The Jade Widow

by Deborah O'Brien

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. When I saw your name, I thought you might be a foreigner.’

  ‘I am a foreigner. I was born in Glasgow. I came here when I was ten.’ She was being purposely obtuse. She knew by his tone that he must have assumed she was Chinese.

  ‘By foreigner, Mrs Chen, I was referring to those who are not British.’

  Amy was about to argue the point when Mr Hodges appeared at the door, holding a tea tray.

  ‘Would you care for some tea, Mrs Chen?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Mr Hodges poured tea, offered scones and left the room.

  ‘So, Mrs Chen, I understand from your application form that you are a widow.’

  ‘That is correct. My husband passed away some twelve years ago.’

  ‘And you have been raising your son on your own?’

  She nodded, sitting up straighter in the chair.

  ‘Most admirable. I take it you have been acting as his tutor.’

  ‘I have some experience in teaching, having tutored my two younger brothers and Miss Eliza Miller of Millerbrooke House.’

  ‘Then what made you decide to send your son to a boarding school?’

  ‘He is almost twelve, Mr Carruthers. He needs to learn how to be a man.’

  ‘That is very true, Mrs Chen. Now, let me see . . .’ He riffled through a pile of papers on his desk. ‘Ah, here they are – a letter of recommendation from your minister and the testimonial from Mr John Miller. Both of them speak very highly of you and your son.’

  Amy smiled politely. ‘It is kind of them to say so.’

  ‘Subject to your son’s results in the examination, I can see no reason why we wouldn’t welcome him here at St Cuthbert’s. As the term has only just begun, I’m sure he will catch up quickly. There is the matter of uniform, but that can be readily made here in Granthurst. We will supply you with a requirements list. Now let us drink our tea and when your son returns from the test, I will have one of the prefects show you both around the school.’

  Amy breathed an inward sigh of relief. Charlie’s enrolment appeared to be a fait accompli. She wasn’t so sure about all these dour men, though. They reminded her of her father. Bleak and charmless. Nobody seemed to laugh, let alone smile. Still, the boys would make up for that with their exuberance.

  By the time they had finished their tea and Mr Carruthers had spoken about the importance of Latin in training the mind, Mr Hodges had returned with Charlie, who was smiling broadly, indicating the test had gone well.

  ‘Mr Carruthers, this is my son, Charles Junior. Charlie, this is the headmaster.’

  ‘I am pleased to meet you, sir,’ said Charlie, offering his hand.

  ‘So this is Master Chen,’ said the headmaster, casually dismissing the proffered hand.

  Did he not shake hands with the boys, Amy wondered, or was it because Charlie was a ‘foreigner’? Surely not. Mr Carruthers was an educator, a man with a university degree. The framed certificate on the wall attested to the fact. Weren’t people of that ilk supposed to be enlightened? Then again, her own father was an educated man and a minister, yet he had dismissed his grandson as a ‘half-caste’.

  For a while nobody spoke. Then Mr Carruthers rang a bell on his desk and Mr Marshall promptly appeared.

  ‘Well, Mrs Chen,’ the headmaster said, ushering Amy and Charlie to the door, ‘it is time for your tour. We shall be in touch about the test results within a fortnight. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ said Amy stiffly. ‘Come on, Charlie, the headmaster has matters of great import to attend to. And we have taken up far too much of his time already.’ She spoke the words so politely that only someone who knew her well would detect the undertone.

  On the afternoon train back to Millbrooke, Charlie prattled on about the examination while Amy poked at her eye with a handkerchief, trying to remove a cinder. She was still upset by the headmaster’s behaviour, though he hadn’t done anything that could specifically mark him as a bigot. Perhaps she had just over-reacted. She was inclined to do that.

  ‘Mama,’ said Charlie, noting she wasn’t paying attention, ‘there wasn’t any long division in the test.’

  ‘Really? What about fractions?’

  ‘None at all. The sums were easy too. So was the geography – it was capital cities. I even spelled Edinburgh correctly.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘I told Mr Marshall how I love cricket and he said one day I might be playing for the First XI. Imagine that.’

  ‘It would indeed be an achievement.’

  ‘Mr Marshall explained that the Houses are named after great soldiers and sailors. His house is Wellington. Then there’s Nelson, Raglan and Codrington . . . and I’ve forgotten the other two. I asked Mr Marshall if they were going to start a Gordon House. And he said that was a very good idea and he would raise it with the headmaster.’

  Amy’s chest tightened. ‘Charlie, if you didn’t gain a place at St Cuthbert’s,’ she began hesitantly, ‘would you be very disappointed?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Mama. I did well on the test – I know it. And anyway, Uncle Jimmy says the things you worry about are rarely likely to happen. It’s an old Chinese proverb.’

  Amy reached across and gave his glossy black hair an affectionate tousle. How she wished she could continue to protect this boy from the jibes and tribulations the world was bound to heap upon him.

  IV

  ELIZA

  Friday 27th February, 1885

  Millerbrooke House was abuzz with excitement – Daniel was arriving on the afternoon train and the next day the Miller family would be hosting a fundraising dance in his honour to which the entire town had been invited. Meanwhile Eliza was busy hanging bunting in the imperial colours of red, white and blue and trying to feel patriotic. Nevertheless, her belief that this foreign war had no relevance to New South Wales remained strong. What’s more, The Bulletin had come out against the military expedition, and so had Sir Henry Parkes, who was abandoning his retirement to stand for the seat of Argyle in protest at the government’s actions. Eliza was glad to see she wasn’t alone in her opinion. Joseph had a way of classifying her as an excentrique, a misfit, whose opinions were so crazy no one else could possibly share them. The newspaper reports proved otherwise.

  The second cause for excitement was the arrival of the new doctor. Well, it was exciting for the rest of Millbrooke, but not for Eliza. Ever since she was in her teens, she had been helping Doctor Allen, bandaging legs, sterilising equipment in the manner of Professor Lister, and generally being available to support the good doctor should he need another pair of hands. For the previous three years, of course, with his assistant away in France, he had been forced to cope on his own. But she was back now, and even though the prospect of attending the University of Sydney this academic year seemed increasingly remote, she would still be finishing her degree at the Sorbonne next year. On her return, she would be ready to take on the position she had always believed was hers – junior partner in Doctor Allen’s practice.

  But suddenly everything had changed. Without even consulting Eliza, Doctor Allen had gone ahead and employed the son of someone with whom he had attended university. A callow youth from the city, newly graduated, who possessed no experience of real doctoring let alone any knowledge of the supplementary tasks a country practitioner might encounter – such as delivering foals and calves. Eliza was livid. And to make matters worse, her father had offered this feckless medical graduate a room at Millerbrooke House because Doctor Allen’s lodgings above the surgery were too small. Nobody had sought Eliza’s approval. Didn’t they realise they were turning her plans for the future upside down? And her plans had been upended too many times already. She might have gone to France much earlier, had it not been for Charles’s death and then the passing of Joseph’s wife not long after she gave birth to James. On each occasion Eliza had made the decision to stay in Millbrooke because her family needed her, especially Am
y, who had floundered in those first years after Charles died without the support of her own family, other than fleeting, furtive visits from her mother.

  Eliza had been almost twenty-seven when she left for Europe. Even the students, who had already completed Arts degrees, were younger than she. She had lied about her age to the university authorities, fearful that they wouldn’t be interested in a student of mature years. Eventually she had told her classmates the truth. After that, they gently teased her about being an éminence grise, but she took it in good humour, considering she was yet to find a single grey strand among her golden curls.

  A crowd had gathered on the station to meet Millbrooke’s own hero, Captain Daniel Miller of the First NSW Regiment. Union Jacks were fluttering everywhere, paper flags attached to sticks, held aloft by adults and children alike. Apparently Doctor Allen’s new partner was arriving on the same train as Daniel. Eliza shook her head in disgust. It wasn’t fair that this stranger, who knew nothing about Millbrooke, was taking the job that belonged to her. No doubt he would assume that the assembled throng was there to welcome him.

  ‘Here it comes,’ cried James as the engine chugged around the bend and slowly pulled into the station. Joseph lifted James onto his shoulders so that the boy could see over the crowd. Amy and Charlotte held back, but Eliza pushed her way to the front. And there was Daniel, her beloved brother, alighting from the train, looking dashing in his smart red military jacket and blue trousers. A tall white helmet covered his blond hair. Beside him was a man in a brown suit, carrying a Gladstone bag. He seemed confused by the hubbub. So this was the junior partner. Eliza strained to get a better view. He looked at least thirty, possibly more. Hardly worthy of the title ‘junior’.

  Presently Daniel caught sight of Eliza and rushed towards her, encircling her in his arms and lifting her off the ground. ‘Little sister,’ he said. ‘It seems forever since I’ve seen you.’

  He hugged his mother and shook hands with his father and brother. They could barely hear themselves speak over the cheering of the crowd.

  ‘Come on, my lad,’ said John Miller. ‘We’ve brought the carriage. Amy’s here too and Charlie.’

  ‘This is Martin Burns, our new doctor,’ shouted Daniel, introducing his travelling companion.

  John led the way towards the street with a band of Millbrookers following.

  ‘God save the Queen!’ somebody yelled.

  ‘God save Captain Miller,’ shouted another.

  ‘God save Doctor Burns,’ muttered Eliza to herself. ‘Because he’ll need all the help he can get.’

  That evening, Charlotte Miller organised a family supper at Millerbrooke. Whenever the word ‘family’ was used, it always included Amy and Charlie. Jimmy and May were invited too, but they invariably declined – Jimmy had never got over his shyness about speaking English at social occasions. The children were in the parlour, playing dominoes, while Eliza and Amy were dressing for dinner in Eliza’s bedroom.

  ‘Not that black dress again,’ scolded Eliza, as Amy donned the gown she had worn to St Cuthbert’s. ‘Whatever happened to the turquoise silk Charles gave you? I’m sure you could still fit into it – you haven’t put on a pound.’

  Amy didn’t bother to answer. She had become immune to Eliza’s nagging about her clothes.

  ‘It’s about time you stopped behaving like Queen Victoria,’ continued Eliza. ‘She’s an old lady and you’re not. Besides, I’ve heard that the Queen had a sweetheart. He was Scottish, you know.’

  ‘I don’t believe those rumours,’ said Amy.

  ‘All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t close yourself off. Actually, there’s someone in this house who would be a candidate for your affections, if you allowed him.’

  Amy gave Eliza an exasperated look. ‘Not Joseph? I told you years ago he’s like a brother to me.’

  ‘Well, what about Daniel?’ Eliza asked, before dismissing the idea herself. ‘No, he’s not suitable. I hear he’s quite the ladies’ man in Sydney.’

  ‘No wonder,’ said Amy. ‘He’s awfully handsome in his uniform. What do you make of this young Doctor Burns?’

  ‘He’s not young,’ contradicted Eliza. ‘He has to be thirty, if he’s a day. Our age or older.’

  ‘He seems rather nice,’ said Amy.

  ‘In that event, I’ll ask Mama to place you next to him at dinner,’ teased Eliza.

  ‘Have you heard from the dean?’ asked Amy, attaching Charles’s fob watch to her dress as a brooch.

  ‘No, and I don’t expect to now. Lectures start next week. Poor Dagmar Berne. I do hope she manages on her own amongst all those men. It won’t be easy. I trust they don’t call her an hermaphrodite.’

  ‘A what?’ asked a bewildered Amy.

  ‘A freak. A person who is neither man nor woman.’

  ‘Why would anyone call her that?’

  ‘Why indeed,’ replied Eliza. ‘Now fai-dee-lah, as Charles used to say. I can hear the clock striking six.’

  Eliza gave her best friend a sly wink when Charlotte indicated that Amy should take a seat next to Doctor Burns. Meanwhile Eliza found herself placed opposite him, an opportunity to observe the newcomer at close hand without being obliged to engage him in conversation. The children were down the other end of the Millers’ long dining table, on either side of their grandfather. Eliza’s mother always separated them to prevent any meal-time pranks. No doubt she recalled the time James had put salt in Charlie’s water glass and Charlie had retaliated by spicing the top of his cousin’s chocolate pudding with pepper. Those high jinks had now become family folklore, engraved into their collective memories like the story about Eliza putting her age back five years in order to enrol at the Sorbonne.

  ‘So tell us, Doctor Burns,’ said John Miller, ‘apart from your father’s connection with Doctor Allen, what made you choose a country town for your first posting?’

  Eliza was pleased her father had asked that question. She couldn’t fathom why a city dweller would want to move to unsophisticated Millbrooke. Unless he had been a mediocre student at university and no city practice had wanted to employ him. If that were the case, he wouldn’t last long in Millbrooke.

  ‘Actually, I was raised in the country,’ said Doctor Burns. ‘I’m a Gulgong boy. The first time I ever set foot in the city was when I travelled to Sydney to board the ship for Scotland.’

  Eliza almost choked on her consommé.

  ‘Doctor Allen mentioned that you had attended the University of Edinburgh,’ said her father, ‘and that you graduated with First Class Honours. He said you spent several years working in a London hospital.’

  ‘That is correct,’ said Doctor Burns.

  This time Eliza was so astonished she dropped her soup spoon on the floor. As Matilda rushed over to replace it, everyone turned in Eliza’s direction.

  ‘Eliza is a doctor too,’ said Daniel as if that excused her clumsiness.

  ‘Not quite,’ she replied, addressing her words to Daniel and avoiding the gaze of the man opposite her. ‘I have a year remaining, and a residency after that.’

  ‘I didn’t know there were any ladies studying Medicine here in Australia,’ said Doctor Burns.

  ‘There aren’t. Not yet. I am studying at the Sorbonne.’ She gave him a haughty look and returned to her soup.

  ‘I’ve heard it has a very fine medical faculty,’ he replied.

  ‘One of the oldest in Europe,’ said Eliza. ‘It dates back to the Middle Ages.’

  ‘I’m afraid Edinburgh cannot compare with that. Our medical school was only established in the eighteenth century. Though it does boast one of the first ladies to study Medicine in Great Britain.’

  Eliza was intrigued despite herself. ‘And who is that?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t know, Miss Miller. The lady in question has written a number of papers related to the medical education of women.’

  ‘Since you seem to enjoy guessing games, Doctor Burns, perhaps you could supply us with the
answer.’

  ‘Sophia Jex-Blake, of course. I have a copy of her book, The Care of Infants, should you wish to borrow it.’

  ‘That is very kind of you,’ said Eliza, glaring at him. ‘But I have several books on that subject already.’

  Charlotte brought an end to the tension by saying, ‘You will both have plenty of opportunity to discuss medical matters, now that Doctor Burns is our lodger.’

  ‘Please call me Martin. And it was most kind of you to offer me a room, Mrs Miller. I do hope I’m not inconveniencing you.’

  ‘Well, actually . . .’ began Eliza, but her mother cast her a warning look.

  ‘There’s plenty of room,’ said Charlotte. ‘We’re delighted to have you here. Now, Daniel, tell us about the preparations for the expedition.’

  On Saturday evening the barn was full of Millbrookers dressed in their finest clothes. Up at the house Matilda was minding the boys, who had been desperate to come but deemed too young. Eliza surveyed the crowd. Joseph was chatting to Amy, who had worn her navy-blue gown in deference to the occasion. Although it wasn’t black or grey, it was a sombre colour more suited to a dowager than a thirty-year-old. As usual, Joseph was at her side. He had always been fond of Amy, but she had never reciprocated. Dressed in his regimental uniform, Daniel was surrounded by local girls, giggling at his every word. It was a pity he hadn’t settled down. For a while there had been a young lady by the name of Flora, who seemed to have captured his heart, but then he had gone off to Sydney to become a soldier, and Flora had married someone else. Eliza caught sight of her father at the far side of the room, talking with Doctor Allen. Beside him was Martin Burns in his brown suit. Surely he had something better to wear to a dance than that down-at-heel outfit.

  Eliza herself was wearing a sky-blue silk dress, complete with bustle, made by a Paris couturier. Ever since the hermaphrodite remark, she had gone out of her way to look dainty and feminine. After all, there was no reason why a lady doctor had to be mannish in her mode of dress. She was rearranging her marcasite hairclip when she noticed Martin Burns leading Amy onto the dance floor. Well, well. Eliza observed them for a moment before a young man from the St John’s congregation asked her to dance, and soon they were gliding around the barn to the strains of a Viennese waltz.