‘I will just have to purchase some flannel underwear,’ Eliza said, and was rewarded with a look of horror on her uncle’s face.
Five
22 June 1873
Alec rolled over in bed and lay for a long time listening to the sound of … nothing. On Sundays the stampers fell silent and the inhabitants of Maiden’s Creek complained of the unnatural peace and quiet. In the deafening silence, Alec thought through the tasks for the following day until a loud rapping on his bedroom door reminded him he had promised Ian he would accompany him to church.
The smile on Ian’s face when Alec had told him he would attend the service caused a stab of guilt. He had to remind himself that in Ian’s world, the approval of his older brother equalled that of a father; and Alec was inordinately proud of Ian, who always found joy in everything and whose faith in a God who had failed Alec in so many ways remained unshakeable.
They stepped out into a cold, damp morning. Mist wreathed up from the gullies to shroud the tops of the hills that surrounded the valley. The tolling of bells called the faithful of Maiden’s Creek to worship: St Thomas on the Hill summoned adherents to the Church of England; St Mary’s, the Roman Catholics; and St Andrew’s, the Presbyterians. The Methodists and others of the non-conformist faiths met in the Mechanics’ Institute. For them, the use of such fancies as bells was frowned on.
As they entered St Andrew’s, they encountered the eldest of Angus Mackie’s many daughters, Susan, who worked in her father’s general store and played the harmonium at the church service on Sunday,
‘Good morning, Mr McLeod.’ She lowered her eyes, before modestly looking up at Ian from under lashes.
To Alec’s surprise, Ian’s cheeks reddened. ‘G-good morning, Miss Mackie.’
She greeted Alec but not with quite the warmth she had shown his brother. ‘I’m so glad you will both be joining us for luncheon,’ she said.
Alec quirked an eyebrow at his brother.
Ian had the grace to avoid his brother’s unspoken question and turned back to Susan Mackie. ‘We are looking forward to it.’ He glanced at Alec with entreaty in his eyes.
‘Aye, that we are,’ Alec said. Even though this had been the first mention of luncheon at the Mackies, if nothing else, a decent meal would be more than welcome.
Ian and Susan still stared at each other with what Alec’s mother would have called cow eyes.
‘I like your hat,’ Ian stuttered.
Susan Mackie blushed and hid a giggle behind her hymnal. Alec bit back a sigh. She really was a remarkably silly young woman and, not that he was an expert on hats, he thought the particular shade of burgundy clashed with her red hair.
A tall, thin woman with her dark hair coiled on top of her head in a tight, unflattering bun approached the group. Flora Donald, the assistant teacher at the school and sister of the minister, James Donald, held out a hymnal to Alec.
‘Good morning, Mr McLeod. We don’t often see you here at St Andrew’s. Have you come to hear your brother preach?’
Alec took the hymnal. ‘I have. How are you, Miss Donald?’
Two spots of colour bloomed in her pale cheeks. ‘Passing well, thank you, Mr McLeod. And you?’
The inane conversation on weather and the state of the roads stumbled on for a few more awkward minutes before Alec managed to escape and find a place at the back of the church. He endured the interminable droning of the Reverend Donald before Ian rose to preach. Much as he loved his brother, Alec failed to share his enthusiasm for the parable of the prodigal son. He crossed his arms and tried to pay attention but his sympathy had always been for the older brother, left behind to keep the farm going while his younger sibling went off carousing. He found himself nodding off, jerking awake when someone dropped a book. He hoped Ian hadn’t noticed.
After the service he stayed to help Ian pack away the hymnals and together they walked down to the Mackies’ residence behind their substantial store.
‘What did you think?’ Ian asked.
‘Inspiring.’
His brother whacked him playfully on the arm. ‘You fell asleep.’
‘Did not.’
‘I saw you.’
‘I was resting my eyes. It helps me concentrate.’
Angus Mackie had six daughters, all red-headed and freckle-faced. The eldest had married and left Maiden’s Creek, Susan worked in the store and the other four were still at school.
Alec’s disquiet about the lunch deepened when Flora and James Donald joined the party and he found himself seated next to Flora. Ian was next to Susan, who seemed overcome and barely addressed a word to him throughout the meal. The two youngest girls giggled and whispered to each other, casting Susan quick glances.
Having exhausted another conversation about the weather, Alec asked Flora about her work at the school.
Her already thin lips tightened. ‘The school is closed. Mr Emerton was taken ill last week and there’s no saying when he’ll return.’
Angus Mackie, who, among his other civic duties, also sat on the school’s Board of Advice, waved a fork in the air as he spoke with his mouth full. ‘Aye, we’ve a serious problem there, Miss Donald. Dr Sims says it’s the man’s heart and Emerton will not be fit for duty for months, if at all. The school will have to remain closed for the time being, until a replacement teacher can be found.’
Flora straightened. ‘But that could take months.’
Mackie shrugged. ‘The Board of Advice will discuss what is to be done. Don’t fret, Miss Donald.’
‘I’m not fretting, but I am concerned that the children’s education will suffer.’
Flora Donald fidgeted, her long, thin fingers tightening on her cutlery but before she could respond, Mrs Mackie changed the topic of conversation. ‘I hear Will Penrose’s sister has arrived in town, the poor lassie knowing naught about her brother’s accident.’
Flora sniffed. ‘Waltzing into town not even wearing proper mourning for her poor dead mother, Mary Harris told me.’
Her brother glared at her. ‘Flora. You’ve no right to be listening to such tattletales, let alone repeating what they say.’
But Flora Donald would not be deterred. ‘And that’s not all Mary Harris told me. She comes from bad blood. Her father was a wastrel and we all know her brother to be a drunkard who consorted with whores.’
Alec stiffened. ‘William Penrose was my friend, Miss Donald.’
‘That’s as may be, but the fact remains, their father committed the sin of taking his own life and there’s nothing to say Will Penrose didn’t follow where his father led.’
‘Are you suggesting Penrose committed suicide?’
As Alec uttered the word, the whole table froze.
‘Mr McLeod,’ Angus Mackie chided. ‘This is not the place to discuss such matters.’
Alec bridled. It had not been him who raised the issue, but Flora Donald seemed to be finding her meal of the utmost interest and would not meet his eyes.
Ian had missed the exchange and cast his brother a questioning glance. Alec glared but his brother’s attention had already been diverted by Susan Mackie’s fingers lightly brushing his sleeve as she reached for the basket of bread.
There was no reprieve at the end of the meal. The McLeods were invited to linger and hear Susan playing the piano. Ian was deputed to turn the music and Alec persuaded to sing ‘Will Ye Nae Come Back Again’. He generally enjoyed the music of home but today he just wanted to escape. And every time he tried to catch Ian’s eye and make their apologies, his brother ignored him.
Finally released, they tramped back to their own cottage, Alec sunk in a deep gloom.
When they shut the door on the world, Alec searched out his whisky bottle. The lack of anything stronger than cordial at lunch had been almost more than he could bear.
‘Don’t ever do that to me again,’ he grumbled.
Ian’s eyes widened in innocence. ‘Do what?’
‘Inflict the Mackies on me. It’s plain they are after mat
ching you with Susan.’
Ian stared at him, his mouth cast down. ‘Don’t you like Susan?’
Ian’s doleful reaction confirmed Alec’s suspicion that the attraction was mutual. He coughed. ‘Do you like her?’
Ian shrugged and looked away.
‘You do.’ Alec grasped his brother’s shoulders and turned him so Ian could read his lips. ‘I am an ill-tempered old curmudgeon, just ignore me. If you like Susan Mackie, then I wish you well.’
‘I want what you and Catriona had,’ Ian said.
Alec smiled. ‘Aye, and that’s what I wish for you. It’s plain the girl likes you and if you feel the same way, then good luck to the both of you.’
Ian beamed. ‘Thank you. Your blessing means a lot.’ He poked Alec in the chest. ‘And you. You’ve mourned Catriona long enough. It’s time for you to find a lass.’
Alec laughed. ‘Hah! If you think I’m going to be matched with Flora Donald then you—and she—can think again.’
‘You don’t like Flora?’
‘Can you imagine being married to her?’ Alec said. ‘With her sharp tongue?’
‘Maybe that’s because she’s unhappy? She’s strong and healthy and properly raised. That’s all you need in a wife.’
‘No, it’s not. I need a companion who shares my interests.’
Ian laughed. ‘Machinery and mines? Really, Alec?’
‘My point exactly, Ian.’
On the other side of the valley, Eliza had accompanied her uncle, Mrs Harris and Tom to the service of Matins at St Thomas on the Hill. Cowper marched her to the front pew of the church and the heat rose in Eliza’s face as the eyes of the congregation of Maiden’s Creek Church of England bored into her back.
The single brazier and the hot bricks under each pew did little to dispel the chill of the building and when the service concluded, Eliza found herself unable to feel her toes. At the door, Cowper introduced her to the Reverend Johnson, a tall man with thinning hair and a prominent Adam’s apple who greeted her heartily, taking her hand in both of his. Like his church, they were icy.
‘Delighted to welcome you to our little flock, Miss Penrose, and my deepest condolences on the passing of your brother. My word, his funeral was one of the biggest we’ve ever seen in this town. We could not fit everyone in the church.’
Eliza swallowed the lump of grief that rose in her throat and thanked the man. Cowper drew the vicar away, leaving Eliza standing by herself. A large woman trailed by a smaller, mousy woman sailed up to her.
‘How remiss of your uncle not to introduce us properly,’ the large woman said. ‘Mrs Russell—Mrs Osborne Russell. My husband is the manager of the Bank of Australasia, and this is Mrs Jervis.’ She indicated the mousy woman, who bobbed her head. ‘Mr Jervis manages the Bank of Victoria. On behalf of the Ladies’ Committee, please accept our condolences on your brother’s passing.’
Eliza thanked them and Mrs Russell continued, ‘We heard what happened on your arrival. Such a greeting to our little town.’ She tutted. ‘McLeod is such an oaf, not at all like your poor dear brother, but then your brother was raised as a gentleman, which is not the case with McLeod.’ She leaned in to Eliza. ‘Dragged himself up out of the coal mines by the straps of his boots. Once a miner, always a miner, I say.’
‘Oh, I—’ Eliza began.
‘I do hope you will join the Ladies’ Committee, Miss Penrose. We are committed—’
‘Committed!’ put in Mrs Jervis; it was the first time Eliza had heard her speak.
‘—Committed to doing good works among the less fortunate among us.’
‘Very commendable—’
‘But of course, we wage a continual battle, in the good Lord’s name, against the evils of drink and the scourge of loose women.’
‘I …’ Eliza cast around for a suitable answer to that assumption. ‘I understand the good work you ladies do, but you will have to accept my apologies. I fear I must seek some sort of employment. I cannot be beholden to my uncle indefinitely.’
‘Employment? A lady such as yourself?’ Mrs Jervis could not have looked more shocked if Eliza had taken off all her clothes and ridden down the main street of Maiden’s Creek.
‘Unfortunately, I am a lady fallen on hard times, Mrs Jervis,’ Eliza said with barely concealed irritation. ‘I must take paying work where it offers.’ And because the pious sanctity of the two ladies had annoyed her, she added, ‘As must the women who you dismiss as “loose”. They are only trying to make their way in a world that is not kind to women who lack the protection of a man.’
‘I never did!’ Mrs Jervis put a hand to the snowy white lace cravat around her neck.
Mrs Russell’s chins shook. ‘Miss Penrose, really. I can only assume such plain-speaking comes because you are tired and strained from the long journey and the shock of the news that awaited you. Come, Mildred, we must discuss the reverend’s sermon with him.’
Eliza let out a breath as the two formidable matrons pushed through the crowd in the direction of the unfortunate vicar.
‘Bless you. That’s the best laugh I’ve had in weeks.’
Eliza turned to face her eavesdropper, a small woman, not much taller than her.
The woman smiled. ‘Nothing gives me greater pleasure than seeing those two biddies brought down a peg or two.’ She held out her hand. ‘Berenice Burrell, but I’m Netty to my friends. My husband, Amos, told me you’d arrived.’
‘The coach driver?’
‘The same. Will told us all about you. He was so excited at the thought you were coming to join him here. He couldn’t wait to show you the country.’
‘Did you know him well?’
Netty Burrell nodded but her pleasant, cheerful countenance crumpled. She produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry about your brother. I suppose you had no way of knowing that … that …’
Eliza shook her head, sparing the woman further distress. ‘No. My uncle had to break the news.’
‘It shook the whole town.’ Netty looked around at the little gatherings of worshippers lingering by the church. ‘Will Penrose was greatly liked. You should have seen his funeral. Hundreds turned out to pay their respects.’
‘So the vicar told me. That is some comfort.’
Netty took Eliza’s hands in both of hers. ‘Come and take tea with me this afternoon?’
Eliza clutched at the first real thread of friendship that had been offered to her since her arrival. ‘I would love to,’ she said. ‘Where do I find you?’
‘I have the dressmaker’s shop. The residence is behind it. Come at three?’
‘Thank you,’ Eliza said. ‘I will look forward to it.’
She turned to find her uncle coming toward her, Mrs Harris behind him.
‘I am so sorry,’ Cowper said. ‘I didn’t mean to abandon you with no proper introductions, but unfortunately the duties of warden …’ He spread his hands apologetically. ‘Never fear, I have arranged for the more important people in town to dine with us tomorrow evening. You will meet everyone you need to know then.’
As they descended the steep path away from St Thomas’s, Mrs Harris said to Eliza in a low voice, ‘That Mrs Burrell.’
‘What of her?’
‘Too common for the likes of you.’
‘Thank you for the advice,’ Eliza said, ‘but I think I will be the judge of who I consort with, Mrs Harris.’
The woman sniffed and hurried on several paces, leaving Eliza and Tom to bring up the rear. The boy chatted about Sunday School and showed Eliza the special bookmark he had been given. As he talked, Eliza realised that the currents of social tension that flowed beneath the fabric of Maiden’s Creek were no different from those in any small community and she had better watch her sharp tongue, or she risked alienating every woman in town by the following Sunday.
Six
Eliza ignored the housekeeper’s advice and, braving the rain that had set in for the afternoon, kept her social engageme
nt with Netty Burrell. On her explorations of the town, she had passed the neat shopfront with a half-curtained window in which a mannequin dressed in a fashionable plaid dress with matching bonnet and pelisse had been placed. A sign propped against the glass read: MRS B BURRELL, SEAMSTRESS AND DRESSMAKER. Eliza found a narrow path that ran down the side of the building leading to a red door with a gleaming brass knocker.
Netty greeted her at the door with a smile that warmed Eliza’s heart. ‘Come in, come in. Thank you for coming out in this vile weather.’
Netty took her umbrella and wet coat and Eliza stepped into a homely parlour. Two chairs and a little table had been placed in front of a fire burning in the shining grate. ‘I’ve just put the kettle on. Take a seat by the fire and warm yourself.’
‘You’re very kind, Mrs Burrell,’ Eliza said, gratefully drawing herself up to the fire.
‘Netty. Everyone calls me Netty. May I call you Eliza? I feel like I know you so well.’ Netty busied herself with the tea, pouring two cups and handing one to Eliza.
‘I am sure Will had other topics of conversation.’
‘He did, of course he did.’
A tear dripped into Eliza’s tea cup as she lowered her head. Netty produced a neat square of lace-edged cambric from her sleeve.
‘I hadn’t seen him for five years,’ Eliza said with a shuddering breath as she set the cup down and wiped her eyes with Netty’s handkerchief. ‘I do apologise. I seem to have been awash since I arrived.’
‘Nothing to apologise for. It must have been a terrible shock to you.’ Netty patted her hand. ‘And then for that Alec McLeod to be so rude to you. But he’s not a bad lad, that one, just hard to get to know. Keeps himself to himself.’ Netty took a sip of her tea. ‘What’s your uncle told you about Will’s death?’
‘He was found at the foot of the tailings and the coroner concluded it was an accident,’ Eliza said. ‘But I don’t understand why he was up at the Maiden’s Creek Mine in the middle of the night.’
‘That no one knows. There was some suggestion that maybe he had drunk a little more than usual that night.’ She sighed. ‘All I know is that Amos and I lost a good friend and the community lost one of its best men. He had an instinct for mining that few have.’ She paused. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what’s become of the Shenandoah? We haven’t heard anything down here.’
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