She pushed the door open and stood back so that he could see inside. She had to admit that in spite of the rush in completing the room, it looked exceedingly smart with its wainscot panelling and pressed metal ceiling. The desk was rosewood, imported from China. Behind it was a lawyer’s bookcase in which Amy had placed some of her favourite novels. She hadn’t been sure what he might like to read so she had made safe choices – Dickens, Trollope, Thackeray. At the last moment she had placed a blue and white porcelain vase on the desk, filled with yellow roses from the garden at Paterson Street.
‘After you,’ he said, indicating that she should enter first.
For some reason, knowing that he was following so close behind her caused her heart to race.
‘It is a very fine room,’ he said, leaning over and smelling the roses. ‘If this is any indication of what is to come in the rest of the hotel, it will be a most impressive establishment indeed.’
Amy blushed despite herself. She would have to bring these wayward feelings under control or she would never be able to concentrate in his presence. Beyond the study was a bedroom. Although she had helped Mr Rotherwood to position the furnishings and even made up the bed herself, it would hardly be appropriate for her to enter the room with Mr O’Donnell. Instead, she waited in his study while he took a quick look around and deposited his suitcase on the luggage rack she had provided beside the wardrobe.
‘Very comfortable, Mrs Chen,’ he said, emerging from the bedroom.
‘I wish it hadn’t been so rushed.’
‘Please don’t apologise. It’s perfect.’
Early the next morning, Amy dropped Charlie at the emporium to do his schoolwork under Jimmy’s supervision. When she went next door, Mr O’Donnell was already in his office, immaculately dressed and writing furiously.
‘Did you sleep well, Mr O’Donnell?’
‘Thank you, Mrs Chen, I did.’
‘I trust the builders didn’t wake you this morning.’
‘No, I was already up and about.’
‘Was your breakfast satisfactory?’ She had left a basket in the study, containing fruit, bread, jam and locally brewed cider.
‘It was indeed, thank you. But you are far too busy to bother yourself with such things. Henceforth I can take breakfast at the public house until the kitchen is ready.’
‘As you please,’ she said.
‘There is another matter that I wish to raise with you, pertaining to the invitation from Miss Miller. If you consider it unseemly for me to attend the luncheon, I shall decline. I did not wish to offend anyone yesterday by pursuing the matter.’
Amy hesitated, unsure about how to word her objection to his presence at the Millers’ Sunday lunch. When she remained silent, he said, ‘I gather the problem is that you yourself attend these luncheons.’
‘The Millers are my family. My husband’s foster parents.’
‘In that event, I can understand your dilemma. It is a breach of etiquette for a servant to dine at the same table as his employer.’
‘I do not consider you a servant, Mr O’Donnell. You are an employee.’
‘As I said yesterday, Mrs Chen, if you are uncomfortable with this situation, I shall make a polite excuse.’
‘It’s not as though it will be a regular occurrence, I suppose.’ Amy was starting to feel embarrassed at her own prissiness. ‘And I think Eliza is expecting you to come. She usually gets her own way.’
‘She appears to be a most determined lady.’
‘She has been like that for as long as I can remember.’
‘Have the two of you been friends a long time?’
Amy realised he was interviewing her again. So she cut the personal conversation short by saying, ‘Now, Mr O’Donnell, I suppose we should discuss the hiring of staff.’
‘Indeed, Mrs Chen.’ But he didn’t seem chastened. In fact, he seemed to be smiling.
‘I really have no idea as to how many people I should employ,’ she continued, ‘or indeed which specific positions are required, other than the obvious. I’m afraid I don’t have much experience in these matters, not coming from a house where there were serv –’
He didn’t react to her gaffe. ‘I would suggest you start with the essential positions and add to the staff as necessary. In the early weeks certain members of staff might have to double up. Even yours truly.’
For a moment she thought he had given her a wink. No, surely not. It must have been her imagination.
‘I have made a list for your approval,’ he said, handing her a sheet of paper adorned with the same elegant script she had admired in his letter.
She read it aloud.
‘Cook
Scullery maid
Waiter
House maid x 2
General servant/laundress
Coachman/groom
Porter/ascending cabinet operator.’
Amy smiled when she came to the ascending cabinet operator.
‘What about “Housekeeper”?’ she asked.
‘For the time being, I can supervise the cleaning staff. That will save you a significant amount of money.’
‘Are you sure it’s not too much work?’
‘Not at all. Now, Mrs Chen, I have also made a list of duties for each position. These lists might assist you in framing the respective classifieds.’
Using the duty lists they composed a rough copy of each advertisement. Then Mr O’Donnell wrote the fair copies in his graceful script.
‘Would you like me to post these for you?’ he asked.
Amy wasn’t used to anyone helping her with mundane chores. ‘You would need to count the words, calculate each amount and enclose a postal order.’
‘That is no problem at all. I will keep the receipts and you can reimburse me from petty cash. I gather you would like these placed in both the Granthurst and Millbrooke papers?’
She nodded. This man knew exactly what he was doing. It had been a long time since there had been someone like that in her life.
On Sunday the family gathered after church for the trip back to Millerbrooke. Mr O’Donnell travelled in a sulky with Amy and Charlie. The twelve-year-old was intrigued by the tall newcomer with the musical accent.
‘Do you play cricket, Mr O’Donnell?’ Charlie asked.
‘I’ve had the odd game in my day.’
‘Are you a batsman or a bowler?’
‘A bit of both.’
‘Can we have a game after lunch? We like to use the croquet lawn because it provides an excellent wicket.’
‘I don’t see why not. Unless the ladies wish to play croquet instead.’
‘Croquet is a girls’ game,’ said Charlie. ‘Men play cricket and rugby. I’m going to play in the rugby team at my new school.’
‘No, you’re not!’ Amy protested.
‘You worry about me too much, Mama.’
‘Do you give your mother cause to worry?’ asked Mr O’Donnell.
‘I used to. Back when I wanted to be a soldier. But after Uncle Daniel died – he was a captain in the Soudan war – I changed my mind. I don’t want Mama to cry on my account.’
‘That is a very noble sentiment,’ said Mr O’Donnell.
‘Mama, do you think Uncle Daniel knows about Daniela from up in heaven? Nancy says he does.’
Amy laughed self-consciously. ‘I can’t answer that question, Charlie.’ Besides, it wasn’t a topic she wished to discuss in front of the newly arrived Mr O’Donnell.
‘Aunt Eliza says Daniela is a souvenir that Uncle Daniel left behind,’ Charlie continued.
‘That sounds like something Eliza would say,’ said Amy.
‘What do you think, Mama?’
Amy thought for a moment before replying, ‘I think she is a blessing from God to ease the pain of Daniel’s absence.’
Over the next couple of weeks Mr O’Donnell blended so seamlessly into their lives that he might have been there all along. He took care of all the little things that had formerly been a bu
rden to Amy and he did so without any prompting. Sometimes she wondered if he possessed the uncanny ability to read her mind. Mostly she pondered how she had ever managed on her own.
For their part, the Miller family had taken to the Irishman, accepting him at their family gatherings in the way they had embraced Nancy. And why not? He was affable and charming, the perfect guest.
And if Amy found his green eyes bewitching and his manner of speech enchanting, she barely admitted it to herself. On the occasions she caught herself thinking of him as ‘Liam’ rather than ‘Mr O’Donnell’, she would give herself a sharp reprimand. Such self-indulgence could easily lead to her saying the name out loud. And what an appalling gaffe that would be. ‘Mr O’Donnell’ he would remain, even in her thoughts. But she had no such sovereignty over her dreams. Whenever he appeared in her sleep, they called each other by their first names, and he did the most shocking things – like kissing her hand or winking at her.
During the third week of Advent, Amy received a telegram informing her that the portrait she had commissioned some months earlier would be arriving on the afternoon train. She sent Mr O’Donnell and her newly appointed coachman, Arthur, to collect it. They returned with a shallow crate the size of a door, which they carried between them. Mr Rotherwood, who was working on the conservatory, appeared in the foyer, having assumed the crate contained building materials intended for him. Immediately Amy commandeered him to disassemble it. Beneath the wooden covering, the painting was wrapped in old blankets to which the artist had pinned a terse note.
‘Mrs Chen, here is your husband. Kindly return the blankets.’
‘Could you remove the blankets, please?’ she said to Mr Rotherwood. For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Nor could she look at the painting until he had placed it upright against the wall. Instantly she felt a shiver pass through her body as though she had just stepped out into a chilly Millbrooke night. Except that it was a sultry December day.
The life-size portrait was so realistic it could have been Charles standing there in front of her, frozen in time as the dashing twenty-six-year-old she had fallen in love with so many years ago. The artist had captured the glossiness of his black hair and the bronze shimmer of his skin, but it was the limpid, brown eyes which mesmerised her. As if she were in a trance, she moved towards the painting, stretching out her hand as she drew closer. The eyes beckoned to her, the skin glowed. She reached out and stroked his face, the gentlest of caresses. At that moment she realised it was only a piece of canvas covered in oil paint.
‘It is an excellent likeness,’ came the gruff voice of Mr Rotherwood. ‘My wife always said Mr Chen was a fine gentleman, honest as the day is long.’
‘Indeed he was,’ Amy replied. ‘The very epitome of truthfulness and integrity.’ For a moment she seemed to be lost in a dream. After a moment she said, ‘Mr Rotherwood, would you be so kind as to hang the picture on the wall above the landing?’
‘I fear it may be damaged if we hang it before the workmen have finished upstairs. Besides, the wall is yet to be painted. Why don’t I store it in the coach-house until we are ready for it?’
Amy looked aghast. ‘You can’t possibly put Charles in the coach-house.’
‘Then why don’t we put him in your office for the time being,’ said Mr O’Donnell. ‘The painting won’t come to any harm in there.’
‘Yes,’ said Amy. ‘You are right.’ She couldn’t bear to be parted from Charles. Not after finding him again.
On Saturday 19th December, 1885, a joint christening was held for Bao Yu Chen, who was named for the precious jade gemstone, and golden-haired Daniela Gray Miller, who was called after her father. The afternoon light cast a soft glow on the sandstone walls of St John’s Church and even the gargoyles perched high on the parapets seemed to have swapped their usual sneers for benevolent smiles.
Amy sat with her son in the Millers’ pew, praying Charlie wouldn’t hear the whispered comments from the ladies in the row behind, debating whether a child born out of wedlock should have the right to be baptised or not. There had never been any doubt in Amy’s mind that the Reverend Brownlow would perform the service. After all, he had welcomed Charles and Amy into his church when her own father had reviled and ostracised them. As for the baptismal certificate, John Miller had agreed that the baby should bear the Miller surname and Daniel be listed as the father.
Amy organised an afternoon tea in the newly finished ballroom of the Emporium Hotel. Since she didn’t yet have a cook or a working kitchen, she made the food at home and brought it with her. Mr O’Donnell set up chairs and tables and everyone partook of sandwiches, cake and Chinese tea while the two baby girls slept in their cradles.
‘Daniela is the very image of her father, isn’t she?’ Amy said to Eliza.
‘Mama has a collodion picture of Daniel as a baby, and they could be twins.’
‘That should put certain people’s doubts to rest,’ whispered Amy, looking around to see if anyone was listening.
‘If you’re referring to Joseph,’ said Eliza, ‘he adores little Daniela. You’d think she was his child.’
‘Well, he is her uncle,’ said Amy. ‘And he’s always loved children.’
‘Yes, it’s sad that he only has the one.’
‘We must accept the lot we are given, Eliza. And one child can be a great blessing.’ Amy was thinking about Charlie, but her remark could equally apply to Jimmy and May, who were ecstatic to be parents at last after waiting so many years.
‘I do believe May is looking much better,’ said Eliza. ‘I thought we were going to lose her that night. Speaking of which, the Good Lord could have organised things better.’
Amy gave her friend a puzzled look. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Eliza.’
‘Why did He make childbearing so difficult?’
‘Because of Eve and the forbidden fruit, of course. Unto the woman He said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee. Genesis 3:16.’
Eliza shook her head. ‘That’s the Old Testament, Amy. You can’t really believe women should still be paying for Eve’s sin. And surely you don’t agree that a husband should rule over his wife?’
‘It’s the Word of God, Eliza. You can’t argue with that.’ But she had a smile on her face.
‘Perhaps not. But I can do my best to make things easier for women.’
‘By establishing your maternity hospital?’
‘One day perhaps . . . but in the meantime, I have another idea.’
‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said,
‘to talk of many things . . .’
LEWIS CARROLL
Through the Looking-Glass, Chapter IV
XVII
ELIZA
Friday 25th December, 1885
It was their first Christmas without Daniel. Even after he joined the army, he’d always made the journey home, arriving on Christmas Eve, laden with gifts purchased in Sydney. This year Eliza and her mother had organised a Christmas tree for the benefit of the children, but neither felt any inclination to celebrate.
On Christmas Day, when they assembled in the parlour to watch the children open their presents, Eliza noticed Joseph leafing through Nancy’s memorial scrapbook. For someone who had once pooh-poohed the project, he seemed to be finding considerable solace in it now.
Amy and Charlie arrived later in the morning, together with Mr O’Donnell. Eliza was grateful for the two newcomers, Martin and the Irishman. Their presence meant everyone had to pretend to be cheerful, even if they didn’t really feel that way. After the Christmas turkey and plum pudding, the gentlemen, including Charlie and James, went outside to play cricket, in spite of the thermometer registering close to ninety. Meanwhile, the ladies sat on the verandah, wafting their fans.
‘They’ll fall ill from the heat,’ said Amy, watching Liam O’Donnell lob a ball across the croque
t lawn and into the hedge.
‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ said Charlotte as her husband ran to fetch the ball. ‘Men possess hardier constitutions than we ladies.’
‘Fudge and fiddlesticks!’ exclaimed Eliza.
‘Do you really have to express yourself in such an unladylike manner, Eliza?’ Charlotte reprimanded. ‘No wonder you’re still a spinster.’
A scowl formed on Eliza’s face, but when she responded, she adopted her meekest tone, ‘I’m sorry, Mama. It’s just that your words might have come directly from Doctor Mackellar’s treatise on women.’
‘Who in heaven’s name is Doctor Mackellar?’ asked Amy.
‘A gentleman with the most unenlightened views about the female gender.’
‘How are things progressing with your hotel, Amy?’ Charlotte asked, deftly changing the subject.
‘We have chosen all the staff members, though most of them won’t commence work until next month.’
‘Did you find a cook?’
‘Yes, a lady from Granthurst. A Mrs Watson. She used to work for the bishop.’
‘What a superior credential,’ said Charlotte. ‘I can’t wait to taste her meals.’
‘She’s starting the second week of the new year. Mr O’Donnell is relieved he won’t have to dine on boiled mutton for too much longer.’
‘He’s quite a find, your Mr O’Donnell,’ said Charlotte, admiring the tall Irishman in his rolled shirtsleeves, ready to swing the bat.
‘He is indeed,’ Amy replied.
When Eliza caught her eye and smiled, Amy blushed a deep shade of magenta.
In the first week of January Eliza placed a classified in the ‘Public Notices’ column of the Millbrooke Gazette.
MILLBROOKE LADIES’ ECLECTIC SOCIETY
A MEETING WILL BE HELD AT TEN O’CLOCK ON FRIDAY, 8TH JANUARY
IN THE ANNEXE OF THE SCHOOL OF ARTS
TO ESTABLISH THE MILLBROOKE LADIES’ ECLECTIC SOCIETY.
The Jade Widow Page 18
