The Winter Promise

by Rosie Goodwin

  She walked regally away with Alicia close behind her as Agatha’s temper rose again. But she was wise enough not to take it out on Susie. Not yet! She would wait until the old bitch had gone home and then make sure the child knew exactly who was in charge again.

  Over the next few days, Susie seemed to blossom. She dined downstairs with her new parents and grandparents each day and slowly she became more talkative, much to Alicia’s delight.

  Matthew had placed an advert for a tutor in the newspaper as promised, and two days before Muriel left for home, the first one arrived to be interviewed. He was an elderly man who to Muriel appeared to be almost as strict as Agatha was.

  ‘It’s up to you who you employ, of course, my dears,’ she told Alicia and Matthew after sitting in on the interview. ‘But if you were to ask my advice, I would go for a female and preferably someone a little younger. Learning should be fun and I fear the gentleman who just left might be rather stuck in the old ways. A “spare the rod and spoil the child” type. I’m afraid she has quite enough of that from Agatha.’

  ‘You really don’t like Suzanne’s nanny do you, Mama?’ Alicia said.

  Muriel shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t, and I have an idea were you to ask Suzanne, she would say she didn’t like her either. But there – I am interfering. Who you choose to employ is up to you, but I just ask that you keep a close eye on things.’

  ‘We will,’ her son-in-law promised. He set a lot of store by his mother-in-law’s opinion, and often wished that his wife could have been a little more like her. He loved Alicia but was forced to admit that her head was full of nothing more than the latest fashions most of the time. Although he couldn’t deny that she did seem to love the child in her own way, sometimes he wondered whether she had only wanted a child so that she could dress her up and parade her in front of her friends like a little doll, for she didn’t seem to have a clue how to care for her – or even wish to learn how to, if it came to that. But Susie was here now, and despite his own initial misgivings, Matthew had grown fond of the child and wanted to do right by her.

  There were tears on the day that Alicia’s parents departed, and Alicia stood on the front step dabbing ineffectively at her eyes with a little scrap of lace handkerchief.

  ‘You be a good girl for your mama now,’ Muriel told Susie, as she patted her cheek affectionately. ‘And rest assured Grandpapa and I will be back to see you very soon.’

  Susie bobbed her knee as she had been taught to do and Muriel sighed. The only time the child seemed to act like a six-year-old was when she was away from the house, but there was nothing she could do about it for now.

  Alicia stood on the steps with Susie and waved until the carriage was out of sight before leading the little girl inside.

  ‘Pop back up to the nursery to Nanny now, there’s a good girl,’ Alicia told her. ‘I have some friends coming to take tea with me shortly and I really must get changed.’

  Lifting her skirts, she hurried away up the stairs and Susie sighed as she followed her with a heavy tread. It was as if her new mother had forgotten all about her already – but then, she was getting used to it by now. Just for a second a picture of Opal’s kind face flashed in front of her eyes and, gulping down tears, she went on her way.

  Chapter Twenty

  Charlie looked around him as he strode down the rough road that led to the town. He passed ramshackle shacks that looked as if a single gust of wind might blow them away, and every step he took caused a cloud of dust to rise up. He stared in wonder at the brightly coloured birds in the trees; he had seen one just like them back in a pet shop in England once, and could scarcely believe that here they thrived and flew free. In the distance, he could see the quay where the ship he had come on had docked, but there were only small fishing boats bobbing on the azure-blue water now. As he continued down the hill, the main road in the settlement became busier, with horse-drawn traffic and people milling everywhere. There were far more shops dotted along the main street than he had expected. There was a dressmaker’s shop displaying a colourful gown in the window, and next to that was a bakers’ with a variety of loaves and cakes resting on a counter inside. Next to that was a milliner’s and slightly further on a hardware shop with many items displayed outside, from buckets and bowls to gardening tools.

  He paused outside a shop with a sign above the window that said ‘Ezra Schwartz, Tailor’. This was the one he was looking for, so he opened the door, setting a small bell tinkling. It was quite gloomy and dusty inside, despite the glorious sunshine outside, and for a moment he stood as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. A tailor’s dummy dressed in a multicoloured waistcoat stood just in front of him, and beyond that was a long, roughly hewn wooden counter that ran the width of the shop. It was covered in offcuts of material, tape measures, needles, pins and scissors, and as Charlie stared at it, a door behind the counter opened and a tiny, smartly dressed man stepped through it. He was almost completely bald with a small skullcap – which Charlie later discovered was called a kippah – perched on his head and he was almost as far round as he was high.

  The man smiled a greeting. ‘Boker tov, young man. Ezra Schwartz, at your service. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Er . . . good day, sir. The governor asked me to give you this.’ Charlie handed him the message the governor had written, and after quickly reading it, the elderly man nodded.

  ‘You are to be fitted for new clothes, it seems,’ he said approvingly. ‘So first we shall take your measurements and then we shall look at material. Please . . . stand so.’

  Charlie held his arms out as requested, and the man began to measure every inch of him, writing down the measurements with a stub of pencil in a little book he produced from his pocket.

  ‘And now, if you could just take your shirt off. I must be precise.’

  Charlie froze as his hands flew to the buttons of his ragged shirt. He hated the thought of anyone seeing his back, but realising he had no choice, he sighed and slowly undid them, slipping it off.

  When the old tailor saw the zig-zag of angry scars across his back he winced, but he said not a word as carried on taking his measurements, and when it was done, he told Charlie, ‘You may put your shirt back on now, son.’ He looked at him curiously. ‘Forgive me asking, but why would the governor wish you to have new clothes?’

  ‘It’s because I shall be working with him in his residence.’ Charlie was fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. ‘He told me that his assistant has recently returned to England and I am to help him with his paperwork.’

  The tailor looked impressed. ‘Ah, so you can read and write then. This is most unusual; never in the time I have lived here have I known the governor to employ a convict in his home. Make the most of the opportunity, and I wish you good luck. You never know, should he be pleased with your work, you may earn an early pardon.’

  ‘Thank you, I shall try hard,’ Charlie assured him. ‘But now if you could let me know how much the clothes will cost, I am to pay you.’

  Again, the tailor was surprised. Normally the governor would be presented with a bill after the clothes were made, and yet today he had sent this young man with money to pay for them. Could it be that he was setting Charlie a test? His hand flew deftly across a piece of paper as he reckoned up what everything was going to cost and handed it to Charlie, who paid him and tucked the change safely away in his pocket. ‘I shall do my best to have everything ready within the week,’ the tailor promised.

  Charlie left and made his way to the bootmaker. They decided on a soft brown leather that would go nicely with the light tweed Mr Schwartz had chosen for his suit. Once again, when the measurements were taken, Charlie paid the man, took his receipt and tucked the change into his pocket.

  When he walked out of the shop, he was shocked to find how the temperature had risen and he soon began to sweat. The heat was taking some getting used to, but he didn’t have long to think about it as he suddenly noticed a straggly line of
men in chains being marched through the settlement. Walking alongside them were a number of overseers wielding evil-looking whips, and by the way they were barking at the men they would not be afraid to use them. As he watched, one of the men stumbled and the overseer closest to him was on him in a second. ‘Get up, yer bleedin’ mangy cur!’ he growled. ‘Else you’ll feel the length o’ this leather across yer back.’

  The man struggled to his feet, a look of despair and defeat on his face. These were obviously the more hardened criminals, who were forced to break rocks or work for long hours in the harsh sun, and Charlie couldn’t help but feel pity for them; it brought home to him how lucky he was to have been given a chance to work in a civilised manner. The men moved on in a cloud of dust as flies and mosquitoes buzzed all around them and Charlie turned to make his way back to the governor’s house. He would have liked to stay a while and explore the settlement a little more, but he dared not risk upsetting the governor.

  Two hours after he had sent Charlie into the town, the governor looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk when someone tapped at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he answered irritably. He didn’t seem to be making any progress whatsoever, and wondered if he would ever catch up.

  When Charlie appeared he looked momentarily surprised but he nodded towards the seat in front of his desk. Part of him had wondered if Charlie would take the money and make off to other parts, but it appeared that Isabella had been right to place her trust in him. It was a good start.

  ‘Your change, sir.’ Charlie took the money and two receipts from his pocket and laid them on the desk. The governor did a quick check and found that the money was correct, right down to the last penny.

  ‘I’m told that the new clothes and the new boots will be ready within a week.’

  ‘Good!’ The governor narrowed his eyes and, making a decision said, ‘Come here and let me show you what you will be expected to do.’ He took a large register from the drawer and opening it he pointed to rows of names and numbers. ‘These are the names of the convicts,’ he explained, ‘and each has a number against them. Every day the overseers visit, usually during early evening, and if there is anything to report they will write it down. For instance, here is one.’ He pointed to a piece of paper on which was written in a crude hand, ‘Williams, Convict Number 146, 50 lashes for causing a fight amongst the convicts.’

  ‘It will be your job to enter this into the journal, along with the date. It might not sound like much of a job, but believe me when you are dealing with many convicts, the paperwork can soon pile up, as you can see. We also receive reports regularly from the settlers who have taken convicts to work on their farms. If they give good reports then that is written into the ledger too, and it can sometimes earn a convict an early pardon if they work hard and keep their nose clean. Do you think you are up to it?’

  ‘I shall certainly give it my best shot, sir,’ Charlie answered enthusiastically. After all, how hard could it be?

  ‘In that case, there is no time like the present.’ The governor smiled at him. ‘I have to go out, so why don’t you make a start now? This is the pile I would like you to deal with first and I shall have some food sent in to you at lunchtime. Then, when I return, we’ll see how you’ve got on.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Charlie took a seat, and the governor was heartened to see that before he had even properly left the room, the boy had dipped the pen in the inkwell and was concentrating on the pile he had placed before him.

  ‘So . . . he came back then, my love,’ a teasing voice behind him mocked, as he quietly closed the door behind him.

  He grinned. ‘Yes, he did; you were right as always,’ he conceded.

  ‘My papa told me when I was a little girl always to go with my instinct,’ she said, laughing up at him. ‘Which is why I agreed to marry you, my love. Instinct told me that you were the perfect man for me.’

  ‘Then I shall never question your judgement again, my love. Clearly you have the finest instincts in Australia – if not the world.’ He grinned and kissed her swiftly on the lips, before striding away.

  Smiling happily, Isabella watched him go, admiring his broad back and the way the sunlight streaming in through the windows turned his hair golden.

  At lunchtime, a maid appeared with a tray for Charlie. On it was a jug of lemonade, a selection of dainty sandwiches and a variety of small cakes and pastries. He thanked her and ate hungrily, but then got straight back to work, and by the time the governor returned in the late afternoon, he was impressed to see that Charlie had made an excellent start on the backlog of work.

  He examined the pages carefully, before nodding his approval. ‘Your handwriting is almost better than mine,’ he told him with a wry smile.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’m really enjoying it,’ Charlie answered.

  ‘Very well, carry on, but knock off at six o’clock and make your way to the kitchen for your evening meal. Oh, and present yourself back here at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.’ He turned to leave, but then, remembering something, he paused and added, ‘And please ensure that this and the kitchen are the only rooms in the house you enter. This is my home and I have daughters and a wife. I would not wish you to invade their privacy.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Satisfied, the governor left, and Charlie once again became absorbed in the paperwork.

  Late that evening, as Charlie was sitting outside his tiny shack admiring the balmy night, Francesca and Juliet appeared and, seeing him, they hurried across.

  ‘So you are working inside for Father now.’ Francesca gave a tinkling little laugh that set Charlie’s heart thudding. He was sure she was easily the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. ‘I am so pleased. Father hates all the paperwork that his position involves, and he is always so grumpy when he gets behind with it.’ She sank down on to the patchy grass next to him, oblivious to the beautiful gown she was wearing.

  While Juliet wandered off to examine the flowers, Francesca asked, ‘So tell me about yourself, Charlie, and what led to you being here. You do not seem like a convict to me.’

  Haltingly, Charlie began with his mother’s death and then told her everything that had happened to him and his family since, and by the time he was done, there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘So I suppose when you have served your sentence, you will wish to return to England and find your family again?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I can understand that.’ She sighed. ‘But at least until then we shall have the pleasure of your company. That is one of the drawbacks to living here. Juliet and I do not have many young people our age to associate with.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Charlie looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘No offence intended, miss, but I don’t think your father would be very happy about you associating with me. I am a convict, after all, and you are a lady.’

  Francesca scowled and tossed her head. ‘Huh! You are still a human being, Charlie Sharp, and circumstances led you to do what you did! Perhaps I would have done the same had my family been in such dire straits. My mother always taught us that we should not judge others, and so if I wish to speak to you I will!’

  Charlie said not a word but his smile spoke volumes as they sat quietly side by side enjoying the peace and quiet.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  December 1852

  ‘The mistress asked me to tell you that Mr King will be dining with her this evening, Cook,’ the housekeeper announced.

  Cook sighed. ‘What again? That’ll be four times this week in all.’

  ‘Well, I dare say the mistress may have her son to dinner whenever she wishes,’ Mrs Deep answered and, turning in a rustle of stiff bombazine, she left the room.

  ‘I reckon he’s got designs on Opal,’ Belle whispered to the cook. ‘’E can hardly keep his eyes off her an’ when Miss Partridge came to dinner last week an’ kept fawnin’ over ’im, he were all but downright rude to ’er!’

  ‘You can hardly blame ’
im for that,’ Cook snorted, as she continued to roll out pastry for a rabbit pie. ‘You’d think she’d ’ave given up by now, after all this time. She must ’ave skin as thick as a rhino’s if she ain’t took the hint that he ain’t interested by now!’

  ‘If who hasn’t taken the hint?’ Opal asked innocently, as she strolled into the kitchen just in time to catch the end of the conversation. She had changed vastly in the time she had worked there and had blossomed from a young girl into a very beautiful young woman. She was still slim, but her figure had filled out in all the right places, and thanks to Mrs King’s tutoring, she carried herself proud and erect. Although, to give her credit, her nature hadn’t changed at all, and she still felt more at home with the staff than she did with her mistress’s guests. Today, she wore her long dark hair in an elegant chignon.

  ‘We was just sayin’ as how Miss Partridge tends to throw ’erself at Mr King every time she sees him but how he won’t have a bar of it!’ Cook answered.

  Opal grinned. ‘You’re not wrong there. She’s so blatant in her attentions to him that it can get quite embarrassing at times.’

  ‘Hm, but has it not occurred to yer that his attentions might be directed elsewhere?’ Cook asked, and when Opal frowned and looked confused, she laughed.

  ‘We’re on about you, yer daft thing,’ she teased. ‘Surely it’s dawned on you by now, that he’s right taken wi’ you?’

  Opal looked shocked. ‘Me!’ Her hand flew to her throat. ‘But Henry King must be old enough to be my father.’

  ‘Happen he is, an’ happen that’s why he sees you as the next Mrs King. You’re young enough to give him sons – sommat his poor late wife couldn’t do, God bless her soul. Why else do yer think he brought you here to have the old lady teach yer social skills? He could ’ardly marry a workin’-class maid, now, could he? But a lady’s companion is a different kettle o’ fish entirely.’