by Lena Dowling
‘If you’ve any business here, then it’ll be with me,’ Harry said, having to match Tompkins’ volume to be heard.
Tompkins sniffed and turned to Nellie. ‘Just remember what I said.’
He took his time ambling back out and Nellie didn’t move, keeping her weapon at the ready.
When Captain Tompkins had gone, Nellie tossed the knife onto the counter and leaned against it, her body trembling.
‘You’re shaking.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. All he wanted was his money. I told him he’d be paid from what’s at the bank before we take any more rum.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘I’m fine, really.’
An evasive note in Nellie’s voice raised Harry’s suspicions. He doubted she was telling him everything, but she was rattled. Now wasn’t the time to interrogate her about it.
‘Who’s this?’ he said, pointing instead to the child now silent at her feet, absorbed in rolling a piece of carrot backwards and forwards along the floorboards.
‘This is me almost nephew. Samuel Biggs Junior, or Little Sam as he’s called.’
‘The Biggs’ were here?’
‘Colleen came while you were busy chopping wood. I didn’t think to disturb you.’
‘Not at all,’ Harry said, recalling Mrs Biggs’ castigation at Parramatta. In all likelihood, he’d had a lucky escape.
‘Hello, little man,’ Harry said, dropping to his haunches.
Little Sam flung the mangled carrot at his feet.
‘And I’d do the same.’ Harry laughed. ‘There’s no need to be settling for rabbit food when there’s shortbread in the tins. But don’t tell your Aunty Nellie I told you that.’
The child gazed at Harry then giggled.
‘You know I’m going to have to give him a piece now,’ Nellie said, laughing. ‘And his ma will go mad for me ruinin’ his dinner.’
‘I’d have thought Mrs Biggs would be grateful to have help closer at hand?’
All of the humour drained from Nellie’s face. ‘Happen she would, but it’s complicated.’
‘Lady Hunter will come around eventually.’
‘You know about that?’
‘Tristan told me.’
‘Find the Hunters living cosy together in their grand new house when you were out that way looking at land to buy, did you?’
‘I was only …’
‘Stickin’ your nose in where it’s not wanted. I’ll not go upsetting the applecart for Colleen and Mr Biggs,’ Nellie said, reminding him of her feisty cousin.
Well, no one could say he hadn’t tried. While there was some delicacy over Nellie’s prior association with James Hunter, made even more difficult by the fact that James was Samuel Biggs’ employer, moving in with her family was still the obvious solution. Once he’d signed up a new tenant, she would surely see sense and take refuge with her kin.
Chapter 18
The next several nights, the evening’s entertainment went without any trouble. And just in case there was, Harry hovered close by the stage ready to step in. It left Pike to serve all the drinks, which had got his goat, but it didn’t take much to get Pikelet’s goat when it came to Harry. In Pikelet’s eyes, he couldn’t do a thing right.
It would have been so much easier if she thought the same.
But she felt safe with Harry around; even with the threat of eviction hanging over her, it was the safest she’d felt since leaving Ireland.
She sighed. There was no point wishing for things to be other than what they were. There were some like Richard Henley who could see beyond her past, and then there were those that couldn’t.
Harry had made it clear which camp he was in.
Since the night of the skirmish Nellie had stuck to the convict songs, the shanties and the English and Scottish folk songs, singing few if any Irish songs and the crowd had been well-enough behaved.
But she missed the Irish songs. It might have been safer, but it felt like the heart of her performance had been cut out.
To cheer herself up, she had gotten a stack of wattle and now she was arranging it in a jug to brighten up the kitchen table. She always tried to keep it nice now it was where the guests took all their meals. At least it made them all feel like a family, especially with the long-termers like Mr Ellis and her few regulars.
She almost had the arrangement looking like someone had done more than dump a few sticks in a jar, when a voice calling out for service from the counter drew her away from her flower arranging.
A well-dressed man breathing hard, with a woman panting and leaning against her husband, stood just inside the door.
Nellie was pleased to see extra customers. They might have been doing alright with the bar, but every little bit helped.
‘Your sign says you admit guests after two o’ clock. We’re early, I’m afraid.’
She smiled at the couple. ‘We make an exception for customers coming off the boats. How was your passage?’ she said, guessing they’d walked up the hill from the cove.
‘I’m sorry to say long and uncomfortable. So I thought getting our land legs back would do us good, but it appears I underestimated the heat and the gradient.’
‘There are a lot of things different here. What name shall I put down in the book?’ Nellie said, taking up the quill.
‘Chilcott.’
‘Mr and Mrs Chilcott,’ Nellie said dipping the feather in ink.
‘Sir and Lady,’ the woman corrected her.
Nellie replaced the pen in the holder, annoyed she had slopped a drop from the laden quill on the counter.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said without looking at the reservation book, ‘there’s been a mistake. We’re full up. I’m sure you’d be a lot more comfortable at one of the fancy inns in George Street.’
‘But you were recommended by the ship’s captain.’
‘And I’m grateful, but I can’t magic up a room that doesn’t exist now, can I?’
‘My apologies,’ Harry said, stepping behind the bar, where he set down two crocks of rum he’d brought in from the stables. ‘Miss Malone is mistaken. I’m the owner, Harry Chester.’ He extended his hand to the man.
Fuming, Nellie levelled the couple with a smile that was sickly sweet. ‘Soap, towels and cold water are not charged. Hot water delivered to your room is sixpence a jug. Breakfast is included, but dinner is extra. If you’re wanting laundry done, it’s a shilling a basket. Here’s your key. You’re on the left in room V for Veronica, which you’ll find between Room E for Elizabeth and A for Anne. Up the stairs and to your right.’
‘How charmingly Irish. You didn’t consider something logical like A, B, C or 1, 2, 3?’
‘The rooms are named for the women that used to work them, not the alphabet,’ Nellie said. She wasn’t about to be insulted for her home country. Not by Lady High and Mighty.
Lady Chilcott stiffened, baulking when her husband placed a hand on her arm. ‘She said “used to”, dear. Come on now, Rosebud. How much farther do you want to walk?’
But the lady dragged her husband back towards the open door. He pulled back, but his wife held her ground.
***
‘What was that all about?’ Harry said after Lady Chilcott had won the tug of war with her husband. ‘Why would you want to turn them away? They seemed perfectly respectable.’
‘More than respectable.’
‘Then would you care to enlighten me?’
‘They’ll have expectations.’
‘All customers have expectations.’
Nellie turned up the tip of her nose with her index finger. ‘Theirs will be higher than most.’
‘It’s their honorifics you object to?’
‘Their honour whats?
‘Their titles.’
‘I didn’t like her ladyship’s attitude, that’s all.’
‘Can you blame her?’
‘If Lady Chilcott doesn’t hear it from me what this place was before, then she�
��ll hear it when she steps out this door and starts talkin’ to people and makin’ herself some new friends. I’m not playing pretend.’
Harry’s anger all but evaporated. With the exception possibly of her cousin, Nellie had to be the most determined, stubborn, woman he had ever met, but he couldn’t say she wasn’t honest to a fault.
‘I’m not suggesting you lie.’
‘Then what?’
‘Don’t give up unsolicited information.’
‘Give off a false impression, you mean?’
Harry’s conscience needled him. But then his background was no one’s business but his own.
And as fond of Nellie as he was becoming, he managed to keep his feelings under control. It’s not as if there was anything between him and Nellie that would oblige him to reveal his true identity.
‘I’m not saying that either. I’m saying you can’t worry about what others think. The only attitude you should concern yourself with is the attitude a customer has to parting with what is in their purse.’
‘You couldn’t care less what you’ve done to this place, could you? What you’re doing to me? All you care about is your bloody rent.’
Furious, Harry grasped Nellie’s arm. ‘Come with me.’
‘To where?’
‘To the bank.’
‘Why would I need to go to the bank?’
‘So you can understand why this bloody rent is so bloody important.’
What he didn’t understand was why it was so important to him that Nellie should understand, but it was.’
***
At his bank manager’s office door, Harry stood back, apprehending the delight on Henley’s face as he steered Nellie inside. Joy that disappeared the moment he followed her in.
Henley had been pleased to see Nellie?
What were they to one another?
‘Mr Chester. I trust all is well with your investments?’ Henley’s voice conveyed concern. Self-interested concern, since it was predominantly his money that had gone into buying his portfolio of properties.
‘Perfectly fine. I’d just like you to outline my financial position to Miss Malone here.’
Henley’s shoulders jerked backwards in perceptible surprise. ‘You’re about to embark on some arrangement?’
‘Miss Malone is my tenant. She objects to my insistence on a commercial rent and I want her to understand the basis on which her rent is being calculated.’
‘Of course, as you wish. But not without me first extending my hospitality.’
The man who had treated him with such scant regard at Tilly’s birthday soiree opened a cupboard beneath his desk, withdrew a bottle and poured them all a glass of what turned out to be very acceptable whiskey. Henley then initiated proper discourse; traversing the price of wool, the grain situation and the state of the Colony in great depth. Throughout, Richard drew Nellie into the conversation, seeking her thoughts and nodding thoughtfully through her answers.
No wonder Rowley held her in such high regard. The extent of Nellie’s understanding of the affairs of the Colony went far deeper than even he had imagined.
With their glasses drained and conversation waning, Henley crossed the room to a tall cabinet from which he took a document tied with string. He untied the bundle, and with the aid of a ledger on one side, and a marble pen and inkstand to stay the edges on the other, he laid the mortgage document out flat on the desk, facing Nellie.
When Nellie moved closer to read it, Henley left his position, circuiting the desk to stand behind her. Standing so close their bodies touched, Henley leaned over Nellie’s shoulder, pointing out words salient points of the document, touching her arm from time to time to emphasise a point.
Harry clamped his jaw, grinding his teeth. It would have been obvious to anyone but the utterly blind.
He had come with the intention of showing Nellie how the land lay. He hadn’t expected a large dose of the same in return.
The patrons who came into the bar, and Anthony Tompkins’ lascivious leering, was bad enough, but inexplicably, the familiarity between Henley and Nellie, the easy intimacy they shared was far worse.
‘Goodness. I hadn’t even thought about you having a mortgage. It never occurred to me how much you had to find each month,’ Nellie said, once they had left Henley’s office and were standing in the highly ornate and polished hallway outside.
Nellie remained animated from the lively conversation with Henley, the colour of her russet-coloured dress picking up the fire in her eyes and the highlights in her hair.
Christ’s blood.
He wanted her.
It wasn’t until he had seen her with Henley that he had realised how much.
Nellie’s mouth moved.
He was vaguely aware of an apology being spoken, but all could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her perfect blush-coloured lips.
‘I know it’s not all about the money—that without good rent from the Tullamore—you could lose …’
***
Nellie was trying to say she was sorry for not realising about the mortgage, but Harry didn’t seem to be listening. He stepped forward, dipping his head. His lips fell on hers, his arm cradled the small of her back, whilst his other hand held her at the nape of the neck. He tasted pleasantly of alcohol and malt, and safe in his strong arms, she shut off the voice quietly whispering warnings and kissed him back.
Chapter 19
‘Another good night’s takings.’
Harry disappeared into his chamber and returned with a bottle of brandy and two glasses, placing them on the table between them.
It had become their habit to sit a while in the kitchen after the night’s performance and talk about how it had gone. But tonight was different. After what had happened that afternoon, she was on edge, wondering where things would lead.
Tonight’s performance had been flat. Her mind had been on other things.
Like how it had felt in his arms and how she longed to be kissed again.
Nellie pointed to the bottle. ‘I thought we drank all O’Shane’s brandy the night of the bonfire.’
‘I kept one back for a special occasion.’
‘This is a special occasion?’ she said, glowing warm inside.
‘It is. Of course it is.’ Harry poured the brandy and handed her a glass. ‘There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask.’
All of a sudden Nellie felt giddy and a little shaky.
‘What? Do you need to ask?’
‘Somerset’s influence in the colony, with the Governor. That is all thanks to you, isn’t it?’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Today in Henley’s office. Your conversation. Rowley gets his advice from you, doesn’t he? That’s why he’s so favoured by the Governor.’
Nellie stared at Harry. People usually assumed that either she was Rowley’s mistress, or she used her contacts to procure him mollies, or worse, young boys.
As if.
But that’s how people thought.
Harry was the first person to ever work it out.
‘You’re barking up the wrong tree there. Rowley’s the Governor’s man. I’m just a …’
‘Hotelier,’ Harry said softly.
Nellie turned away, shocked but pleased and embarrassed. For a moment she had thought he’d been going to say something else.
Harry raised his glass in a toast. ‘To us.’
‘You’re giving me the lease after all?’
‘Let’s just see how things go.’
Stung, Nellie pushed the glass untouched back across the table.
Nothing had changed. When it came down to it, Harry was all about the business.
‘You don’t want it?’
Nellie shook her head. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
Harry topped up his glass. ‘I don’t want to mix business with pleasure, but that doesn’t change anything between us.’
‘You either believe in me or you don’t.’
‘Of course I believe in you, but whether you can keep this place profitable isn’t entirely in your hands. Tompkins could raise the price of the rum, or another tavern could start up close by, or you might lose your fiddler and not be able to find another near as good. Surely you wouldn’t want my feelings for you tied to your business success or failure?’
Placated by the logic of what Harry had said, Nellie reached forwards to take up her glass again and was rewarded with a pleasant fire that burned down her throat and to her stomach.
‘I wish I’d known about the mortgage.’
‘If you had?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought of you as some greedy landlord taking your tenants for a ride.’
Harry, who had taken a sip of his brandy blanched, then coughed as if she’d said something that shocked him.
‘Are you alright?’
‘Fine, just a bit of brandy going down the wrong way.’
‘Anyway, I’m sorry. Once Richard explained it all, it made perfect sense.’
‘You and Henley. You’ve been intimate?’
All her warm feelings drained away, and the warning voice she’d been shutting out since that afternoon at the bank shouted at her.
‘I should have known. I knew you couldn’t put my past out of your mind.’
‘If that were true, do you think I could have asked the question?’
‘And when I answer by saying I’ve slept with half the bleedin’ town, Richard was but one of them. You’d still want me then?’
Harry’s normally tanned face drained to white.
‘See. I’m right. It’s bad enough you’re me landlord. But I can’t be with someone who can’t accept me for who I am.’
‘Your cousin’s background doesn’t trouble Mr Biggs.’
‘And what about Lady Hunter? You know how it is with James and his wife. There’s some that can wear it and some that can’t. And you’re just one that can’t.’
‘Nellie, please.’
‘Eleanor.’
‘Who?’
‘You wanted to know my real name. That was my name before. My real name is Eleanor.’