CHAPTER NINE
Troubled Waters
Luncheon was served in the Rosewood dining room several hours later, and Frances sat at the dining table, absently toying with the food on her plate. As she prodded her egg and bacon pie with her fork, she reflected on the scene that she had witnessed earlier involving Michael and his newly arrived brother. Until George Brearly’s unexpected appearance she had sensed a growing connection between herself and Michael, a bond she felt would only strengthen over time. The revelation, therefore, that he was to marry her cousin Agnes, effectively severed this bond, and left her with nothing but a sense of emptiness and disappointment.
Michael, meanwhile, was informing everyone at the table of George’s plans to remain at Rosewood House until the wedding. Frances was too engrossed in her own thoughts to pay heed to Michael’s words, and was only conscious of her aunt drawing in a sharp breath. Uppermost in Frances’s mind was Michael Brearly’s engagement to her cousin. She had discovered from her aunt that they had been engaged for over a year, and that it was common knowledge throughout the neighbourhood. Frances thought it odd that Michael had neglected to tell her of it, especially after Frances had discovered Agnes’s photograph in one of his books. To Frances’s mind, this would have been the perfect opportunity for him to tell her about it. Unconsciously, Frances began mashing her pie up with her knife. In the background, Louisa was speaking.
‘So, George,’ she was saying haughtily, ‘I imagine you will be here for Christmas then.’
‘You bet I will,’ George replied, beginning to carve up his pie with a violence that made the dining table shake. ‘By Jove! There’s enough food here on this plate for me to graze on for weeks!’
‘George,’ Michael said, ‘would you please stop shaking the table. It is most inconsiderate.’
George’s hands faltered, and sure enough, the table stopped wobbling. ‘I consider myself sufficiently chastened,’ he said smirking. ‘I shan’t do it again.’
‘It really does baffle me to see you cut your food like that,’ Michael continued. ‘I hope you do not intend to operate on your patients with such vigour.’ An amused George promptly burst out laughing. ‘It is no joke,’ Michael added over the top of George’s laughter. ‘You are to be a physician, not a butcher.’
Before George could reply to his brother’s quip, Louisa intervened. ‘And when are you to finish your studies, George? Is it next year or the following year?’
‘Next year,’ George enumerated, spearing a tiny shred of lettuce with alarming accuracy.
Louisa turned towards Frances. ‘George is studying Medicine at the University of Melbourne.’
Frances directed an admiring gaze to the younger brother, and in return, George met her glance with another one of his dazzling smiles.
‘George is following in his brother’s footsteps,’ Louisa explained, ‘although as I understand it, George, you will not be practising in Hobart.’
‘Definitely not,’ George declared, this time stabbing a large piece of tomato. ‘Hobart is dull. Awfully dull. Nothing ever happens here, except unemployment rallies.’ He crammed the tomato into his mouth, and ignoring Louisa’s looks of disapproval, kept talking with his mouth full. ‘Melbourne, then again, is where everything happens.’
‘You do not need to convince Frances of that,’ Louisa came back with. ‘Frances has spent many years living in Melbourne.’
‘Have you really?’ George cried, sitting upright in his chair. ‘How wonderful. Tell me, Miss Norwood, what is your opinion of Melbourne? Whereabouts were you living? What did you spend your time doing?’
Frances nibbled her lip thoughtfully. She didn’t know which question to answer first, but before she could answer any of the questions, Louisa cut in.
‘Frances, I am afraid to say, rode a bicycle and was a governess.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ George retaliated.
‘I do not want to go into details,’ Louisa said disdainfully, ‘suffice to say that I do not agree with women riding bicycles, or working. It is not seemly. A woman’s place is in the home, most assuredly.’
Frances was stung by these words and she looked away. How many times had she heard this rhetoric from her aunt? It was becoming so wearisome!
‘It is no wonder there are so many unemployed men rallying on the streets, when women are forcing their way into the workplace,’ Louisa observed. ‘Oh, I should die of shame if my daughters ever decided to work.’ She pronounced the last word contemptuously.
‘Yes, well I don’t have the luxury of living off inheritance money, like some people do,’ a red-faced Frances retorted, referring to her aunt. ‘If I don’t work, I don’t get paid. What’s more, I’m of the opinion that working is preferable to being a lady of leisure. I’m not cut out for a life of drawing, sewing and entertaining friends.’
‘Well said, Miss Norwood,’ George declared, thumping his fist on his lap. ‘Well said!’
‘If you think that is all married women do all day,’ Louisa explained, ‘then you are exceedingly mistaken. They work tirelessly to support their husbands and nurture their children. Unlike these supposed modern women, with idle bones in their body, they do not just think of themselves.’
An exasperated Frances set down her knife and fork onto her plate. How she hated her aunt sometimes! As she stared stonily at her aunt, she secretly wondered what she had done to deserve a public dressing down. If only she could defend herself, and tell Louisa what she really thought of her! Not wishing to traverse such dangerous territory, Frances found her safety in silence.
‘Ah, don’t you just love family meals,’ George remarked, trying to dispel the awkward silence.
‘George,’ Michael warned, ‘don’t.’
‘All right, all right,’ George said laughingly. ‘I was just trying to lighten the mood with an ice-breaker.’ He began drumming his fingers on the table. ‘So, Miss Norwood,’ he persevered in the same light-hearted tone, ‘you must love children, then, if you’re a governess.’
‘No, not at all, Mr Brearly,’ Frances confessed. ‘I don’t have a maternal bone in my body.’
George erupted into laughter. ‘Oh, Miss Norwood!’ he cried. ‘What an odd creature you are! You’re a governess who doesn’t even like children. How awfully ironic!’
‘Oh, hush, Frances!’ Louisa commanded, ‘how can you say such things?’ She cast Frances a censorious look. ‘Do not believe a word of what she is saying. Frances likes to say controversial things. Speaking of being controversial,’ she went on, ‘where is that ghastly bicycle of yours? The one you fled my house on? As long as you live under my roof you shall not ride it.’
Frances was then reminded of her beloved bike, lying unprotected along the roadside. She vowed to rescue it as soon as possible.
‘And will you work here, Miss Norwood?’ George asked, ignoring Louisa’s comments.
‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ Louisa griped. ‘If Frances does decide to stay in Hobart, I will have to support her at Wintersleigh. Unless she marries, of course.’
Frances looked miserably down at her plate of mashed pie. While her aunt’s words reverberated painfully in her ears, she wondered how she had ever got herself into such a situation. Having little money of her own, Louisa’s offer of financial assistance seemed generous, but in essence it was a trap designed to ensnare her. Dependency on Louisa’s money chained her to Wintersleigh until she married (if she ever married) and condemned her to a life akin to her aunt’s life of conservatism and domesticity. As Frances’s spirit rebelled against that prospect, she silently resolved to seek employment as a governess, and leave Wintersleigh as soon as she could. She had the renewed will to leave; all that remained now was the opportunity.
Breakfast at Midnight Page 9
