by Lena Dowling
But at least she could thank Harry Chester for helping her find the energy to complete all the extra chores she had now they were running a bar.
She had just finished serving half-price breakfast to all the guests who wanted it.
All while Harry slept in.
Nice for some.
What would ‘Mr Make more Pies’ say about that?
Most had been happy to sit on the pews that ran down the sides of the long wooden table and eat their meal for a cut price in the kitchen, but one or two had grumbled. She had to do something to make up for their inconvenience and for the noise. It was either that or drag all the furniture back into the dining room, just to pull it out again for tonight’s performance.
‘Are you aiming to brush it or sand it smooth?’ Pikelet had stepped through the open door to the street unnoticed while she bashed her way down the floor.
‘At least the guests won’t be able to moan that the place isn’t clean.’
‘We’ve had complaints?’
‘Even with having all the punters out by ten o’clock, the noise went on too long for some. Especially Mrs Green. Her little ones couldn’t sleep.’
Up until now she had prided herself on not having complaints, but she was going to have to get used to it. Now there would always be grumbles.
‘But it can’t be helped,’ Nellie said, shifting her weight against the broom. ‘We made more in one night than if all me rooms were filled for a week, but too bad about ruining my guesthouse; making it noisy and smelly and filling it up with riffraff. All Harry Chester cares about is his precious rent.’
‘He should care about something else?’
It wasn’t like Pikelet to be snarky.
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘You know whose side I’m on.’
‘I do. I’m sorry. I’m just …’
‘Disappointed and mad with worry.’
‘Yes.’ Pikelet had named how she felt, but it didn’t take any of the sting out of it.
‘You’re still running this place, and if we have another night like last night, you’ll have made more than enough to pay Tompkins back and put some aside for the rent for your first week.’
‘You know about that?’
‘I guessed.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought you’d be angry.’
‘Not angry. Just worried. I’d better get off to the bank with the takings before it closes. There were some rough elements in the crowd. The sharp-eyed will have seen how much money was going over the counter.’
Nellie tensed. She didn’t need reminding that it was sailors, ticket of leave convicts and rank and file soldiers that had made up most of the crowd. They’d had no trouble in the end, but as Harry had pointed out, they’d only got through the first night.
But at least he had reminded her what he was all about—making sure he got paid. And if he didn’t, she would be as good as out on the street.
She’d thought Harry was willing to give her a proper go. And then, for a minute, when he lifted her down from the bar …
It had been a silly thought, one with nothing to it.
She wasn’t so much getting a fair go as being on borrowed time.
She could only hold on and hope that she could prove the place could pay before someone came along who wanted to rent the place with more money than her.
She fished into her apron pocket and pulled out a handful of paper scraps, handing one to Pikelet with the writing side up.
Pikelet read what she’d written out in lines on paper and then cut into strips. ‘Nellie sings at the Tullamore—six to ten.’
‘You must have been up half the night.’
‘Into the wee smalls. I only wished I’d called the place after something short like the Cork or the Birr and I’d have saved me fingers and given meself some more sleep.’
‘You think this will work?’ Pikelet said, taking the rest from her and putting the fistful of papers in his pocket.
‘It used to work for Danny.’
‘But Danny would drive around town done up like a peacock with a girl beside him, with …’ Pikelet stopped.
Nellie finished the sentence for him. ‘With her tits fair hanging out, spreadin’ herself about.’
Pikelet sighed. ‘That sums it up.’
‘I thought you could take Agnes to hand them around.’
‘It could give the wrong impression.’
She hadn’t thought of that. She wouldn’t want people to think Agnes, or any girl, was part of what she was trading.
‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll put Jammy through her paces in a few spots around the town, and while we’ve got an audience Agnes can whip around with the slips.’
‘That’s a grand idea,’ she said.
Pikelet didn’t approve of any of what she was doing but he was helping her anyway.
‘You know you’re my best friend.’
‘And you’re surely mine,’ Pikelet said, with a sadness that tugged the strings of her heart.
Of all the men who’d made it clear they’d like to carry her off, she wished she could have chosen Pikelet. But the feeling just wasn’t there.
As much as she wished things could be different, she would never be able to love Pikelet the way he wanted.
But that didn’t stop it hurting every time she saw the sadness in his eyes for what he longed for and for what she would never be able to give him.
Chapter 14
Harry woke with a start. A slam. The gate had brought him to.
Someone leaving or arriving.
He pulled on his trousers and grabbed a shirt, and pulling it over his head, stumbled to the small window looking out to the courtyard.
Arriving, he decided, since Jammy was nosing calmly around the courtyard as opposed to leaping madly all over the place in anticipation of a walk.
Walking out to the kitchen, Harry sniffed the air. ‘Is that bacon?’
‘It was a good three hours ago. Now it’s just wishful thinkin’,’ Nellie answered from the stove.
‘Is there anything that would do for breakfast?’
‘There might be if you’re paying for it. It’ll cost double now breakfast’s over and done with. For the inconvenience.’
Nellie’s words were short, brittle. It wasn’t the easy conversation they’d had the night before.
‘That’s extortion,’ Harry said lightly, but the attempt at levity made no impression.
‘You can take it off my rent.’
‘Are they O’Shane’s old duds?’ Harry said, deciding to try a change of subject, pointing to the pile of clothes Nellie was folding into a basket on the kitchen table.
The tension in Nellie’s voice eased. ‘They came up better than I thought. Only one shirt fell to bits and that was old. They should fetch a good price.’
‘You think you can sell them?’
Nellie frowned for a second then returned to her folding. ‘I should do alright on them at the market if I can get there before it closes.’
‘Then I’ll come with you and I can find something for breakfast at the same time.’
Nellie looked up. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘I’d like to have a look around.’
Nellie’s expression turned to alarm. ‘And you have to do that now?’
‘Let me take that for you.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Here, let me.’
‘You can’t, people will think …’ she stopped.
‘People will think what?’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’re the landlord. I’m a convict. I have to carry it,’ Nellie said, seizing the basket.
‘How are your haggling skills?’ he said, once they were out on the street.
‘I can hold my own.’
‘If the way you extracted that surety from Mrs Green for the sewing box is anything to go by, then that is probably true.’
‘That sewing box would be a pretty penny to replace.’
‘I’m n
ot criticising. Your bargaining impressed me.’
Nellie’s mouth curved at the corners in what might have been a smile for the barest of seconds, before tilting her chin, her mouth taking on an endearingly determined set.
They walked on in silence until turning into George Street; two convicts struggled under the weight of a pallet of the local sandstone, forcing them out onto the road to pass lest they be caught behind them at snail’s pace.
‘Why on earth do they dress them like that,’ Harry said, once they were gone, asking the question he pondered every time he saw the convict men in the street. The men’s black and yellow outfits made them look as if they’d escaped from a circus.
‘It’s a punishment. And it makes them easy to spot if they try and do a runner, which is oftentimes what landed them in those outfits in the first place.’
As they carried on towards The Rocks, the number of people on the street swelled. Everyone, it seemed, was headed in the same direction.
Further down the street, a black woman sat in the dirt. He’d seen very few native people since he’d arrived, bar a few working on the wharf, and this was the first woman.
‘Should we give her something?’ he said low under his breath.
‘Oh no, that’s Daisy. Her man works in a road gang. She likes to be outside waiting on him. She’s not one to be indoors or undercover unless it’s pouring.’
‘I thought there would be more Aboriginal people; there seem to be very few around?’
‘They keep to themselves mostly, out in the bush. The trouble comes when someone fences something off where they used to hunt or camp and then won’t let them back through. Then they might take a sheep or some flour. A whole mob turned up at Government House once.’
‘What did the Governor do?’
‘He gave them afternoon tea on the lawn.’
Her tone was so matter of fact he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. ‘You exaggerate, surely?’
‘Rowley was there. He even showed some of their warriors how to put jam on a scone.’
‘Somerset, what’s his background?’
‘His father was a bookbinder, so Rowley grew up reading all kinds of books and one of his father’s clients took a shine. Paid for his schooling and then gave him a place in his chambers. He wasn’t born into the gentry.’
‘You say that as if it’s a good thing?’ Harry said, picking up the same derisive tone he had the other night.
Nellie shrugged. ‘I’m just sayin’ he’s made something of himself, that’s all.’
***
She pointed to the edge of the market a short way up the street. ‘I’ll set up on the edge of the stalls right there to catch people as they come in, while you have a wander around. If you’re buyin’ buns, go for Mrs Tavish’s stall, not Mr Dunstead’s, she’s the better baker.’
Harry chuckled.
‘What are you laughing at?’
‘Just you—you’re a walking cyclopaedia when it comes to Sydney Town.’
Nellie shrugged. ‘You live here long enough, you get to know things.’
Harry levelled a grin at her. ‘Shall we make it interesting?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Why don’t you sell half the clothes and I’ll sell the other half and we’ll see who makes the most? Loser buys the buns from Mrs Tavish.’ Harry reached in and took roughly half the pile from the basket.
‘After you, then.’
‘Ladies first.’
Nellie called out her wares and it didn’t take long before several men approached who seriously wanted to buy. After some back and forth, she got the price she was asking or near enough on all the things in her basket.
She held up the money. ‘There’s nine guineas there.’
‘My turn,’ Harry said, holding up one of Danny’s waistcoats. ‘Clothes fit for a gentleman,’ he called in his deep mellow voice. ‘Fine cloth, fine linen apparel only worn by a gentleman of note. No longer required, going as a single lot. Gentlemen’s clothes—fine gentleman’s clothes—gather round, one and all.’
A few people turned. Some came closer. Then more and more joined them, until there was a small crowd. The few women looked Harry up and down, making comments behind their hands.
‘Miss Malone, would you mind demonstrating the quality of the items?’
Nellie took each piece in turn, circling around the edge of the crowd, holding it high above her head.
‘Do I have a bid now? What about you, sir? They look about the right size. You’d cut a fine dash in this weave.’
Nellie watched in awe. Harry had the gift of the gab. This can’t have been the first time he’d done this. She’d been well played.
‘Did I hear a guinea?’
Nellie fell in with the crowd, enjoying the performance. Harry was a natural showman.
‘Thank you, sir, and to you, I have a brace; do I hear three now?’ Harry said, nodding to two imaginary bidders beyond the back of the gathering.
Then a man made a bid for real, followed by another.
‘We’ve got four guineas from a man who knows the value to be had from stepping out in style. Do I hear five? And it’s five now. Five to the man in the blue cap. Five now and we’re away. These fine clothes will sell, ladies and gentleman. They will sell today, make no mistake. It’s five to the discerning gent in the back but give me six, ladies and gentlemen. Six and you could be walking away with the finest new set of duds. Six now from the gentleman here on my right. Seven to make these clothes yours. Be in now or regret it later.’
‘What about her? What will you take for her?’ A sinewy man with a thin face called, pointing at Nellie.
With dozens of pairs of eyes leaving Harry and fixing on her, fear snatched her breath. She couldn’t draw air in against the weight crushing her chest.
The sound of the auctioneer.
Men, leering from every direction.
All eyes on her.
It all came back in a rush. Her heart beating a gallop in her chest, she stumbled backwards. She closed her eyes but that only made it worse. The smell of unwashed men, sweat and dust mixed with the lingering night-before fumes of stale rum sent her cowering behind Harry and pulling the shirt she was holding to her nose to block out the smell.
Harry swivelled backwards. He looked at her, his expression deadly serious, his forehead furrowed with concern. He turned back to the crowd.
‘The lady’s not for sale.’ Harry said, his voice harsh. Then, without missing a beat, he snapped back into the same easy patter as before. ‘Buy these clothes, sir, and woo any lady you like,’ Harry continued. ‘And there we go. I have seven now. Seven to the young lad here in front seeking to make a good impression. But why should he have all the fun? Someone give me eight now. Eight, I’m calling for eight.’
With the danger passed, Nellie closed her eyes and let out a breath heavy with relief, grateful that Harry had been there.
A battle started up then between the young lad and the man in the blue cap. At twelve, the boy was outbid.
‘All done—twelve now going once, going twice, going three, times. Good buying, sir.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Harry said, once the man had paid over his money and the crowd had drifted away.
‘What?’ Nellie said as if she didn’t know what he was talking about.
‘That man, with his comment.’
‘Oh that. Happens all the time,’ she said trying to brush it off.
‘You look very pale,’ Harry said, frowning at her.
‘You’ve done that before. Where did you learn?’ Nellie said, changing the subject.
‘You’ll have heard of Tristan Mallard?’
‘He’s a lawyer like Rowley.’
‘I learned from Tristan’s father. He was the estate agent at Ballychirvan and he more or less took me under his wing.’
‘Is that the village where you grew up?’
‘Until I was thirteen. After that, I spent time in London. But I always pl
anned to go back.’
‘Did you get back?’
‘For a while.’
Apprentice to the agent on the estate. That was a position most men would have given their eyeteeth for. Why give that up? But then why did any free settler come all the way out to the colony? She could never fathom it—why anyone with a choice would come so far from everything they knew? ‘Why did you leave?’
‘I kept hearing how well Tristan had done well out here.’
‘What I wouldn’t give to see green,’ she said, overcome with thoughts of home. ‘You know that green, like the hills on stained glass with the sun shinin’ through it. What do you call that?’
‘Radiance,’ he said, looking at her strangely.
Nellie drew her fists up to her breast. ‘And it’s not just a colour, it’s a feeling. You know?’ Then coming over a bit silly and embarrassed for saying too much, she let down her arm and turned towards the stalls.
***
He did know.
More than she could possibly imagine.
But if he had been worried by what he saw when Nellie had tried to leave the stage the night before, the man calling out during the auction had convinced him that Nellie being in front of an audience was a risk. What could happen if a large crowd of men got overexcited and out of control? He only wished there was another way to make more of a profit from the guesthouse.
He plunged his hands in his pockets lest he did something foolish with them like reach out for her. His fingertips met the money from the auction.
‘Here,’ Harry said, stretching out for Nellie, grasping her shoulder gently and pulling her to a stop.
Nellie turned, and reluctantly he let go.
He held out the money.
Nellie blinked at him.
‘Go on. If it weren’t for you I would have burned those clothes to nothing,’ he said, vowing to make sure he was always there for her performances. He’d put her in this position, the least he could do was protect her.
Chapter 15
After Harry had found breakfast at Mrs Tavish’s stall, and he and Nellie had parted ways, he had stopped in at a furniture dealer to purchase a mattress, and then he had made his way to the club where Hunter was waiting.
The journey in James’s plush upholstered and well-sprung carriage had been an altogether more comfortable proposition than coming up the Parramatta River by boat, a trip that could take hours on a belligerent tide.