by Téa Cooper
Did the lad or the woman draw him? He threw the last of the split logs onto the pile at the back of the shed, squinting as he walked out into the sun, ridding himself of the memories.
He closed the woodshed door and saw Roisin still sitting in the same spot. He took her hand in his and lifted her to her feet. She barely reached his shoulder, yet there was strength in her arms and in the tilt of her head, independence and determination. She’d have to have that to make her own way and a life for herself and the lad. The gossip around the town said she’d been widowed, though neither she nor the lad ever mentioned the man.
She nudged the back door open and the smell of the cosy kitchen hit him, warming his heart and making his belly rumble. She’d made the old house into a home for herself and the boy. A home he’d like to dream of sharing.
‘I’ve porridge for Ruan’s breakfast. Would you like some, and some cream?’ Her eyes held the sheen of tears and the sight bore a hole straight through to his heart. He’d hurt her with his curt dismissal.
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’ Porridge. Porridge and cream. No one would find the likes of that in Ireland these days. Perhaps Brigid and Liam were in a better place. No suffering where they were.
A frail smile hovered on her lips as she accepted his unspoken apology. Unlike most women, she’d ask the question then leave it be, wouldn’t flog it. Wouldn’t keep hammering until she got an answer. Just as well.
‘Carrick!’
Closing the door behind him, Carrick squatted as the bundle of joy threw himself into his arms.
‘I thought I’d missed you. Come on, breakfast is ready. I mustn’t be late for school. I’m telling everyone about my snakeskin. Mam says snakes shed their skins because they wear out and the snake tailors make new ones.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But I don’t think that’s true. Do you? I’m going to ask Mr Blackmore.’
He chuckled. ‘I’m thinking you might be right.’
‘And talking about naked snakes is not right in front of a lady.’ Ruan nodded his head at his mam.
‘Right again.’ Carrick swallowed a chuckle and pointed to the kitchen table.
Ruan tugged on his hand, dragging him away. ‘Before we have breakfast, can you tell me about the snakes though?’
‘We’ll leave that for Mr Blackmore. Your mam’s waiting for us. Besides, I’ve got something for you.’ He unwrapped the cedar box from his jacket. ‘I thought you might be needing this.’
The lad’s eyes widened in delight. ‘A new treasure box.’ He smoothed his little hand over the soft cedar.
The beeswax had brought up the colour a treat, a perfect match for the dark-red streaks in Roisin’s hair.
‘It’s so shiny.’ He plucked at the lid. ‘Why can’t I open the box?’
‘Because you need the key. Come on, I’ll see what I can do.’
Roisin’s eyebrows rose as Ruan swaggered into the kitchen clasping the box close to his chest. When she turned to Carrick, a spontaneous smile lit her face. That in itself was reward enough. Never mind the lad’s pleasure. If he’d known she’d look like that he’d have made her one for herself as well. A hundred even. Just a few offcuts and a way to pass the time in the forest.
‘I’ve got a new treasure box.’ Ruan placed the cedar chest on the table like an offering in the church.
Roisin ran her long, thin fingers over the smooth timber and a shudder traced his skin. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.’
‘I wanted to.’ He grinned back at her. To see the pleasure on their two shining faces was the best gift he’d received.
‘Can I have the key, Carrick? Can I? I want to open my treasure box.’
‘You sit here and eat your breakfast before it gets cold.’
‘Do what your mam says and then we’ll open your treasure box before you go to school.’
‘Can I take it to school?’ Ruan mumbled through a mouthful of porridge.
Roisin shook her head. ‘Treasures should be kept at home. Safe.’
He shovelled his breakfast into his mouth and the spoon clattered to the table.
‘Have you finished?’
Ruan nodded, leaping down from the chair and depositing his half-full bowl into the bucket by the door.
Before his mam had time to complain, Carrick produced the key from his pocket. ‘Well, then in that case.’
Ruan snatched the key from him and turned to the treasure box. The key slipped into the lock and Ruan opened the box, sighing in delight as he ran his fingers over the compartments, lifting the lids on the little boxes. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘Time for school now, Ruan. Say thank you to Carrick.’
‘Will you be here when I get home, Carrick?’
‘No, I won’t. More’s the pity. I’ve got work to do.’
When Ruan’s face crumpled he almost changed his plans. ‘I should be back soon if you’re a good boy and work hard at school.’
‘I will, I will.’ He threw his arms around Carrick’s neck before sprinting down the hallway.
‘Ruan, take your cap.’ He came flying back and snatched up his jacket, too. ‘Bye, Mam. Bye, Carrick. Thank you.’ The door slammed behind him, leaving the house quiet and still.
‘He’s a great lad.’ Carrick stretched out his feet and took the tea Roisin put in front of him. How long since he’d enjoyed such simple pleasures?
‘So you’ll be going away again?’
‘Aye. We’ve pretty much finished up now. It wasn’t a big stand. Never expected it to last long. It’s too small to be of use to the government contractors and there’s no watercourse nearby so it takes longer to get the timber out. Too much like hard work for the lazy sods, but there’s been decent money in it for us.’ And there was still King Polai.
‘Are the trees really as big as they say?’
‘Depends how long they’ve been growing. There’s trees over two hundred years old. Two hundred feet tall. A single tree that size could produce enough timber to fill a cedar vessel twice over.’
‘It seems almost a shame to cut them down.’
‘It’s good money for the colony. It’s not going to stop. Not for a long time. “Red gold” they call it. After wheat and wool it’s what’s keeping the colony flourishing. Most of it’s going to England. Some say Queen Victoria has all her rooms decked out with fine furniture made from Australian cedar and it’s good for building boats and houses.’ He’d build a fine house with the cedar from King Polai given half the chance, if the money wasn’t earmarked for something else. The very thought of sharing a home with Roisin made his heartstrings vibrate like Slinger’s fiddle. ‘The insects don’t like the smell of the wood. You can build a house that’ll last forever.’
She bent her nose to Ruan’s box and inhaled. ‘It smells like you.’ She lifted her flushed face and pushed back a curl.
His fingers itched to draw her close and lay his fingers on the pulse beating below the soft skin on the side of her neck. ‘And do you like the smell of the cedar?’
‘I do.’ Her lips quirked in a smile.
He stood and moved around the table. ‘Then you’ll be liking me, too.’ He couldn’t help it, he shouldn’t. He leant in and let his lips graze hers.
She didn’t move, didn’t turn away, just stayed stock-still, a moment locked in time. A moment he’d keep close to his heart. She was lovely, all rose and gold and warmth, her eyes clear and honest. The blood surged through his body and he kept his eyes locked on hers. She lifted her hands and cradled his face.
Sure and if she wasn’t the most beautiful sight he’d seen for many a year. He’d bare his heart to her in a moment. He’d lost it already, lost his heart the first moment he’d seen her standing in the road across the sea of faces, bright as a new blade of grass amongst the withered weeds. Who’d have thought he’d still be capable of love?
The break in the misery plaguing him since he’d left Ireland worked its way through his blood, seeping into every corner of his shrivelled soul. He might e
ven believe that one day everything could be right again.
Nestled in the crook of his arm, she lifted her green gaze to scan his face. ‘What will you do next?’
He paused. He’d return to Ireland to find and finish the English bastard. That one thought had sustained him, kept him going. The truth was best. ‘I’ll go to Sydney and buy my passage on a ship back to Ireland. I have unfinished business.’
‘Will you return to Australia?’ It might have been his imagination, but he’d swear her voice hitched and a tear glistened in the corners of her eyes.
‘That’ll be God’s decision.’ Though his work was more of the devil. ‘I might well do that.’ In chains no doubt, if they didn’t hang him first, unless the very luck of the devil stayed with him.
‘I’d like that.’
And so would he. The bullocky’s irate bellow cut him short, ruining his chances. ‘I have to go.’ He dropped a kiss on her upturned nose. ‘Be staying safe, my darling.’ With more strength than it took for the first axe stroke, he turned and left.
She stood silhouetted at the door and when he raised his arm and waved, she did, too, holding her hand high until they rounded the bend in the road and she disappeared from sight.
Roisin dropped her hand and sighed. Carrick breezed in and out of her life and every time he left he took a little more of her heart with him. The thought of him leaving Australia caused an aching hollow inside her, a void no one else would be able to fill. Not even Ruan.
She dabbed at her eyes with her apron and as she turned to go inside caught sight of Mrs Blackmore’s dress. It was finished and today, in a matter of moments, she would be here to collect it. She scurried down the hallway into the kitchen and scooped up the remains of Carrick’s breakfast and her own then dumped everything into a bucket and took it outside to the scullery. It could stay there until she had time to attend to it. She had a business to run.
Mrs Blackmore’s knock came at exactly nine o’clock.
She swung open the door. ‘Good morning. Please come in.’
Mrs Blackmore rushed inside and came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the parlour, hands clasped to her bosom and her eyes dancing. ‘Oh my dear it’s perfect, absolutely perfect. Can I touch it?’ The delight in Mrs Blackmore’s voice sent a surge of pleasure through Roisin. Without a doubt this was the very best part of her job, seeing the joy on Mrs Blackmore’s face and knowing that she’d had a part in it.
‘Of course.’ Roisin took down the dress and held it across her arms.
With a look of awe Mrs Blackmore ran her fingers over the apricot silk and then touched each one of the ribbon roses and bows. ‘I honestly thought you would be unable to finish it in time.’
And on more than one occasion she’d thought the very same.
‘It’s absolutely perfect.’
‘Would you like one final fitting just to make sure you’re happy with it?’ Roisin moved to the window to pull the curtains closed.
‘There’s no need. The earlier fittings took care of that.’ Mrs Blackmore shook her head in wonder. ‘It’s so beautiful. I only hope I can do it justice.’ Her eyes sparkled as she lifted her gaze. ‘I haven’t told Mr Blackmore very much at all, in fact I’ve been quite reticent about the dress. I want to surprise him.’
Roisin lifted the dress to Mrs Blackmore’s shoulders and let the skirt fall. ‘I do hope there’s some dancing because the overskirt is so very light it’ll float.’
‘There will be dancing, of that I can assure you, and if it’s not at the wedding I shall make sure it happens elsewhere.’ Her brown eyes twinkled. ‘Now package it up for me. Nothing frivolous. I want just a brown paper parcel to take with me.’
Roisin laid the dress on the table and folded it carefully then wrapped it in a length of cotton before covering the whole lot in the very same brown paper the dress had arrived in.
‘Excellent.’ Mrs Blackmore reached into her reticule and brought out a thick vellum envelope and held it out.
Roisin took the envelope and turned it over. Her name, written across the front in a flowery script and finished with an exaggerated swirl, dominated the small square. ‘Mrs Blackmore there’s no charge for your dress. I’ve already discussed the matter with Mr Blackmore. Ruan’s school fees …’ She didn’t want to be paid for the dress. If Mrs Blackmore had come to some decision and the contents of the envelope didn’t cover Ruan’s school fees she would be in a worse situation than before.
‘I’m well aware of the arrangement you and Mr Blackmore came to. Open the envelope.’
Roisin slid two shaking fingers beneath the flap of the envelope and brought out a thick sheet of paper. She unfolded it.
10th July 1855
Wollombi House, Wollombi
Dear Mrs Ogilvie,
I should very much like the opportunity to call on you at your earliest convenience. Would Monday the 24th of July at 9.30 be suitable?
Mrs G. Winchester.
Roisin traced her shaking finger over the signature and snapped her mouth closed to contain the yelp of joy trying to escape. Her heart lifted for the first time since she’d waved goodbye to Carrick. Mrs Grace Winchester, wife of the magistrate, had made an appointment to see her.
Mrs Blackmore patted her arm. ‘The opportunity presented itself and I felt it was the least I could do after all your hard work.’
‘I … I … I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘No thanks are needed, just make the most of the occasion. That will be ample reward.’ Mrs Blackmore picked up her package and gave it a squeeze. ‘You’ve turned this turkey into a swan. Wish me luck as I sail forth.’
‘You won’t need any luck, Mrs Blackmore. You’ll look absolutely lovely.’
Nine
Two weeks later Roisin bundled Ruan out of the door into the early-morning chill, wrapping a scarf tight around his neck. ‘Now take care. Go straight to school. Don’t stop and talk to anyone on the way. I don’t have time to take you this morning.’
‘Why not? Is Carrick coming?’
‘No, he’s not. I’m expecting a very important client. She wants to talk to me about a new dress.’
‘Mrs Blackmore.’
‘No, not Mrs Blackmore.’ She held Ruan’s new jacket out behind him so he could find the sleeves, then lifted it across his shoulders. He had grown so much in the past couple of months, she ought to make him a new one. Maybe today would solve all her problems. Roisin would never be able to thank Mrs Blackmore enough. As much as she appreciated the business her advertisements had brought, a call from Mrs Winchester was an enormous step up. ‘Off you go. Be a good boy and come straight home at dinnertime.’
He slammed the front door behind him and she stood at the window watching him race up the street. So much energy and enthusiasm. Such a far cry from the pale, fractious child of Sydney. If nothing else she’d made the right decision for Ruan’s future.
Turning to the parlour, she cast her gaze around. Everything was in place, the fire lit and the cushions plumped. The mirror now hung over the trunk and the curtained corner sported a hat stand. Lifting the lid of the trunk, she removed the sheaf of papers. All the drawings and designs she’d worked on. Perhaps one of those would interest Grace Winchester. Oh! She lifted her hand to still the pitter-pattering of her heart. Whatever was the matter with her? Just wait and see. Stop trying to second-guess.
She squinted in the mirror and ran her hand over her hair to ensure it was still controlled, then took off her apron and adjusted the collar of her dress. She had to look her best. It was such an important day. Although the wealthy property owners rarely came to town other than to attend church or, in Mr Winchester’s situation, the courthouse, there were many on the outlying properties who might use her services if Mrs Winchester deemed her suitable.
On the dot of nine-thirty there was a knock, and with one last glance around the room she opened the door.
‘Good morning, Mrs Winchester. Welcome.’
‘Good morning.
’ Dressed in an eggshell-blue walking-out costume, fastened with large buttons, over a skirt of cream trimmed with black ribbon at the hem, Mrs Grace Winchester presented a very elegant picture. She marched in as though she owned the place. She might as well have done. Her husband had been magistrate of the town and surrounding areas since the early days of Wollombi. Her success, the success of her business, rested as firmly in this woman’s hands as the immaculate cream leather gloves she so carefully removed.
‘Please sit down.’ She gestured to the chair by the fire. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Before we get to that I’d like to see some samples of your work. I believe Mrs Blackmore is very impressed with your efforts on her behalf. What can you show me?’
From the trunk, Roisin extracted the nightgown that had so confounded Elsie, and her drawings, and placed them on the table.
Mrs Winchester ignored the nightgown, and instead inspected each page of her drawings, before placing the paper upside down on the table and turning her attention to the next. After an interminable time she looked up, her blue eyes piercing. ‘And these are all your own designs.’
Roisin nodded and a spark flared in the woman’s eyes. ‘Do you have any ready-made articles you can show me?’
‘The nightgown.’
‘And what about outer clothing?’
‘Only my own.’ Mrs Blackmore had taken her dress two weeks ago and the only remaining makeover was a mass of unpicked panels and dangling sleeves. She reached behind the door and took down her green velvet jacket, the one she’d worn when she’d first arrived in town. It was a little out of the ordinary, based upon a riding jacket with a long basque and peplum.
Mrs Winchester took it and ran her hand down the frogging at the front, over the soft velvet, examining each and every stitch in the lining, even turning it inside out. Beads of sweat gathered on Roisin’s upper lip and beneath her arms as her stomach churned the remains of her breakfast.
‘And what about this?’ Mrs Winchester reached out and ran her fingers down the sleeve of Roisin’s cream voile blouse. It was tucked and embroidered, adorned with tiny pearl buttons and bottle-green ribbon.