by Vicky Adin
If Emily McKendrick wanted to push an advantage with high-class, quality surroundings and furnishings, then maybe Sally’s little plan might take shape after all. She had promised Brigid to come up with something, and that something seemed tantalisingly close, if only Sally could work out a way of getting the two of them together.
Meanwhile, Sally donned her sweat-inducing dress and prepared to meet and greet the lunchtime crowds.
* * *
Townsville
January 1887
“Ah, Maggie, what more do you want from me?”
Life had not become the warm, encouraging place Jamie had hoped for since he jumped ship in Townsville all those weeks ago. He’d fully intended to get Maggie and the two girls away from Michael, but it turned out Michael’s hold over Maggie was stronger than Jamie’s.
“I want you to be getting a real nice job that’ll provide a decent home instead of all them dirty jobs you’re picking up here and there. I’ve enough of that with Michael. He’s nowt but a labourer and always will be. But I expect you to do better.”
Michael had come to Townsville with work already waiting for him with the railway company serving the goldfields further north, but Jamie had found it nearly impossible to get work that wasn’t short-term. In the last two weeks of 1886 and early in 1887, he’d managed a bit of butchering, some carting and fencing, but nothing of a permanent nature where he could settle down and make an offer for Maggie’s hand. They’d had many an argument about where she was prepared to live.
“That’s hardly fair now, Maggie. I’m a farmer. That’s all I know. If you’d come farming with me we could build a life together. You know that, but I can’t help it if the heat and dust make me manky, can I?”
Maggie and the girls were living in a small, two-room miner’s cottage at the end of a long, narrow lane on the outskirts of town, with little in the way of comfort. She hated it but had no other option. At least there were a few neighbours within sight.
Despite his offer to marry her, Maggie had point blank refused to move anywhere where she might encounter snakes and crocodiles, or those black people she heard about. She needed people around her to feel safe, not living in the middle of nowhere in the outback. He tried to reassure her, and while Maggie admitted the few local women she’d seen around town dressed in Western clothes were less intimidating than she’d expected, she’d still kept her distance.
“Scram, now. I can’t be bothered with ye no more. Not till you come to your senses. Go now, I say, or I’ll tell Michael.”
“You don’t mean that, our Maggie, and you know it. It’s just the heat talking. I’ll take the girls for a walk. Keep them out of your hair. You go rest awhile.”
Michael had threatened to kill Jamie if he ever saw him again, which meant Jamie only visited when Michael was away working. Often disappointed after his talks with Maggie, Laura and Jane usually saved the day. They had grown fond of him and he of them. When he could, he would walk with them to or from school, although he found a number of times Maggie had kept them home so she had company.
“Come on, girls.”
The youngsters squealed with delight as the three of them headed off to the beach.
“Be good now,” warned Maggie. “And wear your hats,” she shouted, as they disappeared from sight.
Jamie loved sporting with the little girls, feeling young and carefree again, much like back home with his brothers and sisters and cousins. It gave him comfort and strength. He was growing to like this vast country, so different from his own, but sometimes he felt lonelier than he cared to admit.
Every time his mind drifted to those times back home, he thought of Brigid and wished things could be different. He missed her terribly, but he couldn’t work out what hold Maggie had that tied him to her against all sense and logic. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn’t leave.
He was now delivering ice blocks for those new-fangled ice chests – he’d never have believed it possible if he hadn’t seen them with his own eyes – and hoped it would become a permanent position. At least that way he could live in the township, which would please Maggie – and working with the ice was proving a bonus in these steamy conditions. He’d ask if there were any broken bits he could have as a gift to Maggie. That might improve her temper. He strode off down the road whistling tunes from home, happier than he’d been for a while.
A sudden storm swept through the town in the third week of January, uprooting shrubs, ripping branches off trees and damaging buildings in its path. Jamie found it strange that it had gone as quickly as it arrived, coming from a land where storms were the norm and could rage for days.
For those who had lived in Townsville longer, heavy rainfall and strong winds were common. Even so, Jamie couldn’t get over the way everyone continued their daily routines as if nothing had happened. Teams of people cleared up the mess, repaired the damage and life went on.
Fortunately, no one was injured, but Jamie worried about how Maggie and the girls coped. He dared not visit because Laura had told him Michael was home again. He’d have to bide his time and wait until the girls gave him the all clear.
The scorching, clammy heat returned, and Jamie found he was busier than ever. He soon learnt the knack of handling the large blocks of ice, and his strength proved a real asset in lifting the heavy slabs.
One of his regular customers was the butchery and meatworks he’d done a few shifts for over the Christmas period when the regular staff took a day or two off. The works were expanding and needed to keep the meat fresh while waiting for shipment. While the refrigeration business was developing at a rapid pace, Townsville had yet to catch up with the latest technology. In the meantime, ice blocks did the job. Coffee shops, hotels and other eating places demanded ice to chill their coffee and tea, make ice cream and fruit ices, and to keep drinks cold. Jamie was busy.
Back home, Jamie had never heard of chilled drinks or ices; the towns and villages he lived near were too poor and remote for things like that to reach their lips. He knew what ginger beer was. His ma had made it at home. But it tasted nothing like the new Schweppes brand, and he’d never tasted anything like their sweet lemonade and fizzy tonic water either. But these days Jamie was far more interested in what the Castlemaine Brewery in Brisbane had to offer, or the local Townsville Brewery that had started up earlier in the year in competition. He’d developed quite a fondness for the beer he could buy on tap at the pubs.
The elegant, upmarket Queens Hotel was not one of his regular drinking places. He felt quite out of place whenever he had to deliver their ice order. The publican was a Mrs Emily McKendrick. Even that was a surprise. He didn’t know women could be publicans. To his mind, the women who frequented pubs were of the class his Ma and Pa had warned him against, but Mrs McKendrick was a refined, well-dressed lady who spoke kindly. She also had a reputation for being a great cook, if you could afford to eat in her establishment. He couldn’t, but sometimes she rewarded him with a pie.
“It’s yesterday’s,” she explained the first time she gave him a homemade oyster pie. “I don’t usually have any left over. The oyster is a favourite, but the storm kept the customers away, so there’s one to spare. You’re welcome to it.”
Jamie mumbled his thanks as he gingerly transferred the steamy pie from one hand to the other, blowing on it to cool it down. He had no idea what oyster tasted like. They were another new delicacy he’d heard about, but after one bite he decided the taste was much to his liking.
After a few times delivering the ice, Mrs McKendrick asked him to change his routine. “Can you call in the mornings, instead of the evenings, please, Jamie? I’d prefer to have the ice fresh to start the day. It tends to melt quickly when the door to the ice chest is opened all the time.”
Jamie didn’t care. As long as he had a job and was paid for it, the time of day made little difference to him. He was delivering the ice as usual, a few days before the end of January when a young woman came out through the kitchen door. She w
as dressed in a lightweight sprigged cotton dress and a large hat, and carried a parasol, which she opened as soon as she stepped into the sunlight. Jamie couldn’t see her face, but something about her seemed familiar.
He had left the bullock wagon blocking the lane and her path so he turned around and headed back to the vehicle. “Sorry, miss. I’ll just move the wagon out of your way.” He climbed up to the driver’s seat, took up the reins and moved the animals forward. As he twisted around to see if she had enough room, she looked up at him, tilting the parasol behind her head. Recognition simultaneously leapt into their eyes and they both spoke as one.
“Miss Sally?”
“Jamie O’Brien, is that you?” Sally smiled, lighting her face with a glow of health and ease. “Well, fancy seeing you here.”
Seeing Sally come out of the hotel dressed in fashionable clothing befuddled Jamie. She obviously wasn’t a kitchen maid, but then ... Suddenly, he didn’t want to think about what else she might be.
“What are you doing here?” he asked rather too brusquely, trying to cover his discomfort.
“Now, I dinna think that’s the way to greet someone – do you? Especially someone who’s a friend of your wee cousin an’ all.”
Jamie climbed down from the wagon again and stood a few paces away.
“Are you turning a wee bit pink there, me lad?”
Even more flustered, Jamie stammered. “I, um. Well, that is ...”
“Whisht, Jamie. It’s me you’re talking to. I won’t eat you. Have you heard from Brigid then?”
He pushed his hat to the back of his head and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He knew removing his hat for a lady would be more polite, but the sun was too strong and he still wasn’t sure Sally was a lady. “No. I haven’t,” he admitted. “I don’t know where to find her.”
“And she won’t have a clue where you are then, either, will she, you dunderhead.”
Jamie swallowed the retort that came to mind. He couldn’t let his temper get the better of him yet. “What about you? Have you had a letter?”
“Aye, I have,” Sally teased.
A surge of longing filled his veins. “How is she? Is she well? Where is she?”
“Hold your horses, lad. One thing at a time. Once I got settled ...”
Sally stopped talking as soon as Jamie’s eyes wandered between her and the building behind him, his unspoken questions written on his face. “Is it Brigid you want to know about? Or are you more keen to know what I’m doing living in the hotel?”
Abashed, Jamie lowered his head. It looked like Sally was being her usual outspoken self again. They’d not had much to do with one another on the ship, since Jamie considered Sally had too much to say to Brigid about Maggie.
“Brigid,” he mumbled. “Tell me about our Brigid. Please?”
Satisfied with his response, Sally continued her story. “I sent a telegram back to the immigration people asking them to let her know where I was. I got a letter from her just after Christmas. She’s working as a maid in a nice area of Brisbane for an important man about town who runs the drapery store. Big it is, she says. Two floors of goods the like of which she’s not seen ever.”
“Aye, she’d be as happy as a pig in muck if she could work in a place like that.”
Sally stared at Jamie, trying to decide whether she should get to know him better and tell him about her plans, or to dismiss him and let him go his way. Jamie shuffled his feet under her gaze waiting for her to say something more.
“She asked after you. Even after what you did to her, she still cares enough to ask about you. I’m trying to make up my mind if I’ll forgive you.”
“Oh, Miss Sally. I am right sorry it had to be the way it was. I can’t explain what made me do it, but I know I’d do it again if I had to. But our Brigid is that special to me I’d do anything ye ask to make things right. I would ...” Jamie was almost gabbling, the words were coming out of his mouth so fast.
Sally raised her hand to stop him talking. “All right. You’re forgiven – for now. But if you do anything to hurt her again, you’ll have to deal with me.”
At that point, Mr McKendrick emerged. “What’s the hold-up, lad? I heard the wagon pull up ages ago and I’ve been waiting.” He looked between the two of them, assessing what was going on. “Sally, do you know this man? He’s not bothering you, is he?”
“No, Mr McKendrick. He’s no bother. I do know him a little. He was on the same ship as me coming out, with his cousin, who’s my friend. We were just catching up. Sorry to hold you up. I’ll be on my way and get those things Mrs McKendrick wanted.”
“Very well, then. As long as he’s not being a nuisance. Come along, lad. Bring that ice in.”
8
Truths Spoken and Unspoken
Brisbane
January 1887
“You’ve had plenty of time to think on it. What do you think I should do?” asked Philip.
Towards the end of January, as arranged before they had each gone their own way – Sam home to the station for Christmas, and Philip swallowed up in the labyrinthine network of Harrison Browne Drapers – the two young men met up again.
A month earlier, they had talked through Philip’s ideas for expansion. Philip wanted to spread his wings and he’d suggested to his father that they add a dressmaking and handmade lace department. Exactly where Brigid fitted into the picture he was still working out, but there were options. He could present her as a descendant from the Irish aristocracy, or of French descent, but first he needed to create an air of mystique around her that would attract bees to the honey pot. He’d also suggested that he be allowed to open a second branch, maybe in a smaller town like Townsville, or even in New Zealand, to test the waters. His father had refused.
Sam had wanted to think the concept through ahead of making any decisions. He’d even suggested Hugh could run some figures, but Philip was reluctant to involve Hugh so early in the discussion. They’d separated without having reached any conclusions.
Now, sitting in the private bar of the Grosvenor Hotel hoping to avoid anyone they might know, Sam sipped his beer. “As I see it, you’ve two choices. Listen to your father, work in the store, climb your way into his shoes as he expects, and everything will be handed to you on a platter. Or, ignore your father, take this girl on, which means moving elsewhere, and start from scratch. Is that about the nub of the issue?”
Philip ran his fingers through his hair, flicking it back from his face. Things weren’t going how he wanted. “Put that way it doesn’t sound much of a choice. But Father is driving me to distraction.” He thumped the arm of the chair with the flat of his hand. “He just won’t listen to reason.” He didn’t tell Sam his father considered the scheme unjust and a misuse of power. The cold anger in his father’s voice echoed in his brain: ‘I’ll not allow you or anyone in my employ to exploit anyone.’
His father’s comments were unjustified – that wasn’t what he was doing. He’d make him pay for doubting him, one day.
Sam crossed one leg over the other and relaxed into the chair. “Don’t despair just yet. I understand how you feel, but you do need to think rationally about it all. I’ll ask you again – what’s this girl to you?”
Philip had turned the question over in his mind a lot since Sam had first asked it back in December. Brigid stirred up feelings he couldn’t explain: not ones of lust – he knew them only too well – but ones of discontent. He’d been inspired by her spirit. For all her timidity and meek acceptance of her place in life’s pecking order, she had grit – and freedom. But she was young enough and naive enough to be putty in his hands.
She’d never told him why she left her family and her country, but to his mind it took courage, whatever the reasons. And now she’d made the break, she was in charge of her own destiny. He wanted that freedom – freedom to do what he wanted without asking permission. But to do that he needed the courage of his convictions, like she had – and maybe being around her would show h
im how.
“Nothing like what you are hinting at,” Philip laughed. “I’m intrigued. For all her humble background, she has a spark about her that I think could prove an invaluable asset if only I could just tap into it.”
“If you say so, but let’s talk about the logistics. I’ve done a few numbers.”
For the next couple of hours, the two of them discussed Philip’s options. Harrison Browne was an established drapery business with a warehouse in George Street and a shop in Queen Street. For some reason, best known only to his parents, his mother had no hand in the business and rarely set foot in the store either. Yet, what it lacked, in Philip’s opinion, was a woman’s touch.
Never mind what Philip suggested, his father had rejected all his ideas, especially those for Brigid. “Foolish boy. You’d be found out in a moment. There is no Irish aristocracy to speak of – it’s British. And as for being French! No one would fall for that ruse.”
The barb had hurt and he’d smarted for some time, but he would never let his father see how it affected him.
“At least your father listened to your ideas,” said Sam.
“Not for long. And I should have known better than to ask Alf to help me, and even Mother was a letdown.”
His mother had been loyal to her husband and supported him regardless of how much she sympathised with her son. But her reasoning baffled Philip.
“I can’t understand Mother’s logic that Brigid’s background would be a deterrent to the influential ladies and would lose us trade when they found out – and they would, according to her. But I don’t agree. That’s the trick – making sure they didn’t know.”
“You are dreaming. Just because you’re smitten with her doesn’t mean everyone else will be,” Sam reluctantly pointed out. “And your mother has a point. The girl has a lot going against her: she’s Irish and Catholic, uneducated beyond the basics and works as a domestic. There’s no way the matriarchs of this town will let a girl with a background like that flourish.”