While Charlotte and John waited anxiously downstairs and Joseph rushed off to summon Doctor Allen – ‘just in case’, Eliza and Martin were in attendance in the bedroom. Meanwhile Matilda was also on hand, supplying them with copious quantities of hot water.
‘I have never seen two people wash their hands so thoroughly,’ she said, referring to Eliza and Martin.
‘There is nothing worse than lying-in fever,’ Eliza replied. ‘And careless doctors are often the cause. Cleanliness is paramount to prevent it.’
‘One day you should establish your own maternity hospital,’ said Martin, giving her a knowing smile.
Four hours after Nancy had first woken Eliza, the baby was born. For a few seconds she was silent, and Eliza and Martin exchanged anxious looks. Then she began to cry, not the mewing of a kitten but a full-blooded screech.
‘Strong lungs,’ said Doctor Allen, who had just arrived. ‘That’s a good sign.’
‘I suspect she takes after her Aunt Eliza,’ ventured Martin as he cut the cord. ‘A lady who is not averse to making her thoughts known in the most persuasive fashion.’
Eliza was either too tired or too happy to offer a retort. As she looked across at Martin, it struck her that they were both still dressed in their nightclothes, wearing the starched linen aprons Matilda had supplied for them over the top. Somehow, the strange costumes, resembling surgical gowns, didn’t seem out of place.
‘Do you have a name for your daughter, my dear?’ Doctor Allen asked Nancy.
Nancy, who was exhausted, managed a barely audible reply:
‘Daniela.’
Charlotte Miller was kept busy compiling a new scrapbook – the life and times of her first granddaughter, Daniela Gray. Meanwhile, Nancy had returned to making her fripperies, working in the light-filled sewing room while the baby slept in a cradle beside her. She could hardly keep up with the orders from Miss Travers, and there was even talk of a mail-order business.
Eliza helped Nancy with Daniela, just as she had done many years earlier with Charlie and James. She loved babies but always felt a sense of relief when she handed them back. Children had the power to monopolise your thoughts. She had seen it in her dealings with her nephews. Even now, she could easily fritter away hours, reading them stories and playing games. Then there was the terrible worry whenever they were ill. It made no difference whether you were an aspiring doctor or not, you would still agonise. How could you devote yourself to your work when you had mixed loyalties?
One day, as she was rocking Daniela in her arms, she caught Martin observing her from the doorway.
‘You would make an excellent mother,’ he said.
She didn’t know how to reply.
A week after Daniela was born, Eliza received a most unusual telegram addressed to ‘Miss Eliza Miller, Millbrooke’.
Surveying Granthurst-Millbrooke Road. Staying Telegraph Hotel Friday to Monday. Free on Sunday. Anxious to see dragons and duck-moles.
CC
Eliza wasn’t sure how to prepare her family for the imminent visit of Mr Charles Conder. When she announced the news at the dinner table, her mother was enraptured.
‘An artist from the city! Do you think he might undertake a painting of our house?’
‘He is only here for the day, Mama.’
‘We shall prepare a special luncheon for him. I will consult with Cook in the morning.’
‘Why doesn’t this Conder fellow find himself a real job?’ asked Joseph.
‘Art is a real job,’ Eliza replied curtly. ‘And he’s also a surveyor. That’s why he is coming. They’re surveying the new road between Millbrooke and Granthurst.’
‘I’ve heard it will follow the railway line through the hills,’ said John, ‘rather than taking the old Cobb and Co route. That will make the road journey considerably shorter.’
‘How did you meet Mr Conder?’ Nancy asked Eliza.
‘It was at Rose Scott’s salon. He showed me his sketches. He’s immensely talented.’
‘I have always wanted to meet an artist. It is a most intriguing occupation,’ she said.
As the conversation continued, Eliza noticed Martin hadn’t uttered a single word.
At Millerbrooke House the preparations were so complicated and the menu so lavish, one might have thought Charlotte Miller was expecting a visit from the Queen herself.
‘What with the baby and Mr Conder’s visit, not to mention Charlie’s scholarship, Mama has had little time in recent days to be sad about Daniel,’ Eliza confided in her father.
‘You are right. And I thank God for sending Nancy into our lives. Without her and Daniela, I don’t think your mother would have recovered. There is only so much grief a person can endure. Losing four children has taken its toll on her.’
‘On you too, Papa,’ she said, noting the wet glint in his eyes.
After church on Sunday Eliza collected Mr Conder from the Telegraph Hotel and the entire family travelled back to Millerbrooke in a procession of sulkies and carriages. Eliza couldn’t help sneaking glances at her artist friend in his soft-brimmed hat and loose black jacket. He was so handsome he could literally take her breath away.
Morning tea was waiting on the verandah and soon Mr Conder had charmed the family with his anecdotes, even Joseph. Martin kept his distance, playing with James and Charlie. Eliza suspected he was jealous. Little did he know that the glamorous Mr Conder was only seventeen.
Afterwards Eliza took him for a stroll down to the creek, accompanied by James and Charlie, who had appointed themselves chaperones. The boys were fascinated by the dark-haired stranger in his artist’s clothes and bombarded him with questions, which he answered with good humour.
While the boys went searching for signs of the platypus and Eliza reclined on the grass, Mr Conder took out his sketchbook. She must have fallen asleep because suddenly she heard the sound of a whistle and sat up with a start. The bird-call meant that the boys had spotted the platypus. They had learned never to shout. Although the creature had poor eyesight, its hearing was acute and it scared easily.
‘They’ve found the duck-mole,’ Eliza whispered to Mr Conder.
Creeping along the bank, the two of them made their way to where the boys were crouching behind a stand of reeds.
‘Watch out for the wombat hole,’ James warned in a low voice, indicating a burrow with an opening almost a yard wide, hidden by the long grass beside the creek. ‘You don’t want to break your leg.’
‘What is a wombat?’ asked Mr Conder.
‘It looks like a little bear,’ said Eliza. ‘And it’s probably asleep inside its hole at this very moment.’
‘Is it dangerous?’ he asked tentatively.
Eliza and the boys had to suppress their laughter for fear of frightening the platypus.
‘There he is!’ whispered Charlie, pointing to a furry back disappearing into the water.
‘That’s a water rat,’ said Mr Conder.
‘No, it’s not,’ said James. ‘Wait until it surfaces again and you’ll be able to see its bill.’
For a minute or two they waited expectantly. All at once the creature broke the surface and cruised along the creek, its body low in the water.
‘Merciful heavens!’ said Mr Conder. ‘What a strange animal.’
They observed it for a while, swimming on the surface and duck-diving for food, oblivious to their presence. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.
After Charlotte’s luncheon there was more sketching followed by afternoon tea. At five o’clock Eliza took her guest back to town. When they reached the hotel, he produced his sketchbook from his satchel and showed her a drawing he had done.
‘It’s me!’ she exclaimed. ‘While I was sleeping.’
‘What do you think of it?’
‘It’s rather intimate, isn’t it?’
‘Would you mind if I make it into a painting?’
She thought for a moment. ‘No, I would be most flattered.’
XVI
AMY
Monday 30th November, 1885
Life is all about taking chances, Mr O’Donnell had said, but Amy didn’t perceive her decision as being risky. After all, the gentleman in question came with excellent credentials. In the end, Mr Thomas from Granthurst hadn’t stood a chance.
This very afternoon her new manager would be arriving on the train from Sydney. Amy was just about to climb onto the sulky and drive to the station to collect him when Eliza turned up.
‘I know you’re in a hurry,’ she said, breathless from rushing along Miller Street, ‘but I just had to come and tell you the news.’
Amy had no idea what the ‘news’ might be, but if she didn’t leave now, there would be nobody to meet Mr O’Donnell. And that would be a most unsatisfactory introduction to his new life in Millbrooke.
‘You might as well come along,’ she said, ‘and you can tell me your news on the way.’ It crossed Amy’s mind that Eliza might have orchestrated her visit in order to be the first Millbrooker to meet the mysterious manager, who was the current focus of the local rumour mill.
‘I’ll drive,’ said Eliza, taking the reins.
Amy didn’t protest. Eliza was much better with horses than she.
‘So does your news pertain to Doctor Burns?’ Amy teased. ‘An engagement perhaps?’
‘Why is it that everyone assumes we are sweethearts?’
‘I have no idea,’ replied Amy, trying not to smile.
‘My news is of much greater import,’ Eliza said solemnly. ‘A prominent personage is making a visit to town in the new year. Can you guess who it might be?’
‘Could it be your friend, Rose Scott?’
‘No, this is someone far more renowned.’
‘The Governor?’ Amy ventured.
‘Do you really imagine I would be excited about a visit from him?’
‘Is it Sir George Dibbs then?’
‘The Premier. Hardly! But I’ll give you a clue – Sir George lost his seat in the last election to the gentleman in question, but then stood successfully for Murrumbidgee instead.’
They had reached the bottom of Miller Street and the station loomed on their left.
‘I give up,’ said Amy wearily. ‘You know I don’t follow politics.’
‘All the same, I am certain you will be delighted when I tell you who it is.’
‘Well, go ahead then,’ said Amy impatiently, tired of Eliza and her guessing games.
‘It’s Sir Henry Parkes!’
‘Are you sure? Why would someone of his importance come here?’
‘I ran into the Mayor outside the surgery, and he said there had been a telegram from Sir Henry’s office. He will be visiting Millbrooke on the last weekend in February for the Golden Jubilee celebrations. And he will need a place to stay. The Mayor was wondering if your hotel might be ready.’
‘Of course it will. We’re opening at the end of January. You know that.’ Amy’s mind was racing at the prospect. ‘I could give Sir Henry the Oriental Suite. We could even hold a dinner in his honour in the conservatory dining room.’
‘But the conservatory doesn’t exist yet.’
‘Only because Mr Rotherwood is leaving it till last,’ Amy said defensively. ‘He doesn’t want the glass to be damaged.’
They pulled up on the grassy verge in front of the station and Eliza hopped down and tethered the horse. Meanwhile, Amy smoothed her hair and pinched her cheeks, hoping Eliza wouldn’t notice. Then the two of them proceeded through the archway forming the entrance to the station and onto the platform. They looked down the track, but there was no sign of the train. Amy checked the railway clock – four minutes to go.
‘Where are you intending to accommodate the manager until the hotel is ready?’ Eliza asked as they took a seat on a bench with cast-iron ends.
‘I was intending to put him up in one of the rooms at the Telegraph, but thankfully Mr Rotherwood has been busy this week, finishing the manager’s quarters.’
‘Won’t this fellow be nervous when he finds himself alone at night in that big, empty building?’
‘He’s not the nervous type. Besides, Mr Rotherwood said it would be advantageous to have someone living there to prevent burglaries.’
‘Housebreakers and felons in Millbrooke?’
‘The world is changing, Eliza. Even cosy, little Millbrooke. I think it is a wise suggestion.’
‘Perhaps, but where will he eat?’
‘I’ll organise for him to have his meals at the Telegraph until the kitchen is set up and I can employ a cook.’
‘Poor man,’ said Eliza. ‘Their specialty is boiled mutton in grey sauce. It tastes like a dead rat.’
Having exhausted her battery of questions, Eliza sat silently for a while, gazing down the track. Finally she said, ‘No offence, Amy, but why would someone who has worked at the Great Western want to come here? I daresay your hotel will be very smart, but for a city gentleman, it would be quite an adjustment.’
‘He’s not from the city. He was born in the country. Like you.’
‘Oooh.’
Just as Eliza was taking in that piece of news, the high-pitched whistle of the steam train sounded in the distance. Even though the train was still a couple of miles away, both of them stood up in anticipation of its arrival.
‘Are you nervous, Amy?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well, why are your hands shaking?’
‘They’re not,’ she said, placing them in her pockets and then remembering a lady should never do that.
The engine was spewing so much smoke and steam they had to wait for it to clear to make out the figure descending from the last carriage with a single suitcase.
‘He’s tall, isn’t he?’ said Eliza.
‘Ssssh,’ Amy reprimanded.
‘He can’t hear me.’
A knot was forming in Amy’s stomach even though she wasn’t sure why. When Mr O’Donnell spotted her, he gave a wave and strode down the platform.
‘Mr O’Donnell. Welcome to Millbrooke,’ she said, noting that the green eyes had turned to emerald in the bright Millbrooke light.
‘Thank you, Mrs Chen,’ he said with a bow.
As he bent his head, she observed a reddish glint to the light brown hair that hadn’t been apparent in the tea rooms.
‘May I introduce Miss Eliza Miller? Miss Miller, Mr O’Donnell.’
When Eliza extended her gloved hand, Amy was shocked. Where were her manners? But Mr O’Donnell shook it and said, ‘It is a pleasure, Miss Miller.’
‘Did you have a good journey?’ Amy asked as they made their way past the ticket collector.
‘Most enjoyable, thank you. It is the first time I have seen the Australian countryside.’
‘It must have looked dry and dusty after the green fields of your homeland,’ said Eliza.
‘I suppose so, but I like the vast spaces. There is a sense of freedom.’
‘I agree,’ said Eliza enthusiastically. ‘Now, kindly hop aboard, Mr O’Donnell, and we shall take you for your first viewing of the Emporium Hotel.’
Amy was quite relieved that Eliza was handling the conversation because she was not feeling herself at all. Those green eyes and rose-gold locks had unsettled her in a most peculiar way. She hadn’t felt like that in years. Not since . . . Pull yourself together, Amy Chen, she told herself. You are a mature woman renowned for your circumspection and restraint. Stop behaving like a frivolous flibbertigibbet.
‘I do like your accent, Mr O’Donnell,’ Eliza was saying.
Amy frowned. Didn’t Eliza know it was bad manners to comment on a person’s accent, favourably or not?
‘I’m Irish,’ he replied amiably.
‘Are you a supporter of Home Rule?’ Eliza asked.
‘Eliza!’ This time Amy couldn’t keep silent. The question was almost as rude as asking someone for their religious affiliation.
‘It’s a reasonable question,’ said Eliza.
‘You d
on’t need to answer it, Mr O’Donnell,’ said Amy. ‘You must excuse Eliza. She has been studying Medicine at the Sorbonne.’
‘I don’t mind in the least,’ he said. ‘In point of fact, I agree with Mr Gladstone.’
‘Good,’ said Eliza. Gladstone was another of her heroes.
They had reached the highest point in Miller Street. The Emporium Hotel, its façade completed, stood in full view before them. Amy marvelled at the sight of it, the tower newly clad with shingles and the decorative weathervane delineated against the cerulean sky.
‘It is exactly like the drawing,’ said Mr O’Donnell. ‘Even to the fairy-tale turret.’
When Eliza pulled up outside, Mr Rotherwood and his workmen were busy constructing an arched portico over the entrance. It had been a last-minute idea on Amy’s part, borrowed from one of the new arcades in Sydney.
‘I shall take my leave,’ said Eliza. ‘I’ll return your sulky to Paterson Street and ride Neddy home. By-the-bye, Mr O’Donnell, we have a big luncheon every Sunday at Millerbrooke House. You would be most welcome to join us.’
Amy gave Eliza an icy stare, but she didn’t seem to notice. Didn’t she realise staff should never mix with employers? There was a strict hierarchy to be observed; otherwise the social order would crumble.
‘Thank you, Miss Miller. But I could only do so with Mrs Chen’s approval.’
‘Of course she approves,’ said Eliza. ‘It’s not as though she has any guests yet. And Sunday is a day of rest, after all.’
As Eliza made her farewells, Amy simmered. This was Millbrooke, not Alice’s Wonderland. Eliza couldn’t just alter the rules whenever she liked, or make rash decisions on behalf of other people. Breaking the rules inevitably brought penalties. Why didn’t Eliza understand that freedom came at a cost? And sometimes that cost was beyond measure.
‘I’m sorry about the floor,’ Amy said to Mr O’Donnell as they picked their way across the partly tiled foyer. ‘The tessellation has taken longer than expected, but it will be worth the effort. We are hoping to install the staircase in the next week or two. Now, here is the services corridor, directly off the foyer. This room is my office and your quarters are right next door.’
The Jade Widow Page 17
