‘Nothing of the sort, indeed. Don’t make it worse by being overdramatic. Delusion is behind you now, and you shall forget it all, eventually. Unless – ’
In a moment of dread laced with impeccable restraint, Meg reaches out to touch Billie’s belly.
‘But no – thank the Lord, thank the Lord, indeed.’ Meg has related the predicament to Alf after they climb the wooden hill and lie spooning in their narrow bed, as they have done since their early married days. ‘And we must hope and pray it is the end of the matter.’
Alf is rigid with anger. It is not the end of the matter as far as he is concerned.
With the release of her woes, Billie becomes more clear-headed. At Meg’s insistence and under the pretext of having a frightful cold, she has taken some time away from tutoring at Miss Clayton’s school, where her beloved mentor has become Mrs Julius Vogel. She has taken time away from her Wednesday work with James Ogilvy and also from Ivimey. And now she is feeling stronger. ‘Have gumption, get on with life,’ Billie instructs herself.
And in the manner that has seen her through a life of chance, Billie gets on with it. She directs her focus on Ivimey which is buzzing with industry. New ideas are starting to flow but she tempers them with a new perception. There is nothing in New Zealand to compare with the concept of fashion parades, although she has heard of private showings by Kirkcaldies in Wellington. Yes, she might go to Wellington next year. There is much to think about, much to be done.
She is strong and resolute again. And when the day comes that little old Mungo dies peacefully in his doggy sleep, she clings to his little body for a whole day, but after a splendid wake, Billie Frost smiles down on him and soldiers on.
Chapter Forty-Four
June 1875
‘There are those who fight a duel over a lady’s honour,’ says Robbie Macandrew – who in the fullness of time has grown into an assured young fellow and a junior associate in his father’s office. He has taken time to plan, and this is the moment of truth.
Tinks Toomey curls his lip. ‘She’s no lady, boyo!’
Robbie disregards the jibe. ‘And there are those who fight it out in the streets.’
‘Over a whore? What a desprit idea!’
‘And – ’ as if still not hearing the braggart speak, ‘– there are those who are found beside the gasworks with a neat gash to the head. He must have stumbled and hit it.’
Tinks’ colour starts to fade. Bejasus – the toff means it. He knows this one, the cyclist friend of Billie Frost, now working in his Da’s office. How very convenient. Scottish to boot, full of themselves and their education. He spits onto the dirt, carefully missing the challenger’s boots.
Two other young men move towards the tableau in support of their leader, who continues.
‘And then again there is the occasional one – lower than a snake, lower than a worm, lower than the most nauseating cockroach – who’s found on the rocks below Lawyers Head. Och, aye, the puir man, he must have wanted to end it all and jumped over the cliff.’
Tinks is silent.
‘You get my drift, man?’ The tone rises slightly.
Tinks stares ahead, calculating his chances, fearful now.
‘And so, to avoid any of the above, my friends – ’ Robbie cocks his head at his men, ‘– and I strongly recommend that you scarper. Vamoose. Leave town, and never, ever return.’
No response.
‘Do I make myself clear, Mr Toomey?’
Tinks manages a nod, but his eyes swivel.
‘I canna hear you. What is it that you are telling me, man?’
The Irishman makes a slight move, but before he has time to draw his knife the bodyguards pounce. One circles his neck in a beefy vice while the other twists an arm hard up his back until he ejects a curse-laced yelp of pain. Pressure is eased but as soon as Tinks Toomey moves, it is reemployed.
Eased again, he starts to regain poise. ‘I was headin’ off anyways. Likely to Australia. I’ll be leavin’ evench-ly – like in a few days.’
‘A few days? No, sir – by then a man will have washed up on the rocks.’ Robbie’s voice is harsh.
‘I will, I will, I’ll be off tomorra den.’ Tinks’ face is pasty now.
As if he hadn’t heard, Robbie continues, ‘Nothing will please me more than to see such a carcass on the rocks.’
‘I’ll be gone, so.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ And with a pistol at his back under cover of good companions with arms around each other, Tinks Toomey is ridden out of Dunedin town, over the plains, over the ranges, and deposited without food or transport well out of harm’s way.
As the horsemen drop their hostage amongst the high outcrops and whirl away to start their long canter back to Dunedin, one laughs his dire farewell to the terrified man: ‘Die of thirst or freeze to death, whichever takes your fancy!’
Alf’s emotions have been running high. He is aghast that his darling girl would have even thought of running off with that illiterate waster, and furious that the sod would touch her. He had taken a chance on calling upon young Mr Macandrew. It might have been the wrong move, but it has been a gauge of the man’s true character.
He has now witnessed the gang-press from a doorway, held back only by a solemn pledge that he would not cut the blackguard’s throat himself. Retribution has been met, and he is satisfied.
The operation’s commander releases his clenched hands and breathes in deeply. Slowly – calmly now – he lets it out. It is done. And nothing else would have done, other than to avenge the honour of Billie Frost.
Chapter Forty-Five
The following winter, the Southern Lights play across the sky in bold counterpoint to the softly floating Milky Way. Robbie Macandrew watches the awesome performance with Billie by his side. He has had his supper again at the Abbeyleix, now under the proud ownership of the Maguires. He is well set up in town in an agreeable flat during the working week, but he enjoys the humble comforts of the hotel’s kitchen. Meg is always welcoming and Alf smiles knowingly.
Robbie looks down on the young woman. ‘I do believe Vogel’s vision is making us a better country, Frostie,’ he says. ‘We have more immigrants these days, more new settlers, and many capitalists like Father to help with employing the labour. Aye, I daresay it will come at a p
rice, and I have no doubt things will dip again soon, especially if the world economy does. But we certainly are forging ahead,’ he nods firmly.
‘Gold has established our wealth, but gold runs out. We are so far away, down here at the bottom of the globe, yet I believe we are well off here by the standards of our parents at the same age, with plenty for all if certain parties up north would only stop fighting over it. I know there are poor and rich in New Zealand now too, but generally it is so much more egalitarian than the old country. It’s comforting to know we, here, are the new breed.’
Robbie’s confidence is not without foundation. With his studies completed and his feet on the first rungs of his father’s business, he believes his future is bright.
‘We? You really believe we are of a new breed?’ Billie’s face turns up at her tall companion.
‘Yes – you and me, people of our own generation who have grown up with expectations. I can plan my future so much more than I could have in Scotland, and with Father’s position and investments up Central he has built up more than he could ever have dreamed of.
‘Not that he discusses it with me, of course,’ Robbie assures, ‘but I’d say we are well set up. Aye, we were modestly well off in Scotland, but in New Zealand we have a different sort of freedom. The railways are expanding in all directions. Education is soon to be free and secular. Everything is growing so fast! This is indeed a bonnie country.’
Then he shudders. ‘Och, it’s nippy! Let’s come away inside – I certainly need a wee dram in my tea now, and no doubt you might have one too. Just to warm up, mind!’
They shiver themselves into the cosy kitchen alcove that is known as ‘Meg’s corner’, and they draw deeply on the aroma from their mugs.
‘I do enjoy it when you talk of the future, Robbie. I feel you really want to include me – that is, in an easy way. What I mean is,’ she ponders, ‘dear Mr Northey had a stiff manner, and Mr Ogilvy has a more learned one when he talks to me. And Alf has always encouraged me to explore my ideas. But once you start talking – not that you do very much – I get a feeling of – I can’t explain it.’