The Postmistress

by Alison Stuart

  ‘Friends of yours?’ Caleb asked in a tone that made the word ‘friends’ sound like something terrible. He replaced the pipe in his mouth and took a puff. The sweet scent of the tobacco seemed familiar and reassuring to Danny, who reminded himself that Caleb had been a soldier and had a revolver. Caleb would know how to stand up to bullies. He felt safe sitting here beside him.

  ‘The big one’s Bert and he’s the one who broke my soldier.’

  ‘I see,’ Caleb said. ‘I’m real sorry, Dan. Boys can be cruel.’

  Danny shrugged. ‘Some of the girls are mean too. They tease me cos I don’t have a father. They call me a “mother’s boy”.’ And worse.

  Caleb tilted his head and Danny shifted under his friend’s gaze.

  ‘Ever thought that maybe they’re jealous of you?’

  Danny shook his head and Caleb continued, ‘You have a nice home and sure, your Mama may work in the post office, but she gives you more than many of these children have. I’ve been into their huts and tents, Dan, and they have a hard life. Not enough to eat, no shelter from the rain and the cold, mothers with so many children they’ve stopped counting and fathers who work hard in the mines and come home drunk or too tired to give their children any attention.’

  Danny considered the distant figures of Bert and his mates, still joshing each other as they wove down the road. Bert frequently came to school with a black eye and bruises on his arms and legs and a story about tripping and falling down the steep path from the family hut.

  ‘Have you written any more stories?’ Caleb asked.

  Danny shook his head. ‘No.’ He screwed up his courage and looked up at Caleb. ‘I—I thought you … and Mama—you kissed her.’

  ‘Ah.’

  That was not the answer Danny sought.

  Caleb removed the pipe and tapped it against the heel of his boot, which looked every bit as dusty as Danny’s. He produced a tool from his seemingly capacious pockets and scraped at the bowl of the pipe, dislodging the singed tobacco. ‘Your mama and I … You know how you feel when you don’t have any friends? Well, I’m guessing that it’s pretty much the same for grown-ups. Your mama’s been by herself for a very long time—’

  ‘She has Netty,’ Danny interrupted.

  ‘Yes, she does and Netty’s a real good friend, but it’s a different sort of loneliness, Dan. I don’t expect you to understand but your mama and I we are—were—both lonely, and for a little while there we could have been a little more to each other than just friends.’ Caleb ran a hand through his hair. ‘But she’s got your Uncle Richard now and there’s something special about someone who’s known you a long time.’

  Danny stared at Caleb in disbelief. ‘Do you think he might kiss her?’

  ‘I’m sure he’d like to.’

  ‘And will that mean Mama won’t be lonely any more?’

  ‘I hope for her sake it does, Dan.’

  ‘But—’ Danny broke off. He couldn’t put into words the hope that had kindled in his heart that Caleb might have been the one to stop Mama being lonely.

  He hadn’t written any stories since the day he had shared his notebook with Caleb because the shadowy figure who had been his father had begun to fade away completely, replaced by this tall, fascinating American. When Danny had closed his eyes at night and prayed for his father, it was not the vanished Mr Greaves but Caleb Hunt he saw in his imagination.

  ‘But?’ Caleb prompted again.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Danny wriggled off the bench and hopped down on to the road. He turned to wave at Caleb.

  Caleb returned the wave with a salute.

  Danny grinned and turned for home with more of a spring in his step. Things always seemed much better after talking to Caleb.

  He makes Mama laugh …

  Late into the night, Caleb sat under the shelter of the verandah of the doctor’s cottage watching the town below him go about its business. The air was too heavy and still to make for easy sleep. From somewhere in the dark mountain ranges came the smell of burning; the lightning strikes had set off a bushfire to the north of Maiden’s Creek. Nothing to worry about, the locals assured him, but he found the smell disconcerting.

  He makes Mama laugh …

  The words twisted in his heart and, not for the first time, he cursed the day Richard Barnwell had come to town but there was nothing he could do except brood on the inequities of life.

  Soft female voices drifted up to him and the shadowy figures of two women laboured up the hill. One seemed to be supporting the other. They made slow progress, and Caleb hurried down the path to meet them, recognising Nell and Sissy as he came closer. Nell had her arm around Sissy. She looked up at him, her face a pale oval in the dark.

  ‘Sissy’s hurt. Lil said to take her to you.’

  Caleb took Sissy’s weight and the girl leaned against him with a soft moan.

  Inside the cottage, Caleb lowered her into the armchair while he fumbled to light the paraffin lamp. After the absolute darkness, the sudden light seemed too bright and as he held up the lamp, Sissy turned away, wrapping her thin shawl tightly around herself.

  The gesture alerted Caleb and he bent over her, tilting her chin to the light. He drew a sharp breath. Dried blood crusted the girl’s nostrils and lower lip and even in the inadequate light, a darkening bruise disfigured her jaw. They were injuries that needed no explanation. Someone had taken to her with their fists.

  Struggling to control his anger, he asked, ‘Who did this to you? Not Penrose?’

  Sissy’s eyes widened. ‘No! Will’s a gentleman. He’d never lift a finger to me.’

  Nell snorted. ‘It was that other so-called gentleman, the one what’s been paying court to Mrs Greaves.’

  Caleb looked at Nell. ‘You mean Richard Barnwell?’

  Nell nodded.

  Sissy’s lip curled and she spat into the fireplace. ‘Gentleman!’

  ‘Let’s clean you up,’ Caleb said and asked Nell to fetch a bowl of water and cloths.

  Caleb examined Sissy thoroughly. Her nose wasn’t broken but she had a cracked rib and some colourful bruises that would take some explanation, particularly to Will Penrose.

  ‘No really serious damage,’ Caleb said, straightening. ‘You should report him to the police.’

  Sissy began a laugh which ended in a groan as her cracked rib caught. ‘You think the police care when a whore gets the back of a customer’s hand?’ she said.

  ‘Maidment would,’ Caleb said.

  ‘But Maidment’s not here and those two useless lumps he’s left in charge wouldn’t cross a man like Richard Barnwell.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ Caleb asked, pouring the girl a glass from the last bottle of Bowen’s whiskey.

  Sissy took the glass and sat nursing it. ‘Some of my gentlemen don’t need no prompting. They just like it rough.’ She shrugged a thin shoulder, hauling the shawl back over it with a slender hand.

  ‘And he is one of those?’

  She nodded, a curtain of hair falling across her face as she lowered her head. Nell added her description of what she thought of Barnwell in terms that would make Caleb’s mother turn in her grave.

  Sissy laid a slender hand on Caleb’s sleeve. ‘Don’t say anything to Will, promise?’

  ‘I’m a doctor, you’re my patient. Whatever you tell me stays confidential.’

  Relief flooded her face. ‘Thank you. I’d hate for him to get into trouble over me.’

  ‘What makes you think he’d get into trouble?’

  A small, humourless smile tugged at the girl’s mouth. ‘I think he’d kill to protect me. That’s not particularly helpful.’

  ‘He’s going to notice,’ Caleb warned. ‘Do you want me to talk to Lil?’

  ‘Oh, Lil’s already had words. Barnwell’s banned,’ Nell said, adding that Lil had threatened a certain part of Barnwell’s anatomy with a pair of scissors if he set foot in her place again.

  Caleb suppressed a snort of laug
hter. The more he got to know her, the more he liked Lil. ‘That’s something. Is there anything else I can do for you, Sissy?’

  Her mouth tightened and she glanced at Nell. ‘I didn’t know who else to go to. You’re a friend of Mrs Greaves and I think there’s something she ought to know before she hitches herself to him.’

  Caleb’s breath missed a beat. ‘What makes you think she’s planning to marry him?’

  ‘Barnwell told me that he’d be leaving town in a few days with Adelaide as his wife.’

  Caleb’s jaw clenched. ‘What should Adelaide know about Barnwell?’ Other than the fact he is a violent brute.

  ‘Show him, Nell,’ Sissy said.

  Nell fumbled in her skirts and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, which she handed to Caleb.

  Sissy straightened her shoulders with a noticeable wince. ‘I found that in the pocket in his jacket after he went to sleep.’

  Caleb didn’t ask what she was doing going through the man’s pockets. The girl deserved whatever coins she found.

  ‘Mrs Greaves’s been teaching me to read and write so when I saw her name I thought this was something important. My reading’s not so good so I took it to Nell. She’s better with her letters than me so she copied it down.’

  Nell nodded. ‘When we saw what it was, I told Sis to put the original back where she found it. He’d probably kill her if he knew what she’d done.’

  Caleb held the paper to the light. Written in pencil in a loopy, childish hand he read:

  Dear Miss Lewis,

  It is my sad duty to inform you that your father, Sir Daniel Lewis, departed this earth on 6 September. Before his death he summoned me to his home and executed a new will, the terms of which I will relate below. He also informed me that, to the best of his knowledge, you and his grandson were alive and well and living in the Colony of Victoria and he had instructed his friend Mr Richard Barnwell to find you and pass on the enclosed letter to you.

  Caleb looked up. ‘Was there another letter?’

  Sissy shook her head. ‘No, just this one. It said “Miss Adelaide Lewis” on the outside so I guessed it could only be our Adelaide. Was I right?’

  Caleb shrugged and continued to read.

  The terms of Sir Daniel’s will were simple. He bequeathed half of his estate to be held in trust for his grandson, Daniel Lewis, also known as Daniel Greaves, until he reached the age of twenty-one. The other half he bequeathed to you for your life, after which time it would devolve on the aforementioned Daniel Lewis. Cognisant of the Married Woman’s Property Act of 1870, he appointed me trustee of the estate until such time as you married, after which your husband would become the sole trustee of both trusts. I request that you should make haste to confirm receipt of this letter and make passage for London to allow the legal process to finalise Sir Daniel’s estate in a proper and timely manner.

  Your servant,

  D Makepeace, Solicitor

  Caleb let out a low whistle through his teeth.

  ‘You know what it means?’ Sissy asked.

  ‘It means our Mr Barnwell is not being entirely honest with Adelaide,’ he said.

  Sissy glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘We best get back. Lil’ll want to know I’m all right.’ She rose to her feet with a groan and straightened, her hands in the small of her back. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Caleb looked down at the paper in his hand. ‘Can I keep this?’

  Sissy’s lip curled. ‘It’s no use to me. I hope he rots in hell for the lying bastard he is,’ she said.

  After the door shut behind the young women, Caleb stood at the table rereading the solicitor’s letter. As he understood it, any husband of Adelaide’s would wield considerable power and influence over Adelaide and Danny’s inheritance. He wracked his mind, trying to remember what, if anything, Adelaide had said about her father … Shipping?

  He shook his head and set the paper down on the table. Whatever had driven Adelaide away from her father, she had walked away from what looked like a considerable fortune. That alone would be sufficient to induce a man like Richard Barnwell to seek her out. His instincts about the man had been correct.

  In his bedroom, he dragged his travelling box from under the bed and took out the Colt. He unwrapped the oilcloth and hefted the gun, the stock warm and familiar in his hand. For years it had never left his side but Maiden’s Creek had woven some sort of spell and for the first time since he had enlisted in the army, he had not felt the need to carry the weapon on a daily basis. Now he laid it on the table and unwrapped the cleaning kit. The act of cleaning the weapon would give him the time and space he needed to think.

  Twenty-Eight

  11 February 1872

  Adelaide could not fault Richard’s attentiveness. Every evening, as they had agreed, he arrived in time to share supper with her and Danny. Even Netty seemed to have softened towards him. Once it became apparent that Netty’s position in Adelaide’s household was friend, confidante and companion, not servant, Richard had treated her as an equal, drawing out her chair at the dining table and standing when she entered the room.

  Then there was Danny. After the box of soldiers, every evening he had brought a different present. Tonight it had been a book and gales of laughter greeted Adelaide as she carried their supper into the parlour. She set the bowl of vegetables she carried on the table and asked about the book.

  Richard looked up. ‘I found it at a funny little bookshop in Melbourne and I thought it would amuse the boy.’

  Adelaide took it from Danny. A rainbow on the cover proclaimed Cole’s Funny Picture Book. She flicked through the pages of cartoons and puzzles. She’d certainly never seen anything like it before but if it broke the ice between Danny and Richard that could only be a good thing.

  After supper, Richard asked to speak to Adelaide alone. Danny and Netty retreated to the kitchen, closing all the doors between them.

  Anticipating the subject of such a private conversation, Adelaide’s stomach filled with butterflies. Richard indicated for her to take a seat on the day bed. She acquiesced, folding her hands in her lap. She had thought long and hard about the answer to the question she expected.

  Richard paced the room a couple of times before coming to sit beside her. He took her hand in his and cleared his throat.

  ‘Adelaide, I know it has been less than a week, but I hope that in our short time together you have come to appreciate the sincerity of my intentions to you and, of course, Daniel. I have greatly appreciated my time with Daniel and, considering the exigencies of the situation in which you found yourself, I can only say you have done a fine job with him, but he’s of an age when he needs a man in his life.’

  As soon as he said ‘a man in his life’, the memory of Danny’s fair head and Caleb’s dark one bent together over the gold pan on the Shenandoah Creek overwhelmed Adelaide.

  This is for Danny.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Richard’s anxious tone brought her back to the present.

  She couldn’t dwell on might-have-beens. ‘Just a little lightheaded,’ she said. ‘This heat …’ To illustrate her point, she fanned herself with her hand.

  Richard grimaced. ‘Another reason to leave this wretched country. I was saying,’ he continued, ‘we can be a family, Adelaide. You’re still young. Danny could have brothers and sisters. I would see them all well provided for and properly educated.’

  Just say it, Adelaide willed him.

  Richard went down on one knee and fiddled in his coat pocket, producing a diamond ring.

  ‘Adelaide Lewis, would you do me the singular honour of becoming my wife?’

  She knew the words—she’d rehearsed them—but now, looking into Richard’s earnest blue eyes, so different from the cold, grey steel of Caleb’s, they stuck in her throat.

  Returning to England meant surrendering her hard-won independence. No more would she be the postmistress of Maiden’s Creek. She would be Mrs Richard Barnwell, whose only role in life would be o
rnamenting her husband’s dining table or entertaining the wives of influential men in an immaculate drawing room.

  For Danny, she repeated to herself. A good school, university, a career … as what? Would he work in his father’s business, whatever that was? Law and medicine were no longer an option—far too middle-class.

  For Danny.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I will marry you.’

  Richard jumped to his feet, pulling her with him. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers. His moustache scratched her cheek and when his tongue forced her lips apart, she pushed him away from her. She felt nothing.

  Wrong, she did feel something: repugnance. This was not how it had been with Caleb—

  Don’t think of Caleb. It was a dream, an interlude. It meant nothing. Richard is the father of your son.

  Do this for Danny.

  ‘In good time, Richard,’ she said, hoping her revulsion did not show.

  Richard threw his head back. ‘Thank God we can leave this place.’

  ‘Richard, I have obligations. I can’t just walk away from the post office.’

  He frowned and waved his hand in a gesture of impatience. ‘How long?’

  ‘I won’t know until I have confirmation from Melbourne that someone is available to take my place.’ Even if she telegraphed Melbourne tomorrow it would be at least a week until a replacement arrived. ‘Why don’t you go on ahead to Melbourne and make the arrangements for the wedding and book passages to England, and Danny and I will join you.’

  Richard’s mouth tightened. ‘Oh no, my dear Adelaide. I couldn’t bear to be parted from you. Not after so long.’

  He took her hands again, squeezing them so hard she thought she felt the crack of bone. ‘After so long,’ he repeated. ‘A quick wedding in Melbourne and the first ship to London. It is a dream come true.’

  His eyes shone and she felt a wave of guilt that she could not share his evident delight.