by Nunn, Kayte
Finally she decided to keep it brief, merely reminding him of their meeting and asking him if he could indeed put her in touch with his friend who knew more about nineteenth-century English botanical illustrators. Pressing send, she turned the laptop off and fell into bed.
Anna woke early the next morning, and for the first time in years she didn’t feel like driving across the city to the gym. It was a clear, bright day and she felt a yearning for the ocean. Throwing on her exercise gear, she headed down the stairs of her apartment building and climbed into her ute. Fifteen minutes later she was at the beach.
A big swell had blown in overnight on a strong southerly wind and only the hardiest – or possibly foolhardiest – surfers braved the water. Anna watched as the waves crashed and foamed on the shore, barely noticing the handful of joggers and walkers moving around her. She took her shoes and socks off and wiggled her toes in the sand, breathing out as the water washed over them. Even though it was autumn, the water had yet to completely lose its summer warmth and it soothed her feet and calmed her soul. It had been years since she had been to the beach, somewhere she loved as a girl, and yet it was only a few minutes’ drive away. Why had she left it so long? Had she really been too caught up in work, or had she subconsciously denied herself the simple pleasure of a walk on the sand? She had been sleepwalking through her life for far too long.
Chapter Seventeen
VALPARAISO, 1887
‘Just a small tremor. We get them all the time. Nothing to worry about. Well, most of the time anyway.’ Mrs Campbell waited the few seconds that it took for the shaking to stop and then clapped her hands together sharply. The maid who had brought the tea reappeared and began to clear up the mess with an enviable calmness.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and pretended to be at ease with it all. Her thoughts flickered briefly to Daisy, who was most likely on her way to the house. After their experience on the ship, she had no doubt that her maid was perfectly capable of looking after herself, but an earthquake was something that would unsettle even the most sanguine traveller.
Mrs Campbell stood. ‘I must get back to the shop. I trust you have everything you need, but if not, call for Mercedes and she will look after you. I shall see you at dinner tonight. We eat at ten. Late, I know, but it is the custom here.’
Elizabeth was left sitting in the courtyard, contemplating how to spend the remainder of the afternoon. She was anxious to begin to explore, but after so long aboard ship she was unsure how far her legs would carry her. The sun shone brightly overhead but the breeze was cool and the weather ideal for a walk. Resolved, she gathered her skirts so they did not drag across the dirt floor and returned to the room that Mrs Campbell had shown her to earlier.
‘Ah, there you are!’ exclaimed Elizabeth as she opened the door to see Daisy in their bedroom, surrounded by a sea of trunks. ‘Did you feel the tremors? Were you scared?’
‘No. Mr Williamson forewarned me.’
‘Lucky for you. I nearly leapt out of my skin,’ said Elizabeth.
Daisy looked sympathetically at her. ‘Well, no harm done by the looks of things.’ She pointed to a dark wardrobe that took up almost all of one wall of the modest space. ‘I’ve put away some of your gowns, but I did not want to unpack everything. There isn’t enough room.’
‘Thank you, Daisy.’
‘Good,’ the maid replied, bobbing a curtsey.
‘Now, where is my sketchbook? My fingers are itching to begin. Have you seen the array of plant life here? It is more than I even dared to dream of, more than Papa described.’
‘It would be a grave disappointment if there were not,’ said Daisy with a wry grin.
‘Will you accompany me on a short exploration of our surroundings?’
‘To the town?’
‘Oh no. I wish to see the landscape beyond the town. The fields, the olive groves and the almond gardens. I glimpsed them briefly as we came to the house.’
‘We shouldn’t stray too far. It would be most unfortunate to get ourselves lost on our first day here,’ warned Daisy. ‘And you are not fully recovered from the journey.’
‘Oh pish!’ replied Elizabeth. ‘I have absolute confidence in my sense of direction.’
The two young women set out – Elizabeth carried her father’s vasculum and knapsack slung over one shoulder and a small portable easel over the other, while Daisy toted a satchel containing the sketchbook and paints – but the going was hard, with a steep climb up a narrow, rough path. The land swayed beneath Elizabeth’s feet as if they were still at sea, and she began to realise how weakened she had become on the ship. They were forced to take frequent stops to rest, and her lawn handkerchief, which she used to wipe the perspiration from her brow and the back of her neck, was soon soaked through.
As they had sipped the matté, Mrs Campbell mentioned an area of almond trees and Elizabeth was relieved when they eventually came across it, bounded by a freshwater stream that rilled prettily over a bed of pea-sized pebbles. She drew out a small silver cup from her father’s knapsack and knelt to dunk it in the water, filling it to the brim. ‘Here, help me up, Daisy,’ she said, holding out the other hand.
Daisy hoisted her up from the bank and Elizabeth offered her the cup first. ‘Drink,’ she insisted.
‘Oh, that is delicious!’ cried Elizabeth as she took her turn. After months of drinking brackish water from the ship’s tanks, this pure stream water was crisp and sweet.
Daisy nodded in agreement and then looked up. They had climbed one of the steep hills that surrounded the town and now the sharp-toothed cordillera loomed in the distance, its peaks capped brilliant white with snow. Hummingbirds flitted among the almond blossoms and Daisy exclaimed at the sight of a flash of dull green. ‘Oh! Mr Williamson told me of this parrot. It is well known in these parts.’
‘Rather an ugly-looking thing don’t you think? But curious nonetheless,’ replied Elizabeth. She was far more interested in documenting the exquisite flowers before her. She set up her easel and rested her sketchbook upon it. After selecting a brush, she moistened the cakes of watercolour in her travelling palette with some of the water from her cup and, with careful strokes, began to record the almond flowers in painstaking detail. Her father had successfully cultivated them at Trebithick, but she had never seen them growing in the wild before.
More often than not, Elizabeth would collect plant samples to study carefully indoors, and would sketch them out before taking up her brush, spending hours ensuring she captured each detail precisely. But recently she had begun to experiment with a more free-form style of painting. It wasn’t strictly the style of illustration she had learned, nor did she think her father would approve, but she loved the immediacy of it. The trick was to get the lighting just right – a strong source helped to create shade and give the work a three-dimensional effect. The afternoon light was perfect, and she also used a dry brush, rubbed over the paint cakes, to add detail and depth to the watercolours.
Daisy wandered off to the shade of a wide-spreading tree a few yards away. ‘It’s a canela tree, I think,’ Elizabeth called out, pausing for a moment from her work. ‘False cinnamon,’ she explained.
‘I can smell it,’ replied Daisy, sniffing appreciatively. ‘Like Cook’s apple pie.’ She sat down and leant against the fragrant tree. ‘I think I shall rest here while you draw.’
Daisy closed her eyes and was soon asleep, but Elizabeth continued to paint, absorbed in her work. She barely noticed the cooling air and the sun slipping slowly below the horizon. As was so often the case when she was immersed in her art, time ceased to register, and several hours might pass as if merely the blink of an eye. It was only when she started to squint at the plant in front of her – a particularly fine specimen of ficus – that she became aware of the fading light and her cramped muscles. She would have to finish. Assigning her signature – the initials ET drawn with a flourish – and the date, she gathered up her materials and hastened towards her maid. ‘Daisy, Daisy!�
�� she said, shaking her gently. ‘We must leave at once, for it will soon be dark,’ Elizabeth cried as she heard the clamour of church bells in the town far below.
Daisy sat bolt upright. ‘Heavens! I had no notion of sleeping for so long. Oh Elizabeth, I am so sorry.’
‘It is not your fault. I too lost all track of the hour.’
Daisy scrambled to her feet and together they set off in the direction from whence they had come. However, unfortunately for them, the Chilean sunset was a short-lived one and before barely twenty minutes had passed they were stumbling in near darkness with only the stars and the few lights from the port below to guide their footsteps. It was all Elizabeth could do not to think of the ravines they had passed on the way up. A few steps in the wrong direction and they might fall to their deaths.
Elizabeth could hear the noise of small nocturnal creatures emerging from their burrows. Aboard ship, Mr Windsor had told of packs of mountain lions prowling the hills, and she shuddered at the thought of encountering even one of those. She silently cursed herself for having become so absorbed in her work. Really, what kind of a traveller was she turning out to be? Lost, in the dark, barely twenty-four hours on a new continent on the other side of the globe. She felt very foolish, but pride would not let her admit such a thing to Daisy. ‘Shall we perhaps sing?’ she said. ‘For it might take our minds off the journey back.’ She began a favourite childhood tune, her clear soprano ringing out in the darkness.
They had been walking for what seemed like more than an hour when Elizabeth heard a cough in the distance and looked up to see a small light bobbing up and down. ‘Who … who’s there?’ she asked uncertainly.
There was no response.
‘I know I heard something,’ she called out, bolder this time. ‘Whoever you are, show yourself.’ She slowed and slid open the flap of the knapsack, her fingers closing over her father’s small knife. Heart pounding, she withdrew it and held it concealed in the folds of her skirt.
Another cough, followed by the rustling of the grasses that lined the path. The light came closer. ‘Señorita.’ A man’s dark face loomed before them. Elizabeth could see the whites of his eyes and his teeth glowing in the light from his lantern.
‘Hola,’ she replied, that being about the limit of her Spanish.
‘Señorita Elizabeth?’ The man now stood before her, holding up the lantern to his face.
While wondering how on earth he knew her name, she couldn’t help but notice his smooth brown skin and disarming smile. He looked to be about her own age, perhaps a little older and he was taller than many of the chilenos she had seen on her journey through the town earlier that day, and his eyes, which were on a level with hers, were a startling blue, the exact colour of the hydrangeas that bloomed every spring at Trebithick. She breathed out a little but still held tightly onto her knife.
‘Señorita Elizabeth?’ he asked again.
‘Si, si. That is me,’ she answered.
‘Mrs Campbell sent me,’ he answered. ‘Tomas Esteban Flores, at your service.’ He gave a low, theatrical bow. ‘She was worried when you did not return, especially as you are unfamiliar with the city. There are several quebradas – ravines – not far from here, and an unwary traveller might accidentally fall into one. It is also not safe to be out after dark, for anyone, but especially a lady such as yourself.’
Elizabeth’s grip on her knife loosened a little at his words.
‘She asked me to search for you,’ he continued. ‘I am very pleased to have found you and can now happily and safely bring you back to your lodging.’
‘Oh, thank you!’ Daisy exclaimed. ‘For you are right, we were lost.’
‘Not lost at all, merely a little late,’ retorted Elizabeth. ‘We lost track of time, but we had not lost our way.’
Tomas’s lips curved. ‘Of course, señorita. But allow me to escort you both back to the hosteria. I would be negligent in my duties if I did not. And Mrs Campbell is not a woman whose wishes are easily disobeyed.’
‘I understand,’ said Elizabeth. Annoyingly he was right. ‘As you wish.’
There was not room for them to walk abreast, and so Tomas led the way along the narrow path, with Daisy and Elizabeth following behind in single file. In only a matter of minutes they found themselves at the back gate of the Campbells’ home.
‘See, we were not so far from home at all,’ said Elizabeth unable to keep the note of defiance from her voice as she stepped into the courtyard.
‘Indeed, señorita,’ said Tomas.
She didn’t know quite why she was so irritated. The poor man had only been doing as he was asked. But there was something in his manner, which was not quite arrogant but certainly self-assured, that rankled her. She had never come across a man quite like him. He moved as gracefully as a cat, treading softly in his strange sandals, which appeared to be bound to his feet by thick twine. In the light that shone through the open doorway she could make out his clothing: loose trousers of a rough linen-like material and an open-necked light-coloured smock topped by a thick poncho that reached past his hips. His hair, thick, dark and glossy, hung loose about his face, reaching past his shoulders. He was dressed as a native but had the demeanour and language of an educated man, overlaid with a charming Spanish accent. The overall effect was disconcerting, as if a veritable Adam had sprung, perfectly formed, from the hills above them. Elizabeth shook her head to clear it. Really, she was having the most fanciful imaginings. It must be the effect of such a tumultuous day, she told herself. What with leaving the ship, finding their lodgings, experiencing an earthquake and getting caught out in the dark – she wouldn’t allow that they had been lost – it had been a more eventful day than she had lived in months, if not years. Though she longed for adventure, she began to wonder if every day was going to be as unpredictable as this one.
‘I will leave you now to pay my regards to Mrs Campbell.’ Tomas Esteban Flores bowed low again and left them standing in the courtyard.
Elizabeth supposed she should simply be relieved that they hadn’t met with misfortune on their first day in Valparaiso and that he had been a friend not a foe. But there was something about the man that intrigued her, though exactly what she couldn’t say. She found herself wishing she had spoken more with him on their walk back to the house. He had given very little clue as to who exactly he might be.
Chapter Eighteen
SYDNEY, AUTUMN 2017
Anna began to painstakingly decipher the diary, typing it into a document on her laptop. She had completed about a dozen pages, learning that Marguerite and her daughter – Lily – had arrived in Sydney by ship, and spent six weeks at the city’s quarantine station, on an isolated headland near Manly. During that time Marguerite had grown friendly with another woman, Alice, whose husband had become sick and died on their journey from Ireland, leaving her to raise their young son. Anna discovered that Marguerite and Alice planned to find lodgings together and look for work once they had been cleared of any potentially infectious diseases. ‘Perhaps a situation in a shop …’ she had written. Worried about who would look after baby Lily, Marguerite continued, ‘I have a little money but I owe a great debt, one that I have sworn to repay eventually, so I must support the two of us as soon as I am able.’ She also wrote of an acquaintance with a man on board. ‘Joseph Bailey has been most kind to Lily and me. We pass the time in quiet conversation or taking a turn about the deck, much to the amusement of Alice. He is a carpenter and anticipates good employment in Sydney town. I confess I have grown quite fond of him and I hope our friendship will continue after we leave the ship. He has assured me it will, but I am no longer certain of anything in this life, for it can be unbearably cruel. Loved ones are torn away from us without a moment’s warning.’
It was just after seven when Anna parked at her sister’s house, pulling up beside her mother’s little hatchback and Vanessa’s shiny white four-wheel drive.
The front door was ajar, and she pushed it open, calling out as she
stepped over the threshold.
‘We’re out the back.’ Her brother-in-law’s voice boomed over the sound of music and little girls’ laughter.
‘Yo mama!’ called Ivy, her eldest niece, looking up from an iPad with which she seemed to be recording herself.
‘It’s a video-mime app,’ Vanessa explained, coming over to give her a hug. ‘It’s actually quite funny.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Anna, bending down to greet her littlest niece, Fleur, who was wearing pyjamas covered in red sticky gloop.
‘Mm … fruity,’ said Anna, breathing her in. ‘Delicious! Can I have some?’
Fleur looked at her and giggled. ‘No, silly. You can’t eat it. It’s bath gel.’
‘Oh, all right then,’ said Anna seriously, before lifting her up over her head and blowing raspberries on her tummy, reducing Fleur to shrieks of delighted laughter. ‘Oof, when did you get so big? Every time I see you girls, you’ve grown again!’ she complained, putting her down.
‘They’re like weeds,’ said Vanessa. ‘Ivy’s nearly as tall as me – exactly when did that happen?’
Yes, when did it happen, wondered Anna. Only five minutes ago it seemed that Ivy was the same height and age as Fleur was now, and Fleur a chubby-faced baby.
‘Hey Jas,’ she said to her middle niece.
Jasmine looked up from behind her book and uncurled her long skinny legs, wiggling her toes as if they’d been cramped from too long in the same position. ‘’Lo Auntie Anna,’ she said before returning to her book and tucking her legs back under herself.
‘Hello love,’ said Eleanor, coming over to kiss Anna. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good,’ said Anna with a smile, realising that she actually was. She wasn’t sure if it was the impromptu trip to the beach or an afternoon reading about someone going through tougher times than she was that had brought on a lighter mood, but it was as if she had cast off a rock she had been unaware of carrying. ‘I’ve been reading the diary. It looks as though it’s the story of a woman, Marguerite, and her daughter, Lily, who came to Sydney in the late 1880s. She’s at the quarantine station at the moment; well, that’s as far as I’ve got. It’s pretty hard to make sense of the writing; it’s so faint and spidery. The spelling’s a bit challenging to say the least.’