‘I cannot sleep,’ she said after a while. ‘It is impossible. Let us talk of things other than illness and death.’
Martin seemed to be lost in reflection. Finally he said, ‘In that case, there is a matter I have been wishing to raise with you. I know this might not be the right time, but it seems to me that when we lose someone dear to us, it is a reminder to cherish those who remain.’
Eliza squirmed in her seat.
‘Furthermore, you will soon be leaving for the Continent, which makes it even more important for me to broach this subject.’
Gently she released her hand from his grasp. ‘Martin, your friendship means everything in the world to me. And that is a difficult thing for me to admit, considering there was a time when I would have said just the opposite. But at this very moment I cannot think about anything other than my family’s loss.’
He stared out the window for such a long time that Eliza feared she had deeply offended him. Finally she heard his voice. Only two words, but she couldn’t have asked for a better response.
‘I understand.’
That afternoon there was a military funeral at the cathedral attended by hundreds of mourners, but not the members of the contingent – they were still in quarantine at Manly where two other soldiers, both privates, were ill with typhoid and barely clinging to life. As the family followed the coffin out of the church, Charlotte was supported on either side by her husband and son. Eliza glanced across at Nancy’s stricken face. She looked as though she was about to faint. Eliza grabbed her arm and helped her down the aisle.
Afterwards they took the three o’clock train to the Necropolis at Haslem’s Creek, where Daniel’s leaden coffin was unloaded from the hearse carriage onto a litter. While the minister prayed over the coffin, Charlotte, still in a laudanum trance, cried out for her four dead children, the two lost in infancy, the Chinese boy she had raised as her own child. And now the golden-haired soldier. Following the interment they went back to Aunt Molly’s. Instead of the jubilant banner and streamers she had been planning for their visit, Molly had hung a wreath swathed in black ribbon on the front door. John and Martin put Charlotte to bed in one of the guest rooms and sat beside her until she fell asleep.
Downstairs Aunt Molly offered goblets of sherry. When Amy declined, her aunt said, ‘For medicinal purposes only. It will help dry the tears.’
‘I wish we had been able to see Daniel before he passed,’ Eliza whispered to Amy as they sipped their sherry.
‘Even if you had known how ill he was and made the trip to visit him, they wouldn’t have let you into the Quarantine Station,’ said Amy, wiping her nose with a lace handkerchief. ‘Remember him as we last saw him – on the railway station in his red jacket and white helmet. Poor Nancy was crying her eyes out that day. Now she has far worse to weep about. It is truly heart-rending.’ They both observed Nancy, her eyes swollen and red, leaning against the mantel, lost in thought.
‘Come and sit with us, Nancy,’ said Eliza.
At the sound of Eliza’s voice, Nancy seemed to waken from a dream. Taking a seat on the velvet-covered sofa, she said, ‘I wonder if Daniel knew about the baby.’
‘Of course he did,’ Eliza lied. ‘He would have been counting the days until he returned to you. He always wanted his own little family.’
‘Do you really think so, Eliza?’
‘I do indeed.’ Eliza shot a quick look at Amy, who was nodding in agreement, even though they both knew it was a complete fiction.
‘It is a great comfort to know that,’ said Nancy.
‘You are my sister now, Nancy,’ said Eliza, taking her hand. ‘Just like Amy.’
A couple of days after they returned from Sydney, John Miller gathered Eliza, Joseph, Amy and Nancy in his study. Martin was upstairs, sitting beside Charlotte’s bed as she sought sleep but couldn’t find it. In consultation with Eliza, he had stopped the laudanum, fearful that it might cause addiction. Instead, he was offering a warm glass of milk and an ear to listen to Charlotte’s stories about her son. Martin’s presence seemed to have a soothing effect on her, whereas her interactions with the family, even her husband, were characterised by floods of uncontrollable tears. Nancy, too, had been a comfort to Charlotte. Together they had started a memorial book, pasting in little scrap pictures depicting flowers and bucolic scenes and writing Bible verses. At first Eliza had found it morbid, but Martin had assured her that in memorialising Daniel, the two women were finding a way to cope with their sorrow.
‘Better than holding it inside.’ His words had been accompanied by an odd look she couldn’t quite decipher.
‘Kindly take a seat,’ said John Miller, indicating the row of chairs Matilda had placed in front of his mahogany desk.
‘Ever since Daniel passed away,’ he began, ‘I have been thinking about his legacy.’
‘Are you referring to the welcome event in the spring, Papa?’ asked Eliza.
‘Yes, in part.’ With a glance towards Amy, he continued, ‘We all know that such an event can bring great joy in the face of terrible grief. However, for the time being, there are practical matters to consider.’
‘Excuse me, Papa,’ said Eliza, ‘but before you continue your exposition, there is an announcement I wish to make.’
As the family members exchanged knowing looks, Eliza realised her phrasing had caused them to make a false assumption, the very same one her father had made the day she and Martin had come to tell him about Nancy. Why was it that everyone assumed the two of them were on the verge of becoming engaged, when they were simply good and loyal friends? Quickly she expounded on her initial words:
‘After careful consideration I have come to a decision. Owing to Daniel’s passing, I am not going back to France. Not this year, at any rate. This morning I telegraphed the shipping line and tomorrow I shall send a cablegram to the Sorbonne.’
For a few seconds nobody responded. Then Amy spoke:
‘Eliza, you cannot defer your studies. You have made too many sacrifices already.’
‘It wouldn’t be a sacrifice. I want to be here with my family, most especially Mama, who has been stricken by Daniel’s death in the most wretched way. What’s more, I am longing to see the baby.’ She gave Nancy a smile. ‘I will keep up-to-date by reading my medical journals and helping Martin and Doctor Allen.’
Her father was frowning. ‘Of course we would love to have you stay, but you need to consider this decision most seriously.’
‘I have done that, Papa. Another year won’t alter things.’
‘Could you not enrol at the University of Sydney next year?’ asked Amy. ‘Then you would be company for that other lady student.’
‘I do not have the prerequisites. Besides, what I started in Paris, I shall finish there.’
‘What about your passage to London?’ asked Joseph. ‘Will you have to forfeit the money?’
‘I have requested a credit.’
‘What makes you think the shipping line will agree to such a thing, particularly at this late stage?’
John interrupted him. ‘Eliza has just lost her brother as a result of the Soudan crisis. They would be heartless not to take that into account.’
‘Well, I know it is selfish of me,’ said Amy, reaching across and pressing Eliza’s hand, ‘but I am very glad you are staying.’
‘Likewise,’ said Nancy.
‘Yes, I agree,’ said Joseph. ‘Family should always come first.’
‘I’m sure your mother and the doctor will be equally glad,’ said John. ‘Now, the reason I have called you together is to discuss an important matter relating to Daniel’s death. Its suddenness has been a sharp reminder that we must take care of the living.’
Where was this discourse leading? Eliza wondered. It reminded her of what Martin had said on the train.
‘Over the years,’ her father continued, ‘I have accumulated a considerable fortune, thanks to the foundations laid by my own father. One day that estate will be divided among the four o
f you.’
‘But I’m not entitled to any of it,’ Nancy protested.
‘Nor I,’ said Amy.
‘I consider you both to be my daughters. And I feel certain Eliza and Joseph would agree.’
‘Of course we do,’ said Eliza, giving Joseph a nudge.
‘In any case, there is more than enough to go around. What I have in mind is to distribute part of that inheritance now, while I am able to see you enjoy it, and you are young enough to put the money towards achieving your dreams. For Nancy it might be establishing her own millinery shop, for Eliza a private practice, for Joseph his own farm, for Amy the establishment of her hotel. How you spend your portion is up to you. I will not place any conditions on my bequest. But if you use it wisely, your achievements will be a way of honouring Daniel.’
At first they were all so surprised that nobody spoke. Finally Eliza glanced across at Amy. Her hands were trembling and tears were running down her face.
The next day Eliza was passing her father’s study when she heard raised voices. It couldn’t be her parents, could it? She’d never known them to argue.
‘She’ll be showing soon,’ her mother sobbed. ‘What are we going to tell everyone then?’
‘The truth. That Nancy is carrying Daniel’s baby.’
‘Why couldn’t we say that they were secretly married?’
‘What are you talking about, Charlotte?’
‘We could pretend it took place in Sydney the day before he left for the Soudan. Eliza could back us up.’
‘Most of Millbrooke saw Nancy waving goodbye at the railway station.’
‘What if Reverend Brownlow married them before Daniel left Millbrooke?’
‘You’re clutching at straws, Charlotte. Besides, I’m not prepared to tell a falsehood. Nor, I suspect, is Eliza.’
Outside the door to the study, Eliza smiled wanly. How well her father knew his daughter.
‘Would you rather our reputation be ruined, John? And Daniel’s name with it?’ Charlotte’s voice was becoming increasingly hysterical.
‘Daniel was a war hero. Nothing will change that.’
‘But if Nancy were to be his widow . . .’
‘They were never married. They barely knew each other. And I for one am not prepared to have this baby born amid a web of deceit.’
‘What about Nancy, then? Don’t you want to protect her?’
‘Of course I do. That was why I wrote to Daniel about his responsibilities. But our son is gone now, and lying isn’t the solution. The greatest protection we can offer Nancy is our wholehearted acceptance. And anyone who dares to denounce her or the baby will have to deal with me.’
XII
AMY
Tuesday 28th July, 1885
After they paid the driver and alighted from the hansom cab, Amy straightened Charlie’s bow tie, which had fallen askew, and smoothed his silken hair.
‘There,’ she said, ‘you look perfect. Now just remember to breathe – in through the nose, out through the mouth.’
They practised their breathing as they walked towards the front doors of the college, where a group of prospective pupils had gathered with their mothers. The matron appeared and ushered everyone inside.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ she said, addressing the boys, ‘I want you to form two orderly lines and then I shall take you to the examination room. Mothers, you are welcome to spend the day here in the foyer, but I am certain you have better things to do. You may collect your sons at two o’clock. Any questions?’
Everyone seemed to be too intimidated by the matron to even contemplate posing a question.
‘In that case, we shall see you at two. Come along, gentlemen.’
Amy forced back tears as she watched Charlie join the end of the queue and march off to his examination.
Afterwards she took a cab to the city and spent an hour in Anthony Horderns’ emporium in George Street. It was so vast she could have passed the entire day there, browsing among the enticing array of merchandise. But Amy had other things on her mind. She walked north for a block or two until she came to the Sydney Arcade. Its imposing portico was something she would formerly have coveted for her own hotel, but after her early extravagances she was now being extremely cautious. It was ironic, really, considering that thanks to John Miller’s generosity she had acquired enough money to build two hotels. All the same, she had learnt her lesson. Now she was following his advice and paying off the loan as quickly as possible, and not just the interest. She had even decided to forgo the four-poster beds for the guest rooms – except for the Oriental Suite, of course. No expense would be spared there.
The building itself had reached second-floor level. Mr Rotherwood was hopeful it would be finished by October, which gave them three months to fit out and furnish the rooms in time for a grand opening in January. The shaft for the ascending cabinet was now in place. Amy had even ventured up a series of ladders in her long skirt to examine it from the highest level. Fortunately Mr Rotherwood’s men had placed barriers around the edges – it was a very long drop to the bottom. As for the turret, the framework would be constructed in the coming fortnight. Already Amy could picture its walls clad with wooden shingles and its pointed roof topped by an ornamental weathervane. The conservatory would be added when all the other work was complete. Mr Rotherwood was concerned about possible damage to the delicate glass, particularly the domed skylight.
Actually, there was a very fine example right here in the Sydney Arcade. She peered up at the vaulted ceiling. With its glass panels and cast-iron buttresses, the arcade might have been a latter-day cathedral – except that it had been founded on a commercial rather than a spiritual imperative. She passed a series of little shops with tall, arched windows displaying their wares. How pleasant it was to be able to go shopping no matter what the weather. Finally she reached her destination – Mr Tart’s tea rooms. As the clock at the end of the arcade chimed the half hour, she checked her fob watch. Half past eleven.
At the door Quong Tart was greeting his customers. When he saw Amy, he recognised her instantly.
‘Mrs Chen, how guid of ye to drop by.’
‘Thank you, Mr Tart. I trust you have been well.’
‘Aye, indeed I have. And yerself, Mrs Chen?’
‘I feel better for seeing you, Mr Tart.’
‘Wid ye care fer a wee cup of tea?’
‘That would be most pleasant.’
He showed her to a table beside the window, looking out onto the arcade.
‘What has brought ye all the way to Sydney Town, dear lady?’
‘My son is taking a scholarship examination today.’
‘Yer son? But surely he can’t be more than a wee bairn?’
‘Actually, he is turning twelve next month.’
‘Then ye must have been little more than a bairn yerself when ye gave birth to him?’
‘I was nineteen. His father passed away before he was born.’
‘A great tragedy, Mrs Chen. But yer wee son is a blessing from God.’
‘He is indeed. And at this very moment he will be sitting his arithmetic exam.’
‘Is he guid at sums?’
‘Yes, he takes after his father, thank goodness.’
Mr Tart gave a little laugh. ‘I shall send a waitress to take yer order, Mrs Chen.’
‘Thank you, Mr Tart.’
As he turned to leave, she said, ‘Actually, I was wondering if I might seek your advice on a certain matter. I know you’re busy right now, but if there were to be a quiet moment . . .’
‘I wid be delighted, Mrs Chen. In point of fact, there is a something I wid like to ask yer guid self.’
With a dazzling smile, he inclined in a bow and returned to the door where a trio of elegantly dressed ladies was waiting for a table. Amy ordered jasmine tea and a madeleine from the menu, which listed Chinese teas and European food. What a charming place it was, with its black and white tiled floor and team of waitresses in starched pinafores and mo
b-caps. But what she liked best was the comforting aroma of Oriental tea.
As she was finishing her madeleine, Mr Tart appeared. ‘May I?’ he asked, indicating the chair opposite her.
‘Of course.’ It was quite disconcerting sitting at a table with a gentleman who so resembled her late husband. The charming manner, the limpid brown eyes, the perfectly groomed moustache, the English suit. She found it hard to judge Mr Tart’s age but guessed that he was about thirty-five. Just a few years younger than Charles Chen would have been, had he lived.
‘Now, how can I help you, Mrs Chen?’
‘My aunt suggested I consult you about a business I am establishing in Millbrooke. A hotel.’
‘An ’otel?’ he said, using the French pronunciation. ‘That is indeed a big undertaking.’
‘So I’ve discovered. I want it to be the finest hostelry in country New South Wales.’
‘Guid fer ye. Ye mustn’t settle for second best. When are ye opening?’
‘In January, God willing.’
‘Then ye should start thinking about yer staff. First and foremost, ye’ll need a manager to help ye hire and train yer maids and porters and to keep yer ’otel running smoothly. Someone reliable and honest with considerable experience in hospitality.’
‘You don’t know anyone like that, do you, Mr Tart?’
‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Chen. And if I did, I wid probably employ him maself. Ye see, I’m hoping to open a wee luncheon room down the road and another in King Street.’
‘My goodness. You are quite the entrepreneur.’
‘It is my dream to have a chain of elegant tea rooms with the finest food in the colony.’
‘I have no doubt you will succeed, Mr Tart. Your attention to detail is admirable.’
‘When one is dealing with customers, Mrs Chen, it is the wee details which count. Now, may I ask ye a question? It is of a most personal nature so I do hope ye won’t be offended.’
‘How can I know if I will be offended unless you ask?’
The Jade Widow Page 13