The panic that had come earlier in the day rushed back with a vengeance. It had been kept at bay all day by her curiosity about this strange world, the busyness of her chores and her attempts to avoid Agnes’s sharp tongue. Now there was nothing to suppress the thoughts and the fear.
A flash of warm, orange light caught her eye, closer to earth. Over where she judged the stables to be there was a light moving, slipping through the cracks in the timber walls, spilling under the door, then shining through the window. It must be Ned. The light bobbed and danced, then flickered away to darkness once more.
Jemma thought of Ned’s kindness that morning, covering her with his coat and carrying her into the house. She thought of Georgiana with her friendly chatter and concern, and her own sad situation as an orphan. She thought of Connie and her cheerful determination to make the best of everything. Perhaps she was not as alone as she thought.
If I could slip back in time, then I must be able to slip forward in time as well. Perhaps I’m here for a reason. Maybe I’m here to help Georgiana? Maybe I’m here to do something special?
Jemma realised her back and legs ached and her head hurt. Her arms hung heavily. She crawled back to the tiny iron bedstead and fell asleep.
Her head had no sooner touched the pillow, it seemed, than Jemma was being vigorously shaken.
‘Wake up, Jemma,’ demanded Connie. ‘It’s late and Agnes will be furious.’
Jemma opened one eye a slit and glanced at the window. It was still dark outside.
‘Wha’?’ Jemma grunted groggily. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Let me go back to sleep.’
‘It’s five-thirty and you have to get up and make the tea.’
‘No,’ wailed Jemma. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Jemma – get up at once, or I’ll tip this jug of water over your head.’
Jemma opened both eyes now to be greeted by the determined, thin face of a freckled girl with a frilled mob-cap on her head and a jug of water in her hand, tipping precariously. Memory came flooding back – Connie, Georgiana, Rosethorne, 1895! Jemma was immediately awake, as though Connie really had tipped a jug of freezing water over her head.
‘Get dressed,’ ordered Connie, satisfied that Jemma was awake. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’
Jemma sighed wearily and sat up. She pressed a hand to the back of her head and winced as she felt the painful bruised lump. Once more she struggled to dress herself in the layers of clothes.
Downstairs Jemma found her way to the kitchen, where Agnes was indeed cross and ready to scold. Connie was down on her hands and knees in front of the stove, cleaning out the silky grey ash.
‘Good afternoon, your Majesty,’ mocked Agnes. ‘Nice of you to join us.’
‘I’m ready to make some tea,’ offered Jemma hurriedly.
Agnes huffed and puffed about the kitchen. ‘The stove’s not even hot yet and I have to cook breakfast.’
Connie showed Jemma how to lug buckets of filthy coal from the coal pile in the cellar up the stairs to the kitchen to feed the greedy flame. The coal was shovelled into the heart of the stove to keep it hot all day.
Jemma hefted a heavy iron kettle over to the scullery tap, filled it with water and placed it on the hob to boil. While the stove heated, Jemma and Connie mopped up the fine black dust and ash that had wafted all over the floor and billowed into the air, settling on the dresser, table and shelves.
The milko called out from the back lane, and Jemma ran out into the oyster-pale dawn with a pail to collect the day’s milk, which was brought in huge urns on the back of a horsedrawn cart. Next delivery was the iceman’s dray, with frozen blocks packed in sawdust and hessian to keep the icebox cold.
The chores followed, one after the other – making tea, cooking breakfast, carrying up Georgiana’s tea and porridge on a tray, serving toast and boiled eggs to Miss Rutherford in bed, clearing away trays, washing up again, dusting, cleaning, polishing.
Later in the morning it was Jemma’s turn to tend to the hungry coal stove in the kitchen, shovelling out the dirty ash and cinders and feeding in fresh coal. The two buckets of ash had to be lugged out to the compost heap behind the stables.
Outside, Ned was in the garden hoeing the rows of tomato plants and lettuce, whistling a tune.
‘Top o’ the morning to ye, young Jemma,’ Ned greeted her. ‘I hope ye’r feeling better?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Jemma said, putting down her two heavy buckets, glad of the chance to rest for a moment in the sunshine. Ned obviously felt the same way as he leant on the handle of his hoe.
Jemma suddenly noticed a black cat with canny green eyes, staring at her from the shade of the gum tree.
Jemma’s heart skipped a beat. She rushed forward and scooped the cat up into her arms.
‘Shadow!’ she cried joyously. ‘Shadow, how did you get here?’
The cat miaowed and twitched its black tail in answer.
‘Och, tha’ tis my cat,’ offered Ned. ‘Well, at least he moved in with me a couple o’ years ago. I call him Merlin because he looks like a magical cat – a magician’s familiar.’
‘He?’ asked Jemma, her heart falling. ‘Oh. Merlin.’
She sighed.
‘He looks exactly like another cat I know,’ Jemma explained, putting Merlin down on the ground. ‘But her name is Shadow.’
Merlin prowled over towards Ned, who stooped to chuck the cat under the chin.
‘Well, if she comes from around here, they are probably related,’ suggested Ned. ‘I would say old Merlin has fathered dozens o’ kittens. Half a dozen of his progeny live up the corner at the Abbey – the ol’ housekeeper feeds them, and quoite a few of them are black as magic, just loike Merlin. He lives with me in the stables and his job is to keep the rats out o’ the horse grain and keep me company.’
Jemma nodded and stooped to pick up the buckets. Ned nimbly stepped over the vegetable garden fence with his long legs and took the buckets from her.
‘It made ye sad, did it, to remember the cat called Shadow?’ Ned asked gently, strolling beside her, his arm just a few centimetres from hers. ‘Did it remind ye o’ home?’
Jemma nodded, too choked up to reply.
‘Well, at least ye are remembering something,’ Ned encouraged her, tossing the ash from the buckets one by one onto the compost pile. ‘Ye’r memory should come roight back soon, and then ye can go home. Let me know if I can do anything at all to help ye?’
He handed her the two empty buckets with a smile that lit up his cat-green eyes and took up his hoe again.
Ned is so kind, thought Jemma. But there is nothing he can do to help me get home.
At Miss Rutherford’s insistence, Doctor Anderson came later in the morning to check on Georgiana, who seemed to be perfectly well. After checking her over carefully, Doctor Anderson smiled and packed away his stethoscope.
‘Take care of yourself, Miss Georgiana,’ said Doctor Anderson. ‘I’ll talk to your aunt and suggest that perhaps you are up to a few little walks, now that you have Jemma to escort you.’
‘Would you?’ Georgiana begged. ‘That would be wonderful.’
‘And how are you feeling, Jemma?’ the doctor asked kindly. ‘Any more headaches?’
Jemma thought about how she felt – tired, aching in every muscle, scared and confused.
‘I’m fine, thanks, doctor,’ lied Jemma. It was easier than explaining.
Jemma showed him downstairs to the drawing room where Miss Rutherford was waiting for him by a polished grand piano.
Jemma did not return to the kitchen but loitered in the hallway so she could eavesdrop on the conversation. Jemma was determined to find out if there really was anything wrong with Georgiana.
The doctor spoke in a low, quiet voice so Jemma had to crouch close to the open door to hear him.
‘Georgiana seems better again today,’ explained Doctor Anderson. ‘Her blood pressure and heart rate are normal. I don’t understand what could have been causing the rec
urrent vomiting and headaches. At first I thought it might be food poisoning, but no-one else in the house seems to have been affected. Likewise, if it was a contagious infection, I would expect others in the house to be infected also.
‘Anyway, as she is so much better, I think it would do her good to get some fresh air and exercise. I suggest that your nursemaid takes Georgiana for a gentle half-hour walk in the park every day and gradually extends the exercise as she builds up her strength.’
‘Surely not, doctor,’ objected Miss Rutherford. ‘The poor child has been so sick. She might pick up another dreadful infection if she goes out walking amongst all those filthy street urchins. That is probably where she picked up the illness in the first place. Her former governess was very lax, taking her gallivanting all over Sydney.’
Jemma shuffled slightly, her leg going to sleep in its awkward, crouching position.
‘Children need exercise and fresh air, Miss Rutherford,’ Doctor Anderson replied gently. ‘I know you are very worried about Georgiana, but you may do more harm than good if you smother her too much.’
‘She’s all I have left, doctor,’ confided Miss Rutherford, her voice choking. ‘I couldn’t bear it if she was taken from me like my poor dear sister and her husband.’
The doctor responded with soothing noises. ‘You worry about her too much, Miss Rutherford. By the way, how are you sleeping?’
Miss Rutherford sighed. ‘Oh, the usual trouble, thank you doctor. I can’t stop worrying about Georgiana and our finances and everything I have to do … My headaches have not been quite so bad this week.’
‘If the pain gets unbearable take a little laudanum to alleviate it, but be careful not to take it too frequently – it can have serious side effects.’
Jemma lost interest in the conversation and crept away before she was discovered eavesdropping.
In the late afternoon, Agnes, Connie and Jemma sat down at the kitchen table to drink a cup of tea and eat some bread and jam.
‘Now tonight, the mistress is going out to dine with the McKenzies, and it is my evening off,’ Agnes reminded Connie, cradling a teacup in her two large hands. ‘You two will need to look after Miss Georgiana – make her some gruel, make sure she takes her medicine and prepare her for bed. You can serve an evening meal for yourselves and Edward. I expect everything to be done before you go to bed. If it’s not, you’ll both feel my wrath in the morning.’
‘Of course, Agnes,’ Connie assured her, looking demurely down into her teacup. ‘Will you be stepping out with Mr Cooper, the butcher, tonight then?’
Agnes scowled, her lip quivering with injured dignity.
‘No, of course not … Not that it’s any of your concern. I’ll be visiting my … my … mother.’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ commiserated Connie. ‘And poor Mr Cooper did seem so terribly keen on you. I thought he might have proposed by now. He hasn’t started courting Sir Henry’s young housekeeper now, has he? I’ve heard she’s very attractive and only twenty-three.’
Agnes stood up and flounced towards the door, straightening her apron and her pride. Jemma and Connie exchanged a suppressed grin.
‘If you had been going out with Mr Cooper, I was going to offer to take over at six o’clock, so you could spend some time making yourself look beautiful, then escape earlier, but if you’re just visiting your mother, I guess there’s no need.’
Connie cleared away the empty teacups and carried them to the sink. Agnes turned around, looking somewhat mollified.
‘Well, that would be very kind of you, as long as Miss Rutherford doesn’t need me. Jemma, would you go and clear away Miss Rutherford’s tea tray. It’s time to get back to work.’
As the girls washed up the tea things, Connie whispered to Jemma, ‘Hurray! We get a night off without the two tyrants! What can we do?’
Jemma giggled at Connie’s infectious excitement.
‘Sleep!’ suggested Jemma, rubbing the aching small of her back. ‘Maybe have a bath?’
‘Better than that,’ insisted Connie. ‘Let’s have our own little party. While the old cats are away, the young mice should play!’
‘A party! Who would we invite?’
Connie pondered for a moment. ‘We can invite Ned and Merlin the cat.’
‘What about Georgiana?’ suggested Jemma.
‘Miss Georgiana is a problem,’ conceded Connie. ‘She might tell her aunt, which means we’d be in big trouble.’
‘No.’ Jemma couldn’t believe Georgiana would do any such thing. ‘Georgiana would love a party – she’s going out of her mind with boredom being stuck in her room. And I’m sure she doesn’t want to eat gruel.’
Connie thought carefully. ‘All right, you ask Miss Georgiana, and I’ll ask Ned. We can cook a special dinner and play cards. It will be fun.’
So the festivities were carefully planned and the guests invited. Ned had to drive Miss Rutherford to the church manse for dinner, with strict instructions to return at ten o’clock to pick her up. Agnes left out some eggs, bacon and stale bread for supper, then hurried off, wearing her best shawl and bonnet.
Her cheeks glowed and her face almost softened with the anticipation of a rare night off.
Connie checked that Agnes was really gone out the back gate before returning to the kitchen. She glared in disgust at the eggs and bacon on the table.
‘You’d think she’d leave us something decent to eat, like roast beef or mutton chops. How mean is that?’ Connie said.
Jemma rustled around in the icebox. She gave a victorious cry as she discovered butter, cream and cheese.
‘I have an idea,’ Jemma declared. ‘I’ll make a gourmet French omelette, with whatever herbs and vegetables I can rustle up from the garden.’
‘That sounds fancy,’ replied Connie, screwing up her nose doubtfully. ‘I don’t think I’d like Frenchy food.’
‘It will be delicious,’ Jemma assured her, seizing a basket and the gardening shears from a shelf in the scullery. She returned after a few minutes with snipped chives; thyme; a fat, green leek and some tiny, ripe tomatoes.
Merlin the cat seemed to know Agnes was gone, stalking into the kitchen after Jemma with a demanding yowl, begging for food. Jemma scratched Merlin under the chin and fed him some titbits of cheese.
Ned popped his head in through the scullery door, wearing his driving uniform, his top hat in his hands and a cheerful grin lighting his face. Like Merlin, he normally never came in if Agnes was in charge of the domain.
‘I am going to drive Miss Rutherford now,’ warned Ned. ‘I should be back in half an hour, by the toime I unhitch the horses.’
As soon as the front door closed behind Miss Rutherford, Jemma raced up the service stairs to call Georgiana down.
‘I thought she’d never go!’ complained Georgiana. ‘Look, I’ve found some chocolates that Mrs McKenzie brought me last week.’
The two girls clattered down the stairs. Connie had set the kitchen table with a jug of lavender from the garden, the second-best silver, linen napkins and pretty floral china. Georgiana arranged the chocolates on a bonbon dish in the centre.
‘The table looks beautiful,’ cried Georgiana. ‘This is going to be fun – and best of all, no gruel!’
‘That reminds me,’ replied Jemma, picking up the small glass vial of medicine on Georgiana’s supper tray and tipping the contents down the sink. ‘Whoops – I spilled it. Sorry!’
Georgiana smiled in delight.
Jemma set Georgiana and Connie to work chopping bacon, leek and tomatoes, while she whisked eggs and cream together. Jemma completed all her preparations so that everything was ready to cook when Ned returned.
Ned came bearing gifts – two bottles of iced ginger ale. He opened one and poured them all a glass.
‘May ye have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night, and a smooth road all the way to ye’r door,’ toasted Ned, lifting his glass up to the girls. ‘Sláinte.’
‘Sláinte,’ the gir
ls chorused before sipping. The drink was cold and bubbly, a refreshing mix of sweetness and spicy ginger.
Everyone chattered while Connie toasted the bread over the fire and Jemma fried up the bacon, leek and tomato with fresh herbs. Then she added the whisked egg mixture, crumbling in shavings of cheese and a few twists of the pepper grinder.
Connie fed Merlin scraps of bacon rind under the table, then he curled up to sleep in front of the fire.
Ned and Connie looked slightly askance as Jemma served up the creamy, slightly runny omelette on top of the warm toast.
‘Where did you learn fancy French cooking?’ asked Connie suspiciously.
‘It’s not really fancy. My dad taught me to make omelettes – we often have them for breakfast on the weekend.’ Jemma felt a pang in her heart as she thought of her parents and home. She firmly pushed the thought away, not wanting to spoil the light-hearted atmosphere.
‘Aye, tis grand,’ Ned assured her between mouthfuls.
‘And no gruel or broth in sight!’ added Georgiana. ‘Heaven!’
After dinner, Ned and Georgiana cleared the table and washed up. Then they all sat down to play a boisterous round of cards, gambling with chocolates, with much laughter. Georgiana kept eating the bets and Connie seemed to have all the luck, winning time after time.
At last Jemma won a round.
‘ACB!’ she exclaimed, throwing her cards down triumphantly.
The others stared at her in surprise.
‘ACB?’ asked Georgiana, raising her eyebrows quizzically. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Oh … ummm – amazing comeback. You know when you’re losing and then suddenly you come from behind and win? It’s, well … an amazing comeback.’
The others giggled, shaking their heads at Jemma’s funny, strange ways.
Connie grabbed up the cards and shuffled them expertly, dealing out another hand.
‘Well, then it’s my turn for an ABC,’ predicted Connie.
‘ACB, not ABC!’ corrected Jemma, giggling. Connie’s prophecy proved to be correct, and she easily won the next round.
The Ivory Rose Page 9