Tamar

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘He respects me. I believe he wants to share his life with me, all of it. He wants us to be partners, and I think we will be. Yes,’ she added thoughtfully, almost to herself, ‘I think I’ve finally made the right choice.’

  As it turned out, however, it became evident Andrew had not shared everything about himself with Tamar. The day after their wedding, Tamar packed up her things and arranged to have everything she would not need for the trip to Napier sent ahead by coach. She and Andrew stayed in Auckland for another two days then, after a tearful farewell on the wharf, they boarded the steamer to Napier.

  The trip was pleasant and uneventful, except that Cabbage, whom Tamar could not leave behind, was sick all the way. The weather was fine and the brisk ocean breeze a welcome respite from the summer heat. The steamship docked at the Port of Napier on the hot, still morning of 3 February and the minute Tamar disembarked, she was assaulted by a revolting reek.

  ‘What’s that dreadful smell?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  ‘Stagnant water, open drains and other rubbish. The drainage isn’t the best because a lot of the land’s so low-lying.’ He looked at her screwed-up face and laughed. ‘The borough council’s reclaiming the swampy areas, or forcing the owners to raise the land themselves, but money’s tight and it’s a big endeavour. Still, we should be able to come into town in a few years’ time and not feel sick.’

  ‘How far away is your home?’ Tamar asked, hoping it was situated well beyond the reaches of this appalling smell. It was worse than Auckland.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s well out of town.’ Andrew shaded his eyes with his hand and looked about the busy docks. ‘I’m looking for Lachlan. I wired him to come and meet us with the wagon. There he is. Lachie!’ he bellowed, waving his hat madly.

  Lachlan turned out to be a stocky, dark-haired man of medium height with a cheerful, ruggedly handsome face, a ready smile and a mild Scottish accent.

  ‘Andy!’ he cried as he jumped down from the wagon. ‘Good to see ye, mon. And this must be the new Mrs Murdoch!’ He took Tamar’s hand gently and bowed low. ‘I can see now why ye refused to give up, Andy,’ he added mysteriously.

  ‘Tamar,’ said Andrew formally. ‘I’d like you to meet my brother-in-law, Lachlan McRae. Lachlan, this is Tamar.’

  Tamar smiled and said hello, warming immediately to this genial young man.

  Andrew looked around and said, ‘No Jeannie?’

  ‘Aye, well, ye know what she’s like when she gets a bee in her bonnet.’

  Andrew shrugged and bent to lift the luggage into the back of the wagon.

  The trip to Kenmore, Andrew’s farm, took almost five hours. Lachlan drove, pointing out various landmarks as they went through the town. Finally leaving it behind, they followed a rough gravel road into the rolling countryside. The further they travelled from civilisation, the wilder the land became, especially on the hills. Some of it was in pasture but the greater amount was still untouched bush.

  After several hours they stopped for lunch, prepared and packed by a begrudging Jeannie, and Tamar went for a short walk to relieve herself behind a tall stand of mature karaka, making sure she held her long skirts well out of the way while Cabbage stood guard. When she’d finished she sat for a minute on a fallen log, listening contentedly to the heavy, warm silence and contemplating the possibilities her new life might bring. Several yards away a rabbit stuck its head up above a bush and watched her curiously. She could not understand why Andrew hated rabbits — they were so appealing. As far as he was concerned, the only good rabbit was a dead one. Then Cabbage barked and it bounced away in fright, its white bottom flashing.

  On the other side of the trees, out of Tamar’s earshot, Andrew was complaining about Jeannie.

  ‘I swear to you Lachie, I’ll not put up with any more of this nonsense. Our parents raised us to be tolerant, and tolerant she is not, not over this. I know running a brothel isn’t socially acceptable, but it’s just a business like any other. God, man, you know that — you patronised enough of them in your single days. It doesn’t mean Tamar’s immoral or a bad person.’

  ‘Ye don’t have to convince me, I can see she’s a fine woman. It’s our Jeannie you’ll have to get around.’

  ‘I won’t have her upsetting Tamar. She doesn’t deserve it.’

  Unaware she was being discussed, Tamar tried to imagine her new home. She assumed it would not be too small as she and Andrew would be sharing it with Jeannie and Lachlan, and he had never implied there wouldn’t be enough room to raise a family, but neither did she expect it to be particularly large. Andrew obviously had some money, and had been more than generous with it, but she had seen no indication he was particularly wealthy. He dressed well, but so did most businessmen with a pound or two. She must think of a way to get him to take advantage of her nest egg, although she did not want to insult him. Perhaps they could become business partners, an arrangement that might make it easier for him. She smiled softly as it suddenly occurred to her she had learned to trust again.

  As the afternoon grew hotter and they drew closer to Kenmore, Andrew pointed out three or four homesteads nestled in the hills. One was quite grand while the others were less splendid but nevertheless still substantial and impressive.

  ‘Our neighbours,’ he said. ‘If you can call them that. Some of the stations are so big you can ride for hours in several directions and not see another sign of life.’

  Tamar quite liked the idea. ‘How many acres do you have?’

  ‘Oh, a few,’ he replied vaguely.

  In another hour, after which Tamar was sure her nose was beginning to burn even though she’d kept her wide-brimmed straw hat on all day, Lachlan turned off the main road onto a narrower but well-maintained track. It stretched out in front of them through a stand of tall English trees, then disappeared around a bend. Tamar was relieved to be out of the relentless afternoon sun and under the cool shade. As they rounded the bend, she was enchanted as a grand two-storeyed, balconied home surrounded by beautifully groomed lawns and gardens came into view.

  ‘Lord, that’s a lovely house,’ commented Tamar. ‘Whose is it?’

  ‘Actually, it’s ours,’ Andrew answered cautiously. ‘This is Kenmore.’

  ‘This is Kenmore? This great mansion? Andrew Murdoch, you … bugger!’ exclaimed Tamar angrily, then whacked her new husband on the arm. Lachlan wisely kept his mouth shut as he pulled the wagon up in front of the wide portico over the front door. ‘You lied to me! You said you didn’t have a lot of money!’

  ‘No,’ Andrew replied, ducking as she hit him again. ‘You assumed that. I never said it.’

  ‘You’ve bloody well tricked me!’ she swore indignantly. She felt foolish at having offered him what was probably an insignificant amount of money compared to what he obviously already had.

  ‘No, I haven’t. I didn’t think it was important. You never seemed particularly interested in money, so I thought there’d be no point mentioning mine. Does it matter?’ he asked, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said a cool voice from above. ‘Lachlan, Andrew, I’m glad to see you’re home safely.’

  Tamar looked up to see a woman in her late twenties standing at the top of the steps, and hoped her swearing had not been overheard. Judging by the expression on the woman’s face, it had. Tamar and Andrew both stepped down from the wagon as the woman came down to meet them.

  ‘I’m Jeannie McRae,’ she said, her voice icy. ‘Obviously you’re Tamar.’

  ‘Yes. I’m very pleased to meet you, Jeannie,’ Tamar replied untruthfully. ‘I’m sorry, but your brother appears to have deceived me. You must excuse me.’ She swept up the steps and into the house, then came out again a second later with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘Lachlan, could you show me to my bedroom, please? I need to lie down.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and led her into the house.

  ‘What does she mean, deceived her?’ Jeannie asked her brother, who was staring a
fter his new wife.

  ‘I think she thought we weren’t terribly well-off.’ He turned to her. ‘Which puts an end to your gold-digger theory.’

  ‘I never said she was a gold-digger.’

  ‘No, but you implied it.’

  ‘Well, what do you expect? She’s a brothel-owner.’

  ‘She was a brothel-owner, Jeannie. And she didn’t start the business, she just managed it. And she has thousands of her own in the bank. What would she want with my money?’

  ‘Well, nothing, I suppose, if she has her own,’ Jeannie grudgingly admitted. ‘But she might be using you to gain respectability. Have you thought of that?’

  Andrew sighed. ‘Jeannie, Tamar has more respect from social and business quarters in Auckland than I might ever have. She was a superb businesswoman and donated a lot of money to charity. Her house was truly grand. She moved in some quite lofty circles, and so did the woman who left her the business. Don’t be such a snob. This isn’t Balmoral and you’re not the Queen.’

  ‘Then all I can say, Andrew, is that she’s going to take a lot of getting used to.’

  ‘And so are you, if you keep behaving like this. I’ve made my choice, and there’s no more to be said about it,’ retorted Andrew, and set off to find Tamar.

  She was in an upstairs bedroom, stretched out on a chaise by an open window, staring at the ornate plaster centrepiece in the middle of the ceiling. Andrew came and sat at her feet. ‘Are you not feeling well?’ he asked, concerned.

  Tamar transferred her gaze from the ceiling to his worried face, sat up and put her feet on the ground. ‘No, I’m fine. But Andrew, I feel so foolish. You could have told me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, I just didn’t think it mattered.’

  ‘Well, no, it doesn’t, but you could have said something.’ She picked up her straw hat and fanned herself with it. Looking him directly in the eye, she added, ‘I think you’d better tell me anything else I might need to know. I thought we’d agreed there were to be no secrets between us.’

  ‘And there won’t be, I promise. What is it you want to know?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure. I don’t want to pry,’ she answered primly.

  Andrew smiled, leaned forward and kissed Tamar on her red nose. ‘You’re a funny woman, Tamar Murdoch.’

  Before dinner Andrew showed Tamar the surveyors’ maps of the Murdoch sheep station. The block was huge — 14,577 acres of flat and hilly land supporting 19,000 sheep, mostly Romneys, some English Leicesters, a few Cheviots imported from the Scottish Highlands, and a handful of Corriedales he was trialling. Andrew and Jeannie’s parents, James and Adele Murdoch, had emigrated in 1850 from Scotland, where their families had been landowners for more than two hundred years. Andrew had been born in 1851, followed by two more children, one in 1853 and another the following year, who had both died, then Jeannie had arrived in 1858. A fifth child born after Jeannie had also died.

  In 1855 James Murdoch had purchased 9000 acres in the Tutaekuri River area and, seven years later, an adjacent block of 5577 acres. The current homestead was the third house, the first two having stood on exactly the same spot. The first had burned down in 1857, and the second had been razed in 1870 to make way for a much grander home once the family’s financial situation began to consolidate. James himself had died in 1879, followed quickly by his wife in 1880, neither having lived to see their two surviving children marry. Jeannie had met Lachlan in 1882 and married him two years later. At Andrew’s invitation Lachlan had come to live at Kenmore to be with his new wife and to help Andrew to run the station.

  Two full-time shepherds and their families also lived on the station, and an extra nine or ten men came out for the shearing season. Although Andrew used the latest shearing equipment and the new hollow-top shearing tables, shearing 19,000 sheep was a long, arduous and expensive job and he was looking forward to someone inventing a machine that would do the job in half the time. He’d read recently that someone in Australia was working on a prototype fuelled by wood and sheep dags, of all things.

  Most of his profits, he told Tamar, came from wool exports, although in 1882 he’d been one of the first to export frozen sheep and lamb carcasses when the new refrigerated ships were introduced. The deepening depression had indeed had an impact on his profits, but there was plenty of money in the bank and, due to the scale of his operations, he was still doing very well. Andrew also explained that although title to the land had been transferred to him when his father had died, as it had been assumed Jeannie would marry, he’d regularly shared the profits with her and ensured the land would go to both his and her children on their deaths.

  Later, resisting the urge to wear her most flamboyant outfit, Tamar dressed for dinner in a stylish, pale grey satin gown and pulled her hair back in a simple style, fastened with two clips decorated with jet beads. At the dinner table, she commented on Jeannie’s gown, which was an attractive deep burgundy. She wondered if Andrew’s sister had made a special effort to impress her.

  ‘Is the fabric in your gown crepe de Chine, Jeannie?’ she asked conversationally. ‘It’s a lovely shade. And it’s bespoke, isn’t it? Your seamstress should be complimented.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jeannie replied, momentarily flustered. ‘Yes, it is bespoke. A woman in Napier does my sewing. My special outfits anyway.’ She stopped and her hand flew to her mouth.

  Ah, I knew she’d dressed deliberately, thought Tamar. Andrew and Lachlan glanced at each other, aware that something had passed between the women but completely mystified as to what. They put their heads down and concentrated on their food.

  ‘You sew then, Tamar?’ asked Jeannie.

  ‘Yes, I’m a trained cutter and seamstress and I did quite a lot of sewing in Auckland.’ She did not elaborate.

  ‘I’m not a very good seamstress myself,’ Jeannie replied. ‘I can crochet, tat, knit and embroider, but I’m hopeless with garments, I have to admit. Nobody will wear anything I make.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help you, if you’d like,’ volunteered Tamar. She knew Jeannie did not like her, but there was no point in feuding, especially if they were going to live together. ‘I can’t cook, and this meal is wonderful. Perhaps you could teach me to cook in exchange.’

  Andrew looked shocked; he hadn’t realised Tamar couldn’t cook. But then he smiled as he caught on.

  Jeannie nodded. ‘No doubt we can work something out that suits us both.’

  Tamar wondered if her new sister-in-law was referring to the domestic arrangements, or to their relationship.

  Sitting in bed later, Tamar said to Andrew, ‘She doesn’t like me.’

  ‘Och, give her time. She can’t not like you forever. Who could?’ he asked, sliding next to her under the cool linen sheets. ‘I think she was surprised you didn’t polish off the decanter of sherry before dinner and burst into bawdy songs after the pudding. She’s had a sheltered life.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem naive to me.’

  ‘No, she isn’t naive, but she hasn’t seen as much of the world as you.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ Tamar agreed.

  Andrew leaned over and kissed her and she let herself succumb to the lovemaking she’d decided she was more than happy to become accustomed to.

  The following day, Andrew gave Tamar a guided tour of the house, which was indeed splendid, and the equally beautiful gardens, then took her riding.

  Tamar hadn’t been on a horse for years and felt particularly unsafe balanced precariously on a side-saddle wondering when, not if, she was going to fall. She had ridden in Cornwall, but only shaggy little pit ponies. She did not end up on the ground, but did get into a terrible tangle with her skirts, her single stirrup, her crop, and the reins. And her hat blew away. Andrew laughed.

  ‘You’re going to have to get the hang of it, my dear. People do a lot of riding around here. There are some places you still can’t take a wagon safely — especially between homesteads. Well, not if you want to get there before midnight. And I’m plannin
g on doing a lot of socialising.’

  After that she practised surreptitiously in one of the back paddocks, but still felt uncomfortable. The horse Andrew had given her was not particularly flighty, but had a tendency to take the bit between his teeth when he galloped.

  The following week Andrew announced he wanted to have a dinner party to introduce Tamar to his friends, and decided she and Jeannie should deliver invitations to some of their closer neighbours by hand. Or rather by horseback.

  ‘Perhaps you could get to know each other a little better on the way!’ he suggested cheerfully. Both women gave him dirty, sideways looks. He was aware they had come to some sort of truce, but was still conscious of a barrier between them.

  On the appointed day, Andrew and Lachlan set out early to check the station’s western boundaries, leaving Tamar and Jeannie to themselves. They were standing together in the yard waiting for Rathbone, Kenmore’s elderly gardener-cum-stablehand, to bring the horses around. The father of one of the shepherds, Rathbone was a dour little Irishman. He never said much to anyone, unless asked to discuss some aspect of the gardens. He lived for his herbaceous borders.

  He silently held Jeannie’s horse as she mounted, then led Tamar’s over to the mounting block. She clambered on, then got straight off again.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, Jeannie, I just can’t ride in this skirt. It’s absurd. Rathbone, please put a proper saddle on my horse,’ she said, and went inside. She emerged fifteen minutes later, wearing a pair of Andrew’s work trousers and one of his shirts, carrying a shoulder bag in which she’d stuffed her visiting clothes. Rathbone, holding Tamar’s re-saddled horse, took one look at the trousers and averted his eyes, utterly scandalised. Andrew’s trousers were rather tight on her curvaceous bottom, leaving little to the imagination. Jeannie took a brief look, then turned her horse in the opposite direction and concentrated on looking between its ears. Even Tamar’s horse shied.