‘But she’s planning to wear dove grey for her wedding.’
Amy examined the dress. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve worn a real colour.’
‘We’re not asking you to don turquoise or vermilion,’ said Eliza.
‘I know,’ said Amy. ‘And it’s such a pretty gown, but . . .’
‘I was hoping you might wear it to my wedding, Amy,’ said Nancy quietly. ‘If you would do me the honour of being one of my attendants.’
Amy reflected for a moment – she really couldn’t decline such an offer without appearing discourteous. ‘Of course I would,’ she said. ‘May I enquire as to the name of the other attendant?’
‘It’s Eliza, but you’ve already guessed that, haven’t you? And Mr Burns will be the groomsman.’
‘Then who would be my partner?’ Amy asked.
‘Why, Mr O’Donnell, of course,’ said Nancy. ‘The three gentlemen have formed quite a bond as a result of their Sunday cricket matches.’
Amy pictured herself in the lilac dress beside a smartly suited Liam O’Donnell. The image was so bewitching it caused her heart to flutter. Ever since the picnic, she had even allowed herself to call him by his Christian name, but only in her thoughts. She had erred once by addressing him aloud as ‘Liam’ – she wouldn’t do it again. Her dreams had shown her where that path could lead. At first it had been hand-kissing; now it was passionate embraces that left her reeling. Soon it would be . . . But she blocked that particular image from her mind’s eye before it could take hold. That was the problem with intimacy. The more she tried to avoid it, the more it seemed to dominate her thoughts . . . and her dreams.
‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’
LEWIS CARROLL
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter V
XXI
ELIZA
Saturday 12th June, 1886
On the eve of Eliza’s departure for London, Joseph Miller and Nancy Gray were married in St John’s Church, Millbrooke. Nancy wore a simple grey gown with a matching frippery in her hair from which hung a little net veil. Charlie came home for the occasion and he and James served jointly as ring bearers. Everyone walked to the reception, which was held in the ballroom of the Emporium Hotel.
‘Amy and Liam make such a striking couple, don’t they?’ said Martin Burns as he and Eliza embarked on yet another waltz.
‘It’s good to see her out of those widow’s weeds and wearing something pretty. As for Liam O’Donnell, I still don’t know what to make of him.’
‘He’s a charming fellow and a good cricketer,’ said Martin. ‘And he saved the day when Sir Henry was stuck in the ascending cabinet.’
Eliza chuckled to herself. Men could be so simplistic in their thinking, even Martin. As far as he was concerned, if Liam O’Donnell could play cricket, share a joke and do his job capably, that made him a good fellow. But Eliza didn’t take people at face value. She was certain the Irishman had a secret, smouldering like a peat fire below the surface. All the same, she didn’t dare say a word to Amy, who believed he could do no wrong. Besides, what was there to say? ‘My instincts tell me he’s hiding something.’ Or, ‘Liam O’Donnell is just too good to be true.’ Whenever Eliza tried to express her suspicions, even to herself, they sounded ridiculous. Above all, she was frightened for Amy. What would happen if the man wasn’t all he seemed? Would Amy end up with a broken heart? There were only so many breaks a heart could endure.
In terms of her own romantic dilemma, Eliza knew she would have to resolve it soon – one way or the other – if for no other reason than her imminent departure.
‘Let’s take a walk in the garden,’ Martin said as the waltz came to an end.
‘A walk in the garden’. Eliza knew that was code for something far more serious. He must have been reading her mind! Martin Burns had a habit of doing that. They made their way to the glass doors leading into the Chinese garden, which was planted with rhododendrons, azaleas, viburnum and camellias. Amy had saved them from a Granthurst property about to be demolished to make way for a tannery. In the process she had acquired a mature garden. Now the bushes were thriving in their new home, flaunting their winter flowers as if to say: ‘Even the move to icy Millbrooke hasn’t daunted us.’
‘Shall we sit down?’ said Martin, when they reached the stone pagoda Amy had commissioned in place of a traditional gazebo.
Eliza steeled herself for what was to come; she didn’t have to wait long.
‘It’s been a year since I last broached this subject with you, Eliza, and so much has happened in the meantime. Daniela’s birth, the wedding, Amy’s hotel . . .’
‘And don’t forget the Eclectic Society,’ Eliza interjected, trying to steer him off course.
‘Yes,’ he said with a smile. ‘The Eclectic Society. I’m not sure what you ladies get up to every month, but I suspect it’s not just sewing and knitting.’
‘Martin, do you believe that women should have equal rights with men?’
‘I don’t see why not. But that doesn’t mean men and women are the same. Being doctors, you and I are well aware of the differences. And that’s what makes things interesting, don’t you think?’
Then he leaned across and kissed her, his lips gently brushing hers as if to test her response. Instantly she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around him. All the feelings she had held in such tight check now seemed to be unwinding like a clock spring abruptly released from its coiled position. She didn’t try to analyse her reaction – the sensations were too overwhelming to be subjected to analysis. Instead, she emptied her mind of everything and simply lost herself in the pleasure of the moment. She wasn’t sure how long they remained in each other’s arms. Time had lost its rhythm. It might have been a few minutes; it could have been much longer. Finally they drew apart, each observing the other with newfound wonder.
‘Eliza, I don’t think you are in any doubt as to my affection for you,’ he said, clasping her hand. ‘And I pray that it might be reciprocated.’
Her chest tightened at his words. Was this the preamble to a proposal? Why did things have to be so complicated when the desire they felt for each other was so raw and undeniable? If only the conventions of marriage and children weren’t part of the equation. How could she possibly devote herself to Martin and the family he would inevitably want to have, and pursue her career at the same time? She had already lost too many years; she couldn’t afford to make any further sacrifices.
While she was thinking those things, he took her hand. ‘Eliza Miller, I love you dearly. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?’
She had known it was coming. For the last year she had wrestled with her response. Yet now that he had asked the question, she was still no closer to giving him a satisfactory answer.
‘I love you too, Martin,’ was all she could offer.
‘That’s wonderful!’ He kissed her again.
It was impossible to think logically after a kiss like that.
‘Let’s set the date for August next year, as soon as you return from France. Or would you need more time for the preparations? I know how much you ladies like to fuss over the details – gowns and flowers and the like.’
‘Martin,’ she said softly, detaching herself from his arms, ‘there’s something I need to explain.’ Then she paused, not knowing how to start.
‘Just tell me what’s worrying you.’
‘It’s the notion of marriage and everything that comes with it. You see, I want to be a doctor, not a mother.’ The image of the Duchess from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland with her mob of squealing offspring was filling Eliza’s head.
Martin was silent for a long time. ‘But you love children.’
‘Other people’s.’
He rose from the bench and paced up and down. ‘If it’s the matter of children which is holding you back, we can make a choice not to have them. You know, as well as I do, that there are means
of preventing a pregnancy. You and I have access to information that ordinary people don’t.’
Eliza blinked back tears. ‘But, Martin, I know how much you want children. I couldn’t do that to you.’
‘Eliza, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice if I could be with you.’
She didn’t know what to say. How could she allow him to make such a huge sacrifice for her sake? If they didn’t have children, she was absolutely certain Martin would regret it. Not in the early years perhaps, but as he nudged forty, and there were no babies of his own, regret would turn to bitterness. She couldn’t bear that to happen. Which led her to the other possible outcome: that she might be so guilt-laden she would give in and start a family. Then she would find herself like Alice’s Duchess, unable to do anything else with her life. Either way, it was likely to end in tears.
The day before Eliza left for Sydney to board the steamship which would take her to the other side of the world, a parcel arrived from Rose Scott, containing the sketch Mr Conder had done of Eliza, together with a note from Rose:
My dearest Eliza,
With your departure nigh, I am writing to wish you God speed for your sea journey and for your medical studies in Paris.
I don’t suppose you will have time to drop in at Jersey Road before you leave, but if it is possible, I would be delighted to see you, even if it is only to provide a pied-à-terre the night before your embarkation.
I have enclosed a gift for you from Mr Conder. He asked me to tell you that he has recently made a painting from this sketch and hopes to enter it in an exhibition.
Do have a wonderful year, my dear. And I trust your Eclectic Society will survive without you.
Your loving friend,
Rose
Eliza examined the sketch. At the very bottom the artist had signed it ‘Chas Conder’ and written the title: ‘While She Was Sleeping’.
XXII
AMY
Monday 30th August, 1886
Although Amy had fantasised about attending Quong Tart’s wedding with Liam O’Donnell as her partner, it was an impossibility for several reasons, not the least being that it was a breach of the social order. Besides, she would never have summoned the courage to ask him. And when it came down to practicalities, someone was needed to run the hotel and they couldn’t both be away at the same time. So she took Charlie instead, even though it meant he would miss a day of school. She had sought Doctor Ross’s permission by letter and received a generous reply giving approval for the absence and hinting that Charlie’s Trinity term results had been so good, there was every prospect the scholarship would be renewed for 1887.
Amy and Charlie arrived at St Stephen’s with only minutes to spare. About twenty people were seated in the front pews. Where were all the guests? Amy wondered. Then she recalled her own wedding – it hadn’t been much bigger than this. Mr Tart, in a black suit and silver waistcoat, stood beaming as his bride proceeded down the aisle. Clad in an elegant velvet dress, Margaret Scarlett exchanged a shy smile with her husband-to-be. Watching the two of them together, Amy couldn’t help thinking what a perfect couple they made.
The reception venue in Darlinghurst was only a short cab ride from the heart of the city, but the streets were jammed with traffic. Finally, they pulled up outside a two-storey villa with Grecian columns and iron-lace trim.
‘I thought it would be a big hotel,’ said Charlie, sounding disappointed.
‘No, it’s the residence of Mr Want, the Attorney-General.’
A maid showed them into the parlour where Mr Tart and his bride were already waiting to greet their guests.
‘Mrs Chen and Master Chen, may I introduce ma wife, Margaret.’
The way he said ‘wife’ brought tears to Amy’s eyes. ‘It is a great pleasure, Mrs Tart.’
‘Likewise, Mrs Chen. We are grateful for the moral support you have given us.’ Her voice matched her demeanour – quiet and dignified.
Standing beside them, Mr Want towered over everyone. Amy couldn’t take her eyes off the politician’s luxuriant moustache.
Mr Tart then introduced them to the Reverend Doctor Steel, who had officiated at the ceremony. Doctor Steel’s long, stern face and sunken cheeks lent him an intimidating air, but Amy had already heard his warm Scottish accent during the service and wasn’t daunted by his appearance. In fact, she felt right at home.
‘You’re a Caledonian, Doctor Steel.’
‘Indeed, I am, Mrs Chen. Though I have been in the colony for some twenty-odd years.’
‘I don’t think one ever really loses one’s accent,’ she said. ‘I was born in Glasgow and came here with my parents. My father is a Presbyterian minister.’
‘Is that so? Perhaps I know him.’
‘His name is Matthew Duncan.’
Doctor Steel pondered the name. ‘It sounds familiar, but I can’t recall meeting him.’
Perhaps that was for the best. Doctor Steel was obviously a very different kind of clergyman from her father, or he wouldn’t have been presiding at the wedding of a Chinese man to an English girl.
‘Is Mr Want her father?’ Charlie whispered.
‘No, her father didn’t come.’
‘Oh,’ said Charlie, his tone suggesting he understood the reason.
Once everyone had been introduced, the maid served Chinese tea and French gâteaux and there were speeches from Mr Tart and the Attorney-General. Then the newlyweds worked their way around the room, in opposite directions. When the groom reached Amy and Charlie, he said, ‘I am quite overcome by happiness, Mrs Chen.’
‘You deserve to be happy, Mr Tart. You’ve waited a long time for this day.’
‘We will be taking our leave soon. I have booked seats on the train to Melbourne. After that, we are off to Ballarat for our honeymoon.’
‘A Gold Rush town, Mr Tart.’
‘Aye.’
‘I only wish you could have come to Millbrooke.’
‘Perhaps we will visit ye for our first wedding anniversary. By-the-bye, Mrs Chen, how are things going at yer ’otel?’
‘Swimmingly, Mr Tart.’
‘I’ve always wondered whether ye employed the older gentleman or the young Irishman as yer manager?’
‘I decided on the latter.’
‘He’s a good cricketer,’ interjected Charlie.
‘Well, that’s what counts,’ said Mr Tart. ‘I’m fond of a wee game of cricket maself.’
At that moment Margaret Tart completed her round of the room and appeared at his side. They all conversed for a while before Mr Tart said, ‘If ye ladies will excuse me, I shall leave ye to have a wee chat. Come on, Charlie, let us join the gentlemen.’
‘No cigars, Charlie,’ Amy said, as Charlie gave her a smile and followed Mr Tart into the library.
‘He is a fine boy,’ said Mrs Tart. ‘You must be very proud of him.’
‘I am indeed.’
‘Mrs Chen, may I speak in confidence?’
‘Of course, Mrs Tart.’
‘It pertains to my family.’
She spoke so softly Amy was forced to lean forward to catch the words.
‘You will no doubt have noticed their absence,’ Margaret Tart continued in a whisper. ‘My father doesn’t approve of our marriage. Neither does Mr Tart’s mother.’
Amy nodded her head ruefully. ‘I can sympathise, Mrs Tart, having experienced those same things myself.’
‘Is there anything I can do to win them over?’
‘If I may be so bold as to mention the subject, I suspect the arrival of a grandchild might be the turning point.’
‘Was that the case for you, Mrs Chen?’
‘I’m afraid not. My father is a man who cannot see beyond his own bigotry, but your father was a friend of Mr Tart’s, which speaks in his favour. And you didn’t make the mistake of going behind his back as I did. Deception can only breed unhappiness.’
‘Mr Tart tells me you’ve been a widow since before your son was born. Would you ever consider marrying a
gain?’
Amy flushed pink at the question.
‘Oh, please excuse me, Mrs Chen. I have quite forgotten my manners. I shouldn’t be asking you about such intimate matters.’
‘It is your wedding day, Mrs Tart, not to mention the day after your twenty-first birthday. You can afford to speak your mind on such an occasion. If you had asked me that question a year ago, I would have answered with a definitive “no”. But of late I am not so sure.’
That night Amy and Charles stayed at Aunt Molly’s house. After Amy tucked her son into bed, she went downstairs where her aunt had made a pot of tea.
‘Did it remind you of your own wedding?’ Aunt Molly asked as she poured their tea through a silver strainer.
‘I suppose it did. And not just because he’s Chinese and she’s not. Those two are meant to be together. I suspect they knew it from the very first time they met.’
‘Un coup de foudre,’ Aunt Molly sighed, busily stirring her cup, even though she didn’t take sugar. ‘Tell me, how is your Mr O’Donnell?’
Amy was so surprised by the question, she had to compose herself before replying, ‘He is proving to be an excellent manager.’
‘Is that all he is?’
When Amy didn’t reply, Aunt Molly said, ‘It’s been thirteen years, Amy. You cannot grieve forever.’
Next morning Amy dropped Charlie at school and continued to Redfern Terminal. Once she was on the train, she went straight to the dining carriage and began her weekly letter to Eliza in France. It was a Tuesday ritual, no matter what. Although the porter offered to provide a pen and ink, she decided the jolting of the train would result in ink blots and spillages, so she used a pencil instead.
The first page was all about Millbrooke – the Eclectic Society, the hotel, the emporium. After that, she wrote about Daniela, knowing how much Eliza would be missing her. Finally, she penned a lengthy account of Mr Tart’s wedding, adding an impulsive statement she immediately regretted. But it was too late now. She ended the missive as she always did, ‘Your loving friend, Amy’.
The Jade Widow Page 23
