by Lena Dowling
‘But of which accounts are we speaking? Because we all know which side of the moral ledger Miss Malone falls on.’
‘Emily!’ Tristan said.
‘No, please Tristan,’ James said, waving off Tristan’s concern. ‘Emily is entitled to her view, and while I might not agree with it, I respect her right to hold it. Indeed, my own wife would be in full agreement.’
Tristan shot Emily a rare disapproving look. Not backing down, she countered it with one of her own.
Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the couple disagree on anything.
‘What do you think, Harry?’ James asked.
‘Far be it from me to come between husband and wife.’ He pointed to the tray of cake. ‘All I think is that this all looks utterly delicious.’ He selected a marchpane animal and held it up, swivelling it around in one direction and then the other. ‘Do we think it is a dog or cat?’
‘Neither. It has to be a wombat.’ James said, eliciting a polite chuckle.
Harry gave his full strength to flattening the sweet between two slices of fruitcake then, and chomped an exaggerated bite.
Laughter broke the tension.
‘Oh goodness, Harry, you must be ravenous! I forgot—you have had nothing for dinner. I had Cook make up a plate before she left.’
Chapter 4
Harry followed the swish of Emily’s silk skirts down the high-ceilinged, richly papered hallway to the attached kitchen at the back of the house. No one would have known to look at them now, but reading between the lines of Tristan’s early letters, despite being sponsored to emigrate and paid a stipend by the Crown to work in the Colony, he and Emily had struggled; sometimes even to put food on the table, especially when New South Wales had suffered food shortages and prices went sky-high. And it had taken some time to build up the solid clientele and to achieve the level of success he had now.
In the kitchen, he sat at one of the long benches that ran the length of the solid kitchen table.
‘What was that all about with James Hunter out there?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ Emily said, then removed a plate of food sitting on top of a saucepan on the stove, dried the condensed steam from beneath and set it down in front of him.
‘Really—because I wasn’t entirely convinced you were speaking only of my choice of a tenant for the guesthouse? There seemed to be more to it.’
‘James Hunter has some very radical ideas.’ Emily said, ignoring the question, searching for something on the dresser, returning with the mustard pot.
‘And that’s all it was?’
‘Things might be different out here in the colony from how they are back home, but they’re not that different. I’d hate to see you put yourself at a disadvantage when you didn’t know any better than to take James Hunter’s advice. No gentleman would rent out his property to Nellie Malone. It wouldn’t be appropriate.’
Harry could have said that with Nellie’s captivating tawny-brown eyes and comely figure, appropriateness might well lie in the eye of the beholder. Instead he took the safer option, ferrying a forkful of potato to his mouth. ‘This is good,’ he said, rapidly following it with another.
‘I’ll tell Cook you enjoyed it.’
He had expected Emily to return to her guests then, but she lingered. She stood with her back to him, pretending to straighten some plates on the dresser, as if she was working up to something.
Determined to eat as much as he could before Emily broached whatever the subject might be that would render further consumption unpalatable, Harry cut a piece from a slab of ham that had been fried on each side and conveyed it to his mouth.
‘Are you quite sure about all this secrecy? It would open a great many more doors for you if we could introduce you properly,’ she said finally.
Harry made a final run at his meal, then reluctantly set down his knife and fork.
‘Is this you, or your husband talking?’
‘Me, but I know it concerns Tristan too.’
If it had been anyone else, he would have thought she was angling to use his friendship with Tristan and their third-cousin kinship on his mother’s side for advancement. She could have made a much more advantageous match for herself than Tristan, but she had chosen love over position.
‘And have people fawning all over me just because they want to be seen in my company?’
‘Would that be so bad?’
Harry picked up his fork and stabbed at a piece of ham. ‘Not necessarily, unless of course the person in question happens to be one’s fiancée.’
‘I’m so sorry. I wish we had been there. Perhaps we would have seen the warning signs. ’
‘What could you have done?’
‘Tristan could have had a word with Jonah.’
‘I very much doubt that would have been any help.’
‘While I’m sorry for the circumstances, I’m not at all sorry you’re here with us. Tristan has missed you terribly.’
‘He has done well.’
‘In the end. But it was difficult. I wouldn’t have chosen to come here, but the Crown Solicitor scheme was Tristan’s chance to practise and to build up his own chambers. Those snobs in Dublin were never going to let the son of a blacksmith, even if Hugh Mallard did pull himself up by his bootstraps to finish up as your father’s agent, into their hallowed chambers.’
‘You’re not saying you regret marrying down?’
‘Do I miss having all of the latest fashions and receiving invitations to all the smartest parties—yes, at times, of course I do. But I don’t regret marrying Tristan, not for one minute.’
‘Then you’ve proved my argument. There’s little of any importance to lose and everything to gain by dispensing with the title and living a simpler life.’
‘But what about your lands? And the Dublin house? Aren’t you worried about what will happen to them?’
‘The townhouse in Dublin has been leased to a good family, and my cousin Robert has moved onto the estate to assist father. It will be Robert’s eventually now anyway, and if not his, then his son’s. So I’m sure he will take good care of it.’
‘What if you have a son?’ Emily said, not letting it go. She could be as determined as her husband, possibly more, when she put her mind to it. But then, she had needed to be. Without that trait, she would never have overcome the obstacles to marrying his best friend.
‘In that event, he can make his decision when the time comes.’
‘That is something, I suppose.’
Emily left then to see to her guests and Harry resumed his meal, helping himself to a glass of barley water from the jug in the centre of the table.
He had considered he might be disadvantaging any future children, but any idea of a family was far off. His priority was becoming established, and he intended to do that based entirely on his own efforts and not on the use of his family name.
He wasn’t a fool. It would be arduous, but he never been one to back down in the face of adversity. Something his father had overlooked.
Chapter 5
‘Nellie.’ Rowley Somerset bustled into the Tullamore, his forehead glistening with sweat, his round face scarlet. ‘I came as soon as I got your message. My dear, you must be very disappointed.’
‘So it’s true? Harry Chester has bought this place.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
She had hoped Rowley would have heard nothing of it and this Harry Chester was trying put one over, but deep down she knew she was grasping at straws. If Chester was a charlatan, he would have tried to browbeat her into giving in, or turned on the charm, playing on his good looks.
‘I’ve got a letter from the Governor saying I can stay here,’ she huffed.
‘You have permission to occupy on a week-to-week basis, but no tenure. And now the property has been sold, the continuation of that arrangement will be up to the new owner. I am sorry, my dear.’
‘Oh, Rowls.’
‘Mrs Biggs, perhaps?’
She only had to ask. They were flesh and blood, after all. But she couldn’t do it. Colleen had only just got back on her feet. And with her Mr Biggs working for James Hunter, it would be too awkward.
Far too awkward.
She would hand herself in at the doors of the Factory herself before she would bring one skerrick more of misery into her cousin’s life.
‘I can’t.’
‘Colleen’s your family.’
‘It’s complicated.’
Rowley sighed. ‘Then perhaps it might be time to think about your other options.’
Nellie shook her head.
‘It wouldn’t be too late to reconsider Henley’s offer. He’s a far better prospect than Captain Tompkins or some of those other army types.’
Nellie pulled a face. Rowls wouldn’t seriously suggest she shack up with Tompkins. As sweet as Richard Henley was, he was old enough to be her father. Grandfather even. He was just trying to make him look good by comparison.
‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’
‘You’d want for nothing.’
‘Even if I was looking for marriage, which I’m not, a person should stick their own class. I found that out the hard way.’
Rowley flopped his hands about in the girlish way that always gave people the wrong impression about him. ‘Tell me, what’s this Harry Chester like?’
‘He’s around my age or a little older. Thirtyish maybe. He speaks like a gentleman.’
‘A gentleman isn’t likely to want to sully his hands in the business. You might be able to stay on.’
Nellie laughed. ‘I can’t see a man changing dirty sheets and towels and emptying chamber pots, can you?’
‘I’ll vouch for you. You know that if it were down to me, I’d give you a position.’
‘It’s enough that you’ve stood by me. More than enough. You believed I could run this place when I don’t know if I even believed it meself.’
‘And run it you have. And no one can deny it. If this Chester doesn’t keep you on, then he’s … he’s …’
‘Harry Chester’s what now?’ Harry Chester said, righting himself after having ducked under the doorway from the street.
Rowley stammered. ‘I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t mean to …’
Harry waved off Rowley’s apologies and with his free hand reached inside his jacket.
‘You’re the lawyer?’
Rowley shot Nellie a quizzical glance, to which she replied with a shrug. She had exaggerated, but only a bit. He had been a lawyer once.
‘It’s true that I have legal training.’
‘The deed then, as requested,’ Harry said, offering a rolled parchment in Rowley’s direction.
Rowley stepped forwards to take document. ‘I am sure all is in order, sir, but since you took the trouble to bring it, I will look it over.’
Rowley didn’t say anything for a long time. So long that Nellie hoped he had found some slipknot in the words on the paper that would let her slide out of this and keep hold of the place.
But then Rowley looked up, re-rolling the deed and slipping back on the ring of string to keep it in place. ‘Yes, all correct, but Miss Malone was quite rightly dubious of your claim without proof. I hope you won’t hold it against her.’
‘Indeed, I would have exercised the same caution in her position.’
‘You’ve been very fair, sir,’ Rowley said, with a dip of his head.
Rowley was only trying to help, but what was fair about this? This was her place, her graft, her aching bones, and raw hands had brought it back from a swill and bawdy house and made it what it was, and now he was taking it over, all gifted to him on a plate.
‘If you would be so good as to bring out your accounts, and those of the previous owner. I intend to review them when I’m done with an inspection of the premises.’
‘Danny never wrote anything down.’
‘What about you?’ he said, turning his attention back to Nellie, levelling a stare that held her captured by his dark, almost black eyes. Flustered, Nellie looked away.
‘Miss Malone maintains a reservation book and is diligent in keeping a ledger,’ Rowley said, leaping to her defence.
‘Good, then when I return I’ll look at those and if you don’t mind, I’ll take a cup of tea alongside it. Black, one sugar.’
‘Mind? Mind?’ Nellie said, once Harry had gone out to inspect the yard. ‘I’ll show him “mind”.’
‘Nellie, simmer down. You’ve got to be tactical about this.’
‘Suck up to him, you mean.’
‘Yes. If you want to put it like that.’
‘It sticks in my craw.’
‘I know it does, but you have to, if you’re to have any chance he’ll keep you on. Be nice. Keep that famous Malone temper of yours in check. Promise me now.’
Nellie closed her eyes and puffed out an exasperated breath.
If she didn’t make nice to hold onto her place here, where else was she going to go?
***
For a moment, Harry lost vision in the unlit passageway that smelled of damp and alcohol as if he had just opened the door to an old wine cellar. He imagined plenty a glass would have been spilled as the holder lurched his way up to the upstairs rooms. Harry reached for a door he had seen opposite before he had closed the first door behind him, found the handle and stepped through into a stifle of heavy hot air.
He was in a kitchen where, despite the door to the exterior being propped open, the woodstove in the far corner put out a powerful heat.
He grasped a door handle to his left, but again the room was in darkness. A rancid odour offended his nostrils. He contemplated further entry, but dissuaded by the smell, shut it again. He traversed the remainder of the long narrow room, avoiding a long trestle piled with dirty but neatly stacked cutlery and breakfast plates to step outside.
The yard stretched out far wider and deeper than he had expected, to the point it was almost as big as the walled kitchen garden on the estate back home. To his right, more than half a dozen washing lines sagged with sheets and towels. Beyond them, a sizeable vegetable plot stood in neat rows of cabbage and carrots and something else recently dug that might have been turnips. A fork remained speared into the ground halfway up the row. Alongside the garden was an open-sided lean-to covering an outdoor laundry arrangement and a stack of timbers broken down from the jumble of crates and barrels, where in between a young maid, a convict judging from her coarse, simple dress, rubbed wet laundry against a washboard.
The lean-to was tacked onto the end of an impressive sandstone stable block that was roofed in slate.
‘Surprising, isn’t it.’
The voice startled him. He hadn’t seen Somerset approach.
‘The previous owner had a soft spot for horses?’
‘It’s hard to imagine Danny O’Shane having a soft spot for anything,’ Somerset said, with as much bitterness as if the man had wronged him personally.
‘So he did it to please his customers?’
‘After a fashion. The only thing Danny O’Shane cared about was making money. The more comfortable the accommodations for a man’s horse, the longer he would stay.’
‘And the longer O’Shane had to empty his pockets.’
‘Precisely.’
‘And yet I hear O’Shane died destitute. He made bad investments?’
‘If you can call either gambling or opium an investment. No one was sad to see the blackguard pass on. The only mourners at his funeral were there to rattle the coffin to make sure he was good and properly dead.’
‘So Nellie wasn’t his mistress then?’
Somerset stared at him in surprise then cackled like an old woman, startling two crows out of a tree beyond the courtyard. ‘She was as pleased as everyone else to see his coffin lowered into a hole in the ground. And she wouldn’t have had to settle for O’Shane. There was barely a man in the colony who wouldn’t have taken her on if she had only
fluttered so much as a single eyelash in their direction.’
‘A former prostitute?’
‘It’s difficult to fathom when you first arrive here, I know, but when you consider our Government architect is a convicted forger, one of our surgeons is a former highwayman and a number of our pre-eminent citizens have convict wives, both common-law and of the legitimate variety, Nellie’s previous occupation is but a minor impediment to her advancement.’
Harry stared at him. There were times when this strange land would have been worthy of inclusion in Gulliver’s Travels.
‘Then why prefer prostitution to marriage or a steady arrangement?’
‘She didn’t prefer it. But she had her reasons.’
‘You are very loyal, sir.’
‘And for that, I have my reasons.’
If it were anyone else, Harry would have questioned the man’s motivations, but he doubted Nellie was his type, or possibly any woman for that matter.
‘Nellie is very fortunate to have your sponsorship.’
‘I meant what I said earlier. Nellie’s done well here. She’s cleaned the place up and runs it as a decent establishment. You’d do yourself a favour to keep her on.’
Somerset’s interference irked him, but from everything he had seen, he couldn’t disagree.
‘If my inspections bear out your recommendations, and,’ he added, ‘I have no reason to believe that they will not, then, I will give it my consideration,’ he said, recalling Hunter’s recommendations. The man had done well. Extraordinarily well in the colony. He would be a fool not to pay heed to his advice.
‘Thank you, sir. That’s all I ask, and very generous of you, but now you’ll have to excuse me, I’m due back at the office.’
‘You mustn’t keep your next client waiting.’
‘No—indeed. Particularly when that client is the Governor.’
The Governor?
Harry wouldn’t have credited it, but nor did he believe it was an empty boast. Somerset was far too earnest for the statement to be a fabrication; but nevertheless, an aide to the Governor and a former prostitute seemed a remarkable association.