Mud and Gold

by Shayne Parkinson

  Mr Hatfield was something of an anomaly in Ruatane. His precise mode of speech, and manners that would not have been out of place in any drawing room, set him apart from almost all the other inhabitants, and he chose to keep to himself, not taking any part in the social life of the town. Frank could remember hearing adults speaking over his head when he was a small boy referring to Mr Hatfield as a ‘remittance man’. It had been many years before his mother explained the term to Frank, so he could understand that Mr Hatfield had been encouraged to leave England by a family who had sent him a modest allowance ever since to ensure that he would not come back. His mother had hinted there was some sort of scandal behind Mr Hatfield’s family’s earnest desire that he leave the country, but she had never elaborated, and Frank had slowly come to realise that none of the people who speculated on Mr Hatfield’s background had any real idea what his past might have held. The allowance was sufficient for a man to live comfortably on if his needs were simple, and at the same was small enough to make it unlikely he would ever be able to save the fare home.

  Some time in the years since he had left England, the remittance man had acquired skills as a watchmaker. Ruatane was too small for much money to be made from such a business, and it was well known in the town that Mr Hatfield used his little shop as much to indulge his hobbies as to supplement his allowance. On entering the shop Frank remembered the few times his father had brought him into it. It had seemed a magician’s cave to him then, the shelves lined with arcane instruments and obscure artifacts. Today he could give a name to more of the objects. One of Mr Hatfield’s cameras had wandered into the main part of the shop from the small room he called a studio out the back, along with a pile of photographs. Frank recognised a telescope on one shelf, and assumed that some of the lenses stacked around it made up part of the telescope’s equipment. There were lumps of various minerals, some polished and some in their natural state. Frank saw chunks of kauri gum among the minerals, some with insects trapped within the clear resin. Other insects, notably a large collection of dragonflies, were arranged in shallow boxes, each insect with a neatly written label below it.

  ‘How do you do, Mr Kelly?’ Mr Hatfield said, lowering his jeweller’s eyepiece to the workbench before he stood up to shake Frank’s hand. ‘And this charming young lady must be your daughter? Delighted to meet you, Miss Kelly.’

  Maudie, never usually at a loss for words, was nonplussed at being referred to in such terms, as well as being rather overwhelmed by the unfamiliar surroundings. She clung to Frank and pressed her face against his chest.

  ‘Come on, Maudie, don’t be shy. This is Mr Hatfield—he took that nice big photo of me and Mama when we got married. Say hello to the man,’ Frank coaxed. He persuaded her first to peer at the watchmaker then to smile at him. She held out her little hand and Mr Hatfield shook it very solemnly.

  ‘This is a funny shop,’ she told him.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Kelly,’ Mr Hatfield answered as if she had paid him a compliment. ‘Is there something I can assist you with, Mr Kelly?’

  ‘We want that necklace for Mama,’ Maudie put in before Frank had a chance to answer.

  ‘Necklace? Are you interested in the pearls?’ There was the hint of a smile in the look he gave Frank, and Frank knew without being told that Mr Hatfield was sure the necklace was too expensive for him.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind having a look at them,’ Frank said, trying to sound nonchalant as he let Maudie slide to the floor.

  Mr Hatfield reached into the window and carefully lifted out the box containing the pearls. ‘Yes, rather lovely, aren’t they? It’s a foolish fancy of mine—I think a jeweller should have some real jewellery in his shop apart from the odd wedding ring. I bought these on a trip to Auckland. I suppose they’ll sit in the window forever now, but I do get the pleasure of having something worth displaying. Here, touch it,’ he encouraged, holding the necklace out to Frank. ‘Run your fingers over the pearls, feel how silky they are. Like a woman’s skin,’ he said dreamily. Frank looked at him in surprise. As far as he knew Mr Hatfield had never been married, but from the faraway look in his eyes it seemed the pearls conjured up an old memory.

  Frank stroked the pearls softly. ‘They feel nice. Have a look, Maudie—don’t touch, though,’ he added hastily, seeing her sticky little fingers reaching out to grab at them. ‘How much?’ he asked, dragging himself back to reality. Now that he had seen the necklace up close, he was more sure than ever that it must be beyond his means.

  ‘Fifty pounds,’ Mr Hatfield said, and Frank suppressed a gasp with difficulty. ‘Yes, I know, it’s a terrible price. It’s what I paid for them, foolish though it was.’ He replaced the pearls in their box and put it back in the window.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Frank said. ‘That’s a bit much for me.’

  ‘But they’re for Mama,’ Maudie protested.

  ‘No, I can’t afford them, Maudie. I’ll get something else for Mama. There’re lots of nice things in here, there’s sure to be something Mama would like.’ Frank looked along the counter, wishing a gift would make itself obvious.

  ‘What sum of money did you have in mind to spend, Mr Kelly?’ Mr Hatfield asked.

  ‘I didn’t have anything in mind,’ Frank admitted. ‘I just saw that necklace and thought it’d be nice for Lizzie. I want to get her something, though. Let’s see.’ He struggled to decide how much he could afford to spend, and came to the conclusion that he had no idea. He knew there was enough money coming in to supply the family’s needs, including the five pounds a quarter for the bank, but jewellery for Lizzie did not form part of his usual shopping. ‘Something small,’ he said reluctantly.

  ‘These bangles are quite popular with the young men,’ Mr Hatfield suggested, pulling a box of slim silver bangles towards him. ‘I believe a good number of the girls in Ruatane are sporting them. They’re one and sixpence each.’

  Frank picked up a bangle. ‘It’s quite pretty,’ he said, turning the bangle around so that its patterned surface caught the light. ‘I think Lizzie would like it. What do you think, Maudie? Would Mama like this?’

  Maudie gave the matter serious consideration. ‘The beads are nicer. But that’s nice, too.’

  ‘All right, I’ll take it,’ Frank said, trying not to sound disappointed. Lizzie would like the silver bangle, he was sure, and he would enjoy giving it to her. But it was frustrating to be unable to buy her something really beautiful, something that would make her gasp with delight. He gave a last glance towards the window where the pearls lay. Lizzie would gasp if he came home with something like that, all right; but it would be with horror, not pleasure. She would scold him soundly and send him straight back to return it, knowing as well as he did that he could not afford such an extravagant gift. In fact, he realised, even one and sixpence might be more than was sensible.

  He reached in his pocket and was dismayed to find he had barely a shilling on him. ‘Um, I don’t think I can pay for that just now,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Is it all right if—’

  ‘No trouble at all,’ Mr Hatfield assured him. ‘I’ll send an account at the end of the month.’

  ‘Papa?’ Maudie looked wistfully up at Frank and pressed his hand. ‘Can I have one too?’

  ‘Aw, heck, Maudie, I don’t think I can afford to buy two bangles. And it’s a bit much for a little girl like you, I don’t know what Mama would say. Do you really want one?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maudie said, winding her arms around his leg and squeezing. She gave her father a look that reminded him of Lizzie, and he could almost hear her mind ticking over. ‘Or a hair ribbon.’

  ‘A ribbon.’ Frank seized on the chance, sure that a length of ribbon would cost no more than a few pence. ‘I’ll buy you a nice new hair ribbon. We’ll go over to Mrs Nichol’s as soon as we’ve finished here.’

  ‘There you are,’ Mr Hatfield said, handing Frank a neatly wrapped parcel. ‘And a little something for Miss Kelly.’ He placed a small piece of polished kauri gum on the su
rprised Maudie’s palm.

  ‘Say thank you,’ Frank prompted.

  ‘Thank you,’ Maudie said, turning her most winning smile on Mr Hatfield. ‘Would you like a kiss?’

  Somewhat to Frank’s surprise, the elderly jeweller bent down to Maudie’s level and offered his cheek for a wet, rather sticky kiss. ‘What a delightful little girl,’ he said to Frank when he had straightened up again.

  ‘Yes, she’s hard to say no to, eh?’ Frank agreed. ‘She’s just like her ma.’

  Maudie insisted that no colour but red would do for her ribbon, although the effort Mrs Nichol put in to trying to persuade the three-year-old into a soft pink or blue made Frank wonder if Lizzie would quite approve of scarlet. But letting Maudie choose the wrong coloured ribbon was not going to worry Lizzie overmuch, he was sure.

  It was not Maudie’s new ribbon that occupied Frank’s thoughts as they walked to the Post and Telegraph then headed for home. It was the frustrating awareness that he could not give Lizzie all that he wanted to. He was not sure just what he did want to give her, but it was something more than her daily grind of hard work looking after him and the children. He could feed and clothe her, and keep a roof over her head, but there should be more to life than that. His Lizzie deserved more, whatever the ‘more’ might be.

  But how could he make life better for her? There never seemed to be much money left over after the bills had been paid. He struggled to make the musings that trod the same aimless circuit over and over come to some useful conclusion. Maybe the problem was that he never had more than the vaguest of ideas just how much money he was likely to make in a season, nor how much he would need to spend.

  He grasped hold of the thought. Perhaps if he kept a careful note of everything he earned and spent, it would be easier to plan for extra outgoings. The diary he bought every year was scarcely used, with only such momentous events as the births of his children being recorded. Frank resolved that he would start writing every transaction in his diary, down to the threepence he had just spent on Maudie’s ribbon. Then he would be able to work out the totals and know how much he would have left over, though he shuddered at the thought of the sums he would have to struggle with. Perhaps if he did that he would be able to buy some nicer things for Lizzie. What would she like? he wondered. Apart from food, the only thing she ever seemed to ask for was the plainest of material to make dresses, and even that not very often. He would have to try and wheedle out of her what things she secretly craved.

  He pulled his thoughts up sharply as he realised what a fruitless path he was wandering down. It was all very well deciding to keep a record of what money came in and out; it was a good idea, and he would go ahead with it. But he knew without doing any sums that he did not earn enough to buy Lizzie the things she deserved. Milking twenty cows and selling a potato crop once a year was not going to make him a rich man. But it was all he knew, and all he had to offer. Perhaps he could get more cows? He rejected the idea as soon as it was formed. Twenty were as many as he could milk by himself. It would be different when Joey was older, he thought, brightening for a moment. Once he had a son big enough to help, he would be able to increase the herd.

  Of course by that time there would be more children to feed; plenty more, judging by the rate he and Lizzie were producing them. And he did not want to wait until a child not yet two years old was big enough to help before he started making life better for Lizzie.

  Maudie, worn out by the excitement of her outing, laid her head in his lap and went to sleep. Frank stroked her fair hair softly and smiled at his daughter, quiet at last. He was lucky. He had Lizzie and he had the children. Lizzie was happy, he knew that. But there must be something more he could do for her. Some way to give her the life she should have. But what? And how?

  19

  May 1890

  The day after Amy had her second miscarriage, barely five months after the first one, Charlie made one of his solitary visits to town.

  ‘You’re sure you don’t want to take Mal?’ Amy asked, not with any great hope of success.

  ‘Not today,’ Charlie answered curtly. ‘It doesn’t suit.’

  ‘I see.’ It was no use even to think of arguing.

  Amy dreaded the thought of putting up with one of Malcolm’s tantrums, especially today when she was still suffering the after-effects of her contractions. The butter-making she had done that morning had made the discomfort even worse. She had to find some way of keeping Malcolm entertained while his father was away; perhaps an outing would at least tire him out.

  She hurried outside to catch Charlie before he left, and found him patting Smokey, murmuring into the horse’s ear as he adjusted the bridle. Amy was struck by Charlie’s almost tender manner; she had certainly never seen anything so close to affection on his face when he looked at her.

  He cares a lot more about that horse than he does me. I suppose that’s fair, she thought wearily. The horse does his job—he even likes doing it.

  ‘Please may I go over to Pa’s?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to take the boys for a visit. I haven’t been there for a couple of months.’

  ‘All right,’ Charlie said as he mounted. ‘Go straight there and back, mind. And be sure you’re back in time to get dinner on.’

  I’ve never, ever been back late from anywhere. ‘I will.’

  ‘Are you going to tell any of them?’ he asked, jerking his head towards Jack’s farm. ‘About losing another bairn, I mean.’

  ‘No. It’s our business, no one else’s.’

  Charlie nodded his agreement. ‘The women are all breeding over there, aren’t they?’

  ‘Well, not Susannah. But Sophie and Jane both are, yes.’

  ‘Mmm. Your brothers look pleased about it all.’ His mouth worked oddly as he looked at her. Amy was unsure whether he was irritated with her or upset by their loss. Perhaps he was not sure himself.

  ‘Charlie, I… I’m sorry about the baby,’ Amy said.

  ‘All right, there’s no need to go on with a lot of nonsense,’ Charlie said brusquely. ‘Don’t you go weeping and wailing. There’ll be another before long.’ He dug in his heels and set off down the road at a trot.

  I know there will. That doesn’t make it any easier to lose this one. She waved as he rode away, but Charlie did not turn to look back at her.

  Amy wrapped some biscuits in a cloth and set off with the two boys. Malcolm ran ahead, darting around as things caught his attention, and Amy was pleased to see him tiring himself out.

  ‘Hurry up, Mama,’ he called from a few yards ahead, giving up on the hare he had been chasing.

  ‘No, Mal, you’ll just have to wait for me. Mama doesn’t feel like hurrying.’ If she plodded along at her own pace, the walk was not too uncomfortable. ‘Go on, Davie, see if you can catch up with Mal,’ she encouraged. David toddled off towards his brother, and Amy noticed how much he had grown in the last few months. David was going to be tall, she could see; perhaps even taller than Malcolm.

  Jane greeted her with pleasure, and Dolly (as Doris was universally known) climbed onto Amy’s lap and gave her a wet kiss before Jane coaxed all three children into one corner of the kitchen with biscuits to share.

  ‘It’s nice to see a different face,’ Jane said as she poured tea for them both. ‘I can’t really get up to the big house now, not that it’s very exciting up there. I don’t see much of her.’ A toss of her head and a disapproving scowl indicated the invisible Susannah. Amy hid a smile at how much Jane looked and sounded like Harry as she spoke. ‘Your pa’s sweet, though, he’s always been nice to me.’

  ‘Yes, Pa’s lovely,’ Amy agreed.

  ‘I’ll be glad when this is over,’ Jane said, pointing to her swollen belly. ‘Nearly two months to go.’ She pulled a face. ‘I bet Sophie’s a size now, she’s a couple of weeks ahead of me. I don’t think we’ll need to send the nurse home between babies. Harry says we should ask for a sale price.’ She giggled at the thought, and Amy laughed with her.

  �
�You’re having a bit of a rest from having babies?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I seem to be,’ Amy said, careful to sound nonchalant.

  ‘That’s good. I know things are a bit hard for you at home. Harry’s often said… well, never mind. Harry talks too much. He’s very fond of you, though—so am I.’ Jane rose impulsively and kissed Amy on the cheek, then took her chair once more and fussed over pouring a second cup of tea.

  Amy squeezed her hand. ‘I’m fond of you too, Jane. It’s nice to see how happy you and Harry are.’

  ‘Oh, he drives me up the wall half the time!’ Jane raised her eyes heavenwards, but her smile belied her words. ‘I suppose he’ll be just as silly over this baby as he was with Dolly—honestly, you’d think no man had ever fathered a child before. I remember seeing John grinning at him behind his back—I bet John’s just as bad now.’

  ‘Probably,’ Amy agreed.

  Malcolm became fidgety once all the biscuits were eaten, and Amy knew it was time to leave.

  ‘I’d better pop up and see Sophie,’ she said. ‘She must be getting a bit bored now she’s stuck at home.’

  ‘I’m not sure Sophie gets bored.’

  ‘No, I suppose you’re right.’ Amy sighed. ‘Sophie’s nice, and she seems to make John happy. But she’s a bit… well, she’s hard work talking to.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ Jane agreed fervently. ‘She smiles and nods, but you can tell she’s not taking in a word you say. Still, she must be easy to get on with. I bet they never have any fights.’