The Ivory Rose

by Belinda Murrell

  Georgiana sighed, kicking a pebble along the path.

  ‘Until a few weeks ago I had lessons twice a week with a dancing master in Glebe and German lessons with a Fräulein around the corner. When I first started getting sick, Aunt Harriet thought it was better if I stayed home, so I’ve read nearly every book in the house.’

  ‘What about friends? Don’t you get lonely?’ asked Jemma, thinking about the amount of time she spent with her own friends during and after school.

  Georgiana stared at her black lace-up boots, which Jemma had polished that morning to a lustrous shine.

  ‘My aunt doesn’t like me to spend time with most of the children around here. She thinks they’re too common and a bad influence. I used to play with a family that lived next door, but their father’s business went bankrupt a couple of years ago and they moved away. The new family is Catholic and my aunt doesn’t approve of them.’

  ‘Because they’re Catholic?’ asked Jemma, surprised.

  Georgiana nodded.

  ‘That’s just silly!’

  Across the road, Hinsby Park was filled with flowers, neatly kept lawns and rose beds. While pretty, it was hardly an exciting place to visit. Two nannies, covered in shawls and bonnets, sat gossiping on the park bench, high-wheeled perambulators parked beside them. Their older charges ran up and down the path in their royalblue velvet dresses and lace collars, bowling hoops along with sticks. Two matching, fluffy white dogs barked at their heels.

  ‘Shall we keep on walking?’ suggested Jemma. ‘Are you feeling all right? Perhaps we should walk up to Booth Street.’

  Georgiana nodded, her eyes shining.

  Once again, Booth Street was a hive of people, horses, bicycles and carriages. A swaying double-decker omnibus, crowded with passengers, rumbled by, the driver flicking his whip at the four magnificent draught horses.

  The girls strolled along, peering into the shops, dodging pedestrians and half-starved, slinking dogs. There was the butcher and baker, a musical instrument repairman, the boot and shoemaker, and the photographer. The pub on the corner was already crowded with unemployed men drinking ale and telling yarns.

  Hawkers, with laden baskets and barrows, called out their wares.

  ‘Muffins. Get your fresh muffins.’

  ‘Apples, crunchy and delicious.’

  ‘Pies. Hot pies – a penny apiece.’

  The grocer sold sacks of flour, oatmeal, sugar and sago alongside matches, candles, twists of boiled lollies and tins of treacle. Next door, the Italian greengrocer proudly displayed mounds of polished red apples, bright oranges, cabbages, onions and potatoes.

  ‘Shall we visit the costumier?’ asked Georgiana, pointing into another shop. ‘We don’t have any money, but we can look at the goods.’

  Georgiana pushed her way into the shop. The interior was dark and crowded with a long timber counter down the centre. Shelves held rolls of muslin sprigged with roses, rich velvets, practical navy serge, heavy lace and pale cottons. Higher up were displayed sun bonnets, straw boaters and broad-brimmed hats.

  A laconic shopgirl glanced up from where she was rolling braid, then ignored them.

  ‘We’d like to look at ribbon, if you please,’ ordered Georgiana imperiously, standing beside the counter.

  The girl wandered over and pulled open drawers under the counter that were filled with rolls of satin ribbon, braid and lace trim, in a rainbow of colours and widths. Georgiana ooohed over a wide, periwinkle-blue satin.

  The shopgirl had obviously decided they were not worthwhile customers and returned to her braid, nose in the air.

  Jemma pulled open another couple of drawers that held dozens of pairs of soft kid gloves and a selection of fringed Spanish shawls made of silk. Jemma ran her work-roughened hand over the fine fabric, marvelling in its soft, rich texture.

  Georgiana pulled a crimson shawl from the drawer and draped it around her shoulders, admiring her image in the mirror. This earned her a snooty glare from the shopgirl.

  ‘Are you quite all right there, miss? Madame doesn’t approve of her merchandise being handled.’

  Jemma tossed her head, annoyed by the girl’s superior manner. ‘My mistress is seeking a very expensive present for her aunt,’ she retorted, her own nose firmly in the air. ‘However, there obviously isn’t anything suitable here.’

  The girl flushed and hurried forward, her demeanour completely changed. ‘Oh, in that case, perhaps I can show you our paisley shawls, or an ivory fan?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Georgiana said flatly, dropping the silk back on the counter, her tone freezing in its civility. ‘But please tell Madame that Miss Thornton called by and was very disappointed that she was not available to assist.’

  Georgiana swept out of the shop, followed by Jemma. As soon as the door thudded behind them, the girls collapsed in giggles.

  ‘What a Miss Toffee-nose!’ Georgiana said. ‘Did you see her face when you said we wanted to buy something expensive? That was hilarious!’

  Jemma laughed, clutching Georgiana’s arm.

  ‘I wonder what Madame will say when she hears your message?’

  ‘Miss Toffee-nose will be far too scared to tell her.’

  The girls hurried down the footway, chattering and giggling.

  ‘Oh, look, there’s Molly,’ called Jemma. ‘Hello, Molly.’

  Molly was carrying a laden wash basket, wearing her usual tattered clothes. A young boy limped along beside her with another huge basket. A flicker of recognition crossed Molly’s face, but when she saw Georgiana her face closed down and she marched on.

  ‘Molly,’ Jemma repeated. ‘This is Georgiana. Where are you going?’

  Molly reluctantly stopped, shifting the basket onto one hip, and nodded stiffly at Georgiana.

  ‘Tommy and I have to deliver the shirts today,’ Molly explained. ‘Ma’s helping a neighbour who had a baby.’

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ replied Jemma. ‘Was it a boy or girl?’

  ‘Boy, but the little ’un died. The mother’s taken poorly and Ma’s trying to save her.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Georgiana sympathised. ‘That’s terrible – why didn’t they call the doctor?’

  Molly shrugged her thin shoulders in resignation. ‘It’s probably just as well. They already have four children and can’t really afford another mouth to feed, or a doctor. Ma’ll help as best she can. If it’s God’s will, the mother will get better. If not, the children will end up in the orphanage, I guess.’

  Georgiana looked horrified. Tommy put the heavy basket down on the footpath and rubbed his sore leg.

  ‘What have you done to your leg, Tommy?’ Jemma asked, trying to change the subject.

  ‘Nothin’,’ replied Tommy with a scowl.

  Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s had it all his life. The midwife wrenched his leg when he was being born and it never grew properly. That’s why he has to work hard at school – he’ll never get a job at the timber yards with a bung leg like that.’

  Jemma felt a wave of helplessness wash over her. There was so much poverty. So much sickness. There didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do to change things.

  ‘Anyway, come on, Tommy. We’d better get these shirts delivered to the tailor.’

  Jemma waved goodbye distractedly. Molly marched off, Tommy struggling along behind.

  ‘I can’t believe they haven’t called a doctor,’ confided Jemma. ‘How much is a life worth?’ She was so preoccupied with thoughts of the dead baby and the dying mother and the incompetent midwife that she stepped out onto the road without looking.

  A sulky bowled by at a clipping rate, driven by a man with a walrus moustache and a black bowler hat. The man cursed and dragged the horses up, the left horse rearing. Georgiana grabbed Jemma’s arm and pulled her back onto the footpath.

  ‘Watch where you’re going, lass,’ shouted the driver, shaking his whip. ‘I could’ve killed you.’

  Jemma was shaking with shock at the near miss.

  ‘That�
��s the second time you’ve nearly been run over, Jemma.’ Georgiana rubbed Jemma gently on the arm. ‘Lucky I was here to save you,’ she teased. ‘I must be your guardian angel.’

  ‘Thanks, Georgie,’ Jemma replied with a trembling smile.

  I thought I was here to save Georgiana’s life, Jemma thought. Not the other way around.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ suggested Georgiana. ‘That’s quite enough excitement for one day.’

  ‘You’re to go with Miss Rutherford and Miss Georgiana to church this morning,’ growled Agnes. ‘The mistress thinks Miss Georgiana is well enough to have a proper outing today. Make sure you wear clean collar and cuffs, and your Sunday bonnet. And be sure all your chores are done before you go, or you won’t be going out this afternoon.’

  Jemma hurried through her tasks, careful to do them properly. She was sure it wouldn’t take much of an excuse for Agnes to ban her from an afternoon off.

  Georgiana was excited about the prospect of an outing, hopping from foot to foot with impatience as Jemma struggled with the stays and fiddly buttons of her dress. Jemma laced the stays much looser than Agnes had shown her.

  ‘I feel so good, Jemma,’ Georgiana exclaimed. ‘I haven’t felt this well in weeks! You must be a tonic for me – I feel like I could climb a mountain or ride my pony or dance a jig.’ Jemma frowned as she tied up Georgiana’s blue satin ribbon.

  ‘It’s not good for you to be cooped up in your room all the time. That would make me feel sick and headachey, too. It’s really important for kids to get exercise.’

  Georgiana twirled around, her white skirts flying out in a frilly spin.

  ‘Aunt Harriet believes in exercise, but she thinks young ladies should be marched briskly around the park by their nursemaids. She is always complaining that I’m too wild. She says ladies should be pale and genteel with faultless manners. But my mama always said that most ladies she knew were mindless and dull. Mama thought girls should be brought up to think and act for themselves.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Jemma agreed. ‘How can she think you’re wild? She doesn’t let you do anything.’

  Georgiana shrugged and wrinkled her nose. ‘Mama and Aunt Harriet didn’t really get on, even though they were sisters. Mama was the pretty one and the clever one and doted on by her papa. Aunt Harriet was the older sister – plain and respectable – always doing the correct thing and always overlooked.’

  Jemma laughed. It was a good summation of Miss Harriet Rutherford.

  ‘You know, I think Aunt Harriet might even have been a little bit in love with my papa,’ confided Georgiana with a giggle. ‘She certainly seemed to dote on him when Mama died. Sometimes I wish Papa hadn’t brought Aunt Harriet to live with us. I was much happier with Miss Babot.’

  Jemma gave Georgiana a quick squeeze. She felt so sorry for Georgiana.

  ‘Your mama was right,’ Jemma asserted. ‘Girls should be brought up to think and act for themselves. In my time, girls are taught they can do or be anything they set their minds to.’

  Georgiana flashed Jemma a quick look. Jemma started brushing Georgiana’s hair quickly to cover her slip.

  ‘Tell me more about your mama,’ invited Jemma.

  Georgiana smiled, her face alight with memories. ‘She had the most beautiful laugh. I loved watching her get ready to go to the theatre or parties. She had dark hair swept up in a chignon, with wayward curls that would always escape. I loved the scent of her fragrance when she would come to kiss me goodnight.’

  Jemma thought of her own mother sitting in front of the dressing table, slipping in her earrings and spraying on her perfume. A glint of tears came to her eyes. Georgiana and Jemma smiled at each other.

  ‘She was a passionate letter-writer – always writing to the newspaper about women gaining the vote,’ continued Georgiana. ‘She thought it was a disgrace that women could not vote. She said women were treated as idiots or children by the law.

  ‘Mama had lots of ideas that Aunt Harriet thought were unwomanly. Mama didn’t agree with girls wearing stays – she thought it was bad for their health, and she believed strongly that girls need a good education so they can make their own way in the world.’

  ‘Your mama sounds a lot like my mum in many ways,’ Jemma said softly. ‘My mum believes that in life you should always aim for the moon – if you don’t quite make it, you’ll fall among stars.’

  Georgiana shook her head, as though clearing her mind of these painful memories. ‘We must go down,’ she urged, immediately changing the subject. ‘Aunt Harriet will be cross if we keep her waiting. What are you going to do on your afternoon off?’

  ‘I’m going to Kentville with Ned,’ Jemma explained. ‘He said there’ll be a band and bowls and archery and skittles.’

  ‘Oh,’ sighed Georgiana, her eyes on the floor. ‘It would be lovely to walk in the grounds of Kentville again.’

  ‘I have an idea,’ crowed Jemma, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘You can come to Kentville with us. Pretend to go to your room for a nap and sneak down the backstairs to meet me.’

  Georgiana’s eyes burnt with excitement. ‘Do you think I could?’ she begged. ‘Aunt Harriet would be furious if she found out!’

  ‘What is she going to do?’ insisted Jemma, handing Georgiana her bonnet. ‘Lock you in your room again? Besides, Doctor Anderson said it was good for you to get out and get some exercise and fresh air.’

  Georgiana skipped to the door, her bonnet swinging by its ribbons.

  The skip very quickly changed to a sedate step as she emerged into the hall to be met by Aunt Harriet approaching.

  ‘Are you ready, Georgiana dear?’ asked Miss Rutherford, scanning her niece’s appearance. ‘Put on your bonnet and gloves, please, and walk slowly. A lady should never scurry. You look quite well today, my dear. You look like you’ve put on some weight, and there is a bit of colour in your cheeks. I do hope you are not coming down with a fever!’

  Jemma had immediately stepped back, as instructed by Agnes, her eyes to the floor, trying to be invisible.

  ‘Fetch Miss Georgiana a rug for the carriage,’ ordered Miss Rutherford. ‘I do not wish her to catch a chill.’

  Jemma thought of the warm spring sunshine outside but hurried to do as she was bid.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she replied, trying to curtsey and hurry backwards into Georgiana’s room at the same time. Jemma nearly fell over her own feet.

  Jemma went out the back door to the carriage, while Miss Rutherford and Georgiana went out the front. Jemma smiled at Ned, who was holding the reins of Butterscotch and Sugar, as she clambered into the carriage. He climbed up onto his seat, clicked to the horses and the carriage rumbled out the back gate, into the laneway and around the block to pick up his remaining passengers from the front gate.

  It was a short drive to the Hunter Baillie Memorial Church. Crowds of horsedrawn carriages, sulkies and buggies lined Johnston Street.

  People milled around, dressed in their Sunday best – men in top hats and suits, women in billowing, long dresses and vast hats or tidy bonnets. Mangy, mongrel dogs sniffed around the outskirts of the throng, hoping to find scraps.

  First the huge feathered hat, then Miss Rutherford, alighted from the carriage, followed by Georgiana and Jemma. Ned stood by to help the ladies down the steps, top hat under his arm, his demeanour serious and respectful. He winked at Jemma, spoiling the illusion and making her giggle.

  A few ladies, including Mrs McKenzie, were standing nearby and they turned to welcome Miss Rutherford and Georgiana. Jemma stood invisibly behind.

  ‘What a lovely surprise,’ cried Mrs McKenzie, embracing Georgiana. ‘Georgiana, it is so wonderful to see you up and about again. But look how pale and thin you are!’

  Mrs McKenzie turned to Miss Rutherford and took her gloved hand sympathetically.

  ‘And Harriet, how are you bearing up? You look quite wrung out. You must not wear yourself out looking after Georgiana.’

  It’s me who’s wrung out looking
after Georgiana! thought Jemma. All Miss Rutherford seems to do all day is write letters, visit her friends and change outfits for the poor servants to wash and iron!

  Miss Rutherford smiled bravely and shook her head, making her feathers joggle.

  One of the other women hugged Georgiana and asked her questions about her health. Mrs McKenzie took the opportunity to draw Miss Rutherford aside. Jemma inched closer.

  ‘Oh, Harriet,’ mumured Mrs McKenzie, her voice trembling with concern. ‘I cannot believe the change in Georgiana these last few weeks. She has lost so much weight and looks so pallid. Whatever can be the matter with her? She was such a pretty, vibrant child. Now she’s just fading away.’

  Miss Rutherford put her gloved hand up to her mouth, obviously distressed.

  ‘Why Isabella, I thought she was looking a little better today?’ protested Miss Rutherford. ‘I wouldn’t have brought her out if I thought she was still ill. Perhaps I should ask Edward to take her home?’

  ‘No, no,’ Mrs McKenzie reassured her. ‘It will do her good to have a little fresh air and an outing. It was just a shock to see how much she’s changed.’

  The church bells pealed and the two women moved away towards the church door, arm in arm.

  Jemma felt her unease stirring. Mrs McKenzie was obviously disturbed by Georgiana’s appearance. Perhaps Georgiana had been sicker than she’d thought.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Georgie?’ whispered Jemma, coming up behind her. Georgiana turned around and smiled reassuringly.

  ‘I feel fine, truly. I cannot wait for this afternoon when we go out to Kentville.’

  Agnes was fastening her bonnet over her frilly white cap, a large black shawl around her wide shoulders.

  ‘Be sure you give Miss Georgiana her medicine before you go out,’ ordered Agnes, picking up her basket. ‘And be sure you are back here in time to take up Miss Georgiana’s supper.’

  Jemma nodded, trying to look as innocent as possible.

  ‘And wipe that smirk off your face,’ snarled Agnes. ‘You look like the cat that’s eyeing off the cream.’

  Jemma peeked out the scullery window to make sure Agnes had left out the back gate. She could see Ned out by the stables, whistling as he locked up the carriage house. Merlin lay basking in the sun, his tail curled like a comma. Connie had already left before lunch for the long walk to visit her family.