The Secret Heiress

by Luke Devenish

  For my grandmothers, Ethel and Bea

  IDA

  DECEMBER 1886

  1

  The tall, strikingly handsome and beautifully dressed gentleman with fair, curling hair, olive skin, impressive moustache, and the deepest, kindest, cornflower-blue eyes was quite the most good-looking gentleman sixteen-year-old Ida Garfield had ever seen in her life. He looked to be about twenty, not much more, and his name, Ida already knew, was Mr Samuel Hackett, and he seemed to be keenly looking for someone among the mourners, Ida thought from her unworldly, never-once-left-the-farm perspective. She harboured a fantasy that he was actually looking for her. Mr Hackett lived at Summersby, after all, where he was employed as a secretary; Ida knew that much about him, if little else. Town gossip had given her those details before she’d even seen him in the flesh here at the funeral.

  Summersby was the fabled house with a magical name from where, just two short weeks before, a beautiful lady called Miss Matilda Gregory had emerged to journey to Ida’s mother’s farm where she held a conversation that had ended with Ida offered employment as a maid. Ida had thought she would never again know as much excitement as the prospect of working at Summersby had given her, until, shockingly, everything came crashing down. The news arrived just one week later that Miss Matilda Gregory was dead. Ida hadn’t even started work.

  Ida’s mother was very disappointed, but Ida refused to accept that the tragedy spelled the end of her Summersby prospects. How could something bestowed upon her so miraculously be taken away from her so fast? No official word had come from the great house that she was no longer wanted, and just because a person died did it mean the floors would start cleaning themselves? Ida knew that it didn’t. She stared at the handsome Mr Hackett again, and clung anew to her conviction that employment in the same lovely house where he worked could somehow still be hers. Perhaps he’d been charged with collecting her in comfort and style, she fantasised, today being the very December day that Miss Gregory had told her she was to commence her work? That was why she had come to the funeral. She had even brought her little canvas bag along, in which she’d packed a maid’s black dress. Somehow everything could still come good, she had said to anyone who’d listen. Ida’s mother hadn’t stopped her from going, although she’d made her take her sister Evie along for company. It would have been improper to attend a funeral on her own.

  The late Miss Matilda Gregory had asked Ida very few questions when she’d come to the farm, so few that Ida had forgotten what most of them were. She had been too dazzled by Miss Gregory’s beauty and elegance. Yet one question stood out in memory: was Ida a very bright girl? Her mother had unthinkingly answered for her: sadly no, Ida was not very bright. Her younger sister Evie had got all the brains, Ida got by with the scraps. Ida had shrunk with the humiliation of this, even though she knew it was true because everyone was always telling her as much. Her mother realised then that the opportunity to make something of her unpromising daughter was in danger of receding, because she insisted next that what Ida lacked in brains she made up for with inquisitiveness; so inquisitive was Ida, in fact, that her endless asking of questions was enough to wear a person down, her mother declared; people in town talked of it; in short, Ida was inquisitive to a fault. Ida had squirmed with further embarrassment to hear what were apparently words of praise, yet Miss Gregory had not been dismayed, quite the opposite. To Ida, it seemed that Miss Gregory had almost been pleased by this answer. But that meant little now.

  Given Ida was ill-dressed for a funeral, and trying to seem as if she wasn’t officially there, it was no surprise Mr Hackett was having trouble spotting her, she thought. Perhaps, Ida supposed, as she paid more attention to the handsome young man than she did to the funeral itself, the crush of townspeople, staff and neighbours made his getting a clear view of those keeping their distance difficult. And yet it was to the periphery that Mr Samuel Hackett still stared, to the very area where Ida stood, and while doing so he gave off the air of someone used to the effect of his good looks upon others.

  Ida turned to her sister Evie, christened Evangeline, who, being three years younger, was even smaller than she. Evie had not only heard little, she’d seen little, too. The funeral had bored her and she’d switched off her mind to it. ‘Do you see that gentleman, the one with the lovely hair?’ Ida asked.

  Her sister rubbed her nose. ‘No.’

  Ida winked. ‘I’m going to marry him. Just you wait and see.’

  Evie looked rightly sceptical.

  ‘When I’m older,’ Ida added. ‘When he’s seen me for the beautiful girl I really am.’

  ‘You should read a better class of novels,’ Evie pronounced.

  The coffin containing the late Miss Matilda Gregory’s remains was placed beneath soil, and Ida continued to watch as Mr Samuel Hackett made his way towards his waiting carriage, accepting condolences as he went from those mourners who had not managed to utter them earlier. These were mostly Castlemaine District men and women who knew him, Ida supposed.

  ‘Very sudden it was, for a woman so young.’ An older lady nearby, sheltering beneath a red parasol, seemed to be talking to no one in particular. ‘Terrible shock when the news got out. She was gone before a thing could be done by the doctor.’

  Ida looked around to see if there was anyone else to whom the lady might be addressing these remarks, and seeing that there wasn’t, she braved a reply. ‘It was very sudden. Miss Gregory must have been ill. I met her, you know—’

  The lady cut in before Ida could establish her credentials. ‘The valet took care of it all. No one could bear to see the body. So how would we know she’d been ill then? Nothing’s been said of it. The Coronial Magistrate barely gave it a blink. They’re a law unto themselves up at Summersby.’

  ‘Are they?’ Evie piped up next to Ida, interested now.

  Ida kept her eyes on tall Mr Hackett’s face, high above the heads of those who surrounded him.

  ‘No one can keep track of who’s living up there and who’s not, anymore,’ said the parasol lady. ‘That’s why we need more police constables, love.’

  Intrigued, both Ida and Evie waited for what else might be said.

  ‘Who is she?’ Evie whispered in Ida’s ear.

  Ida didn’t know.

  ‘Makes me remember when old Mr Gregory died two years back and it was weeks before anyone else knew of it,’ the lady added, after a moment of watching the crowd. She repositioned her parasol against the sun’s glare and brought a hand to pat at the back of her hair. ‘And then when we did get told, well, we heard that Miss Matilda was engaged to the gent from England, didn’t we?’

  Ida took her eyes from Samuel Hackett. ‘She had an intended?’

  The older woman had spotted someone she knew and was preparing to make her leave. ‘That’s him up there.’ She nudged her parasol in Mr Hackett’s direction.

  Ida was startled. ‘But isn’t that Mr Hackett? He’s the secretary.’ She felt her heart melt for him now, seeing his dignified grief for what it was. He’d buried his beloved.

  ‘Quite a rise in the world, wouldn’t you say?’ The woman looked cynically weary and Ida had a sudden dread they’d been standing conversing with a person of ill repute. She saw now that the lady was actually wearing cosmetics beneath her veil. ‘Still, they say he was always a toff to begin with,’ the woman said airily as she went off.

  Ida and Evie just looked at each other, in equal parts thrilled and mystified.

  ‘Was she what Mum would call a tart?’ Evie wondered.

  ‘She had rouge on her cheeks,’ said Ida, nodding, wide-eyed.

  In the centre of the mourners, Samuel Hackett mounted his carriage with people still waiting to speak to him. He took his seat as if the throng
had already dispersed. Ida watched, enthralled, as he again raked all eyes, landing finally on her own. Thrown, she tried to appeal her sympathy in the look she returned him, along with outage on his behalf that Fate could be so cruel as to take his betrothed, and then she offered reassurance that she would serve Summersby loyally, devotedly until the end of her days. This was rather more than a single look could convey.

  Samuel Hackett’s voice rolled out, a smooth and lovely tenor, as polished as a piece of wedding silver. ‘I say, over there, are you Ida?’

  It was like the graveyard had opened, spitting up all of the dead. Ida was too shocked to speak.

  He smiled at her, amused, realising he’d awed her. ‘You, over there, yes, you.’ He was waving at her now, friendly. ‘Are you, by any chance, Miss Ida Garfield?’

  Ida opened her mouth and shut it again, useless.

  ‘Yes, she is!’ piped up Evie. ‘She’s my big sister!’

  • • •

  Ida found herself sitting high and comfortable on a padded leather seat inside Mr Hackett’s open-topped carriage. Standing outside where she’d been left to wait, mouth gaping in amazement, Evie stared at Ida inside the glamorous carriage as if she’d just seen her married into royalty.

  Samuel sat forward in the padded seat opposite Ida, next to another man of about the same age, being no more than twenty. But Ida only had eyes for Samuel. ‘I must introduce myself,’ he told her, presenting a hand, ‘I’m Hackett – Samuel Hackett – from Summersby, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I do know,’ said Ida, finding something like her voice at last.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Ida, and she was just about to tell him how greatly discussed he was in Castlemaine for his fine looks and lovely voice when she thought the better of it.

  ‘Oh, very good.’ He indicated the man next to him. ‘And this is my man, Barker. A very loyal chap, been with me for years.’

  The other man offered a grunt by way of acknowledgment, his hands scraping back thick, black hair from his forehead. Struck by the startling contrast he made next to Samuel, Ida supposed the other man possessed what might be called sinister good looks, being extremely lithe and dark, with his shock of a mane hiding piercing black eyes. She realised she’d already known of Barker’s name in Castlemaine, just as she’d already known of Samuel’s, although she hadn’t guessed they were connected. Barker was famous, too, or was that infamous? People spoke about him in whispers, bewitched by his baleful appearance. It was thought he had a secret lover, stashed away somewhere surprising. Ida couldn’t imagine how a story like that might have started.

  ‘Now then, Ida,’ Samuel started to say, ‘indeed this is a very sad day—’

  ‘I’m so sorry for it, Mr Hackett,’ Ida leapt in, ‘it’s a terrible loss you’ve suffered, and I’m so very sorry for it, I really am. Your fiancée, Miss Matilda, was the loveliest young lady I ever met, I swear she was—’

  The surprise of seeing the cynical smirk that appeared on Barker’s face stopped her.

  ‘You are very kind to say it,’ said Samuel, oblivious to the other man. ‘As I said, it is a very sad day and we must be forgiven if we let emotions get the better of us.’

  ‘I do understand it if there’s no position for me now in the great house, sir,’ Ida told him. ‘It was Miss Gregory who hired me and now that she’s gone . . .’

  Samuel looked surprised. ‘No position?’

  ‘Dirty floors don’t clean themselves, I know that, too, sir, but still, it was poor Miss Gregory who came for me, and those she loved and left behind must have very different plans now, I’m sure—’

  The man Barker seemed to be stifling a laugh as he watched her.

  ‘But you have the offer of a position still,’ said Samuel.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Of course you’re still wanted,’ he clarified, ‘we have very great need of a maid. We would be pleased to see you at Summersby. My late fiancée praised you highly.’

  ‘But?’ This struck Ida as wrong. With a sinking heart she knew she had no option but to explain his misapprehension. ‘Mr Hackett, I met Miss Gregory for the very first time and the very last time just a fortnight ago, when she came to our farm and had a talk with my mum. She couldn’t have praised me – she didn’t know me.’

  This news was clearly unexpected. ‘That is not how my fiancée perceived it. She spoke of you as an upstanding girl. That was why she wished to hire you.’

  Humbled, Ida brought a hand to her heart. ‘I’ve been raised right, sir, my mum is always strict yet fair, but perhaps there was some mistake?’ Now that Ida actually thought about it all, excitement aside, she remembered that her mother had been just as astonished as Ida was to host the beautiful Miss Matilda Gregory in their home at all, and then to receive an offer of employment from her, what’s more. To the best of Ida’s knowledge, which wasn’t extensive, admittedly, her mother had never met the elegant visitor before either. She was so keen to seize opportunity for Ida that she hadn’t asked questions. Miss Gregory’s credibility had sat with her name. ‘Is it possible Miss Gregory just got me mixed up with someone else?’ Ida asked.

  Samuel shook his head, beaming at her. The effect was uplifting; Ida thought she could live forever in such a smile. ‘If bringing you to Summersby was what my fiancée wished for then I wish only to honour it. We have need of you, Ida.’ He looked at his man again. ‘We have need of a friend.’

  She felt her heart skip a little at the word.

  ‘What is important is that you say yes.’ His eyes moved to the little canvas bag that Ida had brought with her to the funeral.

  Ida blushed. ‘I must confess, Mr Hackett, I wouldn’t let myself give up hope about the position – I wanted to work at Summersby more than anything else in the world when Miss Gregory asked me to.’ She patted the bag. ‘Today is the day she told me I’d be starting. I brought my things along, you see, just in case.’

  • • •

  Ida hadn’t expected to be sniffing back tears when she’d stepped down from the carriage in order to say goodbye. ‘I’d best be on my way then, Evie,’ she told her sister where they stood by the graveyard gate, a little distance from the carriage, the canvas bag tight in her hand. ‘Tell Mum it all worked out wonderfully, just like we prayed it would, and I’ll write to her every week.’

  If she hoped for Evie’s own tears at the perfect turn the day had taken, she didn’t get them. Evie was pleased. ‘How soon until you’re properly earning then?’

  ‘How should I know?’ said Ida. ‘He didn’t tell me that.’

  Evie didn’t much appreciate this answer. ‘Fortnightly? Monthly? When will they pay you your wages?’

  ‘I’ll find all that out when I get there, won’t I?’ Ida said. She was excited beyond measure at the prospect.

  Evie frowned. ‘I’ve got schoolbooks to buy, remember. That’s what Mum wanted you to go to work for.’

  ‘I know.’ Ida kissed her and held her tight. ‘I’ll not forget it; you’re a real champ at that school, Evie, the smartest kid I know.’ She wiped a happy tear from where it had adhered to Evie’s cheek. ‘But until you get the books just keep on going to the Mechanics’ Institute, all right?’

  Evie nodded. ‘Just you remember not to annoy everyone by asking questions. You do that, you know. A lot. People talk about it.’

  Ida snorted. ‘I’m not a twit. I know how to mind my Ps and Qs.’

  She took her leave from her sister then, picking her way through the last of the departing mourners to where her new friend, the handsome Mr Samuel Hackett and his man Barker waited patiently in the transport.

  • • •

  Ida told herself she would remember it always, that she’d etch it onto her brain somehow, her first ever look at Summersby. She snatched tempting glimpses of it to begin with, the great mansion half-seen through the canopy of elms and kurrajongs, as they made their way in the carriage past the wrought-iron gate and the Osage orange hedge, and up the l
ong, sweeping drive that led to the house. The carriage trundled and squeaked for hours it felt like, but probably not that long, Ida’s canvas bag in her hand all the way, containing a shiny new uniform. She caught new glimpses, different glimpses of her destination as the drive snaked its way through the park, until suddenly Summersby presented itself in entirety, out in the open on the crest of a hill, skirted by wide, green lawn, and bathed in sunshine with not a soul to be seen. As Ida sat there staring, she told herself she would remember forever Summersby’s grand, Italianate style (for she already knew that this was the name for it), built from Harcourt granite in two long wings that met at an angle. She would recall its full three storeys until the day she expired, she declared to herself, and recall the magnificent tower placed, it was true, somewhat eccentrically so that it rose from the middle of the eastern wing; an affront to some in town for its lack of symmetry but never to her, not now that she’d seen it up close. She would remember the tower’s elegant, rounded windows, and remember it topped with a pole flying proudly the flag of Her Majesty’s Colony of Victoria. Ida knew she would see forever in her mind the great house ringed by its loggia and above it the encircling balcony giving views. She told herself that she would see the many French windows, open to the breeze and giving peeks inside on the day she lay down on her death bed, and she would see them just as clearly as she saw them now. She would remember her first look at Summersby better than anything else that had ever happened to her because the fabled home of the Gregorys was to be her home, too.

  • • •

  As Ida came to a halt behind Barker in the upper hallway, she let herself peer up at the strange servant she was expected to treat as her superior.

  ‘How long you been here then, Mr Barker?’ Ida asked, keen on making conversation.

  Barker’s look suggested that such a question was a personal insult. ‘A while.’

  She nodded. ‘How long you been with Mr Hackett?’

  ‘A while more.’ He decided to grace her with chips of information. ‘Found him on the Melbourne docks, I did, when he was just off the boat. Pathetic he looked. He needed me.’