The Postmistress

by Alison Stuart

  She pulled up a stool to the table and tucked into the simple meal with such enthusiasm, Caleb believed her story of not having eaten for a day or two.

  Only when she had finished did he ask about her employer.

  Posy’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘The master said he couldn’t afford to keep me so he let me go without even the fare back to Melbourne. I lost everything when they burned the house down.’ She held out her drab skirts. ‘Some kind soul gave me this but it’s all I’ve got. They even burned my mother’s silk shawl.’ A tear dribbled down her cheek. ‘It was all I had of hers.’

  An anger at Murray’s heartless disregard for the girl rose in Caleb. ‘Where’s Murray gone?’

  Posy could not disguise her bitterness as she said, ‘Back to Melbourne, taking little Robbie with him. Dare say he’ll leave the child with mistress’s sister, if the pox didn’t take ’em too.’ Her lip trembled again and she looked up at Caleb. ‘But he wouldn’t take me. Just left me here.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m a hard worker, Dr Hunt. If you know of anyone what wants a maid of all work?’ Her gaze travelled meaningfully around the dusty, cluttered surfaces of the doctor’s parlour.

  The girl had proved herself a competent nurse, Caleb reminded himself, and she could be useful.

  ‘What did Murray pay you?’ he asked.

  ‘Ten pound,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want nothing more.’

  Caleb cleared his throat. ‘To be honest with you, Posy, I’ve no money to pay a servant.’

  She shook her head. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Bed and board, and I’ll keep this place clean and cook and wash for you.’

  ‘Do you have somewhere to lodge?’

  Posy’s thin face brightened as she recognised capitulation. ‘I’ll find somewhere and I’ll come every day and look after you real well.’

  Caleb sighed. ‘I’m sure you will, Posy. Very well, let’s see how we go for a few weeks, shall we? Once I get a few patients willing to pay, we can talk about some proper wages.’

  She grinned at him. ‘I knew you had a kind heart, doctor. You might pretend to be all hard and know-it-all—’

  He raised a finger. ‘Enough, Posy. You will start tomorrow by cleaning this cottage from ceiling to floor.’

  ‘May I sleep on your verandah tonight?’ she asked.

  Apart from mosquitos, the night was warm and the verandah sheltered from the elements and prying eyes. Caleb carried out the cot from the spare bedroom while he took Bowen’s bed.

  Despite his exhaustion, Caleb lay awake for a long time, listening to the tick of the night insects, seemingly louder than the thump of the battery. He thought of Adelaide and how much he had longed to see her and talk through the events of the past few days. She was the only person in Maiden’s Creek who would understand his grief at Bowen’s death.

  She was his ‘grand girl’ but from his strange reception tonight, he wondered if she had really agreed to step out with him. Had he misinterpreted her intentions?

  He had to admit he had limited experience in courting a woman. Before the war there had been nice girls he had escorted to social events, but that hardly constituted a courtship. The war had ended all that had been good and wholesome in his life. He had seen at first hand the results of the base instincts of men who had been reduced to nameless, faceless soldiers. While he hadn’t been a monk, his own encounters with women had always been short-lived, satisfying mutual loneliness and need but never involving the heart. And after the war? Apart from a girl in San Francisco, there had been no one.

  He wondered if Penrose would be any use as a source of advice about what would be considered proper. Penrose, who had lost his heart to one of Lil’s girls? Maybe not.

  From somewhere in the town below him came the sound of tuneless singing that, for a short moment, drowned out all other noise. He thought again of Bowen. What had prompted Bowen to see to his registration as a doctor? Had the old doctor seen a lost soul who craved stability and purpose or had it simply been the opportunity to lessen his own workload? Whatever the reason, Caleb didn’t know whether to thank him or curse him.

  Twenty-Three

  Netty sat down on the end of Adelaide’s bed. Adelaide uncurled and, with a shuddering sob, sat up.

  ‘Who was at the door?’ she asked.

  ‘Caleb. I sent him away. Told him you had a headache.’

  With a shaking hand, Adelaide brushed the long strands of hair away from her face. ‘Netty, you had no right—’

  ‘I could hardly tell him you were on your bed sobbing your heart out over another man, could I?’

  Adelaide blew her nose on her sodden handkerchief. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘It’s not about what I want, is it? It’s what’s best for Danny. It has to be about what’s best for Danny.’

  When Netty said nothing, Adelaide continued, ‘If I do what Richard wants—marry him and return to England—Danny will have a father, respectability, a place in society.’

  ‘He said your father’s dead. I know one should speak no ill of the dead, but I bet there was no one to mourn him at the graveside.’

  ‘I would have mourned him,’ Adelaide said. ‘For all his faults, he was still my father.’

  Netty snorted. ‘And what’s he done with his fortune and his business?’

  Adelaide shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He despised my cousin Albert but I suppose he was the nearest male relative. Maybe Richard knows?’

  Netty’s mouth tightened and without looking at Adelaide, she said, ‘And what about your American?’

  Adelaide bridled at the very question she had been asking herself. ‘He’s not my American and this is nothing to do with him,’ she said. ‘This is about Danny. He should be with his father.’ But she could hear the rising note of uncertainty in her voice.

  ‘You think just because a man planted the seed, he has the right to the harvest?’ Netty said.

  ‘Netty!’

  ‘Well, it’s true. My own father was a drunken good-for-nothing—the man who lived with my ma was more a father to me and my brothers and sisters than ever my pa was. It’s been a long time since you and Mr Barnwell formed an attachment. I can tell you that you’re not the same person. I would wager neither is he.’

  ‘What do you mean, Netty?’

  ‘I mean that you should take time to get to know Mr Barnwell. Don’t you go giving him your answer until you’re sure in your own heart.’ Netty stood up. ‘In the meantime, you have work to do and a post office to run and Mr Barnwell will be at the door any minute. Tidy yourself up and put a smile on your face and the world’ll seem a better place.’

  The door clicked behind her and Adelaide threw a glance at the reflection in the mirror that hung over the washstand. Her mirror, her washstand—items purchased by dint of her own hard work. If she truly loved the man to whom she was committing her life, how hard would it be to surrender that hard-won independence? Netty was right. She needed to time to reacquaint herself with Richard, learn to love him again or, if not love, at least forge a friendship. Friendships could lead to love.

  The tears threatened again. Friendship had led to love with Caleb but now she had to put that to one side. Everything had changed. Everything.

  When the knock came, Adelaide took one last glance at herself in the mildewed mirror that hung over the fireplace, tucked a wayward curl into place, fixed a smile on her face and, with hands that shook and a heart that crashed against her corset stays, opened the door.

  Richard stood in the shelter of the porch, holding two parcels wrapped in brown paper and string.

  Adelaide stood aside to admit him.

  He scanned the room and turned back to face her. ‘Where is he?’

  The eagerness in his face caught at her heart. How would she feel if she were meeting her child for the first time?

  She called Netty and as arranged, Netty brought Danny in, shepherding him before her.

  �
�Mr Barnwell.’ Netty acknowledged the man without a curtsey. Back in England it would have been a meek bob of the head but now Netty looked the man in the eye, unafraid, and Adelaide realised, with a jolt, how much her relationship with Netty had changed from that of mistress and servant to friend and equal.

  Danny and Richard stared at each other, Danny with puzzlement and Richard with—what? Surprise?

  Richard held out his hand to Danny.

  ‘You must be Daniel,’ he said with a smile. ‘How do you do, sir.’ He glanced at Adelaide. ‘I am an old friend of your mother’s and I’ve come all the way from England to meet you.’

  Danny glanced at his mother, who gave him what she hoped looked like a reassuring smile and a nod. Danny took the offered hand and shook it.

  ‘Nice to meet you, sir,’ he said. ‘Did you have a good voyage?’

  ‘It took a very long time, but I am pleased to be here. I knew your mother when she was not much older than you,’ Richard said and Adelaide’s stomach knotted. Had she loved him for so long?

  ‘Did you know my father?’ Danny asked, the eagerness in his voice cutting Adelaide to the core.

  Richard shot Adelaide a quick glance and she begged him with her eyes to keep his peace.

  ‘I’ve brought you a present,’ Richard said, reaching for the largest of the two parcels.

  Danny’s eyes widened. ‘It’s not my birthday until April.’

  ‘I see you are a very well brought-up young man. Sometimes presents can be given and received when it is not Christmas or your birthday. See, I have one for Mama too.’ He handed Adelaide the small parcel.

  ‘That was kind. Thank you,’ Adelaide said.

  Richard rubbed his hands together and with a forced bonhomie, said, ‘Aren’t you going to open them?’

  Adelaide nodded at Danny, who knelt on the floor, carefully undoing the string and laying it to one side before unfolding the brown paper.

  ‘When I was your age,’ Richard said, ‘I would have torn straight through the paper to see what was inside.’

  Danny glanced up. ‘Mama would be cross if I wasted good paper,’ he replied with such seriousness Adelaide covered her mouth to conceal the smile.

  The last fold fell away to reveal a wooden box. Danny’s eyes widened. ‘Mama! Soldiers. Oh, thank you, Mr Barnwell. I’ve always wanted soldiers.’

  ‘Mr Barnwell sounds so formal,’ Richard said. ‘You can call me …’ He glanced at Adelaide. ‘Call me Uncle Richard.’

  ‘Why? Are you my uncle?’

  ‘No, but it’s a polite title for good friends of your parents,’ Adelaide said. ‘And Mr. Barnwell is a very dear friend.’

  Danny glanced at his mother. ‘You haven’t opened your present, Mama.’

  Adelaide sat on one of the chairs by the table and like her son, carefully unwrapped the slim box, saving the paper and string for another use. She lifted the purple and silver lid of the carboard box and gently pushed aside the tissue to reveal a lace collar. She lifted it out, her traitorous soul taking pleasure in its airy lightness and the pretty floral pattern.

  ‘Irish,’ Richard said. ‘I hope you like it.’

  ‘Thank you. That was very generous of you.’

  Richard waved a hand at her sombre skirts. ‘Do you always wear black?’

  ‘You forget, I am a widow in mourning for my husband.’

  ‘But it has been ten years, Adelaide. Time to let the past go.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ Danny, preoccupied with the contents of his box, held up a miniature of the Duke of Wellington.

  ‘Supper’s ready,’ Netty said from the doorway. She set the roast chicken in the middle of the table. One of the precious hens had gone the way of the fatted calf.

  Adelaide indicated the chair opposite Danny. Richard glanced at Netty’s place as he sat. ‘Someone else expected?’

  ‘Only Netty,’ Danny said.

  ‘You dine with your servant?’

  Adelaide sensed rather than heard her friend’s sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Netty is not my servant,’ Adelaide replied. ‘She is my friend.’

  Richard’s lips tightened. ‘Your father would never—’

  ‘My father is dead and this is not England.’ Adelaide glared at Richard. ‘Netty, would you say grace?’

  After tea, Richard turned the full force of his attention on Danny, sprawled on the rag rug on the floor, helping him set up the soldiers and telling him about the Battle of Waterloo as he did so.

  Watching the two blond heads bent together in mutual interest, Adelaide found herself warming to Richard. She could see glimpses of the young man he had been, the man she had loved. Perhaps there was enough still there to rekindle what had been between them.

  The clock struck eight.

  ‘Time for bed,’ Adelaide said to Danny.

  ‘Surely—’ Richard began.

  ‘Danny has school and I have work, Richard.’

  ‘Ah. Of course. In that case, thank you for a delightful evening. I shall call on you tomorrow, Adelaide,’ Richard said as they parted at the front door.

  She closed the door and stood with her hands on her hips, looking at Danny as he moved Napoleon Bonaparte on his fine black horse to the head of the French troops.

  ‘Bed time, Danny. Pack up your soldiers.’

  With slow, deliberate care, Danny set the figures back into the box in proper order.

  ‘That was a generous present,’ she said, her heart breaking at the thought that in his ten short years, Danny had never really been given a toy for either Christmas or birthday; all his gifts had been practical things he had needed. Now, in a few short months, he had received two presents to warm the heart of a small boy: a knife from Caleb and a set of soldiers from Richard.

  ‘Did you like Uncle Richard?’ she asked, her tongue sticking on the honorary epithet.

  He met her eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s not polite to answer a question with a question, Danny.’

  ‘Do you like him?’ Danny compounded the breach of etiquette.

  ‘Yes. He’s an old friend and I liked him very much.’

  ‘Then if you like him, so do I.’ Danny hesitated. ‘But he’s not as much fun as Caleb. He let me fire his Colt.’

  ‘He did what?’ Adelaide quelled her rising anger but made a note to speak to Caleb Hunt about letting her son handle firearms.

  ‘Only once,’ Danny mumbled, looking down at his best shoes.

  ‘Mr Barnwell may not be as much fun as Caleb,’ Adelaide said, ‘but sometimes we need more than fun.’

  Someone who is reliable and respectable and will give us stability and the life we were born to, she thought.

  Twenty-Four

  7 February 1872

  The bell above the door tinkled and Adelaide looked up. ‘Caleb!’

  Caleb shut the door behind him and whipped the hat from his head. ‘I came to see if you were feeling better,’ he said.

  A smile curved his lips and Adelaide’s traitorous heart beat a rapid tattoo at the memory of those lips on hers.

  She fiddled with the brooch at her throat. ‘Much better,’ she said. ‘It’s the heat. Someone was telling me this morning that there have been lightning strikes in the mountains and that will mean bushfires. As long as they stay in the mountains …’

  He took a step towards her, a frown creasing his brow. ‘Adelaide, have I done something to offend you?’

  Before Adelaide could respond, the door opened and Richard, wearing his fawn suit and bowler hat, entered.

  ‘Damned hot out there,’ Richard said. ‘I don’t know how you can stand it. How are you this morning, my dear?’

  Caleb turned to look at the intruder and his shoulders stiffened.

  Richard curled his lips into something that looked to Adelaide like a cross between a smile and a snarl. ‘If it isn’t the so-called doctor,’ Richard clicked his fingers. ‘My apologies, doctor, your name escapes me.’

  Caleb’s gaze returned to Adelaide,
the grey eyes as cold as flint. ‘You know this man, Adelaide?’

  Her heart skipped a beat at the ferocity of his gaze. ‘Yes,’ she said with an unnatural brightness. ‘Richard is an old friend of my family in England. Are you acquainted?’

  Richard opened his mouth to speak but Caleb interrupted. ‘We met at Shady Creek. Mr Barnwell took exception to being delayed by Bowen’s death. Apparently he had urgent business in Maiden’s Creek that could not be delayed by anything so irritating as the death of an old man.’

  Richard’s jaw worked. ‘A misunderstanding. I was tired and the man was a drunken sot who inconvenienced a number of people.’

  Caleb had not moved but Richard took a step back as the doctor said, ‘Have a care, Barnwell. Bowen was greatly loved in this town, and a friend of mine.’

  ‘He may well have been but he got onto the coach drunk and made the whole journey a nightmare and then to die on my shoulder …’ Richard shuddered.

  ‘How inconvenient of him to die,’ Caleb barked. ‘But rest assured, Mr Barnwell, his death was not caused by alcohol.’

  ‘Really?’ Richard drawled, stroking his moustache. ‘You could have fooled me.’

  ‘A brain aneurysm often does.’ Caleb turned to Adelaide. ‘My apologies for interrupting you, Mrs Greaves. I will leave you to your visitor.’

  Caleb turned on his heel and pushed past Richard, his shoulder catching the shorter man, causing Richard to take a step to steady himself. He made a show of straightening his linen jacket as if Caleb had been an annoying insect that he had to brush away.

  ‘What an oaf. Is that uncouth American a friend of yours, Adelaide?’ he asked, turning to face her as the door slammed shut.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘Then, my dear, all the more reason to take you away from this dreadful place.’

  ‘You can hardly claim to know him, Richard.’

  ‘I know his sort. I spent a good deal of time in the southern states of America before and during their wretched little war.’

  ‘And what is his type?’

  ‘One of those Southerners who lost everything and will take a chance on anything. Yesterday it was a game of poker, today it’s as the town doctor, tomorrow it will be something else.’ He paused. ‘And for heaven’s sake, how did a man like that or the drunken fool on the coach get to be the town doctor?’