‘My uncle tells me he has put in a crew to work it but he says it is worthless, and I suppose he should know. It’s his responsibility now.’
Netty set her cup down with such force it rattled in its saucer. ‘His responsibility? I don’t understand. It was common knowledge that Penrose held shares in the mine. They’d be yours now?’
‘No. He left them to my uncle. If it is worth nothing but trouble, then maybe I am well rid of it.’ But the thought of losing the Shenandoah left a hollow ache in Eliza’s heart. It had meant so much to Will.
Netty stood and paced the floor. ‘But that’s not right,’ she said, her hands on her hips. ‘What about the Shenandoah’s other shareholders? Do Caleb and Adelaide know about this?’
‘Will told me all about them, and Mrs Hunt did write to me when they were in England, but we could not arrange a meeting. Are you well acquainted with them?’
Netty laughed as she resumed her seat. ‘Aye, you could say that. I was nursery maid to Adelaide from when she was a wee bairn and Caleb … well, Caleb is Caleb and it is a true blessing that they found each other. It was Caleb’s mine, you know. He won it in a game of chance. Will convinced him that it had good promise and when they discovered the gold, they went into the business together. That’s how it all began.’
‘Will believed in it enough to put everything he owned into it,’ Eliza said.
Netty studied her for a long moment and her mouth turned down. ‘Amos and I have a few shares in the Shenandoah, a wedding present from Caleb.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Nought to do with you, lass,’ Netty said. ‘You don’t miss what you don’t have, but it’ll be disappointing for Caleb and Adelaide. They believed in it as much as Will did.’
‘Do you know where they are now? I should have liked to meet them, but I had obligations at the school and couldn’t get up to London,’ Eliza said, remembering the frustration at not being able to escape even for a few days.
‘They’ve been travelling but are on their way home. When Adelaide last wrote, they were in America. I suppose Caleb wanted to show her his birthplace.’
‘I didn’t know he was American.’
‘Oh, yes. A proud Virginian, he’d tell you. He is a fine doctor and the town misses him, not that he’ll come back to that. Dr Sims is competent enough, but we all miss Caleb.’ She looked around her comfortable parlour. ‘They were generous to me. I’ve always been good with a needle, so Adelaide set me up with the business before she left Maiden’s Creek. She says every woman should be able to make their own way in the world.’
‘That’s true,’ Eliza said. ‘I have found my vocation in teaching.’
‘Do you truly enjoy it, though?’ Netty cast her a doubtful look.
Eliza considered her answer. ‘I do. There is enormous satisfaction in seeing a child understand something about the world that was previously hidden from them. Although I would never go back to being a governess. I hated that.’
‘It depends on the family,’ Netty said. ‘Miss Adelaide had some wonderful governesses. One of the better things Sir Daniel did for his daughter.’
‘I started as a governess,’ Eliza said, ‘but the son of the house viewed any woman, particularly if they were young and pretty, as his personal property—’ She broke off. She’d said too much.
From the flash of anger in Netty Burrell’s blue eyes, she knew the woman understood.
Netty lifted the lid of the teapot and peered inside. ‘More tea?’
‘What do you know about a girl called Sissy?’ Eliza asked as Netty handed her the fresh cup.
Netty paused, her hand outstretched. ‘Sissy? Did Will mention her in his letters?’
‘Not once. I met her at the cemetery yesterday. She’s been leaving flowers on his grave.’
Netty took a sip from her cup and set it back on the table. ‘I’m sorry to say this, Miss Penrose, but your brother treated her most heartlessly.’ The words came out in a rush.
‘Will? How?’
Netty opened the sewing box beside her chair and picked up a fine muslin chemise. ‘Will you excuse me? I have to get this done by tomorrow morning.’ She began sewing with small, neat stitches. ‘There’s an establishment in town run by Lil White. You’ll hear it referred to as Lil’s Place.’
‘What sort?’ One look at Netty’s face gave her the answer. ‘Oh, a house of ill repute?’
Netty cleared her throat. ‘Lil brooks no nonsense from anyone and the girls are well looked after.’
‘And Sissy is one of the girls?’
‘She is.’
Heat rose in Eliza’s cheeks. ‘And Will patronised this place?’
Netty shrugged. ‘He was a young man and Sissy’s a pretty girl. He made the mistake of falling in love with her and he promised her marriage and respectability.’
Conscious her mouth had fallen open, Eliza snapped it shut. How would she have reacted if Will had told her he planned to marry a—a whore? A nagging voice of conscience reminded her that she had defended such women only that morning.
‘My parents would turn in their graves,’ she said.
Netty nodded. ‘That’s as may be, but Sissy, poor fool, was head over heels in love with him. He kept her stringing along for months, over a year, but once he had the Shenandoah and was free of your uncle, he cast her off.’
Eliza frowned. ‘While I find it inconceivable that he would have proposed marriage to such a woman, Will was never wantonly cruel.’
‘I can’t say for certain what passed between them, but she’s not been the same sweet creature this last year. And you may call her “such a woman”, Miss Penrose, but I count her, as I do every other girl at Lil’s, as a friend. So does Miss Adelaide.’
Chided, Eliza looked down at the cup in her hands. Whatever her occupation, Sissy was still a human being with feelings and hopes and dreams, and it sounded like Will had dashed them. And now Will had left them both.
‘I didn’t mean to sound so judgemental,’ she said. ‘She must have loved him because she tends his grave and lays flowers on it.’
‘For all of his disregard of her, she took his death hard,’ Netty said.
Eliza sat back in the comfortable chair, soothed by the crackling fire as Netty continued her stitching in silence.
Then, without looking up, Netty said, ‘So, your uncle has the mine and your brother left you nothing of value. What will you do now?’
Eliza sighed. ‘It seems I have no choice but to go to Melbourne or Sydney and try and find a position as a schoolteacher. There’s nothing to hold me in Maiden’s Creek but a grave.’
Netty nodded. ‘That’s a pity, but that’s our lot in life isn’t it?’ She smiled. ‘Still, you’re a pretty girl, you should find yourself a husband.’
Eliza gave a humourless laugh. ‘I am twenty-five and I fear my best years are well behind me now. I’m good for nothing except teaching or being a companion to some elderly, and hopefully wealthy, lady.’
‘Don’t say things like that,’ Netty said with surprising ferocity. ‘Miss Adelaide never gave in. She trained as a telegraphist and ran the post office in this town for five years. She kept her son Danny and I fed and shod by her own hard work.’ A fierce pride in her friend’s achievements shone from Netty’s eyes.
‘I hope to meet her one day,’ Eliza said.
‘Oh, you will. She’ll be back by year’s end.’ Netty stood up. ‘Now, if you’ve nowhere else to be, bide a while. I can see you are a lady of fashion and there are precious few of those in this town. I would love to have a good look at how that skirt is gathered.’
Eliza looked at the black wool of her skirt. ‘This? It is very plain. I had it made in Bath, but the dressmaker assured me it was the latest silhouette.’
She lingered until the afternoon began to draw in, happy to pore over the plates in Netty’s out-of-date ladies’ magazines, discussing how the modes could be adapted to suit the current fashion.
Seven
23 Ju
ne 1873
Unrelenting rain kept Eliza indoors all day. She occupied her time by writing letters, reading, and helping Mrs Harris in the kitchen, whether the woman appreciated her assistance or not. Any attempts Eliza made to draw her into conversation were met with monosyllabic answers. Mrs Harris was proving a hard person to get to know.
With guests expected for dinner, Eliza dressed carefully, choosing an elegant black evening gown that had belonged to her mother. She had spent the voyage altering it to a more fashionable style and fit but when she entered the parlour, one look at the assembled guests made it clear she had overdressed. The other women were attired in what she would describe as ‘Sunday best’ and none of the gentlemen wore evening dress.
Her uncle stepped forward. ‘Eliza, my dear, so pleased you could join us. Allow me to introduce you …’
She turned to each guest as Cowper made the introductions. A short stout man was introduced as Angus Mackie, who kept the general store, and his red-headed wife, Leonora, was equally as short and stout. She recognised Mrs Russell and Mrs Jervis from church. Osborne Russell looked exactly as a bank manager should, tall and silver-haired with a magnificent moustache and neat beard, and Mr Jervis was a shorter rounder version of Russell. The other guests were introduced as the Reverend Donald, minister of the Presbyterian church, St Stephen’s—a thin man in a clerical collar who wore round, wire-rimmed glasses—and his sister, Flora Donald. Miss Donald inclined her head, her hard eyes appraising Eliza’s evening gown. From the tightly drawn lines around her long nose, the woman clearly disapproved of what she saw.
Cowper indicated that Eliza should take the place of lady of the house at the opposite end of the table, with an empty place on her left, set for a tardy guest. Cowper glanced at his watch and then the door, where Mrs Harris hovered. ‘I invited McLeod, but he must be held up at the mine. We won’t wait on him,’ he said. ‘You can serve, Mrs Harris.’
Flora Donald turned to Eliza. ‘Please accept my condolences on the death of your brother, Miss Penrose, but take comfort in the fact he is with our Lord now.’
Eliza thanked Flora with an appropriately doleful inclination of her head. She had met this type before. The woman probably slept with a copy of the bible under her pillow.
‘Of course, Miss Penrose, we were all deeply saddened by your brother’s death,’ Osborne Russell said. ‘May I enquire as to what you were doing before your move to the Antipodes?’
‘I am a teacher,’ Eliza said.
‘As is my dear sister, Flora,’ Reverend Donald said with a fond smile in the direction of his sister.
Flora returned the smile and a pang of regret cut to Eliza’s heart. She would never be called ‘dear sister’ again.
‘And were you teaching in England?’ Mrs Mackie asked.
‘Yes, I was the senior teacher at Miss Drury’s Academy for Young Ladies in Devon,’ Eliza said.
Jervis leaned forward. ‘What did you teach?’
‘Whatever was required of me: English, history, geography, Latin, mathematics and needlework. I had the benefit of an excellent education, which I have been able to pass on to my pupils.’
‘Very commendable,’ Russell said. ‘You should have no difficulty securing a good position in Sydney or Melbourne with those qualifications.’
Eliza turned to Flora. ‘Where do you teach, Miss Donald?’
‘I am the assistant teacher at the Maiden’s Creek Public School,’ Flora replied. ‘Although it is presently closed and the children are running wild, as they are wont to do. Their fathers work in the mines and drink in the pubs and their mothers are too busy to instil proper discipline.’
‘They’re not all bad children,’ Mrs Mackie said.
Flora turned her attention to the woman. ‘They lack the fear of God,’ she said, ‘but under the new Act, we cannot impart the word of the Lord in our teaching.’
‘Why is the school closed?’ Eliza asked.
The Reverend Donald answered for his sister. ‘Unfortunately, the head teacher is unwell and we were forced to close the school last week while we considered the situation.’ He gestured around the table. ‘Under the new Education Act we have a Board of Advice. Mr Mackie and Mr Russell and I comprise the Board and it is our duty to see to the appointment of a replacement.’
Eliza frowned. In her walks around the town she could not recall seeing a school building. ‘Where is the school?’
‘Just beyond the mine entrance to the north of the town. It was only built five years ago and is already inadequate for the number of children,’ Russell said.
‘How many students do you have?’
Flora answered, ‘We’ve just over seventy children, aged six to fifteen. I have the infant classes and Mr Emerton had some fifty children in the older classes.’ Her lips tightened. ‘There’s a wildness about this town, Miss Penrose, as you’ll learn. More public houses than churches, and as for that deplorable establishment Lil’s Place …’ She spat out the words as if they tasted foul.
‘I was telling Miss Penrose about that unfortunate place yesterday morning,’ Mrs Russell said.
Flora Donald turned back to Eliza. This time there was no sympathy in the harsh lines of her face. ‘Sadly, your brother was something of a patron of Lil’s Place, Miss Penrose. You should know he had taken up with one of those … those women.’
‘Miss Donald!’ Mrs Mackie scolded. ‘Do not speak ill of the dead.’
‘Aye, well, it’s best she knows what sort of man her brother was—or had become.’
The animosity in the woman’s voice surprised Eliza. ‘Will was never a saint, Miss Donald,’ she said. ‘He left a trail of broken hearts behind him in England.’
Mrs Russell looked at Cowper. ‘All I can say is that it is a mercy you put an end to that nonsense, Charles. As I was telling you yesterday, Miss Penrose, the Ladies’ Committee provides the social and moral fibre for our little community.’
‘Indeed,’ Mrs Jervis agreed. ‘We have been battling to control the drunkenness and immoral behaviour in this town. We have the full support of the churches, do we not, Reverend?’
‘We do,’ Reverend Donald said. ‘We are as one on the subject.’
‘Indeed. Those women are a scourge on this town,’ Mrs Russell said. ‘They should all be packed up and sent back to Melbourne.’
Charles Cowper cleared his throat. ‘In an ideal world you are correct, Miss Donald, but we do not live in such a place. Lil keeps a good, orderly house. Would you rather the men rampaged through the streets looking for anything in a skirt?’
‘I would rather the men were in church where they belong,’ Flora retorted. ‘My brother has an excellent sermon on the temptations of the flesh.’ She glanced at the minister, who seemed very intent on his soup.
‘Where is this establishment?’ Eliza asked.
‘Out past the mine and the school house,’ Mrs Russell said. ‘On the outskirts of town, where it should be.’
Flora Donald clucked her tongue. ‘I visited once to impart the word of the Lord to the godless souls. I gave Mrs White a copy of the New Testament and she threw it back at me.’
Fortunately, a sharp rap on the front door interrupted any further discussion on the evils of Lil’s Place.
‘Ah, that must be McLeod,’ Cowper said with what Eliza suspected was relief.
A flushed and slightly dishevelled Alec McLeod entered the dining room, running a hand over his damp hair as if trying to restore it to some sort of order. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘We’re having a problem with the new boiler.’
Cowper frowned. ‘Nothing serious?’
‘No. Trevalyn’s got it under control.’
Cowper gestured at the empty chair next to Eliza. ‘I don’t believe you’ve met my niece, Miss Penrose. Eliza, my mine superintendent, Alec McLeod.’
‘Miss Penrose and I have met, sir.’ Alec took the hand she held out to him, crushing her fingers in his large, square grip.
He took the seat beside her and
gave her a rueful smile. ‘Although I am embarrassed to say, not in the best of circumstances. I am responsible for ruining her coat.’
‘From the account I heard, I believe that you were extremely rude,’ Mrs Russell said.
Eliza came to the man’s defence. ‘It was an accident. I was in the wrong place and Mr McLeod was attending to an urgent problem. Mrs Harris has done a fine job of getting the mud out.’ No need to mention their subsequent encounter at the Mechanics’ Institute.
‘You are very gracious, Miss Penrose,’ Alec said as Mrs Harris set a bowl of soup down in front of him.
‘It’s cold,’ she said.
Alec mumbled an apology to the housekeeper.
Flora Donald, seated on the other side of him, said, ‘Your brother gave a fine homily on Sunday, despite his affliction.’
‘He did indeed,’ the Reverend Donald said. ‘You must be very proud of him.’
Alec paused, soup spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘Aye, that I am.’
But Mrs Mackie had already turned her attention to Eliza. ‘Mr McLeod’s brother, Ian, is one of the less fortunate among us.’
Alec’s soup spoon clattered in the bowl. ‘My brother is deaf, Miss Penrose.’ He cast Mrs Mackie a dark look. ‘But in no way would I describe him as less fortunate than the rest of us.’
‘Indeed not. He does an excellent job as my clerk,’ Cowper said.
‘I’ll tell him you said that,’ Alec said.
‘Yes, well. Probably something I have needed to say for a while.’ Cowper coughed.
‘Oh, I meant only—’ Mrs Mackie’s flustered apology was interrupted by the arrival of the main course.
As Cowper carved the chicken, Flora Donald addressed Osborne Russell, asking when the school would reopen.
‘Dr Sims is arranging for Emerton to be sent down to the hospital at Sale, away from the noxious fumes and noise. As if there is anything we can do about those. But Miss Donald is right, we can’t leave the school closed indefinitely.’ Russell tugged at his beard. ‘I’m at a loss as to what to suggest. We have a new Act but no real guidance about how it is to be implemented. The children have missed more than enough schooling over Mr Emerton’s heart problems. I have written to the Department of Education in Melbourne but we will need to advertise for a permanent replacement teacher as a matter of urgency.’
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