by Téa Cooper
Standing on tiptoe she peered inside, ran her hand around the base, certain it would be where Michael would keep anything private. Her hand came to rest on a bundle of papers rolled into a neat sausage. She pulled them out, untied the string and unrolled the papers.
Tens, if not hundreds of IOUs—every one of them for debts never called in. So typical of Michael and Elizabeth’s underlying generosity and compassion. Nothing to indicate Jane was anything more than another of their charity cases.
She gave a disgruntled huff and flopped down in the chair. What had she expected to find? Some letters telling Michel he’d fathered a child in England and she’d been left at an orphanage, her mother incapable or unwilling to care for her. How foolish! Next she’d be looking for some reference to Florence Nightingale.
‘Miss Piper, are you there?’
Timothy! She’d forgotten he was coming after the auction. She leapt to her feet, pushed back her hair and straightened her skirt. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
She pushed the bundle of papers back into the safe, swung the door closed, gave the tumbler a twist and lifted the Cutty Sark above the mantel.
‘Can I help? That looks heavy.’
‘No, no, I’ve done it.’ She stood for a moment with her back to him, willing the flush to fade from her cheeks, then turned. Whatever had possessed her? What if Michael or Elizabeth had arrived and not Timothy?
‘Why don’t you come and sit down for a minute, you look exhausted.’
He held the door to Michael’s office wide, encouraging her to leave the room. She stumbled out, a horrid mixture of shock and confusion swirling in her stomach. What had she expected to find? Damn Mrs Witherspoon and her gossiping jackdaws, damn and blast. She slammed the palms of her hands down on the table.
‘I do hope this exhibition isn’t creating too much work for you,’ said Timothy. ‘You must tell me what needs to be done, not take on everything yourself.’
‘It’s not that, it’s …’ Oh! For heaven’s sake. She dropped into a chair, her head in her hands. Crying, like a baby. She never cried. Not when Emmaline had found a home and she’d been sent back to the orphanage, not when Michael and Elizabeth had taken her in, not when she’d got beaten over the knuckles for answering back in Religious Instruction, not even when Sister Mary Ann had slammed her fingers in the dormitory door.
Agonising sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders quake.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Timothy put his arm around her, tentative at first, and as she leaned into him, he drew her closer. ‘What can I do?’ He pressed a large white handkerchief into her hand.
Jane dragged in a deep breath, opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, nothing except a mournful howl.
‘Sometimes it’s better to cry. Let it all out.’ He pulled her closer, against his chest, patting her back. No one had ever done that before, held her that way. She let her head drop to his shoulder, inhaled the warmth and comfort of him until gradually her breathing returned to normal.
‘Let me make a cup of tea. Tea fixes everything.’
She grimaced, scrubbed at her face with his handkerchief, dragging in the sweet smell of sunshine and soap. ‘Yes, please.’
The familiar sound of the burner and the clatter of the teacups soothed Jane.
Timothy placed two cups and the teapot on the table. ‘Is there any milk or sugar?’
She drew in a disgusting sniff. ‘I’m sorry. There’s sugar on the shelf up there, but no milk. I don’t take sugar.’
‘On this occasion I think some sugar would be a good idea. Now, tell me. I’m a good listener.’
What could she say to him? I’ve found out the man I thought was my benefactor is in fact my father, and he’s never cared enough to claim me. She didn’t even know if it was the truth. Gossips, the whole lot of them.
‘I feel such a fool.’ Another infuriating sob lodged halfway up her throat. ‘I never cry.’
‘Drink your tea, it’ll help. It always does.’ He pushed the cup towards her and she inhaled the sweet steam, taking a careful sip, then another, feeling the sugar seep into her system.
She had to talk to someone and it couldn’t be Elizabeth, nor Bessie or Lucy. Better perhaps this man who knew nothing of her life. She dragged in a deep breath. ‘I’ve let the local gossip get to me.’
He sat down, rested his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands, said nothing, just stared into her eyes, encouraging her to continue.
‘I grew up in an orphanage.’
He nodded.
She’d told him, some flippant remark about being dumped like an old suitcase. ‘It’s never bothered me. I’ve been so lucky living with Michael and Elizabeth, the Quinns. They’ve given me everything I could ever hope for, but today, today …’ Another sob threatened. ‘Someone told me Michael was my father. I went into his office, that’s what I was doing when you arrived, foraging through his papers, breaking his trust, breaking into his safe …’
‘And?’
‘And … well, nothing! I don’t even know what I was expecting to find. I need to know. Know if it’s true, and find out what a telegram from England has to do with me.’
‘Is there any reason why you shouldn’t ask him?’
Jane put the teacup down with a bang. Such a simple solution … unless it was more than gossip. What if Michael didn’t want to claim her, that there was something lacking in her which was why he hadn’t told her. Some way she’d disappointed him. She couldn’t bear it.
‘At least you’d know.’
‘What if he isn’t my father?’
‘Nothing has changed. You said you’re happy with your life. Why let a bunch of puggle ’eaded fools make you miserable?’
‘Puggle-headed?’
‘Aye. Foolish, stupid, drunken.’
‘I don’t think Mrs Witherspoon and Mrs Shipton would be seen drinking.’
‘Wouldn’t put it past the Witherspoon woman.’
‘You can’t say that!’ A picture of the two women rolling down the High Street flashed before Jane’s eyes and she burst out laughing.
‘There. That’s better, isn’t it?’
A long sigh wound its way through her body and she relaxed back into the chair. ‘Thank you, Timothy. Thank you. I’ve no idea what came over me.’
‘You were all at sixes and sevens, nothing to be ashamed of. Now, what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to go home, see if Michael’s back from Sydney and talk to him.’
‘I’ll come back tomorrow. Mother and Father won’t be arriving for another week so we have plenty of time to prepare for the exhibition.’ With that he threw her a smile and disappeared downstairs.
Beyond the window, the light had almost faded. Once downstairs, she called a quick farewell over her shoulder to John, and jumped onto her bicycle. With her satchel thumping against her back she pedalled like crazy, nerves doing a wild dance in her stomach. She must have covered the distance back to the house at about ten miles an hour. She cycled right through the back gate and up to the laundry and threw her bicycle against the wall.
‘Where do you think you’ve been?’ Bessie grumbled as she came through the back door.
‘I’m sorry I’m late. There was … there was a problem after the auction.’ Almost the truth.
‘Mr Quinn’s home and they’ve eaten early. You better go and make your apologies.’
Jane left her satchel hanging on the back of the scullery door then scuttled into the sitting room, her mind full of questions she didn’t dare raise in front of Elizabeth.
Twenty-Two
Morpeth, 1873
Elizabeth brushed Michael’s arm away when he attempted to escort her down the gangplank as though she was a frail miss incapable of putting one foot in front of the other. A stiff breeze whipped across the river and she clamped her new straw hat firmly down on her head, determined not to lose it. Michael had bought it for her in Sydney and although she had no intention of telling h
im, she liked it. In fact she’d enjoyed every moment of the trip from Hill End.
As soon as they’d arrived in Sydney they’d boarded a very neat little ship, sporting not only sails but a steam-driven paddle. As usual, Michael had been ahead of himself—the rail link between Sydney and Newcastle was still a far-off dream, due to the small matter of a missing bridge across the Hawkesbury River and a large unfinished section of rail line. Not that Elizabeth minded; for some reason the thought of travelling in a roaring, pumping and smoking iron monstrosity made her bones quake. Instead she’d spent the night in a very comfortable sleeping berth in a cabin with three other women, and when she woke in the morning they’d already arrived in Newcastle. They’d eaten an early breakfast out on the deck—fresh bread and the sweetest fish she’d ever tasted—overlooking numerous small islands, before gliding up the river. The land, thickly wooded down to the water’s edge, abounded in all sorts of birds: pelicans with their big baggy beaks, plovers, curlews, cormorants, and more kinds of ducks than she’d ever imagined. Why would anyone want to travel in a dirty, noisy, smelly train?
‘I can manage quite well, thank you,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m not an invalid.’
‘I’m not suggesting you are, me little …’ The word dried on Michael’s lips as she glowered at him.
Just as well, because if she’d told him once she’d told him a million times—she wasn’t his little darlin’. She was a grown woman.
‘This is the beginning of our new life and you’ll be needing to behave like a lady.’
She couldn’t help but bristle at the undertone. She needed to behave like a lady, not a foolish girl who’d fallen in love with a man Michael decreed totally inappropriate.
He waved his hand at the two men lugging their trunks up from the wharf and took her arm. ‘Well, here we are! Are you excited?’
She offered him a half-hearted smile and gave his arm a squeeze. She was excited, and to pretend otherwise would be ridiculously churlish; excited to be embarking on a new adventure even though her heart lay shattered somewhere beneath her new blue coat. No matter what Jing said about fate and red threads, she didn’t believe she’d truly mend until they were together again.
It wasn’t only Michael who disapproved of her friendship with Jing. Mr Li thought her as much of an infidel as people believed the Celestials to be. Celestials—phat! They were people, what did it matter which god they prayed to, the shape of their eyes or the colour of their hair?
The Li family were as biased as anyone else.
One day, she promised, one day …
She skipped a few paces to keep up with Michael’s long strides. She’d find Jing, all she had to do was believe and the red thread would bring them back together. In the meantime, she would make the best of it.
‘Tell me about the Potters Inn. You said I had to wait until we arrived, but now we’re here you’ve got no excuse.’
Michael drew to a halt next to a smart sulky and tipped his hat to the stablehand, who scrambled down and dropped the step for Elizabeth.
‘It’s less than a half hour ride into town. We follow the creek, then turn into the High Street and cross the bridge apparently.’ He flicked the whip across the horses’ rumps and they took off at a brisk trot. With his wide grin and his dark eyes flashing, he looked like the brother she remembered from her childhood. ‘The Potters Inn operated as a hotel from 1820 until a few years ago, then the license was cancelled and the owner decided to sell the building.’ The words tumbled out, his Irish lilt increasing with his excitement. ‘We’ll be small, expand slowly. I’ve got my eye on the two buildings next door as well.’
‘Can we afford it?’ Surely the expenses would be enormous, and Elizabeth knew exactly how the balance sheets looked. Michael wouldn’t have a clue.
‘We’ll not be having a problem. I’ve a couple of deals under way. One I shall be showing you in a moment or two, and I’ve heard about a business that has to close their doors. I’m going to buy their stock to get us started. Mostly haberdashery and notions. That’s where you come in.’
‘Me? I don’t know anything about haberdashery and notions.’ Shovels and pick handles, tents and canvas, but notions! She’d never had the time or the interest in buttons and bows.
‘That’s as maybe. You know all about looking after the accounts and bookkeeping. We’ll employ someone to help, although I’ll be doing the auctions myself. According to Eliza Cox there’s nothing of the kind in Maitland. One place where everything anyone could want can be found. Sydney and Newcastle are within easy reach when we’re ready to restock.’
It all sounded dreadfully … well, dreadfully Michael. Wishful thinking, although he was right about the accounts—thanks to Jing she could do that.
She smoothed her hand over the bag on her lap and tried not to think too hard about that last awful day. She knew Jing hadn’t left of his own accord and he hadn’t wanted to leave her. No matter what Michael believed, she’d never forget him. Jing hadn’t only been her teacher, he’d become her closest friend.
Michael reckoned she was too young to have feelings for a man. She wasn’t. She wouldn’t give up, she’d keep pestering. He couldn’t do without Jing, and she couldn’t imagine life without him—that was where the problem lay.
Everyone knew the Chinese men left their families, emigrated with the aim of returning home once they’d made their fortune. Jing had told her it was what his father planned right from the outset. They worked to send money back to his mother and the younger children, grandparents and aunties, and one day he and his father and uncles would return home, rich and prosperous. What she hadn’t imagined was that he would be spirited away in the dead of night and she wouldn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye.
The sulky made short work of the well-graded road, and before long the pelicans and gum trees inhabiting the swamp lands adjacent to the creek gave way to buildings, far more substantial than anything in Hill End.
‘That’s the gaol over there.’ Michael flourished the switch and the poor horse picked up the pace, leaving Elizabeth with little time to ponder the massive sandstone walls and the vertically barred windows. ‘Not so pretty from the inside I’ll be bound, but nothing you’ll need to be worrying your pretty head about. There’s only been three breakouts since it opened, nigh on thirty years ago, and all the escapees found themselves back behind bars before they had time to enjoy their bid for freedom.’
With every roll of the wheels, Elizabeth’s imagination soared. She’d rather believed Michael had painted some halcyon picture of this famed Maitland Town from the moment he’d first spoken to Eliza Cox, but now she could understand his enthusiasm. Sydney might be the biggest town in New South Wales but this was beyond her comprehension. Her memories of Sydney bore no resemblance to the neatly laid-out streets and substantial two and three storey buildings and businesses lining the High Street. Drapers, clothiers, banks, ironmongers and booksellers, never mind the inns and churches—more denominations than she’d dreamed existed—and even a cathedral. A Catholic cathedral. No wonder Michael was smitten.
The sulky slewed to a halt outside a two-storeyed white stone building with windows above a verandah that kept the sun from the downstairs. Even though the paintwork was peeling a little, the windows were boarded and a large chain and padlock secured the double front doors, Elizabeth could see its potential.
Michael leapt to his feet, arms spread wide like a showman. ‘There you are. Accommodation upstairs. Good-sized rooms and a kitchen downstairs, at the back. Once we’ve settled in and made a bit, I’ll build you the beautiful house I promised. I have a mind to live on Church Street. Eliza Cox said it was where all the people of means reside. It’s down here.’ He flicked the switch across the horse’s back and the sulky drifted along the road, past more shops and offices and into a street lined with the most impressive houses and flourishing gardens.
They drew to a halt outside two imposing houses. Michael tilted back his hat and stared up. ‘The
se belong to Owen and Beckett, business partners in the general store.’
How could anyone earn enough out of a general store to be able to build something like this? The thought made her hair stand on end and her skin prickle. The two houses, mirror images of each other, appeared fit for royalty.
‘Heard tell there’s wallpaper in the dining room and a harmonium, grand marble fireplaces, and cedar furniture all polished up shiny as a mirror.’
Those would be the stories he’d heard from Eliza Cox, without a doubt. What man would be interested in snippets like that, and more to the point, who polished all the furniture?
‘Even the butler’s got his own special pantry.’
Intricate cast iron, as fine as the prettiest lace, adorned the upper verandahs with double doors and fine timber shutters, all fenced by neatly trimmed bushes with bright shiny leaves. Nothing like the timber palings and dusty gardens of Hill End.
‘See that vacant block of land.’ Michael gestured beyond the two houses to an empty paddock.
A good acre and a half, unless she was mistaken, and in the distance a line of trees where she imagined the river ran.
‘That’ll be ours. My surprise. I’m going to buy it! That’s where we’ll live, and the house we’ll build will be bigger and better than any Maitland Town has ever seen.’
Michael’s ideas were far grander than anything she’d dreamt. Her heart leapt, then stilled. The only fault in his entire plan was the fact it didn’t include Jing.
And there it was. Elizabeth would have to be happy. Better than anything Hill End could offer, and no Jing. Michael’s blood still boiled at the thought of what might have been. He’d seen the men’s leering faces and heard the women’s malicious chatter when she’d walked down the street.
Not good enough for Elizabeth, not good enough at all.
Life would be different now, though. He’d got work to do, a lot of work, to make their name in this new place. He’d got plans, big plans, and money behind him, thanks to Da and a bit of hard work.
From the look on Elizabeth’s face he’d made the right decision. On their way through the town her head turned this way and that, taking in every new sight. He pointed out the music shop, the Mechanics Institute, and the offices of the Maitland Mercury, the very newspaper he’d read in Hill End when his plan had first taken shape. Then the School of Arts with its sign proclaiming ‘Evening Classes’. There’d be more Elizabeth could do to round off her education. She’d got the brains handed out, fair and square.