Brigid the Girl from County Clare

by Vicky Adin

  Jamie returned a short while later with five tickets. “That was easier than I thought it’d be. We sail on the early morning tide.”

  Next she sent him to hand in his notice at work and tell them his cousin had taken sick up north and he had to go see him. He’d be back when he could. Then he was to take some of his things, but not all, from his lodgings at Mrs Hoskins’ boarding house and leave a few coins to cover his board. It wouldn’t pay for him to vanish without reason.

  Thankfully, Sunday evenings were quiet affairs since the bar was shut. After dinner, Sally packed up Maggie’s and the girls’ few belongings into carry bags – most of their possessions had been left in the cottage and no one wanted to go back there – and made the girls go to bed early. She promised she would wake them in plenty of time.

  She and Jamie had agreed not to write to Brigid and tell her what they intended. They’d have to take the chance she was at the address they had for her, but they couldn’t take the risk the postmaster would remember one of them posting a letter. The address would be a giveaway, should the police start asking questions. They had to disappear.

  Even so, Sally couldn’t leave Emily McKendrick without saying something. She didn’t want to tell Emily about Carruthers and his threats. He was a good customer, and she deserved his patronage, but if she knew what he’d done, Emily would kick up a right fuss. This way they could all go on as normal.

  In the end, Sally decided to leave a letter for her to find after they’d gone.

  Dear Mrs Emily,

  Yer’ve bin gud to me, and I thank ye for all yer’ve dun. I’m really sorry I’ve got to leave without a gud by or to tell ye why. Things hav gon bad for me and I need to go away where a man won’t find me. Please don’t tell any one. I will write one day when things get better. Yer’ve bin a gud friend. I won’t forget you.

  Sally

  It would have to do. It wasn’t the best letter, she knew, but she didn’t have the strength to write what she really wanted to say.

  Now all she could do was wait for the tide.

  * * *

  Brisbane

  19th July 1887

  “Mrs B, I don’t know what to say.” Brigid clutched the newspaper advertisement Beatrice Browne had given her, reading it through again, trying to grasp what her employer was offering.

  In the weeks since Mrs Browne had told Brigid to take control of her life and not get caught up in the clash between her husband and her son, tempers had escalated. Frequent outbursts between the two men could be heard ringing around the house. Mr Browne wanted Philip to travel to England again to buy more stock. Philip had refused unless his father gave in and allowed him a say in the way the business was run, and the right to use the brand in his expansion ideas. They reached an impasse. But that didn’t stop them yelling at one another at every opportunity. Beatrice was at her wits’ end.

  She decided to take action.

  “You say yes, of course.”

  The advert was from a New Zealand paper. How Mrs Browne found it was anyone’s guess, but a Mr A Munro, Draper of Auckland was quitting the business and offering the goodwill and stock at a ridiculously low price.

  “I’d love the chance. But how? I’ve not got any money and wouldn’t know how to go about all that business stuff.”

  “I do. Despite what my husband thinks, I know a few things about business. I know what women want, and how they want to dress themselves and their houses. I have money of my own – and ideas, too. Not that Philip would notice me either. But I can’t be seen to interfere. I’m prepared to purchase the building and the stock, if you are willing to go to New Zealand and ...”

  “On my own?” Brigid was aghast at the notion.

  “You came here on your own. Why should going to New Zealand be any different? It’s only a few days by sea. I’d be sorry to lose you, but you’d be doing me a far larger service by going.”

  Beatrice had planned it all. She’d even talked to her bank manager. She had the means, the determination and the opportunity to bypass her husband’s pig-headedness and meant to take it. “The shop is small, but it has passing foot traffic and rooms above it. All you have to do is give the customers what they want.”

  With accommodation sorted, stock on hand and an existing clientele, Beatrice couldn’t see how they could go wrong.

  Brigid wasn’t so convinced. “How will I know what that is? I’ve never ...”

  “Brigid. Stop arguing. You do know. You sew, design and make lace, and lots more besides, and you teach it, for goodness’ sake! You’ve chosen fabrics and threads, and all the notions and trims. You know what is needed.”

  In spite of her reservations, Brigid had to admit her employer was right.

  Mrs Browne continued without a pause: “All I’m asking you to do is open the doors in the morning, sit in the shop making your lace and let the customers come to you. When they come in, sell them what they want and write down the amount in a book.”

  Beatrice and Brigid talked about how she would price the stock, based on what they paid for retail stock here, and how she would replenish it.

  “Hopefully, I’d have sorted those men out by then, and I’ll allocate a share from the store here,” answered Beatrice confidently.

  Brigid thought of another problem. “What shall you call the shop? Not Harrison Browne, I’m guessing.”

  “Not yet, anyway. I can’t openly oppose my husband, but Philip’s ideas are the way of the future. Now, let me think ... how about ‘Miss Brigid’s, Ladies’ Mercer’?”

  Brigid was shocked and embarrassed. It would look like she was reaching above her station – she was a simple country girl, not a bigwig. “Oh, no, Mrs B, I couldn’t. It’s not mine, it’s yours.”

  “Not until I get my way. I don’t want to be seen to be involved. This way it looks like you up and left us for a chance in New Zealand that just happens to be exactly what Philip wanted but couldn’t have. Don’t worry, my dear. Your future will be secure.”

  Brigid raised her eyes heavenward. What do You say, Lord? Is this Your Will for me? Every time I ask for a sign, Master Philip appears in some way. Now it’s Mrs Browne offering me the same thing. Is my destiny tied to them?

  Beatrice continued to talk about the details, excited with her plans, while Brigid debated the alternatives.

  She could stay on as Mrs Browne’s housemaid. But that would put her in close proximity to Philip and, despite their initial fanciful affinity, nothing more could come of it. There couldn’t be anything romantic between them, and Philip’s father had made certain there wouldn’t be any work for her in his store. She couldn’t bear to be reminded of the lost possibilities every day.

  She could leave and try to find other employment, but where? She didn’t want to be a maid for the rest of her life, but since she couldn’t imagine why anyone would employ her to be anything other than a maid, that was the least appealing choice.

  Briefly, she considered Mrs Janet Walker, Brisbane’s largest ladies’ costumier, who employed over a hundred girls. Could she earn her living as a seamstress? While she knew her skills were as good as, if not better than, much of what she’d seen, why would Mrs Walker take on someone new when she employed so many already? She’d heard they worked long, long hours for little reward and even less recognition, so she’d certainly be no better off. And where would she live? And when would she make her lace?

  She could go to Sally in Townsville, but Sally had promised to write with some ideas about what they could do together to earn a living, and hadn’t. Brigid didn’t know what that meant. Had Sally forgotten her? She didn’t think so, they’d been close on the ship, but Sally had said little in the few letters she’d written, and nothing for some time.

  But if she was thinking of leaving Mrs B, and Brisbane, then ... She could accept the offer, except it scared her to death.

  Oh Lord, help me. I am riddled with doubt. What is Your plan? I keep asking for Your guidance, but everything that comes my way seems too
lofty for a girl like me. I can’t believe You want me to reach so high. Tell me what to do.

  “Why me?” Brigid’s voice broke and she couldn’t explain her doubts.

  The older woman looked intently at her, clearly weighing up her words. Brigid tried to fathom what she was thinking from her expression, but the longer her employer took to answer, the more frightened she became.

  “Because you have special gifts. But you are also the most maddening of creatures. You are smart and talented but so meek and humble that I despair of you.” Mrs Browne’s exasperated tone of voice and manner sent Brigid’s heart racing. “But you are also the most genuine person I’ve met in some time.”

  Is that really how Mrs Browne saw her? Brigid saw herself entirely differently, but she felt something shift inside her.

  “Listen to me, Brigid. I have told you this before, but you obviously haven’t listened properly. So listen now. I am not offering you anything I consider beyond your abilities. I would not ask you to join me in this venture if I thought you weren’t worthy of it. When I say you have special gifts, I mean it. You have a way with people I find astonishing. You can’t see it yourself because it’s a natural part of you, but you draw people to you. You instinctively know how to help them feel better about themselves, but you seem incapable of feeling good about yourself. You are more skilled with a needle than I’ve ever seen – including the gowns from Mrs Walker’s, which are superb – but your embroidery, your lacework and your crochet work is of superior standard. Why do you think I’ve never suggested you could work for her?”

  Elated by the praise and amazed Mrs Browne had read her thoughts, Brigid stammered, “I ... I don’t know. I didn’t know you’d considered it.”

  “Well, I had. But I wanted to keep you for myself. Everyone admires the shawl you made. It is so soft it can be threaded through my ring, as you well know. Philip told me you could make something finer than the one I had – and you did. Mrs Walker asked me who had made the lace bodice on my gown, and who had embroidered the sleeves of my jacket. She wanted that girl. I refused to tell her.”

  “Truly?” Brigid struggled to believe what she was hearing.

  “Yes. Truly. And you would have thought of it yourself if you had an ounce of ambition, but you are so lacking in conceit that you fail to see your own qualities. You are far too kind, generous and willing for your own good. That is what I see in you, and that is why I want you to be the face to my enterprise. Understood?”

  Brigid had flushed every shade of pink to scarlet and back again during Beatrice’s homily, but deep inside her the words started to feel real. Everything Mrs Browne had said was true, but she’d always felt it boastful to admit she was good at what she did and blasphemous to take advantage of the gifts she’d been given for her sole betterment.

  Looking back over the last seven months since she had disembarked the ship with her head held high, determined to do something with her life, she had somehow failed to live up to her promises. In the aftermath of the flood, finding Philip was not who she thought he was, and feeling safe under Mrs Browne’s patronage, she’d almost forgotten those promises and the goals she’d set herself. She’d allowed herself to slip back into the dutiful servant she and her family had been for generations. After all, she’d been born to it.

  “In this country,” continued Mrs Browne, “people make of their lives what they are capable of doing, not what they were born to.”

  There she goes again, reading my mind. Brigid opened and shut her mouth, not quite able to say anything as Mrs B mirrored Jamie’s thinking. How are you, Jamie? Are you making the life you dreamt about? I wish I knew.

  “Get that outdated notion out of your head, girl, and look forward. I believe you can make a success of this New Zealand idea. Now, what do you say?”

  The warm glow she’d started to feel while Mrs Browne laid a bucket of accolades at her feet mushroomed. If Mrs B believed in her, then in duty, she should believe in herself too. “I think I’d like to try. That is – if it’s what you want for me to do – then maybe ...”

  Brigid wrung her hands in trepidation, but for the first time she truly believed the course of her life was about to change for the better.

  “Pardon me, Mrs B,” Mavis interrupted, as she entered the conservatory. She smiled when she saw the excited look on Brigid’s face and the satisfied expression on her employer’s. “Persuaded her then, did you?”

  “Yes, Mavis. I believe I did.”

  “I’m that pleased for you, girl. Take what is offered, and honour the gift by being successful.”

  Brigid was astounded Mavis knew anything about the offer, but if Mrs B had confided in and discussed the matter with Mavis, it just went to show how much thought Mrs Browne had given the situation – and how serious she was.

  Mavis started to leave.

  “Did you want something, Mavis?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry, sometimes I’d forget my brain. There’s some people at the door asking for Brigid. What would you like me to do with them?”

  The arrival of Jamie, Sally, Maggie and the girls created quite a commotion. Mavis had shown them into the house through the front door and settled everyone around the table in the kitchen with tea and scones, and lemonade for the girls. Delighted at seeing one another again, friends and cousins talked over one another trying to get a word in.

  But after the initial emotion had worn off, quietness descended over them. Sally and Jamie cautiously answered Brigid’s questions but were plainly reluctant to give details about why they were here while Mavis and Mrs Browne were in the room.

  Beatrice Browne was the first to make her exit, leaving Brigid with time to catch up with her visitors. “You’ll have to excuse me, Brigid, I’ll be going out now. I have some charity work to do. There are still poor souls in need of help after the flood. You are welcome to entertain your guests as long as you wish, and they are welcome to stay for the evening meal.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Browne.” Brigid started to bob a curtsy until she caught the woman’s eye and refrained.

  Mavis took the hint. “Brigid, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to get dinner started. I’ve got errands to run, so I must be away now.” She bustled out of the room to collect her hat and coat, and on her return picked up a basket and headed out the kitchen door. “Cheery bye. Enjoy your company.”

  Brigid was beside herself with joy at seeing those who mattered to her most on this far side of the world. Even Maggie – for all her faults and the separation from Jamie that Brigid blamed on her – but she seemed quieter and more remote than she remembered. “Are you well, Maggie? I hope that cousin of mine is treating you proper.”

  “I’m well enough. Jamie’s been a great strength to me.”

  “Aye, well. I’m glad to hear it. That I am.”

  Brigid noticed how much the girls looked to Jamie, and even to Sally, for approval to take food, or answer a question, rather than to their aunt. They were far more subdued than they had been on the journey, but then much had happened to her in the last seven months, and she suspected a great deal had occurred to change them too. She would ask in time, but for the moment knowing Jamie could comfort them was both a surprise and a blessing.

  “Aye, Breeda. Townsville didn’t offer the chances I’d hoped for, and since Michael was still against me, he and Maggie ... well, ah ... let’s say they didn’t live comfortably together. We hoped maybe you could help us settle here in Brisbane, near you. Or if you know of work elsewhere, I’d be happy to look. Can ye help us, our Breeda?”

  The looks that passed between Jamie and Maggie, and Jamie and Sally, were not lost on Brigid. Her heart cried out. Something was amiss. “I’ll ask around, Jamie, that I will. But as you can see, I live in and can’t offer you a place right now. Mrs Browne is a good woman. And generous. I’ll tell you all about it when the time’s right, but for now, let’s see what she can suggest as a place for you to stay in the meantime – until you find your feet. She knows lots of pe
ople, does Mrs Browne. I’ll ask as soon as she comes home.”

  Their conversation was genial but superficial. Each in their own way was assessing the other, and re-establishing the rapport they’d once had.

  Listening to the talk, Brigid wondered where they were headed. They all wanted to believe Australia would be a good move and the living easier, but she wasn’t so sure the reality was stacking up for Jamie and Sally.

  As soon as Brigid started preparing the vegetables for dinner, the girls jumped to their feet, eager to help. Maggie shook herself out of her little world and quietly went to help as well. While busy hands made light work of the job, it soon became clear that busy hands also reduced the tension, and talk became easier.

  “I’m right glad to see you again, our Breeda,” Jamie said at the same time as Sally spoke.

  “Brigid, you’ve no idea how frightened I’ve been.”

  “I’ve missed you,” finished Jamie, and the warmth in his voice brought a lump to her throat, but Sally made it worse.

  “I need your help,” she whispered.

  An awkward laugh followed while Brigid looked at the two of them. They had secrets, these two. For a moment, she felt left out but only briefly. They would tell her in their own good time. That’s why they were here.

  She wiped her hands dry and sat down again, leaving the girls and Maggie to finish.

  “Tell me what’s happened,” urged Brigid.

  Sally took her hands and softly rubbed her thumbs across Brigid’s knuckles. “Here was I thinking I had my future planned, but it all fell apart,” said Sally. “I got it wrong, Brigid. I hate to admit it, and it’s been a long time since I got it so wrong, but there it is. There’s a man determined to do me harm. I have to get away.”

  “Me too, Bree. Michael’s dead and the police are asking questions.”

  Whatever Brigid had been expecting, nothing like that had entered her head.