There was a tentative knock on the door before it opened and Mrs Harris entered the room. She set a cup of tea on the small table by the bed, then sat beside Eliza and handed her a clean, neatly folded handkerchief.
‘You poor lass,’ she said. ‘It was a shock for us all.’
Eliza blew her nose and wiped her eyes properly. ‘I don’t understand how it could have happened. Will was brought up around mines. He would never—’ She hiccupped into the sodden handkerchief.
‘It was a terrible thing to happen. Such a shock for the whole town.’
‘What am I going to do?’
Mrs Harris patted her shoulder. ‘Today’s a new day and the world will look brighter after a wash. You can join Mr Cowper for breakfast.’ The housekeeper rose to her feet, all brisk efficiency. ‘Now let’s get you organised. Oh dear, look at the state of that dress. Well, it will have to do for now. I’ll press it up nice and neat for church tomorrow.’
Eliza took a deep breath and tried to find a dry corner of the handkerchief but after Mrs Harris left the room, the tears returned. The act of dressing strengthened her a little, but her reflection in the washstand mirror revealed a washed-out ghost of herself, her eyes lost in dark smudges of grief and exhaustion. She took a steadying breath and smoothed down her crumpled skirt before joining her uncle in the small dining room.
‘You look a little pale, my dear,’ Cowper remarked as Eliza took the seat across from him. ‘Did you not sleep well?’
‘I slept very well, thank you, Uncle.’
He rubbed his hands together as the door opened. ‘Ah, Mrs Harris, breakfast. I hope you have a good appetite because Mrs Harris is one of the best cooks in the town,’ Cowper said to Eliza.
Eliza thanked Mrs Harris as she set down a substantial breakfast of bacon and eggs. ‘And thank you for your assistance this morning.’
The woman nodded. ‘If you have anything else to wash, I will attend to that this morning. In this weather it takes a little while for things to dry properly, so the earlier I get started the better.’
‘She has been very kind to me,’ Eliza said as the housekeeper shut the door behind her.
‘She has a good heart.’ Cowper picked up his knife and fork and attacked his breakfast with the enthusiasm of a man who had not eaten for days.
Eliza cut a piece of bacon. It was excellent but in her present mood it tasted like boot leather. She set her fork down and looked at her uncle. ‘Tell me a little more about Will,’ she said. ‘And the accident.’
Cowper shook his head. ‘Oh, my dear, what is the point of talking about it? To be honest, I have nothing to add to what I told you yesterday. Will left my employ a year ago and he’s been living up at Pretty Sally, working on the Shenandoah Mine. I know he came into town every now and then, but I rarely saw him.’
‘Then who did he meet? Who were his friends?’
Her uncle forked more egg and bacon into his mouth, a dribble of yolk adhering to his overlong moustache.
‘Friends? This is not the sort of place where friendships as a woman would think of them are formed.’
‘What of the night he died?’ Eliza persisted.
‘They said he’d been seen drinking at—at one of the many establishments in this town, but he had left by midnight and what he did after that, no one can say. The coroner concluded he slipped on the tailings and fell to his death.’
‘But why did he go up to the mine so late at night?’
‘No one knows. Now, do eat up. Mrs Harris will be mortally offended if you don’t send back a clean plate.’
Eliza forced herself to finish the plate of congealing egg, conscious she had eaten hardly anything over the last couple of days, but the food sat heavily in her stomach. She laid the knife and fork neatly on the plate and pushed it to one side. ‘Where is he?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Will. Where is he buried?’
‘In the town cemetery. I was on the point of arranging a memorial stone but maybe that is something you wish to do?’ He paused. ‘I will pay, of course.’
Eliza nodded. ‘Thank you, that would be a kindness.’ Her uncle did not need to know that her finances were in a parlous state. What she had managed to save and what she had been left by her mother had nearly all gone. The only thing of any value she possessed was the gold locket around her neck, given to her by her father on her eighteenth birthday. She would have to seek some sort of employment as a matter of urgency, unless—
Everyone she had met in Melbourne and on the coach had told her how well the Maiden’s Creek goldfields were doing, and Will had owned shares in the Shenandoah Mine. Perhaps there might be a small legacy, enough to sustain her for a little longer?
‘Did my brother have a will?’
Charles Cowper ran a hand over his balding head. ‘He did. My solicitor in Melbourne is dealing with its execution.’
Hope flickered in her heart but faded with his next words.
‘The fact is, it is not worth the paper upon which it is written.’
‘What do you mean? There is the Shenandoah Mine. His shares—’
‘Indeed, but sadly Shenandoah is failing to live up to its early promise. Any money Will saved he ploughed into the mine and at the time of his death the shares were worth a fraction of their value. In fact, Will was so disappointed with the prospects for the mine that, under the terms of his will, he left the shares in the Shenandoah to me, rather than burden you with a worthless investment. Everything else was left to you, of course, but I am afraid that amounts to nothing more than his personal possessions.’
‘Why would he leave the mine to you?’ she asked through stiff lips. ‘You said yourself that you were not on the best of terms.’
Cowper spread his hands. ‘Professional differences, nothing more. But he was always a sensible young man and he recognised that management of a mine is not a job for a woman, particularly as it looks like the Shenandoah will need to be wound up. That is more than a gently born girl like yourself should have to deal with.’
‘Please don’t patronise me, Uncle. I am not a girl. I am twenty-five years old and I have been making my own way in the world for the last five years.’
Cowper regarded her for a long moment. ‘I did not intend to patronise you, but all the indications are that the Shenandoah is indeed worthless. It started off well, with a good find of surface gold but the reef has petered out. Out of respect for your brother and the other shareholders—who are presently overseas—I’ve kept a crew up there, and while there is always the hope of finding another seam, we doubt there is anything more. Will probably hoped to spare you the disappointment and the responsibility.’ He reached over and patted her hand, a gesture which made Eliza’s teeth clench with irritation. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but that is the gamble of trusting in gold. It is high-risk mostly for little reward. A decision will be made about its future when the major shareholders return from their travels. But for them it is no great loss. For your brother, alas, it was everything.’
Eliza withdrew her hand. In one of his letters, Will had described the mine as an investment in their future—both their futures—the restoration of the Penrose family fortunes. It must have been a bitter disappointment for him to have made the decision to leave his share to his uncle and not her. ‘And his possessions?’ she asked in a small, tight voice.
‘I had them packed up. The box is in the shed, I’ll have the boy bring it in for you. Hopefully it contains things that will bring you some comfort.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked up. ‘Uncle, if you could spare some time this morning, can you show me where he is buried? I would like to pay my respects.’
Cowper wiped his moustache and pushed back his chair. ‘I have business at the mine this morning, but I will be pleased to take you after lunch.’
Eliza summoned a smile and thanked him.
Eliza knelt on the ground beside her brother’s grave, the sharp stones digging through her layers of petticoats and stockin
gs. She scarcely felt the pain of them, or the icy wind blowing down the valley, as she laid a gloved hand on the raw earth that marked Will’s final resting place. She covered her eyes with her other hand as tears welled again.
Five years ago, she and her brother had stood on the dock at Liverpool, a very different winter wind blowing up the Mersey, at the crossroads of their lives: Will headed for a new life in Australia and Eliza for the post of governess at a great house in Yorkshire. Their days would be a far cry from their comfortable home in Cornwall.
He had taken her hand, squeezing her icy fingers. ‘Give me some time, Eliza,’ he’d said. ‘You have my word—as soon as I am settled, I’ll send for you. There is a future for both of us in Australia, I know it in my heart. England holds nothing for us any more.’
His letters had always repeated his intention they be reunited. She had never dreamed it would be like this.
‘What do I do now?’ she whispered to the cold dirt of Will’s grave.
The white cross bore the neat black painted inscription: W J PENROSE, DIED 27 APRIL 1873. Despite its bleak appearance, the grave seemed well looked after. Not a weed sprouted from the fresh earth, still piled high on the grave, and a wilted posy of flowers had been placed in a chipped blue-glass ink bottle at the foot of the cross. Eliza had not thought her uncle sentimental; the posy seemed the gesture of a woman. Maybe Mrs Harris?
Gathering up some of the earth in her gloved hand, she let the dirt and stones fall back on the grave and stood up, brushing the mud off her skirt.
The wind picked up, tugging at her shawl. She drew it tighter around her as she looked around the quiet cemetery. With so little flat ground in the valley, the innovative citizens of Maiden’s Creek had cut the graves in terraces just wide enough to accommodate them. The place seemed far removed from the hustle and bustle below; the ceaseless thump of the stamper batteries muted in the peaceful atmosphere.
Her uncle had retired a little way up the hill to talk with the gravedigger, who leaned on his shovel, resting from the labour of digging a new grave in the hard earth. The murmur of their voices drifted down toward her.
Seeing she had risen from her knees, Cowper slithered down the slope to join her. Removing his hat, he stood beside her for a long moment in respectful silence. Above them, the grave digger returned to his labour, the sharp clang of his shovel striking a discordant note.
‘Who is he digging the grave for?’ Eliza enquired.
‘A woman died in childbirth yesterday.’ Cowper looked around the already well populated cemetery and shook his head. ‘The weak and the vulnerable don’t survive long up here.’
She cast her uncle a curious glance. It seemed an odd remark from a man not given to shows of emotion.
He pulled a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat and snapped it open. ‘Let me escort you home, my dear, and then I really must return to the mine.’
Eliza shivered as the chill wind seemed to cut through her. The Cornish would call it a lazy wind—too lazy to go around. She had not expected Australia to be so cold or so damp. Bruise-coloured clouds roiled above the ridgelines of the steep valley. It had rained on and off during the day but the clouds seemed higher now, the threat of rain a little more distant. The limbs of the young deciduous trees in gardens across the valley—planted, no doubt, by homesick residents—were bare. So strange to think of June as being winter and not the start of summer. In England the land would be green and lush and it seemed to her that she had lived this year in perpetual winter.
She tugged at her gloves, settled the veil back over her face and took a deep breath. ‘If you don’t mind, Uncle, I will stay here a while longer.’
‘Do you wish company?’
‘No. You have duties at the mine, and I would like to be alone.’
He nodded and looked around. ‘If you’re inclined to exercise, do watch your step. These hills are a honeycomb of mines.’ He pointed to a stand of trees above the cemetery. ‘There is a good view of the town from up there. It is a rough-and-ready place not without beauty and charm, but don’t linger too long, it is sure to rain again within the hour.’
Eliza watched her uncle stride away. On their way to the cemetery she had noted how people greeted him by name and he raised his hat in acknowledgement without breaking stride. It seemed strange to see him as a person of some importance in this place so far from her mother’s drawing room in Cornwall.
Charles Cowper had been a frequent visitor to the Penrose home, following the marriage of Eliza’s parents, until he had moved to Australia to make his fortune on the newly discovered goldfields. After Eliza’s father’s disgrace and death, it had been Charles Cowper who had come to the rescue, settling the family’s debts and offering Will the opportunity to escape England. Will had gone but had discovered that the price of joining his uncle was the repayment of the debt the Penroses owed him. Although the debt had been discharged, it had taught Eliza that whatever the future held, she knew better than to allow herself to become beholden to Charles Cowper.
The rasp of the gravedigger’s shovel kept time with the distant stampers. Thud, thud, thud, a sound that echoed her own heartbeat. She looked down toward the town. The main street seemed alive with a stream of men and beasts. Despite the noise, the bleak, denuded hills and the stench from the creek, there was, as Cowper had said, a charm to the valley.
Her wandering thoughts were diverted by a woman coming up the path to the cemetery. She wore a dark bonnet and a shawl over a plain blue gown and in her hand she carried a nosegay of greenery. The woman paused at the start of the row of graves that led to where Eliza stood and glanced back down the hill as if undecided about proceeding. Their eyes met, the woman’s chin lifted and, with a purposeful stride, she came toward Eliza, stopping on the far side of Will’s grave.
‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Eliza said. ‘You have been placing the flowers on his grave?’ Up close she could see the woman was young and pretty with full, red lips and high cheekbones, but her eyes had a glittering hardness to them. Eyes that had seen too much.
The young woman knelt and tipped the dead flowers from the improvised vase, replacing them with the fresh posy of native foliage. Satisfied that the vase stood straight and the greenery was neatly arranged, she rose to her feet.
‘Can’t find flowers this time of year,’ she said. She studied Eliza for a long moment. ‘You’re his sister, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. How do you know?’
A half-smile lifted the woman’s features but there was no humour in her eyes. ‘Whole town knows,’ she said. ‘There are no secrets in Maiden’s Creek.’
‘You have the advantage of me. Who are you?’
‘Me?’ The woman brushed the top of the cross with her hand. ‘I’m no one.’
‘Were you a friend of Will’s?’
The woman coughed then took a breath and brought her gaze up to Eliza’s. ‘A friend? Aye, I would hope that would be how he’d think of me.’
‘If you were a friend of my brother’s, I would like to think of you as a friend of mine. Please, allow me to know your name?’
‘Sissy.’
‘Sissy …?’
‘Just Sissy.’ She turned and hurried away.
Eliza started after her, but the woman moved fast and the ground beneath Eliza’s feet was too uncertain. Frustrated and annoyed, she abandoned the undignified pursuit and climbed the hill to speak with the gravedigger.
He paused as she approached, leaning on the long handle of his shovel. ‘Miss Penrose,’ he said. ‘I was sorry for your brother. He were a fine man.’
She thanked him and pointed down the hill. ‘Did you see that woman who was just here?’
A guarded expression crept onto the man’s gaunt face.
‘You couldn’t miss her.’
The gravedigger scratched his unshaven chin. ‘Aye. That’d be Sissy. She comes every day. But you don’t want to be dealin’ with the likes of her, Miss Penrose.’
‘Does she have a
last name?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Where would I find her?’
The man picked up his shovel and drove it into the earth, turning his back on her. ‘Nowhere you belong. Now, I best be gettin’ back to me work. Funeral’s in the mornin’. Good day to you, Miss Penrose.’
Eliza stood watching him for a little longer, fascinated by the practised rhythm of the gravedigger as he dug into the unforgiving earth, sparks rising when the metal hit the rocks. She thought of Will, her brilliant, laughing brother, entombed forever in the cold ground, and turned away.
Four
‘The fundamental theorem of calculus states that the integral of a function f over the interval a, b can be calculated by finding an antiderivative F of f.’ Alec turned to the blackboard and scribed the formula in his swift, impatient hand.
‘That is something of a generalisation, Mr McLeod. The Kelvin–Stokes theorem carries the proposition much further.’
Alec nearly dropped the chalk as he turned to face the diminutive woman standing in the doorway, a book clutched in her hand. His students swivelled in their seats and gaped at the unexpected visitor.
He took a breath and set the chalk down on the table in front of him. ‘Yes it is, and we will be covering the Kelvin–Stokes theorem in the next lecture,’ he said, rather too quickly. ‘Thank you, gentlemen, that will do for today.’
The six young men rose and shuffled past the woman in the doorway with polite greetings. The front door to the Mechanics’ Institute shut with a thump, leaving Alec alone with Miss Eliza Penrose.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interfere,’ she said. ‘I am passionate about calculus in all its purest forms.’
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