A Second Chance

by Shayne Parkinson

‘Did you? Is everything all right? I know those dresses must have cost you an awful lot.’

  ‘I’m already receiving a fine return on the investment in the pleasure of watching you,’ Sarah said, indicating Amy’s silk dress with a graceful wave of her hand. ‘But really, Amy, you must learn to be teased. A few silk dresses are not about to ruin me.

  ‘This morning’s work was most satisfactory,’ she went on. ‘I’d prepared my ground thoroughly, and I was well rewarded. I paid quite a bit less than the original asking price, and I believe the land will be worth a good deal more than that asking price in a few years. It’s an area that I expect to flourish—Newmarket, it’s called, I’ll take you for a drive out there some afternoon.’

  ‘I’d like that. I don’t know anything about buying land, but I want to try and understand things.’

  ‘There’s nothing amiss with your understanding,’ Sarah said. ‘Though I rather suspect you’re too soft-hearted ever to develop a head for business.’ She studied Amy, her satisfaction evident. ‘Well, my dear, now we’ve some decent clothes for you, I’d better do something about showing you off properly. I think I shall arrange a soirée.’

  ‘What’s that, Sarah?’ Amy asked, completely mystified.

  Sarah smiled. ‘A soirée, dearest, is distantly related to what Mrs Kelly calls a… a soyree, is it?’

  ‘Oh! I always wondered if Lizzie was saying that properly. How do you say it? Could you teach me?’

  ‘Of course. Say soirée,’ she said, sounding it out slowly and clearly.

  ‘Swah-ray,’ Amy echoed carefully.

  Sarah repeated the lesson several times until they were both satisfied with Amy’s pronunciation.

  ‘Very good,’ she decreed. ‘You’d almost satisfy my old French teacher, and she was not easily pleased. There’s an odd way one is supposed to sound the “r”, but I never could get my tongue around that. It’s a French word, you see. It means “evening”.’

  ‘But Lizzie usually has hers in the afternoon. It’s more convenient, with everyone having to get up early of a morning.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I never felt it my place to point out her error of translation. And hers are, after all, “soyrees”.

  ‘Let me see,’ Sarah went on with growing enthusiasm, ‘next week should be notice enough if I organise a guest list straight away. There are one or two people I’ve been intending to invite. My plans have been rather turned upside down over the last months, of course, due to you, my dear.’ She smiled at Amy, and reached over to give her hand a squeeze. ‘You’ve been more than worth it.

  ‘Soirées are so much simpler than dinner parties. For dinner parties I feel the need to rope in a respectable gentleman of mature years to act as host to my hostess, and presumably to keep the younger men in some semblance of order over the port. I do have the occasional dinner party, of course—apart from social obligation, Mrs Jenson happens to be an excellent cook, and it wouldn’t be fair to deny her the opportunity to show off her skills. I’ll probably have one later in the year, you’ll be well used to society by then. But we’ll start with a soirée.’

  6

  An invitation to a Millish soirée was keenly sought after, but not easily gained. The soirées had been well-known enough under the senior Millishes, but Sarah had put her own particular stamp on them in recent years, with younger guests sprinkled among the influential people of Auckland, and a fair selection of struggling artists only too grateful for Sarah’s discreet patronage.

  Amy was an interested observer as Sarah drew up a guest list and sent out invitations. The maids moved the drawing room furniture about, and special flower arrangements were set up in the drawing room and hall on the day before the soirée. The piano tuner was called in, his first visit in some time, as Sarah frankly admitted to having neglected her playing for months. Amy admired the way the household staff went about their tasks, with no fluster or bother, simply an impression of well-ordered busyness.

  The day of the soirée arrived. Amy was shy at the thought of meeting so many strangers, but eager to observe such interesting people. And she was sure that in her visiting gown of heavy bronze satin she would be as well-dressed as anyone in the room.

  Sarah had explained that, along with various acquaintances of hers, there would be two people at the soirée whom she had not yet met.

  ‘A violinist who’s moved here from Wellington—he wrote me such a terribly deferential letter, full of apologies for presuming so much, but just wondering if I might possibly have any interest in someone to entertain at social functions, and if he could possibly be of any use in such a capacity. I thought it would do no harm to offer the fellow a good supper and something to defray his expenses in exchange for his providing us with pleasant music—always assuming his playing is pleasant, of course. And we’re to have a lady composer, no less! I gather the woman’s making a precarious living out of selling her songs, so any sort of exposure can only do her good. It should be an interesting evening.’

  The first guest to arrive showed a good deal more nervousness than Amy had felt even at her most anxious. Sarah and Amy were giving the drawing room a final inspection, and were about to go upstairs to add the finishing touches to their costumes for the evening, when one of the maids ushered into the drawing room a young man with a faintly terrified expression, a case under one arm, and a mop of straw-coloured hair that, judging from the convulsive movements of his right hand, seemed to need constant smoothing down.

  The maid introduced the new arrival as Mr Vincent, the violinist, then bobbed a curtsy and left the room.

  ‘Ah, how do you do, Mr Vincent,’ Sarah said, extending a hand for the new arrival to shake. ‘I’m so glad you’ve arrived a little early.’

  ‘Early?’ Mr Vincent echoed anxiously. ‘Am I too early? I’m so sorry—it’s the trams, you see. I wasn’t sure how long they’d take, and I had to change trams, so I made sure I allowed plenty of time, and… oh, dear,’ he said when he caught sight of the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I am too early. I should have walked about in the park a little—I’m terribly sorry, Miss Millish.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s most sensible of you to get here well in time. I’m sure you’ll want to check the acoustics of this room and so forth—I know how particular you musicians are.’

  ‘Oh,’ the violinist said, his nervousness replaced by confusion, and then by a visible relief. ‘Oh, well, I suppose it would be rather good… yes, I wouldn’t mind the chance to try out the room first.’

  ‘Very well.’ Sarah graced him with a smile. ‘Mrs Stewart and I will leave you in peace.’

  She and Amy managed to get halfway up the stairs before meeting each other’s eyes made them both dissolve in fits of muffled laughter.

  ‘What a terrified little man,’ Sarah said when they had gained the comparative safety of the upstairs passage. ‘I almost thought he was going to run away when he realised the time.’

  ‘The poor man,’ Amy said, sympathy struggling to prevail over mirth. ‘He’s probably not used to fancy houses like yours. I almost know what he must feel like.’

  ‘Well, no one would know it by looking at you. You look quite in your element, dressed so beautifully. And I think I know just the finishing touch.’ She took Amy’s arm and steered her towards Sarah’s bedroom.

  Sarah opened an inlaid wooden box that rested on her dressing table. The box seemed to have numerous compartments, but she reached unhesitatingly towards one of them and drew forth a necklace set with blue stones. She fastened it around Amy’s neck, then led her over to a long mirror to see the effect.

  She stood behind Amy, hands resting lightly on her shoulders. ‘Yes, that’s just right.’

  ‘Such a pretty necklace,’ Amy said, watching how it caught the light at her slightest movement. ‘Especially these lovely blue stones.’

  ‘They’re sapphires—the blue matches your eyes beautifully. This was one of Mother’s favourites.’

  Amy put a tentative hand o
n the necklace. ‘Was it?’ she asked, a twinge of guilt threatening to mar her pleasure.

  ‘Yes, it was. And no, Mother wouldn’t have minded your wearing it. She would have been delighted.’

  Sarah found the necklace’s matching bracelet and placed it around Amy’s wrist, then chose a heavy gold necklace for herself. The gold brooch Amy had given her so long before was already pinned to Sarah’s bodice. She ran an appraising eye over Amy and gave a nod.

  ‘Perfect. Now, come and let me show you off.’

  It was still a few minutes before eight o’clock when the next guests arrived, these two showing none of Mr Vincent’s nervousness.

  Left to her own devices, Amy might have slipped away into a quiet corner and observed the new guests unseen, but Sarah’s firm grip on her arm banished any such foolish urges. She steered Amy into the entrance hall, where the new arrivals were being relieved of their cloaks by the maids.

  ‘Amy, may I introduce Mr and Mrs Martin Wells.’ Sarah released Amy’s arm to exchange a kiss of greeting with the young woman. ‘Emily and I were at school together.’

  She took Amy’s arm again and drew her forward. ‘And this is my very dear friend Mrs Stewart, whom I’ve talked of so much.’ Sarah cast the warmest of smiles at Amy. ‘Emily happens to be a very fine singer, so we can be sure of some pleasant entertainment, even if Mr Vincent is too terrified to give of his best.’

  ‘Terrified of me?’ Emily Wells said, her eyes wide open in mock horror. ‘Goodness, I didn’t know I had that effect on musicians!’ Her serious expression dissolved into a smile, and a small giggle escaped her.

  ‘Your reputation obviously precedes you, my dear,’ Martin remarked, and was rewarded by a broader smile from Emily.

  ‘Oh, I think Mr Vincent would be terrified no matter how meek a creature you were,’ Sarah said. ‘I really must warn you, dear, he’s such a frightened little rabbit of a man that if you so much as look at him sharply he may run away.’

  Emily laughed merrily. ‘I’ll be on my best behaviour—I won’t frighten him even a tiny bit. Oh, I’ve so looked forward to meeting you, Mrs Stewart,’ she said, taking Amy’s hand. ‘Sarah’s hardly talked of anything else since she knew you were coming to Auckland.’

  Sarah led the way into the drawing room and introduced Mr Vincent. At the mention of Emily’s name, the violinist looked more nervous than ever.

  ‘Mrs Wells,’ he said faintly. ‘Such an honour.’ His eyes slid away from Emily, and Amy thought she saw him cast a glance at the door of the room, as if measuring the distance in case he should have to make a run for it.

  But Emily gave him little opportunity for so foolish a move. As soon as she had been introduced, she hurried up to Mr Vincent, an anxious expression on her face in place of the bright smile of a few moments before.

  ‘Oh, Mr Vincent,’ she said, slightly breathless in her haste, ‘I do hope you’ll be patient with me—I’m afraid my voice is really not quite in this evening. I hope you won’t find accompanying me too unpleasant.’ She allowed herself a hesitant smile.

  ‘Why… why, not at all, Mrs Wells,’ Mr Vincent said, looking first puzzled, then a good deal more assured. ‘I’ll be most honoured to play for you. And I’m sure your voice will be more than satisfactory,’ he added with growing courage.

  ‘How kind of you,’ Emily said.

  Sarah ushered Emily and Amy to seats close to the fire. Amy had warmed immediately to this bright, bubbly woman, and within five minutes of sitting by her Amy knew that Emily had married just before she turned eighteen; that she had two little girls, one aged almost three and a baby of a year old, safely in the care of their nursemaid this evening; that Martin had a senior position in the Customs Department; and that Emily regularly sang at private functions. Amy relaxed quickly in Emily’s company, and was grateful to Sarah for providing her with so congenial a companion.

  The remaining guests arrived only a few minutes apart. Sarah had sent out her carriage for the lady composer, so that the young woman would not be obliged to walk the streets of Auckland alone at night. Miss Farrell’s outpourings of gratitude for the favour were only silenced when Sarah politely suggested she might care to set out her sheet music and acquaint herself with the piano.

  Miss Farrell had just begun acting on Sarah’s suggestion when the final guest arrived. Her first sight of the man told Amy that, unlike the two musicians, this was no shy, awkward person.

  ‘Mr Lewis, how delightful that you could come,’ Sarah greeted the newcomer. ‘Mr Lewis has only recently arrived in Auckland,’ she told her other guests. ‘He’s taken up an appointment at our university, lecturing in Classics, I believe—is that correct?’

  Mr Lewis smiled his agreement. The smile improved his already handsome face, Amy thought as she studied him discreetly. He looked to be around thirty, with pale skin and fair, almost white, hair. ‘Quite correct, Miss Millish,’ he said, revealing a pleasant speaking voice. ‘I’m still finding my way about the place, but I must say I’ve been made very welcome since I arrived in the Colony. Although I’m still to adjust to the topsy-turvy seasons!’

  The gentlemen took their seats, Emily went to stand close to the musicians, and the musical entertainment began.

  Emily had a lovely, rich voice with a wide range, skipping into the higher register without apparent effort. With her engaging manner and animated expression, she was a pleasure to watch as well as listen to.

  She began with two songs that seemed familiar to most of her audience; even Amy thought she had heard Lily play similar melodies. Then Miss Farrell started shuffling her sheet music about, casting anxious glances around the room as she did so, and Amy guessed that she was preparing to play some of her own compositions. Emily let her hand rest lightly on Miss Farrell’s shoulder for a moment in a gesture of encouragement before the music began.

  Amy knew she was no judge of music, but the songs seemed pretty to her. All three were love songs; all with a wistful feel about them. Emily sang beautifully, and there was vigorous applause when she had finished; Amy noticed that Martin was particularly enthusiastic in his.

  Emily returned to her seat to rest her voice, and Mr Vincent stood to take his turn. He played several pieces that sounded very clever and complicated to Amy, then he and Miss Farrell played together, which Amy enjoyed rather more. For the final performance, Emily went back to stand in front of the piano and sang another of Miss Farrell’s songs. As the last plaintive notes died away, the small audience applauded loudly, the gentlemen rising to show their admiration.

  A generous supper had been set out on a table against one wall. In the centre of the table was an elaborate floral arrangement, surrounded by bowls of fruit that seemed intended more for decoration than consumption. Spread around them were plates of dainty sandwiches, sliced meats, and pieces of fish, as well as meringues, fancy pastries, and half a dozen kinds of cakes and biscuits. The musicians stood awkwardly for a moment after Mr Vincent had put his violin in its case and they had tidied away their music, but Sarah gathered them up and led them to the supper table, where the guests were already serving themselves.

  There seemed to be nothing to drink but wine. Amy took a glass so as not to stand out, but did no more than moisten her lips with it. People began moving to sit down; Sarah slipped her arm through Amy’s and led her to a sofa to sit by Emily, while Sarah took a chair opposite them.

  The seats made a rough semi-circle, with some placed closer together than others, designed to encourage conversation among the whole group while also allowing two or three people to talk quietly together. Emily beckoned Miss Farrell to a chair on Amy’s other side, and Mr Vincent took the last free seat, which happened to be next to Miss Farrell’s.

  Emily leaned towards Miss Farrell and asked her opinion of how the concert had gone, managing to imply a certain nervousness on her own part over whether she had done the compositions justice. Miss Farrell, her eyes noticeably brighter, assured her that the songs had been much improved by Emil
y’s performance of them. Martin engaged Mr Vincent and Mr Lewis in conversation, though Mr Vincent seemed too awed to contribute more than a word or two. Sarah shifted her attention from group to group, adding a few words wherever discussion seemed on the point of lagging, and encouraging return visits to the supper table by anyone who cast a glance in its direction.

  ‘I must thank you, Miss Farrell, and you, Mr Vincent, for your fine performances this evening,’ Mr Lewis said, nodding to each of the musicians in turn. ‘I can assure you that such music would be well-received in any drawing room I’ve had the honour to visit in London.’

  Miss Farrell gave her thanks, accompanied by much nervous fluttering of her hands, while Mr Vincent seemed to have lost the power of speech.

  ‘Do you find Auckland society very different from that you were accustomed to at Home, Mr Lewis?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Well, I arrived rather too recently to have a well-informed opinion on the subject. Of course I’ve been made aware that one can meet with many cultivated people here in the Colony, and there are opportunities to discuss music and books and the like. I must say I’m relieved not to encounter suffragettes, be it in drawing rooms or on the streets,’ he added with a smile. ‘There have been some unpleasant episodes at Home.’

  ‘We’ve no need for suffragettes here,’ said Martin. ‘Our ladies gained the vote some time ago.’

  ‘And we value it highly,’ Sarah said. ‘I took great pleasure in casting my vote for the first time last year. I’m sure you vote, Amy?’

  It took an effort for Amy to speak to the room at large, but there were only friendly, interested faces turned to her. ‘Yes, I do. I voted the very first time women were allowed to.’ She smiled at the memory of how she had managed that feat, after Charlie had at first so firmly refused his permission.

  ‘I was so annoyed that I couldn’t last year,’ Emily said, pulling a face. ‘It seemed so unfair—I turned twenty-one just after the election.’

  ‘Your politicians are obviously very forward-thinking men, to be so much ahead of ours in England,’ said Mr Lewis. ‘I’ve been told Mr Seddon takes great pride in the progress that’s been made under his leadership. I understand that the ladies gained the vote without any great difficulty?’