Shadows in the Valley

by Elizabeth Haran

  Doris read the note. “Right,” she said. “Let’s see what we can do for you.” She began selecting undergarments from boxes, including stockings. Now and again she appraised Abbey’s size. She also selected two pairs of shoes that she had Abbey try on. “They’re quite plain and practical, but comfortable,” Doris said. “If you want anything fancy, you’ll have to get in town.” She then went about selecting toiletries, including soap. Finally, she selected a hairbrush, comb, and some ribbons.

  Abbey had been watching her. She’d never had so many new belongings in her life. “Wait, Mrs. Hubert, all this is lovely, but I don’t want to run up a large account.” She felt she had to say something, as the stipend Jack was going to give her wasn’t large.

  “Don’t worry about that, dear. Mrs. Hawker has asked that I put all this on her account, which her son always takes care of.”

  Abbey was shocked and embarrassed. “I can’t have you do that,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t seem right. Jack said I could have my own account.”

  “Well, of course you can. But I must follow Mrs. Hawker’s instructions.”

  “Then please only give me the bare essentials. I can do without hair ribbons and stockings.”

  “You certainly can’t, dear. As Mrs. Hawker’s companion, you will be accompanying her to town, won’t you?”

  “I suppose so,” Abbey said.

  “And she will receive guests here, so you must look presentable.”

  Abbey knew she was right. She didn’t want to humiliate the Hawkers.

  It was soon obvious that Doris Hubert loved to chatter, but she began asking questions, as well. Abbey claimed to be in a hurry so she could get away quickly. “Mr. and Mrs. Hawker are expecting Clementine Feeble for lunch, so I must get ready,” she stated.

  “Oh,” Doris said in a tone that made Abbey curious.

  “Do you know Miss Feeble?” Abbey asked as Doris put her purchases in a box.

  “I’ve met her a few times, but we’re not friends.” Doris hesitated. “I doubt she has many, to be honest,” she then added.

  “Why do you say that?” Abbey asked. “Isn’t she nice?”

  “Nice?” Doris said, obviously startled by the suggestion. “I don’t know of anyone who would describe her as nice. I can’t deny she’s quite attractive and charming, to be sure, if she puts her mind to it, especially around the men. But I wouldn’t call her nice. She’s not a horrid girl. I don’t mean to imply thatshe just tends to speak her mind too plainly.”

  “Oh,” Abbey said, disappointed for Jack’s sake. She thought he deserved someone nice.

  “I shouldn’t be saying anything, however,” Doris said. “Promise you won’t mention what I said to Mrs. Hawker. If Miss Feeble gets her way, she will one day be Mrs. Hawker’s daughter-in-law.”

  “Oh, no, of course not,” Abbey said. “To be honest, Mrs. Hawker seemed at a loss to describe Miss Feeble, as well. She told me I could draw my own conclusions when I meet her.”

  “I’ll be curious to hear what your conclusions are,” Doris said. “Stop by anytime for a chat.”

  “I will,” Abbey promised. “Thank you for your help.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Doris said, getting back to her work.

  ***

  Back at the house, Sybil had found a simple gown for Abbey. At least she thought it was simple. Abbey thought it was simply wonderful. It was cream-colored, and the bodice was embroidered with flowers. A wide sash encircled the waist, emphasising her petite figure. It also had short sleeves, which were perfect for the hot weather.

  When Abbey laid eyes on the garmet, she was overwhelmed. “This gown is too nice to loan to me,” she said. “What if I get it dirty or accidentally tear it?”

  “It’s not a loan, Abbey,” Sybil said. “I’m giving it to you. My waist won’t ever be that tiny again. We’ll go and see a dressmaker in town tomorrow or the next day, and order you some gowns. You’ll need a variety.”

  Abbey’s eyes filled with tears.

  “What’s the matter, dear?” Sybil asked.

  Abbey didn’t know what to say. She felt embarrassed to admit the truth. She’d never had anything so lovely. “I’ve” She clutched the gown to her. “Thank you,” she managed to get out.

  Sybil guessed the truth. Abbey was looking at the dress as if it were an expensive ball gown. “This old thing is nothing to be overwhelmed by,” she said almost gruffly, feeling a little embarrassed by Abbey’s discomfort. “Now what did Mrs. Hubert give you?”

  Abbey showed her the contents of the bag. “I can’t let you or your son pay for these things,” she said. “You’ve already been kind enough.”

  “It’s my place to see that my companion is suitably attired, Abbey,” Sybil said. “Besides, it amuses me to dress you. And my son wants me to be amused, doesn’t he?”

  Abbey wanted to say that she didn’t like being considered a charity case, but she bit her tongue.

  “Run along and get dressed,” Sybil said, glancing at the clock. “You’ve just enough time to do your hair before Miss Feeble arrives. If she’s anything, she’s punctual.”

  Wearing Sybil’s gown and with her hair thoroughly brushed and adorned with a ribbon, Abbey felt like a princess. She couldn’t stop looking at herself in the mirror. When she came downstairs, she was quite excited about meeting Miss Clementine Feeble.

  “Don’t you look nice, Abbey?” Sybil said as she passed her in the hall on the way to check on lunch.

  Abbey smiled with pleasure as she caught her reflection in a mirror in the hall. She hoped Jack noticed the change in her appearance and at the same time scolded herself for that wish.

  ***

  At precisely twelve thirty, Clementine Feeble’s carriage rolled up. Abbey was watching through the living room window.

  “Your guest is here, Mrs. Hawker,” she called to Sybil.

  “I told you she’s always on time,” Sybil said, glancing at the clock as she came into the living room.

  Abbey watched Clementine sashay up the footpath, looking about her as if she were inspecting the premises. She was blonde, her hair coiffed into ringlets and adorned with a comb. She wore a pale pink gown that perfectly complemented her fair skin, rosy cheeks, and lips. Suddenly Abbey felt quite plain in comparison.

  Elsa opened the front door. “Good afternoon, Miss Feeble,” she said. She barely received a nod in reply. “Mrs. Hawker is in the living room,” the servant girl added.

  Sybil was waiting for Clementine when she swept into the room. “Good day, dear,” she said, welcoming her.

  “Good day, Mrs. Hawker,” Clementine said in a silky, smooth voice. She took her hands and kissed both of Sybil’s cheeks with lips that barely touched her skin. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. How have you been since I last saw you?”

  “Busy, busy, in the shop,” Clementine said in a weary tone. “I’m so glad to get away for a few hours, even if it is to travel out here on such a warm day.”

  “It’s good of you to come out to see us,” Sybil said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t see Jack otherwise,” Clementine almost whined. “He’s always so busy on the farm that he rarely gets to town.”

  This sounded like a complaint to Abbey, and Doris Hubert’s words echoed in her mind.

  Abbey was hovering to the side of the chair where Sybil usually sat, content for the moment to remain in the background. She was watching Clementine closely and couldn’t help thinking that every move and word she spoke seemed to be calculated. To what end, Abbey didn’t know. Overall though, there was no denying that Clementine Feeble was quite attractive, although her nose was rather sharp, detracting from the softness of her features.

  “I’ll have Elsa fetch you something cool to drink,” Sybil said. “I believe Sabu has made fresh
lemonade.”

  “Thank you,” Clementine said. “I’m rather parched.”

  As Sybil called for the drinks, Clementine looked at Abbey curiously.

  “I’d like you to meet Abbey Scottsdale, Clementine,” Sybil said. “Miss Scottsdale, Miss Clementine Feeble.”

  Abbey smiled. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Abbey Scottsdale?” Clementine said, frowning as she flicked an appraising glance over her.

  Abbey could almost read her mind. She was wondering who Abbey was and what she was doing at Bungaree. It occurred to her that Clementine might think her a new servant.

  “Abbey is my companion,” Sybil explained. “She’s from Burra,” she added.

  “Oh,” Clementine said, her interest fading as fast as ice melts on a hot day. “I don’t know anyone from Burra.” She turned to look out the window. “The gardens look lovely, Mrs. Hawker. I was admiring them as I came up the path.”

  Abbey was quite relieved that Clementine Feeble didn’t know anyone from Burra. That meant she was unlikely to find out that Abbey had lived in a dugout. And Abbey certainly wasn’t going to volunteer that information.

  Elsa appeared with a tray on which there were three glasses of lemonade. Sybil handed one to Clementine and one to Abbey. “Frank Fox is an excellent gardener,” she said as she took her own glass.

  “He certainly is,” Clementine said, admiring a vase of blooms on a side table near the sofa.

  “He could do with some help,” Sybil added, “but it’s hard to come by at the moment.”

  “I know all about that,” Clementine said. “I can’t get any help in the shop. So many men have taken their wives with them to the latest gold rush in Queensland. How are things at Bungaree?” She sat down on the sofa, giving Abbey another brief glance.

  “Fine, fine,” Sybil said, sitting down in an armchair, while Abbey remained standing nearby. “If you don’t count sheep, lambs, flies, and dust, nothing too exciting happens out here.” She looked up at Abbey, giving her a kindly smile. She would have liked to mention the fun they’d had playing cards the previous night, but she suspected Clementine would have turned her nose up at the idea of socialising with the servants.

  Abbey thought it might be helpful if she added something to the conversation that made their lives sound a bit more interesting. “We had fun playing Liar’s Poker last night, didn’t we?” she said innocently.

  Clementine blinked at her in astonishment, while Sybil winced. “Liar’s Poker?!” she said. “What kind of game is that?”

  “It’s just a card game that Abbey taught me,” Sybil said hastily, hoping Clementine would drop the subject.

  “Mr. Hawker was quite good at it, and so were the others,” Abbey added.

  “The others?” Clementine asked. “Did you have guests?”

  “No,” Sybil said, panicking.

  “I was referring to Sabu, Elsa, and Marie,” Abbey responded.

  “The servants?!” Clementine fixed Sybil with a bemused stare. “Things really are quite dull out here, aren’t they?” she said.

  Abbey realised that she had embarrassed Sybil, and she felt mortified when she saw Sybil shift uncomfortably. She could see by the look on Clementine’s face that poor Sybil would be the subject of gossip in town.

  “Where is Jack?” Clementine asked in a tone that was mildly reproachful. “I thought he’d be here to meet me.”

  “He went out earlier to check on the new lambs,” Sybil said, relieved that the subject had changed. “He should be here shortly. Before he left, I reminded him that you were coming for lunch.”

  “Did he need reminding?” Clementine asked. This time there was no mistaking the hurt she felt.

  Sybil had clearly been thrown off balance as the perfect host and stumbled for words. “He’s a wonderful son, and I love him dearly, but he does have his shortcomings like any other man, Clementine,” she said, trying to be humorous.

  Clementine looked slightly annoyed. “I won’t be pleased if he’s forgotten me,” she said.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here,” Sybil soothed. “Now tell me what’s been happening in town.”

  While the two women nattered about different people in town, Abbey slipped out of the living room and went to the kitchen. It had only taken her moments to embarrass Sybil, and she felt terrible about it.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Sabu asked, studying her with a frown on his face.

  “Nothing,” Abbey murmured, avoiding looking him in the eye. She still found him a little intimidating. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “I’m just about to serve lunch,” the cook said disapprovingly.

  “I’m not that hungry,” Abbey replied defiantly. To avoid being seen, she slipped out the backdoor and then out through a gate that put her beside the road that ran past the side of the house. Instead of going in the direction of the shearer’s quarters and sheds, she went the other way. When she walked past the store, the door was open, but she couldn’t see Doris. She was grateful, as she didn’t feel like talking about Clementine. She continued up the road towards the front gate.

  With her head down, Abbey walked slowly, oblivious to her surroundings.

  “Good day, there,” she heard someone call cheerfully.

  Abbey turned to see a man coming around the blacksmith’s shop from the stables. He was middle-aged, with slightly graying hair and a cheerful expression.

  “Good day,” Abbey replied. She wondered who he was.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Father John Quinlan, but call me John, or Father Quinlan if you wish,” he smiled, extending his hand when he reached her.

  “I’m Abigail Scottsdale, but please, call me Abbey.” She glanced at his shirt to see that he wasn’t wearing a collar.

  “Elias said the Missus had a companion. I take it that’s you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s a sad state of affairs when you have to pay someone to keep you company, don’t you think?”

  His remark was so bold that despite her glum mood, Abbey couldn’t help laughing. “That sounds like something my father would have said,” she said, surprised to find that she could actually remember something like that with fondness, instead of overwhelming sadness.

  “At least you’re smiling,” the priest said. He had noted her dispirited state. “Mrs. Hawker has been very lonely since she moved here. I’m pleased she has company, especially such pretty company.”

  Abbey recognised the twinkle in the priest’s eye.

  “A touch of the Blarney,” she said, and he laughed.

  “Where do you hail from, lass?” he asked.

  “Sligo, and you?” Abbey asked.

  “I’m a Dubliner, born and bred,” Father Quinlan said.

  He was standing quite close to Abbey, close enough that she could see broken capillaries on the end of his nose and smell liquor on his breath. She’d known enough heavy drinkers in her tender years to recognise one in Father Quinlan.

  “Have you seen St. Michael’s yet?” he asked.

  “No,” Abbey admitted. “Not yet.”

  “Come, and I’ll give you the guided tour myself,” the priest said.

  Abbey detected the pride in his voice. She was quite happy to go with him, as she was curious about the church and wanted to be distracted from her thoughts.

  “I hope you will be attending Mass tomorrow,” the priest added seriously.

  “Err, yes,” Abbey said. She hadn’t thought about it, but she knew there was no avoiding it now.

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re not Catholic. People of all denominations attend, not only the workers here, but also shearers and station owners for miles around. It saves them from going to St. Barnabas in Clare. It’s a long journey, and the roads are terrible.”

  “I was
baptised Catholic,” Abbey said. She and her father had attended Mass in Burra intermittently, but she wasn’t going to admit that. When they’d lived with her aunt in Ireland, she’d made sure they all attended Mass regularly.

  “Wonderful. St. Michael’s was built of stone quarried nearby, and the shingle roof is made from stringy bark off trees right here at Bungaree. Bishop Short consecrated it two years ago. I arrived here shortly afterwards.”

  “What do you do when you’re not on duty in the church?” Abbey asked, thinking that even if he said Mass every morning, which was unlikely, he’d still have a lot of time on his hands. Confession was generally only weekly, usually on a Saturday.

  “I do all sorts of odd jobs to help out. I’ve even turned my hand to shearing if there’s a shortage of labour.”

  “Mr. Hawker did mention that you sometimes help out on the farm.”

  “I also visit families in the area.” They reached the church, and Father Quinlan opened the door for Abbey, who entered the cool, dim interior. St. Michael’s looked like any other church, with rows of pews with cushions in front of them to kneel on. But the stained-glass windows drew Abbey’s attention. There was an enormous one over the altar and another smaller one at the back of the church.

  When Father Quinlan saw her looking at them in wonder, he smiled. “The windows were done by a father and son team from Penwortham. They’re wonderful, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, absolutely beautiful.” The sunlight shimmered through the vivid blues and reds, casting prisms of colour over the bench pews.

  Abbey became aware of Father Quinlan studying her closely and began to feel self-conscious. “What is it, Father?”

  “You’re a pretty girl not to be married yet,” he said. It was a fair assumption. She wouldn’t have been Sybil’s companion if she’d had a husband.

  At his words, Abbey burst into tears. With everything that had happened over the past few days, her emotions were raw.

  “Oh, dear,” Father Quinlan said, drawing her to a pew. “Sit down, my child.”

  “I’m sorry,” Abbey mumbled, accepting a handkerchief to dab her tears with.