by Vicky Adin
Philip was nowhere to be seen when Brigid re-entered the salon. His hat and gloves were gone, but his cane was still there. When she went through to the shop she found the door swinging wide open. Alarm bells jangled but, for now, at least, she could do nothing more until he returned.
She checked the appointment book and was relieved she had no more clients booked for that day. Given it was now well into the afternoon, and worried she had missed a lot of the lunchtime passing trade, she clipped the doors back hoping those who had found her closed would return later. As long as she’d not offended a regular client, all would be well, but with three ladies scheduled for the next morning, she had to prepare.
Returning to the kitchen, she asked Sally to tend the shop while she tried to rouse Maggie who had not moved or spoken since Brigid had sat her down. The girls would be home from school soon, and seeing Maggie in this state always upset them.
Still getting no response, Brigid collected her notebooks from the salon and returned to the kitchen. She would work at the table next to Maggie for the afternoon and hope her presence and a stream of inconsequential chatter might help the woman relax. Voices drifted through from the shop occasionally, and Brigid was content that business had returned to normal. Laura and Jane returned from school and while Maggie flinched at the noise they made, she remained inert.
Brigid poured them each a glass of Maggie’s homemade ginger beer and gave them an oatmeal biscuit. She had just finished asking them to do their chores when the sound of heavy feet stomping on wooden boards and Sally’s high-pitched warning coming from the shop reached her ears.
“What is it, Sally?” Standing by the kitchen door, she stuck her head into the corridor. The sight that greeted her turned her feet to lead and her stomach to jelly.
Two policemen, followed by Philip, and Sally in the rear, were heading towards her.
“Miss Brigid O’Brien?” The older officer with several braids on his uniform spoke first. “If you would be so good as to answer a few questions.”
Taking another step forward he as good as forced Brigid to move out of his way.
With Maggie, the two girls and three men, as well as herself and Sally, the kitchen was crowded.
Sally looked terrified and Philip looked pompous and self-righteous.
“I believe you may be able to help me locate the whereabouts of one James O’Brien, or a Miss Margaret O’Neill.”
Brigid placed herself on the other side of the table, her back against the stove, near Maggie. She held herself upright, even though her knees wobbled dangerously, and prayed for strength.
“This gentleman here ...” He indicated Philip who now leaned against the wall, arms folded, one foot resting on the toe of his shoe. Philip flicked his hair back when he saw Brigid look at him. “... he tells me O’Brien is a relative of yours, and Miss O’Neill was entangled with him in some way.”
“And why are you looking for Mr O’Brien?” Brigid knew only too well, but if she hedged enough she might be able to protect Maggie from their clutches.
“We believe they can help us with our enquiries into a missing person.” The policeman consulted his notebook. “A Mr Michael O’Neill.”
At the sound of his name, Maggie began to wail. She covered her face with her apron and rocked madly back and forth. The noise was dreadful. Laura and Jane scuttled around the table, clamped their arms around Sally and hid their faces against her body. She wrapped one arm around each of them and comforted them, but said nothing.
Again the officer consulted his notebook. “He went missing from Townsville in Australia in April 1887. So did his sister.”
Brigid forced herself to make light of the date. “Goodness, that’s nearly eighteen month ago. He could be anywhere by now. Australia is a big country.”
“Have any of you heard from him?”
“I have not. I don’t believe I know anything about a Michael O’Neill.” Brigid crossed her fingers behind her back at the partial lie, promising to say her prayers and take confession as soon as she could. “But I knew a Maggie O’Neill once. Aye, but that person is no longer with us, that she isn’t.”
“I see. And you, miss?” Sally shook her head. The girls edged further behind her, avoiding the man’s gaze completely.
The younger policeman scribbled down notes, and a hidden message passed between the two officers. Maggie’s wailing had shifted into a keening that was setting everyone’s teeth on edge. Even the policemen were looking uncomfortable.
“Can’t you stop her making that noise?”
Brigid shook her head. She placed her hand around Maggie’s shoulder and pulled her against her skirt. “Not when she gets like this. Not until she wears herself out. Poor woman.” Feeling utterly disloyal, but thinking it one way of getting out of this predicament, she twirled her finger near her temple to indicate Maggie was not quite sound of mind, which, in truth, she wasn’t.
The questions continued as the officer established how long she’d been in New Zealand, who her companions were and how they fitted. More lies to tell, forgive me, Lord. She stared at Philip wondering how much he knew or guessed.
Sally and the girls were sisters, she explained. They’d met on the ship coming out from the old country but lost touch until they met up again here in New Zealand. Her other friend, quiet now she was resting against Brigid, had fallen on hard times, poor soul. Buried her children after a sickness and hasn’t been right since.
“She’s lying.” Philip moved away from the wall and, placing both hands on the table, glowered at her across its surface. “I saw this one,” he pointed to Sally, “and the two girls, although they were younger then, leave my house in Brisbane before they came to New Zealand. And I think you’ll find that madwoman was there too along with O’Brien. That is Margaret O’Neill. Ask her.”
Bile rose in her throat. Why did Philip hate her so much he would destroy everything she had?
“We’re not likely to get any sense out of the woman, even if she is who you say she is,” said the senior officer. Turning his attention back to Brigid, he repeated his question. “Do you know the whereabouts of James O’Brien?”
Brigid almost sighed with relief. This was one question she could answer truthfully. “No. I do not. I haven’t seen him, or heard from him, since he sat at this table Christmas last. Does that make him a missing person too?”
“Thank you for your time, Miss O’Brien.” The senior policeman nudged the other one to put his notebook away. “This is not really our jurisdiction, Mr Harrison-Browne, so we’ll be on our way. We can’t spend any more time on it.” Turning again to Brigid, he said, “But if you do see or hear from Mr O’Brien, be sure to let us know.”
Brigid forced a smile to her lips. “Allow me to show you out.”
To her horror, she found Philip sitting comfortably in the salon.
“Why did you bring the police to my door?” Brigid was fuming but willed herself to stay calm. Losing her temper with Philip would only make it worse, and he would find it hard to fight with someone who didn’t fight back. “What were you hoping to achieve?”
Philip’s nonchalant shrug infuriated her more. “Control, of course. I have the power and since your sense of responsibility to your so-called family seems to be part of your reluctance to return to Brisbane, I decided to show you how difficult I can make things if you don’t comply.” He stood up suddenly, angry, and towered over Brigid. “I’m in charge now. You have become too brash for your own good, my girl. Some humility wouldn’t go amiss. You had it once. I suggest you find it again.”
Brigid was shocked that the man she had once admired, and had fallen just a little bit in love with, was so eaten up with bitterness that his only avenue was malice. “Mr Harrison-Browne. I am not your enemy. Your enemy is within.”
Their eyes met, but he was the first to turn away.
Wanting to avoid any questions about Jamie or Maggie, and scared to ask how he knew anything about Michael’s disappearance, Brigid chang
ed the subject. She needed to come up with an idea where he could save the business without her and feel justified at the same time. She was small fry in the grander scheme of things. He needed newer and bigger ideas.
“I’ve an idea or two. Will you let me help you?”
He flung around and took a couple of paces away from her, then turned on her. “What are you talking about? I am insisting you do your duty by me, and you offer me your help.”
His tone was scathing, but Brigid knew she’d hit a nerve. “We can’t go back to what was. Nor can we try to recreate your dreams as they once were, with what is.”
Brigid saw through the little act Philip put on – his astounded look, opening and shutting his mouth as if unable to put his thoughts into words and turning his back on her. But seeing the habitual flick of his hair grieved her.
“I am right sorry to hear about your troubles, that I am. Your mother wrote to me and ...”
“I bet she did,” he interrupted, resolutely keeping his back turned. “Gloating, no doubt.”
Brigid could not and would not stand for the disrespectful inference, but she kept her voice and manner as calm as her churning belly would let her. “Mr Harrison-Browne! Be kind. Or are you not the man I once knew?”
Philip didn’t respond.
She moved closer and took his arm. “Please, let me explain at least.”
Leading him to the chaise longue, she nudged him to sit beside her. He rested his elbow on the back, turned his head away and propped up his chin.
“Tell me what’s a-boithering you? What is making you so hurtful? Your mother believes in you, I know she does. It is not her fault that your father clung to his dreams for too long when he should have been respecting yours.”
His detached pose abruptly changed, and he readjusted his position to sit back, once again placing one foot on the other knee, but he still didn’t look at her. He looked at the ceiling.
“It’s too late for your smarm,” said Philip. “I decide what happens to the Harrison Browne brand from now on. And I want you in Brisbane.”
Brigid took a deep breath and prayed for guidance. “Aye, I know that, but answer me this: how can I help? And forgive me if I am wrong, but I seem to remember much of the stock was lost at the warehouse after the flood. And a fire ravaged the shop, destroying everything – or nearly all – I believe. Do you have new premises? And new stock in want of selling?”
Again Philip didn’t answer. She peered around to his half-hidden face and saw he was biting his knuckle. She took it to mean he didn’t have either and was at a loss as to where to start.
“Well, then, what to do. Like I said, I have an idea ...” Brigid paused. Now was not the right time to tell him the details. He needed to be enthusiastic about the prospects before she could plant any seeds. “You once told me your father wanted new premises in Eagle Street, and you and he fought over it. Who won the argument?”
Suddenly Philip jumped to his feet. “What’s with all the questions? I don’t need you nagging at me as well.”
Brigid looked up at him with reproving eyes, saying nothing. He held her gaze. In the past, she would have dropped her head and accepted his dominance, but not any more. She was her own woman now and had too many people relying on her to give in. She had to win him over if she was to keep her reality intact. She stared back.
Philip snapped. “He did, of course.” The anger came pouring out of him. “He went ahead and signed up for the building behind my back. Now I’m lumbered with the cost and no stock to fill it. And the stupid old man is now laid up in his bed unable to do or say anything. All I get is his disapproving eyes following me.”
A knock on the door, followed by Sally peering cautiously around the edge, halted any further exchange.
“Pardon me, Miss Brigid. I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but there’s a Mr Price wanting to see Mr Harrison-Browne. Urgently, he says.”
How she managed to keep control of her poise was beyond Brigid. It seemed as if her heart leapt, her stomach fell and her head spun all at the same time. Would her ruse work?
“Mr Price, you say, for Mr Harrison-Browne?”
Feeling slightly panicked now, she wondered if she should keep the two of them apart after all, but the impish desire to find out how Tommy would carry it off won.
She bent her head to one side and looked at Philip with an innocent and baffled eye. “This is a surprise. Mr Price is an importer of some very fine fabrics. I wonder how he knew the well-known Mr Harrison-Browne from Brisbane was in town.”
Brigid didn’t dare look at Sally. It took all her control not to giggle.
“Shall I show him in, Miss Brigid?”
Brigid deferred to Philip, who in turn sought permission back from Brigid, but finally Mr Thomas Price was ushered into the salon.
“At your service,” said Tommy, handing over his business card. “I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard the renowned Mr Harrison-Browne, from Brisbane no less, was in Auckland. If you are looking to conduct business while you are here, sir, then I am the man for you.”
Sally stood behind Brigid who remained seated on the chaise longue. They held hands over Brigid’s shoulder and watched the theatrical performance going on before their eyes.
Tommy threw his arm around the taller man’s shoulder and compelled him to keep in step and pace around the room. Since the area was not that large, they appeared to be going around in circles while Tommy kept up an endless stream of persuasive chatter.
During the course of their conversation, Brigid learned Philip’s hands were tied until the bank and insurance company had finished their investigations and handled much of the recovery work. Two disasters within the space of eighteen months had been too much for them to leave uncontested.
Philip explained, “Gradually we increased the stock after the flood last year, but most of it had been moved from the warehouse to the store. Trade had increased tenfold, but the fire took just about everything we’d built up. One shipment is due next month that will tide us over the Christmas period, I hope, but after that, there’s nothing. It’s like starting out all over again.”
Tommy had convinced Philip that not only could he procure fabrics for him, and many other goods exclusively for the Harrison Browne store, but he could also put business his way.
Money had talked. The two men shook hands.
“Thank you for the opportunity to do business with you, Mr Harrison-Browne. And thank you, Miss Brigid, for introducing me. Until tomorrow, then.”
The more Brigid had watched and listened to Philip, the more resolute she became. The country girl from County Clare, who’d once been flustered by his attentions, was now the more fortunate of the two. She was fulfilling her dreams while his were wasting away. She had grown in stature while he was diminished.
After Tommy had left, Philip explained why he was in Auckland.
“Mother told me what she had done about setting you up here in New Zealand. It was to be the first of the Harrison Browne branches and it would be mine, she promised me – as soon as Father shared control. But the stubborn old fool wouldn’t listen to anything she or I said. Still won’t.”
Because of his father’s indisposition, the lawyers had not sorted out the tangle that would give Philip control, since his father was sole signatory and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, put his mark to anything. Alf had continued to be the Harrison Browne right-hand man, even under Philip’s command. He was busy refitting the Eagle Street premises according to Harry’s wishes so they could reopen the shop, leaving Philip with nothing to do. The only thing still in his favour was that his friend Sam Barton had stuck by his promise of financially supporting Philip as long as the Harrison Browne brand prevailed.
“I’m itching to diversify into other areas, so I decided to start work developing the one branch we had. Imagine my surprise when I discovered not only did it not carry the Harrison Browne name, but the stock no longer belonged to me either.” He became angry and agitated again.
“My mother went behind my back and sold me out. But I still own the premises. Now I want it – and you – back.”
“That’s not quite the way it happened, and you are hardly being fair to your mother,” Brigid argued, desperate to convince him her little enterprise was beneath his attention.
Mrs Browne had decided her idea had failed because of the downturn in Auckland, and she needed a return on her money. The shop was too small to succeed under the name of Harrison Browne but it suited Brigid.
“Brisbane was on the up, she said, and I had a choice. I could stay here if I could pay her back, or I could return to her employ, and she would sell.”
“I don’t believe you.” But the habitual flick of his hair told Brigid he did. He knew, all right.
Even so, and mostly thanks to Tommy’s reasoning, Philip agreed to meet Brigid on the corner of Queen and Wellesley streets the following day after she had attended to her morning clients. She wanted to show him around town.
The pair stood on the western side of Queen Street as people and carriages hurried past going about their business. Brigid pointed to a store across the road. “What do you see before you?”
Mrs Marianne Smith’s Cheap Drapery Warehouse business had grown considerably since its humble beginnings in 1880. Based on ‘the quick sixpence rather than a slow shilling’ precept, she partnered with her husband William, and later with Andrew Caughey, to form Smith & Caughey. The firm had moved to these grander, larger premises in 1884.
“A large drapery store. What of it?”
Brigid was keen to give Philip ideas he could take back to Brisbane without it seeming as though they came from her.
“You’ll see. The place has grown significantly in four years. It’s not just a drapery store as you know it. Come with me.”
They crossed the road and entered the building. Brigid took delight in pointing out the tailoring section, the milliner’s department and the accessories division, which sold ladies crystal dressing-table sets, knick-knacks and perfumes, as well as gloves, handkerchiefs and men’s grooming kits, among other things. Philip was interested in the haberdashery section and fabric area, but Brigid pulled him away to look at the handbags, parasols and shawls. She also took pains to ensure he saw the finished garments on display.
