The Jade Widow

by Deborah O'Brien

  ‘Perhaps you should offer her a small glass of sherry as well,’ suggested Eliza. ‘What do you think, Martin?’

  ‘It wouldn’t go amiss.’

  That evening, once James was asleep, the family gathered in the parlour. All except for Charlotte, who had retreated to her bed with the vapours. Eliza sat on the chesterfield between Joseph and Martin. John had taken his armchair beside the fire. Although everyone else knew about Nancy, nobody had yet told Joseph. Eliza suspected the moment was imminent when she saw her father rise from his chair, walk over to the mantel and stand beneath the portrait of his own father, Captain Alexander Miller. He broke the news in a few short sentences.

  ‘How do we know it is Daniel’s baby?’ Joseph asked almost before his father had finished speaking. ‘She could well be an opportunist, using this turn of events to further her ambitions. This is a chance to snare a war hero and become part of the wealthiest family in town. No wonder Mama has been taken ill.’

  ‘I have no doubt that what Nancy said is true,’ said Eliza. ‘She is the innocent victim in all of this.’

  ‘Innocent? You must be speaking in jest,’ Joseph retorted. ‘Or otherwise, your time in Paris has skewed your sense of morality. This Nancy is a slattern. Papa and I should go down to town right this minute and give her a talking to.’

  ‘A talking to!’ Eliza felt like exploding. She was about to counter with a remark about Daniel’s role in making the baby when she felt a hand rest ever so briefly on hers and realised it was Martin. A little shock passed up her arm, but it was over so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it.

  ‘What I intend to do,’ said John in a deliberate manner, ‘is to write to Daniel informing him there will be a wedding as soon as he returns from overseas – whenever that may be. And we are all going to welcome this young lady into our family as Daniel’s fiancée. Tomorrow your mama and I will visit Amy for morning tea. Eliza will arrange for Nancy to come too. We think it best to meet her in a neutral milieu. And Joseph, I do not want to hear you making remarks like that again. This young lady will be your sister-in-law one day, and you will treat her with respect.’

  Eliza had never loved her father as much as she did at that moment.

  ‘She generally gave herself very good advice,

  (though she very seldom followed it)’

  LEWIS CARROLL

  Through the Looking-Glass, Chapter I

  IX

  AMY

  Saturday 2nd May, 1885

  Once Eliza and Nancy arrived at Amy’s and the introductions were made, Amy sent Charlie to the study to work on his fractions. She didn’t want him to hear something he shouldn’t. Opposite her, Nancy sat on the chesterfield, dressed in a modest brown voile gown with a satin sash. If anyone had ever doubted the sincerity of her affections for Daniel, their concerns would have been dispelled by the sight of the earnest young woman clutching a box which contained her precious clippings about the campaign.

  She had made the box herself, she told Amy and Eliza when they admired it. It was just the right size to fit entire newspaper pages without having to fold them. She had covered it in silk grosgrain, attached velvet flowers and embroidered Daniel’s initials in satin stitch.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ said Amy. ‘I can see that every flower has a special meaning.’

  Just then Charlie appeared in the doorway. ‘Excuse me, Mama. But when are Grandpapa and Grandmama coming?’

  ‘Soon. Now go back to the study and finish your sums.’

  He smiled at Nancy. ‘Did you make all those flowers yourself, Miss Gray?’

  ‘Yes, I did. And please call me Nancy.’

  ‘You have the same name as the lady in Oliver Twist.’

  Considering that the fictional Nancy was a lady of ill repute, albeit with a heart of gold, who had met a very nasty end at the hands of her lover, Amy thought it better to change the subject.

  ‘Would you care for another cup of tea, Nancy?’

  ‘No, thank you, Amy.’

  ‘Eliza tells me that you make hats for Miss Travers.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘We have much in common, then. I adore hats. And I am most taken with the one you are wearing.’ She indicated the feathery concoction tucked into Nancy’s upswept hair.

  ‘It is not really a hat, I suppose,’ said Nancy. ‘More like a hair decoration. I started making them at night to fill the time. It is just a hobby, a way of using scraps of lace and leftover feathers and flowers. You are welcome to come and take a look at my workroom, should you wish.’

  ‘I would love to.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like them,’ said Eliza. ‘Even in Paris.’

  At that moment there was a knock at the door and Charlie ran to answer it. Then he led his grandparents into the parlour, where Nancy rose from her seat and smoothed her skirt nervously.

  Eliza handled the introductions even though it was Amy’s house. Amy smiled to herself – trust Eliza to take over – but nobody seemed to notice the lapse in etiquette because they were all feeling a little awkward. Amy sent Charlie back to his arithmetic, offered tea and cake and watched as Charlotte Miller examined the grosgrain box and its contents.

  ‘You made this yourself?’ she said with tears in her eyes. ‘Did Eliza tell you that I am keeping a scrapbook for Daniel?’

  ‘No, Mrs Miller. I didn’t know. What a lovely idea.’

  ‘Miss Gray,’ said Charlotte, ‘you must come and have supper at Millerbrooke and I shall show you my scrapbook. I covered it in velvet, but it is not half as charming as this. Perhaps you might teach me how to make the pansies.’

  ‘I would be delighted.’

  Amy breathed a sigh of relief. She was certain Eliza was doing the same. Now it was up to Daniel to behave like a gentleman and marry the girl. Not that he had any choice. His father had made the decision for him.

  Although Amy’s strict upbringing had taught her to condemn someone like Nancy, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not after she’d met the dark-haired milliner with the box of newspaper cuttings. She had to admit there was more than a little similarity between Nancy Gray and the eighteen-year-old Amy Duncan – the naiveté about the world, the ignorance of how babies were made, the fairy-tale view of life.

  If Amy had fallen for a less scrupulous man than Charles, she might have found herself in the same position as Nancy. After all, it had been Amy who pressured Charles into eloping. At her suggestion, they had lodged in the same room and slept in the same bed during the three weeks before they were married. She had even come up with the ridiculous idea of pretending there was an invisible sword between them as they lay on the mattress at night. Only afterwards did she realise how difficult those weeks of chastity must have been for Charles. But he had always respected her virtue, even though she herself hadn’t been certain what that particular word referred to. If Charles had been a scoundrel, Amy might have ended up abandoned and pregnant. But he had been just the opposite. The most considerate and loving person she had ever known.

  After Nancy and the Miller family left, Amy sent Charlie out to play in the garden and put her mind to practical matters. From the desk drawer she took out her ledger book. Inside its pages she had written every expense related to the hotel. In a month or two there would be nothing left of the loan. And if there was no money, the hotel would remain unfinished, and the bank would demand its money back and call on John Miller’s guarantee. It was a nightmare, and she had to admit it was largely of her own doing. The staircase, for example, was costing much more than she had anticipated, and not because the cabinet-maker had gone over budget. After he had provided his quotation and begun work, she had dreamed about newel posts carved with dragons and insisted on having them made to decorate her stairs. Then there was the fabric for the curtains – the best Chinese embroidered brocade – hundreds of yards of it. And the chandeliers from Stevenson’s in Sydney, glittering with European crystal pendants. And the marble pagoda for the garden. A
nd . . .

  The thought of going begging to the bank manager yet again was more than she could countenance. Besides, she felt certain he would refuse. The only person who knew of her plight was Jimmy Chen. And that was only because he regularly checked her calculations – she didn’t trust her own dubious arithmetic. He had even offered to take out a mortgage on the emporium. She had thanked him but declined. She couldn’t possibly allow the emporium to be encumbered with debt. That would be a desecration of Charles’s memory. Besides, there was another reason she didn’t want to involve Jimmy in her financial problems. After almost ten years Jimmy and May were finally expecting a baby, due in September, not long before Nancy’s. Charlie would have a real cousin. And Jimmy would need every penny to build a cottage for his family.

  She had even consulted Mr White about costcutting options, without revealing her dire circumstances.

  ‘You could save a fortune if you didn’t have the turret,’ he said. ‘Mr Rotherwood is only at the first-floor level. If you make the decision now, it wouldn’t be difficult to alter the design.’

  ‘The turret stays,’ she replied.

  ‘What about the ascending cabinet?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘How could you even consider such a thing? The cabinet is your invention.’

  ‘We could eliminate the domed skylight in the conservatory.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  If Amy were to keep them all, there was only one option left to her – Aunt Molly. Her aunt had paid Amy’s tuition fees when she was at school but Amy had never asked her for money, even though the unspoken offer had always been there. If she were to finish and fit out the hotel in the way she desired, she would have to seek help from her aunt. A loan to be repaid with interest.

  However, it was not only the construction work which required cash; Amy still had the matter of Charlie’s education to consider. Aunt Molly had recently sent a letter mentioning a newly established boarding school called St Peter’s, enclosing an advertisement from the newspaper.

  ST PETER’S COLLEGE

  ON THE PARRAMATTA ROAD

  HEADMASTER: DR JEREMY ROSS

  NEWLY ESTABLISHED, ST PETER’S COLLEGE IS A BOARDING SCHOOL FOR YOUNG GENTLEMEN

  COMBINING THE BEST OF MODERN PEDAGOGY WITH THE FINEST TRADITIONS OF YESTERYEAR.

  ITS COMMODIOUS BUILDINGS, LEAFY SETTING AND RECREATION GROUNDS FORM AN

  EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTION UNRIVALLED IN THE COLONY.

  DORMITORIES ARE SPACIOUS AND WELL-VENTILATED FOR THE HEALTH AND COMFORT OF OUR PUPILS.

  THE STAFF CONSISTS OF EFFICIENT RESIDENT AND VISITING TEACHERS IN ALL DISCIPLINES.

  MATHEMATICS AND CLASSICAL LANGUAGES A SPECIALTY.

  ENROLLING NOW FOR LENT TERM, 1886. PLACES FILLING QUICKLY.

  SCHOLARSHIPS FOR DESERVING PUPILS.

  PROSPECTUS AVAILABLE ON APPLICATION FROM THE HEADMASTER.

  Not only did the school offer academic scholarships and acres of playing fields, they had already accepted a non-white student, the son of an Indian merchant. Aunt Molly had heard about it from a lady at her church whose son attended the school.

  On Thursday morning Amy left Charlie in Eliza’s care and caught the train to Sydney. She was on her way to an appointment with the headmaster of St Peter’s and afterwards to Aunt Molly’s in Newtown, where she would be staying for two nights. Even though the train sped along at thirty miles an hour, it was still almost a half-day’s journey from Millbrooke to the city.

  Amy was wearing her navy dress and a string of pearls the Millers had given her for her thirty-first birthday only a couple of days earlier. They had held a party for her at Millerbrooke and invited Nancy. It heartened Amy to see how determinedly the family members were trying to include Nancy in their activities. Everybody, that is, except Joseph, who was civil but hardly friendly. Eliza had confided in Amy about Joseph’s ‘slattern’ remark. Sometimes there were aspects of Joseph which reminded Amy of Matthew Duncan – the narrow-mindedness and holier-than-thou attitude, the readiness to see faults in others, yet not acknowledge their gifts, the general smugness. Perhaps that was the real reason why she herself had never fallen for Joseph. It wasn’t that he was so much like a brother, but that he was too much like her father.

  Absently she rearranged the headpiece Nancy had given her. Midnight blue feathers and velvet forget-me-nots arranged among a swirl of net and attached to a comb. Worn at an angle, it made her lowly navy dress look surprisingly chic.

  ‘You will have to think of a name for your headpieces, Nancy,’ she’d said. ‘One day you will be a famous milliner designing hats for the Melbourne Cup and all the fine ladies will be wearing your creations.’

  In response to Amy’s compliment, Nancy had just smiled beatifically. Looking at her reed-slim body and gathered skirt, nobody could have guessed she was pregnant. All the same, there was something about her that reminded Amy of a Madonna. It might have been her pale skin and the way she wore her jet-black hair parted in the centre. It could have been her fondness for royal blue. But most likely it was the air of serenity surrounding her. So different from the anxious girl Amy had met only a few days earlier. Even Charlie and James seemed less boisterous when Nancy was around.

  Amy gazed out the window. Recent rains had greened up the countryside. Where once there had been grasslands and eucalypt forests, now farmhouses, fields and fences were appearing in their place. She watched as a wallaby bounced along beside the train, as if he were trying to keep up. Then he veered into a paddock and disappeared into a sea of wheat.

  What would Charlie be doing now? she wondered. His arithmetic or his French? Knowing Eliza, she would have taken him out riding or put him to work mending a fence. Eliza was a law unto herself, though even she seemed calmer these days. Was it the influence of Doctor Burns? The two of them were finally addressing each other by their Christian names, but the friendship remained tentative. Eliza was not a person who trusted easily, particularly when it came to men. Amy found that very odd considering that, to her knowledge at least, Eliza had never been treated badly by a man. She was the one who had always done the rejecting, abandoning many a keen suitor with a toss of her curls and a haughty frown.

  Amy had once overheard Joseph use the word ‘Sapphic’ about Eliza during a conversation with Daniel. Amy had always remembered that Greek-sounding word but never bothered to look it up. Not until recently. It was Eliza’s irrational animosity towards Doctor Burns which had prompted her. If there was something wrong with Eliza, a form of madness or a related spiritual ailment, her best friend really should know about it. But the word didn’t appear in the dictionary. Perhaps it was a medical term. She wondered whether she should ask Doctor Burns. Then again, there seemed to be a truce between Eliza and the doctor. Best to leave well enough alone.

  Outside the window the fields had been replaced by rows of tall houses packed together, street after street of them. As the train rushed past a series of stations, Amy strained to see the names – Strathfield, Ashfield, Macdonaldtown. And then they were pulling into the terminal.

  Amy took a hansom cab to the school, which was only ten minutes’ drive from the railway station. Perfect for pupils from the country. It reminded her of St Cuthbert’s. Did all boys’ schools look the same? The similarity made her nervous.

  Unlike St Cuthbert’s, there was no White Rabbit, only a matron in a tight-waisted dress who questioned Amy about Charlie’s health and then delivered her to the headmaster, Doctor Ross. From the certificate in his office, Amy could see he was a Doctor of Philosophy, not of Medicine. In spite of his grey hair and lined face, Doctor Ross seemed exceedingly modern.

  ‘I have read the letters of reference, Mrs Chen, and they are excellent. I am aware of Master Chen’s mixed background. As far as I am concerned, it is not a problem. You might have heard about a recent case where we enrolled a student of Indian origin and certain parents objected, but fairness and common sense prevailed in the end. That is not to say the boys won’t needle your son
, particularly in the early weeks. We will try to keep it in check, but we cannot be everywhere. Nevertheless, we have strict policies about bullying and fagging.’

  ‘Fagging?’

  ‘Have you ever read Tom Brown’s School Days, Mrs Chen?’

  ‘No. I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Well, perhaps that is for the best. It is not a happy tale, even though the villain does get his comeuppance in the end. Fagging is a practice far too common in boarding schools. I endured it myself as a boy. The senior pupils expect the younger ones to be at their beck and call.’

  ‘Like servants?’

  ‘Exactly. And it can easily deteriorate into merciless bullying. I know that from personal experience.’

  ‘Good gracious!’

  ‘Indeed. That is why we forbid it in this school. Now, Mrs Chen, I see from your letter that you would like Master Chen to sit our scholarship exam. Reading between the lines, I gather your pecuniary situation is not as you would like it.’

  ‘You are most tactful, Doctor Ross. To be honest, a scholarship would be a godsend.’

  ‘Well, we can only wait and see. I look forward to meeting young Charlie on the scholarship day. We always have a little party afterwards for the boys. A kind of reward for sitting the exam. You are most welcome to attend.’

  ‘I would be delighted.’ Now this was the kind of school she would be pleased for her son to attend. Perhaps the rejection by St Cuthbert’s had been a good thing after all.

  The next day Amy took Aunt Molly to one of Sydney’s newest attractions, Mr Quong Tart’s tea rooms in the Sydney Arcade. Having started as a tea shop and grown into a luncheon room, it was now the smartest place in Sydney.

  Amy had been expecting a Chinaman in traditional costume, but the gentleman who greeted them at the door was dressed in a smart grey suit with a matching waistcoat and an orchid in his lapel. Even though he was inches shorter than Charles, it was the luminous brown eyes that caused her heart to jump.