The back door was unlocked. Jemma opened it cautiously and checked that the kitchen was clear. She beckoned to Georgiana. The girls crept through to the backstairs. A noise sounded behind them – the door swung open, and the light of a kerosene lamp poured into the kitchen.
‘Georgiana!’ shrieked Miss Rutherford. ‘Where on earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you. What have you been doing – and what are you wearing!’
‘Oh, Aunt Harriet,’ Georgiana exclaimed, shooting a terrified look at Jemma. ‘I … I went for a little walk. I felt better, and Doctor Anderson did say I could start taking more exercise –’
Miss Rutherford put the lamp down on the kitchen table, her back rigid with anger.
‘But not in the dark, and not dressed like that,’ fumed Miss Rutherford. ‘What if someone saw you? It’s dangerous out there. You could have been abducted or murdered … or worse! And what were you doing with Jemima?’
‘I … I went for a walk … and met Jemma, and she escorted me home,’ offered Georgiana, not very convincingly. ‘She was on her way back from her afternoon off.’
Jemma thought quickly. How long has Miss Rutherford been waiting for us? When did she discover Georgiana missing? What will she do to us?
‘Doctor Anderson did suggest that walking would do Georgiana some good,’ offered Jemma tentatively. ‘I –’
‘When I want the opinion of a servant, I’ll ask for it,’ Miss Rutherford snapped frostily. ‘And it’s Miss Georgiana to you. I suspect that my niece would never have dreamt of such an escapade if you had not encouraged her.’
Jemma flushed and averted her eyes guiltily.
‘I cannot believe that I offered you a home, saved you from the streets, clothed you and fed you – and you have betrayed my generosity in this despicable fashion.’
‘No … I …’ Jemma stammered.
Miss Rutherford leant closer, her face flushed with anger, her eyes glittering brightly and pupils narrowing to pinpoints. Jemma shrank back from the force of her anger.
‘Georgiana would never have done something like this without encouragement,’ insisted Miss Rutherford. ‘She is far too well brought up. Obviously, she is wearing the servant’s clothes that I provided for you. You are a viper in my home.’
Jemma was shocked by the vehemence of her attack. Georgiana tried to interrupt the flow of her aunt’s invective but was ignored.
‘You appear from nowhere with some trumped-up story about hitting your head and losing your memory,’ Miss Rutherford continued to rant. ‘You give us an address, but no-one there has ever heard of you. I suspect you have been planted here by some criminal mastermind to worm your way into our confidence so you can kidnap my niece or ransack the house.’
‘Aunt Harriet, Jemma would never –’ Georgiana began.
‘Tomorrow morning, you will leave my house and go back to the streets, or whatever slum you crawled from, never to darken my doorstep again.’
Jemma nearly fainted with fear. Where shall I go? What should I do? I will be homeless and helpless – completely without friends or family.
‘Aunt Harriet, no,’ begged Georgiana, clutching at her aunt’s sleeve.
Miss Rutherford swayed on her feet, as though with overwhelming weariness. She rubbed her head with her hand.
‘Both of you can go to your rooms immediately. Georgiana, I will deal with you in the morning.’
Georgiana cast Jemma a beseeching glance but reluctantly left through the kitchen door to take the main staircase up to her room. Jemma retreated to the servants’ backstairs, her eyes downcast, fighting back the tears – she would not let Miss Rutherford see her cry.
Jemma changed into her nightdress and sat hunched over in bed, her knees up to her chin and a miserable, threadbare blanket clutched around her shoulders. She heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and the flickering light of a candle.
Agnes stormed into the room. ‘Get up,’ she snapped. Jemma obeyed reluctantly, shivering in her thin nightdress. ‘Downstairs.’
Will she throw me out into the street now, in the dark, in my nightie? Will she beat me with the paddle? Will Georgiana be all right?
Agnes marched down the stairs, Jemma stumbling behind.
In the kitchen, Agnes opened the door down to the coal cellar and pointed into the depths.
‘Get some coal for the fire,’ ordered Agnes.
‘But –’
Agnes grabbed Jemma by the arm and hurled her into the darkness. Jemma sprawled down the stairs, twisting her ankle and grazing her face. She cried out in pain.
‘Perhaps spending the night in the cellar will make you appreciate how lucky you have been to have a job, food and a roof over your head,’ Agnes snarled.
The door slammed shut. Jemma was left alone, terrified, in the dark.
She pounded on the door, screaming helplessly, ‘Let me out! Please don’t leave me here.’
Jemma’s pounding and screaming were ignored. Eventually, Jemma sank on the stairs, huddled against the door, her ankle throbbing, her salty tears making her grazes sting.
Her eyes stretched round like an owl’s trying to see anything at all. The darkness pressed down on her, heavy and immense, like a musty velvet cloak.
With the absence of light, her other senses became keener – smell, sound and touch. The thick smell of coal dust floated into her lungs and made her cough. The smell of damp washing enveloped her like a fug – lye, soap and damp rags. The rough, cold stone pressed through her bare feet and the thin cotton of her nightgown, and into the back of her legs. The aching cold rose up her body until her teeth chattered and her bones throbbed.
And then she heard the whisperings of the night – the creaking of timber and stone, settling and shifting. Then the rustling and scrabbling, squeaking and scratching. Was that a flash of eyes, glowing red in the darkness?
Oh no, not rats, thought Jemma, her heart thumping. I hate rats. I can’t stand rats. Anything but rats!
Jemma imagined the rats coming closer, running over her bare feet, scrabbling up her back, scratching in her hair, nibbling at her fingers and toes, tearing and biting … The tears welled up again and she sobbed. How can this be happening to me? It just isn’t possible.
Jemma’s fingers found the ivory pendant at her throat – her only link with home, with the future. She clutched the pendant and wished she could go home. Mum, Dad, Ruby, Sammy, Milla, Daisy. She chanted the names like a mantra.
Something brushed against her leg and Jemma screamed again, her heart nearly stopping with panic. The body was large, warm and furry. A monster rat? The creature arched against her, completely invisible in the darkness.
Miaow. Ppprrrow.
It’s Merlin. Merlin the cat.
Relief flooded through Jemma like a fresh spring creek, washing away the fear. She picked Merlin up and cuddled him, her tears mingling with his soft fur. His warmth made her feel safer, less alone. The rats wouldn’t attack her with Merlin in her arms.
The cat purred on her lap as she stroked and patted him. Jemma gradually relaxed, her eyes becoming heavier and grittier. She slumped on the top step and dozed fitfully, too tired to worry anymore.
A slight sound woke her. She heard the key creaking in the lock, and the door swung open slowly.
‘Ssshhh,’ a voice whispered. ‘Everyone’s asleep. I came to let you out.’
It was Connie, barefoot and dressed like Jemma in a nightgown, her long hair falling down her back under the pale nightcap. The stub of a candle was flickering in a candlestick on the table.
‘Agnes is snoring her head off,’ Connie assured her. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of you locked in that cellar. I hate it down there. Come out now and I’ll lock you back early in the morning before anyone else wakes.’
Jemma was stiff, sore and frozen to the core. She stumbled to her feet and nearly fell into Connie’s arms.
‘Are you all right?’ Connie asked, patting Jemma’s back. ‘It’s horrible, isn’t it? Agnes used
to lock me down there all the time. I think I’d rather she gave me a beating than make me sleep in the coal cellar.’
Jemma shuddered, remembering the smell, the cold, the dark, the petrifying sound of the rats.
‘Uggghh,’ replied Jemma, shivering. ‘It was awful, but thankfully I had Merlin to keep me company. It wasn’t so bad when I had him to cuddle.’
Connie helped Jemma limp to the table on her weak, sore ankle. Connie wrapped a hot brick in rags and placed it at Jemma’s feet. Then she draped an old cloak around her shoulders, all the while chattering soothingly about her visit home to her family.
‘My brother Jack caught a mouse, took it to school and let it go beneath his desk. The mouse ran under the teacher’s skirts and she screamed to the high heavens. Jack was soundly whipped when she discovered who did it, but he said it was worth a thrashing to have such a good laugh!’
Jemma giggled through quivering lips.
Connie bustled around the dark kitchen. She fetched milk from the icebox, warmed it up over the stove and then added some chopped chocolate.
‘I’ve been saving my chocolate for an emergency,’ explained Connie. ‘It’s not really an emergency, but it’ll make you feel better. I heard that you were locked up for taking Miss Georgiana out for a walk. It didn’t seem fair when the poor miss hardly ever gets out.’
Connie poured the steaming hot chocolate into two large china cups, placing one before Jemma.
‘It’s worse than that, Connie,’ Jemma mumbled, tears welling up again. ‘Miss Rutherford is going to throw me out into the street in the morning. I’ve nowhere to go … I don’t have any friends or family to turn to … I can’t get home.’
Connie grinned at Jemma over the lip of her cup. ‘’Course you’ve got friends,’ Connie assured her cheerfully. ‘Why, I told Miss Rutherford and Agnes that if they threw you out in the street tomorrow, I’d be going too. That the piano factory is looking for girls to start work straightaway for better pay and shorter hours than we have here.
‘Agnes didn’t care to do all the work by herself, so she convinced Miss Rutherford that a night in the cellar was sufficient punishment for you. And thanks to me, you won’t even be getting that!’
Jemma gave a huge sigh of relief. It was hard work living at Rosethorne, but Jemma felt it was something like a life raft. Outside Rosethorne was the terrifying, dangerous world of 1890s Sydney. If she left Rosethorne, she felt as though she would have no chance of ever getting home.
Jemma sipped on the hot chocolate gratefully, the warmth spreading from the hot brick and hot chocolate through her body.
‘Thanks for letting me out, Connie,’ Jemma murmured when she could talk again. ‘You’ll be in terrible trouble with Agnes if she finds out.’
Connie shrugged, maintaining a cheerful grin. ‘I’ll be all right. I’m used to it. But you’re not. I’m not sure where you came from, but you’re used to a much softer life.’
Jemma blinked back tears and nodded. Connie was right – her life at home was so much easier than life in the 1890s.
Connie washed up the saucepan and cups to hide all evidence of their late-night snack, and they crept upstairs to bed.
In the morning, Agnes looked very disappointed to find a bright-eyed and chirpy Jemma locked in the coal cellar, as though she had had a comfortable sleep in her own bed instead of shivering on a stone step with only rats for company.
‘I hope the rats didn’t keep you awake?’ growled Agnes, slamming the coal cellar door.
‘No – were there rats down there?’ asked Jemma innocently. ‘I slept like a baby.’
Agnes snorted, for once lost for words.
Jemma filled the huge kettle with water and set it on the hob to boil, smiling to herself.
Connie came in from the back garden, carrying the pail of milk that had just been filled by the milko. She carefully placed it on the table.
‘You’ll never guess what I just heard!’ exclaimed Connie, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
‘Do we want to hear your back-lane gossip?’ Agnes retorted nastily.
‘Sir Henry Parkes has just married again, for the third time, to his twenty-three-year-old servant, Julia Lynch, and he is eighty! Apparently she’s very pretty. They married in secret at Parramatta on Thursday.’
Jemma was shocked. Why would a pretty young girl want to marry an eighty-year-old man?
‘Nooo,’ replied Agnes in surprise. ‘Well, that designing hussy. Not that she’ll get much joy from him. He’s as poor as a church mouse and has all those children to feed. His second wife only died three months ago, leaving him with five children from that marriage and six children from his first wife, Clarinda. It’s no wonder he was keen to marry again.’
Eleven children! thought Jemma.
Agnes suddenly glared at Jemma, who was still in her nightclothes.‘Well, go and get dressed,’ ordered Agnes. ‘No respectable girl would be seen downstairs in her nightgown.’
‘I didn’t have any choice, remember?’ retorted Jemma. ‘You dragged me downstairs and locked me in the coal cellar, hoping I’d be nibbled by rats. Next time, remind me it’s not respectable to be downstairs in a nightgown and I’ll dress appropriately.’
Connie guffawed with laughter, then hurriedly choked it back.
Agnes opened her mouth and shut it again. She picked up the milk pail and hurried off to put it away in the icebox.
Jemma walked into the kitchen to find Agnes fussing over a tea tray. There was a bowl of steaming gruel, a white damask napkin, a silver napkin ring and a glass of water. Agnes was hurriedly stirring the gruel with the spoon.
‘Oh, Jemima,’ Agnes said. ‘Good. Take this corn meal gruel up to Miss Georgiana. Make sure she eats it all. It took me awhile to prepare this meal, and I don’t want to see it wasted. Gruel is just what that child needs with her delicate stomach.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Jemma replied, picking up the tray. ‘I’ll stay until she’s finished it.’
Georgiana was sitting up in bed, staring wistfully out the window.
‘Hello, Jemma. What horrible-looking mush have you brought me today?’
Jemma laughed, peering at the bowl, which looked suspiciously like hot glue.
‘Some sort of foul gloop,’ replied Jemma, grinning. ‘I think Agnes called it gruel. And she gave me strict orders not to leave you until you’ve finished every drop. She thought it would be good for your delicate little tummy!’
Georgiana smiled. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll take hours to eat it, then you can stay and keep me company. Besides, I haven’t been sick since you came to stay.’
‘That’s probably because we’ve been tipping your medicine out the window,’ joked Jemma. ‘I must say, you do look so much better than you did when I first came.’
Georgiana stretched. ‘I’d feel even better if I could escape from this room, get outside and run in the gardens of Kentville again,’ she complained. ‘Wasn’t it fun? And isn’t Ned nice? I think he likes you …’
Jemma busied herself stirring the gruel, battling the flush spreading up her neck.
‘Well, come on. We’d better get this over with,’ Jemma suggested. ‘Here’s a spoonful of Agnes’s famous gloopy, gluey, gooey, glutinous gruel.’
Georgiana laughed but obediently took a spoonful. Her face grimaced in disgust as she swallowed the mess.
‘Ugh – that’s horrible,’ Georgiana moaned. ‘Can’t I have some real food?’
Jemma smiled. ‘I’ll try to smuggle something nice up to you. Does it help if you hold your nose while you swallow it? I used to do that with medicine.’
Georgiana tried the technique while swallowing two mouthfuls quickly.
She wrinkled her nose and pushed the bowl away. ‘I can’t eat that. I’m not that hungry anyway – unless it was for something worth eating.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Jemma offered. ‘I’ll get rid of it.’
Jemma ran down the stairs stealthily, carrying the bowl of barely touche
d gruel. She headed through the back door, hoping to scrape the remainder out on the compost heap. Merlin met her at the door, miaowing loudly and rubbing his head against her skirts.
‘Hello, Merlin,’ greeted Jemma, stroking his sleek black back. ‘Are you hungry?’
Merlin replied with an even louder miaow, his tongue pink against his white nose and black fur.
‘Okay, boy,’ Jemma agreed softly. ‘Seems a waste to throw out a good meal. You might as well eat Georgiana’s glutinous gloop!’
She placed the bowl down on the step and Merlin sniffed the gruel cautiously. He thought carefully, then lapped at the gruel.
‘What’re you doing, you idiotic girl?’ barked a voice from behind her. ‘Stop that at once.’
Jemma swung around, guilt written across her face.
Agnes bent down and snatched up the bowl from the step, her face red and sweating. Merlin complained loudly at having his meal removed – he had barely tasted it.
‘I didn’t go to all that trouble to make gruel for the blasted cat,’ scolded Agnes, kicking out at Merlin violently. Merlin yowled and ran to the stables for safety, his fur standing on end. ‘That was for Miss Georgiana. I told you to make sure she ate every drop. Why can’t you follow simple instructions?’
‘I … I …’ stammered Jemma, shocked by the vehemence of the cook’s reaction. Agnes ignored her, scraping the leftover gruel into the garbage pail.
‘That cat is here to catch rats, not eat our precious food,’ continued Agnes, yanking her apron. ‘You feed the cat and it won’t hunt rats, then the rats will eat our food – and I don’t slave all day cooking to feed the rats either.’
Agnes spun on her heel and marched back into the house, looking over her shoulder. ‘You can go without supper tonight to teach you to do what I tell you.’
Jemma sighed. Could Agnes be the most unpleasant person she had ever met in her life?
Connie was standing at the kitchen table, ironing an enormous basket of clothes. She had a selection of irons standing in the coals of the hearth to heat. Her face was pink with heat and shone with sweat. She brushed a hank of hair out of her eyes.
The Ivory Rose Page 16