by Peter McAra
Lessons in Loving
Peter McAra
www.escapepublishing.com.au
Lessons in Loving
Peter McAra
She’s his only hope to woo the woman of his dreams…
Wanted: Governess. Properly qualified in English, to instruct male pupil in rural location.
Sydney, 1902. Desperate for a job, Kate Courtney travels to the faraway New England Ranges to interview for a governess position. She is greeted by a wealthy landowner, ruggedly handsome Tom Fortescue, and is shocked to find that her new charge isn’t a small boy—but the grown man.
It was Tom’s mother’s dying wish that he find a refined, elegant, English bride to marry. But a country man with country manners can never win a lady fair. Tom needs Kate to smooth away his rough edges, and make him desirable to the English rose he wants to marry.
But the more time Kate and Tom spend together, the closer they become, and Tom has to decide between the dreams of his childhood, and the reality that is right in front of him.
About the Author
Over the years, Peter’s day jobs have ranged from miner and truck driver to setting up a management consulting business. Academic positions in Australian and US universities followed. Along the way, he wrote several academic textbooks.
Now, after succumbing to his addiction to writing romance, Peter feels he’s come home. ‘Living and working on a farm on the folksy New South Wales South Coast inspires me,’ he says. ‘You live in the country, you have romance buzzing round you 24/7.’
Acknowledgements
Straight-from-the-heart thanks to Chrissie Paice, Catherine Evans, and Malvina Yock, and now—drum roll—Kate Cuthbert. You’ve all helped me to grow. That’s something I’ll never forget.
To my loving partner Wendy — psychologist cum farmer’s wife, and shoulder for a sometimes weary writer to rest his head.
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
CHAPTER 1
Sydney, November 1902
WANTED
GOVERNESS
Properly qualified in English, to
instruct male pupil in rural location.
Accommodation provided, together
with appropriate remuneration.
Please forward expressions of interest to:
Mr T. H. Fortescue,
Kenilworth Station,
Croydon Creek, via Armidale
New South Wales.
Kate Courtney stared at the notice on the board outside the Avonleigh Teachers College common room. Governess? Rural location? She hesitated. The day before, she’d received the college’s formal letter informing her that having passed her final exams, she was now qualified to accept teaching positions in New South Wales government schools.
That letter had turned a page in the story of her life. The scholarship she’d won, as a poor but studious girl born and bred in a down-at-heel corner of the city, had now served its purpose. Her years of study, the endless evenings spent writing essays by a flickering candle in the kitchen, were over. The book of her life must now begin a new chapter.
She turned to the notice and read it again, word by word. In a moment of reflection, she closed her eyes and saw herself standing on a mountain top, taking in the view of her future. That future extended as wide as her outstretched arms, as far as the distant horizon.
In all her eighteen years, Kate had never ventured far from Sydney. As she read the notice for the tenth time, she stood perplexed. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a fast-swelling thirst for adventure exploded deep inside her. If she scored the governess position, she’d travel to distant places and meet new people. But if she didn’t apply, she’d miss the chance to conquer her lifelong fear of the unknown.
Then, as she walked back to the college dormitory, juggling the pros and cons of the governess position, she suffered the jolt which catapulted her into a decision. Her eye caught a young couple, perhaps a hundred yards away, walking hand in hand towards the park. Timothy Fletcher! Walking out with Emily Sainsbury! She snapped an order to her heart to be still. A few months earlier Timothy, her classmate, had flicked his come-hither expression in her direction after a particularly boring lecture on marking students’ examination papers.
‘I say, Miss Courtney. I rather think this calls for a cup of tea,’ he’d said. ‘After that extremely tedious lecture, we must recover before our next class.’ Naive and trusting, Kate had smiled and accepted. Within a week they were walking out together. First, Timothy had murmured sweet nothings in her ear—praised her beautiful hair, her neat ankles. Then there’d been evening kisses in the park.
Innocent maid that she was, she’d believed the fickle classroom Romeo’s whispers. Soon afterwards came his excuses for not walking to the park after lessons, his arriving late for lectures with dark rings under his eyes, his throwaway requests for the loan of a shilling or two until Friday. Which he never paid back.
Now, as she walked home with the life-changing letter in her reticule, she saw that the stars had sent her a message—the perfect reason for taking the governess position in a place far away from Sydney and Timothy Fletcher. Back in her dormitory, she sat at her desk, dipped her pen in the inkwell with a flourish, and wrote:
Dear Mr Fortescue,
I wish to apply for your advertised position of governess. In support of my application, I advise that I have recently passed my final examinations at Avonleigh Teachers College, and shortly will be issued with my teaching certificate.
You may also be interested to know that throughout my studies I received high marks in all my English subjects, including grammar, essays, and literature.
I note your reference to a male pupil. During my studies, I was required to give lessons to some neighbourhood boys. All of them seemed to heartily enjoy my teaching.
I should indeed be delighted to take up residence in a rural area for a time. Though I was born and bred in Sydney, the country has always held a fascination for me.
I am aged eighteen, and in excellent health. I await your reply with interest.
Yours faithfully,
(Miss) Kate Courtney
Before second thoughts chilled her rage at Timothy’s sly infidelity, she sealed the letter, stuck stamp to envelope, and walked energetically to the pillar box. Then she kissed the envelope and slipped it through the slot.
***
That evening, she raised the subject with her mother.
‘I saw a notice at the college today, Mother. Offering employment as governess to a little boy. A place called Kenilworth. Somewhere in the country. And something inside told me to apply.’
‘Good heavens, Kate! Rushing off to the wilderness the minute you’re qualified. Dear me. I expected you to stay here in the cottage with me until a nice young man proposed. Shouldn’t you rather take a teacher’s position somewhere close by? Then perhaps you can walk to your school each morning. Save the expense of riding the tram.’
‘But Mother, I should like to earn an income as quickly as I may.’ Kate chose not to mention that her afternoon sighting of Timothy had cemented her decision to dash off her application. In any case, she desperately needed money. Her mother, now living in a miserabl
e little rented cottage, barely surviving on her paltry widow’s pension, had helped pay for Kate’s books, shoes and clothes over the past years. Quite likely, she’d sometimes gone hungry in order to slip the little bundle of cash into Kate’s purse every Sunday afternoon. Since her first weeks at the college, Kate had committed to a strong moral obligation to repay that debt the minute she began to earn a little money.
‘I should tell you, Mother. I’ve already written my application for the position. I posted it this afternoon.’ She watched her mother’s eyes roll.
‘But my dear! Moving to the backblocks? At a time like this. You’re a smart young woman now, Kate. Educated, knowledgeable in the ways of the world.’ Her mother smoothed her hands on her apron. ‘You’re eighteen. I’ve told you before, my dear. Now I must tell you again. You should be thinking of matrimony. You don’t want to be left on the shelf. Why, girls of sixteen, seventeen, are marrying nowadays. It’s the done thing, my dear.’
‘But Mother, you know that for the last hundred years or so, there haven’t been enough single women in New South Wales for all the single young men. Why, ever since the days of the convicts, when thousands and thousands of men were shipped over from Britain, there’s been a scarcity of eligible women.’
‘That shortage of women will be over soon, you know,’ her mother snapped back. ‘Lately, unattached girls have been arriving by the shipload from England, Ireland. Then all those thousands of poor young Australian men killed in the Boer War. I read all about it in the newspaper just a week or so ago. Why, I shouldn’t be surprised if in a year or two there aren’t enough young men to go around. So you really must—’
‘Mother. I’ve worked hard for three long years to earn my teaching certificate. So that I can support myself. Be an independent woman.’
‘Independent woman? Oh dear, Kate. Ever since you went to that evening, you’ve been so …’. She bent to take a wooden spoon from a drawer, turned to a pot of stew bubbling on the stove. ‘Vida Goldstein, wasn’t that her name? Mary Clark told me she’s the most uppity lady she’d ever seen.’
Kate stiffened. From the moment she heard the militant suffragette’s first words at a lecture in the Sydney Town Hall, she’d hungered for independence.
‘Women should be given the vote, Mother. Stand for parliament. Work in positions now reserved for men. Buy property for themselves. Borrow from banks to do so. Just like men. Ever since I heard Miss Goldstein say those words, every night as I wrote up my lessons, every day as I caught the tram to college, I knew I wanted to be independent.’
‘But, my dear! Goodness me. If you so much as breathe that horrible word, all the eligible young men will go running. It frightens me, Kate.’ She stared into her daughter’s eyes.
‘If I’m independent, I won’t need an eligible young man, Mother.’
‘My dear, one of these days you’ll want a husband, children. All this talk of independence. It frightens me, Kate.’
‘That’s as may be, Mother. But for now, I have other things to think about. You supported me all through my time at college. You’ve gone without so I might have respectable clothes to wear to classes, pay for my books. Now that I can earn money, I’m going to pay you back. The very instant I can.’
‘Oh, very well, dear.’ Her mother sighed. ‘Young women these days … I don’t know what the world is coming to.’ She bent to a cupboard and pulled out a handful of plates. ‘I must set to work on our dinner.’
***
If Kate applied for teacher positions in Sydney, she might wait a month or two before being called for an interview. If she didn’t land a job by February, when the schools reopened after the summer holidays, it could be lean pickings for months. Á few days earlier, the college principal had ordered all students to vacate their dormitory places by the end of the week.
Kate must pray that she would win the governess position very soon. Over a celebration dinner a week after their last exam, Kate and her friends Susan and Marcia had toyed with the notion that the three of them might rent a cheap flat handy to the city centre. Together, they daydreamed about the shops, the theatres, the nightlife, that were part and parcel of city living.
Then Kate had backed away. Now that her scholarship was finished, she would struggle to pay her first week’s rent, in even a lowly boarding house. As well, she must buy a suitable outfit to wear to interviews—shoes, gloves, skirt, blouse, jacket and hat. For the moment, though, despite the pain that pierced her heart every time she saw her mother make do, she must be realistic. She must stay in the cottage until she found a position.
The fateful Friday arrived. The students packed their bags, waved their goodbyes, and left the college forever. Kate moved into to her mother’s cramped cottage, commandeered the sofa as her makeshift bed. A week later as she heard the postman’s cheery whistle, she saw a battered envelope, smudged with dusty fingerprints, plop through the slot in the cottage’s front door. Could it be from Mr Fortescue? Bubbling with hope, she ripped it open as she walked back down the hall, and read:
Dear Miss Courtney,
I shood like to Meet youse to Talk about the xxx governess job. If youse xxxwish to Come to Kenilworth, youse shood take the train to Armidale. If youse tell me What Day youse plan to arrive in Armidale, I will xxxxbook a room for you at the Railway Hotel. Next morning I shall call at the xxhotel and take youse to Kenilworth in my wagon. Youse shood bring clothes and such. Sometimes the xxxxroad to Kenilworth can be fludded for a week or two.
xxxxYours,
Tom Fortescue
The writing was scratchy, difficult to read. Oddly shaped blots, some the size of a threepenny bit, defaced the crumpled page. And those crossings-out, that word ‘youse’ …
Mr Fortescue was, quite evidently, a somewhat illiterate farmer who had been forced to answer her letter without help from someone with proper schooling. Still, that wasn’t so unusual in places where schools were few and far between. It was to be hoped that the ‘male pupil’ mentioned in the notice, likely Mr Fortescue’s son, would be receptive to her teaching.
After a visit to Sydney’s Central Station to study the timetable, Kate found that if she caught an early morning train she would arrive at Armidale at a respectable time of the evening, assuming the train ran on time. To be sure that her letter arrived well before her visit, she selected a date a few days hence, then wrote to Mr Fortescue. She would arrive on the 6.11 pm train on Thursday, November 8th, and she very much looked forward to meeting him next morning after her night at the Railway Hotel. A day after posting her letter to Mr Fortescue, Kate met for goodbyes with her friends Susan and Marcia.
‘Armidale? Isn’t that somewhere in those wild New England ranges?’ Susan exclaimed, hand to her wide-open mouth. ‘Is it safe for an innocent young maid like you to go there alone, Kate?’
Marcia chimed in. ‘I say, wasn’t Armidale the haunt of the wicked bushranger, Captain Thunderbolt?’ she said, hands twitching. ‘Not to mention the Rocky River gold rushes. You know that all kinds of riffraff flock to gold rushes—jailbirds, fortune hunters, men down on their luck. Providence help any poor woman who chances to be in the neighbourhood of a miners’ village!’
‘And riding alone in a wagon with a man, along a lonely road, for goodness knows how many miles.’ Susan’s voice projected her concern.
‘I trust the man,’ Kate lied. ‘His letter was so innocent. Why, I shouldn’t think he’d hurt a fly, judging by his writing.’
‘Oh, so you can show us the letter, then. Let us give our informed opinions?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t bring the letter with me. But I’m perfectly happy with the situation.’ For the first time since they’d met in their early days at college, Kate saw her friends as conservative, not interested in keeping up with the times. As she walked back to her mother’s cottage, Kate swallowed hard. She must be brave about her forthcoming journey to the wilds of New England. To show the least sign of weakness would be to ask for trouble.
**
*
At 6.11 pm, a few days later, Kate stepped down from the train onto the windswept loneliness of Armidale Station’s platform. She looked up and down, saw nothing except the railway line stretching to infinity in both directions. A man dressed in railway uniform walked out from a building, waved a green flag, and blew a whistle. The engine driver answered with a toot from his locomotive. Slowly, slowly, the train chuff-chuffed away, leaving Kate alone, cold, and a little frightened on the deserted platform. Clutching her bundle, she crossed the dusty road and stepped inside the ornately carved sandstone entrance of the Railway Hotel.
‘I’m Miss Kate Courtney,’ she told the bespectacled clerk at the concierge’s desk. ‘Mr Fortescue has—’
‘Ah, yes. Please be seated, ma’am.’ Flexing the long white sleeves of his perfectly pressed shirt, he flicked through a large leather-bound book, looked up and smiled. ‘The Macquarie Suite. Our finest.’ He rang a bell. A porter appeared, took up her bundle, and headed for the stairs. With a key attached to a bejewelled ring he opened the door, deposited Kate’s bundle on a bench, stepped out into the passage and handed her the key.
‘We trust you enjoy your sojourn with us, ma’am.’ He bowed and slipped away.
As Kate stepped inside, she gasped. The room was enormous. She walked to a large window at its far end. A view of forested mountains, silhouetted by the setting sun, greeted her. Open doors along one wall beckoned. She spotted a graciously large bedroom occupied by a vast double bed covered with an embroidered silk quilt. Then she spied a tiled bathroom, and a generous wardrobe. She had become a queen on a royal visit to her colonial subjects. To afford such regal lodgings for a visiting would-be governess, Mr Fortescue must indeed be comfortably off. And for whatever reason, he clearly wished to create a good impression for his son’s possible governess.
***
Next morning Kate quelled her nervousness for long enough to take a short walk among the wakening shops in the nearby streets. Then, back in the hotel’s dining room, she attacked the breakfast served by a smiling, immaculately dressed waiter. As she lingered over her second cup of tea, the waiter approached and bowed.
