Brigid the Girl from County Clare

by Vicky Adin

Word by word, sentence by sentence, Brigid listened to their tale – sensing more could be said, but not in front of the children. Knowing that little ears took everything in, Brigid suspected Laura knew a lot more than anyone gave her credit for.

  She could hardly believe her own ears, but she understood. Not only was it possible, it had happened, and they were scared. It put all Brigid’s fears into perspective. In comparison, her doubts and insecurities were shallow and internal. Theirs were real and external – and beyond their control.

  Within minutes of Mrs Browne’s return, messages had been sent and accommodation arranged for Sally, Maggie and the girls. Jamie was offered quarters in the stable if he was prepared to rough it for a few days.

  Around the kitchen table over the evening meal a sense of togetherness cloaked them, and a bond was created that Brigid hoped would never be broken again.

  Thank You, Lord. You answered my prayers.

  There were short-term plans to be put in place, but looking ahead, Brigid was no longer in doubt about what her purpose was or what she would do. They needed a haven to keep them safe and someone to care for them until they healed.

  She would gather her clan around her and take them to New Zealand.

  * * *

  Brisbane

  23rd July 1887

  “I’ve sent her to New Zealand.”

  “What? Mother! How could you?”

  “Now Philip, stop behaving like a two-year-old. You will never win your father’s approval with that attitude. Sit down.”

  “But ...” Philip was lost for words. With his insides in such turmoil, he couldn’t even stand still, let alone sit, nor could he gather his wits to put together a coherent argument. All he wanted to do was roar. He could almost understand why women resorted to tears when they couldn’t control their feelings. He was close to them himself.

  “I know this has come as a shock to you,” continued his mother, “but you must see it was the only option – and an unmissable opportunity.”

  “But the idea was mine. I found Brigid. I could have changed the face of Harrison Browne and dragged it into the present. Now you’ve taken all that away from me.”

  His mother took a sip of tea from her favourite tea service elegantly laid out on the table by the conservatory window. She offered him a plate of biscuits. He shook his head.

  “No, Philip. I haven’t. What I’ve done is establish a branch in New Zealand away from your father’s control, and when he comes to term with your ideas – and he will in time – ‘Miss Brigid’s’ is already a viable business. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  A niggle in the back of his mind admitted his mother was right, but to do it without consulting him was too much to take. “Why couldn’t you talk to me about it first?”

  The exasperated sigh that escaped his mother’s lips sent him straight back to his childhood. “Be reasonable, Philip. If I’d told you what I wanted to do, your father would have found out – because you would have bragged to him. You know you would, just to show him up – and then what?”

  Damn it. He punched his fist into the other hand. “He would have stopped it.”

  “I know your father better than you. He is a proud man. Proud of his achievements, and so he should be, given the way life began for him in this country, but he is too old to change his ways. You handled it wrong from the start. You challenged him, and like a creature protecting his territory, he fought back.”

  Philip sat down, calming himself with deep breaths.

  His mother refreshed her tea and poured one for him.

  “What should I do then? I told you Sam is still prepared to back me, but only with the store’s brand.” He took a sip of tea and carefully placed the cup back on its saucer, afraid he would break it with his ill humour.

  “Be patient. The flood was a major setback, and your father is still reeling from its impact. He nearly lost everything. And he has to cope with the staff who lost people or homes or possessions and have their own problems. You can’t expect him to hand over all he has worked for and let you try new ways when he is trying to save what he has. One step at a time, Philip. Make him think he is still the kingpin, and he’ll allow ‘the boy’, as he often calls you, to test the waters soon enough.”

  Philip nearly exploded with resentment. “Boy! I’m not his lackey. Even though he treats me like one.”

  How could his mother sit there so calmly and serenely, with that knowing smile pleating the side of her mouth, when his life was falling apart?

  “Your father has run a successful business for forty years. Did you ever think that by sending you to England he was teaching you the fundamentals of how to run that business?”

  Philip stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I hate those trips. They are tiresome and it’s all the same. I’m not learning anything new; I’m just following orders.”

  “For now, maybe.” Beatrice Browne tutted and tapped him on the knee. “Stop being petulant and sit up properly.” Philip did as he was told, picked up a biscuit to chew on, and swallowed his tea. “Of course he wants his son to take over the company. But he wants you to work your way to the top knowing it inside out. Branching out now is beyond him.”

  He considered what his mother had said. She could be right for now, and as long as he mastered Brigid in the end, that was all that mattered.

  “How did you get away with it?”

  A calculating smile reached her eyes. “I haven’t told him.”

  He roared with laughter, his bad mood dissipating in one swoop. He might win his battle after all.

  PART THREE

  New Zealand

  12

  New Beginnings

  Auckland

  Friday, 29th July 1887

  The group of six weary travellers stood outside the wooden building jammed between two much taller stone buildings halfway up Queen Street. Here lay their future, but the frontage was far more timeworn than anyone expected. The air was chilly after Brisbane, and the light rain dampened their spirits even further.

  Sally spoke first. “I bet your Mrs Browne didn’t know what state the place was in. Not much to look at, is it?”

  Secretly, Brigid agreed, but she had to think of something good to say, and quickly. Tired, and still catching her breath after the whirlwind preparations and departure, Brigid knew her charges were more exhausted by their even longer ordeal, than she.

  “Maybe not.” Brigid jangled the keys they’d collected from the agents’ office. “But we’re here now, and this is home. So we have to make the best of it. We’ve known worse back in Ireland, haven’t we, Jamie me boy?”

  “That we have.” Jamie let his eyes wander over the crooked boards above the verandah, a lopsided upper window and the unpainted timber. “That we have. But at least with the front doors being set back like that, you’ve got grand front windows. Aye, nothing a hammer and a few nails and a lick of whitewash won’t fix, though I’ve not seen a building like it.”

  Buoyed by Jamie’s apparent confidence, Brigid strode forward and unlocked the door. The smell of dust and decay made her cough as she stepped across the threshold. No wonder the business failed! Oh, dear Lord.

  Brigid was thankful Mrs Browne had not been in the least put out by the extra cost for Brigid’s newfound family to travel with her.

  “In fact, my dear,” said Mrs Browne, “I think it will be an advantage and a blessing.” Even knowing Jamie was the only true family member, everyone accepted the six of them couldn’t be separated: Jamie would never leave Maggie, Laura and Jane needed Sally, and Sally needed Brigid. Now it seemed, she’d need them – all of them.

  “This place hasn’t seen daylight for a long time,” muttered Sally as they toured the ground floor.

  “Aye, but it’s not damp.” Jamie sniffed the air. “That’s a good thing.”

  Laura ran her fingers over the leadlight pattern framing each window with an arch. “The windows are pretty.”


  Brigid eyed the shelves on either side behind the counters, still stacked with fabrics, with reluctant approval; at least they had dust covers. She was more pleased to see the small drawers for the notions, as well as the glass-topped display drawers for larger items. The deeper into the store they walked, the gloomier it became.

  Brigid squinted into the shadows. “We’ll need to find some lamps before we can see everything properly, that we will.”

  “Aye. We will.” Sally stuck her head into a large storage cupboard under the narrow staircase in the middle of the building and sneezed. “There’s boxes of something in here, but it’s too dark to see.”

  To one side, an anteroom with a grimy window overlooked the backyard. Brigid found a treasure hidden in the corner, buried under piles of discarded junk. “Look. There’s a treadle sewing machine in here under everything.”

  Sally watched as Maggie looked inside the Shacklock coal range, opened cupboards and drawers, and peered into the scullery on the other side. “Kitchen’s not bad, and it’s big enough. Maggie seems at home.”

  Jamie prised the back door open and investigated the lean-to, woodshed and backyard. “There’s a good rain barrel that’s full, and I’ve seen worse outhouses.”

  Back inside, Jamie led the way up the creaky staircase, testing each tread as the others followed him in single file. The top of the stairs opened out into a living room running the length of the building with a window at either end. Jamie had to tilt his head to one side as he edged his way along the passage next to the stair banister until he could get to the middle where the roof beams were higher. Two armchairs, a table and four chairs, a couple of stools and a dresser filled the space towards the front.

  By now Jane was shivering. “Can we light the fire?” She sat in front of the small wood stove built into the brick chimney breast from the kitchen below and looked up at Jamie.

  “Soon, but I’d better check it first.” Jamie put his hand reassuringly on the girl’s shoulder. “It’ll probably need a clean.”

  “The sooner the better, then. It’s right chilly,” said Sally, leaving Jamie to open the stove door and prod around with the poker.

  Under the lower part of the high-pitched roof, on either side of the larger room, were two more rooms. The ones at the front were obviously bedrooms. Each had a sash window and held a small, double-sized wire-framed bed, wardrobe and washstand. One of the two rooms at the back leading off the narrow passageway had been used as a sort of office. Boxes, folders and papers lay everywhere. The other was another storeroom. They were small, but both had a window.

  Brigid sighed with relief. “Looks like there is plenty of room for us all anyway, if we make a few changes.”

  “Are we really going to stay here?” asked Laura, putting her hand over her mouth and nose. Behind her, Jane sneezed.

  Dust and cobwebs coated everything, but apart from that, the place seemed sound. Mr Munro, whoever he was, had abandoned the store, leaving behind furniture and chattels and the trappings of a drapery business not well managed.

  Taking off her coat, the ever-silent Maggie, her voice croaky from lack of use, answered Laura. “There’s nothing a bucket of hot water and some hard work won’t fix, girl. Let’s get started.”

  Brigid looked at her in amazement. Of all the people she’d come across in her travels, Maggie would have been the last one she thought willing to tackle what looked like an almost insurmountable task. The chameleon Maggie she’d distrusted on the ship was still as changeable as ever.

  “Like Maggie says, Laura, once we clean the place up, it’ll look different. Today’s Friday. We have three days to get this place clean and ready for business. What say you – shall we see what we can do with it?”

  At nine o’clock on Monday morning, Brigid opened the door to the shop and stepped outside onto the footpath. She looked up at their handiwork, framed by weak sunshine and an almost cloudless blue sky.

  “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, our Jamie. Aye, but the place looks grand all washed white.”

  Jamie looked as if he’d painted himself as well, but the satisfied grin he wore showed how pleased he was with the result. “Aye, well. ’Tis only one coat, but I made it up thick and strong. It’ll have to be done again afore long to make it last. But aye, it looks grand.”

  Inside, the three women had cleaned the place from top to bottom.

  Maggie excelled herself, directing the work methodically, with a bucket of hot water constantly in her hands. She washed and scrubbed, boiled all the linen and towels, and somehow cobbled together meals for them all.

  As soon as one room was clean enough, Jamie whitewashed the walls with a large brush. Beds were made, furniture and rugs beaten, and the girls helped by sweeping, and washing anything that needed it in the large butler’s sink.

  By Sunday evening, only the anteroom still required attention and a whitewash. Despite the long hours and the hard work, they felt optimistic for the first time in a long while. One or other of them often hummed a tune, the girls’ laughter came easily, and Brigid hoped the Maggie she’d seen in the last three days would replace the silent, morose Maggie of before – the one Jamie and Sally had told her about.

  In between their upstairs renovations, Sally helped Brigid clean the shelves and sort the bolts of fabrics, removing the dust sheets and restacking them. She then set about displaying the finished work Brigid had brought over in her trunk, alongside extra supplies of fabrics and threads packed in another trunk from Mrs B. If her lacework was to be a draw card, Brigid needed to have all her tools at her fingertips.

  “Sally, come join us,” said Brigid as her friend appeared in the doorway. Brigid linked her arm through Sally’s as the three of them stood side by side looking at the window display. “It’s beautiful. You have such a flair for display. I never knew. ”

  “Neither did I,” laughed Sally. “But when I started to lay things out, ideas just came to me.”

  “Well, I think it’s grand. It’ll be sure to stop the ladies as they pass to take a look. And, hopefully, come inside and buy something.”

  “Yes. Lots of somethings,” added Sally.

  Mrs Browne had warned that while she had the capital to make the purchase and meet other necessary set-up costs, she would not be able to supplement Brigid’s income. She didn’t want Mr Browne finding out about her undertaking before she was ready to tell him. The shop would have to stand alone.

  Brigid would worry about all that later. Right now, she was elated with their achievements. “Mrs Browne said she’d arranged for a signwriter to call and put up the new signage. When that’s finished, ‘Miss Brigid’s’ will definitely be open for business.”

  A week passed, then a month and another. Brigid’s delight with the elaborate signage, which could be seen from the other side of the street, stayed with her. She could barely take the smile off her face. Sally changed one of the window displays each day, putting together fabrics and colours not normally associated with each other.

  In the mornings, Brigid sat in her chair near the window and set her fingers in motion. Thread flashed back and forth in a blur as she crocheted her traditional designs or tackled the slower-paced Carrickmacross lace. After applying the organdie to the net backing, she painstakingly cut away the net within the design to create the openwork pattern. Sometimes she did fine tatting, other times, Kenmare needlepoint lace.

  A steady stream of ladies oohing and aahing over the new window displays filled the shop, and many stopped simply to watch Brigid’s mastery.

  “Can I tempt you with a few yards of this elegant satin, or maybe this lighter weight cotton?” coaxed Sally, taking advantage of the moment. “With summer only a matter of weeks away, maybe now is the time to consider a new dress?”

  Sometimes they were so busy Brigid was forced to put aside her lacework and serve the customers. Trade was brisk, and as their customer list grew, so did her confidence.

  It had come as a bit of a shock when she
’d walked up the other end of Queen Street to discover Smith & Caughey, Drapers and Clothiers were doing a roaring trade. But she was pleased to see their stock was different to hers. They had a range of ready-to-put-on clothing, and Brigid had no intention of getting into millinery or men’s tailoring. Still, her hopes remained high that there would be room for her little shop too.

  Every month Brigid reported how well they were doing. Mrs Browne was delighted to see her plans come to fruition.

  “I will come and visit you. I promise,” she wrote. “I just need to pick my time. The town appears to have recovered from the flood, and new stock is arriving with each ship, but I fear business is not picking up the way Mr Browne had hoped. I’m comforted that at least he and Philip seem a little more reconciled, for now.”

  At the mention of Philip’s name, a wave of loss coursed through her. She remembered the Philip of the ship: chivalrous, charming, exciting, as opposed to the Philip in Brisbane: a dreamer, disheartened, insecure and angry. For a short while, she’d allowed herself to believe in the impossible – a future with Philip – but within a short time it became obvious such a future would never have worked. Still, she yearned for the man who had sparked her ambition.

  More difficult to believe was the quirk of fate that took her to the Browne household in the first place, knowing she wouldn’t be where she was now if not for her benefactor. She would miss the people from Spring Hill this Christmas. Mavis had been her rock, helping her transition and learn about her new country, and they had parted tearfully. Here in Auckland, she was the cornerstone of her little family. Sometimes it scared her.

  If she stopped to think about it, a part of her still wanted a home that was hers, a man to love and children of her own, but time was passing – she’d be nineteen soon and had responsibilities no man would want to take on. Still, she was content.

  More than content – she was happy.

  The feeling had come slowly, but her unusual family had blended together better than she had hoped. As they continued shaping the store and living quarters to their liking, life settled into a pattern.