The Day She Cradled Me Page 15

  ‘Ellen Ann,’ I say, pulling the girl round front of me. ‘Isn’t it, Ellie?’

  ‘Ellen Ann. Well, if that isn’t the prettiest name I ever did hear. I’ll have that tummy of yours full before you know it.’

  After a supper of boiled meat I tuck Ellie into the little bed upstairs and venture down to the fireside.

  ‘It is such a pleasure to have you here,’ Aunt Christina says. She takes my hand and holds it to her heart. ‘Stay as long as you need. This is your house.’

  Tears spring to my eyes as we embrace. For the first time since Mother died, I am truly home — though so tarnished I will sully Aunt Christina and her family if I stay. I pull away and wipe my eyes with the corner of my skirt. ‘I will only bring disgrace,’ I say. ‘My condition is not one of repute by any means.’

  ‘And who says?’

  ‘I have one daughter without a father and now another on the way. I have no husband or means of support.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Do you remember when I was very small and I forgot my shoes on the Sabbath?’

  She nods. ‘I do, clearly.’

  ‘Do you recall the young woman sat up front on the stool?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We will be persecuted.’

  ‘Were you in Tasmania?’

  ‘No, but I …’ It is not easy to admit my dishonesty. ‘Look where it got me.’

  She leans forward on her chair and again takes my hands. ‘Minnie, listen to me, child. Society here is no less harsh on sinful practices than in the homeland, and I couldn’t bear to see you subjected to that cruelty. Now, I don’t advocate deceit — not in normal circumstances, at any rate. But think on it, Minnie, for Ellen Ann and the little one, as much as yourself.’ I squeeze her hands. ‘Ah, no, not for me, don’t think of an old woman’s needs, for the needs of your bairns are most important. There’s no reason for anyone else to know what you have told me this night. As far as I am concerned, you breathed not a word of it, and no mention of it will ever pass my lips again.’

  I close my eyes, feel how my heart races. I succeeded once at fabricating a background. Can I do it again?

  ‘What do you say of it, my dear? Shall we give it a try?’

  ‘Best to get the introductions over and away with,’ Aunt Christina says the following morn after service.

  She turns to the group just emerged from church.

  ‘Allow me to introduce my niece, Williamina. Lost her husband not two months ago, and such a great loss it is on account of his having been a fine doctor. Yes, this is her dear sweet child Ellen Ann, left fatherless, and of course the dear wee bairn not quite with us. Yes, it is terribly sad — the baby is due in less than two months, yet already never to hear the voice of his honourable father. Yes, Williamina is the daughter of my late sister; her father is a clergyman of high regard. Yes, of course he sends his deepest sympathies, but surely the colony is a better place to bring up wee bairns than with the trappings of sinful life back in the homeland to contend with. Yes, it is my sincere hope that we will be blessed with their presence for the foreseeable future, at least while they recover from the dreadful shock of it all. Yes, please do come by, as you know we will be at home on Thursday to receive guests, or you can leave your card.’

  My cousin Chrissie examines my swollen belly as I reach awkwardly for a cup. ‘I think you’ve dropped,’ she says. She looks past my shoulder to where the children are playing. ‘Mary, don’t push Ellen too high on that swing, she’s only small.’

  ‘I shall surely burst if it isn’t over soon.’

  Chrissie slips her boots from her feet and rubs them bare across the grass. ‘Why not let Mrs Nobbs take a look?’

  ‘Mrs Nobbs was by only yesterday. She thinks it’ll be a while yet.’

  ‘With Christmas the end of next week, you’d think there might be something she could do for you. What about a dose of cod liver oil?’

  ‘No thank you! I’d rather wait, whatever the discomfort.’

  And now Ellie is off the swing and eager to clamber into my lap.

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘Yes, Ellie?’

  ‘What will we call him?’ It is a question she returns to often.

  ‘If it’s a boy, he’ll be Whiskers,’ I say, and she giggles. ‘Like Mrs Parsons’ cat next door.’ I feel quite safe having made this promise. We are, after all, a girl family. ‘And if it’s a girl, she’ll be …’ A sharp pain catches me off guard. ‘Help,’ I cry, clutching my stomach as the tightening doubles me over.

  ‘Great Aunt Christina!’ Ellie yells. ‘Come quickly, it’s Mother …’

  ‘Minnie? Are you all right?’ Aunt Christina comes running and puts her hand to my forehead. ‘Come on, we’ll help you inside. Chrissie, take her other arm.’

  Gently they help me to my feet.

  ‘Ahh.’ The pain comes again, starting small and then worsening.

  ‘I think this might it be it. Here, let’s get you inside before another one comes. Chrissie, best you head down and fetch Mrs Nobbs. Ellie, come over here away from your mother.’

  ‘No.’ Ellie grips my arm. ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Ellie.’ Aunt Christina’s voice is stern as she eases me onto the bed.

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Ellie, do as you’re t … ahh.’

  ‘Breathe through it, Minnie, nice deep breaths.’

  Ellie is at the end of the bed, staring at me. ‘Is he coming out now?’

  ‘Yes, Ellie. Now do as I say and run outside and play.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to go.’

  ‘You don’t have a choice, Ellen Ann. There’s no time to be stubborn.’ Aunt Christina picks the child up and carries her from the room. I can hear the screams from outside.

  It is a mercifully quick birth. The baby arrives in less than an hour. ‘It’s all right, Ellie,’ I say as she runs across the room.

  ‘She wouldn’t let me in.’ Ellie glares at Aunt Christina from under my arm. Mrs Nobbs has wrapped the baby in cloth. I pull back the edge and stare at the red crinkled face. Ellie’s eyes widen. ‘It’s all squished,’ she says.

  ‘It’s just been born, child.’ Aunt Christina reaches out to her, but Ellie wriggles in closer to me, and touches the top of the baby’s head.

  ‘Is he Whiskers?’ she asks.

  The little mouth opens for food.

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘no, he isn’t Whiskers.’

  Mrs Nobbs leans down to help the baby suckle; the tiny features loosen, and within moments it has fallen asleep.

  ‘He isn’t Whiskers, Ellie,’ I say, ‘because this is your new baby sister. And her name —’ I bend to kiss the tiny nose — ‘is Isabella.’

  The room smells strongly of ink, and machinery drones behind the counter where a lean young gentleman, his face hidden behind oversized spectacles, stands busily writing.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asks. His eyebrows lock together in a frown.

  The man in front of me steps forward. ‘Want to put a notice in the paper.’

  ‘I see, sir. And in what column would you like it to appear?’ The man’s spectacle frames are the size of my palms. I hold up my hand. No, they are even larger than my palms.

  ‘Any. Just make it big.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. But first I need to know where you would like it placed so I know what heading to put it under.’ He stifles a yawn.

  ‘I told you, I don’t care where it goes.’

  The man behind the counter sighs. ‘I understand, sir, but as you can see, my form very clearly states at the top here —’ he taps his page with the pencil — ‘that I must know precisely where to place your notice. For instance, is it a marriage or a birth? Or do you want to advertise something?’

  ‘I want it spread round that Stevenson’s a no-good liar and a cheat.’

  The clerk raises his eyebrows. ‘Very good, sir. Notices. And it will read?’

  ‘The scoundrel G.T. Stevenson hasn’t cleared his debt and t
ill he does I’m taking his black horse, so if you are fool enough to enter an agreement with him over it, you will have me to deal with.’

  ‘I see. It does use a lot of words, sir. And words cost money. Might I suggest a few … alterations? Just to ease the financial burden. For instance, how does this sound? “Please be cautioned against financial dealings with Mr G.T. Stevenson.”’ His pencil is poised.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And that would cost you considerably less.’

  The man shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t say anything.’

  ‘But it does, you see. It says that he may not be a wise choice with whom to pursue matters of finance.’

  ‘No. I like it how it was.’

  ‘That may be so, sir, but if I could just point out —’

  ‘No. Leave it as it was.’

  ‘We might put, “Affairs with Mr G.T. Stevenson regarding his black horse are not advised.”’

  The man nods. ‘Better, but I like it the way it was.’

  ‘The language you have used is very strong, sir. I am afraid that I cannot allow it in its current form.’

  ‘Listen here —’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say.

  ‘I beg your pardon, madam. I will be with you in just a moment.’

  ‘Why not try: “I hereby caution all parties against buying a black horse from Mr G.T. Stevenson. I hold and claim the same until his affairs are settled with.”’

  Both men observe me silently; the clerk purses his lips.

  ‘Sir?’ he says at last, looking at me with narrowed eyes.

  ‘I agree to that.’

  ‘Are you quite sure? My suggestion is much shorter and certainly less expensive.’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  The clerk glowers. ‘I could perhaps reduce the cost by five per cent,’ he says quietly, ‘if you use my suggestion.’

  ‘No. As the lady said. Not a change.’

  I wait as they arrange payment.

  ‘Now, madam. What is it you would like?’ He has his spectacles off now and shakes them at me.

  ‘I was wondering if a position of children’s governess has been advertised of late.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could you perhaps check back issues?’

  ‘No.’ The man looks at me; his nose twitches with disdain, and he twirls the spectacles round and round in his fingers. ‘I do not need to check. I take all advertisements myself, and the answer is no.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. And we are not a reading service. Buy the paper like everyone else.’

  My cheeks burn hot. I fasten my bonnet under my chin, turn on my heel and make for the door; the man with the horse quickly opens it for me.

  ‘You’ve a way with words,’ he says as I pass through.

  I look up at his face. His eyes are kind and honest, for all his ruggedness.

  ‘Not bad for a woman,’ he adds.

  I feel my cheeks flush even deeper.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ the man behind the counter calls. ‘Sir, I am afraid you have forgotten to give me your name. You do want it at the end of your notice, do you not?’

  ‘It’s Dean, Charles Dean, of Dunrobin Station. And I want that printed big.’

  ‘In capitals,’ I say over my shoulder as we step onto the street.

  Months later and we are still living on Aunt Christina’s generosity. Isabella is nearing her first birthday, and as I sit entertaining our tea-time visitors I cannot help but share my plight.

  ‘Dear Minnie, you are so caring in nature — any family would be lucky to have you tend their children.’

  I smile in gratitude. Catherine Cameron is recently off the boat and has accompanied Chrissie in an effort to acquaint herself with new friends. With her cheerful disposition she is a delightful addition to any gathering, and we form an instant bond that I sense will last far beyond this, our first meeting.

  Chrissie claps her hand together. ‘Why did you not say so before? Come and stay with us. Mr West and I could use the services of a governess, particularly now we have another on the way.

  ‘But what of Ellen and Isabella?’ I ask hopefully, avoiding Ellie’s eyes from the far side of the room, for I anticipate the response. Chrissie’s house is tasteful, but it is also small.

  ‘I am sure Mama would be happy to mind them both during the week. You could return here on weekends.’

  Aunt Christina carries in the plate of cakes.

  ‘We would pay you well, minus expenses of course, but it would still be more than worth your while.’

  ‘I don’t want to take charity.’

  ‘It would not be charity, Minnie, not by any means. And it would only be until you find a husband.’

  ‘A new husband,’ Aunt Christina corrects.

  I turn now to look at Ellie. She stares at me, wide-eyed, and then runs out of the room. I start to follow, but am stopped by Aunt Christina’s hand. ‘Leave the child, Minnie. I’ll talk with her. She’ll come round, I promise. The girls will be fine with me. Both of them.’

  Aunt Christina tosses Isabella up into the air.

  ‘Why won’t you let me come and live with you?’

  Four summers have come and passed and still her question remains the same.

  ‘Ellie, you know you can’t.’

  ‘But it’s my birthday next week. You asked what I would like.’

  ‘I was referring to a doll or some other such toy.’

  ‘I don’t want any of those.’

  ‘There is barely enough room where I lodge as it is. Besides, what would Great Aunt Christina do without you?’

  ‘She doesn’t like me. She only likes Isabella.’

  I hear Isabella laughing as Aunt Christina pushes her on the swing. ‘Nonsense. She loves both of you girls, just as much as the other.’

  It is difficult to win the argument when I sense she is right. Isabella is five now and can charm even the prickliest gentleman with her dimpled smile. I look at Ellie, who is about to turn eight — a total contrast to her sister. It troubles me that she is quiet and reserved when I visit, and so melancholy when it comes time to leave.

  ‘I will do my utmost,’ I say.

  She turns her back as I try to kiss her goodbye.

  I have neared wit’s end when at long last I am approached by the wife of Mr Henry Howells, owner of the Halfway Bush Hotel.

  ‘You’re Mrs Kelly’s widowed niece, the daughter of a clergyman, and already with good experience,’ Mrs Howells says. ‘You come with sound reputation and we would be more than delighted to engage your services.’ Any doubts as to the appropriateness of my residing in a hotel are laid firmly to rest when she adds, ‘You will, of course, be bringing your two daughters? How hard it must be to lose a father and such a fine father at that, a surgeon no less. They must be allowed to remain with their mother as much as is possible.’

  Aunt Christina has tears in her eyes. ‘I shall pray every day for your success,’ she says when the time comes for our departure. ‘Goodbye, Minnie. Goodbye, dear Isabella.’ She holds the child close; I fear for a moment she will not release her. ‘Oh,’ she says at last, the tears now falling at will, ‘and, of course, goodbye to you as well, Ellen Ann.’

  Despite my best efforts, success proves hard to find at the Halfway Bush Hotel. Before long I am scrubbing the floors, preparing the food and even tending the hotel bar, so that there is precious little time with any of the children, let alone my own.

  ‘Where is Nightcaps?’ Ellie asks me several months later when I tell her that we will be leaving. ‘I don’t want to move again. I like it here. Will the new place have room for Isabella?’

  ‘Nightcaps is far from here. But we need to leave, and I am sure you will like it there. Oh, and yes, there is plenty of room for you, and Isabella as well.’

  Aunt Christina is also eager to hear about the new family, though not for the same reason. On our very first stay with her after settling in, she loses no time in asking, ‘Are there opportunit
ies?’

  ‘Opportunities?’

  ‘Yes, my dear girl, and you know exactly what I’m referring to, so don’t turn coy with me.’

  I sigh, lowering our bags to the floor. ‘I expect so,’ I say. ‘Though I am kept very busy.’

  ‘Not like the last position? I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard my niece was behind a bar pouring ale. The nerve of those Howells.’

  ‘I have little time for myself all the same.’

  ‘You are attending parties?’

  ‘As governess.’

  ‘But you are attending?’

  ‘Yes. But —’

  ‘But nothing. There must be menfolk at these gatherings.’

  ‘Yes —’

  ‘Good.’ She cuts me off. ‘That is all I wanted to hear. When is the next one?’

  I sigh again. ‘I believe we are to spend this coming weekend at Mr Basstian’s residence.’

  Her eyes light up. ‘This weekend? How wonderful. Now you listen to me. You only have one chance, Minnie. Your looks will fade as quickly as that —’ She snaps her fingers. ‘Look at me. When Dugald died, I could have rested and looked no further — just think of all I would have denied myself had that been the case.’ She pauses. ‘How old are you now?’

  ‘Twenty-seven.’

  ‘Twenty-seven? My word, Minnie, you’re far from young. It won’t be long and there will be nothing to save you.’

  ‘I am of comfortable means and the girls are provided for.’

  ‘You are of moderate means, and don’t pretend otherwise. Now listen here, I recall the young bairn who wanted to live as a gentlewoman. You let go your dreams, Minnie, you have nothing.’ Aunt Christina can barely contain herself. ‘This weekend, you say. Good. Very good.’